Rise of the Unmaker Future: Dusk of Uncreation

By Ethan Somerville and Max Kenny

Prompted by the evil Cult of the Unmaker, Eridon’s megalomaniacal ruler starts a war with the Etiran Empire. Adelrid Merylon then needs little encouragement to enforce martial law on Eridon and her colonies so he can round up his enemies.

All the half-castes and their friends are forced into hiding. Only those who agree to join the Cult of the Unmaker are spared. Even Kamrys and his followers are attacked and only the Peacemaker, his family and Delsaron manage to escape.

With the full might of the cult of Necronis behind it, Galactic Order forces soon decimate the Etiran battlefleets. Adelrid believes he will soon rule supreme. However the Cult of the Unmaker has an ulterior motive for helping. It is seeking something called ‘The Jewel of Etiros’. The Etirans believe this refers to their Empress, the Glorious and Dreadful Nattanru.

While Omadon and his friends journey to Etiros to try and put an end to the war, Rhys and Kamrys work to bring down Adelrid on Eridon.

Then Omadon and his friends discover that the Jewel of Etiros is actually a third Crystal, needed to finally free Necronis from his Pit of Dark Flame.

As the Chosen Sons of Eridos, can Rhys and Kamrys stop the Dark God Necronis the Unmaker from finally emerging and bringing about the total and utter destruction of the universe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storm Publishing
• Release date: Jun 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370090228

Ethan Somerville

Ethan Somerville is a prolific Australian author with over 20 books published, and many more to come. These novels cover many different genres, including romance, historical, children's and young adult fiction. However Ethan's favourite genres have always been science fiction and fantasy. Ethan has also collaborated with other Australian authors and artists, including Max Kenny, Emma Daniels, Anthony Newton, Colin Forest, Tanya Nicholls and Carter Rydyr.

Book preview

The Eridon Chronicles Book 8

Rise of the Unmaker Future

Dusk of Uncreation

By

Ethan Somerville

And

Max Kenny

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Storm Publishing on Smashwords

Rise of the Unmaker Future – Dusk of Uncreation

Copyright © 2013/2017 by Ethan Somerville and Max Kenny

www.stormpublishing.net

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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Chapter 1

How to Start a War

The eerie blue light emanating from the great Ring of Fire illuminated most of the enormous, rock-littered cavern. Only the deep crevices scarring the rough rock, both natural and man-made in origin, were exempt from this light - forever full of cold, empty shadows, as old as time.

When Eridon’s Great Leader squinted, he could see past the Ring’s flickering circumference. Cobweb-covered machines, their purpose and ability to function long lost, hulked in the gloom behind it. Once, a long time ago, the most sophisticated of these devices had held open a dimensional gate. Now that dubious occupation was filled by two Crystals of Power; small, but perfect icosahedrons that glowed in gentle accordance with the Ring’s alien light. Both were coated with precious kolquizarn dust that sparkled softly, almost merrily. Luckily, Adelrid Merylon could see nothing through the gate save a tumultuous sky streaked with lightning. But he knew what lay beyond.

He looked away. He was frightened. No, he mentally corrected himself, fear did not aptly describe the emotions currently trembling through his body. He was terrified. But because of his phenomenal acting skills, he was able to keep his internal turmoil from reaching his cold, stony visage. He didn’t want any of the Necronites present to experience his fear. He was Eridon’s Leader and the Seventh Chosen Son of Eridos and Aeyana; he didn’t tremble in front of an insane and impotent god.

But he couldn’t deny his fears. Why does he want to see me here, in this foul, stinking cavern? he wondered as he waited. He has been speaking to me through his handsome young disciples for years - why this sudden desire to see me in person? What does he want?

Adelrid folded his bony hands in front of him, continuing his attempt to look casual, even bored. Only he knew he was clutching his clammy fingers so tightly they hurt. He looked disturbingly like the kneeling Necronites praying silently behind him. Dressed in his robes of state - a long black velvet gown adorned with intricate gold embroidery - with his greasy black hair raked severely back from his sharp face in a long braid, Adelrid could have passed for one of them. The Necronites’ long black robes were plainer and dirtier, but they all also wore their hair pulled back from their foreheads, proudly displaying their marks of damnation.

But the Leader’s high, gleaming brow was bare - devoid of that dreadful bird-in-flight Mark of Singularity. However, even though he had not sold his soul to the Dark God, he was every bit as unscrupulous as the silent devil-worshippers. Unlike them, he was still his own person, in control of his destiny.

Or so he believed, so great was ego. He failed to realise that all who dealt with the Cult of the Unmaker eventually lost their identity to the evil god - whether they wanted to or not. The only reason Necronis had not forced His foulness into Adelrid’s life-essence was because some Kamrytes - especially the thorns in His side named Rhys Kelly, Kamrys Elservarlyn and Delsaron Delfay - had the power to detect converted Necronites. Because these three had so far managed to neutralise all the assassins the Unmaker had sent after them, the Dark God was forced to keep His followers and influences out of the range of their phenomenal psychic powers.

Boredom began nudging his fears away, and Adelrid directed his attention back to the Gate. He staggered in horror, one slender hand flying up to his lips, his heart racing. His terror was magnified a hundredfold. Even though he’d known all along what lurked behind that Ring of Fire – nothing could have prepared him for the true horror that was Necronis the Unmaker.

The Dark God’s huge, hideous face had appeared to occupy the entire Ring, right side a gouged, bleeding mess. Dark fluid oozed from chasm-like gashes, so deep bone could be seen glistening beneath. One single eye, an unfathomable many-faceted orb, glared down from beneath a thick, upswept brow, its power nailing the single unconverted Eridon to the dusty glass floor. Adelrid trembled, fighting desperately to keep his bodily functions from taking over. All of his earlier bravado vanished as he realised that although this Dark God was trapped, He was far from impotent. If He so desired, He could snuff the Leader’s miserable life out like a candle.

The Necronites, in ecstasy at the sight of their beloved Lord, all touched their scarred foreheads to the dusty glass floor.

"Welcome, Adelrid Merylon!" Necronis boomed, giving the Leader a mocking, fang-toothed smile. Adelrid shrieked, jumped back, tripped over the hem of his robe and landed on his bony backside. It is good to finally see Eridon’s illustrious Leader in person, the Dark God continued, in a softer, but no less sarcastic tone. His single eye gleamed with amusement.

Mortified at losing control, Adelrid attempted to climb to his feet, but his shaky legs refused to obey.

Necronis roared with laughter at the Leader’s pathetic display. I see you know your place ... good, good. He nodded His huge head in approval. My son will be with you shortly.

Adelrid managed a terrified nod, wishing desperately that the skinny brat would hurry up. He concluded that Ansharedan the Nightbringer was making him wait on purpose. Over the years Eridon’s Great Leader and the Chosen Son of Necronis had developed a bizarre relationship. Due to the size of their egos they couldn’t like each other. But because their ambitions were so similar they couldn’t hate each other, either. Most of their conversations degenerated into slanging matches. Unfortunately, Adelrid didn’t know when to stop. He would never forget the agony of one of Ansharedan’s mindwrap holds.

Still purring with evil laughter, Necronis dropped out of sight. Adelrid heaved a sigh of relief and scrambled to his feet. The Necronites remained face-down on the floor, and Adelrid was prompted to look towards the Gate Room’s main exit.

A tiny figure came shuffling through it, leaning heavily on a wooden staff topped with a huge horned skull.

Adelrid held his breath. He hadn’t seen Ansharedan the Nightbringer in person since that fateful night ten years earlier, when Necronis’ Chosen had appeared in a blazing light outside Kamrys’ Castle and vaporised a traitorous follower named Kaerin Azaron. His crime had been his failure to keep Rhys and Kamrys from meeting and realising their destiny together. The greasy black mark of the ex-councillor’s destruction still stained the cobbled path. No amount of scrubbing could remove it.

The Leader recalled several times when Ansharedan had appeared before him in soulform - and countless others when the Nightbringer had taken over the closest Necronite and made him utter his wishes. Once, when there were no devil-worshippers nearby Ansharedan even spoke to his mind directly. Follow Necronites were always easier to communicate with than the uninitiated. It all depended on how much energy Ansharedan had, and how ostentatious he wanted to be. The Nightbringer seemed to thrive on theatrical display; it was a notorious weakness.

But none of those distant conversations had prepared Adelrid for this first, proper meeting. Ansharedan wasn’t floating on air or surrounded by a blue halo. He wasn’t talking through a Necronite or a disembodied voice like rustling leaves. He was solid - real.

Adelrid gulped and forced himself to look down into the Nightbringer’s pale, spotty face.

Ansharedan waved a skeletal hand, and the genuflecting Necronites climbed to their feet. The little boy had not changed in the entire eight thousand Eridon years he had been in existence. His servitude to Necronis had granted him the much sought-after gift of immortality - if nothing else. Recent hard work had taken its toll him, and he moved slowly, with the aid of his staff. But the stick was only a symbol, required by a mind that still remembered muscle and sinew. He had been using psychokinesis to move his crippled body around since Necronis had first converted him. Those aspects of his body - along with his digestive tract and most of his internal organs - were well and truly dead. But other portions still functioned, kept alive by Necronis’ power. His heart pumped - even though his blood was dark and lifeless, devoid of value - his brain functioned, for it was the source of his incredible mental power - and his sexual organs still worked. Even though he couldn’t have any children, Necronis still wanted him to enjoy carnal pleasure. Even though the Dark God could not taste ecstasy Himself, He could experience it through Ansharedan. This was the only reason why he let His Chosen keep his manhood. Otherwise He would have completely emasculated him.

As soon as the Necronites had risen Ansharedan met Adelrid’s eyes. Until now the Leader had not experienced the full force of the Nightbringer’s stare. Despite himself he took a step back; the power sizzling from those depthless eyes too much to combat. He prided himself on his master mentalist abilities, but when compared them to the forces Ansharedan controlled - they were pitiful. He gulped, suddenly tongue-tied.

So good of you to come, Ansharedan purred, delicately running one slender hand up the shaft of his ancient staff. His fingernails were long black claws, glittering wickedly in the eerie half-light.

Adelrid forced his palpitating heart to slow. What - what choice did I have? he growled. Ansharedan sounded too much like Necronis. Well - they were one and the same.

Ansharedan smiled wolfishly. His fangs were as pointed as a kyrox’s, his canines like sabres. All the better for ripping the life-force out of your victims, eh? the Leader thought. Every choice in the world, Adelrid, the Nightbringer continued, his soft, husky tone barely concealing a deep sarcasm. You are your own person, you know.

Adelrid grunted and decided to change the subject. So what’s this all about, then? Why bring me here in person? Why couldn’t you just do what you usually do?

Ansharedan continued to smile as he lifted one skinny hand from his staff and began playing with the necklace of teeth around his neck. I thought the occasion great enough - to warrant a proper meeting. Shall we sit down? He directed his gaze towards a couple of chairs, located in a quiet corner of the cavern. One was an enormous throne made from old bones draped with skins, and hung with chains of teeth, ears and knucklebones. Suspended above it hung the mounted head of a kyrox, mouth open in one last agonised roar.

Without waiting for Adelrid to respond, Ansharedan turned and headed off towards the chairs, his tattered black robes rustling around his ankles. Despite his obvious infirmity he moved silently, his booted feet hardly seeming to touch the floor. Adelrid followed his tiny figure, occasionally looking over his shoulder at the unmoving Necronites. Their accusing eyes seemed to bore into him.

Join us, uninitiated! they seemed to hiss, full of malevolence. Join us or die!

Of course Ansharedan dropped himself into the bone-chair, hooking a skinny leg over one of its arms. Adelrid nervously perched himself in the small seat opposite. He realised some of the skins covering the big throne were Li-Karian. He shivered at the thought. He was a sadist, but he preferred neat, tidy mental torture to messy physical; the spraying blood and rending flesh Necronites seemed to revel in revolted him.

Ansharedan waved an arm, sending a telepathic command that even the nimble Adelrid couldn’t intercept. Abruptly the assembled Necronites filed out of the cavern, silent and obedient. What we are about to speak of - is not for their ears, Leader, Ansharedan whispered as soon as his worshippers had departed.

Adelrid nodded again, clasping his damp hands together between his knees. So what is all this about?

Ansharedan idly twisted a lock of his curly chestnut hair around one skeletal finger. It has been a while - since the Great Council decided to rebuild Eridon’s arsenal - hasn’t it?

That decision was made by the previous Great Council on the day of the Etiran Invasion.

Over a year and a half ago now, Ansharedan picked thoughtfully at his fangs with a pointed fingernail. So - how much fire-power - does that mean we have now?

Explain yourself.

Ansharedan stared fixedly into Adelrid’s eyes. Do you think it’s enough to begin an attack - on the Etiran Empire?

Adelrid jumped. Er - possibly.

Yes you do, Ansharedan corrected. All you’re doing now - is waiting for the right time - aren’t you?

Adelrid reddened. He hated how easily Ansharedan could get into his head. Not even his mentalist shields protected him from the evil boy’s intrusion. Yes, he hissed through clenched teeth. I am waiting!

The Nightbringer smiled again, allowing Adelrid yet another view of his wicked teeth. Good. Well, Necronis and I - have decided that you need wait no more. The right time has arrived.

"You have decided? Adelrid was so affronted that his fear took a back seat. Attacking the Etiran Empire was my idea, spawned from the tiniest embryo! He ground a well-manicured thumb into his chest. I figured out everything down to the minutest detail, and I will initiate the attack when I feel the time is right - not when you and your ugly Master tell me to!"

Ansharedan’s smile faded. His dark grey eyes glittered with deadly power, and Adelrid was once again forced to avert his gaze. We have a good reason for helping you with this attack, Adelrid. Without our aid will fail - even if you decide to initiate it - ten years from now!

Adelrid stared, stunned. What? How can you know this?

Even though - you have spent billions of credits - on warships and weapons from planets like Ortagas, Ledius III and Feldensca, you will still not have nearly enough firepower - to defeat the great Etiran Armada. Ansharedan cleared his throat. Even if you arm for another century - you won’t even have enough power - to dent it! War is the Etirans’ life - it is their Power - as they so often say. They have perfected it into a fine art. The only way they can be defeated - is not by their own game - but by the powers of the mind. Ansharedan tapped his forehead with a needle-sharp claw.

Don’t you think I know that? Adelrid snapped. That’s why I have personally seen to it that Eridon’s finest mentalists will be spearheading our invasion fleets. They will use their powers to confuse and disorientate the Etirans and their sensors enough to tip the tables in our favour.

Eridon’s finest mentalists? Ansharedan sneered, unimpressed by Adelrid’s admirably unscrupulous tactics. Apart from you and of course I - Eridon’s finest mentalists are all Kamrytes - or the half-breeds you so passionately detest! You think - those children you have trained - with their pitiful mental scores of thirty and forty - will be able to confuse thousands upon thousands - of trained Etiran warriors and their sensors? Ansharedan laughed derisively, a wicked, high-pitched giggle that grated on Adelrid’s quivering nerves. They might have the range - but never the control to affect - more than one target at a time - let alone machines as well! Which, Ansharedan laughed again, is why you need me!

Adelrid felt like retorting again, but knew it would be futile. The wasted boy before him would simply shoot him down in flames - again. He had unrestricted access to every dark corner of the Leader’s convoluted mind. Besides, the little delsheron was right; Adelrid knew he didn’t have nearly enough mental power under his control to accomplish what he so passionately desired. All the raw power he craved was possessed by Rhys Kelly, Kamrys Elservarlyn, Delsaron and Omadon Delfay - and a group of those abominable half-castes. He knew none of these people would consider joining his mission; they knew him too well. And the thought of appealing to half-castes made his blood run cold.

Ansharedan beamed another cruel smile. I have the power you seek. He cleared his throat again. "And you would do well - to consider the half-castes. I know of at least two - who would be more than willing to join your – our - cause. Some of the others - might even be able to be ... persuaded."

What are you talking about? Adelrid detested the way the Nightbringer was controlling him. Already the skinny brat had wormed his way into his destiny. Our cause indeed!

I know you don’t like half-castes - that you desire to see them destroyed. Ansharedan started fiddling with his necklace again. But if you wish to succeed - you must put aside your unreasonable prejudices – and at least approach Adolf Hitler and Talitha Farrell. These two - abducted by Delsaron Delfay before he was torn from us - are dissatisfied with their meagre lot in life - and desire another chance at power. All they need is to be asked - and they will accept. You might even want to attempt Aidan Thomas. Even though he professes to have changed his ways - he could be turned - with the right push. Delsaron did it with nothing more - than the power of his intelligence.

I will not consort with half-caste scum! Adelrid shouted.

Then I will send - my own minions to talk to them, Ansharedan continued, unperturbed. You need not - have anything to do with them. But for this war - you will need their power! He took a deep, rasping breath, putting his delicate hands to his chest. "And for the first decisive attack - you will need me!"

Adelrid sighed heavily. I am one of Eridon’s strongest master mentalists! Why don’t you think I have the strength to take over one piddling scout-fleet?

I think - you have an overblown idea - of your own power, Adelrid. When was the last time - you attempted a mass mental suggestion - coupled with an electronic sensor confusion - over such a distance? Such mental exercises require the utmost concentration. And in the fervour of battle - the utmost concentration is not always possible. Besides, the Etirans’ mind-shields - are their most powerful mental ability. One must overcome them first - before one can hope to affect their minds. And then one must confuse their ships’ sensors.

I know this, Adelrid snarled, starting to lose his temper with the Nightbringer’s condescending tone.

But have you tried it? Ansharedan insisted. No you haven’t. On the other hand, I have. For me such activities - are mere child’s play. He laced his skinny fingers together. "It will be nothing for me - to control all the Etirans present - baffle their machines - and help with the destruction. Now, do you accept our proposition?"

Adelrid slumped in his seat, realising that his glorious plan had just been thoroughly hijacked. There was no way he could get it back now. What damn choice do I have? he asked miserably.

Ansharedan cackled wickedly and leaned forward, lying one of his thin, pale hands on Adelrid’s bony knee. You’re learning, Leader, he purred as he squeezed the Leader’s leg. May our alliance be long and pleasant.

Adelrid yanked his leg back. "Our alliance? More like your control and my unquestioning obedience! Eridon’s Great Leader is now nothing more than a servant of the Cult of the Unmaker! And what have you done for me, huh? Have you disposed of Rhys Kelly? No!"

Ansharedan’s dark grey eyes hardened into gemstones, and a blinding pain erupted inside Adelrid’s head like a supernova. He felt like an ice-cold vice was closing around his brain. He tried to use his master mentalist powers to force the powerful mindwrap hold back, but it was like combatting a landslide. A split-second later, and his entire mind was engulfed by Ansharedan’s darkness. Don’t try my patience, Adelrid! the Nightbringer hissed as the Leader writhed in his chair, moaning and scrabbling ineffectually at his temples. Rhys and Kamrys have joined forces - to become Eridos’ Chosen Sons! To destroy them both is a monumental task - requiring considerable preparation! Mercilessly, he tightened his mental grip. Adelrid screamed and slid out of his chair to writhe on the dusty glass floor. Brilliant flashes of light continued to explode in blazes of agony behind his eyes. Saliva drooled from his slack lips. He hardly heard Ansharedan’s next words. We are taking care of them, don’t worry. If it wasn’t for our interference in their affairs - they would have wised up to your ‘destiny’, and be trying to stop it! I would like to see you stand up - to their combined power! Finally, the Nightbringer released him and he fell limp, gasping for breath.

You - little - delsheron! Adelrid massaged his pounding head. You had no reason to do that!

Ansharedan leant back in his throne, unrepentant. You overstepped your mark, Adelrid. Do it again - and the next election - will see all the people voting - for a new Leader!

Adelrid sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. I’d like to see you - explain my disappearance!

I’m warning you! Ansharedan wagged a clawed finger in Adelrid’s face. No more.

Adelrid rubbed his temples again. He could have gone on baiting the Nightbringer - but here, in front of Necronis’ pit, even the knowledge of his death-date

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couldn’t help him. The Unmaker had the power to alter time itself - He had done so before. Adelrid knew exactly what had happened to Rhys Kelly’s lover, Matina Shore. Necronis’ alteration of the spacetime continuum had been faultless. Alright, you little delsheron, he spat, you win.

Ansharedan smiled. I generally do. He reached forward and patted Adelrid on the knee again. Again the Leader pulled his leg back.

Don’t touch me! he snapped.

What difference does it make now? The Nightbringer gave an evil smile. I have touched you before - through my followers, yes, but I have touched you. And I have felt - everything you had to give, too.

Adelrid couldn’t believe his senses. You little pervert! He scrambled to his feet and quickly smoothed down his robes, suddenly feeling naked. I think I’ve stayed here long enough.

Ansharedan gave him a look of mock-disappointment. Must you go so soon?

Adelrid looked down at his chronometer. The morning’s session starts in an hour. I still have to get back.

Very well. Ansharedan pushed himself to his feet. I will notify you - when you should start setting the attack in motion.

Of course you will. Without bothering to say goodbye, Adelrid turned and stalked off towards the Gate-room’s secondary exit.

Ansharedan watched him depart, then turned to the Ring of Fire, threw back his head and burst into screeching, hysterical laughter. Oh, that had been so much fun! If only Necronis will let me convert him now instead of after the Kamrytes’ disposal, he thought. With his substantial powers he will make an invaluable addition to the Cult of the Unmaker.

Lying between the enormous Galactic Order and the mighty Etiran Empire was the Buffer Zone; a small volume of neutral space keeping the two volatile realms apart.

Due to its close proximity to galactic centre zero, the Buffer was laden with intense cosmic activity and phenomena; a chaotic zone in which new stars formed and old ones died in a beautiful, never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. Blue, white and red giants; small yellow and orange suns; white, red and black dwarves and pulsing neutrons all gave the night skies a glittering incandescence as intense as daylight. Nearly all these stars existed in multiple clusters, and were surrounded by a myriad of comets, asteroid belts and planets, orbiting in complicated rings. Black holes thrived, many times larger than those in the more sparsely populated outer regions of the Kylora Ring. They were surrounded by brilliant accretion discs of spiralling matter and often accompanied by bloated companion stars.

Even in the vacuum of space, bizarre life-forms flourished, carrying mini-ecosystems inside their enormous bodies. The magnificent resk dragons used their volcanic breath to hollow out and inhabit asteroids, then propel them across the galaxy. Galactic orcas large enough to have their own personal atmospheres and ecosystems floated for thousands of years between stars, kept alive by the myriad of plants and animals that flourished on their warm hides. Tortoruses, their massive, doughnut-shaped shells pocked with meteor craters, were hunted for their formidable carapaces. Flower-like zyxiton, almost as large as the orcas, travelled from one gaseous giant to another via propulsion of natural gases from their intestinal tracts. Once within an atmosphere they spread their huge, stony petals and released their spores. These would grow and thrive until they were old enough to take off into outer space.

The Buffer also boasted numerous planet-bound races. The Cetroni, the Reldiron and the Quontora were the most intelligent, hailing from Cetron, Reldiros and Quontor. These large, heavy-gravity worlds were laden with exotic life-forms and minerals.

Eighty four Eridon years earlier, before the Buffer’s creation, both the Galactic Order and the Etiran Empire freely exploited the zone, digging up uninhabited planets for valuable resources. The less scrupulous Empire often enslaved entire populations of defenceless primitives. The superpowers clashed in short, but bloody battles. Then, upon encountering the Cetroni, Reldiron and Quontora, they approached them, seeking their allegiance. Even though they professed to have nothing but good intentions towards the three races, the Cetroni, Reldiron and Quontora decided they wanted no involvement with the superpowers, and the interplanetary space war they believed inevitable between them. So what if the warring realms could offer them protection? What did it matter when they were embroiled in a battle they wanted no part of? Besides, the Cetroni had the technology to shield their home planet from invaders. As a consequence of the building tension, the neutral zone’s three main cultures organised themselves into their own mini-federation.

The Buffer was founded during a rare mutual agreement between the Order, the Empire and the Federation. Ships from either side could enter the zone to trade or mine, but only if they were unarmed. Any vessel discovered to be breaking this agreement was committing an act of war.

The Galactic Order, at this time a peace-loving organisation, respected the treaty and backed off. But the Etirans, to whom war was like a drug, sent numerous privateers into the Buffer to prey on unprotected trade-ships.

If not for their phenomenal war-technology, they would never have succeeded in their aggression. Their pirate craft were small and quick, fitted with advanced sensor dampeners, and could outmanoeuvre most other ships. They also possessed the ability to jump into hyperspace in an instant. In the formless dimension between dimensions, they were impossible to follow. The Etirans would attack an innocent trader, board, use their mind-powers to confuse their non-telepathic victims, then steal whatever booty they could get their hands on. By the time the unfortunates realised that they had been attacked the Etirans were long gone, not even the ghost of an ion trail left behind.

The pirates would have continued to get away with this treachery if, during a routine patrol of the Buffer’s border, a long-range Order scout-craft hadn’t caught a glimpse of one such pirate attack. By the time it arrived to help the attackers had gone, and the victims were unable to explain what happened. But the scout had managed to obtain a recording, revealing a blurred, but unmistakable image of an Etiran attack-craft. The Order sent a message to the Empress, demanding an explanation. The overweight swarm-mother stated that the hostile action had not been sanctioned by her government, but rather the action of a lawless rogue.

Unable to dispute this, but unable to accept it either, the Order organised its sporadic scout parties into a more vigilant tracking force that never left the Buffer’s borders. Its job was to hunt down more such lawless rogues, and bring them to their deserved justice.

In retaliation to what the warlike Etirans considered to be an unnecessary show of force, they intensified their own border patrols. Soon the two enemies were glaring maliciously at each other across the Buffer, bristling and threatening, but neither daring to act. Unfortunately, all this sword-rattling did was cause the pirates to became more careful - but no less ruthless. The attacks continued - and the victims still couldn’t name their attackers.

This border-patrolling went on for years; the small scout-fleets blossoming into great space-stations. Both the Order and the Empire were becoming bored with the endless watching, and desired an end to the interminable tension. But neither side were willing to sue for peace or start a war. They remembered what had happened to W’taa Ofdrin Kitirrith - one of Etiran’s greatest warlords - when she’d attempted to invade Eridon. Even though she’d had the power of two Crystals behind her, the Eridons had still defeated her with their unholy mental powers; hurled her into the black pit of a dead dimension. There was no return for her, ever.

Even the Order’s own beings were starting to fear the ruling Eridons. In the old days they had looked up to the Eridons, viewed them as benevolent benefactors. They had been a peace-loving people who’d kept well away from interplanetary skirmishes. But since then Eridon society had undergone a complete turnaround. In a short space of one and a half Eridon years they had transformed from a kind, gentle race into a loud, warmongering one, rapidly becoming as bad as the Etirans they despised.

Although their ancient blood cried out for battle, the reptiles had no desire to fight the Eridons. Maybe in the old days, but certainly not now. Eridon’s new Leader, that flinty-eyed Adelrid Merylon, was far too shrewd to be engaged. He would employ all the treacherous tricks the Etirans utilised, coupling them with his phenomenal mental powers. The Etirans had faith in their battleships, but because of their gross overestimation of the amount of mental power the Eridons employed, managed to keep their bloodlust down.

Until one fateful day when the gravity of the situation could no longer be ignored.

Zu-Takt Magrun Narhit paced Rakun 5’s enormous bridge, her long, sinewy tail swishing angrily from side to side. She had only been the space station’s leader for six days, and already she was fighting bored. The warriors she commanded seemed content to play stupid games, beat each other senseless and consort with their sex-drones and each-other. But not Magrun. She’d been born to conquer - not oversee an unchanging space-station full of lazy fighters!

The Etiran under-leader stood tall and muscular at one metre ninety five, with lush green skin, fangs, pointed ears and high, curved horns. Her gleaming white uniform was adorned with a red diagonal slash, marking her as a member of the prestigious warrior-elite - the Order of the Heratora. Her narrow, catlike eyes blazed with fierce power and intelligence. She believed she had the potential to become a warlord.

Unfortunately, the road to such an awesome position was narrow, twisted and fraught with traps, knife-wielding assassins and onerous duties. So far Magrun had skilfully managed to avoid the traps and killers - but not the tedious missions. In order to teach their new members patience, the Heratora leaders stationed them on remote outposts. Since nothing had happened between the Galactic Order and the Etiran Empire for years, the word Rakun, meaning buffer, had become synonymous with boredom.

This was one test the nervous Heratora warlords were sure the over-ambitious Magrun would fail.

But I will not fail, Magrun swore, clenching her clawed hands into fists. I will survive this! She took a deep, shuddering breath and walked over to the sweeping bridge console. A sloppily dressed scanner with her bare feet resting on the panel looked up, yawned a lethargic hello, then, that back-breaking formality over, she went back to the questionable material on her tablet.

Was that supposed to be a greeting? Magrun planted her fists on her hips. On your feet this instant, Ahyun!

Another one who thinks she’s an old-fashioned disciplinarian, the scanner thought as she grumpily obeyed. She won’t last long! Yes, Zu-Takt? she asked sweetly.

Magrun’s voice lashed out like a whip. Straighten your uniform, Ahyun! You look like you just got out of bed!

By Nattanru - she’s really serious about this! Quickly, the scanner brushed down her wrinkled white tunic, tightened her belt and flattened her collar.

Now where are your shoes?

The scanner’s decision to go barefoot suddenly seemed like the worst one she’d ever made. Er - I left them in my room. They - they didn’t seem necessary this morning.

Your uniform was issued with shoes, which means they are necessary every morning! Magrun bellowed. Next time you dress you put them on! Now give me the respect owed to me!

The ahyun bowed low. Greetings, Zu-Takt Magrun.

Thank you. Now deactivate that tablet and return to your duties.

The scanner moved to obey, shaken. All the previous leaders of Rakun 5 had been quiet and apathetic in comparison to Magrun Narhit, even the ones who had tried to enforce discipline. This under-leader was different - she knew what to do, and cared. The ahyun suddenly felt ashamed about belittling Magrun’s status. When mere scanners could get away with so insulting a member of the Heratora, the Empire was in a sad state of affairs indeed.

Having nothing better to do, Magrun dropped into a spare seat in front of the enormous console and glared up at the transparent dome. Star-studded space lay beyond, peaceful and serene.

A control on the console beeped, and the scanner craned forward to check it out. Zu-Takt - are we expecting any of our ships to enter the Buffer today?

Ahyun - if you’d bothered to read the daily roster you’d know. Magrun didn’t bother to help the scanner. Then, deciding that she’d frightened the poor fool enough, she relented and answered her question. No, we aren’t. Why do you ask?

Look at this. The ahyun pointed a claw at a small 2D screen, depicting a tiny section of the Buffer. Magrun got up to examine it.

It’s too small. Put it up top.

The scanner obeyed, her slender fingers flickering across the complicated console with the practised ease of one who’d performed the duty time and time again. The enormous expanse of space above went black, and a schematic diagram of the Buffer, marked with all its stars, appeared in its place. It was very intricate. As Magrun watched, it was replaced by the smaller, more important section. An armed spaceship - the kind that ferried supplies, people and weapons between Rakun stations - was flying at maximum sub-light speed into the Buffer. It showed up on the schematic as a white dot surrounded by a red circle.

What, by Nattanru, does the idiot pilot think she’s doing? Magrun gasped. Trying to start a war with the Galactic Order? Ahyun! Open a channel, both verbal and visual!

Already doing so, Zu-Takt. The scanner’s hands flickered across the console again. Verbal channel open. A small square appeared in one corner of the Buffer diagram, but it was filled with what looked like television snow. Unfortunately, for some reason, I can’t give you visual. The scanner stabbed a control and the little square vanished.

Then verbal will have to do. Magrun cleared her throat. This is Zu-Takt Magrun Narhit of Rakun Five to armed Etiran ship. State your business for entering the Buffer, and it had better be good!

Static crackled through a hidden speaker. Jik-Rel Zagrishk Lanfel responding to violation of Buffer neutrality by an armed Elviri craft.

What Elviri craft? Magrun snapped. How many ships are there in the vicinity?

One armed Elviri, the unseen Zagrishk answered, barely audible through the static.

The ahyun squinted up at the screen. Yes - there is an Elviri ship directly in Zagrishk’s trajectory - but - but it’s an unarmed trading vessel!

Our scanners report the ship to be a simple unarmed trader, Magrun told Zagrishk. Return to Empire space immediately before your transgression is viewed as an act of war!

Your scanners are faulty, Zagrishk shouted, more static crackling through her message, that ship is armed... She tailed off into fuzz.

Ahyun! Boost the signal! Bring her back!

Right away. The scanner’s elegant hands passed over the console again. Signal boosted to maximum.

Zagrishk! Magrun shouted. I repeat - you must return to Empire space immediately! You are in violation of Buffer neutrality!

Me in violation? Through the static Zagrishk sounded incredulous. ...armed Elviri warship ... have to destroy it... Again her