Defector: Starganauts Series, #3

By C.E. Stone

In the betrayal of one lies the salvation of many.

Months have passed since Grunn's devastating war. While clearing its rubble, Samantha Harris receives disturbing news:  the end of the Starganauts is coming. The team embarks on a mission to protect a village from raiding Cybrium space pirates, and Samantha's worst fears are confirmed.

Eight leave. Only seven return. Bereft of a crewmate, Samantha leads them on a personal quest across the galaxy to save one of their own. There's just one problem. Her obsession with control could be their downfall and forces Sharko into a leadership crisis.

After a mission goes wrong, one of the Starganauts is kidnapped by the merciless Cybrium. Yet their leader proves enigmatic and surprising. When he asks for help, the Starganaut must make an agonizing choice. The fact he's beginning to sympathize with his captor hardly helps, either.

Journey into the unknown reaches of the Gorvan Galaxy as the Starganauts seek to rescue their teammate…before he can betray them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.E. Stone
• Release date: May 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215989708

C.E. Stone

C.E. Stone is a tutor by day and an award-winning Christian author by night. The wife of a chronically-ill husband, she tutors a host of students between writing her next book and plotting a galactic takeover. ;) She created Starganauts at the age of ten as stories she acted out with Legos. C.E. strives to write fiction that glorifies God and encourages believers. She hopes to follow in the footsteps of her favorite authors, Tolkien and Lewis, albeit with a science fiction twist.

Book preview

<1>

The Metal City

Samantha Harris picked her way through smoky, cast-iron streets. Inching along in the form of Crosshair, she held her pistols at the ready. Her skin prickled beneath the red armor suit of her ranged Form. Metal platforms on broad, square pillars shut out the light overhead while rusting slum-houses loomed out of the fog.

Just behind her crept Matt, transformed into Thunderbane. He wheezed slightly and then coughed. In the tense silence of the slums, it sounded like a gunshot. The occasional cough still troubled her cousin, his punctured lung not quite healed from the Duskrealm war. Crosshair prayed another wouldn’t ambush him. She couldn’t tell how far away the enemy lurked.

They walked alone in a metropolis that defied gravity. After dropping Kexid at her colmit—or country—of Jor’Kroth, they had traveled to this artificial world. Crosshair had witnessed many strange sights after Earth’s destruction, but the metal planet of Grave topped most. Its exterior was curving plates of metal, fitted together so seamlessly that an advanced civilization must have fashioned them. From space, the world resembled a ball of cast iron, crisscrossed by circuits amidst craters and score marks from bygone battles and space debris impacts.

Inside told a different tale. Gigantic foundations rose from the exterior shell, reaching inward toward the center of the planet. Atop these foundations rested a multilayered city. The poorest sections sat at the bottom, while the wealthiest neighborhoods rose above them on platforms with synthetic turf. Above all, at the core of Grave, burned an artificial sun fueled by tuporos. Crosshair couldn’t figure out how the fabricated sun worked. She merely knew it cast the planet’s interior in unnatural light. A light she missed, after thugs forced her and Thunderbane to descend to the darker slums for safety.

If I’d known anything about Grave, I’d have brought the whole team, the prophetess thought wryly. She switched on her intercom system. Quietly, she said to Thunderbane, "Primo, do you find yourself wishing we’d brought backup?"

Her cousin glanced nervously around, even though their closed helmets meant no one could hear their conversation.

I’m a soldier, he stated. What do you think? This whole place puts me on edge.

I miss Vexador. Syvoric is free, safe, and a bastion of wise governance. Grave is enslaved and treacherous. Its populace is chained to the wills of the outlaws who rule it. Crime lords, gangs, freelance thugs—I feel sorry for these people.

I hear you, but what can we do? Thunderbane shrugged. It’s ingrained in this planet like circuitry.

Crosshair sighed. Her heart wished she could do something to step in and help these people! The crime syndicates operated like corporations, while street-level thugs employed violence daily. The lostness of Grave overwhelmed her, even more than the pitch-darkness staring up from the yawning depths between foundations.

Besides, didn’t King Dathun mention his ancestor came from here? Thunderbane’s tone reassured. If the savior of Paradeesia could be from Grave, there’s still a shred of decency and hope somewhere.

The prophetess nodded, but it barely cheered her flagging spirits. She refocused on the reason for their arrival. The Shadow. Kexid’s mention of the mysterious assassin had excited her imagination and filled her with questions. Ever since Vogul’s demise, the Voices had haunted Samantha. Where did they come from? Had they been demons? Or something else? She’d certainly felt a physical form when they had writhed over her aboard the gunship. She shuddered, pushing away the horrible memory.

So many things about the Gorvan Galaxy remained an enigma. For this reason she’d come, perhaps recklessly, to a world of which she knew nothing. She and Thunderbane had spent four days on Grave. They’d slept only once, in the rusted shanty of a Teradite refugee, glad for a break from orb form. People tried several times to pick their pockets or steal their weapons. They had gotten into fights with street thugs as they wandered from one city foundation to another, asking any freelance criminals who dared speak where to find The Shadow.

Most would turn and flee at the assassin’s name, eyes wide with fear. They didn’t learn of The Shadow’s stomping grounds until they encountered a Coradite mercenary.

Footing 11, the alien had said, into a hand-held translator. Crosshair pressed him for more information, but the Coradite shoved past and would not be bothered. She and Thunderbane recognized the designation. Each foundation that supported the city layers was called a footing. They had found Footing 11 and were currently searching it. A growing pit of unease settled in Crosshair’s stomach.

We haven’t run into a soul, Thunderbane remarked. Look at the piping on the walls around us. My guess is that Footing 11 houses a...a factory, of some sort?

Actually, it houses your tombs! A leering voice snarled from behind them.

The cousins whirled around to see a muscled criminal of Vexadorian heritage. A dozen silhouettes materialized from the smoke all around them, brandishing weapons. The speaker carried a short-handled flail, its round head sparking with electricity. Several others carried the same weapon, while most brandished cheap but efficient plasma pistols.

H-how did you overhear my comment? Thunderbane demanded, fingers poised over his lightning foils.

Com interceptor, the Vexadorian declared, jerking his head in the direction of an alien with an earpiece. I heard you’re lookin’ for The Shadow. Not a good idea on your first visit to Grave. Me an’ the boys wanna teach you a lesson, prissy little girl!

Oh, I think you’d better not call him that. Crosshair readied her trigger finger, staring him down through the visor.

Or what? You’ll whip me with your pistols? the heavy man chortled. Lesson time, men!

The motley gang of Vexadorians and aliens attacked. Plasma guns discharged, spattering the cousins with a hail of fire. To the thugs’ amazement, Crosshair and Thunderbane’s armor absorbed the brunt of the shots.

"Shall we ‘school’ them, Prima?" Thunderbane asked. She could hear the grin behind his words.

But of ‘course’! Crosshair punned. Careful, boys. It’s a pass-fail grade!

Looks of bewilderment flashed across the criminals’ faces seconds before Crosshair fired. Projectiles ripped into several of them. She dodged an alien’s flail, spotted an opening in the villains’ circle, and made a dash for freedom. Close-quarters and guns didn’t mix.

Behind her, the prophetess heard Thunderbane’s lightning foils electrocuting thug after thug. She glanced back to watch the Vexadorian ringleader swing his flail at Thunderbane, wrapping his chain around one of the foils. The Starganaut couldn’t dislodge it, but his other blade stayed free. He struck the Vexadorian in the torso. The man’s body convulsed with electric shock before he fell, dead, to the metallic floor. Crosshair stopped and spun around, unleashing a flurry of bullets at the criminals running toward her. She felled half of them before the remaining ones turned tail and scattered.

In the distance, Thunderbane finished an attacker with an arcing swing. The last few henchmen retreated, disappearing like phantoms into the fog.

Crosshair’s torso heaved from exertion and Thunderbane coughed. The prophetess frowned as she felt a few small holes in her armor, the sting of minor burns confirming the villains had pierced through in a few places. However, their armor suits had mostly held up.

Well done! a voice hissed approvingly. Crosshair and her cousin glanced in every direction, yet saw no one. Thunderbane finally grabbed the prophetess’ arm and pointed upward. The cousins stood beneath a gap between the platforms above. At the edge of one, Crosshair saw a figure silhouetted by a streetlight. His position cast him in darkness, rendering his features indistinguishable, but Crosshair knew. This must be the assassin they sought.

You passed my test nicely! The Shadow exclaimed. Yes, I hired those thugs to attack you. I promised they could have your armor and valuables if they won. I must say, I quite expected you to lose!

The Shadow’s voice struck Crosshair oddly. A strange mixture of mechanical and hollow, it sounded as if every word ran through a filter. Crosshair couldn’t make out his features, but his outline confirmed that he wore a helmet. He’s humanoid in shape, at least, she observed.

Now that we’ve passed your little test, Thunderbane shouted, will you speak to us?

I speak to no one! The Shadow waved a dismissive hand. Before they could utter another word, he backed away and vanished from view.

Crosshair threw out her arms in disgust. Great! That went peachy.

Thunderbane patted her on the back.

We’ll find him, Sam, wherever he went. His practicality calmed her. "In the meantime—¡ay caray!"

A figure materialized from the smoke right in front of them. The Shadow! Crosshair jumped. How in the Gorvan did he do that? She wondered. The platform he’d been on seconds ago rose thirty feet above them! Crosshair aimed her pistols at The Shadow, but the assassin opened his arms in a gesture of harmlessness. She could distinguish more details of his dark-grey, full body suit, yet he remained largely shrouded in gloom.

Allow me to finish what I said earlier, he hissed. I don’t speak to anyone...unless they’re as dangerous as I. You intrigue me, Starganauts.

Thunderbane managed to squelch an expression of surprise, but Crosshair couldn’t.

Don’t be naïve, the male continued. You were but locally-known until the Tormac Grunn incident. Most of Grave may be ignorant of your doings, but I’m better informed than your average assassin.

Clearly, Crosshair retorted. She knew danger lurked beneath The Shadow’s words. A male so unpredictable was as likely to pull out a blaster and start shooting as to pleasantly converse.

Why have you sought me? The Shadow questioned. Only those who wish to kill someone want my services. Perhaps a Trylithian wronged you and you seek revenge?

Ha, no! Crosshair laughed. I’m well acquainted with the ugliness of vengeance. Trust me, that’s what got our planet into war in the first place! We seek you, great assassin, because we’re looking for an entity that you resemble. We were told of your amazing abilities: how you can go through solid walls and even change your shape.

Perhaps. The Shadow’s voice, like his appearance, remained inscrutable.

"I...encountered...a being with hollow voices, Samantha continued, which appeared like a cloud of darkness, yet tore someone to shreds. It didn’t go through a wall, but it did break a windshield of glass despite being made of shadows. A friend of mine thought you might have a connection. I’m willing to pay your regular assassin’s fee for information."

The Shadow gazed at them in a very unnerving manner.

Curious, he finally said. For ones so talented, you know so little of this galaxy. There is a dark force working against you, and I would caution you to leave. This enemy you seek is relentless! It has been snuffing out the light since the Dawn of Time, and it will come for you and seize you by the throat! At least, he chuckled ironically, it would have. Unfortunately, you happen to be valuable, alive, to someone else I know. I’ll need you to come with me!

Pardon? Thunderbane bristled. We’re doing no such thing!

That wasn’t a request.

The assassin reached into concealed pockets. Pulling out what looked like discs, he flung them forward. Crosshair and Thunderbane instinctively jumped sideways. The discs split open in midair, nets springing from inside of them. Both nets opened in every direction, and Crosshair gasped as they crackled with electricity.

She couldn’t escape. One net hit her armor, sending a shock through even the undersuit. Every nerve in her body stung with pain as her muscles contracted and went numb. The net tangled around her legs, and Crosshair hit the cast-iron flooring with a clang.

She struggled against the stifling, synthetic ropes, panic rising in her heart. Ever since her captivity in Duskrealm, tight spaces and restraints held new terror. She clawed at the netting, but the more she moved, the tighter it drew. Hopelessly caught, she could do nothing but fight limply against the restraints and her fear.

THUNDERBANE HAD A FAR different outcome than Crosshair. The electricity in the net had no effect on him, and he spread his arms wide, lightning foils crackling. The net merely hit his chestplate and he easily shook it off. The Shadow turned and bolted. Thunderbane hesitated, glancing from Crosshair to the rapidly-disappearing assassin and back again.

Don’t let me stop you! the prophetess yelled. ¡Ve tras él, Primo! Go after him!

Thunderbane nodded and sprinted after. Following the male proved easy. The assassin’s pounding footfalls echoed on the metal flooring, and nobody got in the way. He soon discerned the male through the smoke, catching up as The Shadow dashed for the side of Footing 11. The edge of the massive, cast-iron foundation ended in a sheer cliff. A pitch-black abyss yawned between this and the next footing like a swath of shadow, providing lanes for the air traffic zooming by. Only a metal guardrail stood between pedestrians and the bottomless drop. The Shadow sprinted for the chasm, Thunderbane realizing his destination. An airtram drew close to the edge.

Airtrams, the Gravite equivalent of metro lines, flew rather than resting on rails. They possessed a broad deck around each car so passengers could stand inside or outside. Fearlessly, the assassin reached the rail, vaulted over, and landed on the outer deck of the airtram. Thunderbane followed. Putting on a burst of speed, he jumped, clearing the rails of both footing and tram. He fell heavily onto the deck but recovered, glancing around. He’d landed safely on the tram but two cars behind The Shadow’s!

Thankfully, vestibules connected the coaches. The lightning Starganaut ducked inside the tram’s coach in pursuit. A few shady-looking passengers glanced up from their micropads but said nothing. Thunderbane rushed down the central corridor, through the connecting vestibule, and into the other tram car. Crossing this one too, he caught sight of his adversary ducking outside through a window.

The Shadow leaped from the deck...just as the metro passed the last of Footing 11! He landed safely on the corner of the foundation, saluting Thunderbane saucily as the airtram carried the hapless Starganaut away.

Thunderbane observed a ship of alien make parked on stilts near the corner of the footing. The assassin rushed beneath it, a whitish beam snapping on and pulling him upward into the interior. The ship ascended to the sky, rocketing past as if in taunt before it disappeared into the distant gloom of Grave’s interior. All of their unanswered questions went with it.

Thunderbane couldn’t conceal his disappointment. He caught a returning airtram and trudged back to Crosshair’s position. He helped his floundering cousin out of the net and onto her feet.

I’m sorry he got away, Thunderbane confessed, shame-faced. Worse, I didn’t get the make of his ship. It’s nothing I’ve seen before, so I doubt we can track it. He’s probably already in space, by now.

Hey, you did the best you could. Crosshair patted him on the back. Mr. Shadow may have eluded us for now, but we’ll see him again. He mentioned a client who desperately wants to capture us, so you know what that means.

The downside of popularity. Thunderbane rolled his eyes. Everybody wants us. Some, for nefarious purposes.

Venga, Primo. Crosshair began walking away from him. I’ve had enough of metal cities and smoky alleys for a lifetime. Let’s head home!

To Vexador! Thunderbane agreed. The cousins’ footsteps reverberated on the Footing as they dashed eagerly for the hangar bay that housed their ship.

I WORRY, FOR SAMANTHA and Matt.

Kaity Anderson voiced her concern as she swung her arm carelessly. She and Sharko were strolling in a park after the morning’s church service, hand-in-hand, enjoying a pleasant day in Syvoric City. They strode in step with a milling throng of pedestrians, most coming from church or going about a Sabbath’s leisurely activities. Many saluted them, for their participation in the Duskrealm War had skyrocketed their fame.

We haven’t heard from them in days, Sharko said, an edge of worry in his voice. But God will look out for them, and I’m interested to see if their mission succeeds. Maybe we can finally understand more about the Voices...or even the orbs!

For now, we resume our task of undoing Grunn’s evil. Kaity gestured to the city around them. Since the end of the Duskrealm War, the Starganauts had been assisting with the cleanup. They’d spent many afternoons clearing rubble and repairing damaged buildings, and Nancy even helped search for missing persons.

Kaity and Sharko continued chatting about Samantha and Matt while they navigated the moving sidewalks back to Base. They entered to find their fellow Starganauts all in Form. Fyromaniac, Vipress, Ninjarak, and Apotheka waited for them, sitting on the New Commons couches.

You two lovebirds are late, Ninjarak teased.

Well, it’s not like we normally clear rubble on a Sabbath, Kaity retorted. Several of the Starganauts nodded. They were making an exception today because the Guard had scheduled a special time of mourning tomorrow, and certain sections of Syvoric needed clearing before then. Sharko had volunteered them—as he often did. Murati Square, hardest-hit by Grunn’s forces, lay in especial ruin. The Starganauts would return to the infamous site of the Trylithian Jizdrakk assault, to clear it so that others could restore it to a presentable state.

The couple transformed and left with their friends. While they rode in hovercrafts to the square, Kaity mulled over recent history. Over a million people had perished in Grunn’s devastating war. Anti-Trylithian sentiment ran deep, and the Guard had lost its most experienced and beloved leaders. Lexur, Tazen’s old captain, had gone from general to commander in the span of a week. Men who’d acted valiantly in the Duskrealm War now stepped up to take the helm of Guard and government, and Valora felt relieved not to have their responsibilities. Being a Starganaut kept her more than occupied!

Clouds drifting overhead kept the morning air cool, yet despite the beautiful day, the people on the moving sidewalks barely spoke. Kaity knew it must be the war. Though hard work erased its ravages, the shadows of the conflict remained. She saw it in the cries of fatherless children, in the holes and rubble they zoomed around, and in the absence of levity in the streets.

The Starganauts’ hovership stopped in Murati Square. Icy fingers gripped Valora’s heart despite Blaze’s gloved hand helping her alight. She couldn’t shake the dread this place evoked. Wincing, she remembered being slammed by several plasma waves. She would never forget that traumatizing moment. Her heart calmed, however, recalling the lesson she’d learned in this very square. God was with her through the fiercest storms. In a paradoxical way, facing this trial had enabled her to develop more courage.

She thanked the Lord they didn’t have further galactic threats looming on the horizon. Though loath to clear more rubble, it was a blessing putting their skills to domestic use. Ninjarak used his bo staff to prop up beams or brace crumbling doorways. Apotheka ventured into unstable buildings, her shield snapping on if chunks fell from the roof. Blaze employed his torchsword to cut through cave-ins, while Fyromaniac blasted huge obstacles that got in their way. As for herself and Vipress, they manned the hovering carts that carried the rubble away to a Guard compacter vehicle. It wasn’t glamorous, but she preferred it over confronting a charging Skull Warrior brigade.

Nancy’s voice arrested her attention. Apotheka came out of a collapsed building and hung her head.

I found more corpses. Her words hung heavily in the air. Several Guardsmen got buried in there. She banged her fist against a doorpost. I’ve spent hours around the injured and dying, but I still hate discovering bodies. The number of the dead we’re finding is truly awful.

Nobody said a word. Valora’s lip trembled and she felt the familiar, cold ache that came with hearing such grim news. While there might be millions of delvacs’ worth of damage around them, it paled in comparison to the human toll. The true cost of the war could not be measured in currency, but in tears.

I don’t care that Grunn became a Christian! Chrysta cried, at the end of the day. Now out of Form, Kaity and the others gathered in the Base for dinner, which Abigale cooked and plated for them. I hope he’s burning in Hell!

Chrysta! Sharko chided. I couldn’t stand Grunn either, and what he did to Vexador is inexcusable. But for Heaven’s sake, God forgives even the most rotten sinner! If he can forgive you and me, He is powerful enough to cleanse Grunn from his iniquities.

I’m glad he died, Mike spoke up. Chrysta’s right. I know the Lord forgives the dirtiest of sinners, but for once, I wish He’d refused Grunn.

Kaity chewed thoughtfully, weighing the bitterness of Chrysta’s outburst with the grim reality of their earlier work.

Tormac Grunn suffered a lot in life, she said. Samantha was able to forgive him. Our ‘find’ today reminds us of his evil, but I’m trying to forgive Trylithia. Can you not?

"You can? After Nancy discovered dead women and children in the rubble? Chrysta snorted. Finding the Guardsmen today? This world follows God, yet He allows such catastrophe to befall it!"

He allows evil because we live in a fallen universe. Sharko put down his fork, turning to look Chrysta in the eyes. We ourselves ultimately chose our depravity. All are cursed through Adam’s seed and await the day of Christ’s return, as Scripture tells us. In the present, we must press on, knowing He takes us by the hand through life’s darkest times. Sometimes, He calls us to Heaven early. Sometimes, He keeps us here, with a purpose beyond imagining. After Sahara, I’d think we all learned that.

The discussion moved to another topic. Kaity sensed her husband had offended Chrysta and Mike, but she shrugged. They weren’t the picture of an emotionally healthy couple, and Kaity suspected spiritual dysfunction at the root. They isolated themselves from the rest of the Starganauts, attending a different church—with some off-track ideas. In their lives, she seldom noticed the transformed behavior or focus on Christ that characterized true believers. Kaity had observed this since they’d shared space aboard The Deliverer, which now felt very long ago.

If anything, Mike and Chrysta’s best moments together had occurred on Sahara. An easier life seemed to hurt their marriage and their witness. Then again, who am I to talk? The thought stopped Kaity in her tracks, reminding her how she’d abandoned the others right before the space battle.

The com device in Sharko’s pocket buzzed. Kaity listened as he answered, smiling to hear a familiar, muffled voice. Everyone stopped eating and looked at Sharko with quizzical expressions. Her husband concluded his communique, pocketing the com.

That was Samantha! he announced. She and Matt will be setting down in an hour.

The Starganauts finished dinner, and time passed quickly. Before long, Kaity and the others shuffled into the Base hangar to greet The Glory and its passengers. Samantha and Matt walked wearily down the landing ramp, looking dejected but not defeated. Kaity felt glad to have them back. The cousins took turns relating their adventures over a spiced dessert.

Our trip was a bust, Samantha said, between mouthfuls, but at least it confirms the Voices were real.

You mean the broken window on the gunship’s bridge wasn’t a giveaway? Dudeman teased.

This trip to Grave raised more questions than it answered, Matt retorted. I just wish I could’ve caught that guy. We had no way to trace or find him!

It wasn’t your fault, Sharko encouraged. He turned to Samantha. This age-old enemy he mentioned...is it possibly Satan?

I don’t know, the prophetess answered. I got the impression this ‘enemy’ and the Voices aren’t the same. That The Shadow knows about us is troubling, and I sense we’ll be seeing more of him.

At least we’re safe here, on Vexador, Kaity chimed in.

No one is ever truly safe.

Matt’s words made Kaity involuntarily shudder. She noticed Chrysta tremble, too.

The global day of mourning is tomorrow. Sharko slid his empty plate back. Lexur asked that we all attend, in Form.

I’m glad Matt and I came back in time, Samantha said. I wouldn’t miss it...especially because I’m speaking tomorrow.

I still remember Tazen’s funeral. Kaity’s face fell. An image of the brave commander, lying still in death, flashed before her. I think it’s good that Vexador’s High Consul is having an event to acknowledge everyone’s grief.

And then, two weeks later, it’s Victory Day! Dudeman added, trying to cheer everyone up. I’ll be Tahlimo racing, and it’ll be awesome!

Kaity noticed him glance at Samantha painfully before quickly looking away. She knew Dudeman would not merely mourn the dead, in tomorrow’s ceremony. All the death and loss they’d suffered lately prompted Kaity to scoot over and lean her head against Sharko’s shoulder. She felt fortunate to still have her husband, when so many had lost theirs. Gratitude for his presence swelled her heart, drowning out all negative emotions. Thank you, Lord, that I still have Sharko, she thought. I don’t know how I’d make it without him.

<2>

A New Assignment

The Day of Mourning dawned, slightly overcast. The cooler temperatures of autumn and low, grayish clouds perfectly set the mood. At noon, the Starganauts walked at the front of a column of public servants along with the High Consul of Vexador, Commander Lexur, and three other newly-appointed Commanders. An olive-skinned woman with black hair, whom Kaity recognized as Tazen’s wife Ayolette, trudged just behind them.

The procession moved slowly through streets now devoid of cars. They marched past monolithic skyscrapers still damaged by war, down avenues with craters from cannon fire. As the procession passed apartments and residences, ordinary people and soldiers alike lent their numbers to the rank and file of mourners.

Kaity, in the Form of Valora, pictured Tazen in his last, noble moments. Tears slid down her cheeks. She walked beside Blaze, carrying a lit candle. The other participants did likewise. They moved as one—a column of light—with Guardsmen handing each newcomer their own memorial candle.

How greatly the war had affected them all! Valora could imagine that those who’d experienced Earth’s world wars would have felt such loss and triumph in one day. Her heart ached with Vexador over the fatherless children and the grieving widows. Soldiers dressed in regalia bore their candles solemnly in honor of fallen comrades. Lexur, carrying a candle and a ceremonial sword, looked neither to the right nor to the left.

At last, the mournful procession reached their destination. Murati Square had been completely cleared of rubble, with chairs set up in its broad plaza. Valora and her teammates took a seat in the front row with Ayolette Tazen, while Lexur, Crosshair, and the three commanders joined the High Consul at a podium on a platform twenty feet above the crowd.

The High Consul of Vexador began with a sobering address about the men and women who’d died defending Syvoric City. Two of the commanders gave touching speeches, and Lexur spoke of the bravery of the entire planet, highlighting Tazen’s service. Lastly, Crosshair took the podium. Her helmet off, her gun aside, she opened her speech with prayer. Valora bowed her head with thousands of others. The prophetess thanked the Lord for the sacrifice of the Guardsmen. She praised Him for getting them through the fighting, and prayed for those who’d lost loved ones. She already had the Vexadorians teary-eyed before she launched into her speech.

Good citizens of Vexador! the prophetess began, raising her hands to the sky. "Brothers and sisters in arms! This autumn has been full of dark days. A man bent on vengeance, driven by misplaced wrath, decided to wrongfully attack us! I was warned of the coming storm but unable to help until the midst of the tempest. Over a million of our lives were lost. My cousin and a friend were wounded, along with countless others! We have won the war against Trylithia. In war, though, it is both sides that truly lose. While it is moral and right for us to defend ourselves, death and war were never meant to be. They are a result of sin, not God’s original design."

We remember the valiant and true, she continued passionately, who fought bravely so we could stand here today! They are gone, but let us not believe for an instant we are without hope of seeing them again! There will be a final battle, and then war and death shall cease. Those who follow Christ and fall will rise with Him again! We who did not fall shall see them once more in eternity! So we honor our dead. We remember them. We cry and weep, because Vexador has lost its finest.

"Yet this isn’t the end of our tale. In a moment, we’ll blow out our candles, symbolizing the death of those we mourn today. I would like to add another meaning to this Vexadorian tradition. As the spirit resides in the body until death, let these candles represent the releasing of the believer’s soul to Heaven. Remember: the ones you lost are only lost for a time. Someday, every tear will be wiped away! Every heartache shall be undone! Until that day, let us salute the valiant fallen. Droshak ru tanata!"

Crosshair uttered the ancient Altilni words with full comprehension, but few others understood. Valora had overheard her practicing and reciting the meaning to herself: valor in life, bravery in death. They were words traditionally spoken at the funerals of heroes. A chill ran through her, even as her heart warmed. Tazen had exemplified these words.

She watched Crosshair raise her candle and blow it out. All across the square, she heard the sound of expelled breath, extinguishing the flames. The lights across Vexador snuffed out. Thin, curly wisps of smoke floated heavenward, and Valora felt a sensation of beauty mingled with pain. It was the paradox of death, for one who believed in the Lord. Death spelled separation and yet freedom. Tazen had suffered, but now, he lived in paradise.

Valora felt Blaze’s fingers slip into her free hand. She glanced over and noticed moisture gathering at the bottom of his eyes. It was a solemn day, and not only had the candles been blown out, but the electric lights in most of Syvoric had been turned off. They would remain so until evening forced them back on...in respect for the dead.

Grunn had lost. Vexador remained free. Today, the price of that freedom sank in on them all. Valora could not imagine what remained for Vexador’s future, but she felt both sympathy and pride. For the first time in her life, she started to feel truly Vexadorian.

The team gathered in the Guard HQ after the service. Valora and Vipress stayed by Ayolette Tazen, near the entrance of the Grand Hallway. Valora’s heart went out to the woman. She couldn’t imagine the agony of losing a husband after thirty years of marriage, so she extended a hug and sympathies. Vipress also seemed keen to empathize with Ayolette.

One relief in all of this must be Grunn’s fate, the poison Starganaut said. At least the man who murdered your husband was executed. I would imagine you hated him...and all of Trylithia.

"Hate? Ayolette spoke the word as though it was foreign. Why would I hate an entire people for one man’s actions? I’ve lived too long to harbor grudges."

But you have lost so much! Vipress persisted. Trylithia took not only your husband but your sons! Surely that is unforgivable.

Life is too short to dwell on resentment, Ayolette countered. Her voice, though tired, sounded resolute. All of us will meet our Creator one day. In the interim, what we choose to do with our lives is what matters. Becoming bitter over what we lost robs us, and I refuse to stop living simply because my husband and sons have.

Her lips and voice quivered. Tears fell down her face, and yet Valora admired this mature woman. Tazen’s wife reflected the man. Vipress looked stunned and displeased. She moved off, crossing her arms, and Ninjarak tried following her.

Hey, is something wrong? he asked.

Nothing, Vipress replied, in a tone that said otherwise. She strode away, and Valora pondered her behavior. What indeed was eating at Vipress? Chrysta had been a friend on Sahara. Lately, she avoided all of them, and one could feel her bitterness over the war. Valora hoped her attitude would improve with time. Thus she raised a prayer, for Ayolette in her grief and Chrysta in her hostility.

DROPLETS OF SPRAY FLEW into Dudeman’s sunglasses. The experienced sportsman raced across Voolok Sea on his tahlimik, bouncing over turbulent waves on the thin, plasticrome frame. Three racers zoomed ahead of him on the course marked over the sea, but James held an advantage they didn’t. He’d faced Trylithian hovertanks here. He knew the location of the rocky shoals, so he sped up a metal ramp, swooshing by a floating stand of cheering spectators.

Near the finish line, Sharko smiled as Dudeman maneuvered into second place. The racers streaked past, starting their final lap. Kaity and Nancy jumped up and down near Sharko like fangirls, echoing his excitement. Half a week had passed since the Day of Mourning, and the next ten days would be marked by events to cheer the populace for the upcoming Day of Victory. This particular Tahlimo race payed homage to Dudeman, for the people enjoyed cheering on their foreign hero in a very traditional Vexadorian sport.

The suspense nearly killed Sharko, who chewed his nails. The racers rounded a corner and headed into the straightaway. Dudeman pulled close to the tahlimik in first place. He was starting to pass it, but the racer abruptly swerved sideways and cut in front of him. Dudeman hit the back of the man’s tahlimik, his own wobbling beneath him.

For a split second, Sharko thought he might crash. Then the surfer righted himself. He crossed the finish line barely in third, but popped a water wheelie as he zoomed by the camera. Slowing to a stop, he clambered onto the floating viewer’s platform, shaking hands with his fellow racers. Sharko rushed onto the platform and gave his wet friend a hearty back-slap.

You did great! he praised.

I’ve got nothin’ to prove, the racer said humbly. I do my best and I put my heart into it. We already saved this planet from Trylithians. Can’t really top that, Dude!

You have a great attitude whenever you race, Nancy complimented.

Why thank you, Miss Cooper. Dudeman’s eyes gleamed mischievously.

"Miss Cooper? Are we going all formal nowadays? Kaity teased. We just faced death together—twice—so let’s not be on a last-name basis!"

Sharko grinned. He couldn’t resist building onto his wife’s quip.

Since you still won money, he said cheekily, "why don’t you pay for lunch, Mr. Erskin."

Gah! Dudeman pretended to choke. Remind me to get my name legally changed!

But then you wouldn’t be recognized as a Starganaut, Kaity reminded, deadpan. You might get mistaken for some random beach bum!

Dudeman gave her a look that could have withered a dead plant. The four Earthlings chuckled while they climbed aboard a hovercraft and headed for shore. They disembarked and walked