A/N: More stuff. Enjoy.


Chapter 2

"...and I am waiting/for a rebirth of wonder..." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


The halls were silent as they usually were this hour of the morning-despite that almost everyone was in them, heading to their respective destinations. It was not time for socializing; it was time to get the day's work started.

Carefully maneuvering the halls he knew so well the robotic simian (an unsolvable mystery even to himself) made his way toward the large chamber he would spend the morning in. It was a very simple room with very little in the way of decoration; the cyborg thought that the unique architecture was the only decoration it really needed anyway. However, it was cluttered up with his own workings and studies which took away the cold, isolated feel to it.

He picked up where he had left off yesterday-carefully studying the instructional book before attempting his own repetition of the procedure.

The loud explosion that followed was simultaneously surprising and expected. Surprising to the now singe furred blue monkey and expected by all his colleagues who knew how he liked to "add" to previously proven methods.

The smoke vents opened automatically once they detected the large chemical exhaust and the door opened, offering an escape for the scientist. He came out coughing.

"Another 'improvement,' Professor Gibson?" one of his teaching assistants inquired with a knowing look.

"Yes-yes. I suppose I should have recognized how combustible fluoride would become when left with a radical. Back to the drawing board I suppose."

"First, don't you think you should shower? Then get to your class? It's almost noon."

"What? My, my, time does get away from me. You're quite right, thank you."

Mr. Hal Gibson took off toward the emergency showers passing the rather large portrait of an obviously tall man in the schools traditional blue robe. The man was smiling out of the picture, a proud smile that only came about from achieving some long sought after goal. His face was long and lean with very prominent cheek bones-but his eyes captured your attention the most. They were different. You couldn't say how exactly, but they were-there was something in them. Gibson had passed this portrait hundreds of times in his years; he didn't spare it a glance now, he knew those eyes were watching him anyway.

He arrived in class ten minutes late (as usual) and immediately dove into the fascinating world of microbiology and concepts so over the heads of his students that they didn't even feign interest anymore. They stared at him blankly, dearly wishing they had listened to their friends about this particular professor and wondering if it was too late to decide to become a painter instead. Or maybe a clown-quite possibly a painter of clowns or a clown who paints. Anything would do.

The students sighed in collective relief when he was interrupted part way through to sign for something or other.

"Couldn't this wait?" he asked sternly while looking over the form to make sure he was getting what he thought he'd ordered (you could never be to careful...).

"I tried to tell him, but the guy insisted that he was busy and it was either sign for it now, or he'd just leave with it. He is an... interesting fellow."

"Hmmm," Gibson responded, not really paying attention. He scribbled his name at the bottom of the form before handing it back to the being.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, the nomenclature of aromatic compounds..." The students groaned in despair.

The assistant remained for a moment longer. He really wanted the professor to ask about the delivery guy, but the universe was not in the mood to grant his wishes. He walked out of the classroom and faced the red cybernetic monkey (identical to the blue one he had just left).

"Here you are," he gave the paperwork back to the pilot who looked it over before signing it himself.

"Um..." the assistant tried again to somehow bring up the subject of the connection between the pilot and his boss.

"Look-I don't know anything about where I come from or why I was built, okay?" the simian told him, obviously annoyed. "So you can stop gawking. Now, here's the receipt and have a nice day."

With that the second cybernetic monkey that the assistant had ever seen in his life stalked (practically ran) off.

"I don't get paid enough for this..." he finally decided; he went back to his research anyway.

~8~

Stars began to return to their normal rounded-looking shape as the vessel came out of hyper-space. The pilot checked his bearings once again to make sure he was in the right place before turning off the autopilot (which he preferred never to use, unless he had to) and navigating toward the large hovering space-center several parsecs away from him.

So far the trip had been a breeze-not even a stray comet or space wind had touched him. Maybe he'd finally lost them. Hey, a guy could hope...

Docking was a cinch but getting the right dockers was the hard part (it always was, why didn't the guys ever think of this crucial detail in advance? It'd save a lot of time and energy). The cargo was...precious and privately ordered, so not just any old docker could take it. Who knows what that kind of chaos that could lead to?

Of course the fact that he was a bit... unique as a being didn't help matters. Everyone was always asking questions and wanting to stare at him. Usually it wasn't that bad on space stations, because they see a lot weirder things pass through, but this one looked like it was going to be one of the difficult ones.

"So...where you from?" the worker asked; staring at him from the corner of his eyes while pretending to check his clipboard to make sure everything was in order.

"Nowhere," the pilot responded; he was keeping a careful eye on three especially "fragile" crates being unloaded.

"Really? An 'ows that?"

"I'm a freelancer-I don't have a home," he said with as much inflection as his previous answer had contained-which wasn't much. He'd had this conversation far to many times to be bothered by it now. Besides, that one docker didn't seem to grasp the concept of walking very well and he was holding one of the "special" crates.

"Oh-uh," the supervisor was flustered. "Do you-er-do you know where you were born-uh built-um-"

"No." The red cybernetic simian bit out the answer just as that one docker finally tripped over his own feet and began dropping the "fragile" crate down the long plank way. SPRX-77 immediately activated his transformers and shot out a magnetic beam, catching the metallic crate full of less-than-legal substances and held it precariously just inches above the floor.

The rest of the workers stared at him in amazement for a moment before rushing over to try and take the crate. Sprx ignored them and finished setting it with the others as carefully as possible. He shot a meaning glare toward the clumsy docker who was still on his stomach gaping at the scene.

The supervisor gave a low whistle. "That was some save. Thanks."

"Tell your boss to get better handy-men next time. A jar like that could have blown this whole place to particles."

"Er-of course. Sorry about that-Um, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. Names SPRX-77, but call me Sprx."

"Yes, well, nice to meet you. You know, I'm surprised you don't have saws."¨

"Why would I have saws?" he said with such a tone, accompanied with the stare that let the supervisor know just how little the pilot believed his mental capabilities were. In fact, the worker could have gone on a tirade about how stars were actually glowing bugs called angels trapped in the void of space and were having a dance party out of it, and he would not have received the amount of disbelief and questions-about-his-state-of-mind from the pilot that were held in this look.

"Well, becaus-"

"'ey boss! We're all done!" one of the dockers called out. Indeed, he was right, all the specified crates had been unloaded and stacked neatly into their respective piles, awaiting to be delivered to their proper owners.

"All right. If you'll just sign the confirmation slip?" The supervisor proffered the clipboard to Sprx. Sprx scribbled something that might have been a signature but just as well might have been a cartoon of a bunny playing jacks.

"Nice doing business with ya," the cyborg said in such a way that let the being know that it had not in fact been a pleasure to work with him at all. Before he could respond back the pilot had already boarded his ship and started the un-docking process.

"Hiya!" a new voice chimed behind the supervisor, startling him into a fit.

"Oh-Otto, it's you."

"Yep. Whatcha doin'?"

"We just received a... private shipment of parts and energy sources. Would you mind opening that pile over there?"

"Sure thing!"

"Oh, and Otto?"

"Yeah?"

"Um... are there-Well do you know if-What I mean to say is-How many of you are there?"

Otto gave him a lopsided stare of incomprehension for a moment before rebounding into his usual grin and chuckling as if he'd just heard a great joke. "That's ridiculous. There's only one me."

The supervisor stared at him for a moment before deciding against pursuing the subject. The alarms started blaring then anyway, letting everyone know that the space shield was going up and the ship was un-docking.

~8~

Sprx had just completed detaching from the space center when the unthinkable happened: he got shot at. Not from close range, but the ships were closing in fast.

Thanks to his renowned great timing skills his shield would be nonoperational for the next five minutes-not that that mattered if they continued to shoot at him with such accuracy, he'd be space particles long before then. So he did the only thing that made any sense: he shot back.

Now, being still in the midst of space center traffic, movement was severely limited. That had never really stopped him before, so he began to weave in and out of the port traffic in highly illegal maneuvers that would have put the Intergalactic Space Academy Fleet to shame-or so he told himself.

That did not seem to deter his attackers though. They were out for blood. They shot toward his left engine, trying to get him out towards open space. He decided to drop at a 85 degree angle instead. He then did a barrel roll and retaliated fire before swerving to avoid a large Resource Ship.

Something thumped within his cargo bay and he cursed, remembering that he still had "fragile" substances within it that would not take to kindly to so much sloshing about. He steadied his ship before scanning the area for the perfect place to jump. There was one-but it was currently just behind the two vicious looking ships that were aiming at him.

"Cor," he breathed, not seeing too many options. If he actually tried to fight off these guys, he ran the risk of taking a hit to either an engine or the bay area which would most likely cause a chain reaction that involved him turning into burnt space toast. If he kept avoiding them he ran the risk of jostling the "fragile" cargo too much which would end the same as the first option. There really wasn't an option three...

Another well aimed laser shot him in the side, directly above the engines. Alarms began ringing: "Warning. Warning. Leak in Engine Room. Please turn off all extra power supplies."

"Oh shut up," he told the alarm, not really in a mood to deal with it.

"Incoming Transmission. Please Hold," the computerized voice alerted him just before his viewing screen crackled to life with the one being he didn't want to see on it.

"SPRX-77," the slimy worm-lizard-thing purred (if slimy-worm-lizard-things could purr). "We've been looking everywhere for you. Zaaba was very disappointed when you seemed to have disappeared from Quadrant Centra."

"Now, Lenny," Sprx smiled back at him in the same faux-pleasantry tone. "I'm sure you're exaggerating a bit. Zaaba knows how busy I am-Surely he wasn't that surprised."

"Ah, but you left without any good-byes. Not very courteous you know."

"Well I had pressing matters to attend to. Zaaba's a busy guy himself-I'm sure he understands."

"What Zaaba understand is that you skipped out with a rather large shipment still unpaid for. He's asked us to kindly collect it from you. In fact, Zaaba's put a price on your head, so large that every bounty hunter in the galaxy will be looking for you. I'm lucky I found you first."

"Ah, well I'm afraid that we're at an-what do they call it? An impasse; seeing as how I don't have it. Maybe he was mistaken?"

"No. Zaaba would not be mistaken with such an important matter. Now if you give it to me, I might forget I found you..."

"Well-you see Lenny, I don't have it with me...And I ain't paying for something I never took-or any extra for your troubles either. In fact you both can go to-"

"Then I'm afraid, SPRX-77, that we are going to have to take the only other valuable thing equivalent to the price."

"Oh?" Sprx had managed to get his shields up and drift just enough..." And what's that?" Wait for it...

"Your life." With that statement the two ships began opening fire once again.

Sprx took the brunt of the lasers before aligning just right for the hyper jump. As soon as he was relatively able to jump he wasted no time in doing so-even if it would kill the rest of that one engine and probably deplete his fuel since he hadn't been able to restock here like he'd planned. Oh well, life was full of uncertainties and what was wrong with a bit of adventure every now and then?

~8~

The supervisor and his crew kept a sensible distance as the green cyborg started to haphazardly climb the heap of crates – not seeming to either grasp or care that one wrong movement would paint the walls with his insides. Standing on top of the cargo, he smiled proudly as if he'd ascended a perilous mountain range.

That was Otto - every little menial task could be turned into an adventure, every moment of the monotonous cycle of sleep-work-survive most beings slouched through known as 'life' could be turned into an amusing escapade.

Otto extracted his saws and looked at the crates he was about to assault with a both comforting and manic gleam in his black orbs – like the doctor who goes 'This won't hurt a bit' before he merrily snaps the plastic gloves on and shoves tiny metal rods into random orifices. The simian mechanic started slashing at the metal boxes – seemingly at random – however, after a while the sides fell neatly off, revealing the goods within.

A crew member passed by with the contents of some of the 'private' shipment on a hover-trolley, plus another trolley for the green monkey who sprang up in order to inspect the merchandise.

"Oh, cool!" Otto exclaimed happily, fondling the inch-thick plastic wrapping inside which an energy core rested. "These will really pack a punch!"

The docker sent him a nervous, agreeing look - hoping that the meddling fingers of the cyborg wouldn't result in a demonstration of the destructive ability of said energy sources.

"I wish I could afford stuff like this," Otto wistfully sighed. "It would be perfect."

"What for?" the docker asked, despite his better judgement. His curiosity overcame the initial 'just forget it and walk away' urge Otto's gadgets seemed to instill in people.

"Oh, I'd make an' electric toothbrush."

"... And you'd want an extremely unstable proton core for that?" the docker asked, weak-minded as he was.

"Well, no. It'd be for the grill component. How else would I get it to barbeque Velarian Rat Monster flesh to a sunny, crispy colour?"

"Yer toothbrush... would have a grill feature?"

"Yeppers. So's when you're done eating, you can brush your breath minty fresh again!"

The docker tried not to visualize the smouldering results should the user forget to switch between features and just helped Otto stack the packages on the trolley and handed him the control remote for the hover-trolley. Then he did what he should have done from the start – forgot it and walked away.

Otto started to hum and walked off with the cargo designated for the workshop he apprenticed at. Or not so much 'apprenticed' as he did all the actual work and his superintendent blew all the free time he'd suddenly got on his hands on space soap operas and snooker in the office.

It was win-win really; the orders were done in record-time and as long as Otto kept the collateral damaged to his own section of the garage he could stash away spare parts and fiddle around with his own project on company time.

Walking the halls of the station, one was presented with enough variations in species and race to compose a three-hundred paper anthropology report and still have footnotes to add. Tall or small, carbon-based or consisting of gas-clouds, humanoid or crustacean – all had passed through with motives of varying degrees of shadiness and yet the green simian cyborg seemed to be the only one of his kind. As far as he knew, anyway.

Otto entered the workshop, plopped off most of the cargo in storage and headed for his lodgings with the rest. Behind the stained glass windows separating the office from the workshop Otto's boss was lamenting the poor choices made concerning the romantic partners of the 'Young and the Brainless'.

"I'm ba-ack!" Otto hollered.

"Oh Leonore, why can't you see how wrong he is for you," the voice of his superior sobbed through the open office door. "Toby only loves you for your first prize zero-gravity poodles."

"I'm sure she'll go back to Bryan any day now," Otto consoled and dropped a box of parts on his workbench. "He can't stay in that coma forever, right?"

The door slammed shut.

Otto shrugged and began adjusting the stiffness of the hairs in the toothbrush. Maybe, if modified just right, he could have it double as a grill cleanser. Or a toilet brush. Maybe both!

Later, nobody really knew how the mechanic managed to obliterate one sixth of the station with a pack of toothbrushes and a recipe for cleaning liquid. Nobody really cared to find out either as there were more important things to discover - like how to grow back excessive amounts of skin and body parts.

Indeed, Otto knew how to make every day an adventure. Even if you dearly wished he wouldn't.

~8~

Ducking and rolling and running until her lungs hurt, a very similar creature was on an adventure of her own. She had to reach the summit of the mountain before dawn-and avoid every other high level student who was there to slow her down without actually fighting back. And it was raining-which just made her stupid bright yellow fur stick out all the more. Stupid rain. Stupid fur. Stupid training exercises. Stupid rules. Stupid everything.

If she wasn't in such a hurry she could jus-

No. No that's what this exercise was for; it is designed to help strengthen her patience and calm that strong, irrational, overpowering part of herself. If she couldn't do this then she was a failure as a warrior.

Warriors are centered. Warriors never rush into battle. Warriors are stronger than their emotions.

This warrior has had just about enough, she thought as she once again had to dodge a projectile that was obviously coming from the cluster of trees to her left as well as another student who decided they wanted to test just how close they could get before she attacked back. She liked her personal space dang it.

She managed to gather herself enough not to attack the little bugger (although she made the mental note to request him as her sparring partner for the next day). She was maybe about a furlong from the top-if she squinted she could just make out Master Offay standing there. She was going to make it.

Just in time too-the rain was letting up and she could see how light the sky was compared to just a few hours ago.

She sped up despite her heaving chest and aching limbs-she could rest when she was through. A warrior does not concede to the lies of the body; their mind was stronger and their will was greater; the body could go on long after it demands to stop.

She was almost there.

A snap! alerted her to a final assault and she reacted on pure instinct.

She whirled toward the noise with her clenched fist extended, solidly connecting with her opponents face. She didn't stop to stare at her handy work-she had to keep going. She sprinted to Offay's side, with a few minutes to spare before the sun began to peak over the horizon.

"I...I di-I did it, Master," she beamed up at him, panting heavily while she coerced her limbs to keep standing a little bit longer.

"Did you now?" He questioned with an enigmatic look on his face. "I thought the task was to make it to the top without attacking your fellow students."

"Master?" She inquired. "I didn't attack anyone."

"Then what do you call that?" He pointed to where the alien lay, holding his offal orifice and glaring at her.

"I-I...I didn't attack him. I was simply trying to-I didn't mean to-I wasn't trying to hit him."

"None the less, you inflicted harm upon him. I am sorry, Nova; you may have made it to the destination in due time, but you have failed the task."

"No! No, no, no, nonono! I got up here in time without deliberately attacking anyone! This isn't fair. I beat this challenge, Master. You know I did. I'll do it again, if you want."

"I'm sorry," the old Master began to trek down the mountain at a leisurely pace; he stopped to help the student up before sending one last pitying glance at his star pupil.

Nova felt on fire. It's not fair, she repeated to herself.

She turned to face the majestic sunrise which had painted the sky a bold splash of red, speckled with golds and oranges and purples while the deep greens of the surrounding jungle tops where revealed.

She looked at it all and gave a mighty scream of rage. She dared it all to defy her ever again.

A few final rain drops hitting her face with a slight sizzle was her only response.

~8~

A true Mystic is devoted to the Order. A true Mystic is diligent in his studies. A true Mystic is focused in body and spirit. A true Mystic doesn't care that his friend is wasting time on an insignificant female constantly badgering him for attention.

... Well, three out of four was acceptable.

Mandarin relaxed his meditative pose but fixed a tense stare on the figures of Antauri and Helen who were sitting outside in the gardens, yet again squandering Private Hour on meaningless chatter. Really, sometimes Antauri did make too much of an effort in order to please their Masters. ... At least Mandarin hoped that was the reason his fellow student spent so much time with that shape-shifting nag.

Doubt was beginning to seep into him, though, which frustrated the orange monkey greatly. Antauri and he had great potential; they were meant to perform great deeds that would affect the entire universe provided they incessantly honed their skills and concentrated on what was important. Sitting on a bench pointing out quaint shapes in the clouds hardly classified as 'important'.

They had to focus. Focus and train to ready themselves for their cosmic responsibilities. Even more so now that Master Zan had suggested that Mandarin was destined for undertakings far greater than what any other being could hope for.

Destined. Especially Chosen. He could be the One to lead the course of Fate, to shepherd the Universe into glorious ages of peace and order. With power and knowledge, he could turn the tides in war and deem the unworthy to perish, while the valiant and skilled would be allowed to prosper. He could will Chaos into Cosmos.

Master Zan had let them know of others such as themselves - kin, family - worthy of Antauri and Mandarin's leadership and guidance. They were fated to stand together with Mandarin as the leader and protect the Universe against itself. Together, they could bring about his envisioned age of strength and discipline.

However, it would need constant vigilance and never-ending preparation as there would always be somebody stronger, more agile, and more powerful. Any diversion from such devotion to perfection would be fatal. It only proved to underline the absurdity of this companion arrangement. It was not only distracting Antauri, but Mandarin as well – he was both worried for and aggravated with his friend for being so easily led astray.

Ludicrous. And unfitting for a true Mystic. Mandarin would never let any mistress lure him away from his obligation. He would see to it that Destiny would be his only bed-mate.