Author Note:

Hi guys/gals and welcome back. Did that 24 hour hiccup freak you out as much as it did me? I mean, I had just finished writing this chapter last night when I tried to upload it, only to have the "cannot connect to server" error page come up, right out of the blue. But anyways, the hiccup is over now, and you can sit back and enjoy this latest chapter.

If you have anything to say, go for it. I love hearing back from y'all, so don't shy yourself out.

/

/

The agents of Central Intelligence were always peculiar clients.

They paid well, and the most they ask in return, other than the services for which they paid, is discretion. It's very dull most times, when they just need you for redundancy purposes, but on those rare occasions when it wasn't, it was always fascinating, and often frightening as well.

This was one of those times, and Captain Otto Jäeger wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

The agent, Cooney, had the privateer vessel Schwarzwind layover at Farbound station for some time, prepared to depart at a moment's notice. He wouldn't say what for, just that "If we need you, we'll let you know." As it came to pass, he let Otto know, and the agent had a curious collection of tag-alongs with him. They were anxious, restless, some may even say 'shellshocked', but not Otto. The odd group was dominated by a relentless driving intent, and a suppressed sense of dread they tried so very hard not to acknowledge. Perhaps they wouldn't say outright what their purposes were, but it doesn't take a genius to conjecture a plausible scenario.

There'd been talk of the escalation of pirate raids, with the Sojourn gone missing, and now the Amity –the surviving refugees were nothing if not vocal. Something out there went wrong with a mission, horribly wrong; that much was evident in these ragtag men. And so the agent called upon privateer Captian Otto Jäeger and Schwarzwind to help set it right, or at least pick up the broken pieces.

Whatever the case, the agent and his restless cohorts gave Jäeger a set of coordinates to take them to: Venom. Specifically, it was an area of gravitationally stability a short ways beyond the orbit of Venom, its outer Lagrange point. When asked what he expected to find there, Cooney simply answered, "I don't know, but be prepared for the worst."

So prepared for the worst he did.

Schwarzwind exited the warp jump at complete combat readiness; shields up, weapons primed, crew at battle-stations, Captain on the bridge.

"Situation?" Jäeger prompted to one of his bridge crew. The Captain was a slick-furred otter, dressed in a maritime-style overcoat.

The view outside Schwarzwind's bridge viewport offered little. Venom's outer Lagrange point landed itself at the exact point where the planet eclipsed the sun. There was no sunlight, no other light at all besides the fickle glimmer of distant stars, and the eerie white glow creeping around the darkened planet Venom, courtesy of the location's eternal eclipse.

He didn't like it.

"There's nothing here." the crewman at the sensory station informed, "I'm not picking up any signal transmissions, heat emissions or..." he stopped, and puzzled over his instruments.

"What is it?" Jäeger questioned.

"Something metallic, with a scan profile of a small to medium sized ship." the crewman answered, "It's cold, but seems intact enough –no debris or signs of gaseous discharges."

It stank of trouble, and it was the sort he'd come to expect from Intelligence. No doubt that's what Cooney was after out here.

"Bring us closer, and see if we can get some light on the damned thing."

"Of course–"

"Keep on alert though." Jäeger reminded, "I've seen this tactic used before as an ambush."

As per the Captain's orders, Schwarzwind made the approach on the drifting object, still at full battle-readiness. Aside from the thrum of thrusters, there was little change outside, nothing visual to suggest a sense of movement. Even when the ship's searchlights were activated, there was no change. With nothing for the light to strike and bounce off, it makes shining even the most brilliant light into the darkness seem hopelessly futile.

Then it happened.

A gray shape emerged in the distance, advancing upon the Schwarzwind while it remained completely still. Captain Jäeger squinted at the expanding shape, then his eyes shot wide open when he realized–

"Gods alive..." he exclaimed on a ghostly breath, "I know that ship."

It was the mercenary vessel Cerberus.

/

恐怖、不確実性、疑
Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt

/

The Cooneys, Scott Aberdeen, Pigma Dengar, James McCloud and Peppy Hare had gathered outside the Schwarzwind's primary airlock, along with Captian Otto Jäeger and a few crewmen. Some of them were openly armed; James, Scott and Peppy most obviously. Pigma and Rachele toted some bulkier equipment with them, including a portable power supply, interface override, and other assorted mechanical and electrical tools. Rick however carried only a cold, stoic demeanor –thinking, calculating, considering, and silently worrying.

Captian Jäeger was off to the side, talking quietly with some of his crew, a few of which were at the airlock terminal. A few moments later, after a brief exchange with the crew, the Captain turned away to the gathered party, "The docking umbilical is secured and pressurized, you may proceed aboard Cerberus." Jäeger told them, "I can send more in with you if–"

"That won't be necessary," Rick interrupted, then saw a small group of Jäeger's crew, armed and prepped for combat, looking a little disappointed now. "But, have them guard this entrance – nobody comes through here that isn't us without our say-so. Keep your medic on standby too, we may need their help."

"Certainly."

The Captain gestured his eager crewmen toward the airlock entrance, where they took up positions. Once they were there, Jäeger gave a curt nod to the one at the terminal, and the airlock's heavy door split open with a hiss of pneumatic pistons and a metallic grunt of sliding metal. He turned once more to the restless party, and beckoned them into the airlock.

When all six had entered the decompression chamber, the door closed behind them with a solid clank as the locking mechanisms sealed the airlock.

"Give my regards to Captain Aries when you find him." Jäeger's voice called out over the speakers inside the chamber, "Viel Glück."

The airlock's outer door parted open, into the long snaking docking umbilical stretched out between the Schwarzwind and Cerberus, and the party proceeded forward. The passage was narrow, only wide enough for two people to stand side-by-side, and it wasn't a straight shot. It snaked gently up, making a slight turn between its two ends, yet at no point did it feel like they were walking uphill or down. Grav-pads in the floor kept their feet on the ground, but they were inconsistent; at some points it felt light, and others pulled down hard. The fact that the only thing separating the tube from the vacuum of space was a couple airtight layers of laminated fabric didn't help the uneasiness. Yet as unsettling as the crossing was, the docking umbilical was the only practical way to board Cerberus while it remained dormant, with its hangar bay sealed.

The party soon reached Cerberus's main airlock on the other end. Pigma and Rachelle were up front with the equipment needed to activate the airlock's manual override. With no power from inside the ship to work the heavy outer door's mechanisms, the only way to get it open was with an external power source.

In a few minutes' time, Cerberus's outer airlock door grumbled open into its decompression chamber – very similar to the one they exited from on the other end.

Nobody had spoken the entire time. They knew what needed to be done, knew the risks, and need not bother voicing concerns or asking questions. Anything that could've been asked would already have an answer, and anything that didn't would find its answer aboard Cerberus. But now the verbal silence was broken when Scott activated his headset, and uttered a anxious phrase into the microphone.

"This be Scott."

There was no response from the headset's speaker – nothing other than the faint hiss and crackle of background noise.

"Are you blokes there?"

"No good, man." Pigma said, looking up from his work at the inner airlock door, "The shipboard comm transceiver is gonna be down. They can't hear a damn thing, and neither can we."

Scott shook his head, scolding himself for being stupid, "Aye, right, I knew that."

The outer door of the airlock's decompression chamber grumbled shut behind the party, sealing them inside for the moment

"Once we're inside, we go to the mainframe. That's where Adrian's gonna be with his part of the key, and we can bring the ship back online... Yeah."
Pigma tried to sound optimistic, but it came out forced.

That's why nobody wanted to speak, nobody wanted to listen. Despite harboring a quiet hope for the best, they fully expected the worst. Talking about it only made everyone feel uncomfortable, made those hopes seem even more futile, and the worst that much more daunting. The awkward silences were wordlessly decided to be the least of the evils, and so they kept to themselves all but what was needed.

After a few more moments of Pigma and Rachelle's tinkering, the airlock's inner door ground open, into Cerberus's corridors.

The first thing that jumped out was the darkness. Emergency lighting was limited only to faintly glowing strips, outlining the edges of the corridor. It was enough to navigate the ship by, but not enough to clearly illuminate anything inside.

The next thing noticed was the air, how everyone's breath emerged from their lips in a quickly fading cloud of condensation. It was cold, so very cold, a stale chill that threatened to smother the life out of anyone who breathed it. Whether this was due to sheer coldness, or subnormal oxygen levels, or some combination – it was probably both.

Rick was the first to step into the darkness, looking up and down the black corridor, and then turned back to the party.
"Jim, Scott, you two take point." he directed, "Peppy, take the rear, make sure we're not followed.

/

/

Cold.

Wasn't always cold. Became cold, slowing down, cooling down. Now, not even cold anymore, just is.

How long? Easy enough to judge time, days and nights, measurable cycles, but not here, not in the veil, a shadow that never lifted. Barely even remember when it wasn't this, fading distant memory. It happened. Couldn't fight it. Can't fight it now – gone. Can't recall. Can't think. Nothing to think about. Tried. Failed.

One question then, just one.

Was it worth it?

. . .

Wait.

Somewhere here – far, but still here. A noise. A sound. At last.

The frozen icy silence – finally broken.

Someone's there. Someone made it. Someone came. But who?

Threat?

. . .

Yes. Threat.

Have to move, get up, can't stay here anymore.

Legs, arms, slow – tired. Eyes can't see – too dark.

Need weapon.

Get up.

Fight.

Survive.

/

/

It didn't make any sense.

Why the hell did they bolt out? Why did they shut the damn ship down? What could have possibly spooked them so bad that they'd activated the Lethe procedure? It was one bloody bloke, just one, even if he was Cerinian. And also, who was this Peppy chump? And what was he doing with Phoenix?

These were the thoughts that occupied Scott's restless mind as he led the party through Cerberus's darkened corridors, with only flashlight beams to light their way. He knew the way to Cerberus's computer mainframe, and was the most experience fighter in the group, making him the one best prepared to lead them through, no matter what threat waited for them. Rick seemed to think otherwise though, and pinned James McCloud with him.

There was no way Cooney would have trusted Scott to lead the way all my himself, not while he's so 'distressed' by the current situation. Like hell he was distressed! He was bloody angry and ready to act! He didn't need some cocksure greenhorn to babysit him and watch his back. He could handle himself just fine thank you very much. For that matter, this greenhorn was the one who nearly got himself killed doing something stupid, and Scott was the one who saved his arse!

Someone placed a hand on the terrier's shoulder.

"Scott–"

"What?" he shot back.

It came out angry, angrier than he meant, and realized his face had pinched into a snarling grimace. That was James by the voice. He couldn't see anything but his faint silhouette in this blasted dark, but it was easy enough to imagine the concerned look on his smug fox mug he must've given Scott at that moment.

He shook his head, grumbling to himself as he tried to loosen up, and looked up again.
"Just, what is it?"

"Look at this..."

Jame's flashlight beam, attached to his assault rifle's rail mount, panned along and illuminated the walls in this area. Scott knew this corridor, the mainframe was just a little ways further along. The walls here were never in spectacular shape to begin with, but he did notice several new dents, blaster scorch marks, and some broken fixtures. Given closer inspection, there even appeared to be a few fine drips of red here and there.

There's been fighting here.

Somebody behind Scott sniffed the air, and asked, "Can you smell that?" It was Rick.

Truth was, it was damn near impossible to smell anything in the chilly stale air. However, now that Rick had mentioned it, there did seem to be a subtle hint of foulness, lingering, festering.

"No..."

Scott had frozen in place. His handgun drooped down in one hand, and the flashlight trembled in his other, shining at something further down. He tarted moving forward, slowly, dragging each sluggish foot forward.

There was Malcolm Aries, slumped down with his back against the wall, eyes wide open and fuming with rage, but motionless. His throat had a ragged hole pierced through it, and from there a series rough dark streaks ran down his broad chest, all the way down to pool spread out on the metal floor panels: blood.

"Malcolm ye stupid, stubborn, daft old bastard!" Scott spat at the corpse's face, "What were ye doing? What were ye thinking? What forsaken madness drove ye out here?"

"Scott–"

"And what have ye got tae show for it now, eh?" Scott demanded from the dead ram, "What have ye bloody got?"

"Scott!"

"Piss off!"

* Crack! *

He whipped around and smashed the flashlight across Rick's face, making him reel away from the sudden blow clutching his battered muzzle. Scott stood there, panting, his breath heaving in and out, but irregular, either from enraged sobs or shivering from the cold. He didn't seem to care one way or the other, so lost in his fit of raging grief.

"Stay with us, Scott." Rachelle stepped forward, easing past her injured brother to confront Scott, "I know you're angry –we all are– but you have to keep you head, focus. There's nothing you can do for him anymore, and we–"

* Blam! *

"Augh– God– Dammit!"

A blaster shot ripped out from the darkness and struck Pigma, who staggered off clutching his side.

"Everybody down!" James ordered, taking control as he snapped into action mode.

He shoved up against the nearest wall, taking as much cover as he could, and sent his flashlight beam down the corridor to try and get a glimpse to who fired. There was a person-like shape, with an arm stretched straight out toward James–

* Blam! *

He barely ducked away before the shot was fired.

"Peppy!" James called out across the call, where the hare's silhouette took up a similar combat stance, "Load up with an EM charge and give us some covering fire!"

"You got it Jimmy!" he replied, and carried out the instructions.

"No, Scott! Wait!" Rachelle called out.

"Rraaaagh!"
Scott charged forward, faced contorted in a burning vengeful snarl, and he leapt spinning into the air. In another moment he flashed forward into darkness in a streak of pale blue, leaving the rest of the party behind.

* Blam! *

The hostile blaster shot didn't make it to the rest of the party, only a brief red glow down the corridor indicated where the shot landed. The ringing blaster shot was followed almost instantly by a solid thunk, the clatter of a weapon falling against the floor, and a flop of a body falling limp to the ground. There were more thumps after that, weaker ones, but one after another, again and again, each strike ringing and echoing through the cold metal corridors.

James and Peppy advanced forward toward the scene ahead, weary, and not sure what they'd see. In a few moments they found Scott hunched over the fallen figure, hammering his clenched fist into the other, again and again. There seemed to be a slick liquid glazed over Scott's knuckles, hard to see on his black fur, blood maybe? Then a limp arm fell to one side and into Jame's view: one with ghostly white fur, and spattered with dark red flecks.

James knew who this was; he didn't need to see his face, but he looked over Scott's shoulder anyway. The nameless wolf's face was a bloody, battered mess. Streaks of blood ran out his nose, and mouth, and a few wicked cuts at other places. One of his eyes was almost completely obscured by a puffed up bruise, showing nearly black under his pale fur.

James McCloud didn't do anything to stop it. The murdering coward deserved this treatment as far as he was concerned, and if it got some of that pent-up rage out of Scott's system in the process, all the better. Let the heartless bastard suffer a bit.

Peppy however had other ideas, and grabbed hold of Scott's blood-smeared fist before he could swing another blow.
"Hey. Easy there, he's had enough."

Scott glared back with burning eyes, wordlessly warning him that if he didn't let go, the next blow just might land in his face instead. Peppy didn't even flinch at it, gifted with a certain calmness that everybody else at the moment was desperately lacking. It might've been because he hadn't endured the recent hardships, or he simply was that cool under pressure, or both, it didn't matter that much.

In any case, that moment saw Scott ease down from boiling rage to simmering contempt, and that was enough to stay his bloodied hand. He stood up without a word, and stepped away from the scene, wringing his sore hand.

The helpless wolf moaned, or grunted, or coughed; something like that. Even after the onslaught, he was still conscious, but in a sluggish glazed-over stupor. Peppy bent down and checked his vitals; there's no way James would've done it, and Peppy was more on top of these practical things for the time being.

"He feels cold, his heat rate is way down, and irregular." he said with growing concern, "Forget the face-mash, this guy's about to kick it just from being to damn cold."
Peppy removed the jacket he'd been wearing, and draped it over the wolf to try and give him at least a little warmth.

Rick, Rachelle and Pigma joined the rest of the party there a few moments later. Dengar had a blaster burn on his shoulder, which he still clung, but otherwise seemed alright. Rick bore a ragged cut on the side of his muzzle where Scott's flashlight struck him, but didn't allow it to stop him, and opened a channel on his comm after looking over the situation.

"Otto, send in your medic," Rick said into his earpiece, "we have wounded down here in need of immediate attention."

"Right away." Captain Jäeger's static-cracked voice replied, and cut out as he issued orders on his end.

"So, what do we do now?" Pigma asked, his words blank and vacant.

"Exactly what we were doing before: go to the mainframe, and reactivate the ship's systems." Rick answered, then knelt down next to the barely conscious wolf. "You all go on ahead. I'll stay here and see this poor bastard off."

"Hold on, we agreed that nobody walks the ship alone." Rachelle objected, "At least, not until we've done a full search or have the security feeds online."

"I'll be fine. I'm not walking the ship, nor am I alone." Rick assured her, "I'm just going to stay right here until the Schwarzwind's medical detail arrives."

"Alright." Rachelle said with a small sigh, knowing the argument wasn't worth it, "Just don't do anything stupid."
She and the rest of the party started back toward Cerberus's mainframe, leaving Rick alone with the catatonic wolf.

As they left, Rick scooped up the handgun from the floor nearby, the weapon that only a few minutes ago was spouting deadly fire, if erratic, and it was still warm to the touch. It was a wonder the battered wolf could shoot straight at all, or even walk, given his nearly frozen condition. Hypothermia could induce confusion and delirium in the victim, which might explain how he was driven to fight against impossible odds, but it didn't explain why. Already Rick was preparing questions to ask for when the nameless wolf was in a better condition to answer. Why, when the first chance of rescue arrived, was his first instinct to fight? What could he have seen or endured that spooked him to such ends?

"What the hell happened here?" Rick then asked quietly to himself.

The wolf muttered something – a response? It was too garbbled and muddled to know for sure.

"What?" Rick questioned, looking over to him.

The wolf looked back at Cooney with a ghostly blank, thousand-yard stare, and worked with what effort he could to form the words, "H... Hell... Happened."

/

/

The door to Cerberus's mainframe cracked open, forced apart by the effort of manual override.

Flashlight beams danced through the room, scanning through the banks of silent machines for any sign of trouble. The same chilled foulness that was outside was present again in the mainframe. Nobody wanted to believe, but had every reason to expect, that Adrian or, someone at least, had suffered a similar fate as Malcom.

Finding no immediate trouble, Rachelle Scott and Pigma entered the mianframe and began their search, while James and Peppy remained outside to cover the entrance. They carried on silent once again, laser-focused on the task at hand, all except for one anyway.

"Adrian!" Pigma called out as he combed through the mainframe's server towers, trying to hold on to what little shred of optimism was left, "You in here, man?"

No response; nothing but the others' footsteps and occasional rustling or clatter they made. Occasionally some members of the party stepped on the tiny pellets of shotgun shot, or found a spent shell or two. Some of the towers had chucks blown out by a likely a shotgun blast, while others still were scorched, warped, or melted. The mainframe wasn't a very large space, and a complete search wouldn't last long. Sure enough, Pigma soon turned around one last tower, and that's where he found him.

Adrian's thin wiry frame lay sprawled face-down between two rows of server towers, and his weapon of choice shotgun was down at his side. Dead. There wasn't any shock, or outrage, or despair; not this time, but that didn't make it easy.

After a few moments of speechlessness, Pigma mustered the will to call out, "I found him..."

While the others made their way there, Pigma went down to Adrian's body and went to work. His face was damn near unrecognizable: just a mess of burnt skin, charred tissue and crumbling bone with a beak sticking out from it, preserved in these near-freezing conditions. Pigma tried not to look at him, and just focused on removing Adrian's miniature wrist-computer, which didn't look to be in much better condition. It was scorched and warped in some places, the display screen cracked, but only a closer examination would confirm if there was anything to salvage from it.

"I'm sorry." Rachelle said quietly from over his shoulder.

"After Malcom, I kinda expected this..." Pigma stated in a bleak monotone, "Even if we found Adrian... like he is... I was hoping maybe we could extract the Lethe encryption key from this." he held out Adrian's mangled wrist-computer to Rachelle.

She took the device and gave it a quick look-over. One of the worst damaged sections of the wrist-computer was right where its solid-state drives were housed.

"This doesn't look," she mentioned, showing the damage to Pigma.

"So, ye've gotten tae Ardy too didn'tye?" Scott growled hoarsely as he looked over the scene, his blazing anger honed to a sharp, jagged edge, "I don't know where ye'are, Harrow, but ye'd best hope not tae find yer'self within striking distance of me."

/

/

The first thing he felt was the all too familiar tug of those restraining straps around his wrists and ankles. He was here again, in the merc ships' medical bay, where they were no doubt going to prepare yet another procedure to try and make him talk. Go on, pump this mind and body full of yet more brain-scrambling chemicals. It's endured far worse than anything you could possibly inject. Try it, I dare you.

Coward.

I'll take coward over idiot any day.

Wait, something wasn't lining up.

He knew by the feel of it where he was, but vision was still a little blurry, and the ears were still ringing-out all other sounds. There was light, bit it was darker than he remembered it was supposed to be; colder too, come to think of it.

Something happened, something freaking nuts–

There is nowhere you can run where you can escape

Try me.

He remembered, but he couldn't. That damned headache!

"Good, you're awake."

He heard that voice before, not long before. The hearing must've been clearing up; that guy sounded real enough. The vision was coming back too, and he wasn't entirely imagining things. This was the med bay, and he was laying on one of the beds, but there weren't any restraints. Even so, the arms and legs still couldn't move, and still felt like they were being held down–

"The sedatives are still working their way out of your system, and the feeling should come back to your arms and legs in a few minutes." the voice said again. "Until then, try not to move. You'll only hurt yourself."

That's when he saw the IV tubes sticking into him; one in the arm, and another that probably went in the side of the neck, all connected up with fluid filled bags and some bleeping piece of medical machinery. None of the equipment in the room was connected to the ship's power sources, but to a portable power supply instead.

That's when the voice's owner came alongside him; a raccoon. He remembered seeing this guy, before he passed out. The raccoon asked something, and he replied with something else. Some of the memories were coming back too, and that scrappy little terrier.

"Who are you?" the pale wolf asked. He felt his bruised and battered face strain and ache as he spoke.

"I'd ask you the same..."

The raccoon sat down on a neighboring bed, and waited, just waited. After a few dull moments of nothing, he shrugged and gave a sigh, "Look, if you don't give me a name, I'm gonna have to make one up for you."

Rick just sat there, swapping silence in the med bay with the wolf for a while, but there was something... off about him. Rick had seen his fair share of mercenaries, assassins, pirates, smugglers, black-market enforcers, desperate lowlifes and other such. This guy though, whoever he was, and had a story to tell, yet was reluctant to tell it–

"Hey."

The sudden blast of Rachelle's voice in his earpiece comm startled Rick, and he flinched a bit from it before giving his reply a few moments later.

"Yeah?" he asked, walking away from the wolf for now.

"We just finished searching the ship. There's no sign of Harrow or Chakori aboard, no bodies or–"

"Our shuttle's gone!" Scott butted in, his tone bordering on frantic, "I'm sure beyond all doubt that's where they went, jumping the ship. It's not over– not yet, we can track the shuttle's location using its tracking beacon."

"But not until we reactivate the ship." Pigma's blank voice reminded Scott, "The beacon only transmits here, to the ship, which has the necessary decoders stored away. We could track the shuttle from other locations, but still we'd need the beacon's decryption codes, which are stored in Cerberus's mainframe–"

"We get it! We need tae reactivate the ship."

"Which we can't do without–"

"More bloody codes!" Scott snapped back, "I know, Pigma! I've been workin' this rusty tub longer than–"

"Cool your jets, Scott. He's only trying to help." Rick said, trying to calm him down, "Can Cerberus's mainframe be hacked?"

"With several months of free time and near infinite patience? Maybe." Rachelle answered with a healthy dose of snark, "Adrian got the ship's systems locked tighter than a miser's wallet, but I'm guessing we're going for a more immediate solution, am I right?"

"Well, I could try to reconstruct the codes from Adrian's wrist-piece," Pigma suggested, not sounding too stellar about the prospects, "but the memory on it is, uh... kinda crispy. We'd be lucky enough to even get the OS loaded up on the thing, let alone extracting vital data."

"This just gets better and better." Rick grumbled.

Everything about this crap-sack mess of an op depended on getting the damned ship's mainframe back online. The decryption codes for the missing shuttle's tracking beacon, the feeds for the smart-bug planted aboard the Amity, anything recorded by Cerberus's crew before the shutdown– it was scrambled inside dozens of onion-layer encryptions. The whole thing was a tightly corked digital bottle, not worth breaking to get open, and without a single corkscrew in sight.

Fuck.

Rick had wandered around the med bay, pacing, furrowing his brow, and found himself next to the pale wolf once again.

"So..." he sounded more coherent now when he spoke; not slurred or jumbled as it was before, "You were gonna make up for me?"

He still regarded Cooney with that same look of arrogant contempt, even if it was through a bruised and battered face. Like it or not though, he was the only source of information available, and that made him an invaluable asset that couldn't afford to be alienated.

"I'll go with 'Wiley'." Rick finally decided, "Hell only knows you had to be wily to survive whatever happened here."

"Hm, good as any other." the wolf said, not really caring.

His fingers were flexing some, and his arms started to twitch. His sedatives were wearing off, and it wouldn't be long until he was up and about.

"So that's it then?" Peppy asked over the comm channel, "We're went through all this creepy crap for nothing?"

"Wait, I..." Scott said, arriving at an uncomfortable conclusion, "I know where we can get another set of the ship's codes."

Some hope at last, fleeting as it was.

/

Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts... perhaps the fear of a loss of power.

-John Steinbeck-