The guards pushed Zakharov forcefully down the halls.  He felt afraid, but he wasn't able to run.  He wanted to yell, but his mouth didn't work.  All he could do was walk obediently down the hallways of the unknown place.  The two guards stopped at a doorway and pointed for him to enter.  His legs moved him towards the center of the room, where the guards strapped his legs to the floor and his arms to two supports.

He looked around anxiously, frantically for some way to get out of the room.  He heard a noise towards the hallway to see a veiled mourner walking into the room.  The guards bowed to her as she walked by.  She reached Zakharov and mourned at his feet.  He looked down in confusion.  Why was she mourning for him?

She stood and stared sadly at Zakharov, then walked slowly towards the doorway.  But before she reached the exit, she turned to him and removed her veil- and Zakharov was staring into the eyes of Lady Deirdre.  Deirdre turned to the door and walked through it…and suddenly realization hit him.  He barely had a chance to struggle before power began to surge through the Punishment Sphere.  He screamed as the first jolt entered his blood-

And awoke with a gasp as Shila shook his arm.

"Prokhor!  Prokhor!  Wake up!"

There was no breath left in him as he slowly regained his bearings.  He must've dozed off on the trip back from the council meeting.  In times of peace, all members of the council met at the headquarters of the Planetary Governor.  Only during war did all of the factions meet through the comm. system.  Apparently, the University shuttle hadn't made it back to University Base yet.

He rubbed his temples, breathing heavily.  "How much longer until we reach to U.B.?"

"We're almost there, Prokhor."  Shila put her hand on his forehead.  "You feel hot.  Are you ill?"

He tried to smile.  "I'm fine, thank you."

Shila wasn't buying it.  "You had another nightmare, didn't you?"

Zakharov stared at her.  Shila was a program…a hologram, a creation.  Zakharov had created her three years ago from his own knowledge of artificial intelligence.  Over the last few months, though, he noticed her developing beyond her programming.  Her dependence on him was unnatural, even for a machine to its maker.  She also seemed to come to conclusions by herself, which is something Zakharov had not originally intended.  Was she growing self-awareness?

Zakharov shook his head.  "No, no.  Just startled, that's all."

Shila sat down in the seat next to him and leaned her head onto his shoulder.  "You're lying.  You don't have to hide from me, Prokhor.  What am I going to do, laugh?  I want to know…"

He sighed.  "I-"

The pilot's voice broke through the rooms speakers.  "All hands, we are beginning landing procedure.  Stand-by."

Shila smiled and looked into Zakharov's eyes.  "We'll talk about this later.  We've got a lot to talk about, actually.  Astronomic's lab at 1800?

He smiled.  "I'm looking forward to it."

She giggled and kissed him on the cheek.  Before Zakharov could respond, she faded away into the circuitry of the Datapod.  He blinked and mentally added the event into the "odd things that Shila has done recently" category of his mind.

The shuttle lowered itself gently onto the U.B. docking bay.  He stuffed his bag with his papers and opened the exit hatch.  The docking bay, however, was filled with twenty or so cadets, all yelling at once.  The sight was unexpected and knocked him back a step or two.  He regained his composure and yelled to the crowd.

"Order, please!"  The room fell silent.  "Who here is a senior cadet?"  Several members of the group raised their hands.  Zakharov walked to the closest one.  "What's going on here?"

The cadet saluted.  "Sir.  We've received a report that requires your attention as soon as possible."

----------------------------------------------------------------

The doors of control center were opened quickly as a fuming Zakharov entered.  He waved away the cadets who had questions.  He felt a little guilty, but they'd just have to wait.  He quickly entered his study and typed in some numbers onto his computer.  The face of a young woman appeared onto his screen.

"May I help you, Provost?"

"Let me speak with the governor of your city."

"I will transfer you to her computer."

Zakharov nodded and the screen went black.  He scratched his head.  Her?  Last I remember the governor of Mandelev College was a male.

The face of a young woman appeared on his screen.  She had a blemish-less face and long black hair.  She had an aura of command, and looked downright bored.

"Zakharov."

"Am I to assume that you're the governor of Mandelev College?"

"I am the leader of Mandelev College.  Your faction-appointed governor is no longer fit for command."

Zakharov didn't ask.  He pushed some buttons on his side computer and pulled up a sheet of data.  "What, exactly, is this?"

"Haven't you read it yet?"

He guffawed.  "'We, the citizens of Mandelev College, declare ourselves independent of the University of Planet.'  I pray this is some sort of joke."

"It's no joke, sir.  You've been declared unfit as leader of this faction and Mandelev College is no longer to be under your control."

Zakharov leaned closer to the screen.  "Three things, miss.  One, you don't have the authority to authorize secession.  Two, the Planetary Council wouldn't accept a rebel base, and three, I don't even know your name."

The girl smiled.  "One, as acting leader of Mandelev College, I have total authority of that decision.  Two, I've already contacted the Planetary Council and they are considering it.  Three, it's Meskha.  First name should be sufficient for now."

"Meskha, you don't have the authority to liberate a base."

"See for yourself, Provost.  I have resources and land of my own; we can build an area of our own, just like you and the other factions did upon planet fall."

"Meskha," Zakharov said, attempting to control his temper, "that base is property of the University of Planet.  You can't turn off your internal sensors and just expect us to accept a base leaving our realm of control."

"We'll see, Zakharov.  We'll see.  I must go.  Mandelev College, out."

The screen went dead.  Zakharov shut off his monitor and began to change his clothes.  It was almost 1800, and a chat with Shila would be very helpful right now.