It is disappearing quickly, the vague details that linger and trigger the emotional waves flooding over me as I open my eyes.  There is no direction and they fade as quickly as I draw attention to them, still, half asleep, I grab the book and the pen from the table beside me and try to focus but the details are already lost to me.

I scribble down what I can remember in a half scrawl that even I will struggle to read in the light of day and slump back onto the pillow squished behind me, sleep is pulling me back as quickly as it had let me go.

A vague thought suddenly grips me.  Would I go back into the same dream when I fall asleep again? Would I want to? It’s an interesting thought.  Bad dreams that you wake from always seem to haunt you and you always fear them dragging you back into them when you fall asleep again.  The others, the good ones or even the ones you just don’t recall, you never seem to close your eyes and fear going back to the moment before you woke.  So why do bad dreams leave you with such a feeling of dread and the possibility that you will never escape?

“Ow,” Sheppard snapped angrily as he landed badly on the mat, his own elbow slamming up into his ribs.  Instead of climbing back to his feet he lay there, gasping softly, and rubbed at the bruised skin at this side.  “I’m sensing you’re a little angry?”

“Argh!”  Teyla let out the soft sound of exasperation and sighed, “I am sorry John, yes, I am angry, but it was wrong of me to allow that anger into our sparring.”  She took her bantos rods in one hand and reached out to help him to his feet.

Sheppard allowed her to pull him up and gestured to the wall.  He grabbed his towel and asked, “What’s up?”

“A loss of faith,” Teyla sighed again but said nothing more as she used her soft towel to wipe her face and neck.  She pulled at her damp hair and tied it messily behind her head she looked at Sheppard seriously, spearing him with her intense gaze, “As have you.  It appears as though our troubles coincide.”

Sheppard grunted and dropped his head.

“Shall we go and get a drink, John?  I feel we must talk about this before it affects the whole team.”

“Yeah.”  Sheppard agreed somewhat reluctantly and followed her from the room.

A little while later found them both on one of the uppermost balconies, staring silently over their city.  They sipped at their water bottles and waited for the other to begin.

“What of Rodney?” Teyla finally began, she had already explained to John what had happened in the canteen between the Satetans and how betrayed she had felt by Ronan’s actions.  Sheppard had listened in silence staring out across the glittering ocean but had not spoken of his own troubles.  Teyla broke the silence now with her question but Sheppard simply shook his head.  She allowed him his quiet, knowing eventually, he would break.

“Can you trust him?” he words appeared out of nowhere and startled her even though she was expecting them.

Teyla’s instinct was to insist ‘of course’ she could, but she took a long breath to really think about the question.  Finally she nodded and replied, “Yes.”  After another quiet moment she continued.  “I am angry, I am hurt, but I understand.  I understand his anger.  I understand his hurt.  It will take some time before I can trust him not to hurt me in that way again.  But Ronan is as he always was.  Perhaps some of the blame lies with me.  Perhaps I have been projecting my beliefs and behaviours onto him unfairly.  Can I expect him to understand my expectations in regard to our friendship if I do not tell him what they are? How can I simply assume he will know.”

Sheppard stared at her silently for a moment.

“You’re right” was all he said and pushed to his feet.  “I have to talk to McKay.”

Teyla nodded gently as he left, she had hoped her words would reach him.  She had not really needed John to tell her what had happened between them, as people had been stopping her all day to tell her.  Teyla had known her friend would need to speak with Rodney but would need to realise why before he could do so.  She felt that perhaps now, he did.

**

Sheppard hovered outside McKay’s door.  His determination had carried him right up to the point of knocking but now he found he was hesitating to take the final step.  The door slide open abruptly and Sheppard found himself staring into the pale, shocked face of his friend.  Nether spoke.  They just started as if they had not seen each other in months rather than days.

“Can I come in?” Sheppard finally asked.

Rodney took a step back into the doorway. “Um, sure” he stuttered.

As John followed Rodney into his quarters he felt the weight that had settled on his shoulders start to ease.

He woke with a sigh on his lips and just lay for a moment enjoying the sun warmed bedsheets tucked around him.  He felt warm, relaxed and happy.  He had had the same dream again.  Though the exact events were fading now as they always did, her face stayed with him into his waking memory.  Deep dark eyes filled with humour, flashes of blond no copper hair, hey her hair was different this time he realised with a start but the rest was the same as ever.  He tugged a hand from the sheet twisted around his chest and held it to his eyes, yes there was a slight tremor in his hand and his body tingled with the remaining traces of the dream,  He touched his lips and traced over his mouth.  Smiling, he was smiling and realised suddenly that his dream girl made him happy.  This girl with her understanding eyes and ready laugh, he could hear it even now in the silence of his room, her voice, her laugh.  He woke from every dream with such a feeling of contentment.  He only wished he could remember the details of the dream more clearly, enough to at least write it down.  He wished he could remember who she was.  Did he even know her? He unconsciously shook his head.  No, if he had ever met her he was positive he would remember, but then, who was she?  Was his imagination so great as to conjure her so fully?  And why was he dreaming about her?  He knew dreams could be memory or wish fulfilment or even a replaying of the days before and he was curious as to what she was.  Was she created purely from his imagination? He wished he knew the truth.  Opening eye, that had drifted closed as he filled his memory with her, he looked around his room.  The sunlight seemed so warm to his eyes, warmer than the early hour should offer as it filled his room with light.  Another happy sigh and he untangled the bedsheet from his body to jump to his feet.  Well, whoever she was he felt energised, wide awake and happy. Until he either remembered her or met up with her he would enjoy the feeling she gave him.  He only hoped she was real and that he would one day soon meet her.  Fleetingly he wondered if she dreamed of him too before he reached for his gear, his run would be further today and he was actually looking forward to it.

             “All passengers for the Trayeska line please change cruisers here at Pou.  Passengers for the Stratfield, also change here.  This cruiser is a Battenhold line, stopping all planets to Battenhold.  On behalf of TS cruisers, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for travelling with us and hope that you have a safe and pleasant journey.”
             The passengers in the third compartment of the cruiser groaned in unison as the artifical pilot's announcement concluded.  Whatever happened to a nice quiet space hop! After the announcement bodies shuffled back into their uncomfortable sleep positions and each passenger tried to do their best to ignore the coming takeoff.
            Mich Janelle adjusted her earpiece to reestablish the music she had been listening to before the pilot had become so chatty.  TS cruisers were not her preferred method of travel and she was aggravated at the length of the ride.  Utmost on her irritation list was not the time of her life wasted by this trip but the lack of amenities.  The cabin was freezing.  TS’s policy to never refuse any species resulted in carrying an eclectic mix of races in each carriage, all of whom required a different comfort zone temp and to solve this, Management chose a temperature somewhere in the vicinity of none of these zones thus increasing each and every passenger’s discomfort.
           Mich pulled her thick jacket closer to her chest feeling disadvantaged by her very human skin, which experienced the cold so much more than the more hirsute passengers around her.  Mich’s compartment was two beings short of full and consisted mainly of hairy Shol.  The remaining passengers were of Dressand decent and there were three practically comatose Utchers, whose scaly skin hated the cold even more than Mich did.  Another irritant on Mich’s list was the supposedly soothing music she was listening to, listening to because it was the only kind available that was not too high-pitched for her hearing.  Mich knew she would never be able to stand the screeching that comprised the remaining channels.
            Mich’s stomach clenched drawing her attention to the third irritant on her list.  Food.  Mich was hungry but there was no way she was going to touch the prepared plastic that Management so insistently called food.  Of course Mich was not on board this cruiser because she couldn’t afford the passage to Battenhold any other way, afterall she owned a more than perfectly functional ship, in fact, would have been if it were not for the Shol sitting two seats in front of her.
            Mich reached a hand into her waist pocket and fingered the badge inside.  The urge to pull it out and confront the hairy creature was getting stronger every second she sat here.  Four days of trailing him and the only intel she had gathered was that he had a preference for travelling cheap, and often.  She needed more information, and that was why she continued to sit in her tattered seat and assume the behavior of a surly teenage runaway.  The Shol, who referred to himself as Yetti, a mythical monster from Old Earth he proudly insisted to anyone who crossed his trail, thought he was clever.  He wasn’t.  For one thing he pronounced his own name wrong, for another yeti or bigfoot as they had also been known (she had read up on them) lived in frozen, mountainous regions, were rarely seen and were reputed very very dangerous.  Yetti was none of those.
           Mich turned down the volume of her earpiece to focus on the conversation Yetti had started with the Shol beside him.  Mich closed her eyes, feigning sleep, shifted her head slightly and tried to make out the words.
            “Ssho I sshaid to him I had the contract, ssho he’d better leave the track.”
            Irritant number four was that Yetti had a lisp that made listening to communicator taps or eavesdropping on conversations like this one torture.  Irritant five was that Yetti loved to tell stories, to anyone who would listen.  Mich had heard this story five or six times since boarding this cruiser alone.
            A loud screech announced the cruiser’s takeoff and Mich was forced back into her seat as the Gravless system failed for the third time.  Groans and grunts filled the compartment as passengers struggled to adjust to the extra pressure.
            Mich’s training held her in good stead, barely, and she adjusted quicker than the others.  Her vision and cleared in time to see the baggage above Yetti’s head break free from its securing straps and tumble to the floor.  The bag began to slide towards the back of the compartment as the angle of ascent increased dramatically.
            Mich thrust out her foot, moving slower against the gravity pressure holding her in place and managed to stop the bag’s slide.  Releasing her own security straps Mich reached her hand forward and dragged the bag closer.  Tugging a metal strip out of her jacket pocket with her free hand Mich expertly twisted the lock on the bag a few times.  She didn’t hear the latch click open as the ringing in her ears indicated her sense of sound returning.  Mich had to hope the same ringing distorted the hearing and vision of those around her as she quickly rifled through the bag.  A small thin tube caught her eye amid the dots and splotches obscuring at least forty percent of her vision and the filthy clothing beneath hid the depths of Yetti’s bag from the other sixty.  Mich slipped the cylinder into her sleeve and re-latched the lock pushing the bag away from her seat.  The bag, now freed of its position against her chair slid the remaining distance to the back of the compartment.
            Mich fell back into her seat and added her groan of pain to the combined score around her.
            “We apologise for any inconvenience caused to passengers from the loss of our gravity-less system.  We assure you that the loss is only momentary and ask that all passengers remain seated for the duration of takeoff.”  The speaker close to Mich’s head squealed sharply as the announcement ended.  Within minutes the cruiser leveled out and the Gravless system kicked in.  Mich sagged into her seat with relief and took a deep breath as the pressure on her chest lessened.
            “Well, that wassh ssho very unpleashant.”  Yetti complained loudly from the space in front.  Mich watched as the large Shol unsteadily got to his feet.  “Wassh that my bag that fell?”
            Mich withdrew her earpiece and tapped it violently as the Shol stumbled past to collect his bag.  Would anyone mention the bag had stopped on its trip to the back of the compartment? She held her breath until the ensuing silence indicated no.  Replacing her perfectly functional earpiece Mich casually watched Yetti retrieve his bag, check the locks and stumble a little more steadily back to his seat.  Yetti flipped the bag up and threw it back into the compartment above his head.
            Mich contemplated a leisurely stroll to the relievers to continue to keep an eye on him when the decision was taken from her as she watched Yetti head in that direction himself.  Mich wanted to, but couldn’t afford to examine the cylinder that now rested up her sleeve though curiosity was eating at her insides.  Raising her arms in a long stretch Mich let the cylinder slide all the way to her shoulder and with a well placed scratch or two removed the cylinder from the shoulder of her jacket and dropped it into the concealed pocket in the lining.
            “Cramped isn’t it?”  The voice came from right beside her ear.
            Mich tilted her head slowly hiding the shock at how close the voice seemed and hoped whoever it was had not seen her little maneuver with the cylinder.  Mich raised her eyes to the gray furred Shol behind her.  “Yes.  Not as bad as some.”  Mich agreed.  
            “Not as good as others.” The Shol replied huffing softly into her face.
             Mich nodded and smiled.  Quite an effort considering the breath of the other.
             The sound of a fist connecting with hairy flesh echoed around the compartment.  Mich and the gray furred Shol looked around just as a red furred Shol grabbed the chest hairs of a reddish brown and lifted him off the ground.  The Shol next to Mich growled and Mich dropped her hand to her waist inches from the small weapon hidden in the waistband.  Remembering her assumed character Mich raised both her hands a gripped the back of the seat in front of her tightly.  “They’re not going to kill each other are they?”
            The Shol next to her growled again, it took Mich a moment to realise that it wasn’t a growl, it was a laugh.  “Young pups.  Just trying to prove which is stronger.  Ignore them and it’ll be over soon enough.”
           But as Mich watched, the fight seemed to grow in intensity, drawing several nearby watching Shol into the fray.  “You sure?” 
           The Shol bared his teeth in a feral grin.  “Maybe.”
           The reddish brown Shol clipped the red over the ear, slammed a huge arm into his chest and, gabbing hold of the fur there flipped the Shol over his back.  The red Shol flew back, slamming his head against the back wall.  The whole compartment seemed to shudder with the impact and the fight was suddenly over quicker than it had begun.  The remaining Shols, who had held back to watch the fight, now surrounded the reddish brown one, slapping his back in what seemed like monstrous congratulations.
             Mich turned around to face front again.  When this assignment was over she was going to kill whomever it was that had assigned her here.
             A hairy hand dropped onto her arm causing Mich to start violently.  “Did I not say it would be over soon?”  The gray Shol grinned again.  “I am Befa.”
             Mich nodded in acknowledgement. 
            “You are young to be travelling alone, aren’t you?”
             Hell, was he trying to pick her up?  Mich had to extricate herself from this and quickly.  Shol were known for their persistence in such matters and right now Mich did not want to be in the centre of it.  Staying in character Mich shrugged her shoulders.  “Not that young.”
            “Of course not.  It is a long trip though.”
            “I’m meeting friends.”
            “Friends,” Befa paused, “yes.”
            The Shol obviously didn’t believe her.  It was in this moment Mich realised Yetti had been gone far too long.  “Excuse me.”  She muttered standing up.
            Befa moved his legs slightly allowing Mich to pass.  After all, this was an enclosed compartment, she wasn’t going anywhere. Befa relaxed back into his seat to wait for her to return.  He held up his hand to the creatures sitting behind him.  They wolfed and grunted, some in approval, some with disbelief.
            Mich approached the corridor that led to the relievers.  There was no one about.  Cautiously making her way to the doors, Mich approached the only one with an engaged light.  She bashed on the door with a fist, “Hey, anyone in there? I need to go.”
            There was no response.  Mich pushed her ear to the door but again heard nothing.  She didn’t like this, and the curling in her stomach told her she wasn’t going to like what was coming either.  A strip of metal appeared in her hand like magic and the lock on the reliever door quickly succumbed to her manipulations.
           Mich fingered the blaster at her back and cautiously edged open the door.  Something squelched wetly as she stepped into the darkened cubical.  Reaching back with one hand Mich flicked on the light and look down to see what had caused the noise.  The squelch had been her boot landing in a flood of blood, which now ran in rivulets past her boots and through the open doorway.  Mich swallowed hard as she stared at the body that only minutes before had been a living Shol.
           Mich returned her weapon to her back, she must have drawn it somewhere between opening the door and flicking on the light.  Fortunately, she thought in a somewhat distanced way Yetti had not yet been dead long enough to start to smell.  Mich stepped carefully through the blood, reached down and carefully turned Yetti’s head.
          Oh geez, that was where all the blood had come from.  Mich drew back sickened by the sight.  The Shol’s face had been caved in or, no, looked like it had exploded from inside out.  Mich swallowed rapidly and looked away.  After a moments hesitation, and avoiding looking directly into Yetti’s non-existent face, Mich ran her hands over the Shol’s clothing searching but not finding anything that could lead her to who killed him.  Mich wondered what Yetti had been doing that could have resulted in someone exploding his face, her second thought was to wonder who had completed the assassination and how it was done?
                  The young woman turned and examined the corridor door from the inside.  No damage.  Pulling the door towards her Mich examined the outside.  Faint scratches against the metal latch told her at some stage this door had been forced, and not by her.  But whether the door had been forced open at some earlier time she couldn’t tell.
         Mich paused and considered the possibilities.  As far as she was aware no one had left her compartment after Yetti, however the Shol fight behind her had distracted her attention so she may have missed something.  Unfortunately three other compartments had access to the same reliever block so anyone or anything could have made their way here without her knowledge.  What if the killer wasn’t someone but something?  It wasn’t unheard of for some parasites to takeover living hosts, killing them only when they had grown large enough to survive on their own or before moving into another host.  Mich examined the floor more closely.  No signs of a slime trail or any other such indicators.  Besides the amount of blood implied most of Yetti had been intact before the explosion.  Covering her mouth with her hand, Mich returned to the Shol’s body.  She looked closer at the wound.  The edges were scorched, not eaten and the remaining skin and brain looked almost cooked.  Not a parasite then, Mich thought, trying to distance her stomach from the view in front of her.
         “What have you done little girl?”  Befa’s voice growled from behind her.  Mich’s blaster was in her hand before she knew what was happening.  The gray Shol took a step back when his eyes caught sight of her weapon.  He then looked past her to the lifeless form of a fellow Shol.  The horror that had filled his voice earlier returned to his face.  Straightening his shoulders Befa growled angrily.  Mich cut him off before he could say anything else.
        “I only found him.”  Reaching into her pocket she removed her badge and raised it to Befa’s small eyes.  “Name’s Hunter Janelle, I suggest you stay out of this.”
         Befa examined the shinny badge and then looked back down at the young human holding it.  Her entire posture and body language had changed and she suddenly seemed harder, and older.  Befa backed slowly out of the corridor.
          “I’d appreciate you returning to your seat.” She continued.
           Befa acknowledged her request with a nod and headed back the way he had come.
          Mich looked down at the body lying at her feet.  “Guess you won’t be leading me to Shefkon after all.”  Mich exited the cubical, shut the door and slapped an official seal over the lock.  The seal hissed as it took hold.  It would prevent anyone disturbing the scene until the cruiser reached the next station point.
         Mich ran her hands rapidly up and down her trousers in an effort to remove any imaginary blood from her hands.  This trip had suddenly become a whole lot worse and the case a whole lot more interesting.
         Mich Janelle returned to a compartment that was a great deal quieter than it was when she left.  The room was not as hostile as she expected it to be, each passenger avoided meeting her eye and was doing as little as possible to draw attention to themselves.  Mich returned to her seat and removed her bag from an overhead locker.  The communication she sent was short and to the point.
         ‘Trouble.  Suspect dead on route to Battenhold.  Will arrive at Bendal within hours.  Raven.’

Sheppard stared at Elizabeth in shock.  He felt a chill settle over his body and mentally fought his instinctive reaction to tug his jacket closed and zip it against the imagined cold.

“He did what?”

Elizabeth shook her head sadly and turned her laptop screen far enough toward him that he could read the email for himself.  He couldn’t make sense of the words.

“I take it he said nothing to you either?” she asked as he reread the words withdraw from the first contact team effective immediately for the third time, positive he had somehow read it wrong.

“No,” he answered her and slumped back down into his chair to stare at the Exhibition Head in confusion.

Elizabeth shook her head sadly and returned her gaze to the computer.  “I was planning to reinstate off-world travel at today’s meeting, but John, I honestly don’t know what to do with this.  He does raise a good point.”

John opened his mouth to snap out the obvious denial but at Elizabeth’s raised eyebrow he stopped and took a moment to really think it through.  Yes, he was still pissed at McKay, could barely stand to be in the same room as him, but not to have McKay on the away team? Every part of his body screamed, ‘No’.  Taking a deep breath Sheppard looked Elizabeth in the eye and said calmly, “No, McKay doesn’t get off that easily.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow again and John sighed, hearing the unspoken request to explain.  “Look, I am as pissed at him as you are, but there is a reason he is on the Team.  Teyla, Ronan and I just don’t see the same things he does.  Sure, without him we might get a few more treaties signed, we might not get shot at as much, still...”

“John,” Elizabeth began, leaning forward intently, “you know I agree with those points.  We have had plenty of these discussions before and always come to the same conclusion.  However, it is clear you are still very angry with him, more so than I am I think, and you know I am still angry with him. John, this week you have barely been able to sit still in meetings with him.  I can see you biting your tongue, I haven’t seen you speak to him voluntarily at all and those few times you have been forced to talk to him I know you have been unable to look him in the eye.  Can you honestly tell me that you trust him in the field at the moment?”

John broke eye contact and stared at the wall behind Elizabeth’s head.  “No.” He admitted softly, “Not if we went out today.”

“John, what is behind all this?” Elizabeth watched him closely, “I know he has apologised to you, he apologised to me and as you know we have had a few heated discussions since.  This seems to mean more to you.  What is going on?”

John stood up suddenly and began to pace the floor behind his chair, unable to sit still under her stare any longer.  “How can you just accept his apology Elizabeth? You know he doesn’t mean a word of it.  He’s just saying the words he thinks he wants us to hear.  We fought FOR him, I fought for him.  You agreed to his plan, against your better judgement.  He asked me to trust him and he swore he wouldn’t let me down, I,” John broke off realising his body was poised to go into battle, muscles tight, fists clenched, heart thumping rapidly in his chest.  John felt a flush rise to his face and he blew out a deep breath, forced his body to stand down and after a moment dropped back into his chair.

“Trying to cut in on Kate’s job?” he asked, the dry smirk aimed more at him than at her.

Elizabeth smiled gently, “clearly our feelings about Rodney are going to affect our judgement at this point in time.  Maybe I should approve his request,” she held up her hand quickly as she added, “temporarily.  I think we all need a little time to clear out heads here.  But, John I suggest you talk to Rodney or Kate if you still can’t speak to him civilly.  Something has to give, surely you can see that.  You want him on the Team, but you admit you can’t trust him.  Either way, it is not safe to send you both out there with this level of mistrust between you.”

John reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

“Two weeks, I’ll ground him for another two weeks.  John, I suggest you talk to someone in the meantime.  What about Teyla and Ronan, what are their thoughts?”

“Actually, I think they’re having a few issues at the moment too.  I get the feeling something happened during that supply run they went on while we were...” he cut himself off, he just couldn’t mention Doranda again.

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes with both hands tiredly.  “Maybe I should ground all of you.” she suggested ignoring the Colonel’s suddenly horrified expression.

“John, you have to get your Team in order.  This kind of disharmony can lead to...”

“I know,” John grunted and dragged himself to his feet.  Time to fix this, he thought to himself but to Elizabeth he clarified, “Two weeks huh?”

The Exhibition Leader nodded.

“Okay.  Ground the whole Team.  I’ll think of something.”  Sheppard left Elizabeth’s office with the first inklings of a plan though first, he had so speak with Teyla.

Rodney huddled on the floor just inside the door to his quarters.  He had no idea how long he had been there and at the moment he didn’t feel like moving anywhere.  Every part of him was cold, frozen in a way he suspected he would never warm up from.

It had been a week since Doranda, a week in which John had ignored him in every meeting, avoided or flat out walked away from him in the mess and had refused to come down to his lab once, regardless of who the request had come from, himself or even Zelenka.

Rodney wondered vaguely if he would ever feel warm again.  It seemed as though ice water was flowing through his veins instead of blood these days and he shivered where he lay.  He tried pulling his jacket closer around his chest but he felt frozen through.  The tightening in his belly was the only warning he got before it lurched and he turned over to vomit only nothing happened.  Of course he hadn’t eaten for a while, Rodney tried to think back to when but his mind came up blank.  His stomach heaved a few more times before he just lay back to rest his head against the cool floor and curled his aching body around itself.  Rodney clenched his hand near his face and felt sweat bead all over his face and neck.  Rodney had no idea how long he had lain there just inside his room but eventually he rolled up onto all fours and crawled slowly towards the bathroom.

Dragging himself to his feet he stared into the mirror and at his reflection staring blankly.  Pale face, red eyes and something that looked wrong with him but he couldn’t work it out.  Then it came to him, light was missing in his eyes.  Light and life and in his stomach he knew, John was missing.

Rodney recognised he could not go on like this, feeling as though a part of his soul had been ripped from of his body.  His best friend had stopped being his friend.

Zelenka was at least talking to him.  Hell, after what he had done, that was kind of surprising, and even though Rodney could feel an icy blast hit him every time Zelenka turned angry eyes in his direction at least Radek was still looking at him.

Unbidden, John’s voice again filled his head, “if you really really try” and in an instant of clarity he knew he would never get it back, the trust that John had once held in him and the belief that Rodney could do anything he asked.  For a second Rodney could barely breathe.

Looking deeply into his own eyes he knew that it was time to stop.  This crush on John, on Sheppard, had to stop or it was going to tear him apart.  Straightening his back, he breathed in sharply and nodded at his reflection.  “Time to move on,” he spoke to himself.  Rodney knew he was who he was, he couldn’t change his personality anymore than he could change the colour of his eyes and if Sheppard couldn’t accept that then he wasn’t the friend, the man, Rodney had thought he was.

Sheppard was just like the rest of them, he saw a version of Rodney he could be happy with and when Rodney shattered that illusion, as he always did, he was hated for it, for not being this imaginary person they all believed in.  Sheppard and Elizabeth, no Weir he reminded himself, had known the risks.  Of course they had, because regardless of Rodney’s enthusiasm, professionally the Chief Scientist was always sure to put every negative and every possible outcome into his report, he might occasionally highlight the positives to encourage their favourable response but really, since when was he known as being the “glass half full” kind of man.  Both Weir and Sheppard had given their okay, pushed by Caldwell; he knew they wanted that weapon every bit as much as Rodney.  Even Zelenka had wanted Rodney to succeed, okay, so Rodney should never have told him he was acting from “professional jealousy”, he had apologised for that since, and he knew Zelenka would get over.  That was the kind of scientist, kind of man he was.  And anyway Weir and Sheppard could have stopped him.  Sure, Rodney would not have been happy, but if they had even once said, ‘Stop,’ he would have, in an instant.

Perhaps he could have shut it down after Sheppard had ordered it, but in the time he’d had left, in his head, he had known they were choiceless, that they couldn’t outrun the blast radius.  But in the end he had acquiesced to Sheppard’s plea to leave, knowing they were dead either way, simply because Sheppard had asked and he hadn’t wanted to die without him.  He had left for John and it was only pure luck they had survived at all.

John, no, Sheppard damnit, he had to keep that distinction clear in his head now that there was a difference between John, his friend and Sheppard, the man that barely spoke to him.

Well if his friendship was to be cut off, Rodney decided he would take control and do it properly.  First, shower, then food and then back to the lab.  At least Rodney could try to salvage his working relationship with Zelenka and with his department and maybe with Weir.

Rodney allowed the cold that filled his body to harden his heart and bring strength to his resolve.  He would concentrate on getting back to work repairing this city that was their home.  The wraith would be back, and he had to be ready for them, personal relationships be damned.

*****

Rodney’s door swooshed open half an hour later and he stepped out intending to go straight to the Mess, grab a tray of whatever was on offer at this time of the morning and then head to the Lab when he stopped cold, surprised by the person standing right outside his door.

“Colonel,” he acknowledged.

Sheppard looked pained and Rodney wondered, if just being in Rodney’s presence made him so sick, why he had even bothered to come and knock on his door.

“You headed to the Mess or the Lab?”

Rodney was confused.  What answer was Sheppard hoping for?  The question gave no indication as to what the Colonel really wanted but it couldn’t be a simple question to get the excuse for company that went with it.  Rodney knew Sheppard would not have come here for that.  Not anymore.

“Why?” he snapped deciding to make it easier for the man.

“Christ McKay, it’s just a damn question,” Sheppard snapped back, looking almost relieved to reignite his anger.  “Look, you haven’t been seen in the Mess for a few days and Teyla...” he cut himself off.

Of course, Teyla.  Rodney snorted to himself, for a moment he had thought, but no matter, he would not allow the Colonel’s false concern to bother him.

“Tell Teyla not to worry, I’ve been eating.  In fact, I’m going for a tray right now to take to the Lab and since I have answered your question you can happily go away now.”

“McKay” Sheppard sighed loudly and stepped back to allow McKay to step out of his quarters.

McKay brushed past him and was surprised when Sheppard fell in step beside him.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.  “I don’t need an escort.”

“Don’t you?”

Sheppard had muttered softly but McKay exploded anyway, “Fine, I get it, I am not an idiot.  You’re still pissed with me, well swan off in your righteous anger and leave me alone.  You clearly do not want me anywhere around you and yet here you are standing at my door.  Well, I absolve you of all your team leader responsibilities and you can go away and tell Teyla you did your duty to the best of your ability.”

The Colonel was silent for so long that Rodney finally turned in a huff and stomped down the corridor away from his once friend.  And as he suspected, Sheppard let him go.

*****

Zelenka stopped just inside the Lab, surprised to see Rodney already buried in two laptops and writing notes furiously with his free hand, a half empty mug in the other.  Next to McKay, on the desk, was an empty breakfast tray.

McKay glanced at him briefly and waved the mug around, as if to say, “yes, yes, what are your looking at, get back to work,” and dropped his eyes back to the laptops in front of him.

To Radek, Rodney looked better than he had all week.  He had on fresh clothes and clearly he had showered, as the hair at the back of his neck appeared slightly damp.  The red in Rodney’s eyes did not look nearly as bad as yesterday, though; it was still there, he clearly needed more sleep.  The empty tray, however, was a good sign.  As were the crumbs and stained plates indicating that he had eaten substantially.  Perhaps, Radek thought to himself, Rodney had finally repaired his friendship with Colonel Sheppard.  Radek himself was still angry at the head scientist but he also recognised the immense pressure the man had been under to perform his sometimes daily miracles and Rodney had at least apologised to him for his hubris during the disaster that was the Acturus experiment.  Radek held no belief that the man had been truly humbled by the experience but he did believe the chief scientist had learned something from the disaster.  And for a man like McKay that was important.

But there was something different about McKay now.  Radek couldn’t quiet put his finger on it but he felt he knew the man well enough to recognise a new resolve had settled into him.  He seemed colder, almost calm.  He wasn’t rocking back and forth or fidgeting and moving in his usual, hard to contain, manner as he worked, in fact, the scientist’s body seemed unnaturally still.  Clearly he had come to some sort of a decision and was at peace with it.  Zelenka was happy to move on as well if that was Rodney’s choice.  This last week had been full of misery, watching his friend shrink and fade away before his very eyes, hesitant to make a call or to continue any of his projects and Rodney had even refused to order his “minions” around.  Something Radek knew had disturbed them all.  Radek had witnessed Rodney second guess every decision and he had known, that if it Rodney’s behaviour continued beyond this week it could lead to someone getting killed.  It was good to see Rodney had managed to shake off the numbing fear that had surrounded him.  Radek had determined that if it had lasted one more day he was going to confront Weir about it.  As much of a pain in the ass McKay was, it was dangerous work the expedition was doing here on Atlantis and the scientific teams had to be kept in line in regard to their experiments.  Radek knew Rodney was the only one who could command enough fear to ensure that.

As fellow scientists trickled into the Lab around him to start their own day’s work he could see them start, to see McKay sitting there, and then settle into their work as they realised their “Boss” was back.  And later, as McKay bellowed and berated each and every one of them, Radek too began to feel as though McKay was back.  As the day went on, however, and the insults grew more pointed and cutting Radek began to realise that what McKay had learned from his experience at Doranda may not have been what they had all wanted.  The experience seemed to have bought the old Rodney McKay, the one that Radek had first met down in Antarctica, back and Radek realised they had all lost at lot more than Rodney McKay learning a well deserved lesson.

Radek sighed quietly to himself and returned to his own calculations, rechecking the numbers carefully in the hope that he could avoid the same fate as many of his colleagues that day when he finally handed them over for Rodney McKay’s review.

*****

Rodney watched Zelenka out of the corner of his eye through most of the day but apart from those initial grunts of surprise when he had first walked in and seen him, and then later, the occasional deliberate interruptions to query an interesting result, Zelenka had not said a word to Rodney that was not encased in a work context and he was glad of it.  Zelenka’s lack of including Rodney into any personal discussions had helped him maintain his resolve to keep his distance and to keep all interactions with his staff on a strictly professional level.  Therefore, Rodney felt that this first day of his new life felt right.

He now questioned his own behaviour over the past year and was astounded by how much he had changed, by how soft he had become.  Rodney shook his head and pushed the distracting thoughts from his mind.  Focus, he reminded himself, focus on his work is what would keep them all alive.  It would be by completely focusing on his work that he would catch any mistakes that crept into his and his team’s work when he was distracted.

Rodney’s had also added a new layer of review to the pre-sign off and first round signoff procedures for all changes to new and current projects in order to also catch the mistakes that he might possibly miss.  Zelenka had agreed to the protocol changes without comment so he had no fear that the protocol would be blocked by Weir before he rolled it out to the rest of his team.  It was his concession to the events of the last week and even Rodney could admit that it was actually a good idea.  Afterall, how often had he and Zelenka been forced to work with only a few hours of sleep or rushed to complete a weapon with only an hour’s notice.  Adding an extra layer of review made sense in the long run and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought to add it previously.

Rodney’s communicator buzzed softly in his ear.  “McKay” he acknowledged.

“Hello Rodney, I was wondering if you would be joining the team for movie night tonight?” Teyla’s gentle voice did not disguise the fact that her question was more of a strongly worded request and one that booked no argument.

But Rodney had been having such a good day that her request could be easily denied.  “No Teyla.  Not tonight.” He signed off abruptly before she could reply.  Rodney had decided that he could not waste his precious time the ways he had before, by stopping work at the beep of a communicator for breaks and movie nights and John.  Rodney intended to enjoy his uninterrupted time and since Weir had also cancelled all off world exploration for the two weeks after Doranda and since he had one week of that two week time left to enjoy the peace and quiet he intended to do just that.

Rodney had also decided to petition Weir to be removed from the first contact team.  Clearly today had shown his time was better off spent staying in the Labs.  He would use this coming week of enforced Lab time to demonstrate exactly that.  Already today, he had greatly furthered three crucial experiments without the delay caused by the usual distractions from Sheppard, Teyla and Ronan with their intermittent interruptions to eat or train or talk.  And Dr Kusanagi had collected lunch and dinner for the Lab today so Rodney McKay had had one of the most productive days he had ever had.

 LOCATION: Mydock  *sickbay*

The room was pink.

            Pale pink.  Hospital management felt the colour aided in the creation of a warm, healing environment and helped to encourage patients to accept doctors’ diagnosis’ and meekly submit to staff nurses demands.  In reality the colour drove the staff crazy and the patients into fits of despair.

            The walls were pink.  The ceiling was pink.  Even the drapes, preventing the harsh glare from the early morning suns, were pink.  Different shades, different textures, but all a bloody pink!  Christ even his bloody hospital gown was pink!

Zaambuka groaned loudly.  The nurse ignored him.

Her uniform was the only non-pink he had seen.  It was blue.  Faded blue, untailored, badly cut but an obviously well-worn blue.

“Excuse me Mr Zaambuka?  Vice-President Ramo is here to see you, Sir.”

“Thank you,” he growled from the confines of his pink-blanketed medical bed.  The permanently cheerful smile the nurse bestowed on him was driving him crazy.

“She can only stay ten minutes sir.  You need to rest.”  The elderly woman smiled again at her patient but sighed as soon as she left the private room.  Antonio Zaambuka was not one of her more pleasant patients.  It was a continual struggle to convince the man his newly repaired shoulder needed rest in order to fully heal.  The laser bolt he had been hit with had been set at an extremely high charge and his shoulder had caught a lot of the blast.  The nurse felt Mr Zaambuka had been extremely lucky - if the beam had been set any higher and hit him from the back rather than his side he’d be laying on a morgue table rather than a medibed right now.  She just wished he wouldn’t complain so much.

The chief staff nurse of Mydock’s only VIP medical centre exited from the corridor leading to Zaambuka’s private room and motioned to the young woman sitting patiently in the waiting lounge.

Cat Ramo looked understandably exhausted this morning.  The nurse had heard that after the assassins had been taken away, one to the planet’s only security holding facility, the other to the morgue in the Senate house’s isolated basement, an emergency meeting had been called and the senators had returned to the great hall for one final speech.  The following discussion had apparently gone on all night.  This much was common knowledge to the medics and nursing staff who had been working on keeping Zaambuka alive through most of the night.  What the senators had discussed at the media-barred conference was yet to be disclosed publically, but the gossip in the breakroom suggested the injured PaST leader was either the instigator or the cause.  Chief staff nurse Teea had been given the task of learning all the gossip she could and reporting back to the rest of the girls.

“You can go in now Madam Vice-President, please follow me?”

“Thank you.”

Cat rose and followed the nurse down the corridor.  It was comforting to see Zaambuka was clearly being so well cared for.  The rumours she had heard of his behaviour during the last night must have been greatly exaggerated - the medical staff seemed the very centre of calm.  Cat did wonder if perhaps the pink throughout the hospital was a little overdone though.

“Mr Zaambuka?” she called quietly at the closed door.

“You can come in.”  A tired voice called back.  Cat pushed the door open and walked in.

“You look tired, Vice-President,” Zaambuka attempted to sit up a little but the flattened pillows at his back made that difficult.  The Chief Staff nurse hurried quickly to his side to raise the bed and help him adjust his attached cords.

Cat fiddled with his pillows as the nurse quietly began to check the wounded man’s vitals beside her.  After a moment Cat held out a small wrapped package.  “I am tired, but you look a lot better than you did several hours ago.  I brought you something, I hope it cheers you up a little bit.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed as he took the small package.  He looked at the nurse who seemed to be hovering for some reason.  What he’d really like was some food.  Normal food.  “Nurse, is that tray still on offer?”

The nurse looked at him guiltily and Zaambuka caught her quick glance at the Vice-President.  Cat caught it too.  Neither of them spoke for a moment.  The nurse sighed loudly.  “Of course Mr Zaambuka, I will get that sent in shortly.” She stopped but did not appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere.

“Thank you nurse, if you could please give us a minute? unless of course Mr Zaambuka needs your attention?”

The nurse hesitated but at the look on Cat’s face finally nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Ant slowly unwrapped the present she had given him.  He stared straight faced at the object in his hands.  “A tie?”  He glanced up fighting to keep the expression off his face.

“This one I handpicked myself,” she insisted as he held it up.

“You were right Vice-President, you do have exquisite taste.”  Zaambuka dropped the tie onto the drawer beside the bed and waited.  He didn’t have to wait long.

“I stopped by to inform you that an emergency Senate meeting was convened last night.  Initiated by a majority of the Senate who bravely agreed to return after the events of, well... you know.”

“What? I must say I am surprised they stayed.  Was a decision reached?” he asked, ignoring the twinge in his back.

“Yes,” Cat smiled wearily.  “But not to the vote on the table.  After it became clear Senator Kalzee’tiam paid that assassin to…” she broke off unable to finish.  Cat took several deep, calming breaths and forced herself to continue, “to kill me, a number of Senators came forward with the results of private investigations conducted on their own.  Investigations into our current President and large sums of money that had appeared in many of his known accounts over the past few months and with these reports a vote of no confidence was called.  The President offered his resignation before the vote took place and, as you can imagine, no one refused it.

“During the session they, completely to my surprise, tabled a suggestion that the APE should have a new leader, a President devoted to ensuring the alliance, and yes they voted on that too, it passed.  The President would work closely with the leader of the Confederacy, Prince Chrismatt.

“To my shock, I was elected by a unanimous vote.  I assume I have been offered the role out of sympathy, however, I plan to take advantage of the new powers I have been bestowed with for as long as I can.”

“Congratulations, wait, they also voted for the alliance?”

“Yes, effective immediately.  There will be a great deal more discussion of course, legal proceedings against the ex-President, details to sort out, but now that this decision has been made, things should flow much more smoothly, once it is announced to the public of course.”

Zaambuka smiled.  He knew the alliance with the Confederacy would be anything but smooth, regardless of how the public viewed this sudden coup, for that is what this was.  However he felt sure Ramo would be up to any challenge she was confronted with.

Cat allowed her thoughts to wander back to the moment she learned the Senate’s decision.  She had stood, in complete shock, as Under Secretary General Littalik calmly informed her of the news.  She barely recalled Citriss congratulating her before she was ushered into a small conference room where she had been formally sworn in and introduced to the representatives of the United Planet’s Confederacy.  Prince Chrismatt had been every bit as charming and polite as he had been during his speech at the original meeting.

“Congratulations on your new position President Ramo,” the Prince said formally.  His voice was more melodic and smooth than she remembered and he held her hand clasped gently in his own.

“Thank you.” She remembered replying.  Cat barely recalled the rest of their chat.  What she did remember was Chrismatt’s eyes, as he had stared deeply into her own.  The strange feeling she had experienced out in the hall returned tenfold when he smiled in response to her mumbled thanks.

She was then informed that the Alliance ruling had passed and that it would entail working a great deal closer to the Prince, and Cat found she was looking forward to their next meeting.  In fact, she could hardly wait.

Refocusing her thoughts back to the present, Cat continued.  “Kalzee‘tiam’s supporters are in complete disarray. Oh of course, you have not heard.  Senator Kalzee’tiam was found in his office, dead, this morning.  There was a note in which he accepted full responsibility for his actions regarding the assassination attempt and with his dealings with the Ascendancy.”

“Suicide?”  Yeah, sure it was.

“Apparently.”

Ant shook his head, with Kalzee’tiam accepting full responsibility for the attempt on Ramo’s life – any official inquiry would be delayed and now with the sudden complete change in government, and he fleetingly wondered if that was a coincidence, by the time anything official took place the real perpetrator would be long gone.  Zaambuka decided then and there he would begin his own investigation.  He would get his teams on it immediately since it would be a few weeks before he was back on his feet.  He had the feeling, a sensation deep in his gut that Gallian was behind this.  The assassination attempt had been too complicated, too involved for a fool like ‘tiam to have devised on his own, but if he was involved, Gallian’s plans had backfired spectacularly.  The Senate was more united now than ever.  He wished he could be there to see the look on Gallian’s face when he learned the new government’s formation and priorities.  Of course, knowing Gallian as he thought he did, Zaambuka would not be at all surprised if he had a contingency plan that catered for this exact event.

After a long pause, Zaambuka grinned and changed the subject.  “So, what do I call you now Madam.  Chief Senator?  Madam President?  Have they even given you an official title yet?”

Cat grimaced.  “Yes.  The official title is Chief of Universal Unity, Head of the Allied Planets Executive Senate and Joint President of the new Allied Planets United Confederacy.”

“That’s a quiet of a mouthful.”

“Well I was hoping you would call me Cat,” she said quietly.  She found she was no longer quite as irritated with Zaambuka’s high-handed attitude as she had been before the shooting.  Perhaps it was her new awareness of the fragility of her life, perhaps it was her curious meeting with the Prince, but Cat found she was actually enjoying sparing to the head of PaST.

“Only if you call me Antonio.”

“Oh,” Cat inquired abruptly, “what happened to your agent?  Has she come in to see you?  I didn’t see her at all save a brief moment after you were shot.  I’d like the chance to thank her properly for saving my life.  She is, indeed, as good as you said she was.”

“Unfortunately.”  Zaambuka muttered under his breath.  He thought about his agent for a moment.  Somehow she had even managed to rescue Doctor MccgOr between stopping two assassins, discovering the locations of four large planetary uprisings and getting teams in place to prevent them.

“She’s, ah, taking care of some loose ends,” Zaambuka finally answered the new President.  The PaST leader was more than a little annoyed at the President’s reaction, after all hadn’t he helped save her life too?  Ramo hadn’t even thanked him.

Cat must have seen the look on his face because she quickly amended, “Of course, I have no way to thank you for your actions in saving my life.  If you hadn’t taken that bolt, I would have been killed.  Where would the alliance have been then…?”

“Try calling me Antonio.”  He suggested.

“Very well, Ant.” She replied quietly, struggling not to smile.

Zaambuka sat up straight, staring directly at the President, “What did you call me?”

Cat took in his horrified expression and couldn’t stop the grin that emerged on her lips.  “Is there something wrong?  When I briefly spoke to your agent, she said that was the name your friends used.  I’d like to consider myself your friend.”

“I’m going to kill her,” Zaambuka muttered under his breath but the irony of it all brought a small smile to his lips.

*****

LOCATION:  Restick Seven – Caldoorh system.

The night was silent.  No bird song, no animal cry, no falling tree.  It was an unnatural quiet.  The night was also too dark.  No moon lit the sky, no starlight illuminated the oppressive black, and storm filled cloud cover reached as far as can be seen – a feeling of heavy anticipation pervaded every building, every tree, and every breath that one took.  A storm was coming.  You could feel it in the air around you.  It electrified every hair and reverberated through every heightened heartbeat.  Yet no sound disturbed the night.  The storm built around them but refused to break.

Two very familiar figures ran for their lives.  Behind them, a large stone warehouse exploded into an enormous ball of flames.  Pieces of stone, metal and steelcrete were thrown high in the dark indigo sky, glowing red against the darkness and cascaded to the earth around them.

Berni glanced over her shoulder and watched the show, slowing her run to a gallop.  Colt also dropped his pace and looked back, then over at his friend.  “I thought you said you weren’t going to plant as many explosives this time.”

“I got a little carried away,” she answered shrugging her slim shoulders.

Several smaller explosions shook what was left of the warehouse’s foundations as the charged power packs of the Resonators that remained imploded from the heat of the flames around them.

A fitting end for weapons of such destruction, Colt figured as he watched the fireworks destroy the buildings.  Flames and smoke turned the thunderous sky above from indigo to molten red, but was now fading back to a pitch black.  The sky suddenly parted and in an instant they were both soaked to the skin.  Thunder roared around them and somehow the rain fell even harder.

“So, do we deal with the other shipments, like we did with the last three?”  Berni screamed through the rain, “or just send the shipment transactions and locations to the new government?”

The two smugglers had heard about the surprise election just before they had destroyed the first weapons shipment on Pahthdic’s fifth moon.  The smugglers had left Steve on the moon, before heading to the next weapons location.  Both Berni and Colt had silently cheered on the new government, while at the same time complaining loudly that things would never be the same.

It had been good to know, Colt had thought at the time, that Drew had arrived on Mydock in time.

“Send the list to PaST,” he yelled back, in answer to Berni’s question.  “They can deal with the rest.”

“Oh, but I was really enjoying myself,” Berni moaned loudly raising her eyes to the lightening that split the thunderous clouds above them in a show almost rivaling the explosions occurring on the ground.  “What’ll I do now?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“We?”

“Why not?”  Colt answered before he spun in the mud and raced towards the dark city nestled in the valley somewhere in front of them.  Rain poured down around them in a torrential outburst fulfilling all expectations.  Thunder crashed again and in the distance lightening again ripped the sky apart, lighting, if only for a brief rain drenched moment, the path before them.

It was going to be a long run back.  What kind of masochistic idiot would build a warehouse for guns in the middle of a bloody forest?  Berni looked over at her smoke-smudged friend.  Whatever he was planning could only be fun, she conceded following him into the trees.

Colt’s thoughts, however, were not on what he and Berni would be doing in the future but on a certain Hunter he would make certain to run into again.  Soon Drew, he thought.  He still owed her and this time he was going to make sure she got what she needed.

*****

Drew looked down at her partner.  The giant canine looked back, his tongue dangled from the side of his mouth, drool dripped slowly onto the corridor floor.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Say the word, boss,” Mate replied.

Drew nodded and flicked the charge on the new blaster she held loosely in her bandaged hand.  Her fingers still tingled when she clenched her fist but they were much better than they were days before.  Drew stood at the end of a long corridor leading to the warehouse they were raiding.  Two guards lay stunned at the entrance, two more at the top of the corridor.  Drew waited by the side of the door, blaster raised, her heart pounding.  She counted softly.  On three she reached out and flung the door wide.  Counting off another second, the Hunter quickly stepped in and levelled her blaster at the figure seated behind the reception desk in front of her.  Drew had been looking forward to this confrontation for a long time.

“Don’t get up,” the Hunter insisted quietly.  She moved quickly forward and closed the door behind her partner.  “You really should do something about your level of security.”  With her left hand Drew pulled a dagger from her belt and stabbed it viciously into the table in front of the seated woman.  The red haired woman stared at the dagger in shock.

“How much did you offer Green Skull to kill me?”

Drew eyed the Nymph seated behind the desk and watched as she quickly composed herself.  Ralinna sat up straight in her high backed chair and crossed her long legs as she stared back at the Hunter, her long hair flashed different shades of red in the muted light.  The Nymph’s hands rested on a thick transaction book that lay on the desk in front of her.

Ralinna sighed dramatically, “I suppose you want to know whether I ordered Myers’ death as well?  I did that myself.”

“I don’t care about Myers but thanks for the information.”

“I didn’t expect you to find me here,” Ralinna said in a low voice, her pink tongue darted out to wet her lower lip suggestively.

Sorry sweetheart, Drew thought, that technique might work with Colt or even Ant but it doesn’t have a chance in hell with me.  Mate, who sat in the corner of the room, padded forward and focused his fully operational sensors on the closed door behind them.

“All clear,” he said.

“I assume you’re planning to take me somewhere?”  Ralinna asked silkily.

Drew nodded.  “But I’m not the one taking you.”

The Hunter touched the small transmitter attached to her collar to activate it and spoke quietly.  Within seconds the warehouse was infiltrated by over thirty of PaST’s SCT officers and three more Hunters.  Drew nodded towards the window beside the Nymph that looked out onto the warehouse floor below.

“They’ll take you,” she said, lowering her own voice a notch.

Ralinna’s eyes darkened, her expression filled with venom.  She stared at the dagger on the desk in front of her.

Oh, if looks could kill, Mate thought, looking from the Nymph to his boss and back again.

Go on, take it, Drew dared silently, but the Nymph did not react.  Drew slowly moved to the side of the desk, her blaster aimed straight at Ralinna’s heart and waited.  Neither woman moved, nor spoke a word.  Finally the Nymph lowered both hands palm down onto the desk in front of her and slumped back.

Drew waited until fellow Hunter and friend, Jel Nar, cuffed the deadly woman and led her silently from the small office before she moved again.  Mate watched as she powered down her weapon and holstered it.

“I’m glad that’s over with,” Mate said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“No, it’s not, Mate,” Drew replied quietly.

The Hunter walked to the window behind the desk, looked down and watched the security teams lead cuffed and mostly unconscious thugs from the storage bays and seal off the crates stored in the warehouse proper.  Drew saw it all and yet didn’t see it.  In her mind’s eye she saw a tall man standing in a luxurious room on board the Capacitor - his hands clasped loosely behind his back.  Well-dressed and immaculately groomed but with eyes as cold as ice, Drew also imagined the Gatordile’s snake like hiss behind her as Gallian’s face slowly filled her mind.  She heard his voice clearly.  “This is bigger than you can possibly imagine.”

“It’s not over yet, Mate,” she said again quietly.  She’d see Gallian again, Soon.  “Let’s go – we’ve got a game waiting and Jasmine won’t be happy if we’re late.”

“If Zaambuka catches us…”

Drew silenced the android with a look.  The Hunter then led her partner from the room.

*****

He wanted to slam the receiver down in fury.  It would not end like this.  Instead, he gripped the handset tightly and listened to Gallian report the Project had failed.  Vice-President, now President Ramo was alive and an alliance had been formed between APE and the Confederacy creating the APUC.  The assassin, Balandez, was in prison and Dalmith was dead.  Five warehouses full of weapons marked for distribution had been destroyed, the Underworld had been arrested and the Nymph, captured.  A storage house full of the new bow-casters had been confiscated and, finally, Doctor MccgOr had escaped.  Mijealsene held the receiver before him in a vice like grip and acknowledged Gallian’s report.  He took a moment to breathe before he ordered, “Proceed with Se-li Spenc.”

The lone figure struggled to calmly replace the receiver on its base.  He stood quietly for a long moment staring at it and breathed in slowly.  With a roar he grabbed the communicator and threw it violently across the room, he swept every item off the surface of his desk.  The communicator broke on impact and fell into pieces on the floor as Mijealsene stomped angrily from the desk to the door and back again.  He grabbed the chair behind the desk and smashed it down onto the desktop.  The solid material rebounded from the surface and nearly took his head off.  Mijealsene dropped the chair and sucked in a huge gulp of oxygen.

Losing the Doctor was a severe blow but he could compensate for that.  Every action, every move orchestrated had a double purpose.  Each step fully choreographed.  With a little work these new events would be altered to fit the new beat of the song.  Unfortunately, he now had the Ascendancy hunting him.  He would need to remain secluded for the time being, but he found he was growing to enjoy the quiet solitude of the rooms he had designed helped him to think.  This time Drew Jones would feature prominently in his revamped plan.  He had underestimated the Hunter but he would not make that mistake again.

This time nothing would prevent its success, his success.

*****

Drew ducked a powerful right punch and stepped back.  The assassin still gripped the bow caster tightly in his left hand and she had no intention of taking that weapon on her face again.  Drew hoped she’d been in time to push the assassin’s arm as he pulled the trigger, but had she knocked his aim far enough?  The noise as the projectile fired still rang loudly in her ears, though she knew the senators below couldn’t have heard it.  The assassin had turned the second before she hit him, wild eyed, and roaring with an unleashed anger he had struck out at her with such violence, the Hunter had struggled to remain conscious after the first blow.

Now she fought to block his attack while trying to pull the damned thing from his hands, her chin smarting from the force of the blow. He had drawn blood.

Drew reached blindly down her side for her blaster.  The assassin hit her across the face again, ramming the bow down on her wrist with enough force she actually felt her wrist snap before she heard it.  She screamed silently as her blaster fell from lifeless fingers and in the following struggle it was kicked across the room.  The Hunter’s wrist blazed with fire as though it had been plunged into a Tahgidi ceremonial lava flow and she couldn’t stop another half gasp scream that tore from her throat.

Drew ducked under another wildly thrown fist, trying to keep her damaged wrist close to her chest and kicked out with her foot.  The projectile weapon flew from the assassin’s hand as her foot connected and sailed across the balcony, flying down into the crowd below.  Drew fleetingly hoped no one on the floor would be hit, before sidestepping Balandez’s angry charge in her direction.  Drew’s eyes darted everywhere desperate to find something in the tiny room to give her an advantage over the larger man and took her eyes off the maniac for several precious seconds while she tried to locate her blaster.  There!  She spied it half hidden under the curtain near the balcony’s ledge and lashed out with her good hand to grab the assassin’s forearm as he charged again.  Dragging him around, she drove her elbow into his ribs.  Khegh! She gasped when excruciating pain raced up her bad arm.  Her vision blurred and she fought to stay conscious through the pain, wavering on her feet as the assassin struggled to stand beside her.  Drew was shocked.  How was he even pulling himself up at all?  The crazed look in his eye told her killing her now was his only thought.  Drew jammed her knee into his face.  He doubled over sucking in air and she kicked out, hooked her foot around his leg and pushed him backwards.  The assassin fell to the ground hard and lay there stunned, Drew took advantage of that and dove on her fallen blaster.  She held the weapon in her bad hand and fired point blank at the struggling figure behind her.

Drew stared at the heavily stunned figure for a moment, before dropping beside him, breathing hard and searched frantically through his pockets.  She absently wiped her left hand along her chin; it came away a bloody red.

Damn.  If she had any blood on her shirt she was going to be pissed.  Drew found the small piece of plastipaper in his top shirt pocket she was suddenly so sure she would find.  Dumb, very dumb, she thought as she examined the page.  On it, written in a fine type, were the Vice-President Ramo’s assassination orders and signed by Senator Kalzee’tiam himself.

A little too convenient.  Obviously Gallian was setting ‘tiam up, in case Balendez was stupid enough to be caught.  Kalzee‘tiam would now be arrested and charged with accessory to attempted murder while the real men behind the assassination got away.  That meant Gallian assumed Balendez would be caught, which meant the information she had found pointing to Balendez as the assassin... was also planted.  Which meant…

Damn!

Drew ran to the balcony ledge and looked frantically through the crowd.  Most of the Senators, aids and assistants had disappeared at the first sign of the attack.  The only beings she could she gathered around the stage were hysterical media attempting to interview, film and generally get in the way of the security forces also flooding the floor.  Drew could see Vice-President Ramo and her boss huddled behind the lectern on the dais.  What the hell was he doing here? She wondered angrily.  Not only was he here on Mydock but seriously, it was not like the lectern gave that much protection.  Why the Khegh hadn’t he got the Vice-President to a secure location yet?

Suddenly Gallian’s plans were crystallised in her mind.  For ‘tiam to be taken down so completely, Balandez had to fail, but the Vice-President still had to be assassinated to trigger his planted underground rebels to attack with the Resonators he had already been seeded through the sector.

There had to be a second assassin.

Drew scanned the crowd desperately.  Where?  Something caught her eye.  One of the journalists was moving determinedly through the crowd towards the dais.  But unlike the rest of the media going crazy in the room, filming and talking urgently to newsrooms all over this sector, he was moving alone.  Where every media team seemed to consist of a camera man, a journalist carrying a microphone, and one or two extras running around frantically, gesturing for the best shots and grabbing any available person for an interview, this man carried no obvious camera and no microphone.  He had managed to slip past the security block trying to shield the stage.  This lone man, a gatordile, was slowly making his way towards the dais.  Dalmith!

Drew wanted to scream out to Zaambuka but there was no way she would be heard above the noise in the hall.  Instead, she raised her blaster with her left hand and sighted down the barrel.  Her aim wavered a little.  Shenghi!  She knew she should have practiced more with her off hand.

*****

“No!” Cat cried, pulling Zaambuka back to the ground next to her as he began to stand.  “Are you crazy?”

“You’re a sitting daybuck here.”  He yelled at her, wrenching his arm from her grip.  I have to get you out of here!”

“How?  The minute I stand up...”

“I know!  That’s why I’m going to get up and take a look around.  My agent should have subdued the assassin by now.”

Subdued?  “And if she hasn’t?” Cat demanded.

“Then she’s not as good as I thought.  Listen, have you heard any more shots?  Have anymore darts been fired?”

“No.”

“Well I’m pretty sure the dart gun loads only one shot.  Drew will have taken him out before he could load another.”  Zaambuka tried to calm the terrified woman.  The PaST commander removed the Vice-President’s hand from his arm and stood carefully, glancing over the lectern across the room.  The great hall was in chaos.  Zaambuka watched as PaST agents plus Vice-President Ramo’s official security staff attempted to seal the room off around them.  Official procedure could not allow anyone who had not been DNA scanned and checked against the official attendance role to leave the room, for fear of letting the attacker escape custody.  Zaambuka could not even see Prince Chrismatt behind the security agents surrounding him.  Zaambuka was surprised to see they had not whisked him off out of the main hall yet, but had chosen to smother the Confederate representative instead.  At least Zaambuka knew the Prince was protected - all that was left for him to do was keep the Vice-President safe.

Zaambuka looked up to the balcony above but saw nothing, he returned to scan the main floor, there had to be a way out of here.  The PaST Commander could see nothing but the usual media frenzy pushing at the security cordon around the stage.  One journalist had managed to break through, however, and was making his way towards the dais.  Great time to push an interview!

Zaambuka saw a flash out of the corner of his eye and looked back up to see his Hunter standing at the lip of the balcony, staring intently into the media crush.  His agent’s right wrist hung oddly at her side and even from this distance, Zaambuka could see blood on her face.

The chief of PaST slowly rose to his full height and lowered his blaster to his side.  Reaching down to the woman crouched beside him, he helped the shaking Vice-President to her feet.  Zaambuka stood lightly in front of Ramo and looked her carefully.  The Vice-President did not appear hurt or bleeding and apart from the lines of worry etched across her brow she seemed to be quickly regaining her composure.  But as he watched, Ramo’s eyes grew wide and she screamed, “Watch out!”

Zaambuka, his blaster coming up even as he turned, had reacted a fraction of a second too late.  The gatordile vaulted up onto the dais, leaping meters above the closest ring of security, to get a clear shot of the Vice-President.  A palm sized blaster appeared in his hand and he fired as he landed.  Zaambuka, standing in front of the Vice-President, was thrown forward into her as the shot exploded against his chest and shoulder.  Zaambuka cried out as his body crumpled and he fell to his knees, his own blaster now lax in his useless hand.

The chief of PaST watched stunned, unable to raise his weapon, as the Gatordile aimed directly at Vice-President and bared all his teeth in glee.  The PaST commander fought to stand or to raise his hand, to move, to get in the way, or to pull Ramo aside as the journalist carefully squeezed the trigger but he would be too late, it was too late.

The sound of blaster fire echoed through the hall.  Zaambuka watched with his heart in his throat for the Vice-President to fall to the ground beside him but instead he saw the blossom of red explode from the journalist’s chest.  The Gatordile fell face forward onto the stage floor, dead before he hit the boards.

Where had the shot come from?

 “I guess you were right, she is as good as you said,” Cat’s voice quivered a little as she spoke and pointed upwards.

Zaambuka looked up and through his pain-fuzzed haze saw his Hunter standing right on the edge of the balcony, her blaster gripped tightly in her extended hand.  Drew nodded at him slowly and after a second grinned madly before she turned and disappeared behind the balcony curtain.

Zaambuka groaned loudly and let his body collapse to the floor.  The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the beautiful Vice-President leaning over him, ripping a piece of her skirt to create a bandage.  His vision faded before the rest of him but he felt her push the material to his shoulder and could hear her faintly demanding he hang on and not to die on her.  His last thought, strangely enough, was of Drew.  He thought now the Hunter would be an even bigger pain in his butt, as everything around him slowly went away.

“There is no defining mark…” Cat broke off abruptly as she heard a thud and felt the lectern rock slightly.  She stifled a cry at the sight of the tiny dart imbedded in the almost invisible clear microphone stand just centimetres from her chest.  The dart quivered imperceptibly, and those seated on the front bench below her began to scream and shout as they realised what had almost happened.  Cat simply stood, immobile, staring at the deadly object frozen less than thirty centimetres from her chest.  A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her hard to the side.

The instant he had seen the Vice-President freeze, Zaambuka reacted.  He drew his blaster and dove forward, grabbing Ramo and pulling her roughly away from the lectern.  Zaambuka shook the shocked woman hard.  “Vice President, I have to get you out of here.” He had to shout to be heard above the roar of the crowd.

Cat, seemingly unaware of the panicked mass seething around her, shook her head at him.  She couldn’t tear her eyes from the dart.  Zaambuka pulled the Vice-President down to the base of the dais out of the line of fire.  The lectern blocked them from the assassin and the rest of the hall, but if he tried to get her to a more secure location before he knew the assassin had been caught they could become easy targets.  Zaambuka looked wildly behind him.  There had to be a way to get The Vice-President from this dais.  Where had the dart come from?

Simultaneously, The Vice-President voiced his question in words as she whispered into his ear.

Glancing quickly over the lectern, Zaambuka found he couldn’t see anything through the stampede of people trying to exit the hall.  The dart had the slightest upward angle.  He looked up and saw movement on the balcony directly above the lectern.  The balcony was located on a floor that had been sealed off and rigorously patrolled by both senatorial and PaST security.  He had been assured there could be no one up there.  No one could have gotten up there.

But struggling on that balcony now he could see two figures, one he recognised.  “About time she got here,” he muttered.

*****

Tike stared at the vid-screen avidly.  The Vice-President didn’t collapse and he watched her bodyguard pull her away from the lectern and down to the floor as the hall erupted into chaos around them.  The vid camera shook and bounced as the camera man tried to get a better look at the Vice-President’s face.  Tike shook his head.

“So, now what do we do?”  Mikko demanded from the door of the warehouse.  The room was packed with smelly, sweaty, impatient men, each holding a Resonator in a death grip, each ready to initiate a small war on their own the instant the command was given.  Several of his men turned to stare at Tike as he swore loudly at the vid-screen.  They waited impatiently for the call.

Truth be told, Tike had no idea what to do now.  They was no plan in place should the assassin fail and he had not thought to ask what to do if the case arose.  “We wait,” he announced finally and powered down the Resonator in his arms.  Slowly the men around him lowered their weapons.  Tike turned to Mikko demanding a communications link with the various squads scattered around the planet when the door on the second floor burst open.

“Nobody move, United Hunter’s Association, drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads!”

Tike turned and raised his weapon at the figures bursting in the door.  As he did the windows to his right and left exploded inwards.  He turned as men dressed in black STCT uniforms leaped through and raised their weapons ready to fire.

More windows on the left of the room shattered as even more STCT stormed the warehouse.  The door behind Tike burst open, thrown wide by the tall, strangely dressed man with a silver star pinned to his chest strode in - blaster pointed directly at Tike.  Within seconds the men in the warehouse were surrounded.

Tike’s men dropped the Resonators and reached for their old weapons, opening fire as the PaST agents surrounded them, Tike had a split second to realise his men had actually listened when he drilled into their heads the danger of the Resonators in small enclosed spaces.  Laser fire exploded around the room.  Tike’s trigger-happy men were quickly cut down and minutes later all sounds of gunfire ceased as Tike realised he was the only one left standing.

“Drop your weapon.”  The Hunter behind Tike demanded with a smirk.  Seeing no alternative, Tike did as ordered and lowered the Resonator to the ground gently.  Quickly the Hunter holstered his blaster and grabbed Tike’s arms.  Pinning them behind his back, the Hunter began reading him his rights.

“My name is Jel Nar.  I’m a Hunter’s with PaST and you are under arrest for the illegal possession of a class 5 weapons.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say will be recorded and used against you in a jospitj court of law.  You have the right to a defence.  If you do not have one then you’d better get one quick pal cause the ones we supply ain’t all that good at getting guys like you off…”

Tike tuned out.  He had heard it all before.  What had gone wrong on Mydock?  Had someone sold him out?

One of the STCT officers turned off the vid screen, leaving Tike with no idea what the result was at the Senate House.  Finally Nar’s legal speech ended and he turned to the STCT officer, standing at his side.  “Lock `em all up.”

As Tike was lead away he heard the officers behind him talking.  “How did the others go?”

“Tom Parklem and Paul Maclet just called in.  They report everything went smoothly.  They’ve taken the gangs on the Southern continent without a struggle.  Sheez Liter and Ray Borez also report successful completion to their raids.  All Resonators have been confiscated on the Northern continent.  Terry on Halpw just called in, his teams are having a little trouble with the gangs there and he needs help.”

“Send a message to Liter and Maclet, tell em to get their butts and their squads to Halpw.”  Nar replied.

The STCT officer nodded and began speaking into a small communications receiver.  Turning to Tike, Nar said, “Hear that pal?  Your underworld is going down.  All the little riots you planned ain’t gonna happen.  Now, you tell me who hired you and where you got these weapons from and maybe we’ll go a little easier on you and your boys... well, on you here.”

Tike didn’t answer.  He couldn’t.  He knew anything he said would get back to Dalmith, prison or not.

“Okay then, you don’t want to talk to me?  We’ll just take you back to Carillingtrex for a little chat.  You and me, we’re going to get to know each other real well over the next few days Pal.  Come on.”  Nar pushed Tike towards the door.

*****

            “Captain, signal coming in… Red light Sir, it’s a red light.”  The communications officer cried startling the entire bridge into action.

            “Pull back and that’s an order!” Captain Reckenna of the Redflag battleship Dark Encounter ordered as he spun around from his position at the foredeck and raced back to his command chair.

The first officer turned to his Captain, “Sir, a red light?  What the hell is going on?”

The Captain started out of the viewer as his entire battalion slowly began to reverse their course.  The planet Chelnor lay beneath them, its defense systems still operational.  “The Underworld gangs have failed obviously Mister Rainall.  Without the shields deactivated and surface security operating at peak efficiency any attack we proceed with will be unsuccessful.”

“Sir, enemy ships approaching from the planet,” the officer at the helm called.

The first officer turned and ordered the emergency course coordinates to be laid in.  The Redflag battalion shot towards their forcedspace entry position.

“We will enter forcedspace in three minutes, Captain.”

“How long before the enemy ships come into range?”

“Two minutes, Sir.”

“Strengthen the rear shields,” the first officer demanded.  Rainall turned to face his Captain.  “What happened, Sir?”

“I don’t know, Rainall.”  Raising his voice, the Captain called, “brace for impact!” as the first shots landed against the Dark Encounter’s shields.  A brief pause and the retreating Redflag attack squad disappeared into forcedspace.

        At least the woman was going to accept his protection, Antonio Zaambuka thought angrily as he left the Vice-President alone in her secluded suite.  The ex-Commander spoke quietly into the small com-receiver pinned to his collar.  He ordered a squad of security officers to the main hall and a second squad to scatter along the corridors surrounding it, ensuring all entrances and exits leading to the floor were covered.  Anyone or thing that was identified would be detained until the conclusion of the vote this evening.  Zaambuka prayed this groundwork would be enough as he waited to escort the Vice-President to the lectern.  Zaambuka would remain at Ramo’s side throughout her speech, silently observing the room from his position on the dais.  He was prepared to act without the slightest hesitation because he knew, regardless of the preparation, the attack on the Vice-President would come soon.

*****

        Balandez lowered the bow to the floor gently and peered over the ledge.  He watched as the hall began to fill again after the six-hour break.  At last Vice-President Ramo would present the final speech.  She would enter, walk to the lectern and drone on about the advantages of committing to a peace treaty and how advantageous the alliance will be and on and on and cajole and coax her audience into voting for the alliance, unaware that the modified projectile bow-caster he held was aimed directly at her hearts.  Balandez would wait for the moment she generated the most emotion throughout the room and then he would pull the trigger.  The assassin would watch as the dart embedded itself deep in her chest, directly between her left and right hearts.  This was the moment he lived for.  He thrilled at the rush of excitement that flooded his veins, the pound of blood in his ears, the entire room narrowing in his eyes until just he and his victim existed.  And just as suddenly it would be over.  In the resulting confusion, he would blend into the chaos and disappear, moving on to his next victim.  Balandez was vaguely aware that the pleasure he felt after each successful mission was dissipating more and more quickly these days, like a drug and he needed his fix at every opportunity.  Today he would ride the high while it lasted and then move on to his next target, the time between killings growing smaller with every life he claimed.

        Balendez could feel the tension in the room and took a moment to savour the feeling of power that swept over him as he watched the crowd below.  Balendez usually didn’t obey specific orders to the letter, he preferred each job to be uniquely his own.  Fortunately this time his desire and his orders coincided.  His orders demanded he wait until every eye and every camera in the room were focused on Ramo’s slender, attractive body and while all were silent listening to her silky voice - he would strike.  The media would go into a frenzy over the Vice-President’s assassination, the meeting and the vote naturally be postponed in the wake of the disaster.  By the time the summit was rescheduled, Kalzee‘tiam would have more than enough voices demanding an end to this ridiculous peace process.  Balandez didn’t care about the political catastrophe he was about to cause; he’d just take the money and move on.

        Hearing the sudden hush of the crowd below, the assassin could sense the abrupt increase in anticipation throughout the room and knew it was almost time.  Raising the bow once more, he primed the weapon and raised the sight to his eye.  The crosshairs centred on the Vice President’s chest as she walked calmly into the hall and he tracked her as she moved to stand behind the lectern at the centre of the dais.  Soon her blood would freeze in her veins and then shatter her entire body.  The drug, he was told, worked very fast and he, Jase Balandez, would be the one to pull the trigger.  The assassin smiled broadly and waited.

*****

          Cat shielded her eyes from the lights flashing at the back of the hall.  The media were going crazy.  For a brief moment the magnitude of her task froze Cat to the spot.  She had to convince this crowd the importance that each and every individual vote contained and somewhere, maybe even amongst that crowd of journalists, or hidden in the ranks of Senators seated all around her, somewhere, someone was here to kill her.

          Cat looked down at her notes and struggled to compose her scattered thoughts, aware she was being watched by billions at that very moment on vid-screens throughout the sector.  She could not fall apart now.  She stared at the words on the cards in her hand but the letters refused to focus.  The white noise of the beings in the hall around her softened as the Senate hushed and then there was silence as they waited for her to speak.  Cat briefly glanced past her shoulder to look at her bodyguard standing at the base of the dais.  He was scanning the crowd closely, his hand resting on the weapon holstered in plain sight at his waist, ready to draw it the second it was required.  Zaambuka turned away from the crowd towards Cat and their eyes locked.  The corner of his lips twitched in a, ‘I’m-glad-it’s-you-and-not-me’ smile before he tilted his head.  “Go on,” he seemed to say.  Looking back to the crowd, Cat took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly and began to speak.  The words emerged hesitantly at first, but soon they began to flow not only with the ease and familiarity of her subject but with the confidence a woman in her position innately held.

        The room became as quiet as the vacuum of space.  An enveloping silence descended upon the majestic hall, stifling even the tiny sounds associated with shuffling limbs and shifting bodies.  One voice could be heard, ringing out like a bell across the room, her pale body spotlighted on the stage like a lone star lit in a pitch black sky.

        “Every individual issue raised here today is incredibly important and valid.  Every issue raised must be answered truthfully, delicately and with as unbiased a view as possible.  And I am sorry but I will not presume to do so before the vote is cast today, as we all know it would be an impossible task to complete in the time allowed.  Today I will endeavour to present to you, our primary arguments and the reasoning behind them, and with any luck this will make your decision, when the time comes, a little easier.”  Cat stopped and looked around the room, carefully making eye contact with as many Senators as see could, carefully noting which faces listening patiently were nodding at her words.

        Cat knew Kalzee’tiam had cunningly used the APE’s lack of condemning evidence of the Ascendancy’s warlike mentality to undermine the peace treaty – a clever ploy to win votes by exaggerating the arguments of his opposition.  But he could not be allowed to win this day– justice will, must prevail she told herself determinedly.  Cat began again, her gentle voice travelling confidently around the room.  “This is a unique opportunity, one we will not see again in this generation, perhaps in any generation, a chance to change the life of every single being living in our two sectors.

        “A life where a Cytrian child walks the lonely streets of poverty and isolation, his parents killed in the Kulupana eruption, a life where a man’s home, his birthright, has been forcibly taken from him by his own government because he is unable to pay his taxes.  Where siblings stare, confused from the back of an ambulance, as their father is charged with the murder of their mother and their own assault.  It is our mission; it MUST be our mission to protect the systems, planets and governments under our care, but it is also our mission to protect our people - each individual being, from a life of slavery at the hands of an enemy who will stop at nothing to take our sectors and our lives.  Each being in our sectors MUST had a chance at a life.  It may not be the chance at a life they deserve but they must HAVE a chance, a chance they will never have under the military rule of the Ascendancy.  We cannot allow these lives, our people, to be lost if we have it in our power to protect them.”

        Cat took a deep breath and paused for a moment.  Again searching the room and making eye-contact with senators at random.  Her earlier optimism had faded slightly as she stared at the sombre faces staring back at her.  If only they could listen with an open mind she prayed.  Cat knew some of the Senators would have already closed their minds to her entreaties, content to vote as they have already decided they would.  There had to be a way to break through to these people, the ones that were so determined to fight her, how could she reach their minds?

          “I understand and respect the points raised by Senators Corini and Vlashma and in particular Senator Kalzee’tiam.  But I ask you, can we, as a government entrusted with protecting the freedom of the very beings that elected us, afford to sit back and wait for the Ascendancy to attack us?”  

          “Signing a treaty of Peace with the United Planets Confederacy is not a declaration of war against the Ascendancy, as some here in this room would have you believe, but just what it is, a declaration of peace, the offer of an alliance with a people and a government very much like our own.  A government entrusted with the protection of their people, a government, elected as honest, trustworthy beings, a government that holds their people’s best interests at heart.

        “We share a common goal and that goal can only be strengthened by each other’s support.  The lessons of both sectors will service and benefit all of our peoples, creating a vast expanse of knowledge and experience from which we can draw upon to combat the inequities in our own society, and not, as the Ascendancy would have you believe, each other.”

        Cat looked down at her speech notes and thought over what she had been told by Antonio Zaambuka.  She weighed the consequences in her head and knew she was at a crossroads.  She had information in her hand as given to her by her advisors that if she chose to use, would change the course of this summit and actually destroy the vote and any chance of committing to an alliance here and now.  If she chose not to use this information and allowed the vote to continue there was still a possibility that the alliance would be voted down.  And then, of course, if the information were to come out via another means the results could be catastrophic and if it were discovered that she already knew... No, she decided, she had no option but to go through with it now.  She only prayed her decision would enable the alliance process to be renewed one day.  And hoped today would not go down in history as the day the war began.

        “But how can we offer to ally with another sector and another government, when our own leaders are less than trustworthy, are less than honest, when our own leaders have a private agenda and not their peoples’ interests at heart.  Today I was informed of some very distressing news.  One of our own people, one of the senators in this very room has betrayed us to the very enemy we are discussing here today.  And despite my instinct to deny this possibility, I was quickly convinced with proof.”

        Cat sensed Zaambuka’s head snap around from his examination of the crowd to stare at her as the room erupted into chaos but she refused to look in his direction.  She knew Zaambuka would see her inflammatory comments as the perfect opportunity for the assassin to strike.  Now that she had begun, she had to keep going.  Raising her hands to draw the room’s attention back to her she continued, at first, yelling to be heard over the noise but quickly dropping her volume back as the room became silent once again.

        “Through a lengthy and highly confidential investigation, it has been discovered that members of this very Senate have been dealing, unbeknownst to the people who have elected them, with dangerous parties working against their interests.  For personal wealth to be considered so advantageous that these conspirators would consider taking the actions they have is simply beyond my scope of comprehension.  I can and will name these individuals but first I must point out to you it is the Ascendancy, or more precisely, key members of the Ascendancy, who have made these deals with our people.  And these deals are specifically to prevent the alliance between APE and the Confederacy.  Without such an alliance, the probability either the APE or the Confederacy alone will be able to defend ourselves against an attack on its borders is severely hampered if not almost impossible.

      “If this is not a pre-emptive strike by the Ascendancy, I do not know what is.  Surely this will be the evidence you have all be calling for, to demonstrate that the Ascendancy is conspiring to force our submission.  We must act now to prepare for this eventuality.  We must act now to prevent this war.”

        Cat stopped and the room was erupted once again into madness with cries demanding Vice-President Ramo name the traitors immediately, voices crying out insisting an immediate vote be cast, and screams for the vote to be delayed while official inquires were commissioned.  Cat had not named Kalzee‘tiam because she had needed to see how the Senate would first react and, more importantly, how ‘tiam himself would react.  Cat could see fear and hatred for her on his face.  The Senator had risen to his feet with the surge of the crowd and stared down at her with such loathing that Cat took an involuntary step backwards.  Tearing her eyes from ‘tiam’s insanity filled ones, Cat looked up and found her gaze locked with that of Prince Chrismatt.  The Price had remained seated while all around him beings were jumping up and down hysterically.  The Prince looked deep in thought and his face appeared troubled, but he did not look angry with her, if anything he looked impressed.  She decided to take this as a good sign.

        Cat looked back at Kalzee‘tiam and found him shouting at the crowd around him, demanding a vote of no-confidence.  She could see that not one Senator was paying him any attention.

        The Vice-President realised she had lost control of the room and although she had put the entire summit in jeopardy she had to finish her speech and she had to had to name ‘tiam as the traitor.

        Zaambuka stood in front of her now, one hand on her arm tugging her in the direction of the more protected corridor off the main hall, his other hand gripped his weapon tightly.  He had not yet raised it in the direction of the seething crowd but he was close to it.  The noise and movement of the room made it impossible to make out specific movement with any clarity and Cat could see this only made his job harder.  Standing so close beside him Cat could hear voices yelling through his earpiece, telling him to get her off the dais immediately, but instead of going with him she pulled her arm from his grasp.  Cat knew she had to see this through.  She had already destroyed any chance the summit had of choosing for alliance between the APE and the Confederacy.  Cat knew she had to at least protect the integrity of her government and that of the Confederacy by denouncing the traitors publically.  It was the only chance she had of heading off the conspiracy theories that would destabilise her government as everyone began looking over their shoulder suspiciously at the person beside them.  She had to or the public watching would lose all faith in their elected officials.

        Cat knew the minute she named ‘tiam there would be pandemonium with immediate demands for the evidence, demands for ‘tiam’s resignation or maybe for hers and many demands for ’tiam’s death if the allegations were true.  Cat feared what little influence she might still have over the Senate would deteriorate quickly and spell the end to everything.

        Cat held up her hands and motioned for silence.  More quickly than she had thought possible the room calmed as beings realised she had more to say.  Anticipation filled the air that felt a little like a sea full of sharks circling a seal.  Zaambuka tried once more to pull her away from the lectern but she turned on him with a growl and with a heartfelt sigh he backed off resuming his position beside her, closer this time as he chose to stand right at her side, his weapon held tightly in his hand.  Cat could see she was not going to convince him to move away and she couldn’t afford to make any more of a scene now.

        The agitated Senators quickly settled into their seats and all conversation stopped.  The room was suddenly silent.  When the attention of every person in the hall was focused back on her, she spoke.

*****

        On the upper balcony above the main hall, Balendez listened quietly to Vice-President Cat Ramo’s less than startling accusations.  How could anyone honestly be that naive?  Everyone knew the government was corrupt in some way.  Slowly he stood and raised the loaded weapon to his shoulder.  What a way to make an exit, he thought with glee, pop the Vice-President just as she named the traitor.  The fix became intoxicating, it swelled his heart even as it slowed his perception of time, the emotions in the room below him grew more frenzied but he didn’t see it.

      Balandez was so mesmerised by the woman, his target, through the site of the weapon he didn’t hear the hatch open down the corridor behind him.  His attention was utterly focused on the Vice-President’s chest and the weapon in his hand.  Slowly he pulled the trigger.