"LUNAR:  Tales From Crystal Tokyo"

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LUNAR: Tales From Crystal Tokyo

By Daryll Pung

Episode 4-01: Peace, Interrupted

Rated: R

Sigma Alpha Six, Sigma Alpha system, 7 June 2745

             Lush sunlight filtered through the trees, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of exotic flowers on the air.  The temperatures were comfortable, even for someone used to much hotter; equivalent to late spring in a temperate zone on Earth.  Whispers of small native animals and exotic avians foraging for food in the early morning hours were barely detectable… to those with better-than-average hearing, anyway.

            All in all, reflected Talia Kirk, fully relaxed and in her role as a Professor and Dean of Archaeological Sciences of UCT, a rather pleasant little planet for an archaeological expedition; and the weather is cooperating nicely as well.

            She allowed herself a slight, private smile, before schooling her expression into an emotionless mask, and- clad in a work jumper, boots, and with her hair contained by several elastic restraints- she turned back to the dig site, already becoming a scene of chaotic, yet scholarly activity even at this early hour… of course, there was a pattern to the chaos, but those were unfamiliar with this type of science wouldn’t recognize it.

            What had been a decent-size clearing was now a large, graded open pit, almost a full two kilometers across, bordered by forest on all sides; thousands of criss-crossing lasers marked the grid on the various levels, and microcomps scanned for and recorded artifacts as they were discovered.  The camp was just off to the right of the dig proper.  She knew not, as of yet, what calamity befell the planet they were on, but she knew that the rather high-tech ruins they were investigating had dated out to some fifty thousand earth years previously; about the time mankind was discovering fire, this civilization was ending in it… perhaps.

            A shame, she thought; this place had obviously once been a paradise.

            Still, they’d already found some very interesting items, including a type of laser pistol, albeit rather badly beaten up.  She was eagerly looking forward to what the day held- though she hid it well- and her only regret was that her usual right-hand companion was not present; but Sailor Cygni was now constantly with Sorcerer Derrelli, and both were involved in some top-secret project at the Skunk Works, one that had originated out of something Sailor Cygni had recently discovered in the ongoing research into the remains of the supercruisers captured almost five years previously.

            Shrugging off such thoughts, she set to work.

            Almost two hours later, amidst a flurry of activity, Talia’s scanner alerted her to a metallic signature some six inches in the ground at her feet; what really caught her attention was not the size, nor some of the unusual metals used, but the tiny power signature it was still putting out.  Curiosity peaked; she cautiously proceeded to unearth it, scanning for anything potentially dangerous as she did so.  When she found nothing of the sort, she removed a brush and fan from her kit and carefully cleaned the item off… only to find she needn’t have bothered.  It was as brightly colored as likely the day it was made; and a direct blast from a blaster pistol may have scratched it, if she tried; its construction was that dense and durable.  Its shape was that of a circle, bisected cleanly in two; on a gold-edged black background it bore a colorful shield, half on each half; four colors in equal quadrants:  red, green, blue, and yellow.  Bisecting the quadrants, and along the split, was a golden cross, with each arm equal in length.  Connecting the two halves was a thin rod, perhaps two millimeters thick and six long, golden in color… though the material certainly was not gold.

She had, quite frankly, never seen anything like it; and could not even begin to suppose what its purpose had been.

She scanned it again; the power source was still there, stronger now that the curious artifact sat in her palm instead of in the ground; a tiny, self-recharging power cell of unknown origin was buried within; its function was also difficult to fathom.

After further examining and displaying the artifact to her colleagues, to much admiration and puzzlement, she carefully locked it away in a case in her enviramesh dome tent, and permitted herself a satisfied smile.  This was one of the reasons she loved archaeology so much; there were always mysteries to unravel.

Her smile disappeared abruptly as screams could be heard; as she turned, her tent flap was thrown back, and one of the diggers was there, panting.

“Something’s attacking us!  From the woods!  They look human, but they’re not!  Stun settings don’t work!” he gasped out.

“Then increase the settings of the blasters,” she said coolly, flicking her wrist; a cool metallic cylinder appeared in her hand.  As the man nodded and ran out, she scowled, her rage at the interruption threatening to suddenly overwhelm her.

She raised her henshin.

“VULCAN CRYSTAL POWER!”

Crystal Palace in Crystal Tokyo, Planet Luna, Sol system, 7 June 2745

 Subspace Communications Central Control

             “And you are sure the danger is past?” Neo-Queen Serenity the First asked; concern obvious in her voice and expression.

            Sailor Vulcan, looking slightly disheveled on the primary screen, nodded calmly.  “There were barely a score of assailants; and… to be honest, Your Highness, it did not strike me that their heart was really in the attack.  Nothing of value was attacked; no one was seriously injured.”

            Sailor Venus snorted.  “Yeah, but who’d want to attack an archaeological dig?  I thought that planet was uninhabited by any sentient beings.”

            Sailor Vulcan raised an eyebrow.  “It is uninhabited.  I never made a statement that they were sentient, Sailor Venus.  I also… recognized them.”

            “You sound unsure of that,” King Endymion commented.

            “It is merely a… guess,” she replied, hesitantly.  She paused.  “They matched almost perfectly the army that King Endymion, Sailor Cygni, both Guardians, and myself battled with Sorcerer Merlin on the Isle of Avalon.  Stun settings had no effect, because they did not seem to be alive; and their physical strength was extreme, even if their agility was somewhat… lacking.  More to the point, they physically looked and smelled like corpses.”

            “Torym,” stated Venus Knight matter-of-factly.  “Zombie minions?  And it pains me to say that aloud, because it sounds so hokey, but…”

            “That is my hypothesis,” Sailor Vulcan confirmed.  “It fits a certain pattern, one must admit.”

            Serenity smiled.  “Then it must be so.  I trust your guesses and hypotheses more than I trust most people’s facts…” she paused.  “Well, Amy and Sailor Cygni are also in that category.  At any rate… can you cope, for the moment?”

            “Of course,” Sailor Vulcan replied, seeming affronted by the very suggestion.

            “There’s no guarantee he’ll stay there, especially after contact with a Senshi,” Sailor Venus pointed out.

            “Perhaps,” Sailor Vulcan responded.  “Or perhaps, if it is indeed him, he will.  The terrain on Sigma Alpha Six is varied, ranging from some areas of badlands and desert, to active volcanic regions, to massive belts of extremely dense forest and thick polar ice caps.  The one constant is that whatever civilization was once here is long gone; hence, the terrain is rough, and cover is plentiful.  Another factor is that the planet is rife with caverns.  In addition, the ruins of that civilization are fairly widespread… and because at its end, it was a high tech society, it is more than plausible that a secure hiding spot could be found, where it could be difficult short of intense, coordinated scans with scout ships, to even localize his location; one of our shuttlecraft could be masked under other metallic signatures, and so long as it is powered down and he is not actively using any sort of power, we would be none the wiser.  I also find it difficult to believe that he would give up such a ready supply of, if you will excuse the term, ‘raw materials’, for him to work with.   An entire civilization did perish here… and by this time, the Necronomicon must be truly in command, giving him quite a power over death.  No, if he remains subtle and devious, he could be very difficult to track down in this location; and cause a lot of disturbance in the meantime.”

            Serenity nodded slowly.  “Very well.  Stay alert; suspend operations as necessary to preserve life.  I shall send reinforcements to investigate the matter fully and help you cope.  Sorcerer Merlin will, of course, be among them; I think I will have to yank Sailor Cygni off of her project as well… which means Sorcerer Derrelli, too, of course.”  The foursome shared an amused glance.  “I will give the matter further and direct attention, worry not, Sailor Vulcan.  They will depart today, after I have notified them.”

            “Thank you, Your Highness; I will keep you informed as to the situation, and further discoveries.  Sailor Vulcan, out.”

            As the screen went dark, the quartet turned away; even as it blinked back on with another communiqué, with a tech running over to deal with it.

            “This… could be trouble,” murmured Sailor Venus.

            “I know,” Serenity agreed.  “Relations with the Dark Kingdom are still rather unstable; it was gracious of them to allow us access to that planet in the first place, and now we find this.”  She paused.  “They will, of course, have to be informed.  Mina, contact Michelle and Lita; I need to see them both; I will need a ship prepped to send in, and I am going to want Omega Force on standby.”

            Sailor Venus nodded.

            Serenity turned to Endymion.  “We shall also need Sorcerer Merlin, if you will be so kind as to have Sorcerer Dramlyn inform him as to his new orders?”

            “Of course,” Endymion replied.

            Serenity sighed.  “I suppose I will have to tell the Dark Kingdom ambassador in person of these events.  As if we were not having enough problems with the Separatists…”

In deep space, Theta Zone, 7 June 2745

 The SLS Prometheus

             “Anything?” asked Sailor Persephone coolly.  She was the more patient of the two Senshi assigned to the Prometheus; which was why she was currently on the bridge, monitoring and coordinating their sweep through the newly designated Theta Zone.

            Lieutenant Commander T’linith shook her head at her station at science.  “Negative, ma’am.  Other than the fact that our four ship element is maintaining formation, nothing new to report.”

            Sailor Persephone inclined her head slightly, eyeing the main screen, which showed the rather sparse depths of space they were currently combing.  “How long to the dark matter nebula?”

            “Another hour, give or take five minutes,” replied Lieutenant Timothy James Henderson at helm.  He paused.  “Does the Tarrasque actually think they’ll be hiding anything there?”

            Lieutenant Commander Mitchell Riyarik snorted.  “It’s possible; with all systems powered down… it is effective camouflage.”

            “We will soon find out,” Sailor Persephone said calmly.  Her gaze moved to screen two, which was currently a tactical display.  The RSN destroyer Sapphire was further forward, alongside the fourth member of this little search party, the DK destroyer Ammut.

            She couldn’t help but wonder just how well the DK crews were coping with all of this; it still seemed like a bizarre dream to her, and she knew she was far from the only citizen of the GM who felt that way.

The Tarrasque

             General Xanthar rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  Though theirs was a four-ship element, only two were visible on his screen; the GM ships with their highly effective cloaking systems could not be seen.  A special, short range narrow band signal was being broadcast specifically to the Ammut and the Tarrasque to let them know where the GM ships were.
            He scowled.  He didn’t like this one bit.

            He was a tall, striking figure, even seated.  His jet-black skin contrasted sharply with his white, short-cropped hair and his brightly glowing eyes, which appeared as if flames were scintillating within, ranging from bright yellow to fiery red, constantly... with nary a hint of pupils.  Naturally, like all Negans, he bore a black, downturned crescent on his forehead; it was, however, barely visible.  His figure was sharply cut, muscled, and fit; the uniform of the DK just looked it was designed for people like him, with his boots polished to a fine, gleaming mirror shine.

            Still, he was far from the most physically daunting figure on his bridge; his second in command, though a hint shorter, was more muscular.  Lord Trictyx also had jet-black skin, though his was scaly; rather threatening bony ridges defined his face on each side, and glaring yellow eyes were offset by long brown hair, neatly bound in a short ponytail.  Again, one could barely make out his crescent, but it was there nonetheless.  Trictyx was currently leaning over the science station, comparing notes with the slender, attractive female there… his lover, First Officer Akraolis, who by startling contrast was rather short, even elfin; but she had haughty intelligence and an insatiable thirst for knowledge to go with her good looks and normally icily aloof demeanor.  Her violet hair fell rather elegantly about her shoulders, with the tips of her pointed ears peaking through; her silver eyes and black crescent offset her rather pale skin rather nicely.  Claws on her fingertips (and also rumored to be on the tips of her toes, though Xanthar had never looked for himself) finished the look.

            Xanthar snorted, reminded himself not to be a hypocrite, since his own lover was seated at the ops station:  First Officer Zortia, whose slender, sensual form was currently taut with concentration; she had darker tan skin, dark blue eyes, and between full, glossy lips peeked her fangs.  She, too, had violet hair; hers was much longer.  Besides the crescent, a pair of short horns peeking through that hair on the top of her head marked her firmly as a Negan.  He admired her figure for a moment longer before bringing himself back to business; he turned to face the singularly most threatening sight on his bridge, his tactical officer, Security Officer Thrak.  Towering almost three meters tall, his greenish-brown tough hide bulged with muscles, as if his skin could barely contain them.  Contain them it did, however, under a massive amount of bony armor, especially over his back, up his hairless head, to the spikes jutting out from over his shoulders and the smaller spikes just above his glowing red eyes, beginning on either side of his crescent.  He also possessed an armored tail, two meters worth, with a massive bony club at its end.  Xanthar raised a white eyebrow.

            “Status?” he asked icily.

            Thrak glanced up.  “Green and ready across the board, milord.”  He paused.  “May I beg to ask a question?”

            Xanthar nodded slowly.

            Thrak cleared his throat.  “Why… are we teamed with these GM ships for this, milord?  We can handle hunting down the Separatists ourselves.”

            Xanthar waited a few moments; Thrak shifted slightly in nervousness.  Just because Xanthar was not the most physically imposing, did not mean he was not a threatening figure; he was, after all, a High Elite, son of a High Elite Councilmember… and all present had seen his powers in action before.  Finally, he responded.

            “To test how well we can cooperate on a mission of this sensitivity,” he said slowly.  He sighed.  “To be perfectly honest, Thrak… I wasn’t told.  I suspect it’s partially a test, partially because the Separatists have had such great success against us; and the GM does have better technology, and may have better success against them.  Before inviting wide scale GM participation, however, we must first see just how well such a partnership would work.  And their cloak does make for a great equalizer.”  He paused, and his expression hardened.  “That does not, however, mean we have to like it.” 

Xanthar’s gaze continued around his bridge, falling in turn upon his best driver, Chief Helm Technician Fidrak, who was also on the tall side, and coated with short, coarse green fur.  Longer, darker green hair hung off of his head, and his jet black eyes were the same exact shade as his crescent.  His four arms were all on the panel in front of him at the moment; such close formation flying demanded more of a helmsman than usual.

At the comm station, the soft-spoken but brilliant linguist Chief Communications Technician Mitzarii was studying something on her console; of all of his crew, she fit in the least, as she was, to put it quite simply, a sweet individual who wouldn’t, couldn’t, hurt a damn thing.  She did, however, have great skill at codes and languages- she spoke over fifty fluently, including the nearly impossible Miraxic dialect- which is why he had her, and why he continued to protect her.  She looked almost Human, with a pretty peaches-and-cream complexion, blue eyes, and butter blonde, shoulder-length hair; only her serrated ears and black crescent betrayed her Negan origins.

He nodded in satisfaction; added to these excellent officers were two more, one of which was Chief Medical Technician Rodak, who was slight in stature, with sickly-gray, glistening skin, bald head, crescent between two white, pupil-less eyes, and instead of arms he had six tentacles, with a six-fingered hand at the end of each.  He was quite good; it was his bedside manner which was somewhat lacking, full of sarcasm and pointed barbs.  The other was Tarrasque’s Chief Engineer, First Officer Osgratia, who was rather a blend of humanoid and snake; her upper torso was quite feminine; but her lower torso, beneath her curvy hips, extended some three meters behind her when she moved, and was usually coiled beneath her as she worked.  She had red and orange striped coloration, with no hair; though longer spines grew out of the back of her head were hair would ordinarily be.  Her crescent offset her green, glowing eyes.  Her hands were unusual, as well; eight-fingered, with an extra joint on each.  Still, all of her physical attributes only seemed to contribute to her prodigious engineering skills… or her outspokenness and rather bawdy humor.

Xanthar frowned again.  The best of the best.  That’s what he had.  The best DK technology; the Tarrasque was even specially modified to carry extra Slasher battalions and the Pods to deploy them.  The best crew; some of his people had no equal anywhere else in the DK.  He, himself, was no slouch; he always got the toughest, most difficult missions… even if they were the ones the Council wanted done on the sly; and he had yet to fail, or even complete a mission with less than a brilliant performance.

Yet the GM was better still… and it rankled.  Badly.

Unlike some of his brethren, though, he was able to overcome his hatred and dislike; he respected the GM, and he knew one fact:  the only way to catch up to them was to be with them, to work with them… and to learn from them.

He wondered, idly, how Lord Ahn’Ubyss on the Ammut was dealing…

The Ammut

             Seated in the central chair, the tall, lithe and muscular dark-steel blue colored form of Lord Ahn’Ubyss was leaning forward in taut concentration, and angry scowl was on his face, displaying his elongated incisors; his three-meter prehensile tail, akin to that of an Earth monkey, was waving back in forth, showing his irritation; but that was perhaps most displayed in his eerie red-orange opaque metallic irises, set beneath his black down turned crescent in his squarish face; his pointed ears lay back against his skull.

            He was not happy.

            “Say that again,” he said, his voice almost a growl.

            First Officer Gneiss, the destroyer’s Chief Engineer, frowned.  He looked for all intents and purposes as an immense lime-green and black striped colored Zandolit, standing over two meters tall; and his original body had been just that.  However, this ‘host’ body had long since become totally his, and bore the black crescent between pure white, soulless eyes; sharp blades of serrated bone protruded from his forearms.  The true form of Gneiss, long since permanently imbedded and intertwined, was the unusual growth starting at the base of his neck and extending down his spine; it looked rather like a claw attached to an extra spine.

            “Very well, milord,” he stated neutrally.  “There is no conceivable way to adapt our sensors with tachyon detection capability at this time; we simply cannot detect the Golden Millennium unless they allow us to.  And, as I have explained, even if we were to do so, all GM ships now have fully functioning phase cloaking technology… which we have no way of detecting at all.”

            Ahn’Ubyss snarled.  “Damn them!”  His gaze met that of his first officer, who had the good grace to look coolly professional… yet, in her pink irises resided a hint of fear amongst her anger.  First Officer Cardina was a rather soothing vision for him; her shapely form, soft peach-colored skin, and pink hair appealingly framing her face; her crescent, pointed ears, and poisonous fangs actually only added to her exotic appeal, as did the fact that, when angered, she could extend three-inch pink-colored talons from each fingertip.

            “Please, milord…” she began, softly, soothingly.  “It does not do to get all worked up over that which we have no control over.  I… don’t like it either.  I’m pretty sure General Xanthar dislikes it as well.”

            Ahn’Ubyss grunted, in reluctant agreement.  His gaze swept the bridge.  At helm, Chief Helm Technician Toh’ra, hunched over though his almost three meter height was, was listening in, though trying not to be obvious about it; his head was just barely turned; just enough where one could catch a glimmer of the pure-white eyes on either side of his crescent.  His hide was black, with patches of black scales here and there; two black horns curved from under his black hair to just over his forehead.  His clawed hands were, perhaps, not that unusual; but the large claw that emerged from each forearm was.

            Everyone else was busily engaged in something; even if it were make-work, the better to avoid his wrath.  The mere thought of that brought a slight grin to his face.  But it was true; even Chief Communications Technician Aeolin was hunched over her panel, her melodious voice silent for once, likely engaged in some code or other; her blue-and-red colored irises, which whirled constantly like small whirlpools, were tightly focused; her lush green hair pulled back out of her face, clearly showing her crescent.  Her two, small, green scaly tails were, for once, just sort of dangling, twitching occasionally; usually they were spiraling about, showing how playful she was.  The light barely caught one of the smallish patches of green scales on otherwise tan skin.

            At ops, First Officer Nivehr was very preoccupied; his short, wetly gray body, resembling nothing so much as a squid out of water, propped over the console; his twelve tentacles, each of which possessed a razor-sharp talon as needed, busily moving over the panel.  His yellow irises were narrowed, brow furrowed around his crescent, as he concentrated on whatever it was he was working on, his high-pitched voice silent.

            Working at diligently at the science console, at what Ahn’Ubyss knew very well was a better way to track the Separatists, in coordination with the science department of the Tarrasque, was the very Human-looking First Officer Khry’ten.  The only sign she was, indeed, Negan, was the dark, downturned crescent; otherwise, she was short, demure, with silky peach-colored skin, gray eyes, and long red hair bound up in a tidy bun.  Still, no one messed with the unofficial den mother of the Ammut; besides brains, she was surprisingly strong, and quite a valuable and likable individual overall.

            Only the tactical officer, Security Officer Dhrak’Alder, was not engrossed in his panel; he was standing at rigid attention at his station, black eyes that matched the color of his crescent flipping between the tactical overlay on the sidescreen and the displays on his panel, primed for action.  Unusually for a Negan, he had no skeleton; rather, no internal skeleton; his skin was actually a tough deep-gray chitinous armor, resembling gemstones and actually reflecting light cast directly at him; and beneath that was an immense mass of muscle; no hair adorned him, either.

            Ahn’Ubyss scowled, bringing himself back to the matter at hand.  “Very well,” he rasped, his voice still rough with barely suppressed rage.  “Thank you, Gneiss.  Dismissed.”

            “Are you all right, milord?” Cardina asked quietly.

            “No,” he growled.  “It is going to take a long time- if ever- for me to get used to working with the GM mongrels.”  He paused.  “Maintain course and speed; prepare to separate element when in range.”

            “By your command, milord,” she replied, softly, wishing for something to happen- like, say, a firefight- that would put him in a better mood.

            Perhaps one wouldn’t be too long in coming.

Ulysses Dockyard, In high Lunar orbit, Sol system, 7 June 2745

            “Sorcerer Merlin,” greeted Sailor Cygni, extending her hand as the gorgeous brunette strolled to the access ramp with Sorcerer Derrelli.  “It’s been awhile.”

            “It has indeed, Sailor Cygni,” Merlin replied smoothly, as he took first her hand, and then Derrelli’s.  “And it appears we are once again drawn together by the same evil that caused our initial alliance.”

            Derrelli frowned.  “Torym,” he whispered.  He shook his head.  Even after all these years, he still felt that if hadn’t been out in space, up to all sorts of high jinks on the Bahumat, he might have been able to prevent the whole situation; and nothing anyone said could dissuade him of that opinion.  He knew, intellectually, of course, that no one could have guessed the final result of that failed dig; he also knew that he hadn’t really much choice; he had to follow orders.  He also knew that nobody blamed him; indeed, nobody had even thought of attaching any blame to him.

            Why, then, did he still, to this day, feel so blasted guilty over it all?  Was it because he’d enjoyed so much success, stealing the spotlight, and his friend had remained in the shadows, eventually making it easier for him to be seduced by the dark powers within that ancient tome?  He’d tried to help Torym out… but he just hadn’t been as proficient as himself.  Had it been Derrelli’s own talents that pushed Torym down the wrong road; his ego bruised by Derrelli’s unconscious superiority?

            Yeah, way to go, he snarled at himself.  That’s a way to think; geez.  Just because I possess great magical skill does not make me superior!  Asshole!

            As if Merlin was reading his thoughts, he glanced at Derrelli.  “Worry yourself not,” he stated quietly.  “He made a choice; it is that simple.  Unfortunately, it was the wrong one.  It is also highly unlikely you could have affected that choice, friend or no friend; the Necronomicon has a very powerful pull.”

            Derrelli grimaced.  “Yeah, well… my early track record in friends didn’t turn out too hot, did it?  First Ereunak, then Torym.  At least things’ve picked up since.”  He grinned crookedly.

            Sailor Cygni smiled.  “Yeah.  Shall we?”

            The trio turned, and entered the access tunnel, leading to the umbilical connection to their transport into harm’s way.

The SLS Yorktown

             The doors of the lift finally hissed open on a very different scene from the last time that both Derrelli and Sailor Cygni had laid eyes on the Yorktown’s bridge; much had changed to a new standard applied to all ships during the overhauls, all of which were complete at this point.  There were now seven screens; the console arrangements were different; the lighting was more subtle; heck, even the coloring on the wall panels was different, a little darker, more businesslike.

            And yet, it was still obviously a GM starship.  The uniforms hadn’t changed; the races hadn’t either.  The displays still had a familiar feel.  There was still an overall brightness about everything that proclaimed the GM’s embrace of the forces of light and good.

            Amongst the changes were the two who now rose from the captain’s and first officer’s chairs with large grins on their faces.

            On first appearance, they looked much as they had when Sailor Cygni and Derrelli had last laid eyes on them, several years earlier.  But that was to be expected.  And even as Derrelli extended his hands to both, another flash of guilt shot through him; he’d been too busy to attend either of their promotion celebrations… and neither blamed him for that.

            He kinda wished they would; it would have made it easier to deal with his feelings of neglecting his friends.

            He supposed, intellectually, that this sort of event would happen.  They were all professionals, warriors in the service of the Queen.  They did have to do what they were ordered to, and if that got in the way of personal life, they just had to deal with it.  Some things came first.

            So why, then, did he feel like such a heel?

            He shook it off, and shook both their hands. 

The captain of the Yorktown, Sorcerer Duke, smirked; GIA stood behind him, lounging apparently indolently against the tactical station.  “Well, well.  We have a problem, I understand… and Their Highnesses think nuking it out of existence is the way to go?”

Derrelli snorted.  “Hardly.  Sailor Cygni dealt with this before, as did Merlin; I’m just along for the ride.”

“Yeah, right,” chuckled Sorcerer Orien, the Yorktown’s first officer.  “C’mon, Pyro, we know better.  Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.  And where there’s you, there’s an excessive amount of fire!”

They paused long enough to greet Merlin with handshakes, and Sailor Cygni with brief hugs.

“You guys are awful,” smiled the Senshi of Gravity.  “He hasn’t been aboard for five minutes, and you’re already having at him.”

“Jealousy,” quipped Derrelli.  “It’s an awful burden to bear.”

They looked fit, relaxed, and ready for action, he had to acknowledge.  Unease crept over him; hell, they might very well be better combatants than he at this point.

That bothered him more than he cared to admit.  Since just after the battle that ended the Supercruiser Invasion, when he relinquished command of the Yorktown, he’d gone almost immediately back to Skunk Works… and he’d done virtually no work on his fighting skills or even magic use, much less research on spells, since.  He’d stagnated; they were on the front lines.  Even Sailor Cygni got in more training than he; she’d at least kept current.

Of everyone here, he was now the weakest combatant… maybe.

Some last vestige of confidence reminded him he was still a magical prodigy… and could still kick ass and take names when needed.  And what better a way to dust himself off than a mission like this?

He smiled.

“So,” he began.  “Are we just gonna sit around here all day, or what?”

Duke snorted.  “Always ready to blast something straight to hell, aren’t we?”

“You saying you’re not?” Derrelli retorted with a chuckle.

Duke snickered as Orien chuckled.  “Of course I am.  Let’s get this show on the road!  Comm, hail dockmaster.  We’re ready.”

“We are,” laughed Orien.  “The question is, is the universe ready for us?  The fatal four-way is back in action!”

            “Plus one,” smiled Sailor Cygni.  “And he’s pretty damn lethal too.”

            “Why thank you, Sailor Cygni,” Merlin put in, shaking his head at their antics.

            “Cleared, sir,” comm reported.

            “Helm… get us out of here.  We’ve got places to be and dead people to kill,” grinned Duke.

            “Rock on,” added GIA.

            “Air,” snorted Duke.

            “Fire,” Derrelli smirked.

            Orien shook his head.  “We’ll let you have it for now.  Helm… engage!”

            The Yorktown reversed out of its moorings; umbilical connections retracted automatically.  It turned; a rather faint hint of reddish ions marked its sublight drive engaging.

            A short time later, the Yorktown leapt out of normal space-time in a spiraling white flash near L-point.

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