THE JOINING: The Cycle of the Shards Book One

The empty blackness was still and quiet, despite trillions of lives in colonized planetoids and moons mere light years away. The only thing present in this portion of space was a small blinking beacon that sent off a signal letting any passing travelers know the status of the tear. The beacon blinked off and on once every five Earth-seconds or so when it was quiet, like now. Suddenly it started going faster, four seconds, three, until soon it was just a solid light. Small electric streaks began flowing over a straight line up and down, the length of the invisible tear in space, and suddenly a bright blue light erupted out of the streaks, and when it dissipated, there was no sign of the tear, and the beacon had reverted to one blink every five seconds. The only difference was now a TK421 Supernova hopper in the color of peeling brown was present. It was stationary for a second, then its engines converted to free space mode, and it began to move.

Inside the craft, Critock yawned, passing his fingers over the screens quickly, setting a course for a place he once considered home. He wondered what madness was now driving him back here. Money, he realized, it could only be money. The only cruel mistress he had left. There was an answering yawn from behind him, and he had to restrain his first instinct of spinning around and attacking as he remembered he was not alone on the vessel. Tomkari slowly floated towards him, before settling at head level where the untouched co-pilot seat was. Critock smirked. “You know, you can be anywhere. You don’t have to sit down any more.”

“I know, but it’s nice to remember the old comforts once in a while. Flight going okay?”

“If the money’s there when we land, flight will have been just fine.” Critock wasn’t about to let him forget.

“The money, and the Qua’roti. That’s the plan.” They silently watched the screen together before Tomkari spoke up again. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? What for?” Critock began setting the final approach vector for Marconia Prime.

“You call me a soul. Nobody ever calls me a soul outside of the Qua’roti.”

“Well, that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything to most people I come across. It’s always ‘comet’ this or ‘spit’ that. It gets tiring.”

“They’re just afraid that you’re gonna take their body for a joyride.” A particular quirk of the Marconian soul physiology was that their consciousness could override another’s for a short time by absorbing itself into their body, forcing the body’s own self into a secondary state. That was the theory, anyway. Critock could only think of a few times that a joining had went well for both parties, and even then the consciousness could only remain for a short while, lest the occupying soul completely take over the body, and push the original mind to a more-or-less permanent dormant state.

Tomkari seemed offended and scoffed at the notion. “I’ve never heard of a soul that tried that. It’s part of our oath with the Qua’roti that we never attempt a joining. We are true to our own selves, not the body masks we choose to wear. And I’m certainly not interested in taking anyone’s body away from them.”

Critock put his hands up. “Just saying. I’ve come to like my ‘body mask’, thank you very much. At least this one.” He shuddered to think of the ‘other’ that he could become in desperate circumstances. In a lifetime of war he had only had occasion to change forms to the ‘other’ once, and he could never forget how his body changed, how his mind changed to suit it, and had filled him with a sense of unending rage and anger until he could wrest it back under control. “Good for you. Be who you are, not what anyone thinks you should be.” He tapped a few controls and watched his screen as an incoming communication displayed itself. “You’re on, Tomk.”

“Attention unidentified vessel.” The robotic voice of the Marconian border security filled the cockpit. “You are approaching Marconian airspace and have not broadcasted your ship ID. What is your name and purpose of visit?”

Critock knew announcing his name, even on his home planet, would just amount to another fight. He held up the speaker to Tomkari.

“I am Tomkari Zatharn Jaruthi Maktar, third speaker to Qua’roti Alpha. I am on official Qua’roti business and am submitting my authentication.” He turned to Critock, who nodded, and switched the ship controls from physical to mental, and gave flight authority to the wisp. There was a brief shudder as the ship changed over, and it pitched forward somewhat as Tomkari acclimated himself to the systems of this far outdated vessel. He soon gained total control of it, however, and wordlessly sent the requested information to the border security’s readings.

It was quiet for a moment, then the voice spoke again. “What is the business that you are on?”

Tomkari’s voice took on an angry edge. “Official Qua’roti business, which according to the Military Corps guidelines is not for us to tell nor you to ask. I request a clear air lane to the temples.” He asked, and said nothing more.

There was a brief moment when Critock thought that they were going to have to find another way to the surface, but then the radar showed a clear path down through the regular daily traffic and to the Qua’roti temples, some of the first religious buildings built by Marconians millions of years prior, well before most religions had been abolished in favor of the pursuits of space and furthering the greatness of the empire. Critock looked at Tomkari and hoped that this wasn’t a huge mistake as the ship tilted south and flew quickly down to the planet below.

The hopper leveled off a few hundred yards above ground level, far enough up so that it wasn’t going to strike any of the buildings. Tomkari peered out over the side windows of the cockpit and a whistle came from the soul. “I never get tired of this sight.”

Indeed, the view was spectacular. The ground below was mostly white walking areas in a grid-like formation. Breaking the pattern were several different buildings dotting the landscape. Large round orbs sat on three large pylons, with a entry ramp for each one. Alongside these were the pyramid shaped houses, much smaller than the hundred-yard high orbs, but having the same entry ramp to the center door. Most of the ramps were closed but some were left open to let in the scheduled beautiful weather. It was no secret that all buildings and houses on Marconia had been designed to be ships of their own capable of leaving the planet at a short notice if necessary and remain outside of the planet’s atmosphere for long periods of time. This had mostly limited the types of designs chosen for home and business construction, but ever since the military had introduced a planet-killer prototype ship, it had been deemed prudent to maintain a strong backup plan in case of a necessary evacuation. There had been two of the terrible weapons developed, one of which was lost soon after on a test run on a uninhabited planet. The second, however, was stolen and now the flagship of a horrible enemy, so now more than ever the push to keep all buildings mobile was seen as a good idea.

“Live a little bit longer, you’ll run out of things that’ll impress you.” Critock didn’t take his eyes off the control panels, not wishing to see his home planet any longer than he absolutely had to. He did like Marconia, once upon a time, but at this stage in both his life and his relationship with their Governments, he was happy just leaving it be. A sigh came from the wisp, which Critock ignored, and continued. “Sounds like the Qua’roti still have some pull.”

“The Qua’roti aren’t the controlling branch of Marconia any more, but they still get respect from the Military Corps, at least in this district. The King demands no less.”

“The King...” It was Critock’s turn to sigh. “The people still pay attention to the monarchy?”

Tomkari still didn’t budge from his view of the outside as the buildings gave way to grasses and trees of all colors, specially grown here in various ceremonies. “Most districts still follow the old ways. The political corps argue with the military argue with the Lawbringers. The King guides, but lets the squabbles play themselves out. The Qua’roti don’t interfere in the running of the empire...”

“They just push it along the direction they want, yeah, I know basic Marconian political structure, thanks. Last I heard, the Military was controlling everything?”

“They took the largest portion of the last census, just like they’ve done the last dozen cycles. They’re still not omnipotent, though, and enough of the religious corps still back the Qua’roti to demand their due respect.”

Critock rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. “Respect...” He felt the craft shutter slightly and glanced at the controls. Noting that the ship was now guiding itself along a straight path, he stood up. He didn’t want anything to do with Marconia, and he wanted even less to do with the Qua’roti, but he could not miss this approach no matter how bitter and betrayed he felt.

“Now on final approach to Qua’roti holding.” The call came over the communications, but neither Tomkari nor Critock paid it any mind. The multiple colors of the foliage slowly lightened in their colors until the trees, grass and bushes were all a solid white color. Soon great spires, each almost a mile high, came into view over the horizon. The spires reached into the sky, each ending in a single sharp point. There were dozens of them parallel to each other, and in the middle of the spires was a path wide enough to accommodate several ships Critock’s size or one large carrier class. There was a walking path there too that sloped downward in a ramp. At the end the ramp disappeared into a impossibly old looking stone building. There were cracks and some stones out of place or mysteriously missing, but there was no danger of the three story tall square structure collapsing. Critock thought it had been around for millions of years, at least according to the Qua’roti themselves, and from looks it appeared that it would stand for millions more.

Tomkari was appreciating the approach for the beauty, but Critock appreciated it for a quite different reason. The entire road leading in was the only way into the Qua’roti holding, and thus it was even more defended than the Queen’s palace. Each spire was a sophisticated energy device that could immediately send a laser beam of incredible power to disintegrate any approaching vessel or invader with exact precision. Critock thought that this could just be a trap, that it wasn’t the Qua’roti at all that had sent for him, and when they flew close enough to the structure, the spires would activate, and all it would cost Marconia was the life of one former servant. He held his breath as they passed the first set of spires, and didn’t let it go until at least four or five had passed.

Tomkari rushed to the back as the ship slowed enough to began to rotate into a landing position. Critock took his time, doing last minute equipment checks and changing the locks on the controls to make sure the only one that would be able to steal off into the night with his hopper would be himself. He felt a bump, and hit a last button to open his landing bay door, knowing that for good or bad, they had reached their destination. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation that was about to ensue, and headed out of his ship.

It always took a couple of moments to adjust to the atmosphere of a new planet when Critock exited his hopper, and despite Marconia being his original home, it was still a slight affront to his senses when he first encountered the lighter air and gravity as opposed to the standard stabilized gravity found on the hopper. He breathed in, and found himself with a slight headache almost immediately, but kept walking out of the hopper without missing a step. The exit ramp began to rise back up into the ship just as he stepped off of it and he turned towards the structure as Tomkari rejoined him, floating alongside.

“I’m in mental link with Qua’roti Alpha. We’re to head straight in. No wait time.” Tomkari sounded pleased with himself.

Critock shook his head, and stopped walking. “All right, look. What’s going to happen in there? Why’s the Qua’roti so hot to talk now when they haven’t said one word to me since the first war ended?”

Tomkari stopped ahead of him, and turned around. “Don’t look at me, I just follow orders.”

Incredulous, Critock walked up to the wisp, staring at him nose-to-soul. “So when they said ‘Bring us Critock’ you just nodded and flew away?”

“The oath between the Qua’roti and their tenders demands obedience and no questions asked. It’s not for me to question their decisions.”

Critock suddenly had a realization. “...Tomk, do you even know who I am?”

“You’re General Critock Cyloir Strezonal. Hero of the first War of the Shards. Attached to the 94th High Marconian battle fleet and served directly under General Psyhoin...”

“Yeah and I bet you’ve got my fleet ID number too. Do you know what else I am?” Tomkari was silent as Critock walked forward. Just as I thought. Qua’roti teachings must have isolated him since birth, brainwashed him to serve. Probably even got him to stay a soul. Gave him a mission but won’t even tell him why he’s on it. Well, he’s going to find out more than he wants to know now.

The wisp caught up to Critock as he headed through the arches at the bottom of the slope and into the structure. “You wouldn’t be here unless the Qua’roti needed your help. Whatever else you were, whatever you are, it doesn’t matter to them, so it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Nice of you, soul...” Critock trailed off as they continued to walk, and he noted that there wasn’t anyone else in sight. The farther in they walked the less light was showing, and before too long they were in almost complete darkness. As they walked small round platforms began to light up on each side of them, each one coming to life as they passed by. As though the structure was acclimating to their speed of movement, the platforms began to light up farther down past Critock and Tomkari, each side eventually splintering off to their respective sides and then coming back around, forming an open circle of glowing lights big enough to stand in the middle of.

Critock had been here often enough in the past to know what was coming next. Slowly flickering to life were light blue figures, each one of a different race that belonged to the overall Marconian empire. The only thing that most had in common was a great long white beard, at least those races that could grow facial hair of any significance. Every figure was very old and Critock was amazed at how many faces he could still recognize. Marconians themselves had life spans of thousands of cycles barring injury or sickness, but other races usually topped out at the standard fifty cycles, more or less. Perhaps it was some magic that the Qua’roti possessed to bless them with such long life? It at least would be a nice payment for the mostly solitary lives they led, holed up in this holding domicile, with only their tenders to keep them company. Forget dying of old age, he was amazed that most of them hadn’t gone mad.

The figures were all staring at Critock with an uninterested look on their faces. He heard them whispering as he walked by, but he kept going. He knew his destination, the circle at the end of the hallway where even now more blue figures were appearing. One orb in the circle floated up higher than the others as it’s figure came to life. As he walked the whispers became louder, and he didn’t even notice Tomkari falling farther and farther behind him.

By now he could make out what they were saying. Mostly they were softly saying his name in a weird ritualistic way, but beyond that, he could hear words about him, about his life. About his past.

“Critock... Critock...”

“Child of the Shards...”

“General....Prince...”

“There shall be...a return...”

Critock was doing his best to block the voices out of his mind. but as he started to enter the circle of lights the voices changed, and started saying things that others had said to him.

A male voice. “Do NOT think your name will earn you any favors here, whelp!”

A commanding female voice. “You must choose!”

Another male voice. “It was about her...”

Finally, a soft female voice. “I will see you again. I promise.”

The voices made him sweat, and the last one had him stopping in his tracks as he stopped in the middle of the circle. He called out. “Stop.” Nothing changed. Frustrated, and angry, he yelled out. “STOP!”

The voices stopped, just as the figure on top of the orb that floated above the rest looked down upon Critock as though appraising him. Moments later, he spoke.

“It’s been a long time, General Critock.” The voice was old and gravelly, matching the face and posture of the male Marconian standing confidently down upon him.

“A long...Time...?” Critock was incredulous. “What are you even talking about? Do you remember me? You didn’t tell your errand soul anything about me, and now it’s like we’re old friends!” Not for the first time, Critock began to think he had made a serious mistake.

“We are friends, Critock. Did we not save you? Did we not put you in the best possible position, considering the situation? Did we not come searching for you now in the hour of need despite the distance between us?”

Critock stood amazed. “Save me? SAVE ME? Do you know what I’ve been through? Do you have any clue at all?” He uttered a curse in Marconian which should not be repeated even in writing, a harsh guttural series of clicks. “I’ve been bouncing around the galaxy for cycles scraping a life together, while you’re floating up there, acting like you’re above me...”

“We are above you Critock. Both literally and figuratively. The Qua’roti have stood as guardians of the knowledge and prophecies of the Shards, including those that concern you. We have tried to return you to your greatest path, and while you seem stubbornly unable to keep to it, you are currently not frozen on a penal planet, which for your actions the Military was quite eager to place you.” The old man stared without blinking straight at the bounty hunter. “Your prophecies were quite specific, but we cannot do everything for you.”

Critock spat at the mention of prophecies, threw up his arms, and refused to look at the Qua’roti speaker. “Prophecy. How many false prophecies have come out of this hall? The great Qua’roti Alpha.” He over exaggerated a bow while Alpha stayed staring straight ahead. “So wise, but how many people have died trying to fulfill their own legend that you are making up right here! Tell me the truth, are you just doing it to keep yourselves relevant?” He waved around the room. “You know the Military Corps just need a reason to shut this whole place down. So you sing songs about the Five and the children of the Shards and hope nobody calls you on it.”

Qua’roti Alpha left his orb in mid air, and stepped down invisible stairs that only he knew the location of. The whole way until he reached the bottom his eyes never left Critock’s, and there were flashes of anger in them, though he obviously had great practice at keeping those emotions inside. He stood directly in front of Critock. “The Five are real. The prophecies are possible futures in ideal situations, which we endeavor to create. And there has only been one child of the Shards, Critock, and I am looking at him.”

Critock grew uneasy at the stares of Alpha, and glanced around the room. As always, the other Qua’roti were silent partners. If they were giving any council to their leader, it was through mental communication. Their faces were stone, and their eyes were locked on Critock the same as Alpha. He turned around and backed off, not talking to any of them in particular as he went. “All right, fine, lets just get this over with so I can get my pay and get out of here. What’s the job?”

Alpha let out a short breath. “Simple for a man of your skills. There has been a theft. Two items of great historical importance to the Marconian people. Stolen by a madman of no significance. He has hidden it here, on a world only just entering it’s technological age.” The darkness around them and above faded into a star map, and a single planet filled the air. Its makeup was mostly oceans, and Critock could make out a thin array of space debris dotting the air around the world.

“Still using nuclear weapons?” Critock asked, mulling over the idea.

“Unfortunately yes, most larger countries still have them, though in thirty-five cycles only two have been used in anger, shortly after their conception.”

Different pictures appeared throughout the air above them. Visions of long-range scans showed the lack of military that would be any significant threat to any kind of Marconian force. The inhabitants resembled almost identically a Marconian in their humanoid form. Something wasn’t adding up to Critock. “So this is a infiltration.”

“If all goes well, yes.”

“I go down, and join with one. Pretend to be one of them, get the stuff, get out. Quick and easy.”

“That is, more or less, what we were hoping for.” Alpha was visibly relieved at Critock’s imminent agreement to the mission. At least, he was for a moment.

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“No, I get it, I’m good. I’ve done snatch-and-grabs before, which I don’t doubt you’ve figured out. But why specifically go to all this trouble? Finding me, getting your tender to smuggle me in? This is a infiltration on a planet that’s probably not even aware of any alien life, let alone the Empire. It’ll take more time to land than it will to get the thing. Any second year cadet could do this, hell for our graduating exams we had to stop an invasion force on a planet with almost the same development levels. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Critock, there are things...”

Critock didn’t let him finish, because he was done. At least, he thought, he was going to be able to get something out of this from Tomk. “I don’t take jobs that look too easy. I don’t take jobs that anyone else could do. When you go looking for me, you either want someone or something that nobody else can get to, and you probably want them dead. Collecting historical artifacts isn’t a job for a bounty hunter, or a soldier. It’s a job for an archeologist. I know a couple, I’ll get you the number.” Critock began walking out, with every intent to return to his ship. “You know who I am, you know what you were getting, and you got me to come all the way here just to lie to me. It’s been a good time, I’ll see you again in another five hundred cycles.”

As he walked out he heard the Alpha call to him repeatedly. “Critock! CRITOCK!” It didn’t matter. Whatever this problem they were having was, it was not something he was eager to waste his time on. Was this just some kind of apology that they were finally getting around to giving him? Or something to make the high and mighty Qua’roti think they could still order him around after all this time? Regardless, he had work to do. Tomkari’s arrival had threatened his contacts. He was going to have to find another section of space to work in, probably for another fifty cycles or so before people forgot his name again. He had just reached the outskirts of the orbs when he heard Qua’roti Alpha call to him again, but this time sounding more tired and defeated than he had ever heard him before.

“It’s Pt’ron.” Alpha’s words caused Critock to come to a dead stop. His body went cold as a chill emanated from within. He had to have misheard. When he thought he could control himself, he turned his head.

“What did you say?”

“It’s Pt’ron. Pt’ron is the madman on the planet.”

Critock turned fully and began walking steadily back to Alpha. “No. No, that’s not true. Pt’ron’s dead. I froze him in an ice field that’s almost as large as the empire. His body is not retrievable, that’s why I’m where I am today.” He stopped right back at Qua’roti Alpha’s face, and Critock was sweating. “So you tell me again, what did you say?”

“There is no doubt, Critock. He lives, and on this planet.” Critock stood shaking his head as Qua’roti Alpha began walking away, his back to the bounty hunter, and his hands clasped behind him. “The Katron Ice fields are vast, mostly unable to be breached, and they go on for light years. But they are subject to the laws of the universe like anything else. The portion of the ice fields that Pt’ron was in drew too close to a star’s gravitational field, which sent him and a large portion of the crystals into deep space, and then through a charted wormhole. The other end of the wormhole brought him to a system with one populated planet, through at that time primitive even in comparison to today. Out of the fields, he thawed quickly, and hid his ship there.” Alpha sighed. “All intelligence points to him having joined with one of the native population, and has been living there as one of them ever since, jumping from one body to the next.”

Critock clenched his hands into fists. “So the historical items...”

Alpha nodded, and turned back to him. “The Shards. Two dormant shards that are preparing to come to life. If he is in possession of them when they wake, he will have unlimited powers. You know this better than anyone, Critock. That is why we called for you.”

Critock grimaced, now knowing the truth. He had let Pt’ron live out of spite and anger. True, he had been his best friend, his partner throughout the academy, and his witness to the betrothal between himself and his beloved, now long since dead. His betrayal had been absolute, however, and while the universe thought that he had let Pt’ron live out of a kindness, he wanted nothing more than to see his former friend suffer forever for what he had caused and done. For that anger, he had cost his planet a victory and now risked igniting another great War of the Shards. “Destroy it.” Critock whispered, the words difficult to get out.

“Excuse me?” Even the great Qua’roti Alpha thought he had to have misheard.

“Destroy it. Destroy the planet. The Military Corps can burn their atmosphere. Neither Pt’ron nor the shards can survive a firestorm that large.”

Alpha shook his head. “That isn’t our way.” Critock started to speak but was cut off as the Alpha continued. “That isn’t our way...Yet that was our first thought as well. We went to the Military Corps secretly with our findings. The awakening of the Shards give off ambient radiation that we can use to detect their approximate location, right down to what building they’re in. But we don’t know exactly which humanoid that Pt’ron is inhabiting, nor do we know exactly where the Shards would be. We cannot invade without Pt’ron going into hiding until they become active, and then he will be stowed with their power. No invasion force we have can withstand a being with that kind of power.” Alpha found the next parts difficult to say, Critock could tell that he was struggling. “And worse, if we plan a large scale offensive, certain...parties...would find out about it.”

Critock shivered. “Pt’ron’s mistress.” He would not say her name.

But Qua’roti Alpha would. “The Mandragora.” Critock grimaced again. “She hasn’t made any major strikes against Marconian territories, or anywhere else. We actually haven’t heard from her in quite some time.”

“Maybe she’s dead.” Critock added, hopefully.

“A blessing to the universe, but more likely she’s in search of Shards in a realm that does not concern us. May the Five protect us if she ever finds more of them. Regardless, she would certainly stake a claim if she caught word. So whatever had to be done had to be kept at the utmost secrecy.”

“So burning the atmosphere...”

“Would solve one problem, but would create problems very close to as horrible. We cannot hide the strike, Critock. And burning the atmosphere of a sovereign unaffiliated planet would look bad enough, but when it is undeveloped and wholly unable to defend itself? The outer territories would revolt. The Empire would tear itself apart. Civil wars would ignite. The Marconian Empire would cease to exist in a matter of cycles. Trillions dead, starving. Who is to say what would be worse, Critock? A new war of the Shards, or the end of the Empire?”

Critock was silent. A choice between his worst fears and the annihilation of everything he knew. He knew the answer, but again, he had to ask. “Why me?”

“Despite all of this, the Military is going to send two missiles to strike at the planet. Within two of their days, they will strike at the exact locations of the activated Shards. If one hits, it will create a sizable explosion. If both do, then the world and it’s six billion inhabitants will die in a storm of fire and death. But why you? Consider that we have two of that world’s days to find Pt’ron.”

“...He could be anyone. He could be anywhere.”

“As I said, we know the Shards’ approximate location. In or around a school for their adolescents, roughly seven to nine cycles of age. Pt’ron is likely one of these children. A perfect disguise that no one there or looking for him would suspect.”

“If the intelligence is right.”

“Monitoring the movements of the radiation being given off means there can be no doubt. While we are guessing he is in a child’s form, it is also possible that he could be an instructor. And before you ask, wiping out the school would again likely ignite the same war that we are trying to avoid.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that! Better all of the planet than deliberately targeting children!” Critock was mildly offended at the accusation.

“So we have one real option to avoid the end of that world and the end of our Empire. It is to you, Critock, to correct your wrongs. You must go to the planet that they call ‘Earth’, to that school, and find Pt’ron and the Shards. Destroy him, destroy the Shards, and return home. For your valor, you shall return to Marconia a hero. Your rank will be reinstated, and your honor restored. And the First War of the Shards will finally end.”

He didn’t have to sweeten the deal, but Critock appreciated it all the same. He was sure he hadn’t misjudged the Qua’roti, as throughout his history in dealings with the Religious leaders of the Marconian culture they had always been standoffish at best and typically only interested themselves in the common people when their goals aligned. This was one of those cases. The continued existence of the Qua’roti depended on the survival of the Marconian Empire. Critock doubted heavily that they cared one iota about the future of ‘Earth’. In comparison to the Empire, in sheer terms of how many lives would be lost either way , it would be inappropriate to put one small primitive world first. But circumstances being what they were, and it meaning the return of Critock’s honor, then there would no problem acting as one of the primitives.

But in truth, it was Pt’ron that was the reason for his choice. His one act so long ago had caused everything that had happened to him since, and while he still hated Pt’ron with all his being for what had transpired, he now wished he would have fired the one shot that would have annihilated him and the Shards in one brilliant flash of light. Prophecies and Qua’roti and Shards be damned, he was finally going to have the chance to redeem himself, and prove to the galaxies once and for all that Critock was not a traitor!

Critock raised his head and looked Qua’roti Alpha in the eyes. With no hesitation, he simply said: “I’ll do it.”

Kyle snapped out of sleep in an instant. It wasn’t a dream or a nightmare that had woke him, or really anything in particular. He rose from his bed as his eyes adjusted to the night, and stumbled through the hall to the bathroom. He moved as quietly as he could so as to not wake his father, who slept just down the hall. There was a momentary creak of the floorboards under his feet, but his father’s steady breathing did not change. The light that suddenly came on by flicking the light switch in the bathroom temporarily blinded him, but he was able to do his normal business without really being able to see. Afterward, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes were a given, but the dried tears on his face from before he fell into sleep were an uncommon addition. The thoughts of the night before filled him, as well as the worries of the day ahead. It was now Wednesday, and only a few hours separated him from what he thought could be one of the worst days of his life. He sighed heavily, and moved back to his bedroom. As he fell back to sleep, he wished for a miracle, and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in to help him out. There was no answer before he slept.