Chapter Three
Trip Tucker stepped into the turbolift, and inwardly winced as he realised that it was already occupied... by one of the crewmen who had been at the meeting the night before - Crewman Elanor Lugbarrow, he recalled fuzzily.
She gave him a stunning smile, one which would have usually had Trip Tucker practically on his knees in adoration. But this was different - everything was. His life would never be the same again after last night. Hell, he might not even survive long enough to get his head round the idea.
No, must think positive! He urged himself, his mind wandering back to the speech Malcolm, their reluctant leader, had given them the night before.
"We'll face things, in the coming months, or even years, which we could never have imagined in our worst nightmares." The Brit looked carefully around at the small sea of faces before him, each one reflecting his own serious-yet-determined expression.
"Some of us may come up against foes we cannot overcome - and some of us may not live to see the end of this "mission", into which most of us were probably quite reluctant to enter, myself not excluded. There are no certainties in this mission, but this I do know - the fate of Earth, and perhaps even the galaxies, stands upon the knife-edge of our triumph or failure.
We can, and will succeed, as long as we stand united. In two days time we will begin to prepare for the Last Battle - and anyone who does not wish to be party to this must speak up now. There will be no room for doubters where we're going."
Not a single person had spoken. The pact was sealed, and nothing, not even the devil himself, could break them now.
888
Malcolm Reed sat at his station on the bridge, waiting for the computer to finish running its diagnostic on the weapons systems. Usually he would have been fully alert; mind and body charged and ready for any problems which might arise.
But
today his mind was elsewhere. His hand hovered almost constantly over
the small pocket in the shoulder of his uniform, in which he had put
the one weapon he had more confidence in than any other - phase
pistols were no use against the Dark Lord.
The
Dark Lord. Just thinking about that evil demon of a man made him
shiver. He'd faced him once before, and taken out more of his minions
that any other Auror in modern history. Yes, an Auror. A 'security
man', indeed. He had fought, day and night, against He Who Must Not
Be Named for four years.
But then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the Dark Lord was gone. No-one could explain why, or how. He had been presumed dead for years.
Until now - except this time he had taken his War into space. He was dangerous. But so was Malcolm - and just because a man does not practise the darker side of his trade, that does not mean he is not able to wield that side.
888
A/N: Next chapter I'm thinking about showing a flashback of Malcolm's, back to when he was an Auror. What d'you think? Also, when I say "Dark Lord" I may or may not be talking about the Voldemort from the books - anyone got any ideas on the identity of this mysterious evil?
