A BattleTech Nevertale: The Rock of Illusions - Discarded Draft

The Rock of Illusions

Union DropShip Queen of Aces

Lucky Thirteen Trade Route

Outside Free Worlds League Border

Deep Periphery

12 December 3062

            Casey leaned back in his steel chair, comfortable in the zero gravity of the Queen of Aces's mess hall. He listened for the ping the recycle fan always made just when it activated. Holding his finger lightly off the table edge, he knew it was about to happen. He tapped the table. Right on cue, the fan pinged and rattled. It still wasn't fixed. He knew this ship well. However, if anyone asked, Casey could only claim it was his third trip aboard.

            With him was the rest of the lance of MechWarriors and their respective techs. Each were occupied with something to keep busy. The garrison contract was finished. In a whole year of sun and beaches, they only faced one major battle. Now, two weeks into transit, they were facing a long haul back to Astrokaszy.

             Blue, Chinn and Carl Bannock's tech, William, all hovered over a data pad at the far end of the table. They had bartered the spec sheets of a Phoenix Hawk LAM off one of the local salvagers. Long since over the awe of just seeing one, they were now discussing possible ways to improve it. Whenever William voiced a doubt about a modification, one of the other two pointed out the Wasp LAM pilot and his tech engaged in a game of cards.

            The Legionnaire LAM tech always had the final say in any disputes. Having played around the longest with the innards of an AirMech, he was the closest thing to an expert. When he wasn't proving or disproving theories, he and his warrior, Jerry Nguyen, concentrated heavily on their cards. Only Jerry looked up to read the other four player's faces.

            The same game occupied Carl Bannock and the latest new-hire, Logan Freeman. As dealer, Carl made the calls. Logan, sitting between him and Casey, hugged his red-headed wife Jean, who stood watching. He took another card and threw in some chips. Now and then, Jean would squeak in alarm when Carl reached over and picked on Logan.

            It was a new game Carl had taken up. He liked to mess around with people's comfort level. It hadn't started until well after he was hired. In fact, it had taken a couple months for Carl and Otto Guzman to warm to everyone else. Now he seemed comfortable and played around. Normally infrequent, after a long mission like this one, the test happened every other day in a relaxed atmosphere.

            Nobody really minded. They knew Carl wasn't serious. He had feelings only for Otto. That didn't mean some people were comfortable with a random warm caress on the shoulder or thigh. After the third time, Logan had had enough.

            "That's it!" he protested, his Outback accent thick. "Jean! I need a shield."

            With a grin, Logan maneuvered her around with one arm, placing her between him and Carl. She laughed the entire way, not complaining while she stood sentry between her husband and his mock crush.

            "Awe, c'mon sweetie," Carl said to Logan. His deep voice and a heavy Marik subcultural accent were disarming. "Don't leave me alone already."

            "Look. I'm not up for that kind of entertainment right now. That's what my wife's for." Logan grinned up between his thick sideburns at his wife. She returned a sarcastic affirmative nod. "Let's just focus on the cards."

            Carl heeded the advice for all of a minute, dealing to the next person before he snaked a dark hand behind Jean and started to massage her hind-end. Casey rolled his eyes. Jean jerked and floated to the ceiling.

            "Okay. That's it," she drawled. "I'm out of here. You're on your own, honey. See you later," She ended in a coo. Grabbing a handhold on the ceiling, she flung herself toward the entrance.

            "Aww, come on, honey!" Logan whined, his cigar between his teeth. "I have no luck when you're not around." But, when she cooed at him, he cooed back, "Later, hon."

            Casey saw Carl's close-lipped smile and mischief in his black eyes as he stared hard at Logan. "I have you all to myself now."

            Logan squirmed in his chair. If they weren't bolted to the floor, Logan would be scooting over a few centimeters. Instead, he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and glared at Carl.

            "That's enough," Logan said. "Or I'll leave, too."

            Knowing that his little game was over, Carl nodded and turned with a serious face to the cards.

            After having spent a year with these people, this was what it was like to be their friends.  Casey knew some of them for only a year, like Logan and Jean. Some longer. In a unique fashion, he had known them for far, far longer.

            But there was one friend he had known for most of his eight-year exile in the periphery. Only one man had been under official employ with Damien's mercenaries for as long as Casey.

            Al sat across the table from Casey, watching the game unfold intently. With the hijinks ended, he idly took a sip from his drink pouch. Glancing at Casey, he leaned in.

            "Did you have a chance to speak with the captain?" Al asked.

            Casey shook his head.

            "Imagine the odd luck of being picked up by the Queen of Aces. And, it's the Lucky Thirteen she's docked with right now. Apparently it was Captain Smith's idea first. At least, that's what the good Captain Michaels told me. Said that Smith came to him with the passenger list and our names on it. They decided to schedule a route around us. Talk about old times."

            Al's face contorted around his blue eyes, showing how unlikely it all sounded. In nearly two years since their first time aboard the Queen of Aces, nobody still openly talked about what happened. Sometimes someone dropped clues or hints. That was as far as it went.

            Casey also questioned whether the Thirteen and Queen were here because of 'good old times'. Could they be here because of the dreams? If so, what were they hoping to achieve, and why hadn't they mentioned their involvement yet?

            Before anyone could say more, the intercom chimed like a bell toll.

            "One minute to jump," the Queen's Captain Michaels said, his voice scratchy from electronic interference.

            All activity around the room stopped. Everyone knew what was coming. The card players laid down their hands. The atmosphere in the room intensified. People took up position. Al, leaned back in his chair, getting ironically comfortable. Casey leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin behind his knuckles.

            All too quickly, the Captain's voice returned, counting down to jump. Two seconds before the gut wrenching warp in reality, Casey closed his eyes, preparing. Then it hit.

* * *

            Feeling relatively normal again, he opened his eyes. Everyone was exactly where they were before reality shifted. Yet, it felt like a lifetime had passed. Another lifetime. Another adventure. He couldn't help looking at Al for a brief moment. Al looked back.

            There was nothing to read from his gaze. Al was trying to read him. For a moment, Casey wanted to let something slip, give his friend a knowing or apologetic look. But, Al's blue eyes shifted away, looking at everyone else. Casey, too, looked around.

            Logan shot Al some frightened glances while he picked up his cards.

            Casey began to recall the conversation they had only moments before. It took him a while because it felt like a couple weeks had passed.

            Slowly, things resumed their normal pace. Cards and bets were quietly exchanged. The techs huddled and started to whisper excitedly. Aside from querying glances, everyone's attention drifted back to whatever they were doing before.

            Casey was about to get up when the intercom chimed yet again. Goosebumps crawled over him. This was not normal. Once they jumped, the captain never broadcast anything over the ship unless he needed something. The awkwardness of the moment told Casey something was wrong.

            "I need a mercenary representative to come meet me on the bridge immediately," Captain Michael's said, voice echoing through the ship. "And, Mister Cad’ver, we would appreciate your presence, as well."

            A giant black hole opened up in the bottom of Casey's stomach.  The dream had come and gone with the jump. They couldn't be in another one. He saw none of the other dream indicators. Jenn and Darran weren't around. Miko wasn't taking charge. The shared perspective between he and Al was gone.

            Waiting a few seconds, staring at the intercom speaker, Casey waited just to be sure. If anyone was to do anything, it would be one of those three. Seconds ticked away. Captain Michaels repeated his request.

            Something was horribly wrong.

            Quickly, Casey looked around. Everyone was looking at him.

            Al was already on his feet, ready to shove off toward the door.

            "I was in charge this mission, I'll go," Casey said. "Jerry, we're going to need someone representing the Legion. You up for it?"

            The Asian LAM pilot hesitated, then nodded.

            "The rest wait here. I'm sure everything's fine." He tried to sound reassuring, but failed. "Al. Jerry. Let's go."

* * *

            "Welcome, gentlemen," Michaels said, from his command chair at the center of the Queen's circular bridge. Al called him a Frenchie. Casey believed he was from the Free Worlds, but nobody had bothered to ask. Any accent he had was mild from years of space travel. Michaels sounded commanding when he was particularly loud, like he was now. "I was afraid for a moment nobody would come."

            Casey, Al and Jerry stepped from the bright light in the lift and into the dim illumination from terminal screens and switches. All around them stations were manned, each of the crew at work. The Captain's eyes glowed from the ambiance, blue on one side, red on the other. Michaels looked grim and worried, countering the camaraderie and relief in his voice.

            "I thought you were going to get the overheads replaced," Al commented, mirthful.

            "We did," Michaels answered, waving at the dark panels over him. "We just don't need them on right now. Cuts back on wear and tear a bit, not running them all the time." He turned away, bringing his chair back to face the pilot's station. "We have a problem. I got word from Smith on the Thirteen that we're not where we're supposed to be." He raised a hand to keep away any questions. "The crew of the Thirteen will have our bearings in an hour or two. In the meantime, I need you to make a decision because of a transmission we've received." He paused, looking over to the comm tech. "You have that message fully recorded, James?"

            "Yeah. It's pretty short."

            "Good, play it for us."

            "On speakers."

            A voice started to crackle, loud enough to be heard all across the bridge. The man speaking was unnaturally calm, yet Casey heard a touch of strain in the voice. A suppressed aggravation, or sadness, or resignation, he couldn't tell which. He recognized a fellow Lyran from the feint accent.

            "This is Jol Good, Adept in charge of the Smith Mining facility three five eight. As of November Twenty first, 3061, we were to evacuate, abandoning our project on the fifth world of this system. However, after a week of preparations, the ship's crew disappeared. A thorough sweep of the outlying area by security found nothing, and some of them are now missing." Good's voice took on the suppressed desperate edge. "We can't escape. We're running low on supplies. Our ride out-system has not arrived on schedule. We need help. Anyone. Our ship is fully loaded and ready to go. We just need someone to pilot it, and someone to take us home. We are located on the fifth full planet from the sun. If anything should happen to me, just follow this broadcast to our facility."

            There was a brief pause, then Good's voice started again in that unsteadily calm voice, repeating what he already said.

            James looked back at the captain after punching a few buttons. The message stopped. "That's all I got, but it's been repeating like that over and over."

            "Sounds like no one's left," Al muttered.

            Michaels shot a harsh look at the young MechWarrior. "It doesn't matter. That was a cry for help-!"

            "Cry for help?" Al blurted. For the first time in Casey's life, he heard Al raise his voice. "Can't you hear it? That was a warning! They're already gone! We're supposed to stay away!"

            "We can't just sit by without knowing!" Michaels rebutted. Then, more calmly, he continued. "That message is only three weeks old. There's still a chance there's somebody there to save. Smith agrees with me, and is willing to wait as long as it takes for us to go down there and investigate. Free of Charge." Michaels actively turned his chair to face the three MechWarriors, looking hard at Al.

            "I don't understand you, Mister Cad’ver. You-" Michaels paused, chewing on some words before pressing ahead. "You have a reputation for helping, among my crew. Taking time to go out of your way with menial things. Of all people, I thought you would be the first to hop aboard a chance to go on a rescue. Why lack of charity now?"

            "Because this time it's-" Al started to say, but cut himself off.

            Because this time, it's not a dream, Casey mentally finished. That thought made the growing knot in Casey's gut twist even tighter.

            "Smith Mining rings a bell. You think we're back at that rock with that thing?" Jerry asked.

            "Makes sense," Casey said, catching on. "People disappeared when we were there. We never figured out what caused the disappearances. This sounds the same."

            "Now,  it's no longer pilots in cockpits. It's spread. If we go down there, we could vanish like them," Jerry finished.

            "Well, my ship is heading down," Michaels said. "We need all the help we can get. Will your mercenaries help us?"

            He was looking at Casey this time. Casey glanced Al's way. Al didn't notice, deep in thought.

            In spite of the knot in his stomach, and Al's warnings, Casey nodded. "We'll help."

            Jerry reluctantly added his affirmative. The Legion members were on board.

            Everyone looked at Al.

            With a sudden eagerness, he said, "I'll help."

            "Understood," Michaels said, nodding. "We'll leave as soon as we have the planet's location. That's all, gentlemen."

            Turning his chair back to face the pilot's station, the conversation ended. The three warriors were dismissed.

            Once in the lift, Al looked at Casey, and said, "Wonder why they asked me to come to the bridge."

            He looked away.

            Casey stared at him a moment more. The observation made him ponder. However, what Al muttered next  made goose bumps grow all over his neck and arms.

            "He's brought us back."

* * *

Smith Interstellar Mining Facility 358

Fifth Planet

Outside Lyran Alliance Boarder

Periphery

20 December 3062

The red sun in the periwinkle sky burned down on Casey's shaven scalp. He stood at the edge of the prefab town that Smith Interstellar Mining called a facility. On the horizon, the rocky hill from a couple years prior was gone. It had been leveled and moved, the cave underneath excavated.

            Just beyond the horizon poked the silvery top of the spherical ship. Somehow it had jumped into the planet's crust and survived. Casey imagined standing on the ragged edge of a smooth glass bowl, the orb vessel resting partly embedded in the bottom.

            Al stepped up and squinted at Casey unhappily.

            "What did I tell you?"

            "Did we find anyone?" Casey asked, after suppressing his unease.

            "Not a soul. Jerry's done a fly-over. No thermals beyond our own. There's nobody here. At least, nobody from Smith Mining."

            "The dropper?"

            "Michaels is looking it over now. Want to go take a look?"

            "Better than hanging around a ghost town. Again."

* * *

            Michaels met them in the brightly lit cargo bay. He led them to the lift, answering questions and explaining what he found.

            "It's in surprisingly good condition, considering it's been in an active state for nearly three weeks." He palmed the lift switch and the doors opened. It too was brightly lit. "The lights have been running non-stop and none have blown yet."

            The doors closed behind them.

            "Anyone on board?"

            "No. No sign of bodies, either.

            The lift stopped, and they exited onto the bridge.

            "So, is it ready to fly?" Casey asked.

            "I won't know until the engine and bridge are checked. It could take the night."

            "Well, we confirmed that nobody's left in the town. I don't think conducting a perimeter search will yield anything. If anyone was left, the would have been here.  If we can, I'd like to leave before sunset."

            "There's no reason to leave such a pristine find sitting right here. I know I can fly this thing. I want to take her up with the Queen in case anything happens. But, I won't know if anything's wrong until tomorrow."

            Suddenly, one of the console's beeped. A nearby tech hopped over and stared at the screen. The beep didn't come again, even after some tapping. With a mutter, the tech dropped to a knee and opened up an access plate.

            "What was it, Lance?"

            "Don't know. Think the primary sensor net's on the fritz. For a moment, I thought I saw a drive flare. But, then it disappeared. I'll have it fixed."

            "Phantom signal?" Casey asked.

            "We would have heard something from the Queen if it weren't," Michaels said with confidence. "I intend to stay the night."

            "You're the Captain," Casey said, resigned.

* * *

            Al stood at the broken edge of the glass crater, looking down on the smooth, round ship. A prison? What was it really supposed to be? Instead of reflecting the ambient light and points of  stars in the night sky above, it glowed brightly.

            The light was a reflection, supposedly from within him. Was that really the case, or was it an illusion created by its inhabitant, the eyeless man?

            “Not again!”

            Casey’s distant shout was one of many. Al had spectators. He wasn’t surprised, this time. After Jenn’s recounting of their first shared ‘jump dream,’ and the reluctant, private tales of the other ‘rock’ survivors, Al expected it. It wasn’t an isolated effect from the last dream.

            He was the center of attention. For them. For the eyeless man. For the reflective skin on the ‘ship’.

            The sphere rested at the broken bottom of the smooth, glass pit, embedded slightly into the cracked ground. He slid down to the bottom. Once there, Al stared, observing his glowing reflection.

            “Why does it do that?” he asked.

            Suddenly, he was not alone. Next to him appeared the ship’s inhuman owner. The eyeless man’s open, empty sockets stared at him before turning to absorb the view on the hull.

            “Is that your doing?” Al asked further.

            “No." the Eyeless man’s accented baritone carried in the still, night air. “My vessel is an amplifier for latent, in-born talent. It enhances my abilities to sail the void. The light you see shines from within you. The ship can see it. I can see it. It was what drew me here.”

            “Really? I... never knew. You came here because of me?”

            “Yes.”

            “So, if this is your ship, then, you really aren’t trapped on this planet. But, you stay.”

            “Trapped? No. But, I am far, far away from home. Much like you.”

            “So, you’re stuck here, in a place where your home doesn’t exist.”

            “From what I have found.”

            “All because you followed this light that you see inside me. And, you want me to get you home.”

            “That was my hope. Now, I dare not.”

            Al quirked a brow “Different. Only a couple'a years ago, you were willing to leave me stranded and dead in order to escape. You’re also a little more open than before. Why the sudden change?”

            “You aren’t the only one to travel in your... dreams." He paused, studying Al.  "The plan was to only leave you stranded. But, dead?”

            Al sighed. “You really don’t understand what I have, do you? I thought as much. To obtain what I have, you have to die. Even then, you have to be in good standing with your creator before he bestows a gift of this magnitude on you. Not only that, I have no control over it. When and where I go isn’t up to me. I end up wherever, whenever I’m sent, and I have no clue how long I’ll stay. But, I always, always move on.

            “So, I really don’t know how you planned to escape with it. I have it on good authority that it can't be transferred, either. If we had tried whatever you planned, we both could have been dead, or erased from existence entirely.

            “I don’t know how I can be any help to you, either. You can’t come with me. There’s no field. No bubble. As far as I can tell, nothing else alive survives the transfer. When I go, it’s usually in a huge fireball, and I go alone.”

            Black-Eyes – Al decided to call him Blacky – looked stunned.

            “Then, there is no hope of rescue, after all. But, I had foreseen your help...” His brows furrowed. “Very well. I can’t use you. I’ll have to try on my own. But, others will undoubtedly try to use you, follow you when you pass on. I cannot let them. It’s time I removed you.”

            Al suddenly had one of those sinking feelings. A build-up of dread slowly opened the bottom of his stomach to an empty void. He had been uneasy on this world. Maybe this was why.

            The distant voices of his friends shouted advice. Fight! Run! But, Al had no clue what he or Blacky was capable of. Could he really harm the alien man inside a dream? Could he get away fast enough? Would leaving the dream be enough to escape harm?

            Without any knowledge to work on, Al was defenseless.

            Before he decided on a course of action, Blacky froze and screamed in agony.

            The alien man’s eyes radiated a bright light, like head lamps on a car. He writhed, covering his face with his hands. Amidst the torture, he had a conversation with someone Al couldn’t see or hear.

            “What do you mean...?” Blacky said, his voice strained with pain. “Is that so...? But, I can’t... He brings danger...!”

            After a moment, he straightened, looking at Al. His eyes were no longer dark or light. Blacky had pupils. Still not normal eyes, it was like looking into two deep black wells, each containing a single pinpoint star at the bottom.

            “But, it’s too late. Another has already set events in motion to destroy him,” Blacky said, calmly, distantly, not addressing Al. “If that is so, then...” He addressed Al this time. “Others have seen your light, and come in search of you. I could hold you here, let the new arrivals destroy you for me. That is their intention. Your destruction would ensure my home’s protection.

            “But, it appears you are protected. I’m compelled to help you. Go! Now! Hurry, or they’ll catch you while you slumber. But, be wary! Another one like me has designs on you. I’ll do my best to mitigate its effects. The rest is up to you. Get away from this place, and don’t come back.

            “Hurry!”

            The voice carried like an echo into the sudden darkness.

* * *

            “Casey! Wake up!”

            Startled awake from yet another vivid, lingering, cognizant nightmare, Casey blinked under the light pouring into his room. For an instant he almost thought he was still dreaming, seeing the silhouette of Al in the doorway, hearing his voice. However, Al was a shadow, not a blazing beacon. The rest of Casey's room came into focus, revealing safe, certain reality.

            “We need to get mounted up,” Al said, not waiting. “We have company!”

21 December 3062

            The merc ’Mechs moved well out of sight of the Queen. The sky was red in the east. The stars in the deep dark purple sky above disappeared in the sun's growing light. In spite of the dark colors, details on the rocky ground got sharper while the morning progressed.

            The raiders had landed. At the rate they were closing, any battle would be met before sunrise.

            While Al, Casey, Logan and Carl marched their ’Mechs to a safe distance from their DropShip, Michaels was on the line.

            "I'm sorry. I don't know how they got past us. Nobody saw them until they hit atmo."

            "Maybe they're that good," Carl said.

            "Nobody's that good," Michaels replied. "As sure as this planet spins, we would have seen their drive flare as soon as they started deceleration maneuvers. The closest pirate point is at least a day away. We would have seen them before then. No. Something masked their approach."

            "New tech, then," Logan said.

            "It doesn't matter," Al said, interrupting. "They're here. We'll deal with them. How long will it take you to get the engines warmed up and ready to go?"

            "Not long. A few minutes."

            "Case," Al said. "We may need to bug out if they're too strong."

            "We're leaving," Casey said. "Whether we beat them or not, we're leaving."

            "But, what about the other DropShip?" Michaels asked.

            "Is it ready to go?"

            "No, but-"

            "We leave it. Have your ship ready to receive us. We'll try to hold them as long as we can before we fall back and load up."

            "Are you sure about this, Casey?" Al asked.

            "I'm not taking any chances, Al. You were right. There's nobody here. It's a graveyard, and we should leave it as soon as we can."

            Casey had more than that on his mind. For some reason, he wasn't feeling right. This time, it wasn't eyes watching him. He felt like he was walking in a fog, and it took every effort to keep himself in line. It wasn't a lack of sleep. It was like he was trying to wrestle with someone else for the right to use his own body. His hands wanted to drift to places they didn't need to be, to press buttons that didn't need pressing. 

            "Casey's right," Carl said. "I don't like this place. We need to leave."

            The four ’Mechs continued on in silence. They were two minutes out when Al spotted the enemy.

            "I see four bogies about a click to our right," he said. "I'm reading two heavy and two assault class BattleMechs. Looks like they're here to win, whoever they are."

            "All right, everyone," Casey said "Let's fan out to meet them. Carl, take the left. Al, the right. Logan, you're with me. Michaels? Any luck in haling them?"

            "Nothing. Safe bet they're not friendly."

            That was more than a safe bet. This whole thing felt like a nightmare come to life. Scary place? Check. Silent, ominous bad guys? Check. Light-headed, dreamy feeling? Check.

            How much longer would it last?
            "How long before you're ready to take off?" Casey asked.

            "If you head back in another minute, we'll be ready as soon as you arrive."

            They might be in a fight in another minute.

            "Wait. I see one," Carl said. "Make that two. What?" He paused to mutter. "I'm sending you a visual."

            In the bottom right corner of Casey's HUD a little sub screen appeared. He saw a Warhammer, then an Archer, weaving their way between two distant mesas. The colors on the ’Mechs would have meant nothing if it weren't for the wolf's head on a red circular field sported on each shoulder.

            "Shit. Those are Dragoons," Logan growled.

            "They're the good guys," Carl said, sounding relieved. "We have nothing to worry about. Besides. I think I've seen those two ’Mechs before."

            Casey had also seen those ’Mechs before, and met the pilots, inside the visions. Those encounters were strained at best. This wasn't a vision and Casey was sure the Dragoons wouldn't remember anything at all.

            Then, there was that odd feeling. Before Casey knew it, his reticule was over Al's Warhammer. He could feel the urge to pull the trigger, but he squelched it, yanking the targeting stick back to center.

            What was going on? What was wrong with him?

            With these two combined factors, this was going to be bad. He just knew it.

            "Word of Blake operatives," a dashing, handsome voice said over a general frequency. "We know who you are. We have you surrounded and outgunned. Lucky for you, we're not here for a fight. Surrender yourselves and we'll go easy on you."

            "World of Blake?" Carl said, bemused.

            "Carl," Casey shouted. "Don't!"

            It was too late.

            "This is Carl Bannock." His tone was that of someone rehashing an old argument. We're not Word of Blake."

            "Not Word, huh, Carl? You expect us to believe that? Does this mean you're not surrendering? Then prepare to fight."

            "What?" Carl started to argue.

            "Casey," Michaels said over the Dragoon's speech. "We're ready. Get out of there."

            Before Casey could give the order to run, however, things happened. Far to his left, two blue particle beams lanced into Carl's Rifleman. Carl's camera feed of the attacking Dragoon Warhammer winked out.

            Carl's sixty-tonner toppled lifelessly to the ground.

            "Carl!"

            All three remaining warriors shouted their companion's name in a discordant chorus.

Logan kicked his Wolverine into a run. Al followed.

            "Guys! Wait," Casey called.

            He looked down once more at the fallen Rifleman. His HUD showed nothing left of the cockpit. Carl was gone.

            They were heavily outgunned, now. There was no way they could win this fight.

            Pressing his throttle forward, Casey ran to catch up with the others. The half kilometer of rolling, broken swells leading to the nearest mesa started to shrink.

            At that instant, Casey seemed to lose control of himself. Al's ’Mech was over two hundred meters away, and he was suddenly thinking of his friend as an easy target. Not just his hand, this time. Some part of him wanted to inflict harm on his friend. His reticule was over the back of Al's Warhammer while it jogged up a shallow hill.

            He started to pull the trigger.

            But, it was only a part of him. Al was a years-long friend. Casey trusted him. He knew that. Armed with that knowledge, he exerted as much of his will as he could on his mind, and his hand. All he needed to do was let go. Gritting his teeth and staring hard at his control stick, he managed to get his hand away.

            "As long as we can keep that mesa between most of them and us, we can still pick them off as they come around," Al said, oblivious to the danger behind him.

            Casey understood the logic. The four enemy markers on his HUD had split off, heading in two directions. The Dragoon Warhammer rounded the crumbling slope at the mesa's base to Casey's left. A 7S, it was missing the shoulder launcher. It was a fine substitute to fire on. He took no time to think, allowing whatever possessed him no chance to take over again. Snagging his control stick, he yanked it away from the Daemon's back and squeezed the triggers once over the new target.

             His shots were ineffective. The Dragoon ’Mech didn't seem to notice, either. It was focused on Al.

            It's blue beams fired, scoring black marks on its target. It received similar, Al's return shots adding a light show of chest lasers.

            Blackened hides. Insignificant damage.

            Then the enemy disappeared. Though it still ran forward, the HUD marked Warhammer slowly drifted back behind the mesa. Casey's Griffin outpaced it, pounded along at a swift mechanical run.

            The spell seemed to disappear the closer he got to his friend.

            Another target came up, and Casey triggered another solution. Again, he didn't want to leave an opening for idle hands. The urge to harm his friend was gone in close proximity, but his hands still tended to wander. Rounding the mesa his target was an Imp hustling closer.

            Again, Al was the focus for the enemy Dragoon. It didn't seem to matter that Logan was an easier, closer target. Were the Dragoons under the same spell that afflicted Casey? It explained why they were so willing to fight at the drop of a hat.

            The fabled Dragoon discipline was nonexistent. At moderate range, it fired its full complement of weapons, disregarding the effects of such heat output, scoring some damage. It wasn't enough to bring the Daemon down.

            Al returned fire with PPCs and select lasers, joined by Logan's autocannon and Casey's long range weapons. The slow Imp took a pounding. The HUD overlay turned it mild yellows. It's rising infrared signature shot higher, indicating a lucky breach on the fusion engine's shielding. Rocking from the punishment, it stumbled and toppled to the ground, where its magnetic signature nearly vanished.

            Overheating, it powered down.

            "See," Al said, oddly calm. "We can do this."

            "No, Al. You can't," Jerry said, sounding a little distracted. He went silent for a moment and Casey heard him mutter. "Damn it! What is wrong with me." For a moment, it sounded as if the Legion pilot was arguing with himself. "Um. Uh... There's, uh... There are! Wait... Yes! There's a faster lance flanking your position. Get out, or I'll shoot... I mean, you'll be overrun."

            "He's right, Al," Casey added. "We can't fight this one out. Something's not right. Something's messing with my mind. We need to get out of here."

            "All right, Case. Let's go."

            Without further words, the three ’Mechs turned toward the Queen, away from the pursuing Dragoons, and ran. The final Dragoon, a Marauder II, fired pitiful parting shots before lost from sight. With Al's TSM active, nor hampered by Carl's slower Rifleman, and no sign of the Dragoon skirmishers, they arrived sooner than two minutes.

            Any later, and they would have missed their DropShip.

            The Queen's bay doors were closed. The mercs couldn't get aboard. Engines hot, ready to ignite, she was about to take off. It almost looked like Michaels was planning to ditch them.

            "Michaels!" Casey shouted. "What are you doing! We're not even on board yet."

            "What?" The Queen's captain sounded surprised. "How did you get out there! This is no time to be disembarking. We're about to take off!"

            "I can see that."

            "Open the doors and get us on board," Al said.

            "Al? Oh... Of course. What the hell was I thinking? We were about to leave without you."

            "I know," Al replied calmly. "It's not your fault."

            The ramp came down, and Al walked the Daemon up into the bay.

* * *

            Their ’Mechs were just locked into place when the Queen of Aces lifted into the sky. None of the mercs had time to dismount. Casey decided to tap into the ship's line, wanting to know what was going on outside. He didn't feel safe yet.

            True to his instincts, the fight wasn't over.

            "Crap," the comtech cursed. "Jerry, fighters inbound. Can you help us?"

            "Help you?" Jerry sounded distracted. "Yeah. Sure. I'll help you."

            "Jerry? Jerry, what are you doing? Why do you have a lock on us? Jerry, we're not your enemy!"

            Casey felt the ship shudder.

            "Jerry, snap out of it..."

            "He just went off our sensor grid," another tech said in the background.

            "What? Where did he go?" Michaels asked, also in the background.

            "I don't know. He just disappeared. He's nowhere."

            "His line just went dead," the comtech added. "He's not broadcasting."

            "Great!" Michaels was not happy.

            The line went silent, leaving Casey in the silence of his cockpit.

            Outside, in the ’Mech bay, warning lights started to flash. He heard the call to battle stations. The fighters were coming. The Dragoons weren't going to let them escape so easily. Not when everyone on the surface below, or above it, was in a bloodthirsty frenzy to destroy the mercs. Or, one particular person.

            Over the din, Captain Michaels opened up a direct line.

            "Casey. You there?"

            "Yeah."

            "I'm sorry, but Jerry's gone. We can't find him on our sensors, anywhere."

            Casey didn't get a chance to reply.

            "Sir," the second tech said excitedly. "The Dragoon fighters. They just crashed."

            "You're joking-" Michaels said, then the direct line cut out.

            Casey was left in silence to reflect. The fighters were down. Jerry had vanished. He didn't know whether or not to believe his ears. After a few minutes, however, the red battle station lights quit flashing. The danger appeared to be over.

            He looked at his hands. The foggy feeling was gone. They didn't move without his direct input.

            As he dismounted his Griffin, he glanced at Al, and no untoward thoughts or urges came to him. Feeling jumpy, he kept his distance, just in case.

            He knew he wouldn't truly feel safe until they were in a different star system.

  
         

26 December 3062

            The mercs and their techs all gathered round the fighter bay after it pressurized. Inside sat the Wasp LAM, its variable wings swept back as far as they would go. The cockpit hatch opened. Jerry stepped out and hopped down.

            The emotions on his Asian face were mixed. With as much dignity as he could muster, he strolled over to his colleagues. During the round of hugs and handshakes and shoulder pats, he let slip a few tears. Wiping them away, he inhaled.

            "What the hell happened down there?" he asked.

            "I don't know," Casey said. "It's like we were all possessed, or something. Everyone seemed to lose their mind."

            "What happened to you?" Logan asked. "One moment you're firing on our ship. The next, you're nowhere in sight."

            "I don't know. I don't know what came over me. I tried to fight it. But, it wasn't enough. I made one pass on the Queen, and was making another. Then, I'm way out here. I was finally of my right mind again. But, I was so sure I was stranded and dead. I'm really glad you found me."

            He paused, but looked as if he wanted to say more. "Do you think Blacky had something to do with it?"

            Everyone else looked uncomfortable.

            "I think he did," Al said. "He probably had something to do with all the disappearances."

            "That would explain why the Dragoon fighters crashed," Logan said. "No pilots means nothing to keep them in the air."

            "What about Carl?" Casey asked. "If Blacky could save Jerry, and us, why didn't he save Carl?"

            Nobody had an answer.

            The sudden collective depression hit him. The most he could say was, "Maybe we'll see him again."

            Nobody commented.

28 December 3062     

            "So, what are we going to do for Christmas?" Logan asked. "I mean, we already missed it. Do we celebrate it late? What do you guys do?"

            "I'm up for a late party," Casey said, sitting at his place near the end of the table in the Queen's mess.

            Being here was comfortable again. To Casey, this room was where it all started. It seemed like a fitting end to this odd leg of their trip. Only Logan and Al were there to share the moment.

            "I don't know that everyone's going to be there when we check in," Al said. "Heck, we'll still be onboard for New Years. Might as well do one big combo party, celebrate both at once."

            "Here?" Casey asked. "But, I don't have my presents here. You can't do Christmas without presents."

            "That's right," Logan said.

            "I guess you're right. Speaking of presents, who has the job of telling Otto about Carl?"

            Casey looked into the overhead light for a second, sighing. "I guess I should be the one to do it. It was my call to go down there, after all."

            Before anyone could say more, the Jump warning chimed.

            "All hands. Prepare for jump," Captain Michaels said over the intercom.

            "Finally,” Casey said. "It's about time. Good bye and good riddance."

            "So long, Carl," Al said.

            Logan echoed the sentiment, and so did Casey.

* * *

            They all woke to the same setting. Al was seated in the chair at the end of the long table in the Queen of Aces mess. Around him were faces he knew to expect. Darran, Miko, Casey, Jenn, and Logan. But there was one he was surprised to find, and he wasn't alone.

            "Carl," Logan shouted, excited. "Wow. You're alive."

            The big black man looked at Logan, and smiled with a twinkle in his eyes.

            "Good to see you, too, sweetie."

            It was as if nothing had ever changed.

            The vision went as all the visions went. They were greeted with the fact that the ship had misjumped. They conferred with the other ships that arrived with the Lucky thirteen. They explored, fighting their way out of a sticky situation against people and vehicles out of storybooks and movies. They came back, ready to jump home.

            It was a comfortable pattern.

            But, Carl looked nervous. On that last day, while their DropShip docked with the Lucky Thirteen, Al went looking for him. He found Carl in the observation lounge staring out at the giant ship that would ferry them between entire universes to get home. On a nearby collar was another Union with Dragoon markings.

            "Something bothering you?" he asked, coming up to stare out the port, too.

            Carl looked at him, startled, then resumed his study of the ship and stars.

            "I'm afraid of going back," he said.

            "Well, you don't have to," Al said. "We could leave you here."

            "Nah. It doesn't work like that. I'm pretty sure I can't stay. Once the ship goes, I go with it. So do you. So does anyone we brought with us."

            "Why are you afraid? What's back there? What happened to you on that rock?"

            "I- I don't know what happened. One moment, I'm staring down my whole lifetime at the head of a PPC beam. The next, I find myself aboard that abandoned DropShip. But, that's not what scares me. I'm alone down there, Al. The Dragoons that found me have vanished. Their stuff is there. But they're not. What's worse, I can feel my mind changing. That madness that you all described? I don't think it went away. It's a growing hatred based around you, Al. I don't know why or how, but it is.

            "Here, I'm of my right mind. But, there?"

            He paused long enough to look at Al and clap him on the shoulder.

            "Always remember that I don't blame you for leaving me there. I know that you didn't know. And, I'll always look forward to meeting you here."

            He let go, and turned away from the viewport. "Don't come back for me, Al. I won't be the same man you left. I'll probably try everything in my power to kill you if I ever see you again in the real world."

            The jump warning rang through the ship.

            Al looked at the buzzer in anger and sorrow. The timing of these things always seemed a little too conveniently out of order.

            "Good bye, Al," Carl said, his voice carrying over the countdown to jump. "See you in a week or two."

Queen of Aces

One Jump From Astrokaszy

Free Worlds League Border, Periphery

28 December 3062     

            "He's still back there!" Al accented his point by leaning onto Michael's desk with a little extra force.

            The Captain's office was small, as was typical on spaceships. There was room for him and one person across the desk. Only the captain had a chair, but it wasn't doing him any good while he stood hovering.

            "His corpse, yes. I don't see how he could be alive," Michaels countered.

            "Look at how we found Jerry."

            "But, that was one exception. I was there last time. I remember the other pilots, and how they vanished. We never-" Michaels hesitated, then pressed on hastily. "We never saw them again. There's no guarantee that he'll be there. And, then there are the Dragoons."

            "We won't find them."

            Casey, leaning against the frame in the doorway, perked up. Michaels even looked shaken by the comment. It didn't last very long before he replaced it with open skepticism.

            "And, how are you so sure of that?"

            Al hesitated. Casey stood away from the wall, silently coaxing his friend to go on. After a moment of silent deliberation, Casey got his wish.

            "Carl told me. Ever since the first time to the Smith mine, every time we jump, I have these visions. Everyone who's been near the Sphere is there. You, me, Casey, even Carl. He was there in this last vision, and he told me he was back there. He told me that the Dragoons were gone. It's just him, the ship, and the Sphere."

            Michaels stared, mouth agape. Casey also felt his heart tighten. It was a shared hell, and all involved had to be doubly careful in order not to sound nuts. They had all promised. This was a huge gamble, telling Michaels. How would he take it?

            If the mercs were an indication, Michaels also had to know. He should be elated he wasn't alone.

            "Jump visions? Those are notoriously unreliable," Michaels replied quietly once he regained composure. Louder, "We're not going back there. Smith and I have consulted on this, and we agree. I'm not going to ask him to reconsider, and going to him directly won't change his mind, either."

            So much for trying to rescue a friend.

            Casey, deflated a little.

            Michaels cursed one more time, reaching up to rub his forehead in exasperation.

            "I knew we should never have gone back there."

            "It was a misjump," Al said "You couldn't have known that was going to happen."

            Michaels was silent, but the look he shot Al was telling. It made Casey straighten up and pay attention. Al noticed too.

            "It was a misjump, right?"

            Michaels stared, looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he sighed, giving up on any pretenses.

            "I thought not," Al added, looking sad.

            "No. It was deliberate. It's the visions. You aren't the only one who experiences them. What's even worse, is that we know what happens to you. We're wide awake, doing our own thing. But, at the same time, we're fully aware of what's happening to you down on whatever Terra we jump to."

            "You knew," Casey said. "Why didn't you say anything? I was worried after our first jump. The least you could have done was help reassure us."

            "How was I supposed to know? At first, I wasn't sure if I was the only one. Smith of the Thirteen was the only one to confirm it to me in confidence. Then we started getting reports of clock malfunctions and schedule mishaps around the ship. It was all I could do to keep my crew from panicking. Imagine what would happen if I had the rest of you going hysterical when you found out we'd all shared a collective dream.

            "I don't know what it is about your group, or who all is in on it, but you did a good job hiding the fact. Every one of you seemed unphased. I had to tell the crew that it was jump sickness or visions. That worked for a while. Until we dropped you off. Then the visions would come at the oddest of times, when we weren't jumping ourselves.

            "Somehow, they're linked around one or some of you. When you jump, the rest of us are dragged along with you, instead of catching up the next time we jumped. I lost a couple of good crew from accidents when someone was trying to resume a time-critical operation while disoriented.

            "It's hard to know which, because you two, at least never seem to go on separate missions. It was Smith who investigated the timing of the incidents. He found that each induction happened when you were traveling.

            "We got together and voted. We wanted the visions to stop. Smith had the votes from his crew. They searched us down and made the proposition. He saw your names on a roster, and decided that we could try to end the whole mess by going back."

            A little naive. Casey had heard of odder solutions to bizarre situations.

            "You mean to tell me that this could all have been prevented? None of this had to happen?" Al asked, his voice suddenly very cold.

            "We didn't know what was going to happen. Give us a break for at least trying."

            "But, you heard the warning when we got there. That should have at least been a clue to turn around."

            "Ah. That." He held up a finger, and waved for the two mercs to come along.

            A short hop down the hall, they went up the lift to the bridge. There, Michaels drifted over to the com station. Casey and Al joined him.

            "James. Pull up a recording of that distress call."

            "Righto," Jim said, pressing a few buttons.

            A familiar voice played over the bridge speakers. It was déjà vu for Casey, listening to that forced calm.

            "This is Jol Good, Adept in charge of the Smith mining facility three five eight. As of November Twentyfirst, 3061, we were to evacuate, abandoning our project on the fifth world of this system. However, after a week of preparations, the ship's crew disappeared. A thorough sweep of the outlying area by security found nothing, and a few of them are now missing." Good's voice took on a desperate edge. "We can't escape. We're running low on supplies. Our ride out-system has not arrived on schedule. People are disappearing, and we don't know why, or who's doing it. There's something down here. This is our warning. Don't come down here. Stay away from this planet. Don't let it escape, whatever you do. Don't come for us. Nobody will be here when you arrive. And, if you do hear from someone, ignore them. It could be a trick. Head back. Pass on the order to put this system into quarantine. And, from the rest of us down here, good bye. Quaranteen code 999 Omega."

             Casey was riddled with goose bumps.

            "Is that what you heard, Mr. Cad'ver?" Michaels asked.

            "Nothing's changed. What about it?"

            "That's not what I heard last time," Casey said.

            "Me too," James said, looking puzzled.

            "Nor I," Michaels finished, confident. "Something had messed with our minds. It made us hear a call for help. Only you weren't affected." He eyed Al momentarily, suspicious. "If you weren't effected out here, I find it hard to believe you were effected down there. In fact, there's something about you that seemed to clear the fog that gripped the rest of us. Maybe a light from within?" He returned to his normal seriousness. "That same something that effected us probably is what masked the Dragoons from us. I'd give good money to hear what they heard when they jumped in. It can't have been this.

            "I know what you think you know," Michaels said with a sigh. "But, it's not safe to go back there. Whatever effected us is still there. Mister Bannock also told you that, Mister Cad'ver. I hate to say it, but, we've grown fond of you. I'd hate to see something happen to you now.           
            "Your initial advice has the right of it. Our solution to the dreams was a fool's errand from the start. There's no way Smith or I will make the same mistake again."

* * *

            Al stood with Casey in the observation lounge on the Queen of Aces. He stared out at the distant jewel of light that was Sol. His sun. He was reminded, not for the first time, of the start of this particular journey. As close to home as he was, he was still an eternity away. Deep down, Al knew he always would be. Always close, but never quite there.

            He wanted to go, to have the Aces take him down so he could explore. He wanted to chronicle in his own mind the differences between this Earth and his. In fact, after half a year in space, he was yearning to be on solid land. But, he was tired. So were the people aboard both Lucky Thirteens and their attached DropShips.

            It was time to let them go home. Al would have a chance to explore this Earth on his own. That was his journey. His gift. He didn’t know when, but he was certain.

            Only a matter of minutes remained before they arrived back in their proper universe.

            “Oh my gosh,” Casey drawled.

            Catching Al’s attention, his friend pointed a dark finger. Following it, Al saw an object in nearby space he thought he would never see again. It was slowly getting closer. The sight of it sent a chill down his spine, standing the hairs of his body on end.

            “Is that…?” Casey started to ask, but was interrupted by the vision of a man.

            He stood, occupying the air between them. The man was bald, his head clean-shaven. He wore what looked to be a dark toga, bound at the waist with ornate gold plates inset with unrecognizable symbols and stones. But, the man’s eyes were the most striking. The pupils and irises were so black that they didn’t reflect any light compared to the wet whites. It was with those eyes that the apparition stared at him. The way Casey didn’t move, transfixed, Al knew that his friend also stared into those same eyes.

            Al recognized the irony and what it implied. This vision was looking at two men on opposite sides at the same time. 

            Coppery hands pressed together as if in prayer, the man bobbed his head slightly, then spoke in English with a heavily stilted accent. He sounded like he had just learned, not yet fluent with practice.

            “Ruler Diaprepes my name is. Sighted you over many months through no-space. Are your intentions… hostile? Why are you here?”

            “Any idea how to respond?” Casey asked, glancing toward Al.

            Shrugging, Al was about to answer, but the apparition, Diaprepes, replied instead.

            “Speak. I hear.”

            “Is this being broadcast to the rest of the ship?”

            “No. I seek to speak with the one who holds the light.”

            Diaprepes pointed, hands still pressed together, toward Al. Casey looked over at Al. Diaprepes pointed only in one direction.

            “Light?” Al asked. “And, what makes you think I’m in charge?”

            Diaprepes didn’t get to respond. The jump warning rang, startling both Casey and Al. Equally startled, Diaprepes’s apparition vanished.

            The Thirteen pilot’s voice counted down the last few seconds before the Kearny Fuchida drive activated. The sudden skin-crawling feeling amplified while Al launched himself over to the intercom. Deep in the back of his mind, he knew it was too late. But, he had to try. He knew exactly what was going to happen if he didn’t.

            He had a chance to set everything right. If he could stop the jump, everything would be undone. The dreams would end. The sphere never would have affected them. Smith and Michaels wouldn't have dragged Carl and Al back a second time. It could all end now if only he could stop the jump.

            “Two-” seconds left! Al slammed into the wall, using the handhold to steady himself while simultaneously reaching for the intercom button.

            “Don’t jump! Don’t…” he started to shout.

            “…Jump.” The officer’s voice and his sounded at the exact same time. Both slowed and deepened as time distorted and came to a halt while a hole was ripped in the fabric of the universe. The marvel of the Kearny Fuchida drive wrapped the tear around the giant Lucky Thirteen and propelled them to the other side.

* * *

            Al stood, or floated, in nothing. It was pure black all around him. Yet, when he looked at himself, he could see everything as if he were under a light. There was no light source.

            In front of him, the image of Diaprepes appeared. There were differences in this apparition compared to the one he had seen just seconds before. This was the Diaprepes from the dreams on the Rock. The dreams of the Sphere. His whites were gone. Only the blank darkness of the pupils remained, accented by a single star in each socket.

            "You've changed," Al said.

            "Yes. I've been in this realm a long time. As I grow in the void, it grows in me. That is manifest in the windows to my soul."

            "And your clothes. The gold jewelry is missing."

            "Superfluous items on my physical form. They aren't necessary for my projection."

            He studied Al thoroughly.

            "You were right, you know," Diaprepes said. "I followed you back. Observe."

            The long needle of a ship winked out of existence, folding time and space around it like a performer flamboyantly concealing himself under a cloak. He had no time. Seeing where the void still peaked through, Diaprepes moved his vessel to follow.

            Outside the fabric of the universe, he lost them. There was no trace other than a certainty in his mind. He pressed his vessel deeper into the aether. Suddenly his ship started to shake and tremble. Never before had Diaprepes felt the void in such turmoil.

            Out in the sightless depths of nothing, he glimpsed the giant waves of different realities. They flashed and thundered where they collided. It reminded him of a violent storm at sea, an experience he had only once in his life. Like then, he was disoriented, unable to fight the forces that propelled his ship.

            For what felt equally like minutes and multiple eternities, he fought vainly to find his own realm, his entry point. It was lost in the chaos. When Diaprepes had almost given up hope, he saw something which he immediately recognized.

            That wonderful light that filled and emanated from that timeless young man caught his void-sight. Like a beacon pointed right at him, it did not waiver. It led into a point on one of the waves of reality.

            Without hesitation, he urged his ship toward it, getting the feel for the tides and waves of the aether storm around him. Unerringly, he zeroed in on a rip in the void, a vortex that grabbed his ship and pulled it into time and space. He knew the instant before he entered that this was not home.

            There was a pattern to this hole which Diaprepes had seen before, and he knew it for what it was.

            Only enough time for recognition, he could not change course. He was already through.   

            His ship was suddenly quite still. The turmoil of the void between universes was instantly gone. In what amounted to no time at all, but he had perceived as minutes, his shiny pearl of a ship slid from one universe into another.

            Diaprepes had never done this before. He hadn't even contemplated such a possibility. There was nothing from the line of Kings before, writings or lore, about the real power bestowed on the first Diaprepes and his heirs.

            As far as he knew, he was the first, and maybe the last. He had no idea when or where he was. There was no way to tell how the other realities lined up in time with his own. He had no way to navigate.

            Save for that man, and his light. Diaprepes's hope lay there.

            Suddenly, he was knocked to the floor. His ship had jumped violently with an impact that still rang through its hull.

            Gravity.

            Not the artificial force inside the ship, but outside. Pushing himself to his feet, he mentally called for the holodisplay to get a view of his surroundings. All he saw was darkness, black and complete. Activating his ship's exterior luminescence, he saw the glass reflecting his own ship back at him. At his feet, it was cracked, fractured where the round bottom of his vessel had crushed its surface.

            His stomach felt achingly empty, like a hole to the void had opened up inside his gut and was sucking out his organs. He wanted to sit down, to drop to his knees, he was so shocked.

            The vortex had jumped him deep into solid rock.

            The vortex with a pattern he recognized. A pattern only he could have devised.

            Diaprepes knew exactly how everything had set into place. How could he have been so blind? How could he have not seen his own designs, his own unique patterning in the tear made by that ship from another reality? How could he have not seen his own warning?
            By his own hand, he had led them between universes. It was evident in the pattern. The patterns were something only he gave to vessels which ferried Atlanteans among the stars. By his own hand he had trapped himself here. By his own hand.

            In this realm, Diaprepes was blind. He could enter the void, but could not navigate it. He didn't have the skill or raw power granted by Poseidon to the original to continually wander. He was trapped.

            But he had hope. That pattern on the ship was his. It had been a warning. He would see it again.

            He had no time to waste, even though, ironically, he had all the time in the world. Shutting down all unnecessary systems, he stepped to the center of the command chamber and seated himself for a trance. Using his own mental energies, he formed a void bubble around himself, sealing his body outside of time. This way, he could preserve himself for an eternity.         But, he wouldn't have to wait that long. If he interpreted events correctly, he would meet that man again. When he did, finally he would be free. Then, he could go home to Atlantis, or explore the multiverse.

            But, he had to see what kind of universe he was in, and find that young man. Reaching inward, he felt outward. That ship could propel itself through the void. It was that kind of disturbance which he sought. He mentally prepared himself for silence. A long, long quiet.

            To his surprise, he found a ship, though not the one with the young man. Then another. And, many, many more. Almost on a daily basis, he felt disturbances in the void.

            They were close.

            Close, and scattered. He never felt as many ripples, so much star travel, back in Atlantis. Seeing this, he felt confident in his absent vote for expansion. Should these people ever start to cross universes, Atlantis would need to be ready if they proved hostile.

            He felt them. He felt their frequency. In this way, Diaprepes gained a new skill. In the infinite absence of time, where ships, crew and passengers occupied his domain, he learned to listen. He heard their thoughts. Eventually, he learned to actively converse with them. This was how he learned the scope and nature of the reality he was in.

            Through dream in the void, in timeless sleep, Diaprepes reached out, searching, waiting for the beacon to appear.

            "Now, here you are. So close, yet so far away," Daiprepes said. "My gamble to prevent my arrival has failed. The dreams aren't necessary, now. But, I feel for the plight of your friend."

            "You teleported him out of the cockpit before he could die?" Al asked.

            "I did. I've done that before, if you recall."

            "But, why to the other dropship? Why couldn't you put him on the Queen?"

            "I couldn't control that. Someone else was at work, then."

            "Was that other the source of the madness that overcame everyone? Is it changing Carl?"

            "Yes. Another one like myself. This one is malicious, though, and wants to destroy you. It is trying what it can. I'm afraid the arrival of it and others is my doing, as well. By using you to search for my home and warn myself, I accidentally exposed them to you. They have been hunting for you. Another reason why the dreams should stop."

            "Others. More than one. You warned me about them."

            "Yes. Logic and caution tell me that I should bring this to an end. Keep more from finding and tracking you here, and potentially to my world. But, something different tells me that they are important. The dreams must continue. It is how I will get home. I'm certain of this.  As long as I remain here, the dreams will continue. No matter where you might be.

            "We will meet again."

Queen of Aces

Astrokaszy Zenith

Free Worlds League Periphery

9 January 3063

            Casey found himself staring at the polished steel surface of the table. He didn't know what to think. Carl was lost to them. The dreams could have stopped, but for some reason, they were going to continue. All because of that man in that orb.

            "He followed us back," Al said, quietly.
            "We have to go back," Casey concluded, then harrumphed. “But, the only ship that can take us is the Lucky Thirteen. You have Smith's answer on that. Not in his lifetime." He harrumphed again, his gaze finding a distant spot on the wall. Al, too, wasn’t looking anywhere particular while he listened and pondered. Leaning forward, Casey lowered his voice. “Listen carefully, because this is the only time I’ll say this.” He raised his index finger for emphasis, before clasping his hands in front of him. “You will be back. But, not in this lifetime, I think.”

            Al’s head shot up and he studied Casey. Slowly, he sat upright.

            “I don’t understand why, but I’ve seen those other mercenaries we find ourselves with in the visions. I see how they treat you, Al. They revere you, and not just as a leader. You have somehow bridged the gap between generations.”

            Casey paused, nodding slightly as he stared hard into Al’s eyes. “Oh yeah. I saw Miko in one girl. It’s hard not to notice. I think she’s her granddaughter. And, I can’t help thinking that your tech on their ship is somehow related to me. He won't come out and say it, but I see it in his eyes. He knows me, though I don't know him.”

            Pausing again, Casey passed his eyes around the room one more time.

            “Now, other than them, and the other Lucky Thirteen and Queen crews, the only people involved in these ‘jump dreams’ are the people who were on the rock where we found ‘that’!”

            He meant Diaprepes’s ship.

            “And those didn’t start until we were near it the first time. One thing’s for certain. The dreams, and the people in them, revolve around you. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But! You will be back. With them.”

            Casey leaned back, propping a hand over his chin.

            “Something's been bothering me, though. You seem pretty comfortable, and rather fluent with interdimensional travel. You also seem quite capable of things that people in BattleArmor can't quite do. How much of the dream is real?”

            Al looked at Casey a moment. "They're still visions, Casey. How much can you expect to be real? How can you be sure we're making decisions and not merely being shown something that never happened? Michaels said they're notoriously unreliable.

            "But, we're home now. Time for a break. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."