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='''Princess Illaria's Escape'''=


=='''The Child of Heaven'''==
You did what you had to.


 
* [[LotS/The_Story/Princess_Illaria's_Escape|Princess Illaria's Escape]]
You try to cling to that thought as you gaze around the bare walls of your cell, at the blue energy barrier stretching beyond its slender bars. It provides little comfort.
 
 
Again and again the scene plays across your mind. You feel your thumb pressing the red button at the end of the control stick, see the Centurian ship exploding – a flash of brilliant fire against the black of the void. The sound of its destruction, spawned within your aural implant, rages in your ears like an accusation.
 
 
And here you sit, imprisoned at the command of the Sian Emperor himself. When the cruiser reaches its destination, bringing you back to your homeworld, you will stand trial. Emissaries from the Centurian Collective will speak out against you, demanding your execution.
 
 
You lie back and close your eyes, knowing that sleep will never come but trying to delude yourself that it might. Then your eyes flick open, as the world shakes. You leap to your feet, and another tremor rumbles through the cell. Something’s wrong… A collision? You call out for the guard, but no one answers. Whatever’s happening, it’s called him away from his station at the end of the corridor.
 
 
Long minutes crawl by as you wait, gripping the bars with white knuckles. Then you hear screams of pain and terror in the distance, punctuated by the unmistakable hiss of laser fire. An attack!
 
 
Your mind whirls. No enemy could get aboard the Child of Heaven, past its countless lines of defense. And there was no warning alarm. It makes no sense… But the sounds of combat continue, louder now. The ship’s under attack, and only one thought fills your mind: Princess Illaria… she’s in danger!
 
 
You yank at the bars of the cell, screaming in frustration. Then you fall silent, as you hear footsteps sounding along the corridor. Someone’s coming…
 
 
==='''Jailbreak'''===
The blue energy barrier in front of your cell flickers out of existence. Only someone with the authorization code could have deactivated it… Hope surges within you. Has the guard come back to let you out?
 
 
Then she appears beyond the bars, her beautiful face marred by anxiety.
 
 
“Princess!” you gasp.
 
 
Her eyes light up as they meet yours.
 
 
“Quickly, take it!” she says, pressing a laser rifle against the bars. “I couldn’t find the key. Shoot the bars.”
 
 
A million questions spring to your lips. But you take the weapon, turning it so you can pull it into the cell. Illaria flits aside, clearing your line of fire.
 
 
==='''Engaging the Enemy'''===
You step out of the cell, knocking the damaged bars aside.
 
 
“What happened? Who-”
 
 
“It’s the Centurians,” she replies. She’s already moving down the corridor, her laser pistol raised. She gestures for you to follow, and you move to match her pace.
 
 
“How did they get on the ship?” you ask.
 
 
“I don’t know. They… they just appeared. The sensors didn’t detect them.”
 
 
“But-”
 
 
You fall silent as the two of you near the doors which lead out of the prison, into the atrium beyond. The sounds of combat are close now. Questions dance across your mind, attempting to penetrate the confusion. But now isn’t the time.
 
 
Centurian soldiers are outside, their backs to the prison as they fire at targets out of your line of vision. You signal for the Princess to stay back, but she’s already pressing herself against one of the prison doors, her weapon at the ready as she prepares to attack. You nod, and follow her lead.
 
 
==='''Guarding the Guards'''===
In the atrium a group of Sian Guardsmen are exchanging fire with more Centurian soldiers. They’re outnumbered, and several of them already lie dead. But the survivors are holding their ground, fighting on.
 
 
“We have to help them,” says the Princess, already moving and firing.
 
 
A cry goes up from the guards as they see the Princess in their midst. They throw themselves into the combat with renewed vigor, desperate to protect her. You do the same, firing at the advancing Centurians.
 
 
==='''Sacrifice'''===
A ragged cheer goes up as the last Centurian falls. For a moment there’s calm, though the noise of distant weapons fire shows that you’re simply in the eye of the storm. All around your fragile bubble of safety, chaos still rages.
 
 
You turn to Sergeant Tarik, the highest ranking guardsman there.
 
 
“What’s our status?” you ask.
 
 
He shakes his head, his expression grim.
 
 
“The ship’s lost, captain. They’ve got the bridge.”
 
 
“We have to take it back,” says Princess Illaria.
 
 
“There’s too many of them, Highness,” replies the sergeant. “We need to get you to the nearest hangar. There’s still time to get you out.”
 
 
“I won’t surrender the Child of Heaven,” she says.
 
 
Sergeant Tarik turns to you, a look of appeal in his eyes. It’s mirrored on the faces of the other guards. None of them can bring himself to contradict the Princess of the Sian Empire, but you read the thought on all their minds.
 
 
“We’ll all die for you, Highness,” you say, gesturing at the bodies of the fallen. “But don’t let us die in vain. If you escape the Centurians, these men and women will have fallen doing their duty.”
 
 
She opens her mouth as if to make a retort, then closes it. You know her well enough to read the subtle emotions which play across her face, bespeaking the flow of her thoughts. Her sense of discipline, of duty to her empire, overrides her passion. She nods.
 
 
“Form up around Her Highness and the captain,” says the sergeant. Then he adds, before you can protest, “If we get to the hangar, you’ll need to fly her out.”
 
 
He’s right. You’re the only pilot there. In that moment you realize just how bitter it must be for Princess Illaria, knowing that others are dying so you may live.
 
 
Together you round the corner and charge along the atrium, towards the hangar at the far end. Centurian soldiers stand at the entrance, and their crimson lasers rip into your formation as you run. Sergeant Tarik collapses beside you, dead before he can even cry out. You fire towards the soldiers, hoping you can pick them off before they can cut you all down.
 
 
==='''Commander Rautha'''===
Somehow you survive the barrage of lasers, and pour into the hangar. The entrance platform is covered with corpses, both Centurian and Sian. They fought hard for control of the hangar, the Centurians to prevent their prey from escaping, the Sian Guardsmen so that their people might reach safety.
 
 
Standing amongst the dead is a man wearing a Centurian commander’s uniform. A malicious grin crosses his face as he sees Princess Illaria approach.
 
 
“Nice try, Princess. But you’re not getting off this ship. Not till General Rahn’s cruiser comes for you.”
 
 
Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, you, the Princess, and the remaining guardsmen open fire. Laser beams fly at him, but each one stops a few inches in front of his body – the air shimmering as it makes contact with an invisible field.
 
 
He’s not carrying a pack… there’s nothing on him big enough to be a shield generator…
 
 
The commander laughs at your confusion. Then he makes a sudden, predatory movement, grabbing hold of the nearest Sian Guardsman and yanking him over by his arm. You dart towards them, but before you can intervene there’s a sickening snap, and the guardsman is hurled aside – his neck broken.
 
 
“Who’s next?” asks the commander.
 
 
...............
 
 
The commander staggers back against the railing, gasping for breath, and falls to one knee. The arrogant smile is gone, his face now twisted in hatred.
 
 
“I don’t have time for this,” he rasps. “If Rahn wants the bitch, he can gather up the pieces!”
 
 
With a quick movement he snatches a grenade from a fallen Centurian soldier’s belt. As he stands back up, the lights on its surface flash, a blinking red to herald the destruction that will come. But before he can throw it, you’re on him. One of your hands clasps his, pressing his fingers down, preventing him from dropping the grenade. Your other arm comes round in an arc, your elbow smashing him in the mouth. He splutters as his teeth fly down his throat. Then he topples over the railing, disappearing from sight. A second later there’s an explosion from down below the platform.
 
 
“They’re coming!” yells one of the guardsmen from behind you.
 
 
As if to punctuate his words, you hear weapons fire from outside the hangar. A few of the guardsmen head out into the atrium, one of them yelling over his shoulder:
 
 
“Go! We’ll hold them!”
 
 
You descend to the floor of the hangar, and make for one of the long-range fighter ships. You bark out a command word, and the canopy opens as the ship’s computer recognizes your voice. You boost the Princess into the cockpit, and clamber up after her – the guardsmen aiding you from below. You reach back down to help them up in turn. Then the canopy descends, and the ship’s engine roars to life.
 
 
The fighter moves forward, turning towards the energy barrier separating you from the darkness of space. To your right Centurian soldiers rush onto the hangar’s entrance platform, having at last fought their way through the guards who remained to stall them. They open fire as the ship rises, their crimson lasers flashing out towards you. But their small arms fire has little effect, and a moment later you’re through the energy barrier.
 
 
=='''Space Combat'''==
You glance at the ship’s scanner, each blip of information contributing to the tapestry which forms your mind. Green blips show Sian vessels leaving from other hangars around the Child of Heaven, entrusting themselves to the cold void. But red blips are converging on them like pack animals after their prey, Centurian fighter ships moving to intercept. Whatever stealth systems they used to board the cruiser, they’re visible enough now to your ship’s electronic eyes.
 
 
You wince as you see the green dots flicker out of existence one by one. But the Centurian ships are on the other side of the cruiser. You have a chance to escape…
 
 
All that flows across your thoughts in a second, your trained pilot’s mind assimilating the data and analyzing the situation. Then you take another quick glance, this one at the display showing the readings of the hyperspace engine.
 
 
“Need to get some breathing room,” you say, one of your hands already moving to plot the course. “Then we can jump for Sian.”
 
 
“No!” says the Princess. “Sian’s under attack.”
 
 
“What? The Centurians couldn’t get past the Golden Armada. They don’t have a fleet powerful enough-”
 
 
But the Princess’ grim silence quietens you in turn.
 
 
“Plot a course for TALOS space,” she says after a moment. “They’ll give us sanctuary.”
 
 
You do as she instructs, then focus your attention on your surroundings once more. First you need to get away from your pursuers, so you have enough time to make your jump…
 
 
==='''That Blast Came From The...'''===
A huge blast of laser energy flashes by, piercing the blackness, illuminating the cockpit with its glow. No fighter has a weapon that large...
 
 
“The Child of Heaven!” yells one of the guardsmen. “It’s firing at us!”
 
 
You curse. How could the Centurians have broken through the security systems on the forward weapons that fast? But there’s no time to think about it.
 
 
Another blast lances towards you, and you dart the ship aside to avoid it. You have to get clear of those cannons…
 
 
==='''Cosmic Ballet'''===
You manage to avoid the forward guns. Those weapons are designed to be used against large cruiser targets, and are no match for your skill as a pilot. But avoiding them has cost valuable time.
 
 
Streams of smaller laser fire come from behind. Centurian fighter ships are on your tail, trying to thwart your escape. The ship hurtles through space at your expert touch, as you plunge, soar, spin, and swerve in an effort to avoid their fire.
 
 
==='''Rocks Fly, Everybody Dies'''===
“Too many of them,” you mutter.
 
 
On the scanner, more and more red blips are moving towards you. But something else catches your eye.
 
 
“An asteroid field,” you say.
 
 
“Do it,” Princess Illaria replies, understanding your intention. Her hand clasps your shoulder.
 
 
The Sian Guardsmen gasp as you fly towards the whirling asteroids. A thousand deaths await you on those rocks. But it’s death for the Centurians as well, if they follow you. If you can make it through the field, you might be able to lose them…
 
 
==='''Dogfight'''===
Several explosions sound out from your aural implant, each one representing a Centurian fighter exploding against an asteroid – silent deaths given voice by the device.
 
 
You emerge from the field, and see that only a handful of red dots are left. And there’s something else… A green dot, weaving between the asteroids at reckless speed. Someone else made it clear of the cruiser.
 
 
“That has to be you, captain.” The female voice comes over the Sian communication channel, full of an exhilaration that seems so out of place in the grim circumstances. “No one else could fly like that. And if you’re here, she’s with you.”
 
 
“Talia!” says the Princess.
 
 
“I knew it!” A joyful laugh comes through the communicator. “I knew the captain wouldn’t leave without you.”
 
 
A musical laugh from the Princess echoes that of the gunslinger, one born of both happiness and adrenaline-fueled mania. Life or death space combat is new to her.
 
 
You look at the scanner once more. The remaining red blips are still converging on you, relentless in their pursuit. But there are only five of them now. And you’ve faced worse odds than this.
 
 
“Take the two on my left,” you say. “The other three are mine.”
 
 
“Got it,” Talia replies.
 
 
Then you arc the ship through the air, looping round to engage the Centurian fighters. Now it’s your turn.
 
 
==='''Centurian Void Killer'''===
The last ship explodes, and the cheers of your companions fill the cockpit. But your voice doesn’t join them. You’ve seen the red blip on the scanner, this one bigger than the others, and know that the worst is yet to come.
 
 
“Oh…” comes Talia’s voice. She’s seen it too. “That’s not a fighter…”
 
 
A large grey craft looms up through space, blue energy crackling across panels on its surface. A stream of small silver objects pours from its side, and from this distance it looks as if its hull is flaking away. Then the ‘flakes’ start firing red lasers.
 
 
“What is that thing?” asks the Princess.
 
 
“It’s a Void Killer,” you reply. “The Centurians use them to take out fighter ships. Those things it’s launching are drones.”
 
 
“We don’t have enough torpedoes to take them all out,” says Talia.
 
 
“Have to destroy the Void Killer,” you say. “The drones can’t function without it.”
 
 
You fly towards the grey vessel, weaving through a rain of laser fire. Countless drones explode as you fire back, but more keep pouring from its hull. If you don’t take out that ship, you’ll be overwhelmed…
 
 
.................................
 
 
Weapons fire rakes your ship as the drones swarm around you like insects devouring a dying animal’s flesh. Warning lights flash around the cockpit, and alarm sounds blare.
 
 
“Talia! Engines!” you blurt out. Two words, but they’re enough. She understands.
 
 
Her ship moves into position, as does yours – ignoring the niggling fire from the drones as it picks away at your armor. The Void Killer’s engines are unprotected, its shields worn away by repeated fire, its plating damaged…
 
 
You swoop down towards it like two birds of prey descending for the same morsel. Your weapons rake across the engines, piercing its armor. Then both of you soar upwards, as if fleeing the scene of a crime. A moment later a huge explosion fills the void.
 
 
For a second there’s silence in the cockpit. The Princess and guardsmen aren’t pilots. They don’t have aural implants. It’s only when they look at the scanner that they see the conspicuous absence of the red blip. Then the cheer comes.
 
 
“It worked!” laughs Talia. “Those drones are just floating around like space trash. “We-”
 
 
An alarm blares out, a boisterous cacophony far removed from the polite warning sounds you heard before. The cheering stops. It looks as if your ship was damaged worse than you thought…
 
 
=='''Gallea(1)'''==
“That noise,” says Talia. “Is that…?”
 
 
“Yes. We took too much damage. Can’t go much further.”
 
 
The Princess leans towards you to get a better look at the map, her hair brushing your cheek. She points a slender finger towards a planet marked on its display.
 
 
“That’s Gallea,” she says. “Can we make it there?”
 
 
Words of assurance rise up your throat, but you swallow them. You can’t lie to her.
 
 
“Maybe,” you reply.
 
 
She nods, and buckles herself into her seat. Her hand clasps your arm. It’s trembling.
 
 
The ship’s systems scream in protest as you direct the dying machine towards the planet. Soon Gallea looms up ahead of you, and you hear a gasp of relief from the Princess. But she isn’t a pilot. She doesn’t realize that the hard bit is yet to come…
 
 
“I’ll follow you down,” says Talia, unaccustomed solemnity in her voice. “Good luck, captain.”
 
 
==='''Crash Landing'''===
The ship slices through the atmosphere, shrouded in flame as the air burns around you. Again and again the warning lights flash and alarms blare, like obnoxious heralds of doom.
 
 
The controls struggle in your grasp, as if the ship itself is fighting you, betraying you. The Princess’ grip tightens on your arm. If you can just land…
 
 
==='''From The Wreckage'''===
Your mind whirls. Everything’s spinning. You say something, but the words seem slow, like they’re moving through water.
 
 
There are sparks around you… Little fairy lights twinkling in the haze…
 
 
Then your vision begins to clear, focusing on the white mass next to you until it becomes Princess Illaria. For a second she’s motionless, lifeless. Then she gives a faint groan, and the breath returns to your throat. The ship screeches around you as it dies, bleeding sparks and fire.
 
 
In the back, one of the guardsmen is still, a spur of metal through his neck. The other is spluttering, droplets of blood flying from his mouth to punctuate his coughs. He’s dragging at one of his legs, trying to free it from a twisted mass of metal.
 
 
He looks up, and his eyes meet yours.
 
 
“Take… Princess… go… Go!”
 
 
You grab hold of the Princess, pulling her limp form out of the seat. You have to get her to safety…
 
 
==='''No Rest From The Wicked'''===
You sprint across the hard ground, the Princess in your arms. Each step jolts your battered body, but you force yourself on. There are large rocks ahead of you. They should provide some cover…
 
 
You clamber over the rocks, laying Princess Illaria down behind them. You lie beside her as the explosion fills the air, and watch as a shard of metal flies overhead, landing with a clatter a few yards away.
 
 
There’s movement nearby, and you reach for your weapon. But it’s Talia, her bright eyes gleaming in the glow.
 
 
“You made it,” she laughs.
 
 
“We made it,” you agree, with a deep sigh.
 
 
“Made it…” mumbles the Princess, as she moves into a sitting position, one hand pressed against her head.
 
 
“My ship’s right over there,” says Talia. “We can-”
 
 
There’s roar from overhead. You get to your feet, and look over the rocks to see the big, bloated body of a Centurian troop carrier as it descends towards the ground, near Talia’s ship. Soldiers are already leaping from its deployment hatch. One of them spots you, and begins firing in your direction. A moment later the others follow suit.
 
 
You raise your weapon, and return fire.
 
 
==='''Get Off My Planet!'''===
The Princess gets to her feet, leans against the rock, and opens fire. Talia blasts away with a pistol in each hand, and every shot – wild as they seem – finds its mark. Centurian soldiers collapse on the rocky ground, but more keep pouring out of the transport ship.
 
 
A deep, slightly robotic voice rings out across the battlefield, loud enough to be heard over the shouts, screams, and laser fire.
 
 
“Hey! You think you can come to my planet and start shooting up the place?” it says.
 
 
A large robot appears from the left, emerging into the dawning light. Lightning flashes from a weapon mounted on its arm, and strikes a Centurian soldier – sending him flying through the air. Then it charges towards the other Centurians, slashing at them with what appears to be a big, laser-edged chainsaw. Several of the soldiers turn to fire at the robot, their lasers pattering against its armor.
 
 
“A battle bot?” asks Talia. “I thought only TALOS had those?”
 
 
“Worry about that later,” you reply. “Just pick off the Centurians, while they’re distracted.”
 
 
==='''Telemachus'''===
The robot raises its arms in the air as the last Centurian falls. Then its legs begin to hop up and down. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was engaged in some kind of victory dance… Again that deep, computerized voice sounds from speakers which must be mounted on it somewhere.
 
 
“See what you get? See what you get for invading my planet?”
 
 
Then the robot stops in mid dance, its arms and raised leg freezing in place as it catches sight of you.
 
 
“More trespassers!”
 
 
The robot begins lumbering towards you.
 
 
“That’s not good…” you mutter.
 
 
“He called it ‘his planet’,” says the Princess. “He must be King Salastro’s robot. If we can just reason with him, ask him to take us to the king…”
 
 
“Sure… let’s reason with the killer robot,” says Talia. She twirls her pistols. “I’ll put forward my two best arguments.”
 
 
The ‘robot’ draws closer, and in the growing light you see that it’s not a robot at all. There’s a small cockpit on top, and inside it there’s… a small boy?
 
 
“It’s just a kid!” laughs Talia.
 
 
“Hey! Don’t call me-” This time the voice is the high-pitched whine of a child. The boy frowns, and presses a button. When he continues, his voice is deep and robotic once more. “-a kid! I’m ten!”
 
 
Under the circumstances, you just can’t help yourself. Despite the seriousness of the situation, in spite of all the dangers you’ve faced and have yet to face, you and Talia burst out laughing at the incredulity of it all. The boy scowls.
 
 
“That’s it!” he yells, again forgetting to use his voice modulator. “I’m gonna… gonna…” Words seem to fail him in his rage. Instead he charges, swinging his laser-edged chainsaw.
 
 
“Wait,” the Princess shouts. “I know who that is! It’s-”
 
 
But it’s too late. He’s already on you, and you have to fight.
 
 
....................
 
 
The kid’s mech collapses, falling onto its butt. The movement is so like that of a child falling whilst taking his first steps that you can’t help but laugh once more. The boy hammers away at the controls, but the mech doesn’t respond. Its arms lie motionless. His look of frustration brings a fresh torrent of laughter from you and Talia. The Princess frowns, and punches you in the arm – a remarkable breach of imperial protocol. But you just can’t help it…
 
 
The mech’s cockpit flies open, and the kid leaps down to the ground. He runs over to you, and begins to kick your shin. You lift your leg to kick him back, but the Princess intervenes.
 
 
“Stop it! I know you – you’re Prince Telemachus.”
 
 
The boy stops kicking you, and looks over to her, curiosity now eclipsing his anger.
 
 
“Yeah, that’s right.” He stares at her intently. Then recognition dawns in his eyes. “Hey, you’re the Sian Princess! I’ve seen you on t
 
“He’s King Salastro’s boy,” she says, turning to you and Talia. “I haven’t seen him since he was a baby.”
 
 
“So that would be what, last week?” asks Talia.
 
 
Telemachus looks as if he’s about to leap at her, but Princess Illaria intervenes once more.
 
 
“We crashed here,” she tells him. “But we can leave now. We…”
 
 
She trails off as large shapes appear in the sky. More Centurian ships, coming down towards you.
 
 
“We have to get away from here,” you say.
 
 
=='''Gallea(2)'''==
“My father’s palace is just over there,” says Telemachus, pointing a stubby finger towards a nearby rise. “Follow me!”
 
 
He scrambles back into his mech, and the cockpit closes after him. Lurching from side to side, he manages to stand up.
 
 
“Good,” he says. “Backup system’s kicked in. Come on!”
 
 
He begins to run, and the three of you follow.
 
 
==='''Through Smoke & Fire'''===
Fire rakes the ground behind you as the Centurian ships descend. You need some kind of cover…
 
 
As if thinking the same thing, Prince Telemachus begins to throw cylindrical objects over his shoulder. Each one emits a billow of smoke as it hits the ground, and soon the air is filled with it.
 
 
“Keep running!” he yells. “They won’t be able to hit us through the smoke!”
 
 
You grab the Princess’ arm, making sure she doesn’t fall behind, and sprint for all you’re worth.
 
 
==='''Broken Toys'''===
The palace appears ahead of you, like a beacon of salvation. Troopers wearing what must be the local uniform are already scrambling around it, some climbing into the tall turret towers that stand there. Those which have already been manned begin to fire at the Centurian ships.
 
 
There’s a scream of anger as a laser blast from overhead hits Telemachus’ mech, blowing its right leg off, sending the severed limb clattering across the ground. The mech falls with a crash.
 
 
You and Talia dash over to it, and yank the cockpit cover open. Princess Illaria grabs the prince by the hand, ignoring his screams of protest, and pulls him out. Then you’re running once more, the Princess dragging Telemachus along by his arm as he thrashes around and reaches back as if for his mech.
 
 
Just a little further left to run…
 
 
==='''Bringing Down the Sky'''===
The Princess runs into the palace, still dragging the whining child with her. But you come to a stop. Talia glances at you.
 
 
“Turret?” she asks.
 
 
“Turret,” you agree. “Stay with the Princess.”
 
 
You sprint to one of the unmanned turrets, and climb up its ladder. A palace guard yells something at you, but by that time you’re already in the seat, and it’s too late for anyone to stop you.
 
 
The controls seem simple enough. You aim up at the nearest Centurian ship, and open fire.
 
 
==='''Holding the Palace'''===
The ships didn’t stand a chance against the anti-air defenses. Each one litters the ground in flaming chunks of metal. But as you climb down from the turret, you see that Centurian ground forces are approaching, dozens and dozens of troopers.
 
 
The guards are pulling back into the palace, a more defensible position. You drop down from the ladder, and follow them.
 
 
Inside a vast hallway people are running to and fro, readying weapons and taking cover. A man wearing lavish robes and a crown stands in the middle of all this, yelling instructions. He must be the king.
 
 
You find the Princess and Talia, who are standing alongside the defenders. Telemachus towers over them, in what appears to be a new mech.
 
 
“Had a spare,” he says as he catches your gaze.
 
 
You begin to wonder what kind of father would let his son run around in such a contraption. Then the shooting starts, and you thrust the thought aside.
 
 
==='''Colonel Ironside'''===
In the midst of the Centurian forces floats a hoverchair, containing what appears to be a legless man. His uniform marks him out as a colonel. Strange mechanical devices are attached to his back, containing some kind of green fluid.
 
 
The colonel gestures with his hand, and a chunk of fallen masonry flies through the air as if of its own accord, smashing one of the palace guards. He repeats the gesture with his other hand, as if conducting a symphony. A fallen flagpole rises up, trembles, then launches itself across the hall to impale another guard. The air around the colonel ripples where laser fire strikes it. It seems different from the field that protected the commander aboard the cruiser. A telekinetic barrier?
 
 
His red eyes gleam as he sees the Princess, and he begins to float towards you.
 
 
...................................
 
 
The colonel crawls along the ground, dragging himself out of his wrecked hoverchair. The devices on his back are smashed, the spilled green fluid staining his shirt. He looks around as if for assistance, but the remaining Centurian soldiers are being gunned down one by one.
 
 
He looks up at the Princess, his face drawn back in an almost lupine snarl.
 
 
“Bitch…” he hisses. “Won’t get… away…”
 
 
Then you fire, and he lies still.
 
 
.....
 
 
After the battle, King Salastro approaches you, his guards alongside him, and demands an explanation. He seems displeased, and you can hardly blame him. Fortunately he knows the Princess, having met her countless times at diplomatic functions. Though an independent world, Gallea has cultural ties and trading relationships with the Sian Empire. So he hears her out. Much of what she tells him is news to you as well.
 
 
It seems that after your imprisonment the Centurian Collective demanded both you and the Princess be handed over to them, so that they could try you for your supposed crimes. For she was in command of the cruiser, and thus responsible for your actions. The Emperor refused, and the Centurians used that as a pretext for war – claiming that they had been subjected to unprovoked violence, and then denied justice. Their fleets attacked across Sian space, assaulting Sian itself at the same moment they stormed the Child of Heaven.
 
 
Prince Telemachus proves to be an unexpected ally. He explains to his father that he found the Centurians trespassing on their planet, and attacked them. He seems proud of his accomplishment, not noticing the horrified expression which crosses the king’s face as he hears the tale. When the prince finishes, King Salastro sends him away with one of the servants, to have his bumps and bruises tended to. Then he turns to the Princess.
 
 
“He attacked Centurian soldiers!” he moans, his voice sounding almost decrepit. “They won’t forgive him for that, no matter what I offer them. They’ve gone to war for less.”
 
 
“I’m sorry we brought them to your doorstop…” says the Princess. But the king doesn’t seem to hear her.
 
 
“They’ll come for him, and our defenses won’t hold out forever…” Then he appears to notice the Princess once more. “Princess Illaria… Where will you go?”
 
 
“To TALOS space,” she replies. “We’ll be safe enough there. And we can plan our next move.”
 
 
The king’s eyes light up. “TALOS… They could keep Telemachus safe. The Centurians wouldn’t think to look for him there…”
 
 
You and Talia share a meaningful look. You don’t like where this is going…
 
 
“Princess Illaria, I’ve known your father my entire life. The word of the imperial family of the Sian Empire is worth more than platinum… Promise me that you’ll take my son with you, and protect him until he reaches TALOS space. Give me your word, and I’ll give you and your companions an unmarked ship. And when the Centurians come, I’ll tell them that you’re all still here. They’ll attack, but my son will be safe.”
 
 
And so when Prince Telemachus returns, he’s told that he’ll be accompanying you to TALOS space. The boy’s face lights up. His mech was made by TALOS, and he’s excited to see the factory where it was built. He asks his father if he can have a new mech made while he’s there. The king smiles, hugs him close to conceal the tear which rolls down his cheek, and tells him that he can. The sight is enough to make you pity the young prince, and you vow that you’ll do your best to tolerate him.
 
 
King Salastro hands the Princess a sealed letter to be delivered to the TALOS officials, offering them a vast fortune in exchange for protecting his son. Then the four of you are taken to your new ship.
 
='''Legions of Steel'''=
“You know why they’re called TALOS? It stands for The Alliance of Lambda Omicron Systems. That’s what their part of space used to be called. But you know why else they picked that name? Because there used to be this big bronze robot called Talos, back on Earth. That was a long time ago… A hundred years, or something. Maybe two hundred. And TALOS make robots. Did I tell you that TALOS made my mech? I’m going to get them to make me a new one, with rockets and stuff.”
 
 
You sigh, and wonder when Talia will wake up and take her shift in the flight cabin. Telemachus never seems to sleep. Instead he spends every moment in the co-pilot’s seat, either babbling in excitement or staring out of the window with a fascinated look on his face. The last time he left his homeworld, he was too young to remember it. Simply being in space thrills him.
 
 
He keeps talking, and for a moment you consider telling him to shut up. Don’t you deserve a little peace and quiet? But then you think of him hugging his father, perhaps for the last time. It won’t kill you to hear him talk.
 
 
As if fate wishes to reward you for your decision, Telemachus finally falls silent. You begin to entertain the hope that he might head to the sleeping quarters at long last. But then, after a few minutes of blessed quiet, he speaks again.
 
 
“Why were you in prison?”
 
 
“What?”
 
 
“I heard the Princess talking to Talia. She said she broke you out of prison.”
 
 
Angry words are on the tip of your tongue. He has no right to ask you such a question. What business of his is it? But the urge to explain, to justify yourself as you would have done in front of the court on Sian, is overwhelming. And before you know it, you’re telling him.
 
 
The images, never far away, rush across your mind once more.
 
 
Centurian ships appear on the scanners, flying on a trajectory which will take them close to the Child of Heaven. You lead your fighter wing out into space in accordance with protocol, to form an escort and defend the cruiser against any potential threat.
 
 
In front of you, on your ship’s computer, you see a distorted energy signature coming from one of the Centurian vessels. It looks almost like that of a weapon system being powered up… You try to open a communications channel, to demand an explanation. But the request is ignored.
 
 
The Centurian ships are close, almost within striking distance of the cruiser. The energy signature continues to pulse before you, a jumbled mess on the scanner – unclear, indistinct. Some kind of scrambler, to conceal a planned attack until the last moment? Your duty is to protect the cruiser, to protect Princess Illaria. You have to act. So you fire… and give the Centurian Collective exactly what they wanted.
 
 
One ship explodes in space, and the political tapestry of human space shifts. The Centurians have their grievance, something they can parade before the rest of the Union of Human Worlds, a political weapon to use against the Sian Empire. Something to justify a war.
 
 
There’s a stretch of silence as you finish the tale. You look over at Telemachus, and see that he’s fallen asleep. Drool trickles from the corner of his mouth. In spite of the thoughts which weigh upon your mind, you smile. Then you turn back to the window, and watch the blackness rushing by.
 
 
=='''Jungle'''==
Your eyes open to see Princess Illaria standing over your bunk. The worried expression on her face instantly dispels the lingering traces of sleep.
 
“We’ve reached Capek,” she says. “But something’s wrong. We tried contacting the surface, and no one answered.”
 
 
You sit up, your senses becoming alert. Her concern is justified. Capek isn’t a backwater planet with a minor colony on its surface, where someone might trip over a cable and disable the communications station. It’s a major production planet for TALOS, home to the most important factories in this part of their territory. There should be countless people ready to receive and respond to a communication from an incoming vessel.
 
 
You get to your feet, and follow her into the flight cabin. Talia’s sitting at the controls, Telemachus beside her. The planet dominates the view through the window.
 
 
“Still nothing,” says Talia. “I can’t make contact with the surface. It’s like the entire communication network is down.”
 
 
“Take her in slowly,” you say.
 
 
Talia nods, and the ship moves towards the planet’s atmosphere. A moment later a pleasant-sounding voice comes over the communicator.
 
 
“Your presence here is unauthorized. Leave our atmosphere or be destroyed. Thank you.”
 
 
“This is Princess Illaria of the Sian Empire. I wish to-”
 
 
“Your presence here is unauthorized. Leave our atmosphere or-”
 
 
“Automated message,” you say. “Take her up.”
 
 
Talia guides the ship upwards, allowing it to hold a geostationary position once it’s at a safe distance.
 
 
“So,” she says, “what now?”
 
 
“I know the planet’s administrator. He’ll be in Capek Major, the capital city,” says the Princess. “Can you get us down there safely? I have to see him, and find out what’s happening.”
 
 
“That might not be wise,” you say.
 
 
“We’ve come here to ask for TALOS’ help,” she replies. “So we can hardly deny them help in return. If they’re experiencing problems on the surface, I wish to aid them.”
 
 
You glance at the scanner and map displays.
 
 
“Yes…” You point at the planetary map which has appeared on one of the monitors. “This jungle, over here. We should be able to land far enough away from the capital city to avoid triggering its defenses, but close enough to get there on foot.”
 
 
“Do it,” the Princess says.
 
 
==='''Welcome to the Jungle'''===
The jungle rises towards you. In the distance dawn is breaking, but for now this part of the planet is shrouded in shadows, and the ship descends into darkness. It touches down on an expanse of grass near the tree line.
 
 
“Stay on the ship,” Princess Illaria tells Telemachus.
 
 
“But-” he begins. The rest of his words are lost, as the flight cabin door shuts behind you, the Princess, and Talia.
 
 
“This jungle is a nature reserve,” says the Princess. “I was here once before. There are predators, but they’re kept in enclosures – behind force-fields.”
 
 
“The kind of force-fields that fail if the systems malfunction?” you ask.
 
 
“Yes…” she replies.
 
 
The three of you grab your weapons, and exit the ship. Outside the jungle is silent. But the silence seems ominous instead of tranquil. Shouldn’t there be animal sounds in a jungle? The foliage at the base of the trees begins to rustle. Something’s in there, watching you...
 
 
Then there’s a clanging noise from the ship, loud and startling. You look over, and see Telemachus’ mech lumbering towards you.
 
 
“Where did that thing come from?” asks Talia, her gaze still fastened on the tree line.
 
 
“I made the servants put it in the cargo hold when they loaded the ship,” he replies.
 
 
The mech comes to a halt alongside the Princess and Talia, its torso swiveling as Telemachus inspects his surroundings. You decide against trying to order the boy back onto the ship. It isn’t the time for an argument, and the mech’s armored form is somehow reassuring.
 
 
Now that the mech’s stopped moving, the rustling in the bushes is audible once more. As you listen, it intensifies. Then the foliage parts to reveal vicious, predatory mouths. All around you the air is filled with something between a growl and a hiss, and the creatures attack.
 
 
==='''Red in Tooth and Claw'''===
Each blast from your weapons claims another of the savage creatures, but more keep bounding through the trees. They hurl themselves at you, their snapping jaws chomping at your throats. Even Telemachus’ hulking mech doesn’t intimidate them – the creatures scramble over it, their mouths scratching at its metal as they try to find something they can sink their teeth into.
 
 
One of the beasts leaps at Princess Illaria from behind, and you bring your weapon up to pick it off.
 
 
==='''The Brute'''===
“I hate nature,” Talia says, as she untangles a piece of charred flesh from her hair.
 
 
The ground is littered with corpses. Some of them are twitching, as if their dead jaws still yearn to bite into your flesh.
 
 
“Listen…” says the Princess.
 
 
She’s looking off into the trees. A second later you hear what alerted her. The sound of gunfire, faint in the distance, reaches your ears.
 
 
“Someone needs help,” she says. “Come on!”
 
 
You follow her into the trees, into whatever dangers lurk amongst the vines and branches. Talia moves beside you, her agile step darting over the entangling roots which threaten to trip you. Telemachus crashes through the undergrowth behind you, tearing through plants and splintering small trees.
 
 
The gunfire becomes louder and louder, the unmistakable rattle of a large, bullet-firing weapon. Bestial shrieks and a roaring human voice accompany it.
 
 
You reach the edge of a clearing, and gaze at the scene before you.
 
 
A man stands in the middle of the clearing, his bare chest rippling with muscles. In one hand he holds a machinegun, bullets spitting from its flaming muzzle and shells flying from its body. The man’s arm shakes with the recoil, but somehow keeps the weapon level. Scores of dead beasts are strewn around the clearing, and more are being torn apart by his gunfire. As you look on, he swings an axe in his other hand, dispatching another of the creatures.
 
 
The warrior is ferocious, and for a moment all four of you just stand there, watching him deal death with awed expressions on your faces. But more of the animals are moving towards him now, from all directions. No matter how well he fights, he’ll be overwhelmed soon.
 
 
You meet the Princess’ gaze, and she nods. You charge into the fray to support the brutish stranger.
 
 
==='''Rumble in the Jungle'''===
The man gives a satisfied grunt as you approach, perhaps by way of expressing his appreciation, and uses the momentary respite to stick a fresh clip in his weapon. Then he commences roaring and firing once more.
 
 
Talia moves to cover his right-hand side, the Princess beside her, and begins firing her pistols at everything that moves in that direction – picking creatures out of the air in mid-leap. Telemachus has no experience in battle tactics, and simply fires at whatever captures his attention in any direction. But the heavy firepower from his mech and the raw enthusiasm with which he brings it to bear make up for his lack of martial science.
 
 
You stand at the man’s other shoulder, and shoot at the creatures massing in that direction to flank your group.
 
 
==='''Garlax Ragebeasts'''===
The clearing has become a slaughterhouse. Corpses are piled high, where the creatures fell in droves – each one fearless, charging or leaping even as it saw those before it cut down. Their animal stench fills the air, and you see Princess Illaria’s nose wrinkling as it assaults her nostrils.
 
 
A few wounded survivors twist and turn on the ground, their wails and slowly flailing limbs pitiable despite their monstrous appearances. You and Talia begin to put them out of their misery, dispatching each one with a well placed laser shot.
 
 
The man grunts, grabs one of them by its neck before you can euthanize it, and yanks it up into the air. It makes a feeble effort to bite him as it dangles there, its jaws twitching and snapping, but it can’t break his powerful grip. Then he pulls it towards him, and sinks his teeth into its throat. The beast thrashes and screeches, before falling silent. The man hurls it aside, and turns to face you, part of the creature’s flesh still protruding from his mouth. He gulps, and it disappears down his throat, leaving blood and gore smeared around his lips to mark its passage. He brings a hand up to his face, and rubs it across his mouth – successfully transferring most of the mess.
 
 
The four of you stand and watch him in disgust. He grins as he sees the expressions on your faces, then pats his abdomen.
 
 
“Cybernetic guts,” he explains. “I could eat my gun if I wanted to. Except I need that for killing. Name’s Ragnar. Thanks for the help.”
 
 
“We… we were glad to be of assistance,” says Princess Illaria, her diplomatic skills allowing her to submerge her disgust. She’s used to dealing with foreigners and aliens, and being exposed to their dining habits.
 
 
Ragnar stares at her, his face first betraying curiosity, and then recognition.
 
 
“I know you,” he says, spitting out bloody saliva in his excitement. “You’re the Queen of the Sian Empire!”
 
 
“Princess,” she replies.
 
 
“Ha! One time I did a job for a Sian colony, and they paid me in hard credits. Systems screwed up or something. They had your face on it. Wow, a real live princess!”
 
 
Ragnar extends his hand to Princess Illaria. She grimaces as she gazes at the blood on it, but quickly disguises the emotion. She meets his gaze, and bows. This thankfully prompts him to withdraw his hand, and he makes a clumsy bow of his own instead.
 
 
“What are you doing here?” asks Talia.
 
 
“Did a job for TALOS,” Ragnar replies, turning to her. His gaze roams across her figure as he talks. “Came to Capek to collect my pay. They wouldn’t answer my hails, or let me land in the city. So I came down here.”
 
 
“And you ran into those things?” Telemachus asks.
 
 
“Huh. Kid in a mech. In the fighting, thought you were some kind of robot.” Ragnar casts what appears to be an admiring glance at the mech. “Nice chainsaw… Nah, I ran into something else. I was running away from them when I crashed into a pack of these things, and had to start killing ‘em.”
 
 
A great monstrous roar bellows through the air, coming from beyond the trees.
 
 
“Is that the ‘something else’ you were running from?” you ask.
 
 
“Yeah…” Ragnar replies.
 
 
The ground rumbles, and you raise your weapon as you await whatever new danger is about to emerge.
 
 
..................
 
 
“Woah!” gasps Telemachus. “I can’t believe we killed those things!”
 
 
“Eh,” says Ragnar, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve killed bigger. Just about everything dies if you shoot it enough times.”
 
 
“Which idiot thought it would be a good idea to put things like that in this nature reserve?” asks Talia.
 
 
“Damn fauna-huggers,” says Ragnar. “Some things need to be wiped out.”
 
 
“We should head towards the city,” you say. “Before we run into anything worse.”
 
 
“Yes,” agrees the Princess. “Capek Major is this way.”
 
 
With one final glance at the gigantic carcasses, the five of you head off into the trees.
 
 
=='''Jungle / Capek Major'''==
Curious animals stare at you from the branches of trees or gaps in the undergrowth as you proceed through the jungle. But all vanish when you draw near to them. No more predators emerge to hurl themselves at you. The sun now casts its rays down through the canopy, illuminating your path and warming your skin. Were it not for the potential troubles which await you at your destination, the journey would be almost pleasant.
 
 
Then there’s a rumbling, and you sigh. Perhaps you spoke too soon…
 
 
More huge reptilian creatures appear ahead of you as you move through the trees, and find yourselves in a glade. Ragnar raises his machinegun.
 
 
“No!” says Talia. She grabs Ragnar’s thickly muscled arm, as if trying to drag his weapon down. But the limb barely moves an inch.
 
 
“Can feel my bicep any time you want,” he says. “But you can’t shift me. Best surgical enhancements credits can buy.”
 
 
“Talia, what’s wrong?” asks the Princess.
 
 
“Those things are rackalax,” the gunslinger replies. “They’re herbivores. They won’t attack us. Besides…”
 
 
You see the twinkle in her eye, and can’t help but feel that she’s about to suggest something insane.
 
 
“…we can ride them.”
 
 
==='''Wrangling the Rackalax'''===
“You want us to ride those monsters?” Ragnar asks. But his tone bespeaks admiration rather than incredulity. “You’re crazy. I like crazy.”
 
 
“I’m serious,” Talia replies. “On my home planet we used to wrangle them all the time. It’s easy – they don’t even need to be trained. As soon as you get on their backs, you can steer them just like a vehicle.”
 
 
“I’m not sure this is wise…” says the Princess.
 
 
“Trust me,” says Talia. “It’ll work. And it’ll let us get to the city much quicker.”
 
 
“I’m up for it,” says Ragnar.
 
 
You and the Princess look at each other. Her expression is dubious, and yours is no doubt similar. But Talia is already issuing instructions, telling Telemachus and Ragnar to tear down some thick vines for use as ropes.
 
 
“You planning on standing there, captain?” she asks, as the three of them begin to move towards the creatures, who are now regarding your group with mild curiosity. “Or are you going to help?”
 
 
You move to join them. What’s the worst that could happen?
 
 
==='''Rackalax Rodeo'''===
Somehow the four of you manage to wrestle the rackalax into submission. Talia leaps up onto one’s back, and stands atop it. Ragnar yanks its head down using the vines they’ve put around it, and jumps up to join her.
 
 
Telemachus pulls the other one down by its head, exerting the strength of his mech, and calls for you and the Princess to get on its back. You go first, making sure the beast is properly subdued before clasping her hand and helping her up.
 
 
“Don’t think I can ride it in my mech,” says Telemachus. “But my boosters will let me keep up.”
 
 
“Remember, when it gets started, just steer it like a vehicle,” yells Talia. Then she drags on her makeshift reins, and her rackalax plunges through the forest.
 
 
Telemachus lets go of your rackalax’s neck, and steps aside. You copy Talia’s gesture, and the creature beings to move…
 
 
A moment later you’re hurtling over the grassy plain which separates the jungle from the city, Princess Illaria’s arms wrapped around you as she holds on for dear life. Talia and Ragnar’s cries of exhilaration come back to you on the rushing wind. They’re actually enjoying this…
 
 
The rackalax under you keeps twisting and turning, as if attempting to head back to the jungle. You struggle at the reins. Have to keep it pointed towards the city…
 
 
==='''Robot War'''===
You maintain control of the charging rackalax, and head towards the city at breakneck speed. And as you draw nearer to the settlement, you see flashes of laser fire.
 
 
“Someone’s fighting!” Princess Illaria yells, pressing her mouth against your ear to stop the words being lost in the wind or drowned out by the thundering tread of the rackalax.
 
 
From the number of flashes, it looks like a raging battle…
 
 
You yank at the reins of the rackalax in an effort to slow it down. If there’s combat going on, it would be sensible to approach more cautiously. But the beast doesn’t respond. It occurs to you that you have no idea how to stop it.
 
 
The city’s buildings loom up before you, and your trained gaze analyzes the situation. Two forces of robots are battling each other. One is painted in gold and silver, the other in black and red. Laser beams dart between the clashing robots, filling the air with flashes of red and green.
 
 
“What should we do?” you yell over your shoulder.
 
 
Then some of the black and red robots turn towards you as you approach, and begin firing in your direction. That makes things simple. Talia and Ragnar are already returning fire, the gunslinger standing atop the charging beast and somehow able to keep her footing whilst firing with both her pistols.
 
 
The Princess clasps one arm around you in a tight embrace, freeing her other hand for her weapon. You do likewise, clutching the reins with one hand to keep yourself in place, and firing your weapon at the black and red robots with the other.
 
 
==='''How Do You Stop This Thing?'''===
In a moment you’ll be in the midst of the battle, and still the rackalax charges onwards without pause. Ahead of you, Ragnar and Talia are leaping from their mount, allowing it to plough into the black and red robots. You should to do the same, but you can’t jump while Princess Illaria is still on its back.
 
 
Telemachus appears beside the beast, using his boosters to match its pace, and reaches for the Princess with his mech’s right arm. You might have time to pass her to him, and then leap to safety…
 
 
==='''Carnus 9000'''===
The thundering rackalax smash through the black and red robots, scattering them like toys, stomping them into the street. The beasts continue their charge, and become lost to sight behind some of the buildings. You hope they don’t cause too much damage.
 
 
You turn, and see Telemachus lowering the Princess to the ground.
 
 
“I’m okay,” she says, though she staggers a little.
 
 
Ragnar and Talia are exchanging fire with the remaining black and red robots. The gold and silver bots are directing their fire at them as well, and show no signs of aggression towards you. Telemachus wades into the combat, sparks flying as his chainsaw cuts into one of the enemy robots.
 
 
“The gold and silver ones are the planet’s troops,” says Illaria. “Not seen those other ones before. We need to find-”
 
 
She breaks off, as a rumbling sound fills the air. A large mechanical form trundles from behind a nearby building, a hulking black and red robot sitting atop three huge wheels – a war machine far more imposing than the humanoid ones you scattered with your rackalax. Huge laser cannons at the end of each of its arms open up, firing thick beams of gleaming energy at groups of the gold and silver robots. The blasts blow some of them into chunks of smoldering scrap metal, and launch others through the air, their arms and legs flailing.
 
 
Your companions fall back towards you as the killer robot rolls through the street, laser fire from the gold and silver battle bots striking it from all directions.
 
 
“What the hell is that thing?” yells Talia, over the sound of the explosions.
 
 
“It’s a Carnus 9000!” says Telemachus, with awe in his voice. “That’s what I wanted to get to guard our palace on Gallea! The Fabricatrix who designed it says it’s invincible!”
 
 
“Don’t worry,” you say. “Technology never works quite as well as the manufacturers say it does.”
 
 
You utter quick instructions to your companions, and the five of you move out to attack.
 
 
.........................
 
Sparks and crackling electricity fly from dozens of points on the robot’s body, spewed out by ruptured systems. One of its wheels locks in place, no longer turning, and scrapes against the ground as it tries to move. There’s an explosion, and another wheel rolls free from its body, tumbling along the street before hitting a building and flopping onto its side.
 
 
The robot remains upright, its central wheel managing to support its weight. But it’s in its death throes. Its torso pivots this way and that, firing its weapons, but its shots go wide – its targeting systems ruined.
 
 
Laser fire, along with torrents of bullets from Ragnar’s gun, rip across its surface. Soon its arms fall to its sides, and the red light on its head flickers out as its systems fail.
 
 
The gold and silver robots take up firing positions in the street, apparently intending to hold the area against further attack. Their movements and mannerisms are incredibly life-like, and remind you why so many humans find robots creepy. You’re on the verge of attempting to communicate with one of them in search of answers, when a door in a nearby building opens. You raise your weapon, but lower it when you see the people who emerge from the structure. Several of the men and women are wearing the same gold and silver as the robots you fought alongside, and it seems clear from their bedraggled appearances and nervous expressions that they were seeking refuge from the black and red robots’ attack.
 
 
Princess Illaria approaches them, and the rest of you follow her lead.
 
 
“Chief Assembler Wilex!” she says.
 
 
She directs the words to a tall, grey-haired man whose clothing is decorated in gold and silver cogs. His clothes are torn in places, and there’s a gash on his head. You know a little about TALOS ranks and titles, and believe that a Chief Assembler is a planetary administrator, the name a cultural relic rather than a literal description of his role. He’s no doubt the man the Princess spoke of earlier.
 
 
“When I saw you on the monitor, Highness, I believed I must have hit my head harder than I thought,” he says.
 
 
“With all that’s happened lately,” she replies, “I feel the same way.”
 
 
“Hey!” Ragnar strides over, and stands before Wilex. “You owe me credits. I killed those space pirates, and blew up their hideout. Figured you were trying to rip me off when you wouldn’t let me land.”
 
 
“You’ll be paid!” the Chief Assembler promises, the words coming in rapid succession as he retreats a couple of steps before the brutish mercenary. “And… and I’ll throw in a bonus for your help here today!”
 
 
“That’s okay then,” says Ragnar. He gives a satisfied grunt, and walks off to where Telemachus is examining what’s left of the Carnus 9000.
 
 
“I think some explanations are in order,” says Wilex. He beckons for the Princess to enter the building, and you follow in her wake.
 
 
...
 
 
In what appears to be some kind of council chamber, two tales are exchanged. The Princess tells of the Centurian Collective’s attack on the Sian Empire, and the Chief Assembler expresses his outrage.
 
 
Most human factions are wary of TALOS, and the Sian Empire is no exception. Mankind’s suspicion of advanced robots, those capable of thinking and fighting for themselves, is centuries old. During your schooling, you read a theory that it stems from the depiction of robots in old human fiction, who would often go berserk and attempt to overthrow their human masters. And matters weren’t helped by a few high profile disasters which occurred in more recent times, such as the robot fleet which ended up bombing a friendly colony due to a syntax error.
 
 
But though the Emperor himself has done nothing to alter the empire’s frosty relations with TALOS, Princess Illaria has made great efforts to improve matters. Thus she has many friends amongst the TALOS leadership. Moreover, the Centurians have often been directly opposed to TALOS’ interests in the UHW Assembly. Thus Wilex’s sympathies are entirely on the Princess’ side. And he seems particularly interested when she refers to the how the Centurians demonstrated advanced technologies in their attacks, well beyond those they were known to possess.
 
 
For his part, Chief Assembler Wilex explains the situation on Capek.
 
 
He tells you that Fabricatrix Vespasia, one of the highest ranking TALOS officials, came to Capek claiming that she had been authorized to conduct a surprise inspection of its robot factories and planetary defenses. Such inspections being far from unheard of, Wilex took her at her word and gave her access to the command center in Capek Major in accordance with standard procedure. Vespasia then proceeded to shut down the communications grid, seize control of the planetary defenses, and land large numbers of her robot troops. The Chief Assembler and his people had been determining what to do about the situation when Vespasia’s robots attacked.
 
 
“So we both find ourselves in the midst of our own crises,” muses the Princess.
 
 
“It would appear so,” says the Chief Assembler.
 
 
“What do you intend to do?” you ask him.
 
 
“We have to take back the command center,” he replies. “I don’t know what her plan is, but we have to seize control of the communication systems, so we can alert our fleets and our other planets.”
 
 
Your gaze meets that of the Princess, and you know what she’s about to say even before she says it.
 
 
“We’ll do whatever we can to aid you,” she says.
 
 
=='''Streets of Capek Major'''==
The Princess has been groomed since childhood to one day rule the Sian Empire – which would place her in command of all its armed forces. Thus she understands the ways of war. When she looks at the holographic display of Capek Major, she sees it as you do, visualizing the lines of attack, anticipating strengths and weaknesses based on what you see and what you’ve learned from the Chief Assembler.
 
 
Fabricatrix Vespasia’s troops are thinly spread, since she’s relying on a relatively small force to secure an entire city. That’s likely why she was so keen to press the attack – hoping to keep the defenders off-balance and prevent them from organizing a proper counterattack. Most of her forces are guarding the main approach to the command center.
 
 
Together you devise an attack on two fronts. Wilex’s battle bots will assault the command center directly, attempting to fight their way to the front door. This should provide an adequate distraction. Meanwhile the Princess will lead a small group through the city streets, and attempt to enter the building from the opposite side. The Chief Assembler warns you that Vespasia has stationed snipers on the rooftops you’ll be moving beneath, as well as packs of battle bots patrolling the streets.
 
 
You raise your concerns about the Princess putting herself in harm’s way, but it’s a mere formality. She overrules you, as you knew she would. Telemachus also refuses to be left behind, once he learns of your plans. You are far from happy at the thought of taking a mere child into combat. But short of destroying his mech, dragging him from the cockpit, and locking him in a room somewhere, there’s little you can do to stop him. He tells you that if you leave him behind, he’ll just join the robots in their frontal assault. At least if he’s with you you’ll be able to keep an eye on him.
 
 
Ragnar exchanges some words with the Chief Assembler out of your hearing, and informs you that he’ll be coming. Either he’s been offered a lot of credits, or is simply unwilling to pass up an opportunity for slaughter. But whatever the reason, his violence should prove useful.
 
 
You make your final arrangements, and wait for the gold and silver robots to begin their attack. Then you move out.
 
 
==='''Bait & Blast'''===
A robot sniper covers the streets you intend to pass through with its rifle, ready to send a deadly beam into the heart or head of anyone attempting to make their way towards the command center.
 
 
As arranged, your companions begin to open fire on a group of patrolling robots, keeping a corner of a building between them and the sniper, but drawing its attention. Meanwhile you make your way onto the rooftops, relying on stealth and the distraction they provide.
 
 
Once you’re in place, the riskier part of the plan is put in motion. Talia emerges from cover, ensuring that the sniper will go for her and not detect your approach from behind. You have to destroy the robot, before it takes her out.
 
 
==='''The Deadliest Soldier...'''===
The robot sniper collapses, a hole blown through its head. You seize its weapon. From up here on the rooftops you can cover your allies, and protect them as they fight their way through the streets.
 
 
You look through the rifle’s scope, and see a robot moving to attack the Princess. You place your finger on the trigger…
 
 
==='''...Is The One You Never See'''===
You move along the rooftops, keeping the others in sight. Whenever a target presents itself, you drop to one knee, take aim, and fire. Then you’re in motion again, trying to destroy some of the black and red robots in their path, and even the odds as much as you can.
 
 
Ahead of you, robot snipers are running across the rooftops, taking up firing positions. You raise your rifle, to pick them off before they can take their shots.
 
 
==='''Path of Least Resistance'''===
At last your companions reach their goal, and come to the square in which the command center stands. You climb down from the building to join them on the ground. You can see the rear entrance of the command center, and from the other side of the square you hear the sound of heavy fighting as your robot allies assault it from the front.
 
 
“Just a few of them,” says the Princess. “This shouldn’t be too difficult...”
 
 
You, Talia, and Ragnar issue a collective groan. Illaria and Telemachus look at the three of you in confusion. The Princess may understand much of the arts of war, but she lacks your combat experience.
 
 
“Never say things will be easy when you’re about to go into a battle,” growls Ragnar. “That’s just asking for trouble.”
 
 
“Well, it’s said now,” sighs Talia. “Let’s just get going.”
 
 
And so the five of you move out from cover, and attack the robots that stand guard at the rear entrance to the command center.
 
 
==='''Carnifex Prime'''===
The last robot falls in a clattering, sparking heap. But even as it hits the ground, the doors to the command center are opening, and you know that worse is yet to come.
 
 
A massive robot comes from within the building, the ground trembling beneath its four metal feet. It’s even bigger than the Carnus 9000 you fought earlier. As it passes through the doorway, a crackling energy barrier appears behind it, spanning the width and height of the entrance. It seems there’s no chance of evading the gargantuan machine, and trying to get inside.
 
 
“This is why we don’t tempt fate,” says Ragnar, “and say things are going to be easy.”
 
 
“Oh…” replies the Princess.
 
 
The blue light on the robot’s face, where a human’s eyes would be, turns to regard Princess Illaria. An ominous glow is building within it…
 
 
You dive at the Princess, knocking her aside as an energy beam blasts the spot where she was standing a moment ago, sending shards of stone into the air. As the two of you hit the ground, you look up to see the eye glowing once more, gazing right at you.
 
 
But a blast from Telemachus’ mech hits it square in the face, and the glow subsides for a moment – long enough for you to drag the Princess to her feet, and get moving. The others are already opening up on the robot for all they’re worth, their fire scouring its metal plates.
 
 
.............................
 
 
The robot freezes, its arms and legs locking into place in mid-movement, becoming as motionless as a statue. The weapons that bristle across its frame are silent. The blue lights on its body flicker for a moment. Then the blue is replaced with bright red. That’s never a good sign.
 
 
The others are equally perturbed, and a second later all five of you are running back out of the square, seeking cover amongst the buildings. A long moment passes as you take shelter behind a solid-looking structure.
 
 
“Maybe it’s not going to explode,” Talia suggests. “Just because something flashes red-”
 
 
Then comes the explosion.
 
 
You return to the square, which is now covered in bits and pieces of robot. Some of the wreckage is flaming, other fragments sparking. Ahead of you, past the billows of smoke which rise from the broken heap lying before it, the entrance to the command centre is now uncovered. Perhaps the barrier was overloaded by the force of the blast, or else the force-field was linked to the robot. Either way, your path is now clear.
 
 
=='''Command Center'''==
The five of you head towards the stairs leading up to the doorway. On the other side of the building, a fierce battle still rages between the two robot forces. But if you can carry out your mission within, it should soon be over.
 
 
You ascend the stairs, and pick your way over the wreckage, through the smoke, to reach the entrance. Inside the building, you find yourself in a long, high-ceilinged lobby. The smoke outside the entrance obscures the daylight, and the only illumination in the chamber is a soft blue glow from the lights embedded in the walls and ceiling.
 
 
At the opposite end of the lobby is a door, which begins to slide open.
 
 
==='''Charge'''===
Black and red robots pour through the doorway, spreading out into firing positions with mechanical efficiency. Red lasers flash towards you.
 
 
There’s no cover in the corridor, and little space to evade so much gunfire.
 
 
But Telemachus charges, and as he moves in front the body of his mech intercepts much of the fire. A moment later you’re all running after him, shooting from behind the cover he provides.
 
 
==='''Hacking The System'''===
Telemachus closes the distance, and his laser-edged chainsaw flashes as he carves his way through the remaining robots. Ragnar is only a moment behind him, cleaving another robot open with a swing from his axe. The lobby is yours. So far, so good.
 
 
You go through the door, and find yourself in a smaller room, with corridors leading off in three directions. For the moment no enemies are in sight, but you can hear the thudding of robotic footsteps coming from nearby.
 
 
“It’s this way,” says the Princess, gesturing to the corridor on the left.
 
 
You run into that passage, cutting down the two robots at the far end with a hail of fire as you sprint. You reach the arched door they were guarding, a thick metal barrier which looks like it could withstand a great deal of punishment. Princess Illaria’s fingers dart across the keys of the security panel next to the door. The sounds of pursuit are close behind you, coming from just out of sight beyond the mouth of the corridor.
 
 
“It’s not working!” she cries. “The code Wilex gave me isn’t working!”
 
 
Robots appear at the far end of the corridor, and once again red laser fire flies at you.
 
 
“Keep them busy!” yells Ragnar. “I’ll open the door!”
 
 
You’re dubious that a brute like Ragnar could circumvent a TALOS security system, but he seems insistent. So the rest of you form up around the door, and start blasting away at the robots.
 
 
From behind you there’s a horrendous clanging noise. You steal a glance over your shoulder, and see that Ragnar is hacking the security panel… with his axe.
 
 
==='''Manual Override'''===
“Bashing things always works,” Ragnar gloats, as the security door slides open. Then he turns round, and opens fire with his machinegun to help you finish off the last robots.
 
 
You enter the room beyond, and press the button to seal the door behind you. No interruptions. Telemachus pops open the cover to his cockpit, and leaps down from his mech. He’ll need hands for what he’s about to do, not a cannon or chainsaw.
 
 
The middle of the room is dominated by a large chair. Displays and terminals cover the walls. Directly in front of the chair, a big screen shows a video feed from outside the building, looking down on the fighting taking place in front of it. The gold and silver robots are hard-pressed, taking heavy fire from the black and red robots arrayed before them, and from huge laser blasts that seem to come from the screen itself.
 
 
Princess Illaria runs to one of the terminals. In her hand she brandishes a data stick Wilex gave her. She thrusts it into a slot in front of her. You hope it works better than his code did. Talia moves over to another terminal, and does the same.
 
 
A yellow holographic grid appears to your right, high on the wall. Red lines and dots blink on its surface.
 
 
“There it is!” says Telemachus. He runs towards the grid, but it’s far beyond his reach. “Why would they put it so high?” he whines.
 
 
“I’ve got you,” says Ragnar. He grabs the boy, lifts him up, and sits him on his shoulders.
 
 
Telemachus’ little fingers dance across the display. You sit down in the large chair in the center of the room, and move your hands to the control panel in front of it. Red lights, like those on the yellow grid, blink there. But a moment later there’s a cry of joy from Telemachus, and they turn green.
 
 
The turrets at the front of the building are under manual control now. Your control. It’s time to even the odds out there…
 
 
==='''Metal Storm'''===
Laser blasts ravage the ranks of the black and red robots on the screen before you. The gold and silver robots surge forwards, destroying those that are left, making for the front entrance.
 
 
“Well done,” says the Princess. “All of you.”
 
 
“Now for the bitch who did all this,” grunts Ragnar, a look of grim anticipation on his face as he swings his axe to and fro in the air.
 
 
Telemachus is already scrambling into his mech and closing the cockpit, perhaps before you have a chance to grab him and force him to stay behind. But you’re not sure you would have tried to stop him anyway. He’s proven very useful, and you don’t have the luxury of stopping to ponder the ethics of taking a child into battle.
 
 
The door to the turret control room slides open. The five of you move back down the corridor, and into another passage. It’s unguarded. The other robots must have gone to the front entrance, to repel those who are now storming the building.
 
 
You ascend a staircase, and come out on a gallery overlooking the front lobby. A little further along it is the stairway leading up to the main control room. Below you a horde of black and red robots is trading fire with the gold and silver bots surging through the entrance.
 
 
You and your companions shoot down from your vantage point as the robots clash.
 
 
==='''Fabricatrix Vespaisa'''===
The gold and silver robots pour in from below, now in complete control of the lobby. They fan out, moving to secure the rest of the building.
 
 
“We could let them deal with things from here,” you say. But the Princess is already moving towards the stairs to the main control room.
 
 
At the top of the stairs is another security door. Next to it is a control panel similar to the one which was outside the turret control room. Once again Ragnar puts his axe to work, and the door slides open. Seems like quite a significant design flaw…
 
 
The control room is a lofty round chamber, with blue display screens circling the walls. In the middle, at the foot of a circular platform, are more black and red robots, these ones somehow more menacing in appearance than the ones you fought before. Atop that platform stands a woman in black and red robes, a vicious sneer on her face. At first glance it looks as if she has tentacles, like some kind of alien creature. Then you realize that they’re cables, extending from her back into slots on the walls. Some kind of interface.
 
 
“That’s a Fabricatrix’s uniform?” asks Talia. “Seriously?”
 
 
Her costume does indeed seem rather revealing for the uniform of a high-ranking official… Then the woman and her robots attack, and you have no more time to ponder the matter.
 
 
........................................
 
 
Fabricatrix Vespasia topples over, falling off her platform and tumbling to the floor below. She sprawls there in a rather inelegant fashion. Most of the cables attached to the device on her back are now detached from the sockets on the walls. They twitch and flail like dying serpents.
 
 
She gives an unintelligible curse, then flops over onto her back, and raises her weapon. One of Talia’s pistols flashes, and the weapon flies from Vespasia’s hand, along with two of her fingers. She gasps in pain, her lungs unable to muster a scream.
 
 
“What were you doing here?” asks the Princess, desperate to learn all she can before death claims the Fabricatrix. “Why did you seize the planet?”
 
 
Vespasia spits, and remains silent. Then Ragnar stomps down on her damaged hand. This time she does manage to shriek, and blood erupts from her mouth with the effort it costs her.
 
 
“The Centurians!” she screams, as Ragnar grinds his boot into her hand. “They promised me… promised… me…”
 
 
A final rasping breath comes from her throat, along with droplets of blood. Then her eyes glaze over and her head slumps to the floor.
 
...
 
 
With the communications system back under the Chief Assembler’s control, a message is sent out across TALOS space. Fleets soon converge on the planet, and a meeting of leading officials is called. As a result of her role in the liberation of Capek, Princess Illaria is permitted to join them in the council chamber, and no one raises an objection when you enter alongside her. In their eyes you’re not merely her bodyguard, but her advisor. And under the circumstances, you suppose that’s true.
 
 
The news that Fabricatrix Vespasia was acting on behalf of the Centurian Collective shocks them. But the holographic recorders in the commander center’s control room captured her dying words, and upon viewing the images even the most incredulous official accepts the truth. It seems that the Centurians have greater designs than even the conquest of the Sian Empire. They wished to gain a foothold in TALOS space, and it would have been a powerful one given the many robot factories on Capek, which could have been used to turn out legions of the Fabricatrix’s bots.
 
 
Around the table there are angry calls for war, for vengeance against the Centurians. Other voices suggest that the Centurians be denounced at the UHW Assembly instead, and sanctions proposed against them. The Princess listens to all this, and you see her sharpened political senses absorbing every word, every mannerism as she assesses each person in the room as surely as you would assess the movement of fighter ships in a space battle.
 
 
At last it’s her turn. She stands, all eyes upon her, and when she speaks it’s with all the skill of one born to lead. Eloquent words flow from her lips, and in their echo, in the determined, passionate expression on her beautiful face, you see the empress she’s destined to become. Heads nod around the table, and you sense the flow of her will enveloping every man and woman there. Some of them require no urging, already keen on a military response. And the others are caught up in the raging tide of her oratory, of the arguments she presents. Even before the decision is made, you know what the result will be. TALOS is going to war.
 
 
Then Princess Illaria tells them of the strange technologies the Centurians possessed when they attacked the Child of Heaven, of the capabilities they demonstrated beyond those which should have been within their grasp.
 
 
The leaders of TALOS are perturbed by this knowledge, at the thought that the Centurians might have secrets which could give them an edge in the coming conflict. They declare that the truth must be known, and the Princess nods her agreement. And then she poses her stratagem, which you believe was in her mind from the very start – all the discussions leading up to this one suggestion.
 
 
She calls for a surprise attack on a Centurian fleet, made without a declaration of war – a violation of the Union of Human Worlds’ laws. Her plan is to capture a Centurian leader, and extract the truth. Thus you will learn the source of their mysterious new technologies.
 
 
 
='''Assault of The Zenith'''=
The planning goes on long into the night. Countless streams of data pour into the council room from TALOS’ operatives around human space, and appear on the chamber’s many screens and holographic displays. You spend hours gazing at star charts littered with markers representing known and anticipated fleet movements, and discussing how each projection might influence your course of action. Then one particular piece of information arrives: General Rahn’s personal cruiser, the Zenith, is in occupied Sian space – traveling from system to system, overseeing operations across the entire sector.
 
 
Princess Illaria’s eyes gleam when she learns of this. General Rahn is believed to have orchestrated the attack on the Sian Empire, and has thus earned her eternal enmity. In the twitching of her fingers, in the look in her eyes, you read her desire for vengeance. She wishes to see Rahn suffer. But when she speaks, her voice betrays nothing of this. The Princess proposes her plan in calm, pragmatic terms, her ulterior motives hidden from all but you, who know her so very well. She argues that a major figure such as Rahn is sure to have information about the Centurians’ new technology and its origins, whilst a lesser one – some officer ambushed in a distant corner of space – might not. And so she proposes an attack on the Zenith.
 
 
There’s a murmuring around the table. Your gaze meets that of a woman wearing an admiral’s uniform, its ribbons marking her status as a fellow veteran of countless space battles. The same thought is surely in both your minds, and in those of the other military officials around the table. You consider giving voice to it, but cannot bring yourself to contradict the Princess in front of this gathering. Instead it’s the admiral who speaks out.
 
 
“Rahn would send out an alert the moment our ships appeared on their scans,” she says. “Centurian fleets from across Sian space would respond.”
 
 
She’s right. If you attacked the Zenith, your surprise strike designed to recover information would become a massive battle. Reinforcements would be
too readily available to the Centurians there.
 
“What if we disrupted their communications?” the Princess asks.
 
 
“The old space pirate trick?” replies the admiral. “It’s effective enough against merchant ships. But a Centurian fleet has powerful communications equipment. It’s impossible.”
 
 
“Oh?” comes a soft voice.
 
 
All heads turn, and dozens of eyes fix their gazes on an elderly man in elaborate robes. You remember being introduced to him at the start of the meeting. Fabricator Orben… That was his name and title. He’s been silent until now, merely watching the proceedings rather than contributing to them. He was wearing a hood before, pulled down over his brow. Now it’s fallen back, revealing a head shaved to resemble the pattern of a circuit board. A pilgrim’s haircut. He’s a tech-worshipper, back from a recent trip to Occulus.
 
 
“Maybe we can’t do it,” he continues, his bright eyes revealing satisfaction at the attention he’s drawing upon himself, “but I believe it can be done. It just requires a little faith...”
 
 
...
 
 
The meeting finally adjourns for the night, with the decision that Fabricator Orben will contact the Cybertollahs of Technology, leading clerics of his technotheistic religion. Though they officially remain neutral in all political disputes, the Cybertollahs have no love of the Centurian Collective, who have banned the tech-worshipping faith in their territory. Orben believes they may be persuaded to allow TALOS the use of their strange and outlandish technologies. A princess in exile, an army of robots, and now a cabal of religious lunatics… War makes for interesting alliances.
 
 
As you walk down the corridor, a wailing noise stops you in your tracks. It’s coming from behind a door to your right. That’s where you left Telemachus…
 
 
The door opens to your touch, and you see him sitting on a couch, his head tilted up like that of a dog baying at the moon. His face is red, eyes screwed up in such anguish that he seems even younger, like a newborn baby. Tears stream down his cheeks. On the wall in front of him is a large screen, showing a news network report. The somber-faced newscaster’s voice is hidden beneath Telemachus’ bawling, but you hear enough. The Centurians have attacked Gallea. King Salastro is dead.
 
 
You stand there frozen, embarrassed to have intruded on the boy, knowing you should say something, do something. But what could you possibly do or say? In the midst of this indecision, someone pushes past you. It’s the Princess.
 
 
She glides across the room, and sits next to him. He resists for a second as she tries to pull him into an embrace. Then he seems to crumple up, his head falling onto her shoulder as she hugs him. His piercing wail gives way to deep sobs, each one causing his entire body to heave.
 
 
For long, awkward moments you stay standing just inside the doorway, your feet rooted to the floor. It pains you to see the boy’s usually happy face wracked with such grief. You scour your mind for words which will help him, sooth him. But none finds its way to your tongue. Instead you step back into the corridor, softly closing the door behind you, and walk away.
 
 
...
 
 
The following day, Fabricator Orben delivers the Cybertollahs’ response. They do indeed possess a device capable of shutting down a Centurian cruiser’s communications systems. But they won’t simply give it to you. In their eyes, each piece of technology they produce is a holy artifact – a manifestation of their faith. They will only consider letting you use it if Princess Illaria appears before them in person, and they deem her worthy.
 
 
You have your qualms about the Princess leaving the safety of TALOS space, and making the trip to Occulus. But she accepts their terms, and agrees to meet with the Cybertollahs.
 
 
...
 
 
“Get out of my way!”
 
 
The yell draws your attention as you supervise the loading of your ship. You look over, and see Telemachus. His face is red once more, but this time with anger instead of sorrow. He’s glaring up at Chief Assembler Wilex, who towers over him.
 
 
“I’m sorry,” Wilex says, “but I can’t let you leave the planet.”
 
 
“I’m going!” Telemachus yells.
 
 
The boy tries to move around him, but Wilex steps sideways and blocks his path. Telemachus’ small hands clench into fists, and it looks as if he’s about to attack the old man. You stride towards them.
 
 
Telemachus looks up as you approach, and the Chief Assembler turns to you in relief.
 
 
“I’m trying to explain to the boy that he has to stay here,” says Wilex. “Please make him understand, this is for his own good. The instructions in his father’s letter specifically-”
 
 
“You’re not leaving me behind!” says Telemachus. “I’m going with you. And when you go after the Centurians, I’ll fight.”
 
 
The boy’s fists tremble, and you see the twitches at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He’s angry, but so very close to breaking down and crying again.
 
 
“Get on the ship,” you say.
 
 
Telemachus’ face lights up. It’s obvious that he expected you to side with Wilex.
 
 
“I must protest!” says the Chief Assembler. “His father-”
 
 
“His father is gone,” you reply. “He’s his own master now.”
 
 
The boy looks at you in silent gratitude. Then he runs towards the boarding ramp.
 
 
=='''Occulus'''==
The flight to Occulus passes without incident, and you approach the moon as just one ship amongst countless vessels conveying tech-worshippers to the heart of their religion.
 
 
The Princess enters the flight cabin as the ship descends towards the moon. She’s no longer wearing one of the dresses she was provided with on Capek. Instead she’s clad in combat attire. It seems an unusual costume for a diplomatic mission, but you assume that she has some purpose in mind. Perhaps she wishes to demonstrate to the Cybertollahs that her empire is at war.
 
 
A signal comes through, granting you permission to land beside the Cybertollahs’ palace. Few people are permitted into the presence of the Cybertollahs. In spite of their disdain for interstellar politics, it appears that they recognize the magnitude of the events which are being set in motion, and the importance of your request for aid.
 
 
“Worshipping technology,” grunts Ragnar, as the ship lands. “Pretty stupid if you ask me. Tech is great, but only if someone like me’s there to use it. It’s like I always say: ‘Tech doesn’t kill people. I kill people.’”
 
 
Not for the first time, you wonder why exactly Princess Illaria invited a man like Ragnar on this undertaking. You’ve seen explosions that were more diplomatic than the Niflung warrior.
 
 
When the ship lands, Telemachus stomps out of the cargo hold inside his mech. You’re about to remonstrate with him, when the Princess expresses her approval. You shrug. Perhaps she thinks the Cybertollahs will appreciate the tech it incorporates.
 
 
Bowing acolytes wearing white robes, the material decorated with equations and circuit diagrams picked out in gold thread, meet you at the landing pad. They usher you into a huge building with twelve square towers rising from its silver mass. You’re led along corridors lined with holographic displays, showing technology from countless worlds and eras. Some of the things you glimpse amongst the shifting holograms are indecipherable, complex shapes which seem to hold no particular meaning.
 
 
The acolytes lead you into a dark, lofty room. Then they leave, the door closing behind them. After a moment, lights begin to glow around the chamber’s walls. A large section of the floor in front of you, dominating the middle of the room, also lights up.
 
 
“It’s like a trashy dance club,” Talia mutters in your ear.
 
 
“Welcome, Princess of the Sian Empire,” comes a voice from above.
 
 
On a shadowy balcony overlooking the room stand two tall figures in robes, one red, the other blue. The hoods on those garments conceal their faces, and combined with the distance it makes them seem like anonymous, amorphous blobs of color. The Princess gazes up at them and bows.
 
 
“We’re honored to be in the presence of the Supreme Cybertollahs,” she says. “We have heard much of-”
 
 
“You have come here for our technology,” one of them says. Their bodies are both motionless, making it impossible to tell which of them spoke.
 
 
“Yes,” replies the Princess. You sense her momentary irritation at having her flow of diplomatic eloquence interrupted. Such ill manners would be unthinkable at the Sian court. But she conceals the emotion with practiced ease.
 
 
“And what makes you think you’re worthy of our creations?” one of the Supreme Cybertollahs asks.
 
 
“The enemy we fight is a threat to all-”
 
 
“We did not ask about your foes,” one of the Supreme Cybertollahs says. “There are many just causes across the galaxy, but we do not furnish them with our gifts. Only the worthy can be permitted to use our technology.”
 
 
“And words will never persuade you of our worth, will they?” the Princess asks.
 
 
“You are correct,” one of the Supreme Cybertollahs replies. “Fine words do not make electrons flow.”
 
 
“Then let’s not waste any more time,” she says. “My companions and I ask for the Trial of the Twelve.”
 
 
Trial of the Twelve? That doesn’t sound good…
 
 
Up on the balcony, the robed figures are silent. Then they give a simultaneous nod.
 
 
“Very well,” one of them says. “The trial shall begin.”
 
 
Energy barriers flicker into being around the square of illuminated floor, their surfaces adorned with shifting green symbols.
 
 
Princess Illaria turns to you.
 
 
“I talked about the customs of the Cybertollahs with Orben,” she says. “I thought it might come to this.”
 
 
“What’s the Trial of the Twelve?” you ask.
 
 
“Trial by combat,” she replies.
 
 
“Ha!” laughs Ragnar. “Was wondering why you brought me along to this techno-dump. Sounds like my kind of trial.”
 
 
“And that’s why you told me to get in my mech,” says Telemachus.
 
 
“Shooting things until you get what you want sounds like the kind of diplomacy I can get behind,” says Talia, twirling her pistols.
 
 
==='''One on One'''===
The green symbols on the energy field turn red, like freshly spilled blood. At the far side of the glowing floor a black-robed figure appears. He moves through the barrier, which shimmers in his wake, and strides into the middle of what must be the combat area. Green symbols dance on the surface of his robe, their designs resembling those on the barriers around him.
 
 
“The sequence must be observed,” says one of the Supreme Cybertollahs. “The numbers govern all. Send in your first.”
 
 
“Do you know what they do?” you ask. “How they fight?”
 
 
“No,” says the Princess. “Orben’s never seen a trial, only heard of them.”
 
 
“Then I’ll go first,” you say.
 
 
You step through the barrier. It offers no resistance. It’s like walking through empty air. As you pass onto the other side, the red symbols turn green once more. You take an experimental step backwards, keeping your eyes fixed on your opponent. The barrier presses against your back, now a warm, solid mass of energy. It bends slightly, but refuses to budge further.
 
 
“One and one,” says the Cybertollah in front of you. “The sequence must be observed.”
 
 
Then he strides towards you, long blades unfolding from the rods he holds in his hands.
 
 
==='''Battle Royal'''===
The Cybertollah collapses, and your companions raise a cheer from either side. He lies groaning on the ground, the sound accompanied by a strange whirring noise from under his robes. You realize that it’s being made by a damaged cybernetic system. The symbols on the Cybertollah’s robes flash once more, before flickering out of existence, leaving only black cloth in their wake.
 
 
Two acolytes in white robes appear from the dark recesses of the room, and run onto the glowing floor, the green barrier parting before them. The field closes in their wake.
 
 
The acolytes bow to you. Then one grabs the fallen Cybertollah under his armpits, the other takes hold of him by his feet, and they whisk him away. As they reach the barrier with their burden, the field opens once more. As they pass through, it closes behind them again.
 
 
Two more figures in similar attire to the defeated Cybertollah emerge from a doorway, and take up positions opposite you, just outside the barrier. The symbols turn red, and they slip inside. On your right, Princess Illaria does the same. The moment she passes through, they’re green once more – barring entry to the others.
 
 
“Two and two,” say both Cybertollahs, their voices creating a strange, almost electronic harmony. “The sequence must be observed.”
 
 
One of them advances on the Princess, the other towards you. Just before you join battle, you see her leaping through the air, her boot catching her opponent square in the face.
 
 
==='''Triple Threat'''===
The Cybertollah in front of you falls onto his knees, revealing Princess Illaria behind him. She gives him one more kick for good measure, catching him in the side of the head. He hits the floor with a noise containing both the thump of meat and the clank of metal, and lies motionless. She nods with satisfaction.
 
 
“The education of a Sian princess,” she says with a smile. “It has its uses.”
 
 
Four acolytes scurry onto the glowing floor. They give a synchronized bow, grab up the fallen Cybertollahs, and carry them away.
 
 
Three more robed figures appear outside the barrier.
 
 
“I’m next! Me!” yells Telemachus, as the barrier turns red and the fresh Cybertollahs enter. “I… Hey!”
 
 
“Sorry, kid,” grunts Ragnar, as the barrier turns green behind him. “But look on the bright side – you have a whole lifetime ahead of you to smash things in.”
 
 
“Three and three,” say the Cybertollahs. “The sequence must-”
 
 
Their litany is interrupted as Ragnar rushes into them. You wince as you hear a crunch, the sound of bones breaking against his surgically enhanced body. Then you wade into the melee.
 
 
==='''Techno-Brawl'''===
Six acolytes run through the barrier to clear the combat area. One bumps into Ragnar from behind, and in the blink of an eye the Niflung warrior spins round and levels him with a punch.
 
 
“Sorry,” he grunts, as he gazes down at the unconscious acolyte. “Force of habit.”
 
 
Three more acolytes run from the shadows. Two carry off their downed comrade, casting a wary glance at Ragnar as they do so. The other helps remove the remaining Cybertollah.
 
 
Given the way things have gone up till now, you’re not surprised when four robed figures assemble outside the barrier. It turns red, and they enter.
 
 
“Hey! That’s not fair!”
 
 
You look over, and see Talia slipping through the barrier. The field turns green just as Telemachus’ mech steps into it, and it reverberates – the unexpected force causing the mech to stagger backwards and fall onto its butt. Telemachus gives an angry yelp of protest.
 
 
“Smooth, Tel,” says Talia. “Real smooth.”
 
 
“Four and four,” chorus the Cybertollahs. “The sequence must be observed.”
 
 
==='''Supreme Cybertollahs'''===
“So…” says Talia, as eight acolytes begin to clear away the defeated Cybertollahs. “First there was one. Then two. Then three. Then four. That makes ten. Which means…”
 
 
Your gaze follows hers, up to the balcony. It’s empty.
 
 
“Yes,” says the Princess. “The Supreme Cybertollahs will be our final opponents.”
 
 
“Good,” says Ragnar. “The small ones didn’t put up much of a fight.”
 
 
A door slides open a short distance away from the glowing floor, and two large robed figures approach, one in blue, one in red. Now that they’re so close, in light rather than shadow, you see just how unnatural they are. The red one is absurdly thin, his movements almost snake-like. The blue one is stocky, but the strange shifting under his robe is far removed from the movement of normal human muscles. And their faces… The Cybertollahs worship technology, and it appears that they’ve sacrificed much of their humanity in its pursuit.
 
 
The barrier turns red, and they both step through it.
 
 
“All right!” says Telemachus, as his mech does the same. “Finally!”
 
 
“Two and all,” says one of the Supreme Cybertollahs. The voice seems as if it could have come from either of them. Even now that they’re right in front of you, you still can’t tell which of them is speaking. “The sequence must be observed.”
 
 
Then their hands begin to glow…
 
 
...........................................
 
 
The Supreme Cybertollahs twitch on the ground, exposed cybernetic systems sparking and hissing. Telemachus stands above the blue-robed one, his laser-edged chainsaw whirring, and moves as if to drive it into the supine body.
 
 
“No!” cries the Princess. “We need them to help us, remember?”
 
 
“Oh, yeah!” says Telemachus. He presses a button inside his cockpit, and the chainsaw blade deactivates. “Sorry. Forgot.”
 
 
The red one manages to struggle up into a sitting position.
 
 
“Our technology was defeated. You are worthy,” he says. Then his torso slumps to the ground again.
 
 
Over a dozen acolytes approach the barrier, which disappears entirely now. They lift the Supreme Cybertollahs, their movements slow and reverent this time, and carry them off. One of the acolytes doesn’t share the burden. Instead he remains, and bows to your group.
 
 
“The object you desired will be delivered to a place of your choosing. May technology illuminate your path.”
 
 
......
 
 
When you return to Capek, along with a transport containing the Cybertollahs’ device, you’re greeted by the sight of a fleet of ships emblazoned with the TALOS emblem. The forces have been assembled, and now stand prepared for the attack.
 
 
There are mighty cruisers amongst the host, looming above the smaller craft like great leviathans. Squadrons of fighter ships hold orbit around them, like shoals of minnows keeping pace with whales. As you approach the planet you catch sight of transport ships, each one harboring squads of robots ready to storm the Zenith.
 
 
It’s going to be one hell of a battle…
 
 
=='''Space Battle'''==
You stand on a balcony, gazing out over Capek Major. Teams of tireless robots are laboring in the streets below while the city’s flesh and blood inhabitants slumber, working to repair the damage caused by the street battles with Fabricatrix Vespasia’s minions.
 
 
Then your gaze travels upwards, and you stare into the star-studded heavens. Out there, across the void, is the Sian Empire – the home stolen from you by the Centurians. And there too is General Rahn, little suspecting the vengeance which prepares to fall upon him.
 
 
“So you can’t sleep either?”
 
 
The Princess appears by your side. Her hair flutters in the breeze, and you realize that you’re seeing it completely unbound for the first time, free of the tight styles she always wears in public. The thought fills you with a strange feeling of intimacy.
 
 
“They tried to convince me to watch the battle from one of their cruisers,” she says. “They think it’s insane for a princess to get mixed up in a boarding operation.”
 
 
You remain silent. She laughs.
 
 
“And you agree?” she asks.
 
 
“I think it’s… unwise,” you concede.
 
 
“I told them it would help inspire other Sian people fighting across the galaxy, when they learn their princess has run such risks on their behalf.”
 
 
She leans against the balcony rail. Her hair falls alongside her face, hiding her profile, concealing her expression.
 
 
“Perhaps…” you say.
 
 
“But maybe I just want the pleasure of defeating Rahn, of looking into his eyes at the very moment he knows he’s beaten.”
 
 
...
 
 
When you head to your ship the next day, you find a man in a mechanized suit waiting for you. Its blue surface is adorned with spinning cogs and gears, making him look like the inside of an archaic clock. So drawn is your eye to this whirling crime against both fashion and pragmatism that it takes you a moment to recognize the man as Grand Fabricator Marek.
 
 
“I wanted to catch you before you joined the fleet,” he says to the Princess, after an exchange of pleasantries. “If you’re determined to take part in the boarding mission, I wanted to present you with something to help ensure your safety.”
 
 
He claps his hands, and a slender robot emerges from behind a stack of crates. Its body is a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, its golden adornments shaped with a jeweler’s care into a distinctly Sian style. Threads of jade-colored energy run through channels across the metal, making it seem almost eldritch. A beautiful yet intimidating sword with a serrated blade is attached to one of its arms, the same green energy running along its length. The fingers on its other hand each end in a sharp claw.
 
 
“Lu Bu!” Princess Illaria exclaims.
 
 
The robot bows as gracefully as an aristocrat.
 
 
“I’m honored that Your Highness remembers me,” the robot says. Its voice is that of an eloquent, cultured man, one which wouldn’t be out of place at court. And the accent is most definitely of Sian origin.
 
 
“We built Lu Bu as a gift for the Sian Emperor,” the Grand Fabricator says, seeing your confusion. “The Princess helped us design him in the imperial style.”
 
 
“I thought the gesture would help improve things between TALOS and the empire,” she says. “But I couldn’t convince my father to accept him.”
 
 
“I am honored to have a chance to serve the imperial family after all,” says the robot.
 
 
The Princess walks with Grand Fabricator Marek to the shuttle that will take him to his cruiser, exchanging a final farewell. The rest of you move towards the entrance to your ship. But when you reach it, Lu Bu pauses.
 
 
“Excuse me, sir,” he says, addressing you.
 
 
“Yes?”
 
 
“This small child…” Lu Bu says, gesturing towards Telemachus. “…appears to be attempting to board the vessel.”
 
 
“Of course I’m getting on the ship,” says Telemachus. “I’m going to fight!”
 
 
“Sir, UHW Resolution 2985124, Sub-Section C, specifically prohibits the use of children, the mentally deficient, and monkeys in combat.”
 
 
“Well, that gives us three good reasons not to take him,” says Talia. Then she dodges, as Telemachus throws a kick at her shins.
 
 
“Not a bad law, far as laws go,” says Ragnar. “A damn monkey stole a job from me once. I killed him and ate him, but that still didn’t get me the money.”
 
 
“This entire mission is against UHW law,” you say. “We’re attacking a military cruiser without a formal declaration of war.”
 
 
“Understood,” says Lu Bu. “I shall calibrate my advice accordingly. Setting legal parameters to ‘scofflaw’.”
 
 
You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, so you just board the ship, the others following. A few minutes later the Princess joins you, and you fly to take your place in the armada.
 
 
==='''The Sian Empire Strikes Back'''===
The fleet navigators’ calculations are perfect. You emerge from hyperspace just in time to catch your prey between jumps. The Zenith lies ahead of you like a great insect, surrounded by its escort ships.
 
 
“The device is working,” says a voice over the communication channel. “Their ships aren’t making any transmissions.”
 
 
“Just them and us,” says Talia.
 
 
The TALOS ships waste no time. They hurtle into the fray, laser weapons flashing across the void. The Zenith’s escort vessels move to intercept them, and fighters begin to pour from its hangars.
 
 
Your thumb reaches for the button at the top of your control stick, as you prepare to pick off the approaching Centurian ships.
 
 
==='''Space Ace'''===
“What are you doing?” growls Ragnar, gazing in something like horror at what he sees through the window. It seems that being a passenger in a space battle, unable to attack or defend himself, disturbs the usually boisterous and cocksure Niflung.
 
 
“I’m flying the ship,” you reply. “And it’d be a lot easier without you leaning over my shoulder.”
 
 
“You’re getting too far from the others!” he says. “There are five ships coming right for us!”
 
 
“That is a lot…” mumbles Telemachus.
 
 
“If we engage them,” says Lu Bu, “I estimate our chances of survival as being no greater than 4.391%.”
 
 
“That’s because you don’t know what the captain is capable of,” says Princess Illaria. Her hand clasps your shoulder, and it’s as steady as a surgeon’s.
 
 
==='''No Escape'''===
At your side, Ragnar stares dumfounded as explosion after explosion fills the view. He gawps at the window, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s.
 
 
“Whoa…” gasps Telemachus.
 
 
“Calculations adjusted,” says Lu Bu. And somehow even the robot appears shocked. “I apologize for the error.”
 
 
Behind them Talia laughs. Then she points at something on one of the display screens.
 
 
“We have a runner,” she says.
 
 
She’s right. One of the fighters is heading away from the battle. If it’s a long-range ship, capable of entering hyperspace, it’ll be able to summon reinforcements. You have to chase it down…
 
 
==='''Clipping Its Wings'''===
“Nothing like hearing a ship explode,” says Talia, as the fleeing ship dies under your guns.
 
 
“Hearing?” says Telemachus. “There’s no sound in space. In space, no one can hear you scream. I think I read that in a schoolbook or something.”
 
 
“Aural implant,” you reply, as you turn the ship and head back towards the battle. “It interfaces with the brain, and provides sounds for the things you see out there.”
 
 
“Yeah,” says Talia. “They say pilots who spent a lot of time in space combat used to find the silence psychologically disturbing. But I think they just decided that explosions sound cool. Where’s the fun in blowing stuff up if you’re not going to hear it?”
 
 
As you scan the battle through both the window and the display readings, you see that the Centurian fighters are getting the worst of things. Many of them are already littering space as debris, and every second more explode. TALOS’ robot pilots possess deadly accuracy. But something on the scanner catches your eye…
 
 
“The Zenith,” says a voice over the communicator. It’s Grand Fabricator Marek. “They’re throwing their hyperspace engines into overdrive. They’re trying to make a jump!”
 
 
“That’s suicide,” says Talia. “They’ll tear themselves apart.”
 
 
“We need Rahn alive,” the Princess says.
 
 
“All unengaged ships, converge on the Zenith,” says the Grand Fabricator. “Cripple their engines.”
 
 
You swoop towards the cruiser, weapons blazing.
 
 
==='''Zenith's Defenses'''===
“They’re not going anywhere,” you say.
 
 
On one of the monitors is a three-dimensional image of the Zenith. A glowing section of the model represents its hyperspace engines. As you watch, the glow fades away. They’re inert, useless.
 
 
You soar above the cruiser, weaving through the webs of laser fire which race around you.
 
 
“There’s the hangar,” says Telemachus, jabbing a finger towards the window.
 
 
Enemy fighters continue to pour from a glowing slot on a raised part of the cruiser’s hull. The energy field which seals it ripples as each one emerges. A one-way polarity barrier, as anticipated. All the ships in your fleet have been equipped with a TALOS beam weapon, capable of reversing it – allowing your ships into the Zenith’s hangar. But to do that, a beam will have to be turned on the hanger entrance for several seconds. And below you the cruiser’s defense turrets are firing their crimson beams. As you watch, two TALOS ships are pierced by the lancing red lasers, and burst into flames that are quickly swallowed by the void – leaving only a scattering of ruined metal to mark their passing.
 
 
“Need to take out those ships and turrets,” you say.
 
 
.......................................
 
 
The sparking wreckage of destroyed turrets dots the cruiser’s surface, flaming wounds. From your ship, and from half a dozen other TALOS craft, luminescent beams zap through space, and strike against the energy field protecting the hangar’s entrance.
 
 
After a few seconds its color shifts, and a cheer comes across the communication system, from dozens of throats.
 
 
“The way is open,” says the Grand Fabricator. “Good luck.”
 
 
=='''Zenith(1)'''==
A fat transport ship descends towards the hangar entrance. Inside will be a squad of TALOS Battle Bots, ready to deploy and fight to secure your foothold on the cruiser. It passes through the barrier, the field rippling in its wake.
 
 
“Tel, get in your mech,” you say.
 
 
“Okay!”
 
 
The boy runs out of sight, and you hear the sounds of him scrambling into the cockpit.
 
 
On the scanner you see the last of small red blips disappearing, eradicated by the converging green dots. No survivors amongst the Centurian fighters and escort ships. Good.
 
 
You move into position, and make your approach. The energy barrier looms up before you, wobbling like the surface of an ocean. It washes over you, and through the window you can see the hangar.
 
 
Below you robots are battling against Centurian troopers, and laser fire blasts back and forth across the vast room.
 
 
“Looks like they need our help down there,” says Ragnar, brandishing his axe.
 
 
Your ship touches down, and there’s a shudder as the landing gear meets the metal beneath. You rise from the pilot’s seat, and turn to find yourself face to face with Illaria.
 
 
She smiles, and passes you your weapon. For a second it’s as if you’re back in your cell, and she’s handing you a laser rifle through the bars. The universe freezes around you. Then she moves off, and the moment is broken. You follow, leaping out into the laser-riddled warzone.
 
 
==='''Securing the Hanger'''===
Your mind drinks in the chaos around you, processes it, evaluates it. On one side Ragnar’s machinegun rattles Centurian death knells as it sprays bullets across the hangar. Telemachus is nearby, his chainsaw working its way through a screaming Centurian’s body as blood splatters across the armor of his mech. He’s making them pay in full measure for his father’s death.
 
 
On the other side Talia and the Princess are firing, carefully targeted shots dropping target after target. There are so many Centurians trying to pour through the doorways in a desperate attempt to recover control of the hangar, it would be a miracle if any shot didn’t find a target amongst their host. Lu Bu stands beside Princess Illaria like a sentinel, impaling a Centurian with a swift thrust of his sword when he strays too near.
 
 
To this pandemonium you add your fire. There are many dead, but many more still to join them.
 
 
==='''From All Sides'''===
The hangar is yours. There are damaged and destroyed robots strewn across the ground, but far more Centurian corpses. And more TALOS transports are coming through the rippling barrier, landing to deploy their troops.
 
 
Teams of battle bots are heading through the doorways, and spreading out into the ship. The Zenith is a customized cruiser built to Rahn’s own specifications, and its interior layout is unknown to you. The general will most likely be on the bridge. It’s just a matter of finding it…
 
 
You and your companions follow a group of robots down a corridor leading from the hangar. When it forks, they head one way and you the other.
 
 
You come into a circular room, the middle containing a ring of high terminals. There are multiple doors. A bad place to be caught…
 
 
“Look out!” yells Talia, underlining her words with a blast from each pistol.
 
 
Centurians are appearing at the doors, converging on the room, which must be a nexus point of some kind. Their red lasers fly from all directions.
 
 
You dart between the terminals in the middle of the room, pulling Princess Illaria after you. Ragnar and Talia do the same, making use of the cover. But Lu Bu and Telemachus each move to block one of the doorways, and put their blades to work.
 
 
You gesture to the others, assigning them angles of attack. Then you lean round a gap in the ring of terminals, and open fire.
 
 
==='''On The Zenith Did General Rahn...'''===
“Nice job, kid,” says Ragnar, looking at the corpses piled in the doorway in front of Telemachus. There’s genuine admiration in his voice.
 
 
A similar pile lies before Lu Bu, and you know that without the two of them braving enemy fire and holding their doors, you would have been overrun.
 
 
“When we get out of here,” you say, “I’ll buy you a new mech myself.”
 
 
“Okay,” the boy says, beaming with pride. “But these things are really expensive…”
 
 
“Hey, look at this,” Talia says. She’s indicating one of the terminals which managed to survive the firefight.
 
 
The screen shows a map of this part of the ship. And on it is a room marked ‘Gen. Priv. Quart.’
 
 
“It’s worth a try,” says the Princess. “If he’s not on the bridge, he might be there.”
 
 
The six of you take one of the corridors, and descend down a stairwell leading deeper into the ship – unwilling to trust the elevators on a hostile vessel. A few Centurians are in the corridor at the bottom, heading off in a different direction, no doubt to help fight off some of the battle bots elsewhere. With a few well placed shots from behind, you ensure that they’ll never make it there.
 
 
Proceeding along the corridor, you come to a large, ornate door.
 
 
“No guards out here,” says the Princess. “Rahn can’t be inside.”
 
 
“One way to find out,” growls Ragnar. He slams his body against the door, and it flies open – causing him to stagger into the room.
 
 
With a roll of her eyes, Talia slips in to support him, and the rest of you do the same. You rush in, weapons raised. Then you stop dead in your tracks.
 
 
“What the hell…” Talia says.
 
 
The room before you is lavishly decorated, like an emperor’s chambers. In the midst of this finery are six beautiful women, sitting, reclining, or standing around a plush couch. Some are clad in something approaching military attire, but others are wearing dresses. And they all seem completely at ease, lounging without a care, despite the fact that they’re on a starship which is under attack…
 
 
“This is how generals live?” asks Ragnar, leering like a hungry hound. “Knew I should have joined the army.”
 
 
As if the sound of his voice has woken her from a trance, one of the women turns to you, appearing to acknowledge your presence for the first time. But her body doesn’t move. Her head simply swivels to face you, in a way which seems far from natural.
 
 
“Unauthorized presence detected,” she says, in a pleasant voice. Her expression is blank, making her lovely face seem somehow unsettling, as if you’re looking at a mask. “Pleasure mode deactivated. Please leave.”
 
 
“These appear to be pleasure androids,” says Lu Bu. “They’re usually quite harmless.”
 
 
“Why would the Centurians have androids?” asks Telemachus. “They hate robots!”
 
 
“They’re not supposed to believe in art, luxury, or pleasure chambers either,” says the Princess. “Clearly General Rahn isn’t a true believer.”
 
 
“You have refused a request to leave,” the android says. Now the other ones are getting to their feet, each fixing you with the same blank stare. “Kill mode activated.”
 
 
“Kill mode?” asks Talia. “I thought you said they were harmless?”
 
 
“I applied the qualifier ‘usually’,” says Lu Bu.
 
 
You raise your weapon, as the robotic women attack.
 
 
==='''...A Robot Pleasure Dome Decree'''===
“For pleasure bots,” says Talia, firing at the nearest android, “these things are pretty tough.”
 
 
“They appear to double as bodyguard units,” says Lu Bu, as he runs one of the women through with his sword. Sparks fly from the back of her red dress as his blade emerges.
 
 
At the far side of the room the Princess ducks beneath an android’s kick, and knocks her other leg out from under her with a graceful sweep. But another android is leveling a laser pistol in Illaria’s direction…
 
 
You dart across the room, spring onto the overturned couch, and leap at her.
 
 
==='''Commander Rautha (Cybernetic Form)'''===
The pleasure chamber is in ruins, its once alluring denizens now broken and twisted lumps of metal and synthetic flesh.
 
 
“Hey,” says Ragnar, “maybe I should-”
 
 
“If you’re about to make some stupid joke about keeping a piece for long nights in space,” says Talia, “I’m going to shoot you in the face.”
 
 
Ragnar falls silent, and tosses aside a fragment of android.
 
 
“Rahn must be on the bridge after all,” says Princess Illaria. “We should keep moving.”
 
 
The six of you return to the corridor, and pick your way through deserted passages. Wherever the major fighting is happening, it’s not here. And your communicators aren’t working, adding to the eerie sense of isolation. It seems that the Centurians have returned the favor, and are blocking your signals inside the Zenith.
 
 
After descending a stairway which you believe will take you nearer to the bridge, you find yourself in a wide, lofty passageway. The lights have failed in this part of the corridor, plunging it into gloom. But one side is dominated by a large window, and the stars provide a soft light that seems almost soothing.
 
 
Then the tranquility is broken. Ahead of you, in the glaring glow of a still-lit part of the passage, a door slides open, and the sounds of combat pour into the corridor. They’re followed by a broken robot, which flies through a doorway and clatters on the ground, sparking pieces flying from its body. There’s the roar of an explosion, and metal chunks rain out into the corridor. One is still recognizable as a robot’s head.
 
 
A tall figure steps out into the passage, walking with an unnatural, mechanical gait. When you first glimpse him, you take him for another robot. Then he looks down the corridor, and you see a twisted, altered, but still familiar face…
 
 
“You!” he rasps, in a ruined voice that contains the echo of the arrogance it once held. “I knew I’d find you!”
 
 
He turns, and as he stands facing you in the light, you see what’s left of the Centurian commander you thought you’d killed in the hangar aboard the Child of Heaven. Clanking, whirring robotic parts have replaced much of his flesh, and one of his eyes blazes red.
 
 
“What happened to him?” asks Telemachus.
 
 
“I did,” you reply.
 
 
“Oh…”
 
 
The commander charges down the corridor, a pistol blazing in one hand, a glowing sword swinging in the other.
 
 
..................................
 
 
One of the commander’s robotic arms flies from his body, still clutching the sword. It hits the floor, and scrapes along it for several feet, sparking as it goes. He raises the pistol in his other hand, but a swing from Lu Bu’s sword causes it to fall along with his forearm.
 
 
“Damn you! Damn you!” he rasps, walking backwards with quick but uncoordinated, jerking steps, his eyes glaring at you like a serpent’s.
 
 
“This is just pathetic,” grunts Ragnar.
 
 
The Niflung runs at him, and the commander stumbles as he continues his absurd backpedalling. Before he can recover, Ragnar is on him, lifting him above his head by groin and throat. With a roar, he brings the commander down onto one of the spikes which line the open side of the stairwell. It seems a poor architectural choice, but it serves the purpose of mayhem rather well.
 
 
The commander screams as a spike pierces his breast, and the blood which erupts from the wound shows that it struck one of his few remaining natural organs. He spasms for a few seconds, then becomes still. His corpse slowly slides down the spike for a few inches, until its increasing thickness closer to the base stops him. Then he simply lies in the air, like a sculpture of a mythological scene of torment.
 
 
=='''Zenith(2)'''==
“Based on the shape of the ship,” says Lu Bu, as you pass the door the commander emerged from, “I believe the bridge should be in this direction.”
 
 
He gestures into the room.
 
 
“It’s as good a way as any,” says the Princess.
 
 
The six of you move through a series of small rooms, empty but for the occasional broken robot – their chasses marked with the commander’s pistol fire or sword strokes. At the end of this network of linked chambers is another wide corridor. One end is blocked by rubble and collapsed metal, where an explosion must have ripped through the ship’s structure.
 
 
“Looks like we won’t be going that way,” Talia says.
 
 
“No matter,” replies Lu Bu. “The bridge is more likely in the opposite direction.”
 
 
==='''Who Designed This Place?'''===
You walk down the corridor, the blocked section to your back, and come to a door at its far end. It slides open to reveal a large chamber with another door on the opposite side. A section of floor runs from one door to the other. And at either side, there appears to be a gap…
 
 
Talia walks over to the one of the edges, and gazes downwards.
 
 
“Huh. It’s a pit,” she says.
 
 
“A pit?” Telemachus asks.
 
 
“Yeah. Looks like it goes all the way down into one of the ship’s systems.”
 
 
“This ship design is in violation of UHW suggested safety standards,” says Lu Bu.
 
 
“I like pits,” Ragnar says. “They’re good for throwing people into. But still… Maybe a safety rail or something? This place is a deathtrap.”
 
 
“Just stay away from the edge,” says Princess Illaria.
 
 
The six of you walk down the bridge, marveling at the apparent architectural stupidity involved in this room’s construction. Then the door facing you opens, and you have other things to worry about.
 
 
“Centurians!” Telemachus yells.
 
 
A group of Centurian soldiers runs through the doorway, weapons blazing.
 
 
==='''Over The Edge'''===
There are screams all around you, as Centurians plunge to their doom – hurled or knocked from the bridge.
 
 
Ahead of you the Princess is fighting a trooper armed with a shock baton. He swings his weapon at her, and she ducks under the clumsy blow, slips to the side so his back is to the pit, and thrusts her boot at his chest. The Centurian topples, but as he falls he has the presence of mind to grab her leg…
 
 
She screams, as the two of them go over the edge together.
 
 
You dash towards the place where they vanished, ignoring the laser fire which skims past your cheek. You gaze down into the pit, your heart hammering in your chest as if it’s about to break free…
 
 
The Princess is there, clinging onto the bridge, her fingers straining to maintain their grip. There’s no sign of the Centurian. He’s fallen to whatever gristly doom now threatens to claim her.
 
 
You reach down, but as your hand nears hers she loses her grasp. Her eyes widen in horror as she falls.
 
 
You lunge after her into the chasm, reaching out towards her…
 
 
==='''Hammer and Anvil'''===
Your hand clasps hers, your fingers almost piercing her flesh with the intensity of your grip. And somehow she dangles there. You both dangle, rather than plunging to your deaths.
 
 
There’s a look of relief on Illaria’s face. She’s looking past you, at something above. And for the first time you notice the crushing tightness around your ankle. You hazard a glance upwards, reluctantly tearing your gaze from the Princess, and see Ragnar leaning over the edge of the bridge, his powerful hand around your boot.
 
 
Princess Illaria’s other hand comes up, and clutches at your arm. You double your grip on her, ignoring her wince of pain. Then Ragnar grunts, and yanks you into the air, dragging you onto the bridge with a heave of his enhanced muscles. Illaria comes up in your wake, and Talia drags her away from the edge.
 
 
“Heh.” Ragnar laughs, as he clenches and unclenches his hand. “Thought it was going to rip off.”
 
 
Then he picks up his discarded weapons, and charges to where Telemachus and Lu Bu are cutting down the last Centurians. Talia darts into the melee after him, and begins firing her pistols at pointblank range, where there’s no risk of hitting her allies. In a few seconds the Centurians lie dead.
 
 
You and the Princess rise to your feet, and your gazes meet. She opens her mouth, as if about to speak. Then there’s the sound of heavy gunfire from beyond the doorway, and she moves towards it.
 
 
“Come on,” she says. “We must be near the ship’s bridge…”
 
 
Beyond the door is a large atrium. On the other side Centurian soldiers are lined up, defending a doorway, firing their crimson lasers at the TALOS Battle Bots who are pouring in from a passage to the right.
 
 
Your weapons open up, raking the Centurian lines, forcing them to face an attack from two sides.
 
 
==='''Storming The Bridge'''===
The Centurians fight like demons, none of them giving ground. But the sheer weight of fire raining down on them proves too much. Soon there’s a mound of corpses in front of the door, to mark their futile last stand.
 
 
The battle bots surge towards the doorway, and turn their weapons on the sealed security door. After a few moments of concentrated fire, the metal gives way, and they rush into the bridge. You and your companions follow in their wake.
 
 
The bridge is huge, containing dozens of consoles and terminals. Men and women in the uniforms of Centurian Collective crew members crouch behind their stations, firing laser pistols. There are also soldiers behind some of the terminals, wearing armor and carrying heavier weapons – the bridge’s last real line of defense.
 
 
But your eye skims over these cannon fodder, and is instead drawn to a big, stocky figure standing atop a platform, outlined against the bright light from the doorway behind him. General Rahn.
 
 
Princess Illaria has seen him as well. She calls to you, and you begin to fight your way towards the Centurian general.
 
 
==='''General Rahn'''===
Rahn disappears through the doorway, fleeing the bridge where the last of his minions still fight their losing battle against the robots.
 
 
A blast of laser fire and a brutal charge take you to the stairs leading up to Rahn’s platform, leaving dead Centurians strewn behind you. You run up the stairs three at a time, the Princess keeping pace in her eagerness to get to the general.
 
 
Beyond the doorway stands Rahn, his back to an enormous window showing a vast tableau of space. Now that you’re closer, you notice that the weapon he’s holding is a design you’ve never seen before. It’s mounted on his arm, like a battle bot’s weapon.
 
 
You quickly glance around the room, searching for exits or other enemies. You see neither. Rahn is trapped. As your gaze sweeps the chamber, something catches the corner of your eye, some faint trace of movement. But when you look again, it’s gone. A trick of the light…
 
 
“Need more time!” yells Rahn.
 
 
What? Is he talking to you? But there’s no time to ponder that, as he opens fire.
 
..................................
 
 
Rahn screams as electricity surges and crackles along his weapon. It’s malfunctioning, perhaps damaged by one of your attacks. His right arm twitches, as if he’s trying to force it to move, but it seems locked in place by the armor’s failing systems.
 
 
You move in for the kill. Then something shimmers, in the corner of your eye…
 
 
A huge weight smashes against you, hurling you backwards. As you crash to the floor in a heap, you look up to see Talia darting aside from something. You try to focus on the air in front of her, and again detect a faint shimmer. She fires both her laser pistols, and the beams spark against what looks like empty air…
 
 
Then the air seems to peel away, and you recognize the crackling of a stealth system failing in response to the energy discharge from Talia’s weapons. A big reptilian shape emerges, as if pulling itself into existence through a hole in the universe.
 
 
Rahn is behind the hulking alien, a glowing object in his hand.
 
 
“Leave!” roars the alien, over his shoulder. His voice is bestial, demonic, like grinding bones.
 
 
“I can’t!” yells Rahn. “It’s not charged yet, and the coordinates got-”
 
 
The alien bellows in rage, like one of the monsters you fought in the jungles of Capek.
 
 
“Fool!”
 
 
He glares at you and your companions with savage eyes. Then he raises a huge gun mounted on the end of his left arm, and opens fire.
 
 
...........................
 
 
The wounded alien screeches in anger and pain, dozens of wounds scarring his hard, reptilian flesh.
 
 
“I’ve almost got it!” yells Rahn.
 
 
He’s still clutching the glowing object. His thumb is darting across its surface, and it looks as if he’s struggling to operate whatever it is with one hand, whilst his other lies useless, trapped inside his broken weapon.
 
 
Whatever that thing is, you know you can’t let him use it…
 
 
You make for Rahn. But the alien is faster, so quick for his size. He ploughs into you, his bulk smashing you to the ground. You feel your ribs crack, and your breath comes in painful gasps. Then he lays into your companions with big, sweeping blows, keeping them back from the general.
 
 
But Illaria manages to dive under his flailing arm. She runs past him, and leaps at Rahn – reaching for the object he grasps.
 
 
The alien turns to stop her, but your companions hurl themselves at him. Ragnar leaps through the air, and buries his Niflung axe in the creature’s side before being knocked away. Telemachus drives his laser-edged chainsaw into the reptilian hide, before a furious blow sends the mech crashing to the ground. Lu Bu’s sword slashes across the back of the alien’s knee, and he falls with another great screech. Before he can rise, Talia jumps onto his back, firing her weapons into either side of his neck at pointblank range. Ragnar and Telemachus plough back into the fray to support her.
 
 
But all this simply registers on your trained mind out of instinct. Your eyes are on the Princess, and Rahn. They’re struggling over the strange object, the general trying to fend her off with one hand.
 
 
You rise, blood spluttering from your mouth as you cough. Have to help her…
 
 
You stagger towards them, ignoring the alien that screams to your left, as his body begins to succumb to your companions’ attacks. The light in Rahn’s hand is bright now, shining like a sun.
 
 
Illaria grabs hold of the object, trying to wrestle it from him, and the light seems to flow around the two of them.
 
 
You quicken your pace, your broken body protesting with every step. You’re close… so close…
 
 
The light is a blaze, hiding Rahn and the Princess from sight. You can only see their outlines, amongst the burning whiteness.
 
 
You lunge at the light… And fall to the floor, pain wracking your body.
 
 
You roll onto your back, confused, disorientated. You look up, and the light is still there… You still have time… It’s… But then you blink, and you understand. You’re seeing the afterimage seared into your retinas. As you blink again it shifts, and you know there’s… nothing. The light is gone. Rahn is gone. She’s gone.
 
 
='''The Search For The Princess'''=
The breeze whispers, sending ribbons of cloud scurrying across the soft blue sky. The surface of the lake, almost a perfect mirror of the heavens in shade and hue, trembles as it catches the words from the air, and passes them along its waters. They play against the side of the little boat, a wet, fluttering caress. The message reaches the Sian cherry blossoms on the distant banks. Their adornments, a resplendent riot of purple, blue, turquoise, and jade, quiver as they gossip over what they’ve heard.
 
 
Your gaze rests on the chattering blossoms, the finery of trees that exist only here in all the impossible vastness of the galaxy. Glories created for the imperial gardens, their beauty a secret kept from all but the Emperor’s family and those honored enough to be invited to share in their wonders.
 
 
The breeze shifts, twirling like a dancer. The lake murmurs in disapproval at this sudden and unseemly gyration, its waters undulating in quiet outrage. The trees lean in close to each other, the bright blossoms upon their heads mingling in clashing waves of color. It’s as though they’re coming together in silent congress, plotting the upstart breeze’s murder for the shocking breach of decorum. But overhead the clouds show no sign of joining in the general vexation. They’re enjoying the dance, sharing in its steps, twisting and turning into new shapes.
 
 
“What do you see?” she asks.
 
 
“Two dragons,” you reply, after a moment’s contemplation, “their bodies intertwined.”
 
 
“No…”
 
 
Your gaze drifts downwards, meeting hers as it too descends from the heavens. She leans back against the plush cushions at the prow and smiles, the slight movement of her lips completing her beauty like the final stroke of an artist’s brush.
 
 
“…it’s something else.”
 
 
“What?”
 
 
“Lean in close, and I’ll tell you.”
 
 
Her eyes sparkle with the promise of cosmic knowledge, something she wishes to divulge to you alone. You stand up, eager to share in whatever eldritch secret she possesses. But your legs tremble, groaning as though under some immense weight that they cannot hope to master. Their muscles are weak, drained of all the strength they possessed only a moment ago. You fall onto your hands and knees, the floor of the boat filling your vision.
 
 
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
 
 
You open your mouth to reply, but no words find their way to your tongue. Only a meaningless mumble comes out.
 
 
You muster up all the energy you possess, willing your limbs to work, to lift you, to take you to her. And you rise. Her face flashes into your gaze, and you have a second to absorb the sorrow that mars her features. Then the boat rocks beneath you. You totter, desperately trying to keep your balance, though somehow you know it’s futile. You plunge over the side, and the water reaches out for you.
 
 
It’s all around you, grabbing hold of you, enveloping you. You try to thrash, to kick, to claw your way free. But your limbs are powerless, their movements stifled by the viscous liquid that surrounds them. Above you the bottom of the boat, framed by a burning halo of incandescent light, is growing smaller. You’re being dragged down into the depths, and there’s no escape.
 
 
No… This isn’t right… You’re not on Sian. This can’t… Your eyelids tremble. Of course… Not real. A dream. If you can just wake up…
 
 
Your eyelids are heavy. You struggle to lift them, to open them, to dispel this dream and return to whatever lies beyond. It’s a herculean task, a labor worthy of an ancient epic. But somehow you force them open a sliver, and…
 
 
There’s water all around you. You’re still drowning.
 
 
Your limbs try to thrash, but the viscous fluid encases them, throwing each movement into agonizing slow-motion. Your eyes sting, their vision blurry – smothered with green, punctured by flashes of brightness.
 
 
As your swimming senses start to realign themselves, you realize that there’s no water in your nose and mouth. There’s something else there instead… a respirator. There’s a strange sensation around your torso, weird but somehow familiar. It’s the tingling of flesh and bone being repaired at a rate nature never intended for the human body.
 
 
“The captain’s awake!”
 
 
Talia’s voice. It’s wobbly and distorted, but you’d recognize it anywhere. It cuts through all the confusion like a blast from one of her pistols.
 
 
The images before you slowly come into focus, assembling themselves into distinct shapes. Faces appear beyond a wall of glass, vaguely recognizable yet rendered alien by the green liquid that engulfs you. But one face is missing. Reality, bitter and brutal, rushes back into your consciousness.
 
 
...
 
 
For the first moment the voices are unnatural, mutated by their passage through the liquid. But then your aural implant begins to compensate. There’s a weird echoing effect as the artificially generated sound is superimposed on the natural one, but you hear their words rendered with perfect clarity.
 
 
You begin to speak, ignoring the twinges of discomfort from your chest that accompany each word, and hear your own voice reverberating back through the tank. There must be a microphone in the breathing apparatus on your face. Questions fly from your lips. You have to know…
 
 
Information is hurled at you in a barrage, your companions sometimes taking turns and at other times issuing a collective babble. It’s like listening to a chorus. They all know how desperate you are to learn what’s happened, and each of them wants to fill you in. Even when a woman in a medic’s uniform appears, and demands that her patient be left to heal in peace, they continue. Only Ragnar stops, just long enough to glare at the doctor and send her running from the room in mortal terror.
 
 
An emergency teleportation device. You’d heard of such things, though you’d never seen one used before. Alien technology. A gift from the Centurians’ allies. Talia manages a faint smile when she passes on what she’s heard from your TALOS allies. The devices have safety mechanisms. They’re designed to whisk people away to habitable worlds, not fling them wildly into the void. That means she’s out there somewhere, she and Rahn. That means there’s still a chance.
 
 
You try to struggle free, and yell in frustration. You should be out there, helping to find her. But they tell you that Wilex and his colleagues are trying to trace the energy signature created by the device. Until they learn more, there’s nothing you can do.
 
 
You force yourself to listen to everything else your friends have to tell you. It seems dull, meaningless in comparison. But to neglect your duty to the Sian Empire is to betray her. The fate of the war is dearer to Princess Illaria than her own life, and you cannot ignore it.
 
 
The Besalaad. They’re the power behind the Centurians – their machinations dragged from the shadows and hurled into the glaring light now that one of their number lies dead, having sacrificed himself to protect Rahn. You didn’t recognize the alien by sight in the frantic battle aboard the Zenith, but their name is known to you. As soon as you hear it, you understand the true threat the Sian Empire faces.
 
 
Over centuries that warlike race has carved out a vast dominion in their distant corner of the galaxy, conquering many other species and bringing them into their empire. In battle they can seem like animals, brutish and powerful. The tingling of your regenerating flesh is a testament to that. But they are advanced, intelligent beings – capable strategists and imperialists. It isn’t their way to destroy all before them, in the mindless genocides employed by the universe’s more savage inhabitants. Instead they subjugate, with force or threats, and over generations eradicate all traces of a conquered people’s culture – until their own ways are embraced instead. Through such means their empire has endured and expanded.
 
 
Until now the Besalaad have had little to do with mankind, their territory being so far away. But it seems that they’ve formed some kind of alliance with the Centurian Collective, and there can be no doubt of their ultimate goal: the annexation of human space. The aliens have made such arrangements in the past, a convenient means to subdue and rule by proxy. As for the Centurians, they’ve long called for the obliteration of Earth’s cultural trappings, for mankind to abandon its roots and enter into the future unencumbered by what they call the divisive snares of history. What better way to ensure that than to dominate the rest of humanity as the vassals of the Besalaad?
 
 
“TALOS’ diplomats are currently presenting our findings before the UHW Assembly,” Lu Bu tells you.
 
 
You give a slow nod, the movement stifled by the liquid. If anything can galvanize the other factions of mankind against the Centurians, this is it.
 
 
You discuss the possible results of this action with your companions, the potential political stances the various powers might adopt, and the maneuvers which could take place. All of you appear to welcome the distraction, as inadequate as it may be. And so the five of you talk, you suspended in the tank of green fluid, Talia, Ragnar, and Telemachus sprawled on the floor in front of it. Lu Bu remains standing as though at a military inspection, his robot body immune to needs of comfort.
 
 
Then a beeping sound fills the chamber, cutting you off in mid-discourse. Telemachus runs over to a terminal, and reaches for one of the buttons. A man’s face fills a holographic screen on the wall. After a moment you realize that it’s Chief Assembler Wilex.
 
 
“We’ve traced the energy signature,” he says. “We know where the Princess went.”
 
 
=='''Drekchester(1)'''==
The planet glitters like a gaudy ornament though the flight cabin’s window, a discarded bauble that refuses to lie quiet upon its black mantle. Myriads of tiny lights conspire to pepper the landmass, glowing eyes of the sprawling metropolis that has devoured every inch of it like a creeping contagion. Drekchester. The city that consumed a continent, and still wasn’t satisfied until it had eaten the very identity of the entire planet. Now no one calls the world by its official name. It’s simply “Drekchester”.
 
 
She’s down there somewhere, on this cesspool of a planet. One soul amongst billions, a single diamond submerged in an ocean of sludge.
 
 
Drekchester has a government of sorts. But though its politicians rival those of other planets in corruption and inefficiency, they will be of little use to you. This isn’t some orderly, disciplined world like Sian, where a diplomatic visit would settle the matter in short order. The place is carved up into territories under the dominion of criminal barons. It is they who see and hear whatever happens in their little corners of the galaxy, and it is to them that you will have to go if you are to have any hope of success.
 
 
“We’ll find her,” says Talia, as if reading your thoughts.
 
 
“Even if we have to tear the whole planet apart,” adds Telemachus.
 
 
“I’ll crack heads until people talk or their brains end up on my boots,” growls Ragnar. There’s a dull thud as he slams his fist against a bulkhead.
 
 
“I too will employ whatever violence is justified,” says Lu Bu.
 
 
You feel the faintest of smiles flicker across your lips. Your companions are as determined as you are, even those who have only known the Princess for such a short time. That’s the loyalty she instills on those who follow her, those blessed to experience her magnetism, to be swept along by the force of her personality. The Niflung mercenary even refused payment, telling you that this one was for her.
 
 
Illaria’s absence is like a tear in reality, a void in the midst of your little group. But at the same time, she’s still binding you all together.
 
 
There’s a bleeping noise, and you turn to one of the monitors. Your ribs give a faint twinge of protest in response to the movement, as though complaining at being removed from the healing tank too soon. At the touch of a button, Wilex appears on the screen.
 
 
“My ship is in position,” he says. “Just outside of the system. If you need us, we’ll do what we can – short of starting a war.”
 
 
Ragnar grunts, as though that qualifier displeases him. But the Chief Assembler is right to be cautious. The Contella Consortium controls this system, and they have a longstanding grudge against TALOS. Any show of force from your allies would only make your task that much more difficult. Better to keep them at a safe distance, unless the situation proves dire.
 
 
You thank Wilex, and descend into the neon skies of Drekchester.
 
 
...
 
 
“This place is amazing!” says Telemachus.
 
 
He gazes around as you halt in a street near the spaceport, beside a public information terminal that Lu Bu is attempting to interface with – the robot wearing mechanical hands at the ends of his wrists instead of his customary weapon attachments. The boy gawps at the sights of this city that’s so very different from anything on his native Gallea, his eyes wide as if straining to absorb everything before him.
 
 
You’ve seen far more of the galaxy than the young prince, but even you find your senses hard-pressed to withstand the assault. You find yourself in a world of flashing lights, where garish signs blink, burn, and flicker in every tasteless color visible to the human eye, shrieking the names of businesses and products like electric banshees. Music blares from a dozen different places, an unholy cacophony of clashing instruments and incomprehensible lyrics – rage, misery, elation, and a scattering of other emotions warring in your ears. Denizens throng the streets, bustling along or loitering in packs like wolves in search of prey or sheep fearful of straying from the safety of their flocks. They wear a thousand different styles and fashions, a parade of everything from the elegant to the grotesque.
 
 
“Kid,” Ragnar says, turning to Telemachus, “if you were alone you’d have been robbed, killed, and served in a carton by now. Don’t let the bright lights and stupid hairstyles fool you…” Several passersby scowl at the Niflung’s assessment of their appearances. “Drop your guard and this place will cut your throat and violate your corpse.”
 
 
“Oh…” The boy gazes around him, his expression shifting as he begins to see the lurking threats where before he saw only strange wonders. “Maybe you should have let me bring my mech.”
 
 
“We don’t want to attract more attention than we have to,” you reply.
 
 
“Ha! If we wanted to we could walk down the street shooting these people in the head…” Ragnar says, not bothering to lower his voice, as he indicates a nearby group of assorted citizens with a casual sweep of his arm. “…and no one would care. This is Drekchester.”
 
 
Some of the people in question scurry away. Others simply glare at the Niflung. A few look like they’re attempting to construct shadow puppets with their hands, though you suspect that they’re actually flashing gang signs by way of a threat or warning.
 
 
“Lu Bu, do you have what you need?” you ask, keen to move on before Ragnar’s lack of tact ends up starting a street brawl.
 
 
“Just a few more moments. The local systems appear to have been designed not to interface with TALOS technology. I have to access each piece of data separately and commit it to memory through vision.”
 
 
You continue to stand near the terminal, Lu Bu glowing with reflected light from the screen, the other four of you casting wary glances at your surroundings. When a man with a tattooed face staggers towards you, four pairs of eyes turn to regard him, and three hands surreptitiously reach for weapons. Ragnar just clenches a fist instead.
 
 
If the man notices your scrutiny, or your defensive preparations, he ignores them. He comes to a swaying stop in front of Talia, his bloodshot eyes fixed on her. Now that he’s closer you see that the network of purple lines on his face aren’t tattoos, or paint. They’re throbbing as though alive, in some places bulging like pustules. Most likely a side effect of whatever recreational chemicals have blasted his senses.
 
 
“How…” he begins. Then he pauses, his face twisting in perplexity. He gropes at the air with a gloved hand, as if trying to snatch elusive, half-forgotten words from the ether. “…how much?”
 
 
“How much?” echoes Telemachus, sounding just as confused as the man.
 
 
There’s a moment of collective befuddlement. Then you realize that he’s mistaken the gun-slinging pilot for a prostitute. Ragnar gives a bellowing laugh as her face takes on an expression of cold rage. But you manage to stifle your own laughter. You’ve seen that look before. The other soldiers and pilots who served alongside Talia came to refer to it as ‘impending doom’. And when it was directed at them, they knew it was time to get out of the way.
 
 
But the man continues to stare at her, waiting for his answer. If his drug-addled mind even registers her anger, he pays it no heed. His answer comes in the form of a pistol butt crashing against his temple. He collapses like a marionette with its strings cut, his limbs simply crumpling as if all the strength has left them in the space of a second.
 
 
“I have the information we require,” says Lu Bu, turning from the terminal. “The maps Wilex had access to were outdated, but I’ve stored the versions contained within the terminal in my memory banks.”
 
 
The five of you move away, leaving the man on his hands and knees – vomiting purple goo.
 
 
...
 
 
Lu Bu leads you through the streets of the sprawling city, and the rest of you are glad to follow his in-built navigation system rather than fumbling with datapads like lost tourists. His mechanical mind now contains an accurate map of the city, along with all the available information Wilex was able to provide about Drekchester’s kingpins and information brokers.
 
 
They seem easy enough to track down. You find the first three holding court in their neon and metal palaces, like lords awaiting tribute from peasants who have come in search of a boon, or fat spiders in the middle of vast webs. Credits change hands in each place, and inquiries are made. Asking questions costs money in Drekchester, even if you don’t end up with any answers. You learn nothing of value, and are left to roam the streets once more.
 
 
You find yourself passing through a bustling marketplace as Lu Bu takes you towards your next destination. Around you are stalls containing all manner of products, many of which defy identification at first glance. Some are littered with weapons, from jagged blades to monstrous blasters with immense barrels. Others offer local culinary delights, including mutated rats with tentacle-like appendages, appetizingly impaled on skewers or strewn atop piles of writhing noodles.
 
 
Your glance wanders from stall to stall in a casual fashion, taking in your surroundings and assessing the people around you as you’ve been trained to do. You see many curious things, though little of real interest. Then you stop moving, as something catches your eye.
 
 
“What is it?” Talia asks, she and the others coming to a halt as well.
 
 
“Over there.”
 
 
The others follow your gaze, which has fastened on a broad-shouldered woman in a thick blue jacket and helmet. She’s standing in front of a stall which sells protective clothing, an object clutched in her hands, making violent gestures as though she’s arguing with the merchant. Her words are inaudible, muffled by the noises of dozens of other shoppers and vendors. But the merchant’s lips are in full view, and your aural implant provides the sound to his words, in the accent which your subconscious imbues him with.
 
 
“Is junk! You think I buy junk? You stupid! Get off my stall!”
 
 
The words only register in passing, however. Your focus is on the thing she’s holding. It’s General Rahn’s faceplate.
 
 
Whether it’s by chance, some extrasensory ability, or because her instincts have been honed by life in the neon jungle, the woman turns her head with a sharp jerk, and casts a furtive glance straight at you. Her body shifts as she registers the five people staring at her. You break into a run only a fraction of a second after she does.
 
 
In spite of your eagerness to grab her, to find out what she knows about Rahn and the Princess, you turn round as you move – about to yell for one of the others to stay with Telemachus. If he were left behind here, there’s no telling what might happen to him. But even as you’re opening your lips, Ragnar lifts the boy off the ground, ignoring his yelp of protest. He charges after you with Telemachus under one arm, like a thugby player carrying the ball, scattering the men and women he barges into.
 
 
You look forward once more, catching sight of your prey’s blue jacket and helmet as they slip through the crowd.
 
 
===''Grand Theft Auto'''===
You weave through the gaps in the throng of people where you can, and barge straight through them where you can’t. Some leap out of your way, and others are sent spinning. A thousand swearwords and insults rain down upon you, and even a few punches. You just bat them aside, or ignore them as they thud against your body. You can’t let the woman get away.
 
 
The crowd clears ahead of you as the rows of market stalls end, giving way to a broad street. The woman looks over her shoulder as you emerge from the press of people, and puts on a frantic burst of speed.
 
 
Then she swerves, and you spit out a curse as you see what she’s doing.
 
 
Across the road is a bar, with rows of motorcycles beneath its blazing sign. Groups of bikers are gathered round them in small packs. Some are in the street atop their vehicles, preparing to ride.
 
 
You run for all your worth, but you’re too far behind. She leaps at one of the bikers, lunging out with a flying kick that catches him in the side of his head and sends him tumbling across the ground. The same deft movement lands her in the seat. The engine roars as she hurtles down the road on her stolen bike, leaving the biker and his friends yelling in anger.
 
 
You’ll never catch her on foot. You run for one of the other bikers.
 
 
==='''Road Rage'''===
Ragnar, Talia, and Lu Bu are still brawling with the bikers, trading blows with those who aren’t already groaning on the ground, keeping them off you. By unspoken consent, none of your companions is using the lethal weapons at their disposal. Even Ragnar seems willing to refrain from slaughtering people who are understandably angry at having their vehicles stolen before their very eyes.
 
 
You get on the bike you procured, and reach for the throttle.
 
 
“Hey! Wait for me!”
 
 
Telemachus ducks under your arm, and climbs up in front of you. Then you’re off, zooming down the road after your target.
 
 
The lights of the city flash by in long streams of color, like lasers searing through the air. The road hurtles by, a rushing black river.
 
 
It’s been years since you’ve ridden a motorcycle. But as the woman and her bike grow larger and larger in front, you know that you’re a better rider than her. With a skilled pilot’s reflexes and nerve, the balance of someone trained to deal with disrupted gravity and ships rocking beneath the impact of explosions, you can push your vehicle to the limit.
 
 
But the arrogant smirk falls from your face as something lashes against your shoulder, causing you to grit your teeth at the sudden burst of pain.
 
 
Another bike pulls alongside you, its rider swinging a slender chain around his head as he prepares to deliver another blow. It seems the bikers aren’t going to let your theft go unpunished.
 
 
“Tel, help steer!”
 
 
You move one of your hands from the handlebars, the bike lurching as Telemachus grabs hold of it, and raise it to defend yourself.
 
 
==='''Dangerous Driving'''===
The biker yanks at the chain, either trying to free it from where it’s wrapped around your arm, or intending to drag you from the bike. Your hand closes around the metal links, seizing them in a death grip, and you yank in turn – hoping to deprive him of the weapon.
 
 
The bikes swerve back and forth as the two of you struggle, seeming as if they’ll crash at any moment but somehow returning to stability each time.
 
 
Your bike wobbles like a drunkard, and you see Telemachus reaching for something – leaving only one of his hands on the handlebar. The other hand reappears a moment later, clutching a small laser pistol.
 
 
He levels the weapon, pauses for a moment as he takes aim, and fires.
 
 
The beam lances your enemy’s dashboard, bringing forth a flurry of sparks. A second shot hits the handlebars, and a third. The biker hurls his end of the chain aside as his bike veers out of control, needing both hands to avoid a collision.
 
 
You shake the chain free from your arm, letting it fall into the rushing road, and take control of the vehicle once more.
 
 
The woman has gained ground, thanks to the biker slowing you down. But she’s still in sight, riding across an empty intersection. Then you notice the lights, and grimace. They’re changing. That means…
 
 
Sure enough, traffic begins to hurtle along the perpendicular road, a stream of vehicles hiding your quarry from sight.
 
 
“We won’t make it!” Telemachus screams. “Too many cars! Too many cars!”
 
 
But if you stop, she’ll get away. So you accelerate, your eyes darting left and right as you scan for gaps in the moving wall of multicolored death.
 
 
==='''Death Race'''===
“Open your eyes, Tel.”
 
 
The boy’s eyes flick open, and he looks in front of him with unconcealed surprise, as if he can’t believe you’re both still alive. He laughs, a manic, boyish laugh. What a childhood…
 
 
The road ahead of you is empty. There’s just you and the woman, as if it were built for no other purpose than for the two of you to race along.
 
 
You draw closer to her, and sense her frustration as she looks over her shoulder and sees you approaching. You both know she has no chance in a straight race.
 
 
She reaches a hand into her jacket, the bike rocking to and fro beneath her, and pulls out a laser pistol. You lean as low as you can, Telemachus doing the same, as she opens fire.
 
 
==='''Nathaniel Vorden'''===
Somehow the woman manages to avoid crashing, or toppling into the street as her bike jerks from side to side. You dodge the last of her clumsy shots, and she lets the pistol drop from her hand as she focuses on steering once more.
 
 
There are buildings on either side of you now, bright lights that seem to encage you. People are thronging the sidewalks, and there are other vehicles zipping across the road. But she’s slowing down, instead of making use of the extra cover, or trying to dart down a side street.
 
 
She comes to a stop a short way ahead, in front of a building with a long line of people massed outside it. A club of some kind.
 
 
The woman leaps off her bike, and yells something to the two burly security guards outside the door. Then she runs inside, to yells of annoyance from the people at the front of the queue. The two bouncers look in your direction, and crack their knuckles in anticipation.
 
 
You glance down the road behind you, and see Talia in the distance.
 
 
“Wait for the others, and come in after me,” you say. “If anyone gets near you, shoot them.”
 
 
“Got it.” Telemachus nods, and draws his pistol.
 
 
You walk over to the waiting bouncers, taking their measure. They’re big. But there’s a layer of flab around each of their midriffs that makes you suspect that they’re out of training. From the look of the queuing clientele, this is a respectable place – by Drekchester standards. They probably spend most of their time ejecting tottering drunks, not brawling with serious fighters…
 
 
They don’t even try to talk. The moment you step into their range, one throws a cross at you. Catching it on the point of your elbow and injuring his fist is child’s play. A knee to the groin finishes the job, and leaves him moaning on the ground. Pathetic.
 
 
The other one is just as bad. If he knew what he was doing, he would have been on you while you were fighting the first guy, instead of standing there looking dumb. But at last he steps into range, too late to do any good. He raises his leg for a kick, and you intercept his rising shin with a stomp. You don’t even bother putting your leg back down. A simple upwards thrust to the jaw with the same foot is enough to send him collapsing into the queuing club-goers, who send him to the ground with a collective, unceremonious shove.
 
 
You pass through the doorway, ready for an ambush. But if there are other security guards, they aren’t here yet.
 
 
The inside of the club is surprisingly tasteful and subdued. You expected a riot of neon and bright lights, like the street outside. But instead you find yourself surrounded by soft blues and whites, and hearing music which actually sounds intelligible. An upmarket place. That probably means…
 
 
You give a slight nod as you catch sight of the woman you’ve been pursuing. She’s at the far end of the club, talking to an elegant if outlandish figure wearing a top hat and leather coat. His outfit and long moustache seem familiar. If you’re not mistaken, she’s led you right to her boss – one of the people on the list Wilex showed you. You cast your mind back, and a name rises to the surface of your thoughts: Nathaniel Vorden. Yes, that was his name.
 
 
Vorden glances at you, and nods his head in a small bow. Then he turns to his right and makes a flourishing gesture with the glowing cane in his hand. You look in that direction, and see half a dozen more bouncers emerge from a doorway, clutching neuro-shock batons. Vorden returns his gaze to you, and twirls the end of his moustache in satisfaction for one brief moment. Then his hand falls to his side, and he seems taken aback. He’s not looking at you now. He’s looking behind you.
 
 
“We miss anything?” Ragnar appears at your shoulder, closely followed by the others.
 
 
“Nothing important.”
 
 
Nathaniel Vorden takes his hat off, and this time gives a low, sweeping bow. Then he turns, and heads towards a door in the far wall.
 
 
“Talia, Tel, with me,” you say, already moving after him. “Ragnar, Lu Bu, deal with the security. Let them live.”
 
 
The robot and the Niflung charge towards the bouncers and intercept them, as the three of you head out of the back door after Vorden.
 
 
You find yourself in an alleyway, facing a tall, graffiti and poster covered wall. You look to you left, then to your right. There’s no sign of him. It’s a long alley. He should still be in sight, unless he went into another building or…
 
 
You and Talia leap in opposite directions, the same thought occurring to you both. She’s closer to Telemachus, and pulls him along after her. A fraction of a second later, a blast of pink energy strikes the ground where you were standing.
 
 
All three of you whirl round, and raise your weapons towards a ledge – where Nathaniel Vorden is crouching, his glowing staff in one hand, a strange ripple around the other.
 
 
..........................................
 
 
Vorden lies sprawled on the pile of trash that broke his fall from the ledge, somehow still managing to look the very picture of deportment as he reclines upon the refuse. Lu Bu and Ragnar emerge from the doorway behind you, and the Niflung strides towards his supine form as if in the mood to inflict more violence. But you wave him back.
 
 
“Nathaniel Vorden,” your vanquished foe says, in a cultured accent that has a slight twang to it. “Terribly pleased to make your acquaintance.”
 
 
“So pleased you set your guards on me and ran off?”
 
 
“From what my lowly and frankly idiotic minion told me, you seemed… dangerous. I never meet a dangerous stranger on their own terms.”
 
 
He gets to his feet, wincing in pain, and begins to brush the dirt from his coat.
 
 
“Now, I suppose you didn’t come here simply for the pleasure of causing me physical harm,” he drawls.
 
 
“We saw your ‘minion’ in a marketplace, trying to sell a piece of armor. That armor came from General Rahn of the Centurian Collective, and I want to know how she got it.”
 
 
“Funny…” Vorden glances around at your group. “You don’t seem awfully much like agents of the Collective. If you’re here to avenge that dead general…”
 
 
You grab him by the lapels of his coat, and shove him back against the wall.
 
 
“I don’t care if they killed Rahn, ate his kidneys, and stuck his head on a spike. What about her? The Princess?”
 
 
“Ah, of course… Well, I can assure you that she’s still very much alive. So, there’s no need for any murderous violence.”
 
 
You release him, and step back – your relief over what he’s told you quelling your urge to destroy him.
 
 
“Where is she?”
 
 
“The Blood Alley Gang took her. She and the general appeared right on the edge of their territory and my own humble dominion. My minions killed the general when he proved… less than cooperative. They were going to… aid the lady… when the Blood Alley vermin showed up. They claimed her, and I’m afraid they had superior numbers on their side. Of course, if I had known at the time how valuable… I mean, who that lovely lady was, I would have commanded my minions to fight for her. But by the time I found out, it was too late. A little border scuffle is one thing, but invading Blood Alley territory? Far too costly for my liking. Now those miscreants are trying to sell her to anyone willing and able to pay the exorbitant price they’re asking.”
 
 
Lu Bu steps forward as Vorden finishes.
 
 
“Based on voice stress patterns, and other indicators, he appears to have spoken the truth,” he says.
 
 
“Then he gets to live,” you reply.
 
 
“So delighted to hear it,” says Vorden. He stoops low, and picks up his top hat. After brushing it a few times, he places it on his head. “Now, I suppose you’ll want directions to the Blood Alley Gang’s base?”
 
 
=='''Drekchester(2)'''==
You ride back to the spaceport on your stolen bikes. When you emerge from the ship again, you’re dressed for battle. Telemachus is in his mech, Lu Bu has his sword and claw attached to his arms, and the rest of you are armed to the teeth. If the Blood Alley Gang is interested in making a deal, so much the better. TALOS would be willing to provide whatever ransom is needed for the Princess, and the Emperor to pay it back tenfold once the Sian Empire is liberated. But you can’t trust a Drekchester street gang to deal with you in good faith. You have to be prepared for violence.
 
 
The Blood Alley Gang’s territory is easy enough to find from the information Vorden provided. You end up in a dingy part of the city, a collection of rundown slums and industrial buildings pressed together like tottering drunkards trying to hold each other up. The neon-painted streets you’ve been through elsewhere in Drekchester seem like a realm of merriment and glorious opulence in comparison.
 
 
Throughout the back alleys that thread the place, groups of miserable looking people cluster around burning fuel canisters. Many of them bear obvious signs of chem-addiction, their flesh discolored or blotched, the whites of their eyes altered into unnatural hues. Some dart about the place like rodents, in short bursts of furtive speed, though it doesn’t seem like they’re going anywhere in particular. Others simply stare into their fires, as though reading the inevitable bleakness of their futures there.
 
 
The addicts and assorted street scum you saw earlier seemed amusing. But there’s nothing funny here. It’s amazing how much more depressing this world is when you strip away its mask of bright lights.
 
 
==='''Back Alley Diplomacy'''===
Vorden’s directions bring you to a vacant lot, surrounded on all sides by drab buildings. Piles of rubble lie strewn about its edges, all that’s left of whatever structure once stood there – perhaps destroyed in some long-forgotten turf war.
 
 
Dozens of people mill around this broken courtyard, members of the gang whose stronghold lies a short distance beyond it. Dozens of stares fix themselves on you and your companions as you approach. Outsiders aren’t uncommon here, from what Vorden said. They come here to buy their drugs, or sell their weapons. But children in mechs, and exquisitely decorated robots with vicious weapons on their arms, are probably a new experience for the denizens of this wasteland.
 
 
Several of them have weapons in their hands, and others are reaching behind their backs or into their jackets. If this goes badly, it’s going to get bloody.
 
 
“I’m fully programmed to deal with members of all manner of human civilizations and cultures,” says Lu Bu. “Might I offer to handle this situation?”
 
 
“Thanks, but I don’t think fancy words are going to work here. Leave it to me…”
 
 
You walk towards the wary gang members, your companions following. Time to deal with devils.
 
 
==='''Arms of the Night'''===
You manage to suppress the education in your voice, and fill your sentences with grammatical errors that would have earned you a caning during your schooldays. Over this you sprinkle profanities and bits and pieces of merc and pirate slang you’ve heard over the years.
 
 
Somehow this seems to work, as ridiculous as you sound to your own ears. There’s an occasional snigger from Talia, who’s doubtless amused to hear the captain of Princess Illaria’s personal retinue speak like a lowlife criminal. But several of the people in the crowd are also giggling, their drugs of choice turning the world into one big comedy, and they’ll probably just assume she’s intoxicated as well.
 
 
The gang members treat you as a potential customer, one of their own disreputable ilk, and when you finally start asking them about the Princess they open up.
 
 
“Twocked her off Vorden’s scavs,” your main interlocutor says, whom you’ve begun to think of as Chief Goon. “Boys wanted to rumple her. Some of the girls too. But I noosed that bitch weren’t some street-scav or prosser. Took her to the bosses. See – smart. Proper noosing. That’s why I’m mega out here. Maybe mega in there one day.”
 
 
The barely intelligible goon gestures behind him with his thumb, towards his bosses’ stronghold. Though you don’t quite understand all of his words, you have to struggle to keep your hands off his throat when he talks about Illaria. But you keep your feelings in check. You don’t have the luxury of doing anything else.
 
 
Instead you laugh, and nod along with him – as though you’re as impressed with his cleverness as he is. And then you make your move, saying you’re interested in buying her.
 
 
“Too late, chummer.” He clicks his fingers in the air. “Bosses kaufed her.”
 
 
You feel your fists clench and the forced joviality slip from your face. The goon’s eyes widen at the sudden change he sees there.
 
 
“Who?” you ask. “Who bought her?”
 
 
“No rees to be mashed,” he replies. “We got other girls. And boys. You got the creds, make you a deal.”
 
 
“Who bought her?” you repeat, a threat slipping into your tone.
 
 
Now it’s his turn for his features to harden. His eyes narrow to slits, like knife blades. You sense the subtle shifting of his weight as he moves into a ready state that could foreshadow violence. As slight as the movement is, tension seems to radiate through the crowd, and animosity descends over them like a mantle.
 
 
“Bosses’ kaufing isn’t for some new-flesh street-scav to noose. If you’re not spending creds, chummer, wreck off.”
 
 
“Take us to your bosses then. But someone’s going to tell me what I want to know.”
 
 
The goon spits on the ground.
 
 
“Think you’re some mega? I’m mega here, not you. Leggie me like that, gonna be rumpling your carc.”
 
 
“I don’t understand what you just said, but I’m done asking nicely.”
 
 
Two seconds later, you’re in the middle of a whirling melee.
 
 
==='''Trouble With Turrets'''===
Gang members litter the ground. Some are battered and groaning, others bleeding and dying. A few are laughing as they lie amongst the broken bodies of their brethren, as though the brutality which smashed their bones and ruptured their organs was nothing more than an aggravated form of slapstick.
 
 
To your satisfaction, you see that the Chief Goon is one of the groaners. You’d tried to keep him alive during the fighting, but when laser-edged chainsaws and Niflung axes are swinging around the place, such things are never guaranteed.
 
 
You crouch down beside him. Then you pull a red syringe from your belt pouch, uncover the needle, and jam it into the side of his neck. You press the end with your thumb, and watch the red substance disappear into his body. He needs to be well enough to talk.
 
 
A few shakes and slaps cause him to stop groaning, and a few more start him talking.
 
 
“Don’t noose! Don’t noose who the bosses kaufed her to! I’m just mega out here. They don’t leggie me inside mega talk.”
 
 
Your fist crashes against his jaw, knocking his head against the unforgiving ground, throwing him back into the grasp of insensibility. You consider finishing him off, but his death is of no more consequence than his life.
 
 
“The stronghold?” Talia asks.
 
 
“Yes,” you reply.
 
 
The five of you head through the lot, and down a passage flanked on either side by squat, graffiti-covered structures. In front of you is a tall, industrial looking building that might once have been a factory. No paint or posters mar its dark walls. It’s like an imposing fortress, alongside the rundown and dilapidated edifices around it.
 
 
Your eyes scan its surface for defense systems or other dangers. There are no windows on this side of the building. But…
 
 
“Turrets!”
 
 
The shout seems to come from all your mouths at once, as panels slide away in the upper reaches of the wall, revealing two swivel-mounted laser cannons. When they fire, the green light cast by their beams illuminates the forms of the gang members who stand at each of them, aiming the weapons as they try to cut you down.
 
 
==='''Knock, Knock'''===
One gang member collapses into the building, disappearing from sight. The other tumbles out, and hits the ground a moment later with a satisfying splat. But you and your companions keep shooting until the turrets are little more than scrap metal. No sense in leaving them there for other enemies to come along and use.
 
 
Ragnar strides up to the large metal door leading into the building. He kicks at it with one of his hefty boots, and there’s a dull thud. But it remains fixed in place.
 
 
“It’s locked,” he says. “Looks like a strong door, too. We’ll be blasting at it for a while.”
 
 
You move beside him, and examine it in turn. He’s right. It’s a security door, much newer than the rest of the building from the look of it. A recent addition to help safeguard their base. Then your gaze travels a little way to the right.
 
 
“It’s a good door,” you agree. “This wall, on the other hand…”
 
 
A moment later Telemachus’ mech is crashing through the side of the building, and the rest of you are pressing forward through the gap. There are cries of anger and surprise from the gang members inside, accompanied a moment later by laser fire.
 
 
==='''Blood Alley Gang'''===
The grunts inside the building are better trained, better armed, and more organized. Those things flash into your mind in a single moment, as you process the scene and plan your attack. You see what might be traces of military training in the way they handle their weapons, or at least the skill that comes naturally to veterans of hard fighting.
 
 
But even so, there’s little they can do as a mech smashes through whatever furniture they take cover behind, and drives a laser-edged chainsaw through their flesh.
 
 
And whatever training and skill they possess, they’re not your equals. You and your companions fight alongside each other as if you’ve been doing it your entire lives.
 
 
Ragnar turns to the right, his blazing machinegun transforming the passageway there into a charnel house as ill-fated reinforcements arrive to defend the hallway, and find their deaths instead. On the left Lu Bu holds the mouth of another corridor like an ancient warrior defending a mountain pass, his blade and claws performing a symphony of slaughter, each movement bearing the perfection that could only come from a robotic mind and limbs. Talia flits after Telemachus, her pistols picking off anyone who survives the young prince’s charge.
 
 
It’s magnificent, like the intricate workings of an exquisite old-fashioned clock. When you find her, and complete your little group once more, it will be perfect.
 
 
You lend your own fire wherever it’s needed, until only the five of you are left standing. Then you move through the building, a mobile engine of destruction. Several enemies come into your path, and are left in pieces.
 
 
Large as the place is, it’s sparsely inhabited. Some of the sections have been sealed off, perhaps where the large manufacturing or processing chambers were, back when it was a factory. Only a portion of the building seems to be lived in, and before long you work your way to a corridor with several large rooms opening from it.
 
 
You kick each door open in turn, your weapon held at the ready, and are greeted by the sight of a series of bedrooms. Each one is expensively if tastelessly appointed, filled with electronic equipment and assorted curios. They look like they belong to high-ranking members of the gang.
 
 
All seven rooms on the sides of the corridor are empty. But an eighth door stands closed at the far end, and you hear the sound of muttering voices coming from behind it.
 
 
You gesture for your companions to move aside, and they press themselves against the walls to the left and right. Then you push the door, darting away as it swings open – avoiding the assortment of missiles that flies past. You see a throwing knife, a shuriken, and what looks like a playing card.
 
 
You step into the room, weapon raised, and find yourself face to face with seven people dressed in the outlandish fashions of Drekchester, holding a range of bizarre armaments. These must be the bosses of the Blood Alley Gang, and you’ve never seen a stranger set of misfits. Your eye is drawn to the one in the middle, whose muscular torso is twice as wide as anyone else’s in the room. He almost rivals Telemachus’ mech for girth. Another is clutching an electric guitar, held up by the neck as if it were a club. A third is levitating a pack of laser-edged playing cards, which dance in the air as they await their controller’s commands.
 
 
As if to make the scene seem even more bizarre, holographic videogame screens are arranged around the room, each one bearing a pause message and blaring out a different piece of music. Were they actually gaming whilst their gang was being attacked, like Nero playing his lyre as Rome burned?
 
 
“We want the Princess,” you say. “Tell us where she is – using words which can actually be found in a dictionary – and you’ll save us the trouble of beating it out of you.”
 
 
You can see the hesitation written on six faces. They know you’ve beaten a path through the rest of their gang, and they don’t seem eager to suffer the same fate as their minions. But they look to the big man in the middle, and his face shows only violent rage.
 
 
“Kill them!” he yells.
 
 
.....................................
 
 
“You may have noticed that you’re all still alive,” you remark, as the gang members writhe in pain or nurse their injuries. “That gives us seven chances to ask our question.”
 
 
“Start with the tubby one,” Talia suggests.
 
 
You nod. The others followed his lead. If they’re scared of him, they might not break while he’s still around.
 
 
“Whom did you sell the Princess to?” you ask, walking over to where he sits on the ground, a large red hand pressed to a wound on his shoulder.
 
 
“Wreck off,” he says, punctuating the words with a ball of spit. You casually slip aside, and let it land on one of the other gang members. “Thing we’re phobed by you, chummer? We’re the Blood Alley Gang! We’ll die before we leggie!”
 
 
“Ragnar,” you say, turning to the Niflung, “chop his leg off.”
 
 
“Sure.” He stomps over to the big man, bringing a squeal of pain from one of the others as he treads on their injured leg, and brandishes his weapon. “Which one?”
 
 
“Surprise me.”
 
 
A look of horror crosses the man’s face, as he realizes that Ragnar really means to hack his leg off.
 
 
“Vince Vortex!” he screams, his voice shrill like a girl’s. “We sold her to Vince Vortex!”
 
 
“If you’re going to make up a name,” says Talia, “at least make it sound real.”
 
 
Ragnar grunts, and raises his axe.
 
 
“No! Wait!” the man screams again.
 
 
“There really is a guy called Vince Vortex,” says Telemachus. “Don’t you ever watch Twisted Steel?”
 
 
“The sport?” Ragnar asks. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. People in battlesuits beat each other up in a ring. I tried to sign up, but they wouldn’t let me fight without armor.”
 
 
“Vince Vortex runs it,” the boy says. “He used to be a fighter. All the fighters have funny names like that.”
 
 
“Yes! Yes! That’s him!” gasps the burly gang member, evidently pleased beyond measure to have his words backed up instead of his leg hacked off. “The off-world mega. He had the most creds, so we kaufed her to him, and shoved her on his shuttle.”
 
 
“A shuttle?” Talia says, her face a picture of dismay that’s soon eclipsed by anger. “Then she could be anywhere!”
 
 
“No!” the gang member says, as she raise her pistol. A stream of desperate words flies from his lips in rapid succession: “He bios on Hyperia! Hyperia! In this system! Next world along! Right there!”
 
 
“Hyperia?” says Telemachus. “That’s the planet where they broadcast Twisted Steel from.”
 
 
You turn to Lu Bu, but there’s really no need.
 
 
“I detect no indications of deception,” the robot says, understanding what you’re after.
 
 
You nod, and head for the door.
 
 
“We’re going to Hyperia,” you say over your shoulder.
 
 
“Should I still chop his leg off?” Ragnar calls from behind.
 
 
“No,” you say, after a moment’s hesitation.
 
 
The Niflung grunts. Then he and the rest of your companions follow you, leaving the leaders of the Blood Alley Gang almost sobbing with relief.
 
 
=='''Hyperia(1)'''==
“Hyperia isn’t like Drekchester,” says Wilex’s voice, over the ship’s communicator.
 
 
The words seem superfluous. The planet is there before you, nestled in the middle of the view through the flight cabin window, and the contrast couldn’t be more obvious. Hyperia is beautiful, its surface one of verdant green continents framed by glorious blue oceans.
 
 
“It’s a more valuable world to the Contella Consortium,” he continues, “and they won’t allow you to…”
 
 
“Wreck the place up?” asks Ragnar.
 
 
“Precisely. A famous and wealthy citizen like this Vincent Vortex will have the protection of local law enforcement.”
 
 
“But he’s got the Princess,” Telemachus says. “Can’t we go to the police?”
 
 
“In this system it’s legal to enslave anyone who lands on a planet illegally, and bypasses the security checks at the spaceports. Unfortunately, that applies to Princess Illaria. The law would be on his side.”
 
 
“Based on my understanding of Contella law codes, it’s possible I could construct a valid legal argument that Princess Illaria should not be a valid subject for enslavement, since she was brought to Drekchester against her will,” says Lu Bu. “But going to the courts would be a last resort.”
 
 
“How come?” asks Talia.
 
 
“A wealthy man could afford a strong enough legal team to tie the case up for years,” he replies. “And that doesn’t even factor in elements such as local corruption and biases.”
 
 
“We’ll have to negotiate,” you say. “We can offer Vortex-”
 
 
The communication terminal begins to bleep. You press the button to answer the hail, and a holographic image appears on the main screen – showing the face of a lantern-jawed, middle-aged man whose iron-grey hair rises at least three inches above his head.
 
 
“That’s Vince Vortex!” says Telemachus.
 
 
“Then you know why we’re here,” you say.
 
 
“That’s right!” His face grows slightly red as he talks, his eyes widen to almost manic proportions, and he seems to be snapping at each word with his jaws. You get the impression that he’s used to exaggerating his facial expressions for the benefit of an audience. “My secretary got a transmission from a certain party on Drekchester. They said a band of lunatics tortured them until they exposed the details of a recent business transaction.”
 
 
“We didn’t even get to the torture part,” says Ragnar. “They just started squealing.”
 
 
“Figures. They don’t make lowlife criminals like they used to.”
 
 
“TALOS is willing to come to a generous arrangement to secure Her Highness’ release,” says Wilex.
 
 
“Ha!” Vortex’s laugh is as overstated as his other mannerisms, that of a performer trying to rile up an audience. “Do you know how rich I am? I once bought two luxury cruisers and had them crash into each other so I could watch them explode!”
 
 
“Really?” Talia asks.
 
 
“Well… no. But I could have done, if I wanted to. You’re not going to buy her from me.”
 
 
“The Sian Empire-” you begin.
 
 
“Has been conquered,” he interjects. “Your broken little empire’s friendship or hostility means nothing.”
 
 
You hold up your hand to forestall Ragnar, who looks as if he’s about to yell a bloodcurdling death threat of some kind.
 
 
“You didn’t contact us just to tell us that,” you say.
 
 
“No.” He nods, and his eyes glitter. “I’m going to make you an offer of my own. You know who I am. Do you know what I do?”
 
 
“You run Twisted Steel,” says Telemachus.
 
 
“That’s right! The greatest combat sport in human space! The pinnacle of sports-entertainment!”
 
 
His picture disappears from the screen, and for a moment you think he’s severed the connection. Then a new image appears, showing two people in battlesuits brawling in a ring, in the middle of a packed stadium. He’s actually playing a Twisted Steel promotional video over the communication channel.
 
 
“Since I’ve been promoter,” continues his voice, “I’ve doubled our viewership by bringing in exciting new fighters and thrilling new matches!”
 
 
The video becomes a montage, showing clips from a series of different bouts. There are fighters dressed in battlesuits that make them look like monsters, others in armor that resemble the panoplies of ancient heroes. It’s a procession of images that makes the clothing you saw on the streets of Drekchester seem tame in comparison.
 
 
“And now I’ve come up with the most exciting event yet!”
 
 
The Twisted Steel footage disappears from the screen. And she appears there instead. Princess Illaria.
 
 
There’s a collective intake of breath as you see her. She’s standing on a balcony, wearing a long, flowing gown that flutters around her body as though at the touch of a gentle but insistent breeze. Her head is tilted upwards, gazing into a bright blue sky decorated by drifting wisps of cloud – so like that of your dream that it seems unreal. The camera is behind her, and you can only see a sliver of her face. But it’s enough.
 
 
She raises her hand, and extends her palm towards the air above the white stone balustrade on which she leans. It meets resistance, the seemingly empty space around it shimmering to reveal the energy of a force-field.
 
 
She turns slightly, and you can see the sorrow and frustration written on her profile. Then she turns further, and seems to stare straight at the camera. He face becomes cold, filled with anger. She rushes as if towards you, and her fist arcs through the air. The world of the image spins and tumbles. Then it comes to rest, and you’re looking at a man with blood streaming from his nose and mouth, lying on a plush carpet that’s turning crimson under his head. A moment later the image is gone, replaced by static.
 
 
Vince Vortex’s face reappears.
 
 
“Apparently Her Highness isn’t satisfied with my hospitality,” he laughs.
 
 
Your hands twitch, and you yearn to drive a sword through his skull. But he holds all the cards, and your anger won’t help her.
 
 
“But she won’t have to endure it for long,” he continues. “I’m arranging a special tournament. And the winner will receive the most valuable prize in the history of Twisted Steel: the Princess of the Sian Empire!”
 
 
His face is so red he seems on the verge of exploding. His eyes are almost bulging out of his head. Either he’s a dedicated showman, or a complete lunatic. Perhaps both.
 
 
“This is monstrous!” shouts Wilex. “Despicable! Vile!”
 
 
“Genius!” Vortex retorts. “Think of the ratings! And that’s where you come in.”
 
 
“Me?” you ask, sensing where this conversation is about to turn.
 
 
“They sent me footage of some of your exploits on Drekchester,” he says. “And I had my people read up on you. Turns out you’re one hell of a fighter. So what could be more dramatic than throwing you into the tournament, and giving you a chance to save her? The audience will go insane!”
 
 
Speaking of insanity… But what choice do you have?
 
 
“If I win, you’ll let the Princess go?” you ask.
 
 
“Of course! I have my reputation to protect! I can’t just offer a prize and then take it away. I’d be ruined if I ran my business like that! If you win the tournament, the Princess leaves Hyperia with you.”
 
 
“Very well. I accept.”
 
 
==='''Building the Battlesuit'''===
“I have to make my own battlesuit?”
 
 
The absurdly proportioned receptionist glances at you over her desk, frowns, and returns to painting her nails. You’re the only competitor who needs to be registered, the only newcomer permitted to enter this tournament. So this waiting area is empty but for you and your companions, and the receptionist seems to resent that your presence is forcing her to be there.
 
 
Since you landed on Hyperia, you’ve been going through the information package Vince Vortex sent you – explaining the nature of Twisted Steel, and preparing you to take part in the sport.
 
 
Most of it is fairly straightforward, and a large portion of the material consists of disclaimers explaining just how thoroughly indemnified Vortex is in the event of any loss of life or limb you suffer. Apparently the very act of stepping into a Twisted Steel ring constitutes an assumption of risk on Hyperia, and is tantamount to suicide under local law codes.
 
 
But the section you just came to took you by surprise, and caused your outburst.
 
 
“All fighters have to make their own suits,” Telemachus explains. As a fan of the sport, he’s been providing a running commentary. “Or their teams do. Most people in Twisted Steel have teams to build and repair their battlesuits. But they all have to be made from parts supplied by Twisted Steel. That means no one has an unfair advantage, and it makes the fights more exciting.”
 
 
“Great.” Talia sighs. “Anyone here know how to make a battlesuit?”
 
 
“I do.”
 
 
You turn to the doorway, and it takes you a second to recognize the man outlined against the bright sunlight. You’re used to seeing him in robes, not a mechanic’s jumpsuit.
 
 
“You don’t become a Chief Assembler without being able to throw a little tech together,” Wilex continues.
 
 
He strides up to the desk, where the receptionist is casting an irritated stare at him, and holds out a datapad.
 
 
“Here’s our completed requisition sheet, showing which parts from your list we require. Please have them sent to our workshop.”
 
 
The receptionist gives an outraged sniff, and swishes her blonde tresses over her shoulder as if to emphasize just how aggrieved she is at having to work. But she takes the datapad from his hand, and begins to transfer its contents into the terminal in front of her.
 
 
“Your parts will be waiting for you, sir,” she says – managing to fill ‘sir’ with such venom that it sounds more like ‘you bastard’.
 
 
Wilex simply smiles, nods in thanks, and comes over to where the rest of you are sitting.
 
 
“I took the liberty of perusing the material myself,” he explains. “And it came to my attention that I might be needed.”
 
 
A few minutes later, an attendant arrives and leads you to one of the workshops that have been set aside for each of the competitors in the tournament.
 
 
It’s a drab, oily, and messy chamber, marked with the stains of years of toil and cluttered with equipment of indeterminate purpose. A room for hard labor, far removed from the elegance of the rest of the complex. But when Wilex enters, an expression of pure joy crosses his face.
 
 
“As a Chief Assembler, I don’t have many opportunities to get my hands dirty these days,” he explains.
 
 
In a few moments he’s issuing orders to the five of you, assigning tasks which will bring your battlesuit to fruition.
 
 
“I don’t presume to tell you people how to break things,” he says when Ragnar grumbles at the instructions he’s given. “So don’t try to tell me how to make them.”
 
 
The Niflung gives an amused grunt, and all of you get to work.
 
 
==='''Werewolf'''===
It’s almost miraculous, the way the piles of mechanical parts and metal plates slowly transform beneath your ministrations. Yet with Wilex’s expertise, and the rest of you doing as he bids, the battlesuit takes shape. By the time it’s ready you’re all exhausted. Even your body, honed for long hours of battle, is weary from this unaccustomed form of labor. But the suit stands ready, magnificent and powerful, along with an impressive sword – in case you get placed in a weapons match.
 
 
Competitors aren’t allowed to take their suits or ring weapons outside the arena building, to prevent unauthorized modifications. So you spend the rest of the day there, wearing and testing the suit, handling the sword. You can’t afford to make any mistakes in the ring. And to be most effective, a battlesuit has to seem like a second skin – something you’re completely comfortable in. You even eat wearing it, albeit with the helmet set aside. Using chopsticks proves a good test of the actuators in the hands and fingers. Your skill, not to mention your table manners, suffers at first, and your companions have to duck to avoid flying pieces of food. But it doesn’t take you long to master it.
 
 
After you’ve eaten, you continue to test and train your dexterity by folding a hundred origami cranes whilst wearing the suit’s gauntlets. This proves trickier, but in time your fingers become suitably accustomed to the suit, and you manage it.
 
 
Then you perform lengthy kata, routines of martial motions – punches, kicks, and sword swings – to feel how well your movements flow. To your satisfaction, everything seems to work perfectly. The suit is fast and agile as well as strong and sturdy. It responds well to your body.
 
 
At last you leave the arena, and spend the remainder of the evening in the suite of rooms Vortex has set aside for your group elsewhere in the complex. He’s thoughtfully provided you with a stack of holo-vids showing previous Twisted Steel events, so you relax by watching your rivals’ matches. You analyze their skills and styles, and try to anticipate how you would fare against each one.
 
 
***
 
 
“You’re up next!” says the man in the headset. Then he leans back out of the workshop, which also serves as your staging area, and scurries off to deal with whatever myriad other duties demand his attention.
 
 
“Showtime, captain!” Talia pats you on the shoulder, though you barely feel it through the armor.
 
 
Then you almost pitch forward, as Ragnar thumps you on the back.
 
 
“Remember – keep beating on them until the referee pulls you off,” he says. “It’s the only way to make sure.”
 
 
Wilex gives your suit one last inspection. Then the six of you leave the workshop, walk up the ramp leading to the main corridor of the backstage area, and make your way to the doorway that opens onto the floor of the arena.
 
 
The roaring of the crowd and the blare of the music are almost deafening here, far too loud for any further talk. But your companions’ presence is enough. You draw strength from their nearness, from their touch upon your armor. And as the image of the Princess flits into your mind, of her standing on the balcony, the grim determination of battle fills you.
 
 
The doorway slides open, revealing a long aisle that splits two great mounds of screaming men, women, and children, and ends at the ring.
 
 
A moment later you’re inside the ring, the walk swallowed up by the intoxicating flash of the lights, screams of the spectators, and crashing crescendos of the music. You’ve fought many battles, but you’ve never experienced anything quite like this before. It seems almost surreal. You gaze around you at the thousands and thousands of people who are here to see you fight, to bay for blood, to celebrate victories, or mock defeats.
 
 
Then the arena is plunged into darkness, punctuated only by tiny flashes of light from the stands, and the music stops. The crowd gives a collective scream, and you understand that it’s one of anticipation. A moment later a silver holographic orb appears above, glimmering in the blackness. A beam of light falls from it, illuminating the doorway at the end of the aisle.
 
 
There’s an immense howl over the stadium’s sound system, like that of an animal, followed by a roaring, clashing, feral-sounding tune.
 
 
The theatrics are crass, ridiculous. But somehow a tingle runs up and down your spine.
 
 
An armored figured emerges into the pool of synthetic moonlight, into the lunacy of the arena and its screaming thousands. He looks like a wolf. No… a werewolf. He raises his snout in the air, and howls. The crowd howls with him, filling the place with the absurd, animalistic noise. Then he lowers his head, and runs down the aisle.
 
 
The lights come back on as he slides into the ring. Somewhere a bell rings. Time to fight…
 
 
==='''Backstage Brawl'''===
Your opponent lies on the mat, lupine whines and snarls falling from his metal jaws. The referee takes hold of your arm, and you raise it into the air in response to his insistent tug.
 
 
The music which played when you walked down the aisle starts up again, and you notice for the first time that it’s an atrocious adaptation of the Sian Empire’s anthem – butchered almost beyond recognition, rendered with a range of electronic instruments and synthesizers which should have no business touching that celestial music.
 
 
Thankfully the noise from the crowd rises to drown it out. You stare at the mass of humanity, and feel their approval wash over you. Dozens of people are taking off wolf-shaped masks, or tearing signs in half – their fickle support sundered by your triumph over their former champion. They’re like parasites…
 
 
You vault over the ropes, the plates of your battlesuit giving a soft clunk as you land. Your companions surround you, their faces bright with the thrill of your victory – which brings you all one step closer to saving Illaria.
 
 
The aisle and backstage corridors lead you back to your workshop. There you shed your battlesuit, feeling the usual curious sensation that comes from removing armor after wearing it for any significant length of time, and stretch to remove the tightness from your body.
 
 
Wilex and Lu Bu are tending to your suit, Talia touching up its paint job, Ragnar and Telemachus discussing the fight blow by blow, when the workshop door flies open. A group of people in jumpsuits rush into the room, their faces twisted in rage.
 
 
It flashes into your mind that their clothing matches your opponent’s battlesuit in color. Then the punches start flying.
 
 
==='''Sabotage'''===
By the time the arena’s security personnel turn up, the members of the opposing crew are glad to see them – their attempt at revenge having gained them nothing more than a brutal beating. Those who are able to stand are escorted away, and the others dragged from your workshop.
 
 
“They’ll be thrown out of the arena,” one of the security officers tells you before leaving. “They won’t bother you again.”
 
 
The door closes behind her. When it opens again a few seconds later, you assume that she’s come back to tell you something else. But instead it’s the man wearing the headset.
 
 
“You’re up next!” he says.
 
 
He begins to slip back into the corridor. But Ragnar bounds over and drags him back with a beefy hand on his collar. The man gives a spluttering gasp as the material squeezes his throat.
 
 
“Up next?” the Niflung growls. “We just had a match!”
 
 
The man splutters again, and Ragnar releases him – allowing air and words to return to his mouth.
 
 
“One… One of the fighters from the final first round match injured himself backstage. We’re bringing your match forward to fill the gap. Mr. Vortex’s orders!”
 
 
Ragnar turns to you, and the man seizes the opportunity to escape.
 
 
“He’s trying to screw us over!”
 
 
“Maybe,” you reply. “But it’s his game, and his rules.”
 
 
You suit up once more, and a few minutes later you’re walking down the aisle – as if you had never left the cheering crowd, and the atmosphere of impending violence.
 
 
You climb into the ring, and turn to see which opponent they’re going to throw at you. In a tournament without fixed brackets, where the match-ups each round are determined by lot, it could be anyone.
 
 
Multicolored spotlights appear in the stands, and begin to dance around the arena. A merry jingle starts to play. You smile as you recognize the entrance music, from the matches you watched the previous night. It could be worse. She shouldn’t give you too much trouble.
 
 
A woman in a battlesuit resembling a large red cat tumbles through the doorway, and flies down the aisle in a series of backflips, summersaults, and forward rolls. From ringside she leaps up onto the top rope, then corkscrew jumps high into the air – coming to land in the middle of the ring. She pirouettes, faces you, and blows you a kiss. The crowd goes wild.
 
 
She’s quite the performer, and a gifted gymnast. But you’ve seen some of her fights. If you go in hard and fast, you can finish this quickly.
 
 
The bell rings, and you begin your rush. Then there’s a loud, piercing whirr, and your left leg locks in place – the metal around the limb becoming as immobile as a lump of iron. You glance down, and see blue crackles of electrical energy. The brawl in the workshop… One of them must have had a chance to plant something on your suit, while the rest of you were distracted in the melee.
 
 
The cat-girl hits you a moment after the epiphany does. She leaps at you, all four limbs striking your chest. Your one good leg gives way, and you slam against the canvas with her on top of you.
 
 
In that moment, the images on the huge holographic screens at the apex of the arena shift. You and the cat-girl disappear, and she’s there instead… Princess Illaria. There’s worry and sorrow on her face, and you know that she’s watching the match, watching you on the verge of failure.
 
 
Then the cat-girl’s fist crashes into your armored face, and bright lights explode in your eyes.
 
 
==='''Kelovar Assassin'''===
By the time the arena’s security personnel turn up, the members of the opposing crew are glad to see them – their attempt at revenge having gained them nothing more than a brutal beating. Those who are able to stand are escorted away, and the others dragged from your workshop.
 
 
“They’ll be thrown out of the arena,” one of the security officers tells you before leaving. “They won’t bother you again.”
 
 
The door closes behind her. When it opens again a few seconds later, you assume that she’s come back to tell you something else. But instead it’s the man wearing the headset.
 
 
“You’re up next!” he says.
 
 
He begins to slip back into the corridor. But Ragnar bounds over and drags him back with a beefy hand on his collar. The man gives a spluttering gasp as the material squeezes his throat.
 
 
“Up next?” the Niflung growls. “We just had a match!”
 
 
The man splutters again, and Ragnar releases him – allowing air and words to return to his mouth.
 
 
“One… One of the fighters from the final first round match injured himself backstage. We’re bringing your match forward to fill the gap. Mr. Vortex’s orders!”
 
 
Ragnar turns to you, and the man seizes the opportunity to escape.
 
 
“He’s trying to screw us over!”
 
 
“Maybe,” you reply. “But it’s his game, and his rules.”
 
 
You suit up once more, and a few minutes later you’re walking down the aisle – as if you had never left the cheering crowd, and the atmosphere of impending violence.
 
 
You climb into the ring, and turn to see which opponent they’re going to throw at you. In a tournament without fixed brackets, where the match-ups each round are determined by lot, it could be anyone.
 
 
Multicolored spotlights appear in the stands, and begin to dance around the arena. A merry jingle starts to play. You smile as you recognize the entrance music, from the matches you watched the previous night. It could be worse. She shouldn’t give you too much trouble.
 
 
A woman in a battlesuit resembling a large red cat tumbles through the doorway, and flies down the aisle in a series of backflips, summersaults, and forward rolls. From ringside she leaps up onto the top rope, then corkscrew jumps high into the air – coming to land in the middle of the ring. She pirouettes, faces you, and blows you a kiss. The crowd goes wild.
 
 
She’s quite the performer, and a gifted gymnast. But you’ve seen some of her fights. If you go in hard and fast, you can finish this quickly.
 
 
The bell rings, and you begin your rush. Then there’s a loud, piercing whirr, and your left leg locks in place – the metal around the limb becoming as immobile as a lump of iron. You glance down, and see blue crackles of electrical energy. The brawl in the workshop… One of them must have had a chance to plant something on your suit, while the rest of you were distracted in the melee.
 
 
The cat-girl hits you a moment after the epiphany does. She leaps at you, all four limbs striking your chest. Your one good leg gives way, and you slam against the canvas with her on top of you.
 
 
In that moment, the images on the huge holographic screens at the apex of the arena shift. You and the cat-girl disappear, and she’s there instead… Princess Illaria. There’s worry and sorrow on her face, and you know that she’s watching the match, watching you on the verge of failure.
 
 
Then the cat-girl’s fist crashes into your armored face, and bright lights explode in your eyes.
 
 
=='''Hyperia(2)'''==
Ragnar and Wilex are having breakfast when you emerge from your bedroom. Or at least Ragnar’s having breakfast. Wilex seems to be watching him intently, as though wondering how much red meat he can consume before even his cybernetic guts give way. Telemachus and Talia are sat in front of a huge holo-screen, watching one of the matches from yesterday.
 
 
“Anything happen last night?” you ask.
 
 
“Window,” says Ragnar. That laconic response given, he returns to munching on the pile of bacon before him.
 
 
You move to the large window that dominates a wall of the room, and look out into the sunlit park below.
 
 
Several men and women wearing police uniforms are milling around down there, most of them standing near to a group of glowing shapes drawn on the grass. Each resembles the outline of a human figure – though some appear to be missing limbs, or in one case a head.
 
 
“Didn’t want to wake you up,” Ragnar says. “So I used my axe instead of my gun.”
 
 
“One of them was part of a fighter’s crew,” Talia says. “The police identified him from his head.”
 
 
“Then they confiscated it for evidence,” Ragnar grunts. “I was going to stick it outside our workshop as a warning to the other bastards.”
 
 
“Is Twisted Steel always like this?” you ask.
 
 
“Not usually,” Telemachus replies. “But everyone wants to get the Princess.”
 
 
As if on cue, a man holding a microphone appears on the screen he and Talia are watching. You remember seeing him backstage when you were returning from your first match. He was interviewing one of the other fighters.
 
 
“I asked some of our leading superstars what they plan to do if they win the lovely Princess Illaria,” he says.
 
 
Several faces appear on the screen in succession, each belonging to one of the fighters left in the tournament, and they give their answers to the question. Most are predictably vulgar, and Talia clamps her hands around Telemachus’ ears to avoid corrupting his young mind any more than his spoiled upbringing and your adventures together have already done. The two of them struggle on the couch, as he tries to pull away from her grasp.
 
 
You note each face, and each name displayed at the bottom of the screen. At least now you’ll know which ones you should make suffer.
 
 
An attractive blonde woman appears on the screen, the text below naming her as ‘Natasha Cybersmash: Twisted Steel Champion’. Her face seems somehow predatory, her cold blue eyes those of a serpent mesmerizing its prey, the redness of her lips bringing to mind the stains around a tigress’ mouth after she’s torn into her prey.
 
 
“When I win the tournament,” she says, “I’ll sell that prissy bitch to the Centurians.”
 
 
...
 
 
You head to the arena building long before the day’s matches are set to begin, and enter your workshop to find Lu Bu standing to attention, his weapon attachments on his arms. He bows.
 
 
You glance down at the large red stains on the floor. Lu Bu follows your gaze.
 
 
“There were two different groups of intruders over the course of the night. But the security personnel were kind enough to remove their corpses.”
 
 
“Seems like no one wants to play fair around here,” Talia says.
 
 
“Apparently not,” you reply. “But if that’s the way they want to do things…”
 
 
==='''Playing Dirty (1)'''===
Some of the other crews and fighters are already in their workshops as well, seeing to their battlesuits or making other preparations. They’re beyond your reach for the moment. If you started brawling in a workshop, there’s too much risk that someone would be able to summon security. You don’t want to get booted from the arena, like your assailants were yesterday.
 
 
But some workshops are uninhabited at this early hour, and one of those is your target.
 
 
“There’s a guard outside the door,” says Telemachus, returning from a reconnaissance mission.
 
 
“Man or woman?” you ask.
 
 
“Man.”
 
 
“Think you could get him out of the way?” you ask, turning to Talia.
 
 
“No problem. Guns or breasts?”
 
 
“Breasts. Don’t start any gunfights in the corridor.”
 
 
Talia nods, and slips out of the room. You and Telemachus wait for a minute or so before following.
 
 
Sure enough, the guard is further down the corridor from his post. His attention is on Talia, who gives a musical giggle as you approach. His back is to the section of corridor containing the workshop door he’s supposed to be guarding. It’s almost too easy. But if the team didn’t want their battlesuit tampered with, they shouldn’t have hired such an idiot to guard it.
 
 
The two of you creep down the corridor, each making your tread as stealthy as possible. You note with approval that Telemachus is a natural when it comes to sneaking. He barely makes a sound as he moves. You’d thought about bringing Wilex for the technical knowledge which will be required, but the boy is proving much better suited to the task.
 
 
==='''Playing Dirty (2)'''===
Your timing proves fortunate. Less than fifteen minutes after you return to your workshop, you hear the explosion.
 
 
You step out into the corridor, and saunter along to the room you and Telemachus slipped into earlier. Several security officials and a few members of other teams have gathered outside it, filling the air with an excited babble.
 
 
Peering between the press of people, you catch sight of a helmet lying on the floor. A single glimpse of the red mess at the neck end confirms that it was tenanted at the time of the explosion. You saunter back to your own workshop to relay the good news.
 
 
Your next stratagem requires a little patience. But at last the opportunity arrives. Another fighter, along with a crew member, is heading to the toilets at the end of the corridor. What better place to catch someone with their guard down?
 
 
You and Ragnar enter a few moments later, and approach the two men as they stand at the urinals.
 
 
==='''Cage Match'''===
When you leave the toilets, one man is lying in the middle of the floor, the wall above the urinals reddened by contact with his head. The other was perhaps less fortunate. Ragnar dealt with him, and he drowned with his head wedged into a toilet. Still, it was no more than he deserved for what he said about the Princess.
 
 
Back in the workshop you don your battlesuit, and listen to the sounds of commotion from further down the corridor.
 
 
As expected, your door opens a short while later. With fighters dropping like flies, you knew it wouldn’t be long until it was time for you to step into the ring again.
 
 
“You’re up next!” the man with the headset says. He seems flustered, but you’d hardly expect him to be thrilled about two fighters being slaughtered on his watch.
 
 
You make your way to the arena’s floor, the screams of thousands ringing in your ears as approach the door. Again the terrible rendition of the imperial anthem plays, and the six of you make your way down the aisle.
 
 
You glance up at the big screens, and see the pictures of two men. Each one has a large red X flashing on top of them. Ragnar laughs, his bellow audible even over the immense wave of noise from the crowd, as he recognizes the man he drowned. The other one was wearing the battlesuit that exploded.
 
 
Fans are crying in the stands, distraught over the news that they’ll never see their heroes fight again. Others are laughing. Some are even holding up pictures of you, and somehow that makes you feel ever so slightly unclean. But you draw solace from the fact that once you have the Princess back, you’ll never set foot on Hyperia again.
 
 
A gong sounds as you stand in the ring, an immense crashing noise that reverberates throughout the stadium. It crashes once more, this time giving way to the melodic strains of a zither.
 
 
A tall, burly figure appears at the end of the aisle. He drops into a broad squatting stance, and hurls something over his shoulder. He’s too far away for you to see what it is, but you remember him from the holo-vids. He’s a sumo wrestler, throwing salt in the ancient custom of his art.
 
 
The man rises out of his squat, and thunders down towards the ring. Each footstep is accompanied by a fresh crash from the gong, as if the ground is shaking under his great bulk. He clambers up onto the ring apron, and steps over the top rope. He’s even bigger than he looked on the vids, towering head and shoulders above you, a juggernaut in his imposing battlesuit.
 
 
Something catches your eye, and you glance above your opponent to see long metal rods emerging from the tall corner posts. Each one extends until it meets that projected by its adjacent number, forming a square in the air overhead. A feeling of unease fills you. Then beams of electric energy flash into life on all four sides of the ring, like the bars of a cage. That’s not good…
 
 
The bell rings, and the sumo wrestler charges, moving incredibly fast for someone with that much bulk. He’s on you before you can dodge, absorbing the punch you throw at his face as if it were nothing. You find yourself driven across the ring in his grasp, towards the dancing electricity.
 
 
==='''Handicap Match'''===
The sumo wrestler twitches as the electricity surges through his suit, dozens of tiny sparks from fried systems sputtering in the gaps between the metal plates. His limbs and head shudder against the mat as his suit goes haywire, making him look like an immense fish left flopping on the beach.
 
 
Talia catches your eye at ringside, and she points skyward. You look up, and see the Princess on the screens. As before, her face is radiant with the thrill of your victory, at the knowledge that you’re reaching out for her, drawing ever closer.
 
 
You look back down, as you see the dark mass moving in the corner of your vision. The sumo wrestler is struggling to his feet – the lights of his damaged suit flickering, reminding you of a dying man’s shallow breaths. His suit’s actuators must be fried, and yet he’s moving the metal around his limbs by raw muscle power.
 
 
He totters for a second as he stands, looking for a moment as if he’ll collapse once more. But he manages to keep his balance, and stares down at you through the faint red glow of his vision slit.
 
 
You slip into a combat stance, ready for the behemoth to hurl himself at you. But he doesn’t attack. Instead he bows to you. Then he turns, looks up at the monitor, and bows as if to the Princess.
 
 
The electric bars disappear from around ring, and the metal rods that generated them retract into the corner posts once more. The sumo wrestler’s crew members help him out of the ring, all of them working together to bear some of his immense weight, and together they walk down the aisle.
 
 
You’re about to jump over the ropes, to join your companions at ringside, when a hush falls over the arena.
 
 
“Not so fast!” comes a voice, from the stadium’s speakers.
 
 
You look up at the screens, and see the face of Vince Vortex – as red and wide-eyed as before.
 
 
“It seems we’ve had a few unfortunate accidents today…”
 
 
The pictures of the two men you killed appear on the screens again, each with the flashing red X to indicate their elimination from both the tournament and the mortal realm. Then they’re compressed, shoved over to the left of the screens, as another picture moves in from the right to take up that third of each image. This one shows a woman you’ve never seen before. A fresh red X appears, flashing over her face in harmony with the others.
 
 
You look to your companions, and they respond with gestures of confusion. No, doesn’t look like any of you killed this one. Must have been someone else.
 
 
The three pictures disappear, replaced by Vortex’s face, with its manic grin.
 
 
“That means we now have an odd number of competitors in this tournament!” he says, his eyes growing so wide as he reaches the last word that you expect his eyeballs to simply pop out from the sockets. “So, what do we do?”
 
 
There’s an incomprehensible roar from the crowd. But it evaporates the moment Vortex continues.
 
 
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do! We’ll have a handicap match! The Princess’ champion against not one, but two opponents! If they win, they get to battle each other to see who advances to the final round!”
 
 
Vortex’s grin grows even wider, splitting his entire face from side to side.
 
 
“Welcome to Twisted Steel!”
 
 
His image disappears, and the screens show a close-up of the entranceway. There’s a cacophony of sound, a mutated abomination of music. A man and woman wearing black and red battlesuits emerge into a flashing spotlight.
 
 
Their suits are color-coordinated… Has Vortex been planning something like this from the start? But you force that thought from your mind as they run down the aisle, and slide into the ring. It doesn’t matter. Either way, you have to beat them.
 
 
“Oh… One more thing!” says Vortex, flashing back onto the screens. “This match… is a weapons match!”
 
 
The crowd screams in delight.
 
 
A weapons match? The Twisted Steel information package said that weapons matches would be announced in advance, and that you’d be disqualified if you brought a weapon to a regular match. You’re unarmed, and so are your opponents. Then you see that they’re looking upward, and you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
 
 
Two hover drones, like the ones that contain the arena’s cameras, descend from the darkness. One has a huge, orange-bladed axe hanging from a cord beneath it. The other has a pair of nunchuks dangling there. Both of them swoop down towards your opponents, until they’re low enough for the man to grab the axe and the woman the nunchuks.
 
 
You look to your companions, and see that Talia and Lu Bu are missing. Telemachus and Wilex are pointing, gesturing – and you understand. They’ve gone to get your sword. Ragnar holds up his axe, and shrugs his shoulders as though in confusion. You shake your head. If you use a weapon made from unauthorized parts, you’ll be disqualified.
 
 
The Princess flickers into being on the screens high above your opponents, and you see the fear in her eyes as the bell rings and your enemies advance, brandishing their weapons.
 
 
You have to avoid them, until your friends bring your sword…
 
 
==='''Natasha Cybersmash'''===
You dive aside as the axe chops at you, breaking into a roll that sends shudders of pain through your body from a dozen places. You complete the motion and rise to your feet, but your body whines in protest.
 
 
Somehow you’ve managed to avoid taking a solid hit from the axe, but the nunchucks have done their harm. Your suit’s dented and cracked, the responses of the actuators slow and sluggish where systems have been damaged.
 
 
“Sword!”
 
 
The cry is piercing, cutting through the roars of the crowd. It couldn’t have been made by a human throat. You hazard a glance to the left, and see Lu Bu and Talia. She’s holding your weapon.
 
 
Your adversaries see them too. When you twitch, as if about to dart to that side of the ring, they rush over there to cut you off. But Talia knows what you intend. A second later the sword flies through the air, arcing above their heads, the blade flashing in the arena’s lights as it spins end over end.
 
 
When your hand closes around the handle, the cheers of the crowd are deafening.
 
 
The woman reacts first. She leaps at you, swinging her nunchucks, trying to bring you down before you can bring the weapon to bear. But she’s not quick enough. The sword flashes, and takes her in the throat. She falls to the mat, blood spurting from the crack in her armor.
 
 
The axe cleaves at your head, and you move into a side-step. But your leg is stuck, and in that frozen moment, as your gaze is fixed upon the orange blade, you realize that the dying woman has wrapped her arms around the limb.
 
 
Your sword comes up just in time, and there’s a flash of sparks as the blade breaks beneath the heavy axe head, the end whirling away through the air. The man howls in triumph. His blow is thwarted, but your weapon is ruined. He has the advantage.
 
 
The howl ends along with his life, as you grab the shaft of his axe, and jab the broken fragment of blade at the end of your sword hilt through his eye. The lens of his helmet gives way with a crunch, and the metal pierces the soft tissues beneath – all the way to the brain.
 
 
The hilt is stuck, embedded in his skull, and you let it fall along with his corpse – a souvenir of his final match.
 
 
On the screens the Princess cheers. There’s no sound from the transmission, but that generated by your aural implant is like the music of the spheres.
 
 
Then she’s gone, and Vince Vortex’s deranged grin is back.
 
 
“Congratulations!” he booms, filling the sudden silence of the crowd. “A hell of a fight! But it seems you’re not the only one who’s been fighting. One of our remaining three contestants was found dead backstage…”
 
 
The image of a workshop – your workshop – appears on the screen. A woman in a pink battlesuit is sprawled on the ground, a gaping hole in the middle of her chest.
 
 
“Now how could that have happened?” Vortex asks, his eyes glaring with inhuman intensity.
 
 
You turn to Talia and Lu Bu. She makes an apologetic shrug of her shoulders, and mouths the word ‘sorry’.
 
 
“Well, that means we only have two competitors left in this tournament: Natasha Cybersmash and the Princess’ champion! So why don’t we let them settle it right now?”
 
 
The crowd bellows their approval, as a series of power chords sound over the stadium’s speakers. You look to the entrance, and see a woman in green armor striding down the aisle, a long metal whip dangling from her hand.
 
 
“And it will be a weapons match!”
 
 
Attendants crawl into the ring, and start dragging your late opponents away. One of them reaches down for the dropped axe, and you shove him aside – sending him tumbling through the ropes.
 
 
You snatch up the weapon as Natasha Cybersmash jumps onto the ring apron, and vaults over the ropes – her metal whip lashing through the air and slashing against the canvas.
 
 
Just one more match…
 
 
.....................................
 
 
Axe and whip lie forgotten across the ring, entangled and discarded in the middle of a struggle at such close quarters that they proved a hindrance rather than an advantage. Now the two of you grapple, knees, elbows, clawing hands, and sweeping legs forming your arsenals.
 
 
She manages to pull free from your grasp, and takes a step – almost a skip – backwards. Then she shoots in low, the space created only to set up her takedown. Her arms reach for your legs, to take them out from under you.
 
 
But you’re not going to fall for that. Not with her watching, her fate intertwined with yours.
 
 
You sprawl, your legs spreading as you widen your base to thwart her tackle. Your arms hook under hers, and your fingers meet in a clasp on her back. You stomp against the mat, forcing yourself upright, dragging her along with you as she thrashes to break free. Then you leap into the air – your legs swinging upwards like a pendulum – and drive her head into the canvas.
 
 
She’s motionless, out cold or dead. The difference is of no consequence. You rise to your feet, and lift your arms in triumph. The match – the tournament – is over.
 
 
You look up at the screens, but they’re blank. There’s a twinge of disappointment that you can’t meet her gaze in that moment of victory.
 
 
Your companions rush into the ring, and surround you. Talia leans in close, to be heard over the apocalyptic din of the fans.
 
 
“Had to kill her! Wouldn’t let us get your sword!”
 
 
You nod. It doesn’t matter now.
 
 
Darkness fills the arena, the lights swallowed in an instant. The crowd gives a soft howl of anticipation.
 
 
A spotlight shines at the entrance to the backstage area, a single bright pool of light in the void. The door slides away, and she steps into the light. Illaria. Your Princess.
 
 
It takes you a moment to register the others. At first your gaze, your mind, are filled with her and her alone. But then you see the person standing next to her, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a manic expression on his face. Behind the two of them are four of the Twisted Steel security personnel, clutching laser rifles.
 
 
Part of you wants to leap over the ropes, to run to her. But you keep yourself in check. Now isn’t the time to screw things up with a moment of rashness. Wait for him to hand her over…
 
 
They come down the aisle, the spotlight following them. When they reach the ring it disappears, and the stadium’s lights return – driving away the darkness, bathing everything with glorious light.
 
 
The four guards enter the ring first, three of them forming a line between your side of the ring and that nearer the aisle. The other one moves to sit on the bottom rope – lowering it for the Princess and Vince Vortex as he leads her up the small staircase, onto the apron. The two of them duck between the ropes, Vortex with a swagger, the Princess with all the grace of the imperial court.
 
 
“What a tournament!” says Vortex, and his voice comes from stadium’s sound system. It occurs to you that he’s not carrying a microphone. He has one built into his throat. “We saw a fighter…”
 
 
He strides across the ring, past the guards, and clasps you by the shoulder.
 
 
“…a fighter walk through the fires of hell!”
 
 
There’s a burst of applause from the crowd, and you’re almost certain that Vortex’s enormous grin grows wider as it increases in volume.
 
 
“We saw a champion risk everything for the most beautiful jewel in the universe!” He turns to Illaria, whose expression bears a warring mixture of anger and relief. “The Princess of the Sian Empire!”
 
 
Vortex gives a sign, and at last the guards part – allowing her past. She darts across the ring, and then she’s in your midst, her arms around your neck, Talia’s neck – drawing the two of you and the others into one great embrace.
 
 
“To the victor the spoils!” bellows Vortex.
 
 
The Princess’ face flushes in anger, and you read her thoughts as if they were your own. The dishonor, the insult… A member of the imperial family taken as a slave, made a prize in a madman’s game.
 
 
“One moment,” you whisper.
 
 
You pull away from the others, and stride towards Vince Vortex. His guards move, their hands twitching on their weapons. But he waves them back. You come to a stop right in front of him, so close that his wide eyes and absurd smile seem to dominate your entire field of vision.
 
 
You sense the movement of your companions as they take up their positions behind you, awaiting your lead. Again silence descends on the crowd.
 
 
Vortex gives a deep, powerful laugh.
 
 
“Before you do anything rash, let me remind you of rules of Twisted Steel! If a fighter or one of their teammates performs an act of violence against a referee or promoter, all that fighter’s victories are considered null and void. All prizes forfeit.”
 
 
He laughs again as he sees the hesitation on your face.
 
 
“That’s right – all prizes forfeit. If you or any of your friends attack me, the Princess becomes the property of Twisted Steel!”
 
 
You turn to your companions.
 
 
“Ragnar…”
 
 
“Yes?” He comes towards you.
 
 
“You’re fired.”
 
 
“Heh.”
 
 
The sight of the grin vanishing from Vince Vortex’s face might be the most amusing thing you’ve ever seen. But if so, a close second place would be the sight of Ragnar’s axe cleaving his skull in half.
 
 
“A dead man can’t reward you for your bravery, can he?” you say to the guards, who seem trapped in indecision, their weapons half raised.
 
 
They look to each other in silent conference. Then they nod, and move out of your way.
 
 
The Princess comes to your side, along with the rest of your companions. Then you walk down the aisle, to the cheers of the crowd.

Revision as of 06:49, 28 February 2011


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