10: Fugitives

"I'm about to hit you with a bunch of crazy that isn't going to make a lot of sense, and it will be kind of difficult to explain, but you're smart so I'm sure you'll figure it out. I mean, you were always the smarter between us, or so our father would say." Valkas Kavellan gave a sarcastic smirk when he said this, the recording of him clear enough. There were a few imperfect flecks here and there that came and went, indicators of the recording's age and the way it had likely been transferred from one memory bank to another over the centuries. The recording was over one-thousand years old, stored on an older-model memory crystal and it had been handed to Toron by a Vigilant of the former order, a fugitive now. His younger brother had left him a message, one that had been stored away in Vigilant archives until now. How many more had known about it, how many more had seen it? Did all the Vigilants know the truth about his underachieving younger brother? Was this one reason why they had been targeted for elimination?

Toron sat alone in his room in his home on Calshae Prime. It was midday, the sun was out but in here he had the curtains drawn. He sat in the murky darkness, eyes fixed to the computer terminal display before him. He listened intently as his brother explained to him the circumstances that had seen him sent back in time, accompanied by the human Joanne Bowers. The very human who had become Visala, the founder of modern Calsharan society. She had somehow made herself Calsharan using a device that not even Valkas seemed to really understand. The two of them had married and, at the time of the recording, were fighting a war against a powerful enemy that was wreaking havoc across their corner of the galaxy. An enemy that had driven the major colonies into war amongst themselves, until Visala had somehow united them.

Evidently, this was a recording made early on in the war. The modern-day depictions of Visala's husband had him older and scarred, complete with missing eye. Toron could only wonder just what had gone on to leave his brother in such a state. A war hero and popular leader, it seemed that Valkas Kavellan had finally amounted to something. Not that their parents would have known about it, for to them, Valkas was a runaway and troublesome child who had often shirked responsibility. A son who had been less interested in following their father into a military career, and more interested in pursuing his own creative pursuits. Toron supposed there was some irony to be found there, as Valkas had essentially become one of history's most celebrated wartime leaders. And yet, he was often overshadowed by Visala, who had become a messianic figure to many of their people. Some even believed that she would return someday. Toron, however, was not sure what to believe.

He was descended from his own brother, if that Vigilant, Jorran Casker, was to be believed. That in itself was weird, practically incestuous. Some said history ran in circles; it seemed that in Toron's case, it was his own family history that wrapped right around on itself.

He watched the whole thing, took in every word and found himself disappointed that there was not more. The message was about ten minutes long, and in it Valkas wished the best for their mother. Toron thought about showing this to her, a means to put at rest any hope she had of her son ever coming home. Fact was, he would never return for he had died centuries ago. And yet his mother continued to hold out hope that Valkas would show up unexpectedly, much like how he had done so that afternoon months ago. Only days before his trip into the past, as Valkas had explained in the recording. Toron was not sure if allowing her to harbor that hope was best for her, or a form of cruelty. In a way, he wished he had never found out what had become of his brother, for now it was a revelation he would have to live with.

A few times during the recording, his brother had spoken to someone off-camera. From the smile he gave in these instances and the terms of endearment used, it had no doubt been Joanne (or 'Visala', whichever name one preferred to use). That was another thing Toron had some difficulty coming to terms with: the fact that the heroic figure so many Calsharans treated with reverence, the woman who had unified their peoples and laid the foundations for their society, had in fact been human. A secret, it seemed, that only the Vigilants knew.

Toron pulled the old memory crystal free of his terminal once the recording was over. He stashed it in a drawer under the desktop, putting it amongst a few data-pads that had seen little to no use for some years. He considered then what he would do with what he had learned, and more importantly, what he might do regarding his newfound involvement in a mounting conspiracy against the government. A government he had sworn allegiance to, regardless of who the High Protector was. A government that had seen fit to arrest and execute his own father for perceived involvement in a conspiracy. Was Toron to share the same fate?

He rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and all of this backroom scheming was only serving to keep him from sleep. In the master bedroom down the hall, his mother dozed, her degenerative illness one that sapped away much of her energy. Sleeping in the middle of the day was not unusual for her now.

Toron considered heading for the kitchen, only for his thoughts to be interrupted by the beeping of his personal communicator. It was at his left wrist, little more than a small circular device that received and could make calls. He recognized the name flashing on its diminutive display and for a moment there he considered not answering. However, he was not about to ditch Grand General Voross Masrak, and so after a few beeps he accepted the call.

"Lieutenant Kavellan, I need you to come and meet me. Quickly." The General sounded worried, almost frantic. This was unusual for a man such as him, as so far Toron had only ever seen him as stern and commanding.

"What's going on?"

"I cannot explain, there's no time. I am transmitting you coordinates. Get to them as soon as possible." He ended the call then, surprising Toron with his abruptness. Seconds later, his communicator received a simple text message displaying a series of numbers, no doubt in accordance with the planetary coordinates system. Toron was able to look them up easily enough, finding them to denote an address on the opposite side of the capital city. That would be a lengthy drive, as walking it would be out of the question. If the Grand General wanted him quickly, then Toron would have to take his own vehicle. Specifically, a small and agile four-wheeled all-terrain rover, narrow enough to slip in between lanes of traffic on the larger and busier roads.

He checked on his mother before he left. She was asleep, the curtains drawn over the bedroom windows. Toron returned to his room and fitted on his black riding jacket and goggles, before he jogged down to the garage and climbed aboard the sleek gunmetal-grey all-terrain vehicle.

As the garage door slid open, he considered what he may be driving into. The Grand General had brought him into the fold, seeing a potential asset in the young Lieutenant. Toron felt like he was driving less to the General's aid and more into a world of trouble, although it occurred to him that both possibilities were likely to be true. He had become involved as soon as he had agreed to go with the General to Vargania. It seemed only sensible, in its own strange roundabout way, to dive right into what was, for all intents and purposes, a conspiracy to destabilise the Calsharan Systems Union. Toron only had to think of what had happened to his father to realise that he was doing the right thing and so, revving the ATV's powerful engine, he sent himself shooting out of the garage, down the paved, winding driveway and into the quiet suburban streets of outer Impira.

He had made sure to pack his side-arm, which was tucked under his riding jacket. Now that he was involved, going around unarmed would have been unwise.


There was an old factory where the coordinates lead. It was the kind of place that had been left abandoned for years, formerly specialising in construction materials, now little more than a battered, empty shell of a building. It was in a quiet, sparse part of the city, well on the edge of the western side of town. Similar factories were scattered around, some still in order, others as empty as this one. The machinery was all gone, leaving little more than some debris scattered across the factory floor, along with the odd shelving unit or dusty chair. It was a waste of space that the government would normally have attempted to allocate to something useful, or at least that was the preferred protocol. Sometimes the owners did not relent to such attempts, or the government itself did not care enough to do anything with the space. For the time being, the old factory remained vacant.

Toron brought his ATV to a halt in a narrow lane running by the left-hand side of the property. That at least put his vehicle away from the road and any potential prying eyes. The metal fence around the perimeter was topped with crude barbed wire, and he walked around a significant portion of that perimeter before he found an unlocked side gate, the hinges rusted such that it squeaked loudly as he pushed it open. Hardly the stealthy entrance he had planned, and he winced somewhat as he passed through the gate. It swung shut behind him, leaving him alone in the factory yard. Here was a mostly barren stretch of concrete, with a small shed at one corner and the factory building before him, all battered metal and concrete walls. The windows were boarded up and many were simply broken. No other signs of life presented themselves.

Toron paused at the door ahead, listening closely for any hint that he was not alone. The afternoon sun was warm, although not so much as to be uncomfortable. His nostrils flared, detecting the scents of corroded metal and old, wet timber. He tried the handle on the door, finding it unlocked. Someone had forced the keypad lock here, which told him that perhaps he was not alone.

His worry suddenly spiked when he felt a hand fall upon his shoulder. Spinning around, ready to leap into action, he relaxed when he saw who it was had snuck up behind him. Grand General Masrak stood before him, outfitted in plain grey clothing that did not bear any rank insignia upon it, nor any hint that he may have been in the military at all. His hand came away from Toron's shoulder and the General smiled.

"Sorry to startle you, Lieutenant," he said. "I was in reconnaissance when I was your age. Such a role requires a quiet step."

"Too quiet, sir." Toron took a few calming breaths whilst he regarded the General with a curious eye. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"

"There is someone on their way to meet us," the General replied. "I want some backup. You're it."

"You're expecting trouble?"

"I always expect trouble. I look forward to being disappointed, in that regard." He motioned for the young Lieutenant to follow, and the pair entered the old factory, stepping into a factory floor strewn with refuse and assorted debris. Rotting timber planks were piled up high in one corner, with tall shelving units dotted about the centre. Metal containers of varying sizes were also strewn about, even piled haphazardly upon one another.

"Did I tell you I worked in construction, for a time?" The General asked, as they stopped by the stack of old timbers.

"When did you find the time for that, sir?"

"It was when I was quite young. And it is surprising, just what one can find the time to do if they put their mind to it." He checked the communicator at his wrist, eyeing the chronometer there. "Our contact, if he is on time, should be here shortly." He paused, before his gaze floated to the noticeable bulge at Toron's side, underneath his riding jacket. "You're armed?"

"Yes, sir."

The General nodded his head.

"That's probably a good idea," he said. "We conspirators can never be too careful, right?" He smiled when he said this, although Toron was not sure if it was meant as a joke or not. "You appear uncertain of yourself, Lieutenant."

"I'm not one for subterfuge, General."

"You prefer a straight-up fight?" He nodded again. "Creator knows I do as well, Lieutenant. However, for the time being we must rely on stealth. If we are to save this Union, we need to play things very carefully."

Saving the Union, it seemed, would involve severing it. If they were successful in getting the Varganian Governor on board with their plan, then the Union would cease to be. They would return to the old ways, where the colonies fractured and split away to form their own alliances and where the Calsharan people turned against one another. If they were discovered, then the most severe punishments awaited them. Toron did not fancy a public execution, yet traitors deserved nothing less. He had agreed with that when he had sworn to fight for and protect the Union. He had seen a few public executions himself, although he had never thought he might end up the centre of one. And his mother, by the grace of the Creator, his mother could not survive without him, not when she had already lost one son…

"Relax, Lieutenant." The General must have noticed his increasingly glum expression, for his pale eyes lit up and he gently patted the young male on the shoulder. "We are not alone in this. I have many loyal soldiers at my disposal, so if worse comes to worse we will have a fighting chance. Remember, we do this for the good of the people. And you, you wish to avenge your father. I know I would want to."

"This person we are to meet, who are they?" He thought it best to change the subject, if only to distract himself from his increasingly dour reflections.

"You'll see. Someone with what we may need to further this plan, hopefully." The General added this last word with a hint of doubt to his tone. Here they were, risking their lives in an act of espionage, and there was still doubt as to why they were even here, whether their outing would even bear fruit. If the Grand General had his doubts, then Toron was well within his rights to have some of his own.

They only had to wait another five minutes for the contact to appear. He was an older male, older than even the Grand General, his grey scales dulled and coarsened with age. Tall and slim, he was dressed in a grey and blue uniform that denoted him as a member of the medical corps, and he carried with him a data-pad. His yellow eyes darted about anxiously as he stepped into the old factory, his demeanour one of tension and unease. This old male was no fighter, that was readily apparent. He saw the pair of officers loitering in the nearby corner and approached, looking about the room quickly, searching it for any sign that all was not right.

"General?" The old male stopped before them. His uneasy eyes rested upon the Grand General for a moment, before they flitted over to the younger Lieutenant. "Who is this?"

"Lieutenant Toron Kavellan. He is a friend."

Toron thought that he had seen this male before, somewhere. He could not pinpoint where exactly, just that his face seemed familiar. The older male glanced at him with some apparent hostility, having noticed the way in which Toron was staring.

"Is something the matter, Lieutenant?" The physician's gravelly tones caused Toron to check himself. Staring was poor etiquette, so his mother would say.

"Doctor, do you have what you promised?" The General caught the old doctor's attention then, and he gestured for the data-pad. "We do not have time to waste."

"I have it, but it took some work." The doctor's voice betrayed his fear. "They'll know it's been copied soon enough. They may even know already."

"What is it?" Toron asked.

"Hopefully the proof we need," the General answered. "That is, proof that the previous High Protector was murdered. Do you not recognize his chief physician?" He motioned to the old doctor. "He was left out of a job when High Protector Garvus Castrell died in the Annex fire. According to the official story, the fire was started by an incendiary device planted by alien conspirators. Of course, you and I are both here because we have our doubts about that story."

Toron remembered the doctor's face then. He had seen him once or twice, usually on public broadcasts, standing some distance behind and off to the side of the High Protector himself. It was protocol for the Union's leader to have a carefully selected doctor in charge of his medical needs, and this doctor had been just that for the previous High Protector. Such a position was an honour, albeit a precarious one if the High Protector happened to suffer an untimely death.

"The information is all there," the doctor said, and he handed the data-pad to the General. "As I said, they will likely know that the data's been copied. I can tell you, with confidence, that the High Protector was dead before that fire started. I was unable to perform a proper examination of his body before I was barred from accessing it, which in itself is unusual. However, I compiled enough information from what I did do that it should be clear that the High Protector had his throat slashed before the fire began."

"There is proof on this?" The General asked, his face lighting up with hope. He needed this break, not only to spur on his plan, but also to affirm his own beliefs that something was indeed awry.

"Official reports, images, everything short of the actual body." The doctor sounded relieved, as if handing over the data-pad had lightened his load. The General tucked it under one arm, holding it tight, unwilling to risk losing it. "I thought I could stand back and remain uninvolved, but seeing what's happening now, I know I can't do that. Like you, General, I need to do something, anything I can."

"That's how it all starts," the General said. "All it takes are a few like-minded people to take the effort to stand up and act. From there, things tend to grow on their own." He turned to Toron, who noticed the delight in the General's eyes right away. If this doctor had delivered what he said he had, then maybe this plan of theirs might just work.

None of them had a chance to add anything further to the exchange, for there sounded the familiar shing of a plasma weapon firing. Part of the doctor's head exploded in a searing flash, a plasma bolt hitting him in the back of the skull. Blood spattered and the old male crumpled into a heap, smoke wafting off of the smoking hole that took up much of the rear of his skull. His death had been instantaneous.

Toron had his gun out in an instant. A skylight above shattered and a door down the hall swung open. Black-clad armoured soldiers, marked with the silver armbands of the Union Political Directorate, came pouring inside. Another pair rappelled down from the skylight, plasma carbines held at the ready. Toron went to raise his gun, but the General grabbed him, pulling him away and into cover by the stacks of old timber.

"We need to escape," the General said, and he started running for the exit. Toron followed, plasma bolts zipping after them, blasting smoking holes into the metal walls nearby. It had been a while since Toron had been under fire, and he was quick to remember that getting shot at was both thrilling and terrifying. Gun pointed behind him, he let off a few haphazard shots at the intruding security team, not even looking back as he did so. A token gesture of resistance, for what it was worth.

The General had his priorities right. They needed to take the information they had and run. Barging through the door they had entered from, a black-metal armoured car came skidding into the yard. The pair hurried past, doing so whilst the rear doors of the car swung open and another four armoured and armed UPD commandos emerged. How had they known of this exchange? Toron certainly had not been followed, had he?

"Your vehicle?" The General shouted. They emerged into the lane, wherein Toron's ATV was parked. From around the corner ahead, a trooper appeared. Both males scrambled onto the four-wheeled all-terrain rover, with Toron hitting the ignition and slamming the accelerator down hard. The trooper ahead opened fire, a volley of plasma fire darting past the pair. Toron spun the vehicle around, directing it to the opposite end of the lane. From the gate the pair had emerged from, two of the other troopers appeared. Toron sped past them before they could get a proper bearing on the fleeing officers, with the ATV darting out onto the main road where a sharp right-hand turn saw it skidding hard around the end of the lane.

Toron sighted a UPD officer on the footpath, their head concealed under a black tactical mask and tinted visor. This officer simply stood and watched as the ATV sped off, tires screeching. The officer, Toron noticed, carried the distinctively slim frame of a female. As her subordinates raced past her, attempting to give chase to the pair, she simply stood back and observed. No doubt thinking about how she would intercept these two.

"Did they identify us?" They were well down the road moments later, with the weapons fire having ceased. The General, one hand clutching the small handhold by his seat, did not answer right away. Toron was speeding along, weaving around the odd other vehicle on the road. It was a quiet neighbourhood, so traffic was light and even borderline non-existent in some places.

"Did they?" Toron kept his eyes on the road, yet his mind was firmly elsewhere.

"They likely knew who we were before they got there," the General said, and his tone was grim, even blunt. Toron let out an angered huff, well aware of what this meant. And it was with this thought in mind he raced for his childhood home, even if it was the one place their enemies would be waiting.


Nothing was amiss when he came upon the house. In fact, the street was deserted, the rows of properties along both sides quiet. Toron pulled the ATV to a halt near the front gate into the Kavellan property, scrambling off and racing towards the front entrance. Grand General Masrak protested from where he remained on the ATV, stating that they needed to leave the home-world immediately and head for Vargania, that coming here was a mistake. Toron knew this, yet he did not care. He had to make sure his mother was safe.

She was in the living room when he burst into the house. Dressed in her usual flowing blue shawl, she was seated at the couch flicking through broadcast networks on the screen upon the wall in front of her. She looked up with a quirked brow-ridge when Toron came inside, some confusion evident on her gentle features.

"Toron, what's the matter?" She rose to her feet then, switching off the screen. She could see right away that all was not right where her son was concerned.

He crossed the room towards her, taking her hands in his, his expression grim.

"Mother, we have to leave. Gather what you can. We'll take father's car."

"Wait, whatever for?" Vikira Kavellan released herself from his grasp, taking a few steps back. She shook her head. "I am not going anywhere, Toron."

"Mother, the security forces are after me." He figured it best to simply get straight to the explanations. His mother could be stubborn and she was not likely to come along with him, not unless she had a good reason to do so.

"Why would they be after you?" She frowned at him. Her son was a by-the-book officer, he would never do anything to draw the ire of the UPD, surely?

"It was about father," Toron confessed, and he shook his head. Partly because of the situation he had found himself in, and partly because he was starting to regret ever getting involved. Even so, he could hardly go back and change it all now. It was done and now he must reap the consequences.

"I'm helping some of his friends," Toron added. He still had the old data crystal on him, the one containing Valkas' message. Part of that message had clearly been intended for their mother, and so he pulled it from his pocket then before he slipped it into Vikira's hands. "When you get a chance, watch that. Some things might make more sense. Right now, though, we need to leave."

"I am not leaving." His mother shook her head, vehement in her desire to stay. Her eyes flitted over to somewhere past Toron's shoulder, and the General's voice sounded from the doorway:

"If she does not wish to come, Lieutenant, then we cannot make her." Grand General Masrak stepped into the room then, and Toron spun about to face him. His expression was serious, the gravity of their situation well understood. "I would recommend she leave, but again, it is not something we can force on her. Unless you intend on rendering her unconscious and carrying her out of here."

Toron had briefly considered it, but he had been quick to throw those notions away. He was not about to punch out his own mother.

"Whatever is going on, I am sure you can handle it," Vikira said, and she set her warm and friendly eyes upon her son. Toron could practically feel her slipping away from him then, and he again clasped her hands in his own. She took one away from him, using it to gently caress his face, fingers trailing lightly along the pair of stubby bony protrusions at his chin. "You need to go your own way, Toron. You cannot have me dominating your life."

"Mother, you're ill…"

"And I will deal with that illness on my own." His mother was quick to interrupt, and she placed one finger on his lips, a sign to be quiet. "You are in trouble. I will not be a burden on you any longer."

"We need to go, Lieutenant." The General again, speaking from behind him. Toron did not want to leave, not if it meant he would never see his mother again. He knew that was what would happen, that if he left her here and went to Vargania, he would never see her alive again. He had always made sure to be there for her when his father and his brother had not been able to; that had become a full-time occupation these past several months. And now she was outright telling him to go, and Toron was not sure whether to find either relief or distress in that. A bit of both, really.

"Watch what's on that crystal," he said, his voice wavering. He could not think of much else to say, other than 'goodbye'. And he did not want to say that, as if saying it would indeed make this the last time he saw his mother.

"You need to go, Toron. Know that I love you and I am so very proud of you." Vikira planted a light kiss on his cheek then, holding him close for a moment, their arms enveloping one another. Toron swallowed back the emotions that threatened to spill out of him then, hardly something he wanted coming out in front of the Grand General. And then, suddenly his mother had released him, her expression hardening.

"Get moving, soldier," she barked, channelling some of her late husband's military-attitude. She looked to the General, offering him a smirk. "You take care of him, Voross."

"Of course, ma'am."

Toron started after the General, who was out of the room at that moment. Pausing at the doorway, Toron turned to look back at his mother, a woman who had been there whenever he had needed her, had provided the kind of love only a mother could. She gave him a warm smile, but the look in her eyes was clear: go and do what you have to. Do not worry about me.

Turning back around, Toron walked on. He left his mother and his childhood home behind him, and instead strode headlong into the dangerous unknown.


The Cassalis home was like many others on the rolling hills of the capital's outer suburbs, with a large garden and whitewashed brick walls. This at least suggested a much older style of design, yet it was complemented with more modern window fittings and roof cladding. Automated sprinklers kept the lush gardens well-watered and Supreme Commander Rila Cassalis, at this particular hour, found herself attempting to wile away the time in her bedroom on the upper floor.

With the blinds drawn, the room was encased in a greyish gloom, some small slivers of sunlight finding their way in around each fitting. Cassalis sat on the edge of the bed, one hand at her the large bulge of her stomach, once again sensing a kick from her unborn son. In the low light, her greyish-green scales carried a subtle gleam, and her orange eyes stood out with a cold starkness. Behind her, someone else dozed in the bed, specifically her young aide and Lieutenant, Narsa Norrask. The bedsheets were rumpled and bunched up, with most of them having been pulled to the Lieutenant's side. He was an attractive young male at that, and he had been eager to please the Supreme Commander he had found himself in service to. He was not of the rank and strength of Jarvok Hosva, but he was capable enough. Seducing him had been so easy as to be almost insulting to Cassalis' confident wiles.

Her terminal was beeping. It was over on the desk ahead of her, against the wall. Cassalis rose to her feet, picking up a loose-fitting robe that was bunched up on the floor near her feet. Covering her modesty, she hit a button and accepted the call. She watched as the display in front of her shifted, now showing the irritatingly smug face of High Protector Tarva Garall.

"Supreme Commander." Tarva noticed her choice of outfit, or lack thereof, and smirked. "Enjoying your time at home, I see?"

"What do you want, Tarva?" Cassalis had no patience left for the young upstart's remarks. "You wouldn't be calling if it was not important."

"I am calling, dear Aunt, because it has come to my attention that there has been a serious security leak within the medical corps. It seems someone who worked for the previous administration got hold of some sensitive information, the kind that could severely damage my standing."

"Did they?" This was news to Cassalis. Behind her, Lieutenant Norrask stirred from slumber. He rolled over to look her way, watching the exchange and no doubt heeding every word. For the aide to the Supreme Commander, knowledge was most definitely power. Cassalis did not care if he overheard the conversation. He would not be in her house, let alone her bed, if she did not want him to hear her business.

"I have already despatched my security forces to deal with the problem," Tarva continued. "We believe that Grand General Voross Masrak is involved in this attempt to conspire against me, as is one of your protégés."

"My protégés?" Again, this was news to her. She had also been unaware of having any so-called 'protégés'. Subordinates, certainly, but no one she would consider a sort of 'ward'.

"Lieutenant Toron Kavellan," Tarva said. "He served under you on the Sword of Calshara."

"Of course." She had not seen Toron for months. He was a good officer and a natural leader, but he had put his career on hold to care for his ailing mother. Cassalis was also one of the few people who knew of exactly what his brother, Valkas, had become, along with that human, Joanne Bowers. It was a secret she had ensured remained buried, one that not even Tarva was fully aware of.

"They have slipped away for the time being, and I fear that they have the information I mentioned. You made assurances that my position was safe." Now Tarva's tone changed, adopting a more menacing edge. Cassalis narrowed her eyes when she heard this, detecting a threat behind her nephew's words. "I want this problem dealt with. My UPD forces are on the task, but as this is partly your mess, I want you to help clean it up."

"My mess?"

"Information that should have been erased completely was instead uncovered and copied by the previous High Protector's personal doctor," Tarva explained. "You assured me that all evidence pertaining to the truth of my predecessor's death was destroyed. I would like to know what happened for this to not be the case." He allowed these words to hang in the air between them for a time, his implications obvious. Cassalis said nothing, even though she knew why the information in question had been left intact: it had been her insurance against her power-hungry nephew. She had propelled him to the position of High Protector, and as such, she had ensured that she had the means to tear him down as well. She would have to look into the security at the archives, as a doctor coming upon this information and making off with it suggested a severe problem in that department.

And Toron Kavellan? She had always liked him. She had even considered bedding him, much like the Lieutenant behind her, but Toron had always kept respectable distance, as if he had known any intimate involvement with a woman such as her would end poorly for him. She could have advanced his career, promoted him, yet Toron had apparently been uninterested. And now he was getting mixed up with conspirators, with Grand General Masrak among them. Masrak was a hero in the eyes of many, and certainly not someone who could be easily painted as a traitor. He was a man people would rally around.

"They may be headed to Vargania," Tarva added. "We have had ongoing problems with the government there. I intend on purging what I can of it, covertly, but it seems Masrak and his friends intend to force my hand. You may need to go to that colony to arrest Masrak and the others."

"Arrest them?" Cassalis was surprised to hear this. Tarva nodded his head, even though the malicious grin that formed at his mouth suggested something other than due process for the conspirators.

"If practical," Tarva answered. "I have a contingent of UPD officers you can utilise. I need you to take care of this quickly and cleanly, otherwise it is both of us who will be made to suffer the consequences."

"But Tarva, in my condition…" She had been about to throw his earlier words back at him, the way he had dismissed her capabilities simply because she was weeks away from giving birth. She knew that a woman in her state was not fit for duty, yet this situation was not one she could see Tarva solving without making things worse. She would have to see to it herself, something that only made her worry over the status of her unborn son.

"You will have plenty of help," Tarva interrupted. "Sort this out, Commander. For both our sakes. You have my full support." Whether this last part was genuine, Cassalis could not tell. Before she could say anything in response, Tarva disconnected, leaving her staring at a black screen for a moment whilst she considered what she had been ordered to do. Slowly, she rose from the seat at her desk, turning around to face the concerned-looking young Lieutenant sitting up in her bed.

"Is everything all right, Commander?" He asked her.

"Do not play coy with me, Norrask. You heard every word of that exchange. Everything is not all right." The Lieutenant's jacket was hanging off the end of the bed. She picked it up and threw it at him. "Now get out of here. I'll need you to tend to my usual duties in my absence."

"To Vargania, Commander?" Lieutenant Norrask fumbled with his jacket for a moment, his dark blue scales glinting in the dim light.

"Yes. Last place I want to go, but there it is." She had a feeling she was going hate the trip. Vargania was a backwater compared to the other colonies. The people there were different, they had different ways and perceived home-world natives such as herself with distrust. Still, they had to be brought in line, and Cassalis could at least get some satisfaction from putting a bunch of rural backwoods farmers under her heel.


Vikira Kavellan had given family life her all. She loved both her sons dearly, had loved her late husband much the same. Sure, Cordan Kavellan had been a hard man, but he had meant well. When the two of them had been young, Cordan had been significantly more idealistic, a young Captain who had courted this schoolteacher and won over her heart. His parents had wanted him to marry a military girl, yet Cordan had had his sights set on this modest educator from an otherwise average household with little to no military honours behind it.

Vikira sat at the dining table of the family home, a home that had become shockingly empty. She had watched the recording left to her by Valkas and had attempted to come to terms with it, in the twenty or so minutes that had passed since she had viewed it. Although it did not make complete sense to her, she knew for a fact that her youngest son had made something of himself, had done more than she had ever thought he would. More than most people would in a lifetime.

Toron would do much the same, she thought. He was doing what he felt he must do, what he considered to be the 'right' thing. If that meant working against a corrupt regime, then so be it. She wished she could be there to see Toron succeed, yet even if it were not for the security officers she knew were on their way, her illness would see her gone before this year was out.

She had a few old items before her. A handful of photographs, embossed on a sturdy and flexible material that prevented any significant wear. And a couple of old recordings, including one taken many years before of her marriage to Cordan. And there were photos of both her boys, going as far back as when they were little more than infants. Toron had been the older brother, and he had been there to look out for Valkas throughout their childhood. It had been a shame to see them drift apart over the years, and it had been equally painful to have them finally leave home. And now both of them were gone, heading onto different paths. She was alone, and in a way, this was how she had envisioned the end.

The UPD officers did not bother to knock. They forced the front door open, blasting open the lock with a carefully placed plasma shot. They poured in, clad in black night-raid gear, faces hidden under helmets and visors and flexible black masks. They were lead by a female, her features hidden under a golden-yellow visor that concealed her eyes, rendering her faceless. Her uniform was lighter than the rest, denoting her position as an officer, silver trimlines along the shoulders and armour vest.

Vikira turned to face them as they charged into the dining room. The lead officer stopped before her, the others fanning out to search the house. Vikira gave the officer a welcoming smile.

"Good afternoon," she said. "If you're looking for my son, he's long gone. If you'd care to stay a while, I could make us all dinner?" Her innocent suggestion seemed to linger between her and the officer. No reply was forthcoming.