

Copyright (C) 2019 by Ronald D. Thompson.

Printed in the United Kingdom

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording without the permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, persons living or dead is coincidental or they are used fictitiously. Cover design and layout by www.spiffingcovers.com
CONTENTS

Chapter 1: New Manhattan

Chapter 2: Revenge Trap

Chapter 3: Stave's Mission

Chapter 4: Abduction 3

Chapter 5: Multi Probability Factor

Chapter 6: Earth Call

Chapter 7: Larquiston Conference

Chapter 8: Home Visit - 2018

Chapter 9: Time Travel Jeopardy

Chapter 10: Dane's Promise

Chapter 11: Stealth Mission

Chapter 12: The Great Entrance

Chapter 13: Alien Imposters

Chapter 14: Alien Space Station

Chapter 15: The Delivery

Chapter 16: The Council of the Light

Chapter 17: A Torturous Flight

Chapter 18: The Squalors Terms

Chapter 19: The Intruder

Chapter 20: Hologram Arena

Chapter 21: The Squalor Return

Chapter 22: The Underground

Chapter 23: The Body Double

Chapter 24: The Conference

Chapter 25: 2018 Meets 2218

Chapter 26: The Rebel Revolt

Chapter 27: Torture Cylinder

Chapter 28: The Time Conundrum

Chapter 29: Sisters Torn

Chapter 30: Stave in 2018

Chapter 31: Human Alliance

Chapter 32: Dane's Dilemma

Chapter 33: The Unchanged Timeline

Chapter 34: The Rebellion is Underway

Chapter 35: Anchorax Returns

Chapter 36: The Serenix Factor

Chapter 37: The Virus

Chapter 38: The Deal

Chapter 39: Twin Imposters

Chapter 40: Stave's Salvation
CHAPTER 1

NEW MANHATTAN

The night sky glistened. The sun was setting on another day in New Manhattan. The red sky was as it had been on countless occasions during the millions of years of Earth's existence.

The year 2218; the date 18th January − the skyline dominated by the architecture of the alien-occupying race. The trademark centrepiece, the black pyramids, stood proudly 300 metres high; shiny, imposing and reflecting a perfect mirror image of the night sky. Even though Robert Stave resented the Olympianas with a passion, he had to admit to himself that their technology was a marvel to behold. Although the occupying race of aliens purported to originate from Earth, they were still impostors in Robert's eyes; ' _the sooner we rid our planet of this scourge the_ _better '_, thought Robert.

The city was occupied and ruled by the Volkans; a family spearheading the endeavour to rule. Robert would take great pleasure in killing any family member with his bare hands, given the chance.

Robert was out with his good friend Ansell Tobias. The city, now patrolled by the occupying race, imposed no-go areas; signs indicated exactly what risk the offending human took, should he find himself meandering into unrestricted territory.

The signs read:

_' Trespassers will be eaten'_.

Not _' Trespassers may be eaten'_ or ' _Trespassers beware '_, simply that they would be eaten.

Robert and Ansell were drunk. _Very_ drunk.

Ansell squinted trying to focus on the sign while swaying precariously from side to side. The sign was big enough, the holographic projected words clearly spelled out the danger, but for some inexplicable reason it was not registering with Ansell.

'Sod it!' said Ansell in a defiant manner as he began to walk past the sign, into the no-go zone.

'What the hell are you doing?' yelled Robert. There was no reaction from his friend as he ignored Robert's question and continued to walk. 'Hey! Come back, man!' pleaded Robert.

'Fuck the Drayzaks!' shouted his friend defiantly.

Drayzaks donned a necklace, a censored device, worn to administer an electric shock should the creature venture beyond the confined space. The electric pulse emanating from the necklace would render a Drayzak deceased or virtually dead. Ansell had reduced this deterrent of venturing past the point of safety, to zero, by his action.

The area in New Manhattan, solely occupied by Drayzaks, was nicknamed the 'Death Zone'. It allowed these monstrous creatures a free reign − the region measured approximately a quarter of the city. An invisible field, one that would not harm anyone who wasn't decorated with the censor device, surrounded this sector.

The Drayzaks came out of nowhere. They circled the space above Ansell. At first, just one or two, but within minutes many were following. A Drayzak landed, complete with his necklace and snorted loudly; with his mouth wide open he screeched, a piercing, deafening scream. Ansell stood and watched as he confronted the Drayzak; his friend Robert froze.

'Come on!' goaded Ansell. 'God, you're an ugly son of a bitch. Give it your best shot!'

Robert stared. He couldn't quite believe the drama unfolding, as everything appeared to play out in slow motion. By now a small crowd had gathered behind Robert, all of who were barking instructions in Ansell's direction, to evacuate the 'no-go zone'.

'What is he doing?' a passer-by asked Robert.

'He's drunk, lost his mind or something.'

'You know, they'll rip him apart, limb by limb, drunk or no drunk. You're right; must be out of his mind.'

'Move back, everyone!' instructed Robert, pushing his right arm behind him to accentuate his command. He crouched down, pulled a weapon out beneath his trousers strapped to the calf of his left leg and aimed at the Drayzak. Robert turned to check that the crowd behind had taken heed of his instruction.

The weapon Robert was grasping tightly in front with both hands was illegal. The drones patrolling the city would soon pick up the action taking place. Robert would be shot on sight, no questions asked. At best, he would have a few minutes to rescue Ansell; otherwise neither would see the sunset tomorrow.

Ansell staggered from side to side as the Drayzak sized up his next meal. The scaly body lit by the sun's rays reflected the full horror of this deathly creature and, with blood red eyes bulging, it looked even more menacing in the colourful evening light.

It ran towards its prey. The bat-like wings fanned out, preparing the creature for flight once its prey was captured.

Ansell, also armed, instantly pulled a knife from underneath his left lower arm − the sheath had been harbouring the weapon. It was a huntsman's knife equipped with large corrugated teeth, enough to slay the Drayzak, pending a strike to the heart.

A shot.

With precision aim, Robert expertly hit the creature between the eyes. He was used to conflict; for years he had mingled with the underground rebels. This weapon was also illegal, a nuclear fused ZX900, capable of exterminating a tank at 1000 metres. The rebels regularly raided the 'no-go zone' area in pursuit of Drayzaks. It was considered normal since the occupation of Earth, by the alien races 200 years ago; the ongoing war for occupation totally demoralising what remained of the human contingent.

The head of the beast exploded. The torso of the Drayzak collapsed. Ansell's white collarless shirt pebble-dashed by the remains of the creature's brain splattering spectacularly over an area of 10 metres, coating everything in its path.

A cheer went up from the crowd observing the action.

'Ansell!' shouted Robert. 'Get the hell out of there!'

Ansell turned to face Robert; the shock of the blast immediately brought him to his senses. Three Drayzaks were swooping down, enraged and hungry, looking to avenge the death of one of their own. Ansell lifted his arm up to cover the evening sun that pierced his eyes and ran towards his friend. Robert looked up to take aim − he would have to be accurate and take all three down if he stood a remote chance of saving Ansell from an agonising death. The drones would be here any second, just to add to his worry.

'Drone!' shouted the passer-by. There it was, about 100 metres high, some 300 metres in the distance. 'I'll distract it, crouch down and get rid of the weapon. They mustn't find that weapon on you, else you're dead.'

The crowd surrounded Robert to block the vision of the drone. One of them had smashed a plant pot earlier, one of many decorating the sidewalk; the crowd then proceeded to throw a broken pot towards the Drayzaks. Hurtling missiles wouldn't get you killed by a drone but would certainly distract them − a better option than certain death. Each of the perpetrators would be recognised instantly by the drones − face recognition technology plus a complete database of the entire city's inhabitants assured identification. A hefty fine for hooliganism was preferable to an early grave, if found to be armed.

'Too late, man! I told you to get rid of the weapon. It's too late for your friend but I don't want to be a dead man due to your stupidity!' shouted the passer-by.

The first Drayzak caught Ansell; he was only five metres away from safety.

The passer-by was right. It was too late for Robert's friend.

**************************************

New Manhattan was a far cry from the vibrant city it had once been before the alien wars. Gone was the trademark landscape, the iconic buildings, which depicted a world-renowned financial centre and a thriving entertainment capital − Madison Square Garden, Times Square, the Empire State Building and Wall Street − all long gone. A result of the many years of the battle for control.

The capitals of the world had endured the same arduous conflict. For the once dominant species it was a case of damage limitation. Humans had no reply to the super intelligence of the far more advanced aliens; they were left to the mercy of the species that won control of their territory.

The Council of the Light had intervened to try to rescue some semblance of order during the great wars. Evidence presented by the species fighting for dominance only complicated the issue. Those from the planet Olympiana had argued that as they originated from Earth, well before the current human species evolved, it was a strong case. The Zaagans from Zarduzian were adamant that they had a footprint and could produce a firm case for proportional propagation rights. The Undarthians, led by the descendants of Dane Vhastek, had propagated Earth with far more vigour; their argument that the Zaagan claim was spurious at best. Trollozytes, originally an Undarthian ally, were now hellbent on capitalisation of the planet's resources; they had now joined the party, not to mention the splinter group formed by the squalors from Zarduzian as well as an array of mutants and rebels.

The Earth is a mess in 2218. Each territory segregated, each with its own autonomy, each with its own invisible wall of electromagnetic field and each subjected to battles with alternate alien species wishing to gain control. A vicious circle.

New Manhattan was under the dictatorship of the Volkans − _the military might of the species emanating from Olympiana_. These were the most despised of the alien species, aliens who ruled by fear, utilising humans, either for their own purpose or back home in Olympiana; the portal was widely used to ship human slaves as additional labour or as sex objects on their home planet.

Humans had objected and put in a complaint to the Council of the Light, to no avail.

At least the aliens from Olympiana spoke in the same tongue as the human inhabitants − English − a mystery to the human inhabitants of the city.

****************************************

Ansell was now ten metres or so in the air, screaming in agony as the Drayzak tried to escape with his meal, to devour the catch in the comfort of his own space. The gathering of Drayzaks, akin to a flock of seagulls wrangling over breadcrumbs, had other ideas. A melee of frantic muscle flexing saw a challenge to the rights to this meal to just the one Drayzak. The competition for food was fierce, especially humans, a much sought-after dish.

Robert looked on in horror as the Drayzaks ripped his friend apart. He would have been dead in the first 30 seconds if he hadn't have passed out sooner; that at least was a blessing. Fragments of Ansell's shirt fell like confetti, a testimony to the gruesome battle for a piece of him. The clang on the ground drew Robert's attention. The corrugated knife had been of little use for his drunk friend had grossly underestimated the force of the opposition and the alcohol had grossly over-estimated, in his mind, the chances of surviving such an offensive action.

The drone was now overhead; several more had been alerted to the commotion and were heading in the general direction. Each member of the crowd, now expertly identified by the approaching drone, was subject to punishment at a later date. For the moment, the best form of action for the crowd was to dissipate, to fight the battle against their punishment once the dust settled, with the benefit of legal representation.

There were so many no-go areas in the city that the crowd, through panic, couldn't get their bearings. Most of the crowd followed whoever was leading the retreat from the drone's territorial dominance. Robert knew exactly where to run.

The passer-by was called Andre Burscalli.

'Hey, follow me!' shouted Robert to Andre. Instinctively, Andre followed.

'Where are we heading?' asked Andre.

'Just follow and stay close or you might lose me. If you lose me, you're dead.'

New Manhattan had designated areas of the city. Even those areas humans were allowed to access were patrolled by the dominant alien power. The alien security, commonly known as Death Guards would, without hesitation, rid the planet of a human life for as little as an offensive stare.

'The guards are closing,' stated Andre. 'We're as good as dead.'

'You want to live? Then shut up and stay close,' replied Robert, who at this moment was not remotely in the mood for unnecessary conversation.

Robert darted up an alley, Andre close behind with a drone following at his heels. Robert pulled out a device, an electronic zapper and pressed the contraption. A circular, steel manhole covering disappeared beneath the road surface, a direct result of the strange device. It was odd, as you couldn't distinguish the object until Robert activated its descent remotely.

'What the hell is that?' asked Andre.

'Freedom!' replied Robert.

The men had reached the escape hole within seconds. The drone, a three metre wide, circular, black, killing machine was rapidly closing in; Death Guards were approaching Robert and Andre from an opposite direction − within 20 seconds they would both be toast.

'Follow me, quickly,' instructed Robert as he descended into the hole using the steel ladder embedded in the passage below.

Robert descended about three metres when he saw the figure of Andre block out what little sunlight was left of the sunset above. The tunnel beneath was lit crudely but enough for Robert to determine that Andre was safely beneath the surface.

Robert used his zapper and the circular steel plug began to block the entrance.

Above, the Death Guards were closing fast, a posse of three. Their technology was frightening for they moved by way of a gravity-repellent force. Full body armour, pure black almost for menacing effect, was impenetrable. The electromagnetic force field built into the armour was an embedded facility, which ensured absolute protection for the guard; nothing would penetrate the field.

The ladder was about ten metres in length. Both Robert and Andre descended and, even without communication, neither had to emphasise to the other the urgency of steering clear of the surface.

'How far down do we go?' asked Andre.

'Nearly there,' replied Robert.

The plug was securely locked and would keep the guards at bay. Territorial advantage was now in Robert's favour.

'The Guards! They'll be here any second!' shouted Andre.

'No chance,' replied Robert. 'The rebels won't allow it. Out of bounds for the aliens down here!'

The underground was where the resistance gathered. Those who wanted to fight back against their imprisonment imposed by an alien race − considered as an infringement of their human rights − had formulated the rebellion. The aliens had allowed a co-existence to some degree, one that heavily favoured the impostors; the rebels had other ideas.

The Council of the Light had ordered that humans be allowed areas within the city deemed 'safe areas'. Whilst Death Guards patrolled those sections of the city acting as the self-appointed police, they were not allowed to pursue victims unnecessarily or use unreasonable force, thus preventing the Guards from venturing below ground.

The rebels were feared; there were no rules underground and the technology that had been stolen from the occupying alien race would put them on a fairly equal footing.

Robert and Andre reached the base of the ladder and walked along a dimly lit corridor, finally reaching a steel door. The door was solid, two feet thick, impenetrable and booby-trapped. Robert looked into the small camera; circular and about 80 millimetres in diameter, the eyepiece was complete with retina recognition. The door opened.

'Where are we?' asked Andre. 'By the way, I don't even know your name,' a rather amusing and belated question. Robert's wry smile reflected the fact.

'Robert, Robert Stave.'

'Andre Burscalli.'

'You're safe down here, Andre. Rebel Headquarters. You heard of the Resistance?' asked Robert as Andre followed him into a fully operational, very busy rebel basement.

'There are rumours, but I never realised this was so well organised,' replied Andre.

The basement was equipped with advanced technology. The area covered some 1500 square metres, littered with alien hardware captured by the rebels. Engineers and scientists alike were frantically working on cracking the anti-gravity facility of the alien drones whilst trying to conquer the force shield that was so impregnable. Decoding the hieroglyphics was the key - if the rebels could decipher the galactic language they would be well on their way to creating hardware of their own − war machines that might help fight the battle to regain control of their much beloved city.

A rebel approached Robert; a leader named Zak Lancelot (a surname of his own choosing due to the historical importance of such a prominent knight of the Round Table). As he approached, he held out his right arm. Robert clasped his right hand on Zak's forearm in the manner that a Roman Centurion might greet a comrade.

'Hey, man, sorry about Ansell,' said Zak and they hugged. Another warrior lost.

'This is Andre,' said Robert, 'a warrior in the making.'

'Pleased to meet you, Andre,' greeted Zak. He shouted to a comrade, 'Say, Mikel, care to show our friend around the complex?'

'Mikel looked around, put his blowtorch down and left the dishevelled drone he was cutting into at the work bench. 'Sure!' replied Mikel.

'You'll be fine with Mikel,' said Robert reassuringly. 'Once you've had a look around we'll catch up and have a chat. In the meantime, enjoy the show.'

The hologram was constantly active; it took centre stage in the basement and news channels dominated. The news; _broadcast via a private network called New York State, in defiance at the name change of the city and the destruction of the human_ _architecture which had created the iconic buildings of the old city_ ; influenced the rebels' movements.

At present, the dominant headline was the new, improved, time capsule.

A bulletin announced the transportation of Colonel Alfred Patterson, scheduled for 23rd February 2218, approximately a month away.

Robert stopped in his tracks.

'What's the lowdown on this latest transportation, Zak?' asked Robert.

'Not entirely sure,' replied Zak.

'Come on, Zak, you guys are on the inside. Why a Colonel? Are the government up to something? There are rumours that we are lodging a case with the Council of the Light to rid us of these damn aliens. Not that it will do any good if you want my opinion.'

Zak pulled him to one side. 'Quite, Robert,' said Zak. 'You're right − word has it that they are trying to gather some evidence from within the force field, you know, 'the incident'. Need proof that the Zaagans acted illegally and started this whole alien war crap.'

'Then why announce it in holovision for God's sake?'

'That's the whole idea, Robert. Don't hide the fact that you have a time capsule. That way the aliens won't suspect the real reason behind this scheduled time travel. Hell, we normally screw it up anyway and burn people alive in the capsule. As far as the aliens are concerned, this is just light entertainment. We have cleared this travel with the Council of the Light, so the aliens can't stop it. As far as anyone is concerned, this is just exploratory,' explained Zak. 'Look, we work closely with the government, you know that. We keep our ear to the ground and gather intelligence. We have information that the Volkans are winning the argument with the Council of the Light. That means sanctions on humans. That means loss of freedom. We have to do something but it's hush-hush at the moment, Robert, so not a word. Anyway, you're in deep trouble, so you need to keep a low profile.'

'Trouble, what trouble?'

'When Ansell dropped his knife, the drone must have seen it,' said Zak.

'Seen what?' asked Robert.

'Your gun. Someone in the crowd kicked it away to try to hide the fact that you were armed. We picked it up on our surveillance camera. When you made a run for it one of the drones made its way towards the gun. They will have checked for prints instantly as they're damn clever at fingerprint recognition even from a distance. They will know it's your gun, Robert.'

'Shit! What the hell am I gonna do, Zak?' pleaded Robert.

'I know a surgeon. You'll need a new image,' replied Zak.

'How the heck did humans get into this mess, Zak? You know my Granddad used to tell me tales. Can you imagine a world without these aliens, just humans? You know, Zak, if I were in that time capsule I wouldn't wanna come back!' said Robert. He looked around at the hologram to catch the tail end of the news bulletin. There it was staring him in the face, an image, a face; it was the face of the Colonel. Robert thought it looked familiar. It was.

It might have been him staring back at Robert, ' _hadn 't_ _anyone else noticed?_ ' thought Robert. ' _Obviously not '_ but there it was, the face of Hank Richards. It was the double of the legend. Robert knew his history; his grandfather had photographs, faces etched in Robert's mind like a brass rubbing. In an instant, Robert's plan was unveiled in his mind.

Robert knew his next move. He would tell no one.
CHAPTER 2

REVENGE TRAP

Dane Vhastek was travelling through the portal. The drones, in groups of ten, had been sent, prior to Dane's entry, to disorientate Qudor's fleet of craft, acting as gatekeepers at CERN.

The date was 23rd February 2018.

Annaluce shut her eyes as they entered the Earth's atmosphere, fearful that this could be the end. Sweat formed on Dane's brow. Although he was a warrior and had seen many battles he could not prevent his body reacting in anticipation of the battle ahead; his heart rate increased, his pupils dilated and he had a stern look of absolute focus on his face.

Annaluce turned to look at her hero − his hair was menacingly beautiful. With the black beads testament to his many victories, she convinced herself that she was in safe hands.

The sight that greeted them was chaos. A fierce battle was in progress as Dane's drones went about the business of fending off the aerial attack of Qudor's gatekeepers at the portal. It was just as Dane had predicted as his drones were giving as much as they got from Qudor's fleet.

Annaluce didn't dare scream − she had been warned. Dane opened fire immediately, a torrent of laser power picked off three drones in quick succession and his craft meandered effortlessly through the carnage in the Earth's skies. Following immediately were Dane's fellow warriors.

The holographic image displayed the enemy drones. Dane activated the electromagnetic force shield instinctively − a few more shots, a few less drones to worry about. Within seconds of the entry through the portal, Dane's craft picked up an incoming call from James Eaton, translated perfectly, so the message would be understood.

'Dane, only 50 enemy drones detected within your immediate vicinity,' stated James matter-of-factly, not wasting any time on a formal greeting, merely wanting to assist.

'Got them covered. Any other enemy craft approaching?' asked Dane.

'A few larger enemy craft on the peripheral. Not an immediate threat though,' said James observantly.

'This is too easy. I was expecting much more aggressive resistance,' said Dane.

'The battle has changed. The aerial battle isn't the worry, Dane. It's the ground offensive,' said James. 'Explain later; just get out of there safely first.'

Dane's warriors were picking off Qudor's drones with ease. The holographic image clearly highlighted the ten larger military craft on the peripheral of this aerial assault, yet no hostile fire, it was almost as if these ships were there to assess the power and size of the enemy fleet.

'Hostile enemy craft spotted,' said Dane.

'We see them − take your fleet to a higher altitude. If they follow and attack we have craft that can assist.'

Dane got the message out to his comrades to ascend. He knew that the speed of his craft was superior to Qudor's. If the enemy was up for the challenge he would attack them from above; a formality and easy pickings in Dane's eyes.

At a distance, the enemy craft did not follow. They were not drones but fully-fledged war craft. They gathered in a formation and began heading away from the portal at CERN.

Annaluce looked on in awe. Her hero had made light of the attack, the speed and agility with which he handled the craft was a thrill − the adrenaline pumping around her body was electrifying. She was sat with this wonderful beast of a warrior and he was hers, at least that was what she hoped. How she had made the mistake to trust Qudor Volkan was a mystery, but he was paying the price for threatening her, for trying to control and bully his way into her heart.

For the first time in her life she felt completely safe.

'No appetite for the fight,' said James. 'They're heading south,' was the message to Dane.

'Antarctica?' quizzed Dane. 'Look, I'll follow them. I'll take 50 of my fleet with me and the rest will join up with you. We'll get a clearer picture of what they are up to.'

'It's not pretty, Dane, they seem to have inflicted Earth with monstrous creatures.'

Oosapeth was listening in and decided to participate.

'Dane, this is Oosapeth. This could be a ploy to draw you away from CERN and split up your fleet. You will become an easier target.'

'We have superior speed. We'll pick them off before they reach their destination,' claimed Dane.

No point arguing with a warrior in full battle mode, so Oosapeth relented. He nodded his head privately in admiration. Assuming he would prevail, he signed off with a final instruction: 'Join us once the mission is complete.'

Dane had one eye on the receptor Annaluce had been wearing in her ear, courtesy of Qudor. The enemy had not picked off the drone, carrying the receptor. Dane's mind was working overtime. Why hadn't Qudor destroyed that drone? Was Annaluce leading him into a trap? Was this all planned out? _' He should be concentrating on the battle at hand'_, he thought. He resented his weakness.

The fleet of enemy craft had a head start but Dane estimated to be on top of the enemy within five Earth minutes, courtesy of his on-board hologram. The order for more craft to assist him was administered and, with precision, the others formulated behind Dane in a perfect arrow shape. Dane studied the image; the ten-enemy craft were in view. This should be a formality.

The change in shape puzzled Dane. The enemy craft suddenly split up, moving in totally different directions, descending rapidly at the same time.

Dane instructed his comrades.

'Sequence of five. Each group follows one craft. I'm logging it into the visual. The hologram will indicate who the other four are in your group to follow those selected to lead.'

'They're splitting us, Dane. This is a dangerous manoeuvre. We don't know what awaits us at ground level,' said Lucamme, a commander Dane trusted intently.

'Follow orders! Activate your shields! We'll take them out before they descend,' replied Dane. Annaluce gave him a look as if she agreed with the argument from his colleague. Dane returned the look and it was clear that his mind was made up. Annaluce was powerless to change it.

A message came through from Oosapeth.

'Suggest you abort. They are leading you into a trap. The unknown aliens have taken over the major capitals. They cannot win the aerial battle, but they will have the element of surprise at ground level. Repeat − suggest you abort.'

'I've got this, Oosapeth!' insisted Dane. For the second time, as it was in the volcano, Oosapeth had to trust that his ally knew what he was doing, but this time there was doubt.

Dane knew the unknown source. It wasn't appropriate to have a discussion with Oosapeth at this moment. He had seen the enemy's capabilities and so far, he was unimpressed. Qudor was no match but Dane was now emotionally charged. He needed to send out a message to the alien who was a challenge for the affections of Annaluce. Even though she had made it clear he was no threat, Dane needed to eliminate him.

Dane took four craft with him. They were closing fast on the lead enemy craft. Annaluce clearly worried that her new-found love was acting irrationally and spoke out:

'Dane! Oosapeth is right. This is a trap. Let them return to base. We should join Oosapeth and plan our attack.'

Before Dane could respond, a barrage of open fire jolted their craft.

'We're under attack!' cried Lucamme.

Dane looked at the hologram. Appearing from nowhere, a thousand feet below were hundreds of enemy craft. Qudor had planned for every eventuality, the possibility that the entry at CERN would lead to a fierce battle led to a decision not to bombard CERN with too many craft. The plan was to split up his posse, stay clear of the portal at CERN for the sole purpose of drawing them away from the portal, to divide the enemy.

It had worked.

'Dane, get the hell out of there! There are at least a hundred enemy craft. We can detect 20 heading in your direction. You have superior speed, so abort. That's an order.'

Dane got an order out to his fleet.

'Split up current formation. Ascend fast! Emit electromagnetic shock. Repeat − emit electromagnetic shock and abort.'

The fire was fierce. Qudor's craft were battleships, their fire power far superior to Dane's. Unless he could ascend and quick, he was in trouble. He should have listened to Oosapeth; emotion was interfering with his judgement and he had been weakened.

The other craft in Dane's fleet were ascending. Strangely, there was little challenge from the enemy. The holographic image indicated that the enemy craft, who were previously targeting the others in his fleet, were now heading in Dane's direction. Enemy craft were both beneath and above him, about 100 craft. He was in trouble.

'How did they know to follow me?' Dane asked out loud.

'Dane, call your fleet back to assist. You can't win this battle on your own. Repeat − call your fleet back!' shouted Oosapeth. Dane instinctively knew he was right. Why had he not listened to Oosapeth in the first place?

The battle was playing out. James Eaton and Oosapeth both watched the action unfolding intently. Dane's ship had been the target all along. The enemy's game plan was playing out, it was clear for all to see. Somehow, however, they knew which craft was Dane's.

Dane's ship was surrounded, so much so that you could not distinguish it.

He disappeared from view.
CHAPTER 3

STAVE'S MISSION

Commander Lucas entered the engineers' room adjoining the time capsule deployment area. The alarm had sounded and the perpetrators were trying to head out of the building, but the shutters had fenced them in.

Joining Commander Lucas were three heavily armed guards. The time capsule had gone and the shutters that sealed in the capsule were now slowly rising. The time capsule engineer, Samuel Parker, was visibly shaken; his engineer colleagues lay slumped, dead, shot in the head at close range.

Parker stared at the date − 23rd February 2018. The destination − Area 51, Nevada.

'Get medical assistance. Now!' barked the Commander. A guard ran out and the other two simply froze on the spot at the death carnage. 'What in God's name?' uttered Lucas under his breath. 'Apprehend whoever did this. Now! What are you waiting for? Move!' were the instructions to the two dumbfounded guards.

A riotous brawl of activity within the base was panic driven. A loud alarm issuing instruction to evacuate the building did little to ease tensions. The Colonel looked at Samuel and, realising his traumatic state, he urged him to sit down whilst medical assistance arrived. The 3D vision in the engineers' room told its own story; the destination had been deliberately altered, something had gone horribly wrong. Either an impostor had entered the time capsule or Colonel Alfred Patterson was a fake.

A message came through to Commander Lucas. Each commander or solider was equipped with standardised transmitters, surgically inserted into the inner ear, complete with a virtual visor, activated by voice recognition.

'Killers apprehended, Sir,' was the message from one of the Commander's guards.

'Any casualties?' asked the Commander.

'Negative. Protective shield activated in time. Both culprits have been stunned and are comatose.'

The guards' protective gear included a force shield activator, technology provided by the dominating alien presence, a trade-off for a compliant human police force.

'Do we have retina recognition?'

'One is a known rebel, Sir. The other identified as Andre Burscalli. The file states a minor altercation about a month ago. He escaped the Death Guards with Robert Stave.'

The Commander requested visual files − _his virtual visor_ _emulated a circular band, a halo-like contraption, a fitting placed_ _over the head sitting 40 millimetres above the ear._ The file showed data on the two suspects, a facial visual and a complete history of their past.

The medics arrived; Samuel was escorted out of the room still traumatised.

'Cuff them both. Arrange transportation to the military base. Keep this under wraps. That's an order.' The cuffs in 2218 were electronically operated. A magnetic field formed a containment ring around the victims' hands. Surprisingly, the term 'to cuff' was still adhered to in 2218.

'Understood,' said the guard.

'Call Senator Adams,' said Commander Lucas into his virtual visor. Voice recognition activated the call.

'Commander Lucas, what can I do for you?' asked the senator.

'When do we expect the visit from the Council of the Light, senator?'

'Tomorrow, February 24th at precisely 12pm noon, Commander. They will need the full data on Colonel Patterson's time travel as standard procedure. Why?'

'We have a problem.'

'Don't tell me we've incinerated the Colonel?'

'No, it's worse, senator.'

*******************************

Andre awoke. Feeling groggy and a bit bruised from the shock administered by the guards at the Time Capsule Centre, he tried to collect his thoughts. The image of the two dead engineers haunted him. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go, they were meant to stun all but one engineer, ensure Robert's destination and date of time travel was changed, then escape. It all seemed so simple; an operation of this sort was something the rebels were used to - they never failed, allegedly. Now he found himself tied to a chair, in a dark room, alone.

Sweat poured profusely from his forehead, the blinding light only enhanced his drenched face. The chair wasn't comfortable − a metal, cold, hard seat that only added to his anxiety. How long would he have to suffer this indignation? Who had restrained him so unceremoniously? Would he die at the hands of his captors? The sweat poured even more.

A voice − a robot voice − summed up Andre's dilemma.

'Your name is Andre Burscalli,' the computerised voice announced.

Andre at first wasn't sure how to respond. The shock had rendered him speechless. Worse still, an electric shock reverberated through the chair, agonisingly.

'Stop, please stop!' pleaded Andre. 'Yes, I am Andre Burscalli,' he admitted.

The bar was set. Andre was under no illusion the fate that awaited him should he not fully comply with his captors. The fear on his now contorted face was clear for all to see for those who observed the pain being administered to the captive.

'What do you want?' asked Andre.

'Tell me what you know about Robert Stave,' said the computer-generated voice as a demand rather than a question, which, now escalated up a notch, the tone was far more aggressive.

'He's a friend.'

'Why did you sabotage the time capsule? What is the intention of Robert Stave's mission?'

'I don't know. Look, we weren't supposed to kill anyone, you have to believe me!' pleaded Andre. 'Robert didn't tell me anything about any mission.'

Another painful shock was administered. Another agonising cry from the dark room.

'I repeat − what do you know about Robert Stave's mission? The pain will be worse if you don't comply.'

'I don't know, I tell you. All I know is that he mentioned his grandfather, something about Earth before the alien invasion. That's all I know − I swear.'

'Tell us about the rebels. What did they know? Did they help Robert Stave?'

'I don't know, I don't think so. Look, Robert just said he needed help, that he was in trouble and needed to escape. He chose me and a rebel friend who could be trusted.'

'Tell us what you know about Doctor Humphries.'

'He's the surgeon who changed Robert's appearance,' said Andre, hoping that whoever was interrogating him wouldn't quiz as to why he needed to alter his facial features − that would surely lead to the incident with the Drayzak. ' _Was this the whole reason for his capture? '_ he thought.

Looking on at this hideous administration of pain and questioning was Senator Lace Adams, the Chief of Operations at the Time Capsule Centre. Dr Olask Laderman and two military chiefs had been introduced to the senator merely as Klade and Maxius _, a probable alias, but nobody questioned the fact._

The four individuals scrutinised Andre's answers and discussed the next line of attack.

'Give him a break for a few minutes,' asked Lace. 'Let's think this through.'

Klade got a message through to the interrogator, who was in another room, to ease off for a while. The four needed answers and quick; the Council of the Light would impose great sanctions if they learned of the lack of security over the time capsule mission.

'I think he is telling the truth,' said Lace. 'I mean, we've administered some pain on the guy. What if he really _doesn 't_ know the reason Robert Stave sabotaged the mission? It's only through checking the security footage of Colonel Alfred Patterson that we've identified the occupant as Stave. I mean, why didn't we do those checks in the first place?' asked Lace.

'No need, senator, he had all the relevant identification documents. I mean, what idiot would chance incineration anyway? Stave must be a desperate man or a maniac,' replied Klade.

'That's what worries me. So, let's run through what we know. Stave gets into trouble with his friend on a night out. We know he is well connected with the rebels, but they are our eyes and ears out there on the street, so why would they help Stave sabotage this mission? Clearly Stave has asked Andre, a rookie rebel, and this guy who goes by the name Wesley Fortuna. We know he was a rebel but got into hot water with Zak Lancelot for breaking the curfew rules with the rebels. Plus, Zak informed us that Humphries was changing Stave's appearance to protect him from Death Guards, at least that's why he thought Stave was changing his appearance. Seems to me Stave was working alone.'

'This grandfather thing seems important. Is he going back in time to see his ancestors?' asked Maxius.

'Wouldn't make sense. He's gone back to a specific date and Area 51, I mean, why Area 51 and why that date?' asked Lace.

'Area 51. Let me think. Anyone know precisely _where_ at Area 51? Can we pull up the data from the engineers' room?' Maxius quizzed.

A 3D image was formulated onto the computer in the room adjoining Andre's interrogation chamber, where the four were observing the interrogation. It showed the map of Area 51 and pinpointed the hangar where Robert would arrive.

'Go back to the inventory of the hangar at the date 23rd February 2018,' requested Klade. 'There − look there. The portal amplifier. What the hell is Stave up to?'

'Can we access Stave's personal files, see if there is anything he's been downloading, any historical information he might have been checking?'

Within seconds the files were available, including all his browsing history.

'Search portal amplifier,' requested the senator out loud.

The data confirmed that Stave had accessed archived information. It was specific information on how to disable the amplifier, courtesy of legislation introduced by the Council of the Light, which included freedom of information.

'Okay, so it's definitely the portal amplifier. Can we bring up the location of the amplifier on or around the 23rd February 2018?' asked Lace.

'It's at Antarctica as it was known then, but it then moves to the Kerguelen Islands near Antarctica,' confirmed Klade.

'How in God's name is Stave going to get to Antarctica from Area 51?' asked Maxius.

'He's going to fly there,' said the senator. 'Check his data on historic aircraft searched.'

'Stealth aircraft − he's downloaded the flight manual,' said Klade.

With a look of resignation on his now concerned face, the senator confirmed their worst fears.

'He isn't going back in time to visit his ancestors. He's going back in time to change the events. To change the future. Worse still, to change our present.'
CHAPTER 4

ABDUCTION 3

Dane awoke. Opposite and strapped to a vertical stone tablet was Annaluce. He was bruised and dazed. Trying at first to recollect why he was in this perilous predicament, he recalled the battle. The ships had split formation following his entry into the Earth's atmosphere at CERN − he remembered the call from Oosapeth to return and re-group and not to pursue what was deemed a trap. He had been foolish. His concern for Annaluce's affections and an urge to avenge his rival for her attentions had clouded his judgement. He remembered how he had felt after making love before battle; the voice inside his head toying with his mind, repeatedly reminding him that his actions would only weaken his position in battle.

Opposite Dane, Annaluce who had been stripped to the bare minimum of clothing and was unceremoniously and crudely strapped to a tablet stared back at Dane with tears welling up in her eyes. Even dishevelled she still looked beautiful. She gazed over to her right at the figure approaching the arena. This was a makeshift arena outdoors; the temperature wasn't particularly warm and there was no sign of any native inhabitants, just an array of alien craft dotted around the landscape, surrounding Dane and his beloved.

The area, the French Southern and Antarctic Lands, known as the Kerguelen Islands set deep in the Indian Ocean, were remote enough − the likelihood of help, to save Dane and Annaluce, was not evident.

Dane remembered the annihilation − his craft landing crudely, the attempt to gain control and ensure the safest possible landing in the circumstances, fearing that his stubbornness of refusing the safe option of joining the fleet led by Oosapeth might have cost him, not only his life, but that of his beloved; these thoughts consumed his mind.

The humiliation that he was now the prisoner of the rival for Annaluce's affections was even more painful than the crash landing.

The figure approaching was diminutive in comparison to Dane's magnificent stature. Annaluce was tortured at the sight of Dane, now a helpless prisoner at the hands of the alien she now despised, and further humiliated by her helplessness. Her eyes darted around the area in pursuit of the ultimate torture machine, the dreaded Drayzak.

Qudor paraded triumphantly, the smirk was evidence enough of the immense pleasure at caging the great Dane Vhastek. Dane, Annaluce and Qudor had been fitted with translator headsets; Qudor was going to make absolutely sure he maximised the agony he could inflict on his defenceless victims.

'Dane Vhastek, we meet at last,' said Qudor, even with a translator helmet his words oozed sarcasm.

Dane, with all his might, lunged forward from the vertical tablet, the metal harness buckling under the immense effort to release himself from his shackles and rip Qudor apart. He growled; there were no words to portray his hatred.

'Now, now,' said Qudor, 'you will need to save your energy for the ultimate battle.'

Annaluce knew exactly what the ultimate battle referred to. Again, her eyes darted around looking for the entrance of the Drayzaks.

'I'm so surprised you fell for our little trap. That was the whole idea, to entice you away from the fleet. Of course, we knew which ship was yours, Dane, for Annaluce gave us the signal.'

Dane looked at Annaluce. Was this yet another betrayal? Has she led him into this trap? Annaluce was frantically shaking her head. 'He's lying, Dane!' she screamed.

'Her tracking device was planted in one of our drones, the one you decided not to shoot down − you couldn't have known which of the fleet pursuing you was my craft. You're not that intelligent!' shouted Dane, for he couldn't resist the dig at his opponent.

Qudor turned around and nodded at one of his military operatives. The operative duly obliged and headed towards Annaluce. Dane couldn't resist a further jibe. 'Are you all dwarfs?' he asked. The device held by the operative didn't look like a weapon; it resembled a small Geiger counter. Annaluce looked on in trepidation; her trust in Qudor was zilch and there was a military colleague heading her way with a strange device.

The operative held the small rod measuring between 5−10 centimetres from Annaluce's midriff initially. No sound was emitted. Qudor nodded again as if to prompt the operative, who moved the rod away from her midriff until he reached her head. At that point the device reacted. The sound was like that of an alarm, one you might imagine if you had inadvertently entered an area of a military base without permission, a sort of intermittent, monotone, short burst of sound. Something had been planted in her head.

Dane observed, somewhat confused.

'You're probably wondering why we placed a device in her ear. Well, let me explain. I never trusted her. I told her that the device in her ear was the only method of tracking her and the only method she could communicate, when all the time the main device had been planted in her brain,' explained Qudor. 'I suppose you are wondering how I implanted the tracking device in her head?' Qudor paused.

Dane looked at Annaluce. She was the pawn in Qudor's plan. Maybe this dwarf wasn't so dim-witted after all.

'You see, when we picked up the first signal from the drone we anticipated that she had revealed the implant in her ear. We knew that was sent to test me. I knew that by _not_ striking down the drone, if a further signal appeared in a different locality that she had dispersed of the ear implant and planted it elsewhere. It would also mean one thing − she was no longer an ally.'

Dane had been played. The humiliation was complete.

'Of course, we have had the chance to play back the data from her implant. Interesting, especially the incident before you must have travelled through the portal,' said Qudor.

Dane thrust forward again, this time the scream was deafening.

'I have some other news for you, Dane. Tragic news in the circumstances,' said Qudor.

'Don't tell me. You're going to unleash your pets?' replied Dane.

'Oh, that's for certain but that isn't the news. No, the tragic news, Dane, is that Annaluce is pregnant.'

The look of anguish on the face of Annaluce mirrored that of Dane. How could this be? So soon. How did Qudor know? Was he just tormenting Dane?

'The question is, Dane, is it yours or mine?' said Qudor antagonistically.

Dane thrust forward yet again. Another tear welled in Annaluce's eyes. Qudor smirked.

'This is my dilemma, Dane. If I let my pets loose on Annaluce, am I destroying something which is mine? It won't in the least bother my pets,' he paused, then continued, 'I'm not entirely sure it _will_ bother me. Wouldn't it be deliciously ironic, if in my desire to avenge Annaluce's betrayal, I destroy something that is part of me? Of course, it would be delightful if my pets not only dutifully destroyed the woman who would happily see you destroy me, but also in doing so, destroyed your offspring. Decisions, decisions,' tutted Qudor.

'You hide behind your pets, your monsters − you are a coward, just as Annaluce said you were. If she is indeed carrying and it is yours I am sure she would rather die than live,' said Dane.

Qudor's expression changed. He turned to an operative and pointed. In the distance, a spacecraft lowered a crate. The noise was hauntingly familiar to Annaluce.

Drayzaks.

*******************************

'I have a visual,' said Oosapeth.

James had the holograph homed in on the Kerguelen Islands − _near Antarctica_ , from the mothership currently orbiting Earth. Dane had been tracked.

Dane left instructions on the craft that Oosapeth entered before departing from Xenon, following James Eaton's revelation that Dane had uploaded his plan onto the craft's internal computer. Dane had synched a tracking device of his own, one implanted in a black bead in his hair with instructions: 'If for any reason we are attacked when entering the portal at CERN, the tracker will relay my position.' No stone was left unturned.

'Divide and circle the target area,' instructed Oosapeth to the five military spacecraft heading towards the island.

'Copy. Understood,' was the reply.

*******************************

The door of the cage slowly descended, agonisingly revealing the terrifying cargo of three fully-grown, hungry Drayzaks, slavering at the prospect of a meal. Annaluce screamed. Dane thrust forward, almost breaking loose from the crudely erected crucifixion-style restraining chains.

'You will die a gruesome death, Qudor, I promise you that!' screamed Dane.

'You won't be able to fight with your eyes gouged out and no arms or legs. The great Dane Vhastek, who would have thought, out-manoeuvred,' said Qudor triumphantly.

A loud deathly screech disturbed Qudor's moment of glory. A Drayzak was splattered unceremoniously over the snow-covered ground. The previously unblemished fresh snow, now a concoction of dead Drayzak body parts mixed with steaming hot fresh blood. The snow emitted steam with the heat. Just the one Drayzak slew, greatly disturbing the two remaining monsters; but food was food; the battle to devour the remains of the decapitated Drayzak ensued. The two Drayzaks were still confined to their cages, restricted by the same crude chains securing Dane Vhastek to an equally Neanderthal stone tablet.

Qudor realised the threat immediately. Another laser fire almost destroyed one of his fleet. He pulled a firearm securely and conveniently strapped to his upper thigh. Rapid fire split the chains immediately and the victim fell to the floor. An instruction was barked:

'Board the craft!' shouted Qudor to his henchmen.

'The Drayzaks?' enquired an operative.

Qudor turned and fired directly at his beloved pets. He couldn't take them with him, no time − better that he destroys them than them landing in the hands of the enemy. Annaluce crouched precariously and in pain. Qudor had released her.

'Run, Annaluce, run!' screamed Dane.

'Release Dane, do not mess up,' ordered Oosapeth to the spacecraft in the nearest vicinity to the target. Dane's frantic movements at the sight of Annaluce in trouble made the task of severing the chains all the more challenging. One wrong aim and Dane would be as decapitated in the same fashion as the lifeless Drayzak.

Four chains bolted to the stone slab contained the Undarthian. Each was a precision shot of the highest calibre. The first was successful, releasing Dane's right arm. The stone slab split, debris erupted. The second shot released his left leg, more debris. In the vertical position, Dane would be compromised if the next shot released his left arm. A glance in the direction of Annaluce saw the nightmare unfolding. Annaluce had run as instructed but Qudor was closing fast. The third shot released his other leg and Dane swung uncontrollably by his left hand. Qudor managed to gain on Annaluce and, with a rugby-style tackle, Annaluce was his. Despite a feeble attempt to fight off this stunted version of the being she loved, Qudor took control, threw her over his shoulder whilst still shouting orders at his crew to board their craft, as he headed towards his ship and safety.

'Come on, come on!' shouted Dane who was holding himself up by hanging on to the bolt which secured the remaining chain.

Annaluce squirmed. With her fists she tried to release herself from Qudor's grip. As they passed, Dane still struggling to carry his weight by clinging to the bolt, saw Qudor raise his weapon and point towards Dane. A flash of laser severed the final chain and Dane fell to the ground with a thud and the snow dispersed. In true warrior fashion he lunged forward, laying low and flat to the ground. Annaluce could see her hero free from his shackles. With gusto she started wriggling frantically to disorientate Qudor for the second time and he began to gather speed to an awaiting craft. He did not fancy a one-on-one with an angry Dane Vhastek so, like a coward he headed for safety.

Rapid fire exchanged between Oosapeth's fleet and Qudor's grounded spacecraft. This would be the first exchange of many over the coming years. Qudor knew he was in a battle; taking control of his home planet would be at a cost.

Oosapeth was outnumbered, as Qudor's fleet were part grounded but also actively in flight.

'Cover. I'm going in for Dane,' ordered Oosapeth.

'Copy,' the reply.

Dane had taken cover behind the stone slab he had been so unceremoniously shackled to earlier; the laser shots were coming thick and fast as Qudor made away with Annaluce. Dane looked to the skies, recognised Oosapeth in the Undarthian ship and screamed to make haste, desperate to halt Qudor's progress. Above, a full battle developed between Qudor's fleet and Oosapeth's warriors; each had full electromagnetic defence shields and both opponents were of the highest calibre when it came to battle.

Oosapeth was low, hovering above the stone slab, desperately holding off aggressive fire from Qudor's craft. The lower belly of the spacecraft opened and his dorker jettisoned from his ship. Dane remained low, shielded by the stone slab. The dorker weaved whilst Oosapeth protected his position, the dorker's shield would offer added cover against stray laser fire. It lowered behind the slab and Dane instinctively mounted.

'Annaluce!' shouted Dane. 'Annaluce!' Pointing in the direction of Qudor, now only metres away from the safety of his craft, Oosapeth had given precise instructions to the rider to rescue Dane and head straight back, without distraction.

Qudor had his victim, _who would know the extent of_ _the horrors he might inflict_. With Dane safely in the craft he demanded that they pursue the evil midget.

'Dane, we have to retreat, re-group!' shouted Oosapeth.

'He will kill her, feed her to his monstrous pets,' said Dane.

'Better that Annaluce lives for the moment than killed in battle. He will use her as bait and hope that you let down your guard. An emotional warrior is a weak warrior. I don't need to tell you that.'

Dane sat at the controls with Oosapeth, knowing he was right. He hated this weakness but the announcement that she might be carrying his offspring disorientated Dane, scrambled his thoughts and displaced his warrior discipline. If Dane was to save Annaluce he needed to refocus.

'Where are we heading?' asked Dane.

'To the only hideout I have that hasn't been destroyed − my ice caves in Antarctica, not far from these islands, but untraceable. I have always kept a close watch on your caves and I never trusted him so it was necessary to have a base close to Daxzus. We needed easy access from a base should we need to dispose of him. As it transpired, someone else did the job for us.'

'What about the fleet in orbit? We can't hide the whole fleet?'

'We will organise the strategy from the ice caves. The game has changed; it has been reduced to a battle on the ground. We do not have the warrior numbers to tackle their grotesque monsters annihilating this planet's native race.'

'I need a fleet. Zarduzian could offer a solution,' suggested Dane.

'Let's get to safety first and set the plan later,' replied Oosapeth.
CHAPTER 5

MULTI PROBABILITY FACTOR

The emergency meeting at the Time Capsule Centre was tense. The Council of the Light would be expecting the safe return of Colonel Patterson; sight of supporting data that indicated he had travelled back in time to an agreed, specified date, in order to gather evidence to assist a challenge to those aliens claiming the right to planet Earth. No such data was available and Colonel Patterson was dead, yet in less than 12 hours, at precisely 12pm noon on 24th February 2218, serious questions would be asked by the council.

The meeting was highly confidential. The boardroom at the centre was highly technological, a room equipped to deal with the new time capsule, a revolutionary piece of kit that could prove either advantageous or, placed in the wrong hands, devastating.

Those attending included Senator Lace Adams, Dr Olask Laderman, Commander Lucas (who preferred to be addressed as Commander), Klade and Maxius the senior military officials, as well as several time capsule engineers, particularly Samuel Parker, who, still disturbed by the murder of his two fellow engineers, was nonetheless vital if they were to avoid the admonishment of the Council of the Light.

The senator opened the discussion.

'I would like to acknowledge those present at this meeting. I hope I need not have to remind everyone of the sensitivity and secrecy of what we are about to discuss?'

Nods all around the room indicated a reluctant acceptance of the severity. The Colonel looked stern − adorned in his official army uniform reflecting his standing only added to his aggressive demeanour. Samuel's attire reflected his position, a white garment, fire-proof but so obviously befitting of an engineer. The senator, more formally dressed, looked sheepishly out of kilter.

'We are all perfectly aware, senator,' replied Dr Laderman sarcastically. 'Can we just get on with it?'

'You are supposed to be Chief of Operations, Doctor,' said the Colonel. 'Your sarcasm is rather ironic as it is your fault that the administration of this time travel expedition failed. You clearly breached the security checks.'

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said the senator. 'Proportioning blame at this late stage will do us no good. We need to resolve this problem and it will take the co-operation of everyone. Can we please move on to the matter in hand?'

The Colonel nodded in acceptance and Dr Laderman similarly obliged.

'So, we have established the date Robert Stave chose to travel back to and we know the destination. We know he is part of the rebel faction, but I do not believe they had any part in this misdemeanour. Samuel, what do we know about the consequences if the events of the past are altered?'

'Unfortunately, not that much,' replied Samuel. 'If Robert Stave manages to significantly alter the events of the past that does not necessarily mean a warp of our timeline.'

'An alternate universe, you mean?' asked Klade.

'Precisely that, an alternate universe.'

'So, let me get this straight. Robert Stave alters events in the past and creates a duplicate of the universe where events pan out differently?' asked the senator.

'That's one theory,' replied Samuel. 'Of course, the other theory is far more worrying. The Council of the Light forbid any meddling with events of the past for a reason and that is to ensure that we do not change the events of the present. What we don't know is, if Robert Stave changes an event in the past whether that will alter our present. More to the point, how will it change the present? Will persons, who should not exist as a result of those changes, simply vanish from reality?'

'What if we send someone back to the exact date and time of Robert's time travel destination, arm them so they can take him out, then return back to the present?' asked the senator.

'Not a good idea,' said Dr Laderman. 'That would erase Robert Stave from the present. It might distort the present. His non-existence would mean he wasn't born. His family line would be brought into disarray. Plus, we know he is armed. If he kills whomever we send back then we have the same problem. At all costs, Robert Stave must not be killed. He has to return back to the present unscathed.'

'How do we know that our current timeline of existence hasn't already factored in Robert Stave's travel back in time?' asked the senator.

'It's the multiple probability factor,' said Samuel. 'The Council of the Light fear interference with the past and the possibility of multiple beings travelling back in time that might result in the multiple probability factor.'

'Which is?' asked the Colonel who expressed a look that suggested he considered all of this as intellectual nonsense.

'The multi-probability factor is a time distortion of the present, the here and now. There is a case that any distortion of the past means multiple existence in the present. Rather than destroy people in the present who perhaps wouldn't have existed due to radical changes in the past, the suggestion is that different versions of their self, exist simultaneously,' replied Samuel.

The silence in the room was deafening as the personnel grappled with this theory.

'But that only affects the human existence if the time travel is within the period of our existence,' said the senator. 'Suppose the alien wars had never existed. What do we know about the early Earth inhabitants?' asked the senator thinking out loud. 'We know Qudor Volkan stole the portal amplifier. We assume that is why Robert Stave is trying to change that event. What if Qudor Volkan never existed?'

'Interesting,' said Dr Laderman. 'So, without the exodus from planet Earth, Qudor Volkan would not have caused the alien wars. That means Robert Stave would not have travelled back in time.'

'Precisely,' agreed the senator. 'Didn't I read somewhere that the civilisation who fled and reached Olympiana were themselves potentially propagated?'

Klade knew this theory well.

'There is an archive timeline. The Council of the Light allows freedom of information. Who has access to the database of the council? If we can find the date of the propagation we might be able to thwart it. No early Earth civilisation, no exodus, no alien wars and certainly no Drayzaks. It shouldn't interfere with the human timeline, but it might prevent Robert Stave from travelling back in time.'

The plan was unfolding. It seemed more ridiculous by the minute; these were desperate measures needed to correct a potentially devastating event, a multi-probability world.

'That's like double jeopardy. Robert Stave has already travelled back in time. To go even further back in order to change the event he has travelled back to seems illogical,' said Dr Laderman. 'Anyway, all this is unproven. The Council of the Light are considering outlawing time travel for this very kind of conundrum.'

'We have two time machines left. Without permission from the Council of the Light we technically cannot use them. If we can't be trusted then we might lose our case to evict the immigrant aliens. However, in order to rectify our mistake, I suggest we travel back to the day before Robert Stave, the 22nd February 2018. We know he will be in the hangar at Area 51. We send someone with a tranquiliser gun to shoot Robert as he emerges from the time capsule, put him back in the time capsule and send him home. The second capsule also returns. Both have to return before noon tomorrow,' said the senator.

'This time travel is confusing,' said Maxius. 'Think I'll stick to killing Drayzaks.'

'Who's volunteering?' asked the senator, pretty much ignoring Maxius' comment.

The tension around the room was evident. Not a word. The first man to utter a word could possibly be chosen so a deathly silence fell upon the group. The decision as to who would be sent, however, was obvious. A military operative had to make the perilous journey, risk being burnt alive in the time capsule and potentially risk the plight of the native species on Earth and its right to take back control of the planet.

'Hell, it has to be me,' said Klade, much to the relief of the rest of the room.

'Samuel, set up one of the capsules. Maxius, you arm Klade with sufficient fire power to defend himself against a possible attack if he is discovered at Area 51 − more importantly, a tranquiliser. Set the return time to 9 o-clock in the morning. That's less than eight hours from now, so we have little time. We can only hope and pray, gentlemen,' demanded the senator.

Samuel and Klade headed towards the time capsule, both sombre, both concerned.
CHAPTER 6

EARTH CALL

The date of 25th February 2018 was the date the whole world witnessed the start of a mass alien invasion. Drayzaks had been introduced to society with devastating consequences: the world's military might were defenceless against far superior alien fire power; the technological infrastructure upon which the human race relied now reduced to an irrelevance and the nuclear weapons we so steadfastly based our ability to defend ourselves − sabotaged as easily as confiscating a child's ice cream.

Anarchy, looting and abductions were just a few of the imponderables to quantify on such a mass scale. Governments reduced to a useless bunch of irrelevant officials, powerless to protect its people. The human race had awoken to the nightmare that 'we are not alone' but the invasion was hostile; these aliens were not here in peace, they were here to occupy.

Normal communication had been scrambled by the invaders − without basic communication our civilisation simply could not function. All over the world the people cried out for help and no one was listening.

The military were making some headway to descramble the interference to their communication systems. International military networks checked the status of the invasion and brave decisions were to be made; either try to amass an aerial retaliation, albeit without their most powerful defence − _nuclear weapons_ , or tackle the onslaught of the deathly Drayzaks on the ground.

To assemble a military attack against these monsters meant being sitting ducks. Whatever the plan, whichever military or aerial hardware was adopted it was inevitably going to meet with far superior opposition. Our civilisation was being wiped out before our very eyes and all we could do was watch.

Most of the world's military elite, government officials, presidents or government ministers were securely housed in bunkers deep beneath the carnage occurring on the surface.

The United States' president slumped in his presidential chair, his prime position in the military room now irrelevant. His best advisors, military generals as well as NASA officials, contemplated. A plan was needed. The unprecedented global disaster, unfolding, tested their every resolve. Everyone knew this was checkmate and they were all merely going through the formality of how to surrender with the least collateral damage.

A call came through on an unknown network. It was Scott McCabe. James Eaton was busy trying to navigate Oosapeth towards the rescue of Dane Vhastek and McCabe had taken it upon himself to try to make communication via the alien technology, at his disposal, to locate a fellow human who could still receive any form of contact.

'This is Scott McCabe, repeat − Scott McCabe. Do you read?'

A military operative in the bunker beneath the White House picked up the signal. Placing one headphone to his right ear he acknowledged the message whilst simultaneously shouting across the communication room to 'get the President'.

'We read you loud and clear, Scott,' replied the military operative. 'What is your position?'

'Outside of your jurisdiction, that's for sure,' replied Scott. 'We have friendly back-up, repeat − friendly back-up.'

'Hold your position, the president wishes to speak,' said the operative, clearly happy to pass the baton.

'McCabe, this is the president. We're in trouble.'

'We can see. The monsters inflicted on our people are called Drayzaks. The perpetrator is one Qudor Volkan. Unsavoury doesn't begin to describe this alien. We have back-up, alien back-up,' Scott repeated.

'Where are you?' asked the president.

'We have an extensive fleet; we are currently positioned in the outer atmosphere. We have a thousand-strong fleet of alien craft, friendly alien craft.'

'That's the best news I have heard this millennium. What's your plan?'

'Beat these bastards, Mr President,' replied Scott.

Laughter erupted throughout the bunker. A sense of humour in adversity is what sets humans aside. Qudor Volkan had zilch when it came to humour. There was hope yet.

'What of Mr Eaton, Miss Laurent and company?' asked the president.

'All available, Sir, but we lost Kosuke,' said Scott. The shakiness in his voice demonstrated the pain, the loss.

'We need a secure line. Have you contacted the Russians, Chinese, the Europeans or anyone?'

'Negative, Mr President. Do you have an international connection to get word out?' asked Scott.

The president looked around the room for assistance. Connections were fraught. Qudor was continually scrambling networks whilst the Drayzaks wreaked havoc and took control. The alien superiority was evident.

'Struggling, Mr President,' was the reply from an army commander. The president was not too sure who replied, such was the confusion in the bunker.

'Scott, if we send secure coordinates, are you able to make contact and get the word out?' asked the president.

'Send them through and we'll get the word out. This looks like a long battle, Mr President. We are setting up a base in Antarctica. It's the Trollozyte base. I won't confuse you with the details; we are trying to set up a secure line, which cannot be scrambled by Qudor. We need to co-ordinate, get our armed forces back in the battle. From our viewpoint in orbit the world is in a monumental battle. The survival of our species is in great danger.'

'Just how much of a threat are these Drayzaks, Scott?'

'Think part-dragon, part-cannibal. As bad as it gets, Mr President,' replied Scott. He almost didn't want to admit to the most powerful man on the planet that what they could offer in defence as a species was futile.
CHAPTER 7

LARQUISTON CONFERENCE

Omalius Sousa was joined by 36 other delegates; one delegate for each of the other capitals on Zarduzian. An extraordinary meeting had been arranged in Larquiston, hastily, following the kidnap of Daxzus and Annaluce.

Omalius was officially the next in command during Daxzus' and Annaluce's absences. He called the meeting to relay his concerns regarding the upkeep and purpose of the clone warehouse. With a deficiency in any kind of authority, due to the absence of both Daxzus and his daughter, decisions needed to be made. Urgently.

The grand hall in the main square was the designated meeting place. Larquiston, considered the ultimate of all the 37 capitals, was a fitting venue. All delegates had flown in; all 36 had negotiated the great wall and the force field, each had passed over the region outside the wall − _housing the_ _squalors_ , without any remorse or consideration for the plight that they had bestowed on these poor citizens. With the machines safely parked in the designated area, the bubble provided adequate transport to the venue, for the delegates.

The venue was equipped to provide the finest food available for a banquet scheduled to be held following this momentous gathering. Meticulous planning had seen the great hall adorned with the finest and most beautiful Zaagans Larquiston had to offer.

The table was long, the room huge. Surrounding the room were transparent plasma screens, provided for the sole purpose of viewing footage of the two independent kidnappings; first Daxzus, then strangely, a separate kidnapping of Annaluce, as well as the rescue of a prisoner strapped to a death baiter catapult on the great wall. A discussion was needed. What did this all mean and what to do next?

The opulence of the great hall was a stark alternative to a squalor's existence. The entrance encapsulated the most sophisticated face recognition technology, whilst displaying all that was pretentious about the materialistic power-crazy elite. Gold is the theme; great statues of figureheads lined the entrance, water features as tall as the ceiling up to 15 metres high set the opulent tone. Each guest marvelled at the entrance through which the solid gold doors, richly engraved, set the bar. There were rumours that Larquiston was the epicentre of Zarduzian − it certainly wasn't failing to impress the delegates.

'Honourable guests, may I thank you for attending this most important of gatherings. I cannot remember when Larquiston last hosted such a meeting of upmost importance,' said Omalius. Usually a spectator who left such meetings to his commander-in-chief, he found this experience surreal. Those around the table; _a large, solid, black imposing table made from_ _Zarduzian 's equivalent of polished marble;_ looked on in eager anticipation, each with an expression of deep concern.

The delegates looked eagerly at the holographic image portrayed individually in front; the image could be moved with a touch, expanded or zoomed in on, depending on how each delegate wished to explore the data. Plasma screens depicted key stills with hieroglyphics and precise information relating to each segment of footage displayed.

Omalius continued:

'Daxzus is missing, Annaluce is missing. As the third in command it is my duty to act in the absence of our commander-in-chief. We have decisions to make regarding the alien warehouse. As you are all aware, Daxzus Zaetsalsae controlled the inter-planetary programme. In his absence, Annaluce was designated as second in command to observe the programme. In _her_ absence, that responsibility now rests with me,' stated Omalius, who was now warming to his new-found power.

So far so good, the meeting was underway. In reality, none of the delegates had an inkling as to how to deal with this tragic development.

Omalius, following a brief pause, continued:

'The current operation involves 56 missions, all at various stages of development. The programme was working perfectly until a recent raid. A race known as the Undarthians successfully rescued seven abductees from the Death Chambers who originated from a planet known as Earth. I am sure you are all familiar?' asked Omalius as the visual of planet Earth appeared in hologram form. Data relating to the planet's distance from Zarduzian, 8.6 million light years, plus other facts including the wealth of resources the planet had to offer, was impressively displayed in the hologram in front of each delegate. Omalius continued: 'The beings inhabiting this planet are at level one; in theory, a straightforward operation. We abducted seven individuals and planted an alien craft that would represent a threat to the survival of its inhabitants. This was all administered without a hitch. Just one problem − the ship which Daxzus used as the alien threat to Earth, which the clones would unwittingly uncover, was Undarthian.'

The delegates began to realise the problem unfolding.

'The Undarthian ship which we planted on Earth was one which we had captured in battle from the Undarthians on a previous expedition. Our problem is that they have propagation rights which complicates matters and they are not happy.'

'Why was this not brought to our attention earlier?' asked Jenga Christan representing the capital Ronnex, one of the furthest from Larquiston, in the South. He had travelled far − _the continent, one of three, called 'The land of ice', a far cry from_ _the heat of the continent of the great Larquiston, aptly named_ _' The land of gold', the central of the three continents._

'Daxzus decided it wasn't necessary to report,' replied Omalius, clearly not wishing to face the delegates' anger.

'This is not the first. We all know he flirts with the rules. The Council of the Light have already threatened sanctions since the Elacture fiasco,' said Jenga, to a ' _Hear, hear! '_ from the other delegates.

'That may well be the case, but we have a much greater problem,' said Omalius, who needed to tame the gathering. 'With Daxzus and Annaluce accosted we need to decide on a plan of action.'

Of the delegates, eight were female. It had long been the way; females held great positions of power but were constantly at loggerheads with their male equivalents. This was deemed the downfall and demise of the Zarduzians as true warriors. Some of the male delegates still despised the ruling to allow females to hold positions of political power. Nevertheless, their voice needed to be heard.

One of the more strong-willed delegates was female, a certain Juliaze Veradius. The most beautiful of the delegates who despised the adoring attention. Tall at 1.8 metres in height with blonde flowing locks, green eyes and perfect unblemished skin, she wore a tightly hugging, white catsuit-type garment, complete with emblem representing the city and capital named Zooka. It was time for Juliaze to show her authority.

'I speak for the good and prosperity of Zooka, 'The land of light'. We have observed the misdoings of Daxzus Zaetsalsae for too long. For that matter, Annaluce Zaetsalsae also. Omalius Sousa, we recognise you as an honourable servant merely clearing up these misgivings of your commander-in-chief. Are we to assume that the Undarthians are a threat and, if so, are we dealing with Dane Vhastek?' A question straight to the heart of the problem. A little earlier than Omalius was hoping.

A deathly silence ensued. Each and every delegate feared Dane; each and every delegate sorely wished the answer to be anything but affirmative.

Omalius looked down at the glowing white table and, with almost a sense of guilt at being part of the dilemma, reluctantly replied:

'I am afraid to say, that is the case,' replied Omalius. 'Your holograms will show the capture of Annaluce. Of those involved in the abduction, Dane Vhastek has been identified.'

'Then we have a war on our hands,' replied Juliaze.

'A war that we neither want nor deserve,' interrupted Jenga. 'This is all Daxzus Zaetsalsae's brainchild. We were supposed to be locating a new homeland. He and Annaluce went off on a deviant path. The vote within the 37 capitals was the narrowest of victories in favour of overpowering level one, or below species, and look where it has led us. War! We have enough domestic issues with our ever-growing population, particularly the squalors.'

'We don't know for certain that any conflict will arise here on Zarduzian,' said Omalius, trying to bring the proceedings back in order. The delegates were certainly working themselves up into an unhealthy frenzy. 'But we do need to agree a way forward where alien cloning is concerned.'

'Shut it down immediately,' insisted Juliaze. 'Let us concentrate on our defences against an attack.'

'May I remind you all that Earth was voted unanimously as the most suitable planet for evacuation. Daxzus cannot be held responsible for carrying out the delegates' wishes,' replied Omalius. 'Our sun is dying, the squalors will rebel at some point and we are barricaded into ever over-populated gated capitals.'

The room went silent as the delegates pondered over the valid points raised by the chairman.

Elgan Pleaedus came to the forefront. As the most influential person, occupying a prominent capital in the north, Trellame, Elgan felt the need to offer a valid perspective.

'We cannot keep blaming Daxzus Zaetsalsae for all our problems. We are all aware of how fickle we have become. The dangers are all around us. We need the great walls to save us from our own − the squalors. They are our own people. We have become a species of self-centred cowards. Daxzus is the only remaining warrior. That is why we voted for him to find us a new planet regardless of his methods. The munika are the only brave Zaagans left,' said Elgan. Heads lowered as the truth hit the delegates like a heavy mist expanding in the room.

'Do you have a useful suggestion to offer?' asked Omalius.

'Let me answer that with a question,' continued Elgan. 'Of the 56 other missions, is there a suitable planet for occupation? Preferably one which won't involve conflict.'

'No,' replied Omalius emphatically, 'but there may be some hope.'

'Enlighten us,' requested Elgan.

Omalius offered the scene in Annaluce's apartment following the abduction of Daxzus. The hologram had perfectly captured the footage of Dane Vhastek evacuating the building with Annaluce in his arms. His demeanour did not suggest that he was kidnapping her.

'I think you will all agree these are the actions of an alien wanting to rescue Annaluce, not kidnap her. This might be our bargaining position. Maybe we can ally with the Undarthians? We may even negotiate favourable propagation rights.'

'What of the other alien race who kidnapped Daxzus? Why didn't they kill him?'

'It is too sensitive to project the images, Elgan,' replied Omalius. 'We do not recognise the alien source. It is not a species registered with the Council of the Light. Our computer DNA simulation from our laser imagery detects a strange phenomenon. The alien species seems to have originated from Earth.'

'Dane Vhastek and an unknown alien source have infiltrated our main capital, all courtesy of Daxzus' schemes,' added Juliaze.

'Precisely,' agreed Omalius. 'The enemies are gathering around us but surely Annaluce holds the key to a possible solution.'

The cowards within the room pondered; they may have a way out.

*****************************

Annaluce awoke. She had been administered a drug and it was almost 12 Earth hours since her last glimpse of Dane riding off on the dorker to dock with the spaceship; Oosapeth's craft.

Her blurred vision began to come into focus − Qudor Volkan.

'Annuluce, good to see you again,' said Qudor. He had thought it through and had provided Annaluce with a translator. He wanted to savour every moment and ensure that his torments would get the reaction he desired.

'Qudor,' greeted Annaluce somewhat wearily. The picture began to emerge. She was trapped.

'I'm sorry you couldn't share this moment with your beloved. You see, he escaped − for the moment, at least.' A smirk appeared on the interrogator's gloating face.

Annaluce began to focus more; she was inside a space ship. Probably the same ship in which her father perished. The bad breath smell indicated that the Drayzaks were not too far away.

'I apologise for the bad odour. My pets haven't eaten in a while. Their breath gets worse the hungrier they get − it's strange, really. We never have quite worked out why that is the case. Needless to say, it merely confirms that they are hungry. Very hungry.'

'You killed my father this way, the same way you will kill me, no doubt. I wouldn't want to be you when Dane finds you. My death will be tame by comparison of what you can expect.'

'An angry opponent is a fool who doesn't think rationally. Keep calm and maintain control of the situation. I understand your anger, Annaluce, believe me, I do. There was a time when things were different between us,' said Qudor.

'Now I have found love,' replied Annaluce, knowing that it would strike Qudor straight at the heart.

'Ah, love, of course, something we didn't have. Is that what you are saying?'

'I never loved you − too short, too ugly! No, it was just business,' confirmed Annaluce with real venom in her words.

'Business. Yes, I understand. You'll forgive me then for saying that this is just business?'

'You know what I wish, Qudor? I wish I could see the look in your eyes when Dane grabs you by the throat and lifts you into the air, gasping for your last breath,' said Annaluce.

'Would you like to see your father die? It's no trouble, we can show it on the screen,' replied Qudor. 'You know, that gives me an idea. Maybe I should send Dane...' he paused only to tease his victim further, '...an image of the look of pleasure on my face − as you die.'

A military guard entered the room, uninvited.

'We have a problem,' said the guard.

'Not now!' shouted Qudor.

'I have orders that you must follow me.'

'Dane!' Annaluce deduced, 'I wouldn't want to be you.'

'This is merely an inconvenience; my pets will keep you company whilst I'm away. I promise you that this is not over.'

The second Qudor exited, Annaluce broke down in tears. She had lost her loved one, Dane Vhastek. He had abandoned her and now she was left at the mercy − _of which there was none_ - of an evil being.

Qudor entered the cockpit area of the craft saying, 'This had better be important!'

There, staring straight back at Qudor, was the image of his adversary. How had Dane Vhastek sent this message?

'Shall I allow this communication, Commander?' asked the flight engineer.

'Allow it,' replied Qudor.

The translator software had been activated. Allowing access meant that both parties could view each other.

'You have just a few moments to agree to our demands. We have tracked you, Qudor. Return Annaluce and we will give you a momentary reprieve this time. My word is my honour,' said Dane.

'I wasn't aware that kindness was part of your makeup, Dane. Let me see, I surrender Annaluce and you give me a reprieve. As tempting as that might be, I didn't class you as such an amateur. Now, if you had said that in return for surrendering your beloved you would retreat back to the hovel of a planet you belong, well, that might have been more appealing. I would have given it my full attention. A reprieve?'

'You either surrender Annaluce or she dies _my_ way − alongside you as we demolish your fleet,' stated Dane.

'Love is so blind, so weak.'

Qudor shut off communication and spoke with his engineer.

'They must be close; have we spotted Vhastek in close vicinity?' asked Qudor.

'Negative, but they could be in the planet's orbit. They could have us in their sights,' replied the flight engineer.

'Dane Vhastek is not going to risk killing Annaluce. Ignore him! He's bluffing. Anyway, I am far too busy.' In reality, Qudor was unsettled but in his usual arrogant fashion, he wasn't going to show weakness.

Qudor quietly made his exit from the flight deck to continue his business below.
CHAPTER 8

HOME VISIT **-** 2018

Dane Vhastek, Oosapeth and the human contingent that had made the trip back to Earth to stave off Qudor Volkan, were safely inside the secret ice caves in Antarctica. Serenix had joined the small gathering, on the insistence that she hook up with James as soon as was safe to do so, agreed reluctantly by her father. She had been humiliated, forced to travel in a separate spacecraft to James Eaton. She would make up for the lost time later.

Bella Laurent was somewhat surplus to needs; the males were busy negotiating strategic battle permutations now that the battleground was laid bare before them. Serenix wouldn't leave James' side; Dane was fretting over the safety of Annaluce and Oosapeth was wondering how he had got himself tied up in such a complicated confrontation with the dastardly Qudor Volkan.

Bella was the most sensitive and caring − the least likely warrior within the group. Colmar, her home town, was now more remote than ever. She found herself at another new alien base in Antarctica. In the space of only a few short weeks she had been abducted and then rescued from a distant planet called Zarduzian, had visited Zanakisco and, on top of all that, living in an ice cave and an alien base inside a volcano. All so surreal.

Planet Earth was at war, confronting the very real possibility of annihilation by unsavoury alien monsters roaming the planet at will, decimating everyone in its path.

Bella's first and only thought now was for her mother, Michelle. The world felt like a lonely, desolate place at the moment.

The ice caves were pretty much as she had previously witnessed, at the now destroyed base of Dane Vhastek in Antarctica. These alien races had the technology to carve out spectacular caves, deep beneath the ice, seemingly at will. Bella had an empathy with these alien creatures' fascination with the Arctic; it was the same intrigue that led Bella to work at the research station. Her obsessions were saving the environment, monitoring the natural habitat of the region but the aliens had a different agenda, however − to monitor creatures of a different kind − humans.

Bella made her way to the room where the male contingency was busy dealing with the major problems facing the plight to save Earth. Who would have guessed that just a few weeks ago, the fight to save our planet from alien occupation would seem a normal day's work for Bella Laurent?

Bella caught the attention of Scott McCabe − James and Serenix were too engrossed in each other to notice. Scott sensed a problem. He knew instinctively from the forlorn look on her innocent face exactly what the problem was. He walked swiftly towards her.

'Bella,' he said in a manner that suggested he thought she might break into tears at any moment, 'are you okay?'

Bella's English was very good; her French accent accentuated her gentle demeanour. Scott almost wanted to be the father she had lost. He had children, albeit very young, nonetheless his fatherly instincts kicked in.

'Scott,' said Bella. As Scott suspected, a tear formed and was starting to trickle down her cheek. 'I want to go home. I want to see my mother.'

'Bella, I don't know whether that is possible,' replied Scott.

The tears began to flow. Scott had been considering the very same request. He hadn't seen his wife or children either. Both knew that it would be an impossible request; both also knew that the others had considered the same request.

Scott was a Christian and these were alien beings − their very existence had challenged his own faith beyond limit. Bella's yearning to see her family reignited Scott's religious beliefs; it was time to put to one side the alien war and regress to normality, no matter how unrealistic that seemed.

Scott and Bella's brief chat had drawn attention. Dane had witnessed Bella's distress and was making his way over. The cave was littered with warriors, engineers were engrossed in data coming through and holographic computer simulations were playing out future battle permutations, all adding to the backdrop of chaos. All that Bella wanted was serenity and calm, preferably in the comfort of her home town Colmar with her beloved mother, even just for a brief moment. Normality, somehow, seemed abnormal.

The ice caves weren't large enough to hold too many craft. The entrance to the caves, disguised by a clever piece of highly advanced technology, created a mirage above ground. Craft would be disguised by the mirage covering, not only the visual of the craft but also a clever deflective element to prevent evidence of heat beneath the ice, which might be detected by infra-red. A basement area detatched from the main ice caves could house up to 50 craft. Enough to fight off an attack. This was the element missing from Dane Vhastek's ice caves. Any hint of an attack and these craft would emerge from the ice undetected, offering an element of surprise to defend the base.

Scott approached Dane, complete with translation headset.

'There are one or two of us who must know if our families are safe,' said Scott.

'The battle is unfolding. At the moment, we are safe here in the caves whilst we hatch a plan. This is not a good time to request a home visit. I don't think Oosapeth would approve,' replied Dane.

'Isn't there a way we could survey Qudor's territorial advantage? A fact-finding mission if you will, where we could check in on our family at the same time. I realise it is asking a lot.'

'It _is_ asking a lot − too much. If we venture out from the caves, we might draw attention. Give away our position,' confirmed Dane.

'The hologram does not indicate any alien craft nearby, not at the moment at least. This is an ideal opportunity.'

'Too dangerous,' said Dane.

'So, if you knew of Annaluce's whereabouts, are you telling me you would think it would be too dangerous?' replied Scott.

Dane paused. Scott had a point and he knew exactly how he would react should that situation occur.

'Look, suppose we survey the damage, call in on our families, then see if we can make contact with the White House. They need to know the plan. It would make sense for both Bella and I to meet with the United States' President.'

James, Demitri and Patrick overheard the discussion. Dane could see that this could easily get out of hand. The safety of the humans was pivotal, but he could also see that they needed to know their family members were safe. Dane gestured over to James and simply raised his left hand, indicating that their time would come, that a request for everyone to pursue a home visit was currently out of the question.

'I'll check with Oosapeth,' said Dane as he left to thrash out the possibilities of their request with his comrade.

Scott returned to relay the discussion with Bella, not convinced that he had won over Dane. All he could do was wait.

Four craft were being prepared. It had been an hour since Scott spoke with Dane, a time span that had seen Oosapeth sanction the deployment of four craft for the mission. Bella in one craft duly prepared an operational, Scott in another; two further craft would accompany both Bella and Scott to their separate destinations to meet up with family, then on to the White House.

The huge base in the ice caves was an impressive sight, as were the 50 craft, ready at a moment's notice to be deployed into action.

Bella, as did Scott, strapped themselves into their seats. At one end of this huge hangar was a portal. This ice cave had been meticulously built for any eventuality. The portal could evacuate the entire craft from the caves if necessary, with very little notice, should they need to leave hastily.

The craft were ready. The illusion of a roof to this huge hangar was courtesy of technology beyond our comprehension. The craft lifted in unison and were through the mirage in seconds. Oosapeth and Dane had surveyed the war hologram; no enemy were reported in the vicinity so the mission, for the moment at least, was safe. These Trollozyte craft were almost devoid of sound, navigated their way through the roof with ease and were off into the upper echelons of the Earth atmosphere within seconds. Two craft headed towards Colmar, France and the other two to Kentucky, USA.

Unlike Earth's conventional means of air travel, the experience within an alien craft was surreal. The Earth's curvature formed almost instantly as the craft lifted to a great height. The g-force was negated, technology within the craft countered the force conventional aircraft would encounter at such speeds. Bella and Scott both glanced at the view independently, the look said a thousand words − a thousand years could pass and their fellow humans may never understand their experience, at this very moment in time.

The Earth was different − no longer the sole possession of the most intelligent species on the planet − that was no longer a luxury. It could never be as it was, those immature failings that drove mankind apart − the meaningless pursuit of power, the differences on matters which were now clearly redundant, like religion, now reduced to an irrelevance, the relentless desire to control more of our planet by the dominant military powers, all eclipsed and reduced to petty differences, in a moment, by these alien invaders. What mankind would give to turn back the clock.

The four-craft split; two heading towards Colmar and two heading towards Kentucky.

Colmar was far enough from a major city to be overrun by Drayzaks, at least in theory. News had spread that the alien invasion was changing the very fabric of our existence. Communications were severely hampered, but the residents of Colmar rallied together. Food was being shared, the elderly had been evacuated to move in with the younger residents and children were kept safely indoors. Others had fled to more remote places in the countryside, in the hope of evading those intent on destroying our civilisation. News had reached the village of the alien war over CERN.

Bella's house was a small cottage near the village she so longed for; the cafe that she cherished as a child was now closed, the village a ghost town.

Oosapeth's two craft were menacing to the human eye, it clearly sent out a signal that life as we knew it had profoundly changed. The plan was to descend, find a clearing, one that was camouflaged by surrounding woodland and travel to their destination courtesy of a dorker.

The craft landed in countryside outside the village at a safe distance. Surveillance showed no sign of enemy spacecraft, nor the dreaded Drayzaks. The dorkers had been prepared, three in total − enough to handle an attack, should the unlikely occur. Two dorkers would lead, the third following closely behind. Bella would be a pillion on the third.

The craft door opened, a unique scene in the French countryside. The night sky was clear; it was the one thing that was unchanged. The three dorkers descended, the invisibility reflector mirroring its surroundings hid any trace of the machines, although still detectable by the advanced technology of their enemy. The plan was to stay low in order to minimise attention from those who may detect them, to utilise the woodlands between the landing area and the village of Colmar.

This was countryside familiar to Bella. Never in her wildest dreams in her younger days, picking blackberries in the fields, did she ever imagine the land being navigated by aliens, moreover, aliens whom she had befriended. The windless feeling of effortlessly meandering in and out of the woodland, she had to admit, was exhilarating. A thought occurred ' _Is my mother ever going to believe it is her daughter_ _dressed like an alien? '_

With the village approached − deserted, silent and undetected, the dorkers slowed to navigate the cobbled streets. The destination of Bella's home was ingrained in the holographic image on the navigation control board. Bella's heart skipped a beat as the once thriving cafe, Le Chalet, was devoid of life. The memories flooded back, happy times in an era of complete safety. If she had a time machine she would return to those times in an instant. The petty grievances that consumed her very being in those days would be swept aside; the only thing that would have mattered would be to tell her family and friends how much she truly loved each and every one of them. Tears welled in her eyes.

The cottage approached. Three dorkers would settle in the rear garden. Bella was lucky in that respect; the garden was plenty big enough. To anyone observing, the dorkers would be almost invisible, yet a haunting distortion might be detected. Bella had to dismount, alone. To an observer she would appear out of nowhere. This was the most dangerous part of the mission, the section where Bella would have no immediate back-up. If there _were_ anything lurking, she would be helpless.

The approach to the rear door, a marine blue, was both exhilarating and painful. Would her mother be alive? Would she be attacked by a scared mob that might not recognise her in time? Would the Drayzaks have already consumed all in their path? The questions were plenty; her only concern was for her mother.

The door was open. A bad sign. Bella pushed lightly as the door slowly depicted the scene. A bleak sight. Curtains had been removed and soft furnishings such as sofa cushions − all missing. Bella walked towards the kitchen, the Shaker units in white, with a pantry to the side, all devoid of any food or supplies. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like an evacuation. There wasn't a sound just a lifeless, deafening silence.

Bella remembered the basement. Her father used to keep his tools there. He would repair furniture and make much-needed cabinets. She could almost feel his presence, almost hear his response when Michelle called her husband for his evening meal. The door to the basement was shut.

Bella tried to open the door but it was firmly locked. Instinctively she shouted, 'Mamma, it's me, Bella! Open up, please, I beg of you!'

Silence. A delay. A baby cried out, there was life down there and that must mean her mother too. A reply of, 'Bella, is that really you?'

'Mother, it is indeed me, please open the door,' requested Bella. She needed to say something that would identify that it was hers, as in, 'Is father's lathe still down there and his tools, the ones that made my bedside cabinet?'

A cry came out from the basement, a cry of utter joy. 'Bella!' The door unlocked. A frightened, bewildered, grey-haired woman, whose face glistened with the moisture from her tears, focused on the individual on the other side of the door. Almost expecting to see a monstrous creature, it took a few seconds for the realisation to register that it was her daughter, Bella.

'Mamma!' cried Bella. The embrace that followed epitomised love, yet with an unhealthy desperation to cling to her daughter as if her very life depended on it.

In the basement a group of individuals all huddled together, were petrified. The news of an alien invasion had drawn the locals towards anyone who had a basement. Food and supplies were gathered for the long stay; makeshift cooking facilities, similar to camping grills, as well as portable refrigerators, were used. To survive would mean staying in hiding for as long as it took. There were young children, scared beyond imagination, a sight that would haunt Bella no matter how long she survived, intensified by the perilous situation unfolding.

Bella had to do something to get these poor souls to a safe place − their safety was far more important than any plan Dane or Oosapeth wished to carry out. For the moment though she had become human again.

**********************************

On the outskirts of Kentucky, in a similar fashion to Colmar, the two dorkers headed towards their destination. Scott resided in Glenview, in the north-eastern part of Jefferson Country, an affluent city in Kentucky. With fewer than 800 residents it would not be difficult to locate the million-dollar home, courtesy of Scott's evangelical past.

The craft chose to land in the Glenview Hills, secluded enough to carve out a route that would prove the least congested, one that might offer the least resistance. Kentucky as a region was far more challenging than Colmar, France. Washington, whilst almost 4,000 miles away, was close enough to see the effect that the alien invasion was having on the geographical area. Drayzaks could fly, albeit without the best efficiency, but they could fly. Gathered in parks, camouflaged by the woodland areas, these creatures could venture into residential areas at will, capture victims and return to the woodlands with their prey.

As the dorkers descended, the destruction was unfolding. In only a few days, neighbourhoods were fleeing their homes, communication via network news stations were severely disrupted and, with no real information, the safest thing to do was flee. Miles and miles of traffic cluttered the highways while residents were hastily packing their belongings and leaving, quite where, nobody was sure, but being on the move was preferable to being a sitting duck at home.

Scott looked on in horror, he feared the worst. Had his wife fled with the children? Why hadn't he insisted on going home earlier? So much had happened, he never had a real opportunity − the more he tried to justify his actions the guiltier he felt. He had disowned his family when they needed him the most. He could only pray. If ever he needed his prayers answering, it was now.

His residence was locked into the dorkers' on-board hologram and they were heading towards the house. People were so concentrated on fleeing they probably wouldn't have cared a jot if they had seen two alien machines whizzing past. This at least eased a potential obstacle and the dorkers could head towards the house relatively unhindered. The problem was Drayzaks or other alien craft that might detect the dorkers by other means and see through their disguise. They weren't in the clear by any stretch of the imagination.

Just as Bella Laurent recalled better times during her journey, Scott McCabe encountered the exact same emotions - the period in his life as an evangelical preacher, the wasted time pursuing his own agenda and sacrificing precious time with his family. The encounter with the grandson who wanted to avenge the fabricated cure of his grandmother's cancer, who trusted Scott implicitly. The near-death experience, as a result of an almost fatal stabbing; one that didn't show him the glory of the heavenly kingdom but the hell awaiting him if he continued on this treacherous path. The love he had once found when he shed the evangelical skin and concentrated on the wellbeing of others. Now he was heading to witness the fate of his family at the hands of a monstrous alien hellbent on destroying our very existence.

What would be the outcome? What horrors might he find? He could only hope. He could only pray.

**********************************

The residence was in sight. So far, the dorkers had gone undetected. The sight of his residence brought both feelings of fear and relief to Scott McCabe. Fear for the safety of his family, relief that it was still standing and, from what he could see, still intact. Scott noticed, as did Bella, a lack of vibrancy, a lack of people. A quiet, eerie calm bestowed the neighbourhood that Scott only remembered for its past abundance of activity − from the residents manicuring their gardens to the cars travelling to and from the shops and restaurants. People had fled; a fear had obviously gripped the community. Fleeing to _just where_ only baffled Scott.

'Over there!' Scott shouted.

The dorkers descended, the carefully attended garden of the McCabe residence was now in full view. There were no bodies to be seen; that was a blessing as far as Scott was concerned. Everything appeared as it should. Was that good news or was it merely preparing him for the gruesome sight he was about to behold? For the second time, Scott said a quiet prayer.

Upon approaching the house, about 100 metres away, hovering just above the tree line was a sight Scott had been praying he wouldn't witness; the sight of a Drayzak − its awkward flight, distinguishable from any other bird. It disappeared beneath the eye line, into the trees. That could mean only one thing; it had victims and these monsters were reproducing in the gut of those captured.

The dorker was invisible to the monster so it was unperturbed, a small mercy for the moment. The day seemed like any ordinary day − the sky a perfect, pristine blue and cloudless − almost in defiance of the devastation occurring on this beautiful planet, before his very eyes.

The dorkers descended further until they reached the lawn area, still unseen. With the threat of Drayzaks, the operation became far more dangerous now, but Scott cared not a jot. He had to get inside the house.

Scott had been armed, a standard precautionary measure. Dane Vhastek had customised the weapon by synching the alien laser to react to Scott's voice, as well as uniquely ensuring that the weapon would only respond if held by Scott. Should the weapon fall into the wrong hands, it would be of little use.

Scott jumped from the dorker the second it stabilised on his manicured lawn. The huge double patio doors leading to a stone tiled seating area and outdoor pool were wide open. Scott, in panic, ran into the kitchen area. What had been a perfectly designed state of the art dining area complete with granite isle was now a broken mess. ' _Drayzaks_ ', thought Scott, his heart sinking.

Instinctively he ran upstairs; the impressive curved stairs, carpeted in the middle section, offset by perfect oak flooring, led off from the marble entrance lobby. The whole area and the stairs leading to the bedrooms was soaked in blood, still wet but tacky underfoot.

The master bedroom doors, in solid oak with carved crosses in each door − _a symbol of his Christian faith_ − were flung open. Scott stopped in his tracks at the sight. An evil sacrifice laid bare before him − his wife. Monica was dead. Her eyes had been gouged out and blood oozed from every orifice: her mouth, her ears. The bed sheets were stained completely red. His wife had been subjected to a brutal reproduction ritual.

The tears streamed, his face glistened as the incoming sunbeam lit up his moist cheeks. A loud cry, an agonising, haunting bellow of 'No' screamed out of Scott. The carpet, once pure white, depicted the splattering frenzy of blood littering the area surrounding the bed. The walls had been pebble dashed with droplets and the monster's footprints led to a smashed patio window - open. Glass fragments were everywhere. Scott fell to his knees beside his wife's mutilated body.

A scream from one of the bedrooms, a muted cry for help sounding like it was coming from a closet, alarmed Scott. ' _Millie! '_ thought Scott. Running towards the back bedroom, Scott could see the monster's footprints leading to it. He could hear clawing noises, as if someone or something was scratching at a piece of furniture. Scott slowed as he approached his daughter's bedroom, the scratching sound getting louder as did the cry for help.

Scott held his weapon. There was a commotion outside and laser fire could be heard followed by squeals of pain. The Drayzaks were returning to finish their meal. Scott pushed his back to the wall outside the bedroom and peeked into the room. The wardrobe was locked. Millie's dressing table had been pushed up against the closet door and a Drayzak was perched on the table clawing at the door.

Scott stood at the door, now in full view of the Drayzak. The creature stopped, turned and spread its bat-like wings as if in a ritual, preparing itself for the battle. The first laser shot hit the enemy in the stomach; the squeal replicated the noise Scott had just heard at the rear of the house. The second, third, fourth and fifth shots spattered the Drayzak like a hammer to a peach.

Scott ran to the dresser and shouted, 'Millie, it's Daddy! It's okay now, Daddy's here!' He pulled the dresser away; the door was locked and no sign of a key. Time was of the essence, the commotion in the back seemed more frenetic − he just so desperately needed to get Millie out of there. 'Stand back, Millie! Stand well away, Daddy needs to break the door!'

Millie was curled up, thank goodness, her hands over her eyes, crying uncontrollably. Scott picked up his daughter; she was alive, but what of Marcus, his five-year-old son?

With Millie in his arms he ran towards his son's bedroom. Millie clung to her father, arms wrapped tightly around his neck; she was not letting go. As with Monica, his son's room was also blood-ridden with furniture strewn. A battle had taken place. Marcus had not gone without a fight, as small and fragile as he was. Scott walked slowly to his bed; the item he stood on could have been anything − his son's baseball glove, a soft toy. Scott looked down and lifted his foot gently from the item. The blood was a giveaway, the severed hand instantly recognisable.

Millie was all that Scott could salvage. His decision earlier not to return would haunt him forever. He began to despise these aliens, good bad or indifferent, he had allowed himself to be distracted, taken his eye off the only thing in the world that mattered − his family.

Scott needed to get his daughter to safety; he had to leave the house of horrors. Running downstairs, the same stairs that had led him to the mutilated bodies of his wife and son, he followed the same path to the rear of the house through the kitchen. The dorker was now in full view of the patio doors, the invisibility function now disabled. The Undarthian soldier was signalling for Scott to hurry. The rear of the garden was a frenzy of laser fire as two Drayzaks hovered, weaving in and out of the trees.

Scott mounted the dorker, clutching Millie for all he was worth. Scott and his Undarthian warrior began firing at the Drayzaks to provide cover for the other dorker to join them. In the next moment they were gone. Scott looked behind to savour the last view of a home he might never see again.

At 1,000 feet high, camouflaged and travelling at a vast speed, they were safe − for now at least.
CHAPTER 9

TIME TRAVEL JEOPARDY

Senator Lace Adams pulled Samuel Parker to one side.

'Once you have set up Klade to return to Area 51, is there somewhere we can have a private word?' asked the senator.

'Sure, my office,' replied Samuel.

'Meet you there five minutes after the transportation, if successful.'

'No problem, senator.'

Within 30 minutes, the transportation of Klade would be complete, but there had been an inexplicable problem. The second time machine overrode the ability to use the same diagnostic travel co-ordinates, set previously on the master board in Samuel's operating room for Robert Stave. The time machine had an inbuilt mechanism, software that was installed by the Council of the Light to protect the integrity of any given mission.

There were three new time machines at the senator's disposal, each set with a fail-safe coding that would not allow the transportation of any individual who immediately followed a mission, _within a 72-hour period_ , to travel to the exact same destination without at least a 24-hour time difference following the previous mission.

Commander Lucas and Dr Laderman had a decision to make to either abort the mission or send Klade to a time 24 hours before Robert Stave would have arrived at Area 51, Nevada.

'We need to talk to the senator,' pleaded Dr Laderman.

'We don't have time,' stated the Commander, 'the machine needs to be set and ready to transport.'

Maxius nodded in agreement at his Commander's understanding of their predicament.

Samuel took his opportunity to intervene. He knew that he would be speaking with the senator shortly and, in any case, nothing could be done to change the implementation of the restrictions within the time capsule.

'I agree with the Commander,' said Samuel. 'In any case, we have no choice but to run with what we have. The software is explicit and cannot be overridden. The time is set to auto, 24 hours before Robert Stave would arrive at the destination.'

'Send Klade,' instructed Commander Lucas.

'On your head, be it,' replied Dr Laderman.

'It usually is, anyway.'

The mission was a success. Klade did not burn alive − an intercom device in the time capsule informed Klade that the order was given to locate Stave by any means necessary. The mission statement couldn't be clearer. Bring back Robert Stave, preferably alive, but prevent his mission from being successful.

Dr Laderman, Commander Lucas and Maxius all left the building; Samuel assured them that he would take care of securing the building following their departure. He made his way to his office at the other end of the building where the senator had been patiently waiting.

Samuel entered the office. The light was off, ' _an irrelevance '_, thought Samuel as there was no one else in the compound. The light was activated by his verbal command; the setting instructed for dim light. Samuel's office was state of the art. The 3-D computer imaging was the most recent in human development. All instructions were verbal and he could operate any programme within the holographic computer with just a word. All systems were both retina and thumb print activated preventing the senator or any other unauthorised individuals, access. In recognition of the superiority of Samuel Parker, the senator had respectfully parked his backside in a seat opposite Samuel's chair. Both men were now seated.

'Senator, what can I do for you?' asked Samuel politely.

'It concerns me...' the senator paused, '...it concerns me greatly, the predicament we find ourselves in if Klade fails.'

This was the opportunity Samuel needed to put the senator in the picture.

'Senator, we _do_ have an additional problem.'

Whatever was concerning the senator was going to be magnified greatly by Samuel's latest development.

'What, more problems? I didn't think it could be possible to have _more_ problems, Samuel?'

'We managed to send Klade successfully, senator.'

'Then, what's the problem?'

'The problem is the Council of the Light. They are not stupid. A fail-safe software programme has been installed in every new time machine. Ordinarily we would never need to refer to the settings where two transportations to an identical destination are so close to one another.'

'How does that effect Klade?' asked the senator.

'Because,' replied Samuel, 'the restrictions mean that the nearest we could transport Klade to the arrival time of Robert Stave is 24 hours previous. Klade will have to endure 24 hours before Stave arrives; it could put him in danger of possible arrest or capture.'

The senator had been about to ask Samuel his opinion on a further mission. The news from Samuel only added to the urgency and validation of the senator's request.

'Samuel,' urged the senator, 'look, Klade can handle himself so don't worry. I have an idea. I need you to set up the third time machine.'

Samuel looked at the senator with a quizzical expression. He rubbed his chin. Just setting up the third time machine was a real issue; he did not have the overall authority to activate the time machine alone.

'I'm afraid I can't do that, senator.'

'You can with my authorisation, Samuel. I will exonerate you from all responsibilities. I will take the flak if anything goes wrong. I have stated as much. I can send my declaration to your computer now, so you can lock it in.'

Samuel paused. 'Senator. Why do you wish to activate the third time machine? May I remind you if you weren't already aware, the only time machine now at our disposal?'

'In order for you to send me to the past. The distant past.'

'I don't think I understand, senator,' stated Samuel.

'Let me explain, Samuel. See, I've been doing a lot of thinking. Listening to eminent authorities on the matter of time travel. People like Dr Laderman and, of course, yourself. What I am thinking, correct me if I'm wrong, is that if I travel back to the past, the distant past and alter something which might change the trajectory of the present, I should be able to return to the now, _this_ present, with subtle yet important differences. As long as I have not changed anything drastically, for example, wiped out the human race, I should be able to return to a slightly altered present,' said Senator Adams.

'I apologise if I sound rather stupid, senator, but I still can't fathom where you are going with this.'

'Okay. Robert Stave and Klade have travelled back to Area 51 at a similar point in time. Either they are going to change the outcome of the present or they could have created another timeline, a dual reality. They may have already returned but not in this reality.'

'That's quite feasible, senator, but what does that have to do with you needing to use the third time machine?' asked Samuel.

'Because if I travel back to an earlier past and you set my time machine to return just prior to the time you have set Klade's machine to return, then I will be proof of what the outcome of changing the past has been. If I don't return, then neither would Robert Stave or Klade. However, if I _do_ return it may be a far more favourable outcome.'

'I'm afraid you've lost me again, senator,' admitted Samuel.

'We have the archived history of the Olympianas. We know they originated from Earth 3.3 million years ago. Their case, to claim Earth as their own ancestral heritage, is lodged with the Council of the Light. What you don't know, Samuel, is that we have hacked and obtained their full dossier. They have a custom, a sort of religion, and a date when their whole race evolved. We have say, Jesus Christ, as the historical figure who changed the world. They have _their_ originator, a being who propagated their race, or so the tale goes. There is a date. There is a place. It's a long shot but worth taking the chance,' explained the senator.

'Am I right in deducing that you wish to prevent their very existence?' asked Samuel.

The senator smiled. It made perfect sense. Without their race there would be no evacuation of Earth. There would be no Qudor Volkan to return, no Drayzaks and no claim with the Council of the Light − in essence, an alien-free world.

'Senator, if I set up the time machine, there is a chance it will fail.'

'A small risk, Samuel. If this works I should be back shortly, before Dr Laderman and the others return in the morning. I have a weapon, a powerful weapon. I have the date and place. If it works, there should be no Council of the Light to contend with because Qudor Volkan would not have prevailed. Earth would surely be an Earth under human control. I understand that the Zaagan versus Undarthian battle may still have occurred but if this mission works we can figure that out later. The only thing I am unsure of is how this city might now look or whether I too, like Robert Stave and Klade, might return to a different timeline. It's still worth a shot.'

'It's a big risk, senator.'

'It's a better outcome than if Klade fails and Robert Stave succeeds.'

Samuel knew the senator was right. The fact that they had sent Klade back without consent from the Council of the Light meant they were already in trouble. If this worked it would trump anything Klade or Stave did. Their reality would be different once the senator eradicates Qudor Volkan.

The time machine was unveiled. Samuel set the machine to return to the precise date, time and place that the senator revealed from his official classified source. The weapon the senator was carrying was the plutonium fused Z1845X. A weapon no larger than a tennis ball but enough power to destroy a city. Enough power to destroy a race.

This was literally a race against time, a race against all odds.
CHAPTER 10

DANE'S PROMISE

Dane Vhastek needed resources. Annaluce was in the hands of the dastardly Qudor Volkan. Drayzaks threatened the very existence of humans and Daxzus was dead.

Dane confronted Oosapeth, still deep in conversation with his military strategists to devise a war plan.

'I need warriors,' said Dane.

'On a mission again? Too dangerous,' replied Oosapeth, still wearing his translator helmet, almost ignoring Dane as he sought a solution to the war unfolding. 'I've already saved you once, Dane.'

'You don't understand. We need help. We need ground troops, lots of ground troops. I had mentioned Zarduzian and the squalors as a possible ally.'

'You did but we haven't time to train them. They might not even agree to fight. We can't arm them either. A bad idea.'

'Do you have a better idea?' asked Dane.

'No, but it's still a bad idea.'

'It's our most plausible plan and you know it. I have to return to Zarduzian. Daxzus, their commander-in-chief is dead and Annaluce is in the hands of Qudor. The council in Larquiston will surely help. Even if we have to agree a deal, a co-existence of some kind with their planet's elite, at least we might have a chance,' said Dane.

'What makes you think that squalors can overcome the Drayzaks, who are multiplying at an incredible rate, I might add?'

'Death bait games, Oosapeth. Death baiters fly, just like Drayzaks. The squalors have weapons specifically to kill or maim flying machines. I've seen them in action. There are billions of squalors. Think about it. What would you choose, the option of a new life, a free life, or continue to live in misery? All that is expected of you is to do what you do best − kill flying machines except they are called Drayzaks rather than death baiters.'

Oosapeth shrugged his shoulders as if to acknowledge that Dane would do as he pleased anyway.

Demitri and Patrick had overheard the conversation. Both yearned to go home as Bella and Scott had. Both had to accept the reality of having to be patient. The ice caves were cold, unwelcoming and Patrick and Demitri felt almost inadequate. Patrick needed a change.

'Demitri!' called Patrick, wagging a finger to suggest he needed a quiet word.

Demitri did as ordered. His English was of a good enough standard to understand; Patrick could not speak Russian so English became the common language.

'We are not going to see family for some days to come. Bella and Scott will be a while. This is our planet at stake here. We should help Dane put our case forward with the Zaagans. What do you think?' asked Patrick.

'Beats sitting around here in the cold watching Oosapeth all day. I'm in.'

Patrick approached Dane. The worry of Annaluce, still an obvious distraction, by the tortured look on his face. At the moment he wasn't thinking rationally. Still, Patrick needed to get his point across in a manner that would get the desired result.

'We need to come with you on this mission, Dane,' said Patrick, his translator activated that by now had become a normal function when addressing an alien. How bizarre had Patrick's life become? How would his pa react to the thought of his son engaging with not just one alien race but many?

'I can handle this on my own with a couple of my trusted comrades,' replied Dane.

'I don't believe that to be the case. I understand that you act as the gatekeepers and that you propagated our planet, therefore we are descendants of your species, however, you cannot take full responsibility to argue our case. We, on behalf of our own species, must be allowed to put our case forward. This is a battle to save our species − not yours,' said Patrick in a forthright manner even he found surprising. The thought did occur to him, _' My pa would be proud'._

Dane pondered. He knew Patrick was right. They were descendants of his species. Brothers. They had as much right as Dane.

'On one condition, a non-negotiable condition,' said Dane.

'Name it,' replied Patrick, who managed to take a sneaky look at Demitri, indicating a potential victory for both of them.

'You do not mention Annaluce and you allow my warriors and I to take care of the negotiations with the squalors. I will allow you to plead your case, but you must leave it to me to explain the absence of their second in command.'

Dane was visibly moved. The loss of Annaluce, albeit temporarily, was plain for all to see − he missed his soul mate.

Demitri and Patrick both nodded. It was agreed.

In an orderly fashion, almost by routine, Patrick, Demitri and Dane, together with the military personnel that Oosapeth had sanctioned, headed towards the portal. Another mission, another important move in this game of chess unfolding.

The ice caves looked spectacular. The translucent blue in the holding bay that housed the spacecraft, reflected magnificently against the perfectly sculptured ice walls. The precision of alien architecture in the naturally forming caves, enhanced by the technical mining capabilities of the Trollozytes, was awe-inspiring. Footsteps crunched on the mixture of snow and ice underfoot, as the posse headed towards the spacecraft, glistening with the reflection of the blue portal.

Observing from a distance was James Eaton and Serenix, now inseparable. James, like Scott, longed to see his parents. With Demitri and Patrick on a mission with Dane, James was next in line once Scott and Bella returned. He'd seen enough of Zarduzian. It was someone else's turn to take the helm and, in this regard, he was pleased to see Patrick and Demitri step up to the helm.

The ship disappeared. For James it was odd to be witnessing a spacecraft travelling through a portal. Up until now he had been inside the craft. As the ship evaporated through the blue ring, the shudder was deafening. The blue star gate distorted as the craft disappeared. Ice cascaded down from the cave roof, a kaleidoscope of colour lighting up the falling ice akin to a bullet shattering glass.

Dane Vhastek had gone. James considered the warrior, reflected on the first time he set eyes on the hero, for he had already lost count of the missions Dane had undertaken since his rescue from the killing chambers. The thought of the sheer number of missions encountered in his lifetime was a staggering thought.

James glanced at Serenix, who was already focused on the human she had fallen head over heels in love with, as he considered how strange his life had become. Quite how he was going to announce to his father that he wished to marry an alien, a Trollozyte from a planet called Xonox, was beyond him. It would certainly put in perspective the triviality of hacking into the school computers to upgrade his exam results. He could envision his father's mouth wide open in total disbelief, whilst his mother wouldn't care, as long as she could give him a hug. That seemed an appropriate thought, that love, when all was said and done, was all that mattered.

He kissed Serenix on the forehead.

'What?' asked Serenix.

'You wouldn't understand,' replied James. 'I'll tell you someday.'
CHAPTER 11

STEALTH MISSION

Robert Stave had accessed Hank's computer. He knew precisely when to call the President of the United States; he knew that Qudor Volkan would highjack the portal amplifier, he knew the events before they would happen. Hank was a victim, he had to be, the cause mattered more than one individual, but he had no appetite to increase the body count.

Robert considered that he had murdered two people in as many days. He paused for a moment whilst he processed that thought before returning his attention to the computer.

Hank was head of security, so the whereabouts of the stealth bombers must be in the files. The co-ordinates of the hideouts of Dane Vhastek and Daxzus Zaetsalsae would also be locked into Hank's relic of a machine.

Right on cue, the pandemonium erupted. It was just after noon on 23rd February 2018. The portal amplifier, held in the hangar Robert had just left, was in the process of being claimed by Qudor's military, as history dictated.

Robert rang the president. The historic archive of information, which Robert had extensively reviewed, indicated which button to press on a relic of a phone in Hank's office. The president answered.

'What's the commotion, Hank? We have a visual on a disturbance at the base. Are we under attack?'

'Affirmative, an alien craft has been taken, Mr President,' said Robert. 'Not the Undarthian craft, but the other one we rescued. All very strange, if you ask me.' Robert knew the script; the archived voice records were indelibly etched in his mind and played out the whole conversation in the same manner Hank did, according to history, except in this timeline the real Hank Richards was dead.

Once the call to the president was over and the illusion was complete, Robert checked the records on Hank's computer. The file which gave the co-ordinates he was looking for was entitled 'Operation Freedom'. He thought it ironic that the file was named as a mission that, in history, had failed, yet precisely described his own mission.

The stealth bombers, of which there were 15, are housed in a secure hangar to the rear of the base, heavily monitored and constantly guarded.

Walking across the base, Robert absorbed the power his species bestowed on the planet. The great alien wars hadn't taken hold as yet. This was a time when humans reigned supreme and it felt good. So, a couple had to take the hit, Colonel Patterson and Hank Richards, but he was doing it for the ultimate prize − freedom. The heat reigned down, the dust swirled and humans paraded the base oblivious to how it would be. Robert knew as he had lived in Earth's future − they wouldn't understand, even if they believed him.

The hangar drew near as Robert proudly walked towards the guards.

'Hank,' said the soldier.

Robert didn't know the private's name, but it mattered none. It seemed odd that they recognised him and even more weird that Colonel Patterson had been the double of Hank − in a peculiar way it was almost as if fate had handed Robert a solution. It was all so surreal.

'At ease, Private,' said Robert in his best Hank Richards voice. 'Listen, just had the president on the blower.' It sounded strange to be using archaic terminology. Robert almost expected the guard to say, ' _The blower? What the hell are you_ _talking about, Hank? '_

The guard finished saluting Hank and simply replied, 'Yes, Sir.' There wasn't much else he could say. The private, known to his mates as Junior, looked forward, straight through Robert's gaze, way in the distance, as did his co-guard Stewy, a nickname awarded with the same observational humour that Junior had been aptly termed. Junior was the baby of his squad and Stewy was a James Stewart fan. Ever since it was discovered that his film collection was almost totally James Stewart classics like 'It's a Wonderful Life' or 'The Glen Miller Story', he was known as Stewy.

'This is highly confidential and classified. I need a stealth. Orders of the president,' said Robert.

'We have orders not to allow anyone in the hangar, Hank, not even you,' said Stewy.

'I'm head of security, Private, that's an order. We can go see the Commander if you wish. Your insubordination will guarantee a transfer out of the base. I can promise you that,' said Robert, whose heart was beating as a bird's might, pinned to the floor by a cat.

The stealth was in sight and Robert wasn't going to fall at the first hurdle. He turned to Junior with, 'Go to the Commander's office; ask him to authorise my entrance. I'll message through.' Junior gave a salute and headed towards the Commander's office as instructed.

Robert had dealt with Drayzaks, mixed with the rebels, had been hellbent on trying to rid his home town, _New Manhattan_ , of the Olympianas − he was used to conflict. He had the skills to disable both Junior and Stewy with his bare hands − a simple move − grab the neck just under the jaw, squeeze and press upwards. Problem was the security cameras. Robert knew the cameras would be of no use once he had commanded the stealth bomber, but for the moment, the less obvious attention he drew, the better.

Junior walked almost as if on parade. Robert had his moment.

'Open the hangar,' insisted Robert.

'But, Hank...' began Stewy.

'Open the god-damned hangar, we haven't got all day! This is the president we are talking about. The Commander will be here any moment, no doubt wanting to know why you are disobeying orders.'

Stewy looked to the heavens whist he processed the request. ' _Suppose he 's right',_ he thought and duly keyed in the number into the electronic panel to activate opening the hangar door. The corrugated door lifted slowly.

' _How primitive but totally cool ',_ thought Robert. This was exactly as he had seen it in archive footage. Surreal.

Stewy collapsed in a matter of a few seconds. Robert dragged the unconscious private into the hangar area to one side, out of sight. There it was − like a vintage car enthusiast drooling over an Aston Martin DB5, the one Sean Connery drove in _Goldfinger_ , Robert looked on in awe at the black B2 stealth bomber in all its glory.

Robert would be away from the base in minutes before the security cameras picked up the loss of the guard.

Robert Stave had completed the first part of his mission.
CHAPTER 12

THE GREAT ENTRANCE

The table in the great hall held a second meeting in as many weeks. The delegates from the other 35 capitals of Zarduzian had now safely returned to their respective cities following the epic first meeting. Now the hall was set for an equally epic meeting held by those in power, headed by Elizan.

'In the absence of Annaluce we must take action,' said Omalius. 'We know she was kidnapped by Dane Vhastek, following a gruesome assault in her apartment. We cannot wait a moment longer.'

'Very observant, Omalius, but of absolutely no use,' said Elizan − _the next in line to take over her sister 's eminent position in Larquiston._ Not blessed with the same looks as her older sister nevertheless, Elizan had learnt a great deal from Annaluce. Omalius realised that she had the traits of her older sister for she was no pushover.

'Quite,' said Omalius, 'but it is my duty to protect the city at all costs.'

'The way I see it, the disappearance of my sister may well be the end of the matter. In the absence of _both_ my father and Annaluce, precisely what would any alien race wish to achieve by returning to Zarduzian? Surely their fight is on the planet known as Earth?'

'Then why, Elizan, did Dane Vhastek visit our planet or why, for that matter, the unknown alien source? We have to assume either one of them or both will return again,' said Omalius, a statement which challenged the rationale of Annaluce's younger sibling's deduction.

'We had a meeting with the delegates from the capitals but nothing came of it. We are sitting ducks, prisoners in our own cities. We are not one unit who can defend an attack; we are 36 divided units − easy pickings for the likes of Dane Vhastek. We need the Trollozytes but they are not allying since my father alienated Oosapeth. The planets we look to invade, courtesy of my father's master plan, to clone species and create Armageddon, have hardly warmed them to help our cause. We have no one other than the Trollozytes, upon which we were able to rely but who are now very much our enemy. Do you have any suggestions, Omalius?' said Elizan sarcastically.

'Point taken, but we must _do_ something.' An urgent reply but which did nothing to offer any kind of solution.

The great hall echoed with the voices of the few sat at the great table. It was an oblong black table, a polished marble-like Zarduzian rock with white hieroglyphics embedded into it, spelling out the motto of the capital 'Larquiston, the capital of all capitals'.

Windows surrounded the room; a transparent wall depicting all that was special in the capital's main square. A one-way mirror was present, guaranteeing anonymity of the meeting's guests. From the outside the appearance was of a perfectly respectable wall and gave no hint of the great hall within.

'Are we expecting company, Omalius?' asked Elizan.

'We have no one scheduled that I am aware,' replied Omalius.

'Then would you care to explain to me why I recognise three Undarthian warships heading our way?'

Omalius immediately called the capital's head of security, Junipex Cantilious, the munika's chief officer. The three Undarthian ships continued to impose menacingly towards the main square. This was a blatant move but not an obvious military attack.

'They would have attacked by now if this was any kind of aggression,' said Omalius. 'We know Dane Vhastek took Annaluce; perhaps he is returning your sister?'

'Let's see,' replied Elizan, who by now was quite getting used to taking over at the helm. Her older sibling was the favoured with their father, partly due to her stunning looks and partly her warrior disposition. Elizan was also a looker; a little smaller and a redhead but still stunningly blessed.

'Junipex will ensure that any weapons are handed over should the Undarthians wish to return Annaluce assuming, of course, that is their intention,' explained Omalius.

Those around the table watched as the three ships neared. The night sky, a blood orange, a stunning backdrop to highlight the grey mercenary spacecraft approaching with speed.

Larquiston's great square was a bustling, active place, the heart of the great city. Most evenings saw gatherings − places to eat surrounded the square, the sky awash with venglagons, bubble transporters, as well as alien craft from visitors, courtesy of the portals nearby. Dane Vhastek's entry was hostile in comparison. It caused unrest as citizens scurried away from the landing space the three ships had chosen.

Junipex had arranged over 100 munika foot soldiers, lined around the peripheral of the square, armed and ready. The munika black uniform covered their faces other than the small slit across the eyes. The uniform was equally as intimidating as anything Dane Vhastek had to offer.

Spacecraft visiting the city had designated bays around the square's perimeter. Dane Vhastek was not one to adhere to protocol; he parked his craft in the centre of the main square.

'We have the munika in full force,' announced Dane, a message that was unnecessary as his other two commanders could clearly see the waiting party.

'Copy,' replied the commanders separately.

Demitri wondered at this point why he had volunteered. 'Do we need to be armed?' he asked Dane.

'They won't shoot,' replied Patrick.

'How can you be so sure?' asked Demitri, his English sufficient for Patrick, who by now was used to his Russian adaptation.

'Because they will want to know what's happened to Annaluce. That is only possible if we talk to them first.'

'Oh, so they will kill us afterwards then,' answered Demitri sarcastically.

'They have no answer to the might of our warships, therefore they will not harm us,' said Dane. He'd seen far more confrontational situations.

Dane ordered his comrades to remain, partly as a military back-up in case the munika got trigger-happy and partly because this was a negotiation. He chose to take Patrick and Demitri, simply due to his promise that he would include them in the negotiations. Demitri at this point questioned the wisdom.

The spacecraft door lowered. The ground appeared, white, polished marble and far too decorative for three military alien craft to land. In military gear, armed and ready, Dane looked at Patrick and Demitri. A nod indicated that they should vacate the craft. Dane led the exit. He wasn't expecting to be fired at but knew that he would need to hand over his weapons. A truce would follow once his armoury was confiscated. He would then demand to see the new commander-in-chief. The munika surrounded Dane's craft and the residents of the capital surrounded the square, almost in excitement at what might unfold, their thirst for blood engrained in the citizens' psyche.

Junipex walked towards Dane who eclipsed the munika chief. His black beads sent out the message that a challenge would only result in one outcome. Dane wore his headset, as did the humans.

'I need to confiscate your weapons,' instructed Junipex. 'I assume we will not be expecting any resistance,' he said as much in hope as a demand.

Dane looked around at Patrick and Demitri, also armed, and nodded. Dane placed his weapon on the ground and kicked it towards the munika chief. Patrick and Demitri followed suit. The obligatory frisking of their space suits followed.

'They're here to talk,' announced Omalius as he watched his trusted munika lead Dane Vhastek towards the meeting room, as instructed.

'I cannot see my sister,' said Elizan, the hint of relief in her voice immediately picked up by Omalius. She had heard the tales of the fierce warrior Dane Vhastek, how he had outwitted her father and his capability to kill any alien with his bare hands. Elizan had a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of meeting this icon.

The door to the meeting room opened harshly - predictably, as the munika had little finesse. Junipex led; Dane, Patrick and Demitri were escorted at either side by at least 20 munika considered necessary to assure safety to Omalius and Elizan − Junipex was taking no chances.

Dane looked even more impressive close up. Elizan hated her sister even more.

'Welcome, Commander Vhastek,' greeted Omalius. 'Do we address you as Commander?'

'Dane,' the reply.

'Greetings, Dane,' said Elizan. 'I am Elizan, sister to Annaluce and this is Omalius, my trusted advisor.'

Dane nodded in acknowledgement. The lingering stare suggested Dane was weighing up whether there was a resemblance. There clearly was, throwing Dane's concentration off track for a moment.

'A pleasure,' said Dane. 'Let me introduce Patrick and Demitri − their visit here rather unfortunate. They were victims of the killing chambers but that is not important right now. They hail from planet Earth.'

An awkward pause − Omalius especially felt uncomfortable at the announcement for he recognised both of them immediately.

'That will be all, Junipex,' said Omalius. 'Bring us food and drink for our guests.' Omalius caught a glimpse of the square as residents eased towards the three craft for a closer look, a major event in Larquiston, which rarely saw conflict other than the 'death bait' games.

'Please be seated,' said Omalius.

'We were hoping Annaluce might be accompanying you,' said Elizan.

'I wouldn't be here if I knew where your sister was,' replied Dane. 'She has been accosted by Qudor Volkan. We were attacked, our ship crashed, Volkan wanted information. He wants the codes for the portal amplifier. I was rescued by Oosapeth, your sister was not,' said Dane. There was no ceremony in his delivery.

'So, what brings you here?' asked Omalius. He could see genuine emotion in Elizan's eyes, despite the front that she despised her older sister.

'We need help.'

Elizan suddenly perked up. 'Zaagans helping Undarthians, that's certainly new - how can we help?'

'Squalors,' replied Dane. 'We have machines, dorkers to be precise, which afford us protection. We can go over the great wall. We need one of you to validate our cause with the squalors.'

The silence in the room was deafening, but a new opportunity was opening up. Elizan's tearful expression turned to one of delight. This was her chance to shine and Elizan was going to take it.

_' Things might be taking a turn for the better',_ thought Omalius.
CHAPTER 13

ALIEN IMPOSTERS

The Earth looked different. Senator Lace Adams was stunned. Were the co-ordinates Samuel entered correct? He expected nothing but wasteland. He could not believe the sight unravelling before him.

The capsule opened upon instruction, just as Samuel had predicted it would. The location, previously known as Mexico City prior to the Great Alien Wars, re-named The Ancestral City, controlled by the Olympianas in 2218, should in theory be devoid of any form of intelligent life, other than a few propagators − _or so the historical archive data sabotaged from_ _the Olympianas ' database suggested._

The senator's immediate instinct was to hide. The question on Lace Adams' lips was not whether Samuel had set the correct time co-ordinates, but whether Samuel had sent the senator back to the right planet.

It vaguely looked like Earth; it was early evening, the sun still hot but cooler than the unforgiving daytime heat − a small blessing. The sky should have been empty of anything remotely alien advanced. Instead, a multitude of alien ships littered the atmosphere. It was a city of unrecognisable complexity and unfathomable intelligence.

' _What the hell have I done? '_ asked the senator to himself.

The capsule was just outside the alien city. Lace hid in some growth. His first thought was to disguise the only means of transport that guaranteed a safe return, whilst he calculated his next move. He had the means to destroy the city. What good would that do unless he could identify if this alien race was the super intelligence that propagated Earth?

Lace Adams began walking. He estimated a couple of kilometres. With the time machine safely camouflaged in the small woodland area close to his landing position, he could only hope that his attire was not to be a giveaway.

The countless spacecraft seemed busy, mainly around the city − at least that's what Lace assumed. A few drone-like craft flew overhead; luckily the natural growth and woodlands kept Lace from danger. The city was strange − buildings didn't look like buildings but more like temporary blocks, Lace estimated only ten to 15 metres high. They appeared liquefied like blocks of transparent jelly. No structure, bricks or steel frames, just liquid blocks. To Lace they seemed temporary, yet the super intelligence was glaringly obvious. Lace considered his approach. ' _Nothing to lose ',_ he thought. ' _It 's either to try to find a_ _solution or suffer the might of the Council of the Light if I return_ _empty-handed '_. These days the council were unforgiving and ruthless with their punishment.

Armed with the Z1845X bomb the size of a tennis ball, he confidently walked towards the myriad of liquefied blocks. The growth of trees was fascinating, untouched mother nature, long before the tyrannical human species' effortlessness destroyed natural habitat. Lace was in awe; the same land bereft of such natural beauty in 2218. The drones hummed, almost as a fine-tuned orchestra, each with a slight deviance of frequency. ' _Who were these people? '_ thought Lace. ' _This wasn 't in the archives, the_ _ancestors were few according to the Olympianas folk legend, prior to their mass evacuation of Earth '._

Getting closer now, the structures becoming more baffling, Lace wondered if this was a good idea. The cubes of liquid became transparent as Lace neared. Just as Lace first thought, cubes of liquid except for a vague outline of something within. _' How is the water holding itself together?'_ thought Lace. ' _What 's it harbouring inside?'_ Whatever these contraptions which dominated the city, it wasn't any of Lace's business. Again, he questioned his better judgement. Even if he found the figurehead that the Olympianas worshipped from their time on Earth, how was he supposed to change the chain of events? He had instructed Samuel to enter the precise date from the ancient Olympiana calendar − the co-ordinates were precise but surely this was a far advanced civilisation to those who propagated Earth, who created the beings who evacuated. It just didn't make any sense.

A buzzing sound became louder; it could have been a swarm of bees. Lace was keeping himself hidden in the trees, free from obvious vision, or at least he thought that was the case. The sharp stab on the back of his neck was instant, the pain excruciating. As Lace fell, a slow motion action as if the stab were a tranquiliser pellet, the buzzing sound accentuated as the drone drew closer. Every sense in Lace's body heightened; the smell of the fresh grass, the sound of what appeared to be an alien language muffled yet clear, clear in the fact that it wasn't human, the sunlight in his eyes, brighter than our star itself. Lace lay motionless yet eerily awake, paralysed, caught in a trap, set by vastly superior beings, as helpless as a rat that might be victim to a crude cage set to entice a rodent of deficient intellect. They had seen him, they had caught him, the time machine lay hidden but of little use. As Lace became drowsy he wondered whether he had seen the last of the only piece of machinery that might guarantee a safe return back to the future, to 2218.

************************************

Samuel lifted the shutters. The time machine carrying the senator had been transported. There was no evidence of an inferno. A thought occurred: ' _Three time machines have left the planet, only one with the permission from the Council of the Light and I, Samuel Parker, have authorised all three. If either the senator or Klade do not return triumphantly, not only will my position be in jeopardy but I will more than likely be fed to the Drayzaks '._

It was late; he was the only one other than the guard at the entrance who remained. Samuel reduced the 3D image of Earth, an image of the planet 3.3 million years ago, a destination of barren land where all but a few propagators roamed, at least according to the archived files hacked from the Olympianas' database.

Senator Adams had connections and Samuel was always in awe of the information the senator could muster from nowhere - precisely why Samuel was a time capsule engineer and Lace Adams a senator; one was innovative and happy to serve, one devious and power-driven. Samuel respected the senator immensely but he now questioned why he had been persuaded to use the remaining time machine on what was, he was now convinced, a frivolous journey.

In the morning, Dr Laderman and friends would return, fully expecting Senator Lace Adams to show.

The lights in the time capsule transporting room dimmed, the 3D image evaporated and the date flickered on the dashboard in the adjoining room. Samuel stared − in an instant his concerns encompassed his every thought. He couldn't say anything to his wife, Mira, he could only hope for a positive outcome. Samuel wasn't a believer in a benevolent benefactor, a super intelligence upon which our very existence depends, but at that very moment he was willing to be convinced, if only in hope that his prayers would be answered.

Samuel wished goodnight to the guard at the gate.

'See you tomorrow, Jon,' replied Samuel.

'Working late, Sam? Everything okay?' replied Jon. Little did he know.

'Yeah, fine, Jon, you know how it is. There's always a crisis to attend to,' replied Samuel nonchalantly.

The self-drive vehicle was there at the gate to meet him. Solar powered and completely automated, the door opened, DeLorean style, and Samuel sat in the seat. There was neither a driver nor passenger seat.

'Home,' instructed Samuel. The harness instantly encompassed his upper torso, the door closed and the vehicle sped silently and gracefully away from the Time Capsule Centre.

'Music,' demanded Samuel.

'Your usual?' asked the on-board computer.

'Yes, Rachmaninoff's Concerto in C minor.'

'Adagio section, is it, Mr Parker?'

'Do I need to ask?'

As the music played, courtesy of the virtuoso pianist Arthur Rubinstein − _the classics still very much in existence even in 2218_ − Samuel relaxed. Tomorrow would hail him a hero with Dr Laderman or a villain with the Council of the Light, without a reprieve. For the second time against his beliefs, he prayed.

***********************************

Senator Lace Adams focused on the liquid cube. A truly fascinating concept. Clearly water, controlled by an unknown force. The shape was cube, the water through it was as if it were supported by an invisible container; inside, Lace could make out creatures.

He was trapped in a transparent cylinder of some kind - naked − of a material or a force field the likes of which he could not fathom. His cylinder was one of up to a hundred, each containing creatures, none of which resembled anything he had known in 2218. _' What was this? This couldn't be the propagators',_ thought Lace _._ The archived files mentioned a few humanoid beings that were the originators of the Earth's occupants 3.3 million years before Senator Adams.

No one came to inspect Lace. The cylinder wasn't solid, but clear blue and transparent, yet the cylinder top was open to the elements. Fear crept into his psyche as the senator considered his predicament.

'Let me out of here!' shouted Lace. The scream, at least, released some of his anguish.

Lace held out a finger; the instant shock resembled what Lace could only imagine a lightning strike might feel. The flesh burned, the smell putrid. He kneeled and cried out in pain. He wouldn't touch the cylinder side again in a hurry.

His screams caused anguish amongst the other prisoners. At either side, ugly undesirable hybrid humanoids also screamed, one as the roar of a lion, the other as an orang-utan, in a fashion. Lace looked out through the transparent blue hue and a creature caught his eye, female, a human or so it appeared, also naked. A gesture he understood − an index finger to the mouth with a shake of the head − an indication to keep quiet. Lace instinctively covered his manhood. Bemused, he shrugged his shoulders as the female pointed to the sky.

Lace was to find out in a painful manner, why she had signalled for quiet. For the moment though, the female captivated him.
CHAPTER 14

ALIEN SPACE STATION

The ice cave was somewhat dormant in the absence of Dane Vhastek and the human contingent that had accompanied him to Larquiston in search of back-up - by way of an army of squalors. The mood sombre, the plan seemingly fragmented. Qudor had pulled a masterstroke by inflicting Drayzaks on the human population, acutely aware of their ability to disorient the population. To kill, maim and procreate meant he had the upper hand, at least temporarily.

Oosapeth studied the war hologram. His ships were displaced all over the globe. The ice cave was no place to strategize - too remote, too limited. The battle was being won on the ground. To raise a sustained attack meant being exposed, picked off by Qudor who had established ground superiority.

Time to use a portal amplifier.

Serenix was otherwise detained. Busy canoodling with James, she was hardly the warrior Oosapeth required. He called her over, much to her dissatisfaction.

'We have a portal amplifier. We need to stretch a portal near Earth,' stated Oosapeth.

'I don't understand, Father,' replied Serenix.

Oosapeth pointed to a portal on the hologram image, the same portal used to bring the fleet to Earth. The portal was indicated in blue and the Earth, as a globe, sat seemingly unperturbed, perilously exposed, silent as if no wrong could come of it; too small on the hologram to distinguish the mayhem occurring, too miniscule to map the Drayzak dominance.

Oosapeth turned towards his daughter and James had now joined them both. A look of eager anticipation was evident on James' face, his strawberry blonde hair looked striking against the blue backdrop of the glistening ice wall. Serenix's jet-black hair was equally as striking; the colour blend between them both was the exact opposite and yet perfectly harmonised.

'We need a space station, far enough in Earth's orbit to negotiate an attack but near enough to view the battle unfolding and to pick off targets on the ground,' instructed Oosapeth.

'I thought all our space stations were commissioned, Father?'

'Most,' replied Oosapeth. 'Colony 7 is an option, though.'

James understood the concept of a space station yet had no clue of the vast beast Oosapeth put forward - 'Colony' suggested a huge station and so he glanced at Serenix in the hope of a more explicit description.

'But that's our orbiting prison, Father. You intend to transport our undesirables? Wouldn't we need to take control of security? There have been some bad reports, Father. This is ludicrous,' said Serenix, now discarding her cloak of love in favour of her more normal demeanour, a warrior.

'We have no choice, Serenix. I will need to clear this with the Security Council. This is a war and one we need to win. Qudor has one of our portal amplifiers; the damage he could inflict is unimaginable. With the colony of prisoners, we could infiltrate. Their choice is a prolonged life of misery, purposely extended to maximise their arduous sentences - a welcome opportunity to fight for their lives, a life on Earth, a fresh start,' explained Oosapeth, whose temperament oozed confidence as he explored this unforeseen idea. Influenced clearly by the strategy of Dane Vhastek, Oosapeth had relented; a ground position was paramount to countering Qudor's initiative.

'I need you and James to remain. I will take three warriors back to Xenon. You will need to explain the plan to Dane if he returns before I complete my mission. If I have accomplished my mission before Dane then I will return to the ice cave to explain this latest development. You will hear from me upon my return.'

Xenon had 12 colonies in orbit. Most were exploratory stations, observation points, some a source of gathering energy from their star and some to house undesirables. Colony 7 was dreaded. It housed the most dangerous citizens. It was a space station equivalent to the size of a small city, black and menacing. Its military function was useful in Oosapeth's eyes, the cargo equally so.

The black figures of Oosapeth accompanied by three of his trusted warriors marching swiftly towards the portal bay, spelling out loud and clear their intent. The shadows of the figures lengthened as they disappeared down the long, ice blue tunnel. The ship was chosen, the warriors entered and the hologram displayed Earth with an adjoining planet, Xenon. With a shudder of the craft, the noise resonating the echo likened to pistol fire in an amphitheatre, Oosapeth was gone.

The next move in the war game of chess.

The arrival was instant. Oosapeth treated the journey as a student might a taxi ride. Greeted as a warrior who commanded the utmost respect, the portal guard checked in this distinguished citizen and his three accompanying warriors.

'An unplanned visit, Oosapeth. We observed your emergency clearance request upon arrival,' said the guard, ushering a team of operatives to vet the metabolism of Oosapeth and crew for any abnormalities.

'Do we need to bother with clearance of this sort?' asked Oosapeth.

'Standard clearance procedure. You'd have my head if I let any Trollozyte return from another planet without a thorough check.'

'Well, hurry up. When you're finished, grab me a few dorkers and see to it that the Security Council are aware that I need urgent talks,' said Oosapeth, clearly irritated by the inconvenience of the quarantine rules.

The operatives stood by the 3D monitor, which replicated the four individuals in a holographic image; a variant of rays was blasted invisibly at the ship's occupants. X-ray testing, biochemicals, known diseases, even psychological imbalances were among those tested instantly. The readings were clear for Oosapeth and two of his warriors, but one had an unknown virus.

'Oosapeth, we have a problem,' reported the guard.

'I haven't time for this,' said Oosapeth, squaring up the guard. The three warriors stood bemused about a metre behind their commander-in-chief. The sun was strong, accentuating the sweat now appearing on Oosapeth's brow and the frown clearly expressed dislike at this additional unnecessary delay. 'What is the problem?'

The guard moved towards the operatives, one of whom pointed to a reading on the small tablet. The hieroglyphics read - _serious alert, quarantine immediately_.

'I'm afraid I am going to have to quarantine one of your operatives, Oosapeth. An anomaly has shown up on our reading.'

'Anomaly?' asked Oosapeth as he held up both palms looking to the sky. ' _What_ anomaly?'

'A defect. You know the code - section 9182 subsection 23d states that a return from another planet indicating any signs of an alien virus-'

'Yes, yes, I'm aware of the code. So, one of us carries a virus?' Oosapeth interrupted.

'That's what the tablet indicates. We have signalled through to security and your warrior will be taken to a secure wing where we evaluate the problem. You have been on planet Earth some time now so it's perfectly understandable. We have to do this, you understand, as it takes time for an alien virus to take hold. Your length of time on Earth has been identified and these checks are mandatory.'

'Oosapeth looked round at the warrior who had been signalled out. 'Don't worry, I'll check on the situation after my meeting with the Security Council,' he assured him.

'As a precautionary measure, we will need the others and yourself to be thoroughly sanitised before you meet with security. The situation has been advised to the council,' said the guard.

Oosapeth shook his head and again looked up to the skies. 'So be it but get on with it!' he barked. The ship stood idle whilst the great mechanical arms moved into position to park the craft clear of the portal, ready for the next arrival. The importance of Oosapeth's arrival had stirred the operatives around the bay; the delay had clearly caught their attention, an unwelcome distraction. Oosapeth, whilst not wanting to show concern thought to himself - ' _this could be a turning point in the war_ _against Qudor if a virus has infiltrated the ice caves '._

****************************

Oosapeth entered the hall of the Security Council's building. The hall always impressed him; he had held many an important meeting here during his multitude of quests. Oosapeth was confident of a result; the virus discovery only threw him temporarily. Luckily, the sanity procedure, whilst a little degrading, had passed without any indication that the virus, whatever it was, had spread to other crew members.

Oosapeth entered the meeting chambers and the guard informed the council of Oosapeth's demands for a meeting. Heading the meeting was Dural Zeetan, a prominent figure in the council, a Trollozyte who didn't always agree with Oosapeth's escapades. He stood tall and proud, complete with a black gown, meticulously kept, which swept on the black, hard, granite-type floor. The look set the tone; Oosapeth didn't feel good about the next few moments. Either side of Dural were several prominent Security Council members. They hadn't sent the usual more informal members, instead the big guns - Oosapeth suddenly suspected resistance.

'Oosapeth,' began Dural, 'rather a hasty request for a meeting?'

The council members took their seats. The transparent table made of brintex (an unbreakable alien compound), complete with the latest in hologram technology that centred the oblong table, was testament to the severity of this gathering. The hologram displayed Earth.

'Dural,' acknowledged Oosapeth.

'We have been analysing the data from your craft and we also have the results of the anomaly which infects your crew member,' stated Dural, almost as if he was about to pass sentence on the warrior standing before him.

'Enlighten me,' insisted Oosapeth.

'The virus is unknown. We are investigating, but the plan unfolding on Earth does not please us. This is a war, Oosapeth. We don't do war - we are galactic brokers, intent on assisting the propagation of life where applicable and also to trade with other planets. This is outside our normal activities.'

'I don't need a history lesson,' said Oosapaeth, instantly regretting the outburst.

'I am merely stating the facts. They need to be stated. You have already taken a huge military contingent, already spent far more time on this planet Earth than most of our operations put together. You had at your disposal a portal amplifier, now lost to one Qudor Volkan. We, the Security Council, are looking for not only an explanation but a resolution to this unfortunate dilemma.'

Oosapeth knew instantly that his request for a space station would draw gasps of despair from the members sat opposite him. He needed a different approach.

The hologram was evidence that the huge image of Earth was clearly mapping out utter chaos. Oosapeth stood. He always stood when delivering a convincing pitch. He walked around the table while his right hand commanded the holographic image to show enlargements. He was looking for an angle and configuring the image brought him this time.

'Tell me what you see, Dural,' said Oosapeth studiously, 'and for the sake of the other members, tell us exactly how you would resolve the situation unfolding. The lost portal amplifier is the least of our worries.' A shrewd move. Oosapeth knew when to ask questions, when to deflect the attention.

'I see utter chaos - a battle we cannot win, a waste of our military with no benefit to our planet. You have colluded with Dane Vhastek who, I may add, has the responsibility, having sole propagation rights to this planet to sort out this mess.'

Oosapeth paused. With the hand of a magician, he revolved the image and enlarged the area in Antarctica, specifically to the ice caves. The members looked at each other, puzzled. The rabbit was about to be pulled from the hat.

'Tell me, Dural - tell me about the colonies. We are overrun with villains. Remind me why that is?'

Dural stuttered somewhat. 'I... I don't see what that has to do with this meeting, Oosapeth,' a now nervous Dural replied.

'It has everything to do with this meeting. You see, not only do we have a problem with corruption, a direct result of your inability to monitor the security of the galactic trade deals, but we also have an abundance of alien undesirables, again, courtesy of your complete inability to secure aliens who inhabit our planet as a result of botched missions. I am surprised, Dural, that you head this meeting. I am surprised greatly that you are still a prominent Security Council member.'

One of the council members came to Dural's defence.

'Oosapeth, where exactly are you going with this? As we understand it, you have called a meeting − in ernest, we understand − so we are not here for you to criticize council members. We could, if you like, give chapter and verse on all _your_ unsavoury missions, particularly those that have drawn the attention of the Council of the Light, specifically a portal amplifier incident which culminated in the obliteration of a planet. That involves _you_ , Oosapeth, and you alone! Would you like me to continue?'

Oosapeth realised he was pushing his luck.

'You get me wrong, contrary to how you may perceive my argument, I am not here to criticise. I am here to merely point out a problem, as we are all aware of those who blight our planet. Is it not prisoners and undesirable aliens? Tell me if I'm wrong,' continued Oosapeth emphatically.

Dural intervened. 'We are all acutely aware of the problem. We are pleased that your more recent expeditions have been more fruitful, less amateur, shall we say, and we, the Security Council, have tightened up on some of our lapses. I really don't see where this is leading though, Oosapeth. We have the utmost respect for you, a legendary warrior, adored by everyone across our planet, but would you kindly get to the point?'

'Let me say, I know a way of solving both problems. The problem of our over-populated prisons and the need for further warriors to finish the battle on Earth,' explained Oosapeth, back-peddling away from the image at the centre of the table and returning to adopt a seated position.

'Enlighten us,' requested Dural, borrowing the term Oosapeth used earlier.

'Colony 7,' replied Oosapeth.

An even more bemused look adorned the faces of the council members. Dural stood, flicked back his cloak with vigour and asked, 'Exactly what do you intend to do with Colony 7?'

Oosapeth rose again. 'Use a portal amplifier to move the space station to a position nearer to Earth, observe Qudor's tactics and use the prison population to fight.'

'Fight, why should they fight?' asked Dural.

'Because, Dural, it is better than their current existence - extended prison sentences, to endure relentless fear, to see out inordinate sentences beyond their life expectancy. You know how I feel about extended sentencing. Let me take them. They would rather die fighting than endure the misery. Their prize would be freedom on Earth. What would that matter to us? It also frees up having to use our military for the battle on Earth.'

Dural pondered. He did not care for this character assassination. His reply was well considered. 'Tell me, Oosapeth. Exactly what are we to gain from the deployment of all this military arsenal and now Colony 7? Who are we fighting?'

Oosapeth sensed that the debate was favouring Dural, so he went on the attack. 'Dane Vhastek saved my daughter, Serenix, from a gruesome death at the hands of the double-crossing Daxzus Zaetsalsae. We have an honour code, or is that not something you conform to, Dural? Please enlighten us,' requested Oosapeth, playing Dural like a grandmaster chess player.

'No, you enlighten _us_ , Oosapeth! Tell the council, who exactly is this enemy? Why are we fighting Dane Vhastek's battles?' A game of tug-of-war ensued.

'The enemy is Qudor Volkan,' replied Oosapeth, not wishing to elaborate.

'Which planet does this Qudor Volkan reside?'

'The planet Olympiana, close to Earth's vicinity, a mere two or three light-years apart,' replied Oosapeth.

'The council are keen to hear how this alien species became so interested in this planet and what drew this volatile species to planet Earth?'

Oosapeth knew exactly where this conversation was leading. It wasn't an avenue Oosapeth favoured. Nonetheless, an answer was expected for the Security Council.

'It's an interesting question. I only know that they are a grave threat to the existence of the species on planet Earth. Our code of honour must be respected. Dane Vhastek and the Undarthians have a footprint on the planet - he saved Serenix. Our allegiance has to be with the Undarthian warrior,' said Oosapeth. It was a reply, but flawed and he knew it.

'That's not all though, is it, Oosapeth?' Dural insisted. 'Your data suggests that this Qudor Volkan's ancestors once frequented another planet before Olympiana. Would you be kind enough to tell the council which planet that was, Oosapeth?' asked Dural. Checkmate!

'You _are_ aware, so why ask? The battle has begun; I am not here to decipher the origins of every species involved in this conflict, Dural. I am here to ask for the council's help to bring this battle to a successful conclusion,' explained Oosapeth, deflecting the embarrassment Dural wished to impose.

'Surely the Olympianas trump the Undarthian claim to propagation rights?'

'Not in so far as a hostile takeover! This is an annihilation of the species, a species that did not exist before the Undarthian programme to propagate. The Security of the Light does not favour annihilation. This species from Olympianas are not even registered with the Council of the Light and are afforded no rights, or did you decide not to divulge that aspect of the data?' asked Oosapeth. 'I am asking for that space station which will ease the tensions arising over the cost to maintain this prison and alien population. As you are on record as stating, 'our planet's undesirables' lives are prolonged, simply to punish further'. Now, correct me if I am wrong, Dural, isn't your term as a senior member of this council ending?'

Two warriors battled, one a true warrior in Dane, the other a warrior of words and power. Dural had to concede that not being a senior member would shortly render his arguments redundant. Dural relented.

'So, Colony 7. You will rid Xenon of the prisoners and transfer the responsibility to planet Earth. Will you swear in front of this council that no more demands will be made?'

'If I am guaranteed immediate access to the space station, then I agree.'

Dural turned to his other Security Council members. There were mumbles, hushed voices and a few glances in Oosapeth's direction and the decision was made.

'Request granted,' concluded Dural reluctantly.

Oosapeth turned and left without so much as an acknowledgement. Too much time lost. The result of the meeting never in question, but it took longer than expected. Outside the building, guards awaited the decision to be transmitted for the permission to allow Oosapeth use of Colony 7. The mission would also require a portal amplifier - a huge operation was required. Oosapeth approached the guards.

'What of my warrior?' asked Oosapeth hastily.

'Quarantine until we establish the virus,' replied the guard, the same one who greeted his return to the city.

'Do I have your word that he will be transported to Colony 7 once given the all clear?' asked Oosapeth.

'You have my word,' said the guard.

The square awash with citizens busying about their business, sprang into action as the guards, around 30, escorted Oosapeth to the craft. His two remaining warriors walked alongside with not a word said - no need. Their commander-in-chief, as usual, was in full command. An entourage of guards escorted the trio to their designated craft; citizens paused, ogled and muttered amongst themselves. This was no ordinary sight for something momentous was taking place.

With the craft ready, complete with portal amplifier in the bargain, the mission was on track; clearance a mere formality.

'The Commander of Colony 7 has been notified. You will dock, board and deliver your command to the prison guards on board. An on-board craft will return the prisoner guards to the city. You will advise once you have taken control of Colony 7. I will then report back to the Security Council. The instructions are that the cargo, prisoners and aliens alike are under your control and are not to be returned.'

Oosapeth nodded, eager to depart. The air was clear and the sun blinding while the city went about its business, blissfully unaware of the task that faced their hero. He was desperate to return to the city he loved so much once this mission was complete. Oosapeth was now in control of Colony 7 and the reprobates who occupied it. A glance back at the city he called home, it suddenly dawned on him the enormity of the task ahead. Oosapeth was ready.

In unison, the guards dispersed in a straight line saluting their commander-in-chief. There wasn't one guard who wasn't in awe of their hero, hellbent on another mission, one that would undoubtedly further enhance Oosapeth's reputation, if successful.

Slowly, the belly of the craft closed; the clunk confirming that those on board were ready for their mission. The guards retreated and the craft sped into the Xenon sky.

The docking was automated. Oosapeth's craft had been given clearance, reducing velocity as it neared the space station. The size was a sight to behold - a massive station the size of a city - black, menacing and sophisticated. The station orbited Xenon slowly. There was no need for speed as the cargo was considered a burden and yet the irony was in the beauty, the serenity of a station that harboured the most undesirable citizens of Xenon.

'Prepare docking,' instructed Oosapeth. The voice-controlled, on-board computer reacted immediately. Oosapeth and crew were harnessed automatically into their moulded seats; the visual on the holographic image displayed a countdown counter. The lights to the individual prison cells surrounded the station - thousands of cells, the horror of which Oosapeth chose to ignore, for the moment. He would need to address those whose lives had become meaningless. With a ray of hope, quite what reaction he might receive was anyone's guess.

A thud, a grinding noise, a final thunderous crunch and the craft had docked. The harnesses of Oosapeth and his two warriors had retreated - they had arrived.

Oosapeth walked towards the docking tunnel with his two warriors close behind and scanned their retinas through the recognition device at the side of the door. With a clang, access to the space station was granted. His guards followed and not a word was spoken but the subliminal instructions were clearly understood.

Oosapeth made his entry through the quarantine area of the space station without detention that was not necessary as he had cleared quarantine earlier. Several space station operatives lined the entrance in expectance of this true legend.

'Welcome, Oosapeth!' greeted one friendly space station engineer.

'I need access to the ship's cabin,' came a blunt reply from Oosapeth, 'then I need you all out of here.' A command designed to demonstrate who was in charge.

The prison governor at the head of the tunnel of engineers spoke:

'I have reported your arrival; our departure shuttles have been prepared. I am not altogether sure why you want to take control of such a dangerous craft or how you might want to control the prisoners, but I now officially allow you to take command of this vessel,' said the governor.

Oosapeth was set. Would Dane Vhastek accomplish a similar triumph on Zarduzian? For the time being, at least, and for the first time, Oosapeth felt a little uneasy about his side of the bargain.
CHAPTER 15

THE DELIVERY

The dorkers hovered silently in the main square, drawing attention from the crowd gathering. Omalius and Elizan escorted Dane, Patrick, Demitri and his warriors - demonstrating an allegiance to the cause - towards the stationary Undarthian craft and dorkers in the square, ready for the expedition to commence. This was a delicate unprecedented allegiance.

Dane stood tall next to the dorker, ready for action - just another mission. Elizan could see immediately the attraction of such a specimen of being constantly surrounded by hollow diplomats with not an ounce of fight in them, all elevated Dane to heroic by comparison. A glance up at the great wall and all it stood for had Dane rooting for the underdogs, the squalors. They had not chosen a futile existence, one that resorted to a fight for survival, where cannibalism and the horrors of life on the other side of the wall surrounding Larquiston, had become the norm. A far cry from the exquisite life of the elite in the city - the very elite Dane stood alongside as he prepared for his mission.

Elizan spoke admirably of this warrior who stood before her, managing enough restraint not to show too much adoration:

'If you are successful and you achieve an alliance with the squalors, I expect you would return to celebrate with us?' asked Elizan, more in hope than in command.

The translation helmet wasn't needed for his response. In an action that was testosterone-fuelled, Dane merely nodded; he had a mission to accomplish and the adrenalin was running through his veins. Elizan lowered her head in acknowledgement as an emperor might to a gladiator in the arena; her admiring gaze lingered just long enough for Dane to pick up the signal. He wasn't remotely interested but Elizan would get her chance to show her admiration should he triumph.

Dane mounted the dorker, checked the holographic image of the city courtesy of an upload ordered by Omalius and he was ready. The mission - all systems go.

It was the fashion with which the craft headed towards the square, the speed noticeably aggressive. The Larquiston sky was filled with craft, all busying away back and forth across the capital. Some were returning from the floating cities and some were enjoying the scenery, but this craft looked different, hauntingly familiar.

Dane glanced up, his military instincts kicked in; he knew an aggressive manoeuvre when he saw it. There was something about the craft - he had seen it before somewhere.

'Omalius, do you have security monitoring hostile craft entering Larquiston?' asked Dane, now fully utilising the translator.

'I believe the munika offer adequate protection. Why?' asked Omalius.

'Because that craft heading towards the square is hostile,' replied Dane. The crowd that was gathering sensed the threat and began receding like an outward tide.

The craft silently meandered in and out of the aerial traffic, weaving and dodging collisions with expert military precision. Dane played the hologram, picking up the incoming craft on a visual. The hieroglyphics worked overtime to identify the approaching aggressor.

'It's a military drone carrying cargo of some kind,' reported Dane. 'I suggest you evacuate the square.' Omalius sprang into action. The munika ushered the crowd away. Dane withdrew a weapon from the military suit, his warriors copied and nothing was said - this was all instinctive. The munika followed Dane's lead. An army of both Zaagan security and Undarthian warriors, headed by the impressive Dane Vhastek, gazed up at the skies, ready, waiting.

'It's an unknown source,' said Dane, 'that can only mean one thing. Qudor Volkan is behind this.' His blood boiled; ' _How the hell did Qudor Volkan know he was in Larquiston? '_

The drone approached and Dane recognised it immediately, the same type of drone that had ambushed him at CERN. The cargo was attached to the underside of the craft. The machine slowed and the cargo came into full view, hovering over the square. Dane made a gesture to his warriors not to fire. The munika followed suit, almost as if the respect for Dane Vhastek trumped that of their own commander.

The cargo was released and in a few seconds the drone had fled - mission complete as far as the drone was concerned. The cargo floated down towards the square, swaying from side to side as it fell. A white tarpaulin-type canopy ensured it steadily descended. The crowd silent, still, watched as the canopy meandered, floating like a bird gliding in to land. The writing in blood was Undarthian. The charred body of the victim being delivered was ominous.

A thud and the cargo landed with the canopy shrouding the charred remains.

The munika surrounded the victim, the writing on top of the shroud now clear for all to view. Dane walked over to the package draped in white and, as he approached, the words became clearer. He could make out ' _Not so pretty_ ' and his heart sank. The crowd inched forward to get a closer look, the munika keeping them at bay.

Dane stood over the white sheet, the words in blood now confirming the worst, read:

_' Your beloved Annaluce. Not so pretty now. Qudor Volkan'._

Dane let out an almighty scream and fell to his knees with his head in his hands. One of the munika lifted the canopy gingerly, raising it just enough for a sneak view of the victim lying beneath. The body was badly charred, the head decapitated, the victim's stomach ripped out. Elizan came running over with the realisation that the victim was her older sister. She flung her arms around Dane, wailing uncontrollably. Dane hugged her beloved's younger sister, the grief shared.

'She was pregnant,' said Dane, his tears now turning to anger. 'He's a monster. He must have set his Drayzaks loose before burning the body.'

Elizan could smell Dane; she could feel his extraordinary strength, yet she was in awe of his compassion. She didn't want to let go of the embrace. As the shock of the sight of the charred remains of her sister subsided, Elizan could see an opportunity.

'Promise me you will return from your journey over the wall. Whether a deal is struck or not with the squalors, promise me you will return!' insisted Elizan.

Dane pulled back looking her straight in the eyes, his now puffy with the flood of tears. In an uncanny way she was beautiful, just like her sister - he held her stare. Ironically, in the most unlikely of circumstances, a connection had been made. Not a word was uttered but the nod was enough of a promise of his return.

The munika surrounded the remains; the canopy used as a death shroud. Covering what remained of Annaluce was hoisted over the shoulder of a munika security officer as he walked through the main square, accompanied by the squadron of guards. The crowd parted like the red sea as the guards paraded the body back towards the main hall.

Dane walked briskly to the dorker, his warrior instincts kicking in. He was ready for the task ahead, to secure a deal with the squalors before returning to the city behind the wall.

Omalius took over from Dane; Elizan now hugged her trusted advisor, both emotional but more so Omalius, on this occasion. What to say in such dramatic circumstances? Omalius could only use all his diplomatic skills.

'We will give your sister a state burial to honour her in the highest traditions of this great city,' announced Omalius in a fashion both dutiful and heartfelt.

'I want to see the head of this Qudor Volkan,' said Elizan. 'Dane Vhastek will deliver me his head,' she said in a defiant manner.

'I do not doubt it,' replied Omalius, 'for the moment we must prepare. You need to be strong for the citizens of Larquiston - you must be strong.'

Elizan stood proudly, wiped the tears from her face and linked her arm with Omalius. 'Then let us waste no time,' she said defiantly.

'Indeed, let us waste no time,' agreed Omalius.
CHAPTER 16

THE COUNCIL OF THE LIGHT

Samuel awoke. He hadn't slept well. In less than one hour Dr Laderman, Maxius and others would be at the Time Capsule Centre expecting to see Senator Lace Adams. It was vital Samuel attended if the Council of the Light were to be convinced that all was not a complete catastrophe.

Samuel wasn't a believer in an omnipotent benefactor. The new religion in 2218 was the belief in the self, that we are all one; we are all god. Religion as it was, the era in which Robert Stave had returned, had been abandoned with the realisation that life existed on other planets - far superior life. The aliens had brought a new understanding about the possibilities within our universe. Humans adopted a new religion called 'The New Awakening'.

Samuel cast aside the new form of religious fanatics emanating from the confirmation that 'we are not alone'. On this occasion, he reverted to the place we all visit in times of desperation − the need to pray. Samuel prayed. He prayed that both Senator Adams and Klade would be at the Time Capsule Centre in an hour's time. There was a grave lingering doubt, which Samuel knew would be confirmed or discarded shortly.

The self-drive DeLorean-type vehicle awaited. Samuel watched as the doors lifted at either side as he approached the vehicle, his retina scanned from a distance. Samuel sat in the rear, the harnesses automatically engaged as the on-board computer welcomed the passenger.

'Where would you like to go, Samuel?' asked the computer.

'The Time Capsule Centre, please,' replied Samuel, who still found it odd that he was courteous to a computer - even though robots in 2218 were as sophisticated as humans in many ways, it still seemed odd.

'Would you like some music to relax you, this morning?'

'I'm not sure - maybe. Would you care to recommend something?'

'I sense you are anxious this morning,' the computer observed, relying on the on-board mood analyser. 'Your normal Rachmaninoff might be a good idea, but I know you like retro-style music too, so may I recommend 'Nuvole Bianche' by Ludovico Einaudi?'

'Perfect,' replied Samuel. The soothing piano genius of Einaudi was just the tonic as he contemplated the immediate future.

****************************

The Council of the Light had become embroiled in Earth's predicament. As a galactic force the council had authority, the capability to evict any advanced civilisation that flaunted propagation rights. The rules were strict: _Any obvious violation or to masquerade as a lead propagator results in immediate expulsion from the said planet by the council._ The problem was finding those who disobeyed the council or by disproving those who made a valid claim.

The Council of the Light evolved. As the Universe began to sprout life organically, the cosmos developed into a vessel housing primitive life forms. Life erupted across the vast expanse of space; each galaxy developed a particular strand of life, which became the dominant force. The Milky Way had evolved into a chartered territory occupied by a predominant life form we understand as humanoid. These primitive beings evolved initially to a Kardashev Scale of I - _a method to measure the intelligence of a species originally proposed by Russian astrophysicist Nikolai Kardashev, which based intelligence of a species on a level from Type I to Type V._

Earth humans currently at 0 are some way short of level I.

The Milky Way witnessed many humanoid civilisations perish; annihilating themselves before level I had been achieved. Millions of life forms faded, each believing a special privileged position within the Universe, each determined to rule through conflict and war. One or two isolated civilisations survived this natural urge to prematurely end its own survival and reached level I; their exploration of our galaxy confirmed its fate - a fate that would see the extinction of life - a plan was put forward to save the Universe itself. A theory, devised by these more intelligent life forms, suggested that the very existence of our Universe was based on observation alone, the message simple - _if there are no life forms to observe the Universe, the cosmos will_ _become a form of non-existence._

As civilisations within the galaxy reached level I and evolved to a level II and beyond, portal travel and the harnessing of the energy of stars led to an exploration to find other similar intelligence. A pact was reached with those of a level of intelligence who could police the existence of the humanoid form of life, creating an understanding; their goal - to protect and preserve the galaxy.

Portal travel established a hierarchy and a method of travelling the cosmos in real time, eradicating the principle of differing time zones emanating from a slow transportation method, adopted by the less intelligent species - _humans fell into this category._ Portal travel ensured an instant transfer to planets thousands of light-years apart. The scene was set, the Council of the Light was born - 3 million years ago in Earth time.

The endeavour simple - _save the Universe, propagate and assist the evolution of other intelligent life forms who would continue to observe, thus the salvation of our galaxy would be assured._

In 2218, Earth time, the Council of the Light had a problem. The Earth beings had been compromised, the council had seen claims from those who wished to adopt their right to rule the planet, each with a plausible claim. Humans had insisted that their rights had been compromised by trying to gain evidence from inside the force field, at the incident on Earth on 15th February 2018, to prove a sinister plan to eradicate our species and obtain control by default.

The wars had been long; the zonal territories now adopted by several species compromising the planet.

Three members of the Council of the Light arrived via portal travel to the New Manhattan area. As super intelligent beings, their authority was respected at the highest level by all alien species. To defy a Security Council member any of the rights and privileges expected, would have dire consequences.

The council members descended from the craft, their fluorescent white uniforms setting them aside. A crowd had gathered as often did when super beings visited. The bubble, _the chosen method to transport the Security Council members_ , complete with its anti-gravity facility, awaited. Clearance, through retina recognition, assured the members an untroubled entrance into the craft. The destination was already pre-set - the Time Capsule Centre.

******************************

Dr Laderman was the first to arrive at the centre, Samuel already present. Laderman entered the time capsule booth expecting to see the safe capture of Robert Stave. Klade should also have returned, each in a separate time capsule, hopefully. The booth shutters were up, the capsule room adjacent was empty.

'It hasn't worked,' said Dr Laderman.

'It gets worse!' stated Samuel.

Maxius entered the room. The look on Laderman's face told the truth and Samuel's slumped head confirmed the dreadful scenario.

'We had better come up with some answers and quick,' said Maxius, stating the obvious.

'You can kick-start our dilemma with a bright idea, if you like,' shot back Laderman sarcastically.

'Just saying,' replied Maxius, on the defensive. Stating the obvious wasn't really helping the situation.

'So, Samuel, what could possibly be worse than losing two of the three time machines allotted to us by the Council of the Light?' asked Laderman.

'Losing three,' replied Samuel.

'Three? What are you talking about? Have we had another break-in by the rebels or something? Hell, if they get their hands on a time machine we really are in trouble!'

'It's not the rebels,' said Samuel. 'You don't understand.'

'Damn right, we don't!' said Maxius again, stating the obvious for the second time. 'You had better start explaining. Senator Lace Adams will be here any minute and will want some answers.'

'That's just it. Senator Adams won't be arriving via the normal entrance. If he arrives at all it will be in _that_ room,' said Samuel as he gazed through the glass patrician toward the time capsule room.

'What the heck do you mean?' asked Laderman. 'Where _is_ Senator Adams exactly?'

'In the area that used to be known as Argentina in 2018, except 3.3 million years ago before the asteroid evacuation.'

'What in God's name is he doing there and how did he get there?' challenged Laderman. For one who, like Samuel, didn't believe in an omnipotent benefactor he found it strange that he used the term that verified its very existence.

'I don't know why I agreed. Was I out of my mind?' asked Samuel out loud.

'Agreed to what?' asked Maxius.

Samuel put his head in his hands, the gravity of what he had done began to sink in and sweat appeared on his brow. ' _What punishment would the Council of the Light bestow on me? '_ he thought. Time was running out fast and the three representatives would need some answers once they discovered the incompetence of Samuel Parker. The trio in the room had just 45 minutes. A miracle was needed. At that moment, Samuel wanted to believe in the omnipotent benefactor, if only to give him some warped sense of hope.

'The senator is trying to change the outcome of the evacuation following the asteroid strike 3.3 million years ago,' replied Samuel.

'And how is he supposed to do that?' asked Laderman.

'By changing the propagation. The archives of the Olympianas suggest that Earth was probably propagated, thus sprouting the existence of a previous species before the Undarthians propagated only 250,000 years ago,' Samuel stated.

Maxius was confused - not a difficult task. 'I don't understand. How is that going to help Klade?'

'In theory, if the senator succeeds it prevents the rise of the population that evacuated Earth before the asteroid struck. That would mean Robert Stave sees a totally different world when he returns to 2018. There would be no Qudor Volkan to contend with, the portal amplifier would not have been captured by Qudor and therefore Robert Stave would have no reason to travel back in time,' said Samuel.

'Well, that's the most absurd theory I have ever heard. If the senator is right, then the whole of the scenery here in New Manhattan would be totally different. If Qudor and his clan didn't exist, then they wouldn't be here in our present. The bad news is, gentlemen, that the black pyramids were still evident as I travelled in via the bubble, proving the existence of the very species Senator Adams should have eradicated - the Olympianas.'

Silence in the room as the three contemplated the dire situation. They now only had 40 minutes. The senator could seriously mess with the present if he was successful but none of the three in the room had considered how that might appear. A distinct possibility was that he might create an alternative timeline. Even if he had successfully thwarted the propagation of the Olympianas as a race, it might not change their own present. They were dabbling with catastrophe and they now had approximately half an hour before the Council of the Light would bombard them with questions.

Each of the three gazed at each other saying nothing, the odd shake of the head almost confirming that they were resigned to their fate.

The Council of the Light delegates held their immediate future and the future of our species in their hands.

The future looked as bleak as the storm now approaching New Manhattan, almost an omen of things to come.
CHAPTER 17

A TORTUROUS FLIGHT

Robert Stave headed to Antarctica. Flying the stealth airplane was a dream. The simulation programme Robert downloaded in 2218 was perfect. He had practiced incessantly. The flight programme was pretty basic compared to the technicality of the machines in Earth's future 200 years on. Robert had planned his mission meticulously; once his surgical operation had been completed, he went into hiding whilst his wounds healed from the procedure. His plan - first, figure out the flight instructions for the stealth bomber and second, request the plans of the banned portal amplifier from his rebel friends.

The Earth looked decidedly different in 2018. The distinct black pyramids, testimony to the Olympianas' zonal advantage, in New Manhattan, were nowhere to be seen from the skies above the United States of America. Robert became very patriotic at the thought. He could pull this off and rid the planet of the scourge of the Olympianas, courtesy of Qudor Volkan's offensive actions 200 years earlier.

The skies were fresh, the planet blue and there was no abundance of alien occupation. This was Robert's world, a time to which he was destined to belong. The plan was simple - destroy the portal amplifier. He was there when it had been stolen from the base at Area 51 and he knew exactly where Qudor Volkan was headed - it was an easy target. The archives suggested that the machine was harboured with the captured F16s and other stealths that Qudor had apprehended undetected with ease from the humans.

The flight dials were as they should be and the destination was set. Robert was on his way and enjoying the ride. This beast could travel - to say it was 2018 - his experience akin to driving an original early car, _say a Ford Model T back in_ _1908 compared to an Aston Martin Vanquish._ Robert was impressed, he had read about these machines as all the rage in the early 2000s. A pivotal development in the race to steal control of the skies, commanding aerial advantage; both the Russians and the Americans competed for a superior stealth, one that would dominate.

The sun was setting, a magnificent sight. As the red glow of our planet's star was almost hiding in the distance, playing hide-and-seek as the plane meandered through the skies, made Robert feel alive. Once Qudor was out of the way he would introduce himself to his hero, Dane Vhastek. He would also rid the planet of the scum, the Zaagans, settle down and see out his days in harmonious bliss.

Just then, a shudder!

Robert looked down - ' _my visor must be playing tricks ',_ he thought. ' _Can 't be right'_. The computer readings were skewed, the altitude reading was clearly wrong. He had no control of the flight handle, it moved of its own accord and the altitude reading was stabling. The plane was descending to be more in line with passenger flights. ' _This wasn 't in the damn manual',_ thought Robert with horror. Another thought occurred to Robert, something he remembered from the history of events. It was the abduction of the F16s, the region over the skies - ' _I 've entered the territorial space which Qudor designated as too close; he's disabled the stealth with his electromagnetic pulse and he has control',_ realised Robert gloomily.

The stealth settled, the controls now beyond Robert's influence in automatic mode. The destination showed the Kerguelen Islands, Antarctica. Robert would meet Qudor Volkan but not in the circumstances he would have wished.

His fear - the dreaded Drayzaks - but Robert held the ace card.

**********************************

Croyolis Valentrek led the other two delegates into the meeting quarters at the Time Capsule Centre. No escorts were necessary. The Council of the Light consisted only of the most advanced civilisations; humans, Undarthians, Zaagans, Trollozytes and the likes, were all mere pawns. Their mental capabilities alone could disarm any opposition. The dress code: pure white, epitomising perfection, almost as pure as their superiority. Croyolis originated from a distant planet in the galaxy, a region known to the council as Blue Horizon, testament to the aura of the gases in the region - the planet known as Serelius was home to the Arkelites on a Kardeshev scale of V. A civilisation able to control their star, beings who had eliminated warfare millions of years in their past, eradicating the need to worship; a race so superior that fear of annihilation was redundant.

The meeting room was silent. Samuel, Dr Laderman and Maxius awaited the arrival of the three delegates in silence. There were no last words from the condemned men. The door opened automatically, the strides of the three delegates were in perfect harmony; they entered without a break in stride. The three men condemned, rose, equally in harmony.

'Croyolis,' greeted Laderman nervously. Being aware of whom the Council of the Light had sent did not ease the nerves.

'Dr Laderman,' replied Croyolis. There was no need for the head translator; Croyolis was proficient in all galactic languages. The look on the face of the delegate who stared back at Laderman, however, said a thousand words. He knew the problem, there was no explanation needed. The thoughts of all three humans were instantly read, as easy as reading a traffic sign.

'The problem is not the situation you have created. The solution you chose is the problem,' explained Croyolis. Every statement seemed a prophecy; such was the extreme expanse of knowledge. As in a chess game, Croyolis was already eight steps ahead of Laderman, even before he gave this initial response.

'We are in your hands,' replied Laderman, almost childlike.

'You have chosen a path of destruction, the very basis upon which your claim is flawed. The three time capsules were afforded you, at your request, only one to be used. You have defied orders and used all three. Two of the missions will alter your ways and one will not,' said Croyolis.

Clear as mud as far as Laderman was concerned. He looked across at his equally bemused colleagues as he shrugged his shoulders.

'The mission that you say will not alter our ways, should we be able to fathom to which mission that relates?' asked Samuel.

'If you fathom the obvious then the problem reduces lest the problem still exists. Your claim to sole rights to this land rests on your evaluation of the problem and the manner with which you change your ways. Your species has always advocated war, a state of being the council abhor. Pursuit of evidence, a basis of the quest for truth, the council applauds. Violating trust, though, is a state by which all rights are withdrawn.'

'Is there any way we can reverse that violation?' asked Samuel, now at the point where this concoction of profound statements actually began to make sense.

'The violation has already occurred. Reversal means a new strand of time, that which cannot reverse the violation, only change the outcome; not of this strand but of a different trajectory of time,' said Croyolis.

Dr Laderman shrugged his shoulders for the second time; Maxius was confused even before Croyolis opened his mouth and Samuel stared as if the delegate from the Council of the Light had just spoken Swahili without a translation helmet.

'One time machine will not be redeemed as was always the case. You will not see a change in this Earth strand of time,' said Croyolis in an attempt to clarify his position. It wasn't having any effect on Maxius nor Dr Laderman but Samuel was hanging in there. 'Your request for the Time Capsules was to gather evidence to prove your case against the Zaagans. Your plan has been sabotaged. The council will be considering all claims. You have 72 Earth hours.'

Dr Laderman understood the statement to be a stay of execution. Maxius was still confused and stared at the superior being with a glazed look. Samuel knew exactly what the statement meant:

_They had 72 hours to right their wrong_.

Croyolis left in the same unceremonious way he had entered the meeting room only ten minutes earlier. His two delegates followed two or three paces behind. Like three wingless angels, the trio of super beings entered the bubble and in a few moments the transporter would float effortlessly towards their craft parked in the centre of New Manhattan. The crowd, which had gathered to greet these super beings, eagerly awaited another glimpse.

'What the hell was all that about?' asked Maxius predictably.

'You mean, you didn't understand the subliminal message?' asked Dr Laderman sarcastically.

'I didn't even understand what you just said,' replied Maxius.

'Quit it, you two, while I think for a moment,' instructed Samuel. 'So, let me think. Croyolis must have known what would happen before they allowed delivery of the three time machines. It is almost as if this needed to happen.'

'What's the 72 hours all about, Samuel?' asked Dr Laderman.

'We have 72 hours to sort out the mess. As I said, Croyolis was almost expecting this situation when he arrived. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that in a funny kind of way he is rooting for us. This is a violation and the Council of the Light do not take kindly to violations. There is a reason we have been given a stay of execution and it is up to us to figure this out,' said Samuel.

'Well, don't look at me. I understand Drayzaks better than that freak,' said Maxius.

'We have created a time conundrum, a paradox. I've got work to do. Laderman, gather archive files of both Area 51, on or around the time Robert Stave arrived in 2018, then the holographic files relating to the propagation of our planet which sprouted the emergence of those who evacuated 3.3 million years ago. There are clues and we need to figure out some answers. No time to lose,' said Samuel.

******************************

The stealth bomber glided towards the makeshift 'ice run', courtesy of Qudor Volkan. The magnificent spearhead-shaped craft, the envy of almost all world powers in its day, descended effortlessly, expertly guided by those who controlled its flight path. Robert was helpless.

The portal amplifier was on the right of the ice run, clear for all to see, almost brazenly in view of the man who wished to destroy the machine, pivotal in the battle to conquer the alien aggressors. Strewn across the ice, a graveyard of archaic fighting craft, once the pride of the achievements of man in the early 21st century. ' _These are the scenes from the archive pictures ',_ thought Robert. Not particularly helpful but awe-inspiring nonetheless.

The ice creaked, the wheels slid as the stealth bomber was expertly, remotely guided in. The evening sky was crisp, the snow fresh, the sun a dim orange low in the sky, somewhat obscured by the early evening mist. This was not the start to the mission Robert had hoped.

A platoon of guards walked towards the craft, eager to ensure Robert Stave did not take the easy option in anticipation of the most brutal of torture. There were questions to be asked, knowledge to be gained. The door to the craft opened slowly and Robert Stave, like a true soldier, descended slowly; slowly enough not to trigger a knee-jerk reaction from one of Qudor's trustee warriors.

Robert stood straight and lifted his pilot's headwear complete with visor of an orange tint; he took a look at the posse approaching and raised his head towards the subdued murky sky. How he wished Zak Lancelot and his rebels were hiding somewhere, camouflaged on the ice, ready to pounce - but this was 2018, a far cry from 2218. He would be nowhere to be seen and the time machine wouldn't either. Robert braced himself for the detainment awaiting him, the torture to follow, probably at the hands of the Drayzaks, the same monsters he had tried to save Ansell from a few days earlier in a different world.

This carefully planned operation had been derailed almost at the first hurdle.

Robert grimaced as the heavy-handed guards secured their prisoner, roughing him up a little in the bargain. Electromagnetic cuffs secured him − the translation headset placed on the head of Robert Stave ensured there would be no escape from the mental torture he was expected to receive.

It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 18

THE SQUALORS TERMS

Dane was ready. His dorker was poised to ascend over the great wall of this most beautiful city of Larquiston. Another adventure. His mind raced at the thought of the charred remains of the one he loved, Annaluce. His revenge would be sweet but at the moment his only thought was of the task in hand.

His loyal commanders also poised. They would follow Dane Vhastek to the depths of hell if he commanded, such was the respect. Dane was an awesome figure in battle, invincible. Patrick and Demitri remained in the spacecraft as part of the deal made at the ice caves - this mission was far too dangerous to be carrying rookies. They would be safe in the craft until Dane's return.

There was something troubling Dane in the aftermath of the package delivered so dramatically in the main square. How did Qudor Volkan know that he was in Larquiston? He thought back to the incident, the crash, his capture, the rescue by Oosapeth and the abduction of Annaluce by the dastardly love rival. The bragging rights so proudly displayed by his adversary, that he had implanted a bug in the lower part of Annaluce's brain that he expertly removed in a demonstration of one-upmanship to trump Dane - showed him that the bug he had planted in the drone was in fact a red herring. He had been unconscious tied to the stone before he awoke, awaiting his fate, a possible meal for Qudor's trusted pets.

Qudor had to have planted the same device in the base of Dane's neck. He dismounted the dorker much to the confusion of his comrades who looked at each other in utter bewilderment.

If Dane was right then every conversation he had had at the ice caves would have been delivered to Qudor, every small detail of their plan divulged. He walked towards Omalius and Elizan. Both looked at each other in the same manner as Dane's warrior comrades - ' _Had he lost his nerve? '_ thought Omalius.

Dane walked past Omalius, placed a finger to his lips and carried on walking towards the great hall. Omalius and Elizan followed. Omalius squinted his eyes in total confusion at the manner in which Dane had indicated that no one should speak. Elizan's heart raced as Dane held the command of everyone in the square, with such consummate ease and power.

Back in the meeting room in the great hall, Dane spelt out the message in hieroglyphics on one of their most advanced computer terminals:

'We are being watched, our conversations recorded. I need a physician to remove an implant at the base of my brain - the same device Qudor used to track Annaluce's movements, leading to her death.'

The message was clear. Not a word was spoken. Omalius would see to Dane's request that everyone would heed to his instructions.

It took less than a minute to locate the device; with an improvised medical instrument it was removed. Dane required no painkiller, despite the obvious discomfort this procedure would inflict for he had a mission to undertake and he could not be compromised − being drugged was not an option.

Dane, holding his finger to his mouth for the second time, looked at the device somewhat blood-covered and spoke, almost as if scripted.

'The plan has changed. I can't rest until Qudor Volkan is dead. We will have to resume talks later. He has murdered Annaluce. I must return,' said Dane as he shook his head indicating he had issued a false statement. 'I will rest a while. If you could first prepare a meal for me and my comrades, we will return to Earth to exact our revenge and return with the head of this monster, Qudor Volkan, to avenge the murder of one of your own.'

The device was taken delicately to another room to simulate a resting period, enough time for Dane Vhastek to complete the mission. He had to be safe in the knowledge that when he returned to Earth his adversary would be unable to read the data on the device. His true mission could not be revealed.

Elizan found it impossible to contain her inner thoughts, however, romping with her sister's lover was a thought almost too much to bear, especially as she would be expected to grieve. It mattered not - she would have Dane Vhastek as her lover once the mission was complete - her mind was set. It was fitting that Dane's device had been removed, for had their sexual exploits be recorded on the now redundant implant, they would be too raunchy by far.

Dane was back on the dorker within minutes and his commands would be for his warrior's ears alone - Qudor would have no more insider knowledge. Dane had decided that the implant would be used to his advantage at a later date. He would avenge the death of Annaluce; Qudor's death would be slow and torturous. That was for another day. For now at least he must focus on the task in hand - a deal with the squalors.

*********************************

The great wall was magnificent - some feat. Its size was impressive. The engineering, even for a robot workforce, was as good as Dane had ever seen. Omalius had seen to it that the force field surrounding the wall would be temporarily shut down, at least until Dane and his warriors had safely navigated the wall. Dane had arranged to call through when it was safe to return in order that the same arrangement could be exercised.

Both Patrick and Demitri marvelled at the real hero, Dane Vhastek, going about the most ridiculously dangerous tasks as if it were delivering papers.

'Is he going to come back alive?' asked Demitri in somewhat broken English.

'Doesn't matter how many squalors there are, my money is on Dane,' replied Patrick in a defiant manner. How they both wished they could join him, travel on the dorker over the great wall - that would be an impressive addition to anyone's curriculum vitae.

Dane disappeared over the wall, closely followed by two comrades, reminding Patrick of the scene from _E.T._ as the bicycle crossed paths with the brightly lit moon. Patrick smiled at the thought.

The evening, somewhat overcast but bright enough to form a shadow of the great wall over the barren land, home to the billions of squalors, desperate, starving, left to fend the intolerable daytime heat from the expanding sun blitzing Zarduzian. All creature comforts gone, the power balls served as energy only for the elite in the 37 capitals, for they were mere pawns in a game where the elite never lose. The cloning farms ensured life beyond the normal, a life span of several hundred years awaited the hierarchy, food grown for the privileged on the floating cities - once deemed to be the saviour of the planet's shortage - only to be snatched away from the poorer souls of Zarduzian once the walls were erected.

The squalors had little to celebrate, trusted nobody, got by on scraps, but were united. Rebels had begun to form; one day they would topple those who chose to mock them. The sheer numbers of squalors would overcome the regime. Their technology purposely denied was a stumbling block against the might of the privileged, yet a loophole in their security might be prevalent during the death bait games, even if a few thousand had to die trying to build a ladder. The electromagnetic force field was down, only temporarily, whilst the baiters flung themselves off the wall. Over time, small measures would be taken to slowly but surely build the ladder. There was just the one blind spot where the guards on the wall were unsighted.

The squalors gathered. The death bait games not only offered an opportunity to eat but to erect more scaffolding to build their escape route.

The squalors, as humble and desperate as they were, still formed a makeshift leadership amongst the many. Women and children took priority and the males fended off the beasts from the forest area to protect the kinfolk.

One Zaagan squalor commanded respect. At 1.90 metres in height he stood out, way and above the average height of a malnourished angry mob of Zarduzian second class citizens. Clothes were an issue; often the skins of slaughtered beasts offered the only method of dignity. The warriors of this impoverished mob stole from the death baiters they overcame and ate the scraps afforded them.

Anchorax Tizor held the discussion with a group of 50 or so warriors. Those who wished to volunteer for the front line - _gamble with the possibility of being fried alive should they_ _miscalculate the reactivated force field surrounding the wall_ - were being honoured in a ritual in case they perished in battle. They had the pick of the best-looking young females the previous night and had been adorned with war paint - albeit dye from the natural plant life, but nonetheless these individuals were celebrated as gladiators for the cause.

One of the gladiatorial warriors pointed at the wall; the dorkers had been spotted and a melee of activity erupted as the group frantically signalled fearfully at the machines heading their way.

Anchorax waved his warriors aside; the squalors began to gather looking up at the night sky, a wonderful kaleidoscope of colour. What was this? These were not death baiters. Had the elite decided to invade? The Zaagans cowered and Anchorax stood tall, defiant.

Dane spotted the crowd; he would be lynched if this went wrong. Looking behind he could see his comrades proudly following. He had the translation helmet at the ready, which Dane hoped wouldn't fail him. He felt their anguish. The stench of rotting flesh − the discarded dead − began to drift upwards as Dane lowered towards Anchorax. Dane knew immediately the warrior still standing held the command.

Dane needed a symbol, a gesture that would say beyond doubt that this was not an aggressive mission. The dorker was set to automatic landing, a slower descent than normal, one that would ease the tension − a descent designed to eradicate fear.

Dane held his arms out, a gesture of universally accepted language to indicate vulnerability. Anchorax trusted no one; his weapon was basic compared to the might of the Undarthians - ' _Is this the plan, to lull me and my warriors into a false sense of_ _security? '_ thought Anchorax. ' _Then again, they are outnumbered_ _several thousands to one '._

Dane, a mere 20 feet above the ground, arms at his side, pointed at Anchorax and then at himself, a gesture to indicate only they two should meet. Dane turned and ordered his comrades to retreat, again signifying that he alone should talk with the stranger standing tall beneath the dorker. Anchorax understood immediately, clearing a path for Dane to land amongst the squalors.

Dane dismounted, walking four or five metres from the only machine that could save him if the meeting degenerated into a battle − he held his hands high. Anchorax threw down his weapon signalling that he understood and walked towards the warrior whose height matched his own, equally formidable.

'My name is Dane Vhastek. I am not Zaagan but Undarthian. I mean you no harm.' The translation helmet worked well; his opponent had understood.

'Anchorax Tizor. I am Zaagan, an underprivileged soul,' he replied.

_' That was obvious',_ thought Dane. The opulence of Larquiston disgusted him even more as he witnessed the truly heartbreaking conditions the poor of the city had to endure.

'Your planet is dying, slowly. Your sun is expanding; the conditions in the cities are worsening with over population as the cloning farms continue to extend life. The cities are overcrowded and the citizens face certain death if they dwell beyond the walls. Those who control you are prisoners of their own making. I offer a solution. A land of freedom − fresh pastures where the star is young and the life is good − but it comes at a price.'

Dane had dangled the carrot of a better life; it was the price the squalors may have to pay that could sway this otherwise friendly meeting, into uncertainty.

'It's the 'at a price' that worries me,' replied Anchorax as Dane's translator worked its magic and converted the words from his opponent's mouth into a format Dane could understand.

'Not the same price your race will have to endure if you remain here though,' explained Dane. 'Look, I have clearance for you to join me in the city, behind the great wall; we can discuss terms there, peacefully. I give you my word.'

'How do I know this isn't a trap?' said Anchorax.

'A trap? You're a warrior − would you risk throwing yourself at the mercy of someone you didn't know, a being who outnumbered you 1,000 to 1?'

Anchorax deliberated for a few seconds. Here was a warrior who stood before him, an alien being he had never met and yet strangely admired − a being after his own heart.

'I want a banquet delivered. They will eat well tonight. Then I will follow you.'

'You have my word; a banquet will be delivered. Will you assure the safety of those bringing food?'

'My word is assured,' replied Anchorax. Both understood that to be the truth. A true warrior is good to his word.

Dane had taken the first step. As a warrior, he was not adept at negotiations, but with Anchorax he thought he saw himself, a mutual respect existed, unspoken. This would be an alliance of great importance.

*******************************

Elizan was impatient. Dane had been some time. ' _Had he perished? '_ she wondered. The warrior had ridden over the great wall, his fate in the hands of the squalors − low life in Elizan's eyes.

Omalius shouted, 'Look, there!' At the sight of the dorkers returning triumphantly and the flowing locks of Dane Vhastek, Elizan was almost sent into ecstasy. Her brown eyes, though not as stunning as her sister's electric green, welled at the thought of Dane's success, moreover his safe return − more important than she cared to admit. She had never felt so infatuated with any other being, especially a non-Zaagan. It mattered not.

'We must throw a celebration, gather the most illustrious in Larquiston!' announced Elizan.

'I fear we have no time, it is already mid-evening,' stated Omalius.

'I demand it!' The tone of Elizan's voice suggested the outcome was not in question.

'Immediately!' confirmed Omalius. 'I will attend to it immediately, so forgive me for my outburst.'

'Send the munika to greet Dane and his comrades, also gather the humans and whoever accompanies Dane from beyond the wall. Put them up in our best quarters, let them freshen up and invite them to a banquet. I want the finest holographic musicians, the finest food and drink,' said Elizan, 'and send the best cosmetic artist and clothes designer we have to my room.'

Omalius sensed the reason behind her final comment, but who was he to stand in the way of a flirtatious female determined to get her way?

Patrick and Demitri had watched the munika assemble. The spacecraft was secured, their vantage point a perfect view. A noise emanated from the heart of the craft, the lower exit door had been activated. Patrick looked at Demitri initially with trepidation but nonetheless donned their headsets as had been instructed by Dane, essential to understand the barking noises from the being that was hollering outside the craft. Patrick initially feared that the munika might be detaining them until the translator kicked in. It was one of Dane's warriors calling them to exit the ship. The look of anguish soon turned to the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, eager to open the vast array of gifts bestowed in the traditional fashion. Another adventure, what lay ahead? Who knew? Both were like that child − wildly excited.

The crowd had gathered and the sense of immense change was in the air.

Anchorax, bemused, malnourished and confused, looked up. The buildings were of an opulence and beauty beyond comprehension; the Zaagan citizens, healthy, beautifully manicured and eloquently dressed were a sight. They may have been an alien race − such was the difference between the squalors and the elite, yet both inhabitants of the same planet - Zarduzian.

Dane could see the anxious worried look that this could be a trick of some kind. Dane held out his arm inviting Anchorax to embrace an arm lock handshake, a demonstration of solidarity. They locked forearms, as brothers.

'Welcome to Larquiston,' announced Dane. 'You will eat well tonight, we have much to discuss.'

Anchorax merely nodded in acceptance; his trust in Dane Vhastek, the being who had almost nonchalantly ventured over the boundary, the great wall, was growing by the minute.

****************************

Elizan had her beauticians and availed herself of the finest dress wear. She had bathed − the purest cleansing oils, fused with clear water, in the most decorated bathing tub, assuring her cleanliness. Her dress, a fusion of white and gold and low cut to display her magnificent toned back, but low enough at the front to display an equally perfect cleavage. A red and gold head piece staged the look. She was at her most elegant − preened and ready.

Omalius entered Elizan's quarters − _the munika guarding_ _the room had gained permission to allow Omalius to enter_ _through the magnificent gold doors of Elizan 's room, decorated_ _with a perfectly etched cityscape of Larquiston._

'Forgive me, Elizan, but the guests await you,' said Omalius, aware that she was running late but not wanting to overstep the mark by demanding Elizan get a move on. Who was he to stand in the way of such a stunning creature, preening herself for the task ahead to win over her suitor?

'I am fully aware of the time, Omalius. Are the guests being well looked after? Are they being entertained?'

'Just as you instructed. All is in hand.'

'Then I will enter when I am ready and not before,' said Elizan. Omalius knew his place.

'As you wish,' replied Omalius as he retreated, bowing, backing towards the same magnificent doors he had entered a few moments earlier.

The great hall was set; Omalius was in wonder at the precision with which the great citizens of Larquiston had prepared such a spectacle at such short notice. The finest delegates were in attendance, all eager to learn what this banquet might reveal. Dane, his comrades, Patrick, Demitri and, of course, Anchorax, were all seated at the head dining table, all awaiting the entrance of the host, Elizan. Drones acted as waiters gathering food from the water feature ponds surrounding the hall; jets of water suspended the bowls of Larquiston's finest culinary offerings − easy pickings for the drones, now part and parcel of life in the capital.

The entrance was special. The music, courtesy of the holographic instruments, trumpeted the emergence of Elizan as she walked slowly, teasingly, down the winding steps leading to the banquet hall. Dane was mesmerised as was Anchorax.

The seating arrangement, designed for maximum effect, saw Elizan at the head table, afforded to their important guests. Dane and Anchorax were at either side, Omalius to the left of Dane, Patrick and Demitri alongside Omalius, with Dane's comrades alongside Anchorax. At the centre, Elizan, smack bang next to her preferred suitor, Dane Vhastek.

She drew closer as the table of guests stood in respect, each admiring the spectacle approaching. A Zaagan helper pulled back the chair and Elizan inched towards the seat. Instinctively, Dane held out his right hand and Elizan locked her left with his; the gesture intended to assist her posture in easing into the seat, yet her lingering clutch portrayed her intentions. Dane did not recoil for his grip lingered also.

Omalius sensed the sexual tension.

'Good evening, Elizan, may I say how wonderful you look,' stating the obvious. Elizan treasured every moment.

'Why, thank you, Omalius, I trust we have been looking after our guests.'

'Indeed. We have a new guest. Perhaps you might like to introduce him,' suggested Omalius, looking directly at Dane. The translation helmets were afforded each non-Zaagan.

'This is Anchorax Tizor. He has agreed to hold discussions,' said Dane.

'Oh! Discussions can wait,' said Elizan. 'Welcome, Anchorax. Please enjoy the hospitality first. Let's talk later.'

Anchorax, both perplexed at the brazen dismissal of his plight, yet mesmerised by the sheer beauty of his host and the opulent surroundings, found no words to suitably reply and merely nodded in agreement.

Omalius immediately ushered help and a barely dressed Adonis instantly responded. The men in fluorescent blue trunks, wearing just braces on the upper torso, each magnificent Zaagan specimens, were setting the tone for the most colourful event. Equally, the women, scantily dressed in white and gold dresses, an obvious distraction for Elizan's guests, were also a spectacle to behold.

The evening would be long. Dane wanted urgently to strike a deal for better privileges for the squalors remaining, whilst convincing Anchorax to back his cause on Earth.

Elizan had other ideas as to where the conversation should lead. It would be an interesting banquet.
CHAPTER 19

THE INTRUDER

Klade was in an unknown place without insider knowledge of the layout − he was clueless. The date was 22nd February 2018. He was a day behind Stave. The wait until Stave arrived in his time capsule would be challenging. He needed to mingle somehow. ' _This was not a well thought out mission ',_ Klade thought.

The hangar had remnants of a science project dotted about here and there and the Trollozyte craft housing the portal amplifier was instantly recognisable to Klade. He scanned the hangar, ducking in case any officials were lurking about − he needed to think quickly. First move, the time capsule.

The time capsule wasn't heavy and slid easily along the concrete floor of the hangar at the Area 51 base. Klade saw a vacant area to the rear; a tarpaulin-like covering was lying listless over what he perceived to be redundant machinery. ' _Perfect ',_ he thought. He hid the time capsule, disguised it amongst the archaic machinery to such an extent that Robert Stave would not see it. Klade knew that if Stave happened to see the hidden time capsule he would suspect foul play.

Now the tricky part: waiting for Stave's arrival without being arrested himself. He was a highly trained soldier from the future, his armoury way superior to any the military in 2018 could offer. His tactics in warfare in 2218, facing Drayzaks and highly sophisticated drones, were way beyond any basic surveillance the soldiers at Area 51 could throw at him: ' _This would be an easy mission ',_ Klade thought.

********************************

The light was bright, very bright. To focus was impossible, his hands tightly bound so unavailable as a possible light shield. Noises emanated − muffled noises, voices. ' _Where the hell am I? '_ thought Klade. His far superior fire power had been of little use. He remembered he had accosted a military soldier at the base; it had been too easy, the stun facility on his 2218 weapon worked perfectly. An unconscious victim, he just needed his uniform and would be able to mingle unnoticed.

_' Why was he staring at a blinding light, tied?'_ thought Klade.

The security cameras had traced him crossing the yard. Cameras were not installed in the hangar for fear they could be hacked into. The Americans didn't want to broadcast their alien treasure, but the yard, that was heavily guarded and cameras were rife. Klade had severely underestimated the technology in 2018, unlike Stave whose operation was planned − _he knew when Hank would be in the hangar, he knew he could kill and not be seen, to disrobe Hank and don his military uniform would not be witnessed by cameras. He could hide the body and dispose of it in the desert once dusk set in_. Klade had no plan and was easy pickings for the guards protecting the base at Area 51 if exposed to the cameras that he hadn't envisaged.

The mutterings became a little clearer.

'State your name,' instructed the computerised voice - _typical of the voice in movies of that era when a military interrogation was taking place_.

Klade was still getting accustomed to the lights.

'State your name,' repeated the voice, now clearly more irritated due to Klade's lack of response.

Klade had to think. How long had he been here? Would Stave be arriving in his time capsule the day after? This was a disaster.

'Where am I?' asked Klade in a bid to buy time whilst he figured out his predicament.

'State your name,' said the relentless voice.

'Look, I am not going to answer your questions until I get some answers myself,' replied Klade. His eyes, now becoming accustomed to the light, focused on a shape, an oval shape. The time capsule. He was in trouble.

'State your name,' an ever-persistent voice asked.

'How long have I been unconscious?' asked Klade. This was a critical question. Klade noticed another object on the opposite side to the time capsule. It was the same shape; it was the other time capsule.

'Approximately 36 hours,' the voice replied.

'Then I've missed Stave,' Klade inadvertently blurted out.

'Who is Stave?'

Klade had nothing to lose. He was tired and being interrogated and, not only was his mission in jeopardy, but he had the possibility of not returning to 2218. 'You have two machines in this room; I travelled in one of them and Robert Stave in the other. If you wish to save the human race from a terrible future, then you must untie me. We need to stop Stave!' insisted Klade.

A pause in the questioning. The faceless men behind the two-way mirror needed time to weigh up the situation whilst deliberating how the questioning should proceed.

'You claim to know about our future. What proof do you have?'

Most humans in the year 2218 knew of the incident on 15th February 2018. They knew of the alien capture of the portal amplifier on 23rd February 2018. Klade was sketchy on his history but he figured that he knew enough to get himself untied.

'You had an incident recently − the 15th February to be precise − an abduction in a place you know as Rome.'

'That is common knowledge,' said the voice. 'What of it?'

'That was an abduction by an alien race. You will now be aware of an alien called Daxzus Zaetsalsae. He is a Zaagan from the planet Zarduzian. Only those close to your president would know that.'

Silence again, a pause to deliberate.

'Where are you from?' asked the faceless voice.

'From your future. Look, we are wasting time; these delays may change the course of events in your future. Stave murdered one of your soldiers, a man named...' his memory suddenly faltered. Klade closed his eyes, trying to place the name of the murdered Area 51 operative, '...a man named Hank. Hank Richards.'

'Tell us about the future.'

'You really wanna know?' asked Klade, now deeply annoyed that he hadn't been untied but subjected to more relentless questioning. 'It ain't pretty. If you wanna change it then I suggest you untie me.'

'Tell us about the future,' continued the faceless man. He had a direct line to the president's office. They needed guidance with the questioning so the call was made.

'Why don't you find out for yourself? It's easy. Put me in one time capsule and an official of your choice in the other. You'll soon see how horrible your future will be.'

'What year are you from and where _are_ you from?' were questions now being prompted by the president.

'I'm from the year 2218. The place names have changed. You know the place as New York and we know it as New Manhattan. We know Stave downloaded the details of the layout at Area 51; he downloaded details on how to fly a stealth bomber. If you haven't captured him then he's probably stolen one. If I've been unconscious for 36 hours, then how would I have known about that if he has, I suspect, stolen one?'

The voice went silent. The delay seemed forever and thoughts went through Klade's mind. Did they plan to kill him? Would they destroy the time machine? More worryingly, would they try to use the time machine, oblivious of the consequences?

An unlocking sound behind Klade startled him. The sound of military boots on a concrete floor was as evident in 2218 as it was recognisable now. Two heavily armed soldiers undid the clasp that held his hands behind his back − a relief. Klade rubbed his wrists to try to get the blood flow back to normal; he looked up at the soldiers.

'Move! Up now!' ordered one of the soldiers. The other just stared and neither were remotely friendly. 'Follow us.'

Where was Klade being taken? Would they believe his story? Would he be able to find Robert Stave? This next hour or so would either shatter his chances of returning to 2218 or hail him a hero if, with the help of the technology in 2018, he finds and prevents Robert Stave from carrying out his plan.

Klade looked behind as he left the room, one last look at the time capsules before he embarked on the most important hour of his life, one which might see him permanently anchored to 2018.

He dare not think of that possibility.
CHAPTER 20

HOLOGRAM ARENA

The year 2218 was a far cry from the world Robert Stave and Klade had returned to in 2018. The geographical certainty of the borders established in 2018 had been replaced by a territorial nightmare created by the alien races who challenged the humans for occupation. A total of 44 zones had been established; countries were now reformed into zonal territorial occupancies with each zone controlled by a different species.

Religion, as was known in 2018, was replaced by the one spiritual belief. The emergence of other aliens, confirmation beyond doubt that our species was not privileged in the cosmos, reduced religion to a less reliant ancient ritual upon which to base a belief of our origin. It became perfectly obvious that these far superior beings had removed all doubt of the question - are we alone in the universe? Any human in history purporting to represent an omnipotent benefactor was dismissed.

Life was challenging. The zonal areas were protected and a rule was established that humans would work in harmony with the alien dominant force in any particular zone. A small number of zones were still dominated by humans, but our species numbers had been diminished greatly by the 'great alien wars'. The Drayzaks were responsible for much of the damage. Aliens transported their own species, via portal travel, to spruce up the numbers and hence, humans learned to live with their new-found predicament.

The world lost most of its sport. The games, which dominated greatly in 2018, were no longer − a new sport had emerged.

********************************

Samuel Parker, Dr Laderman and Maxius were left dumbfounded by the meeting with Croyolis. Clearly there were issues; time may well have been changed in the past as a result of a knee-jerk reaction to Robert Stave sabotaging the time machine. They had been left with a conundrum, one that would need enterprise, archive investigation and intuition to fathom out the potential consequences of their actions.

'Gentlemen, I suggest we take time out to consider how we move forward,' announced Dr Laderman − _his address clearly a remnant of his British ancestral heritage before the re-sculpturing of our world geography._

'Suits me,' agreed Maxius. 'My brain is scrambled anyway. That Croyolis guy speaks in riddles. What exactly does he mean about one timeline was destined and the others not? I mean, how in hell are we supposed to fathom that?'

'I suggest we try to fathom it out before we report anything to the hierarchy. Listen, one of the rebels might be able to shine some light on Stave's plan. Anyone got a contact?' asked Dr Laderman.

'I haven't got a contact as such, but I know where they hang out. In fact, I know precisely where a number of the rebels will be hanging out tonight,' said Maxius.

'At the Hologram Arena!' exclaimed Samuel.

'Exactly! At the Hologram Arena!' confirmed Maxius, puzzled that Samuel would be aware of that fact.

The Hologram Arena was a sporting arena, in a fashion, driven underground. With the advent of the alien occupation in many parts of the 44 zones, the historical dominant sports were abandoned. Each of the 44 zones was autonomous as each was responsible for its own recreational activities. There had been no import of alien sports, such as death baiters, as the conditions on Earth did not lend themselves to alien sports. Humans and aliens alike eerily found their own source of entertainment, for a new fad was sweeping rapidly through the 44 zones known as − the Hologram Arena.

********************************

Samuel's vehicle waited outside the centre. He entered the DeLorean-type car. The computer voice greeted him, as was customary.

'Home?' asked the on-board voice.

'Home first, then wait whilst I change,' replied Samuel.

'Rachmaninoff?'

'Yeah, the usual. Second Concerto in C minor, Adagio section.'

'Perfectly in order.' The music began as Samuel closed his eyes to contemplate his predicament. 'A hard day?' asked the computer.

_' If only you could understand',_ thought Samuel. 'Yes, you could say that,' he replied.

'Where would you like me to take you after you have changed?' asked the computer.

'The Hologram Arena,' said Samuel.

'That's a little off territory, if you don't mind me saying, Sir.'

'I'll override your geographical limits,' said Samuel. As previously mentioned, this was an area called the 'no-go zone' to which vehicles could not generally enter.

'Whatever pleases you,' said the voice.

'Could you access the Rebel files? I need a name.' He knew he didn't need to say 'please' to a computer voice.

'Bringing up the files now.'

The transparent screen at the rear displayed a Google-type list. Samuel whisked the images aside, one by one. The information displayed everything from Drayzak attacks, rebel arrests, drones gunning down rebels outside the allowed territorial jurisdiction and, of course, faces. Samuel studied the faces − humans who had sought to rid the planet of an alien presence. It was futile.

There were many faces, but one stood out − name: Zak Lancelot.

*****************************

The Hologram Arena based in the no-go zone, attracted undesirables, humans and aliens alike − a kind of underground betting cartel. Life was grim most of the time; both the humans and aliens needed a recreational outlet. The games had grown over the years. First it had been a fight to the death, an alien bare-knuckle fight, but over the years more sophisticated arenas developed across the globe, culminating in an arena of the highest technological wizardry, commonly referred to as the Hologram Arena.

Samuel pulled up outside the New Manhattan arena − a seedy area where aliens and humans alike risked being shot down on sight by drones policing the peripheral. The sun was low, the evening young and the territory menacing. Samuel wasn't sure how he would gain access, only that he was to meet Maxius at precisely 8.30pm as previously arranged.

Maxius had organised clearance, at least the drones would leave them alone. The streets were quiet, streets that scarcely resembled the hustle and bustle when the city was known as New York in the 21st century. Drones dominated the skyline and Drayzaks also in their own territorial region. This was a dangerous area. Human communication in 2218 was far and beyond mobile phones. The new fad was holographic images displayed in front of your eyes, projected via an almost invisible headband that gave dimensional, graphic and geographical information immediately to hand. Software incorporated to warn of drones or any creatures that might pose a threat meant that this apparatus was pivotal to negotiating safety within no-go areas of the city. Only special software, developed by rebels, could safely negotiate the dangers, of which Maxius had access.

Maxius and Samuel were in synch on the holographic image. The coast was clear and the arena pinpointed.

'Over there!' shouted Maxius. 'See the grey-looking building?'

The grey building was an old disused warehouse, some three tiers high, almost non-descript from the outside.

'Your entrance clearance is built in to the hologram − stick by me,' instructed Maxius.

The games were but half an hour to commencement. A scurry of undesirables, alien and human alike were milling towards the vacant-looking building.

'Where's the door?' shouted Samuel. He had never ventured into the no-go zone. Maxius, on the other hand, was a regular at these underground sports events, equivalent of cage fighting or bare-knuckle fights back in the early 21st century.

The holographic imaging convinced the drones that the exterior was an unused building − one of many decrepit fixtures, forming part of the city but not yet modernised by the dominant alien force.

'Look at the graphics,' instructed Maxius. 'The true arena will reveal the entrance. Ignore what you see with your eye.'

'Unbelievable,' said Samuel. The Hologram Arena was not for many; most who attended these underground events were not to be mixed with. Back in the day, seedy gentlemen's clubs may have been hidden, the exterior camouflaging the entrance, locked doors with peepholes and secured entrances, known only to those in the established elite. This was the version in the year 2218, much on the same principle, except with further advanced technology.

As the two neared the entrance, the hologram, via the headband, revealed the entrance. The pass encrypted within the headband allowed both Samuel and Maxius to enter unhindered through a doorway around two metres wide and three metres in height. It was in an arch form, concealed by a clever mirage, which, without the software, appeared to be a solid wall. Secret archways were spaced some ten metres apart, replicating the Coliseum in Rome.

Anyone not procuring an entrance pass would be attended to by an alien − not a pleasant encounter.

Samuel stopped at the top of the tall steps leading to the seating area. The sight before him was nothing short of miraculous. An arena of the most technologically advanced. Seating of upwards of 30,000, almost a carbon copy of the old Coliseum.

Holograms in 2218 were as close to the real thing as was possible. To decipher a hologram version from the original was almost impossible, even side by side. This technology, used in the alien wars to exaggerate numbers, created the perfect opportunity for the development of a game. It was a battle to the death, with one twist - an arena full of warriors where only some were authentic and some were merely holograms.

'This is truly spectacular,' said Samuel.

'Yeah, not bad, one of the few things of beauty these aliens have introduced,' replied Maxius in a very matter-of-fact way.

'So, how does this work?'

'The evening is usually four or five bouts − to the death. The ceiling projects the holograms whilst the aliens or humans are blindfolded before being introduced into the arena. The arena is pitch black as the warriors enter in cages from underneath the floor.'

'That's an impressive ceiling. I've seen these ancient images before. Looks like the Sistine Chapel,' said Samuel.

'Yeah, I think that demonstrates the warped sense of humour these aliens have,' replied Maxius.

Samuel took his seat and looked around. He contemplated why our world was at war with these alien species, why each was determined to control our planet and yet there were aliens among our own people who sought the same kinds of recreational outlets that we humans craved. Next to Samuel, an alien. He introduced himself as Faz − nothing more, nothing less − just Faz. His headset translated his words. The alien looked human, they all did; only the language determined their origin.

The arena went dark; spectators were harnessed to avoid panic, a potential mass brawl or murder. The darkness seemed forever. Before an announcement in English to appease the humans, the countdown began. Samuel closed his eyes, held his breath and questioned the wisdom of his choice to attend.

With the arena lit, roaring from the crowd was followed by encouraging shouts. The giant screen, non-holographic but cubed in shape, displayed the names in the playing field. Twelve cages, 12 beings, each with a number on the tight blue tunic and armed with a weapon.

'What happens now?' asked Samuel as the harness released allowing him to move freely.

'You bet on a winner,' replied Maxius, almost annoyed that his compatriot, while weighing up the field, asked such a stupid question.

'Look at the screen, the stats are up against each player − number of kills, agility, speed, etcetera,' explained Maxius. 'All you have to do is place your bet.'

'How?' asked Samuel, not noticing that Maxius had activated the elevation of the clear touch screen embedded in his seat arm. Maxius leant over and activated Samuel's.

'Thought you said some were holograms?'

'Some are. If you bet on a player who turns out to be a hologram you lose twice your betting odds.'

'How many can I bet on?' asked Samuel.

'A maximum of three. The rules of entrance are that you must place at least one bet on each of the bouts but no more than three bets on any one bout. You can either win or lose a fortune,' explained Maxius. 'Don't worry, Dr Laderman will cover your losses − call it expenses.'

The beings or holograms, each in cages, stood proud. Battle would commence. Players held their own chosen combat weapon. Based on gladiatorial battle, the weapons ranged from long handled forks to daggers − some armed with nets, some shields. The sight was spectacular. Samuel placed his bet; one million credits on number six, Maxius the same on number one - ' _my lucky number '_, he thought _._

Zak Lancelot was at the games, as predicted, sitting three rows down from Samuel and Maxius. Samuel had locked in his profile on his device afforded to personnel at the Time Capsule Centre − primarily to check out volunteers for their time travel programme. The device was a small wristband, covered by the garment Samuel wore.

'Maxius, I've got a message,' said Samuel. 'Zak Lancelot, three rows down, fourth or fifth seat to your right.'

'Copy. Send me the co-ordinates; I'll lock in on him. We'll catch him at the break. In the meantime, enjoy the show.'

Each cage lifted, each warrior ready. The arena, three quarters the size of a football field saw the warriors take position, some backed towards the oval-shaped wall separating them from the baying crowd. The cubed screen showed a frantic betting frenzy as the odds changed by the second for each warrior. The first victim, hologram number ten, evaporated on a kill strike. The crowd roared and some moaned at the loss of their bet. Many millions had been awarded to the house on the first elimination. Eleven more, some of which would evaporate in a translucent pixilation, while others would physically die.

'How many are real and how many holograms?' asked Samuel.

'Usually 50/50, but you are never quite sure. Sometimes the odds are in the house's favour; it might be 70% holograms or sometimes the other way round. It all evens out in the end,' replied Maxius philosophically.

'If it's on expenses, do I have to hand over the winnings?' asked Samuel, wearing a cheeky grin.

'I never have,' replied Maxius with a chuckle.

The second, third, fourth and fifth victims came in quick succession as the action became frantic. Two kills were real, one with a dagger to the throat and one a fork to the stomach. The crowd roared. ' _We haven 't moved on much since ancient Rome',_ thought Samuel, but had to admit that the thrill of a live kill was exhilarating.

Both he and Maxius were still in the running. Two gladiators in the arena squared up, number one and number six. Either Samuel or Maxius would be disappointed. Samuel's gladiator held a net and a short dagger while Maxius' gladiator a long fork. An interesting match.

Samuel was engrossed, but out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. A quick exit from the arena, Zak Lancelot was leaving.

'We need to leave,' announced Samuel and his gladiator struck a kill to the heart of Maxius'.

Maxius had lost the bet but could not afford to lose the target - Zak Lancelot.
CHAPTER 21

THE SQUALOR RETURN

The smell was familiar. For a moment Dane Vhastek imagined he was next to his beloved. A hand reached over his bare chest. He was entirely bare. The warmth of her breast at his side caught Dane off guard. Neither were wearing the translator headsets − with the activity which followed, the headsets were certainly not required. A tinge of guilt − so soon after her death − yet it felt good.

An embrace and Dane Vhastek, in true warrior fashion, started where he left off before he and Elizan fell into a deep, satisfying sleep. He could remember the evening up to a fashion − even Undarthians succumbed to alcohol. Anchorax had agreed to supply as many squalors as Dane needed, a mere formality to convince his brethren; even facing the dreaded Drayzaks didn't deter Anchorax from a determined desire to rid Earth of the monsters in return for freedom. A heavy petting session and Dane, on cue, delivered the attention Elizan desired. She hadn't ever made love like this and she wasn't going to give up Dane so easily following such invigorating lovemaking.

The thought crossed Elizan's mind that she could rule Zarduzian and take control of Earth with Dane at her side. The squalors would be her trade for a piece of Earth. ' _Who would argue with the mighty Dane Vhastek? '_ she wondered.

Both fell into a sweaty strewn heap.

'Anchorax!' Dane shouted out, reaching for his headset at the bedside table, just one piece of luxurious furniture in the most decorative of surroundings. The silk-like sheets now draped over the end of the huge bed, discarded as a mere distraction.

'Don't worry, darling,' cooed Elizan as she donned her headset. The thought occurred that one of them would have to master the other's language to rid the use of this cumbersome apparatus, 'He's being well looked after.'

Dane remembered that Anchorax was raving over one of the females who waited at their table. With a click of the fingers, Elizan made sure her guests' desires were attended to.

'The deal is done, I must return to Earth,' announced Dane, much to Elizan's disappointment. She could handle his marathon lovemaking for a few days yet. ' _Did he really have to leave so early? '_ she asked herself.

'It will need planning − let's not be in such a rush,' said Elizan. 'Anchorax seems as if he is becoming accustomed to his new status. Give him time to adjust.'

Dane knew Elizan talked sense but the urgency of matters on Earth took precedence. Anchorax could be the leader he needs to take on the Drayzaks, or he could become weak if he became too accustomed to this frivolous lifestyle. Dane could not afford to dwell on his actions.

'No, we must go immediately,' said Dane.

'If I am to back this venture, allow you to liaise with the squalors, then I must be kept abreast with developments,' insisted Elizan. In truth, she wanted both a part of Dane and of the rich offering of this planet Earth. It was a close call.

'I will return with periodic updates,' said Dane, who knew his moral obligations were important to the most significant female Larquiston had to offer if he was to be assured of continued squalor support.

'Take me with you,' requested Elizan.

'Your sister asked the same and look what happened to her,' replied Dane, somewhat forcefully.

'I don't care,' said Elizan, a little angry that Dane had mentioned her sister.

'I need to speak with Anchorax,' said Dane dismissing her request, at least for now. 'What of the other guests, Demitri and Patrick?'

'They are being looked after also. Humans are an unlikely attraction, not perfect in the looks department, but a challenge. I think one or two of Larquiston's eminent females took a liking to your friends,' said Elizan, proud that she had entertained her guests well.

Dane rose from the bed, much to Elizan's further disappointment; his physique was truly magnificent, the long-beaded hair irresistible − she had fallen in love. The gold tunic she provided him didn't fit, almost ripping as he dressed, enhancing the impressive beast before her.

'My combat suit, where is it?' asked Dane.

'I'll get it brought up,' replied Elizan. Clearly, she would have to work a little harder to convince her new love that she should join him on the mission. Elizan was used to getting her own way. ' _Dane would succumb ',_ she thought confidently.

Dane, with Anchorax as his pillion and two Undarthian warriors on dorkers, mounted their flying machines in the square ready to voyage over the wall for the second time, set for the quest to deliver news to the squalors of the mass migration to planet Earth. This was the key component to thwart the ground offensive, Qudor's Drayzaks.

Dane had a separate mission in mind, to personally rid Earth of the one who murdered the mother of his unborn child, Qudor Volkan. Both were equally important but the latter would give him the greatest pleasure.

*****************************

Elizan took a stroll with Omalius on the great wall. Along the wall at various vantage points, the guards would check for possible breaches, a squalor attack to their defences, for example. The magnifying, retina-approved, image enhancers could home in on squalors as far away as ten Earth miles, with precision.

'Ask the guard to move aside, I'd like to take a look,' said Elizan, pointing to the vision enhancer.

'Certainly,' said Omalius as he strolled over to the guard. The guard saluted - _the Zaagan salute odd by human standards, it entailed a straight hand but, rather than placing the hand to the side of the head, the hand is placed directly to the centre of the forehead._

'The vision enhancer is all yours,' said Omalius.

Elizan strolled over giving the impression that this was merely a frivolous request to break the monotony of the walk; in essence, the use of these powerful vision enhancers had been the purpose of the stroll. She peered through the machine − _her retina being acceptable to any vision enhancer in Larquiston_ - immediately she sought sight of the dorkers, Dane's vehicle in particular. The view was muddled; seemingly, millions of squalors dotted around the wasted and barren grounds beyond the wall, which amplified homing in on her target.

A group of squalors appearing to be saluting in the air in unison caught Elizan's attention. It was likened to a ritual of acceptance, something to which they approve. Through voice demand, she requested the vision enhancer zoom closer. The blurry vision became sharp and she instantly recognised Anchorax.

'It appears as though Anchorax is preaching to his followers,' said Elizan.

'A mere formality, if you ask my opinion, the outcome never in doubt,' commented Omalius.

'There − there he is,' announced Elizan, the obvious excitement in her voice like a lovesick teenager, too obvious to disguise. Not the normal expected actions of a female in her esteemed position but someone equivalent to a 28-year-old in Earth years. Omalius, however, discarded this small detail. He knew to whom she was referring and why she was acting out of character.

'You must be referring to our saviour, Dane Vhastek,' said Omalius, the tone of sarcasm completely lost on Elizan.

'They're chanting something,' said Elizan excitedly. 'I think they are chanting Dane's name.'

_' She has got it bad',_ thought Omalius.

'We must prepare a celebration gathering,' said Elizan, the remainder of the walk suddenly seeming unnecessary.

'Certainly,' agreed Omalius. With his gaze to the heavens and the roll of the eyes suggested that succumbing to Elizan's every wish, where Dane Vhastek was concerned, was becoming tiresome. 'I'll arrange it straight away.' Quite how the elite would take to a second banquet in so many days was a worry to Omalius, but orders were orders.

As a love struck teenager might, Elizan smiled as she handed back control of the vision enhancer to the guard. The skip in her step was evidence of her delight.

'Let's make haste, Omalius, no time to lose,' added Elizan.

The wall was magnificent and the view breathtaking, all of which were lost on Elizan in that moment. Smiling all the way back to the square, she simply bounded with energy and enthusiasm; _Omalius had never seen Elizan so love struck._

'May I make a suggestion?' asked Omalius in an attempt to bring Elizan back down to planet Zarduzian. 'Should we not wait until the warriors return before making arrangements?'

'Where's your sense of fun, Omalius? This is the most exciting event ever to bless our planet. This could change everything, a new beginning and a new hope. This celebration is the only event that has any meaning. I, representing Larquiston and on behalf of the other 36 capital cities, must procure the best arrangement for the future of our citizens,' stated Elizan.

Omalius didn't buy it but Elizan was a love struck fool who wouldn't be swayed.

As they walked through the square amongst Larquiston's elite − _going about their business oblivious to the negotiations playing out_ − Omalius was summoning the munika, the key to seeing out Elizan's wishes, to ensure a plan was actioned.

The celebration could change the dynamics of life on Zarduzian as Earth could be the new adventure. Omalius, however, dared not contemplate what Elizan had in mind. What he did know, however, was to expect the unexpected.
CHAPTER 22

THE UNDERGROUND

Samuel and Maxius followed Zak as he made his way out of the arena. Rather odd as the Hologram Arena was just heating up. Maxius had seen his warrior lose out to Samuel's far superior fighter; he wasn't too disappointed at this premature exit.

Samuel led with Maxius just a few metres behind, keeping a close vigil on Zak Lancelot's movements. The crowd were frenzied; the noise level almost intolerable. The mixture of Undarthians, Zaagans, Olympianas, squalors, humans and others all sharing a common space, seemed bizarre to Samuel. The battle for control of Earth catapulted these aliens as our greatest threat and yet the common ground was a soup of unscrupulous beings, all with the same aim, taking pleasure in the seedy element of existence by fraternising with the enemy. Perhaps we had more in common with the aliens than was portrayed by the media.

With the seats stacked high and steep with exits on three levels of the tiered structure, Samuel might easily lose sight of Zak. Maxius, on the other hand, was far more vigilant.

'He's exiting via the middle tier,' said Maxius. 'Follow me, I know a quicker way.' In Samuel's eyes, quite how he had this insider knowledge wasn't up for a debate right now.

The Hologram Arena had a strange exiting system. The exit pathway, that of a helter-skelter around the circumference of the arena, could be intercepted at a lower level. Maxius took advantage.

'Didn't expect to see anyone else leaving the arena,' Zak said to one of the other three rebels accompanying him as he spotted the two individuals following.

'I recognise the smaller guy,' said Mikel. 'Bet this is something to do with Stave.'

'You could be right − play it cool,' instructed Zak as they drew closer.

'Zak Lancelot, I believe?' asked Maxius.

'Who's asking?' replied Zak, aggressively.

'We need to talk. Is there anywhere we can talk privately, preferably away from prying eyes?' asked Maxius, looking up at one of the security cameras. Whilst the cameras in the arena were no threat, the idea was to avoid unwanted attention; Maxius had made his point.

'You armed?' asked Zak.

'Clear,' replied Maxius, holding out his arms as Mikel frisked him. Samuel was overlooked as no obvious physical threat.

'Robert Stave?'

Maxius nodded. 'Your place or ours?'

'Ours.'

Samuel, terrified and exhilarated, both in equal measures, followed the rebels. Their exit from the arena entailed a complicated meandering of the no-go zone, enough not to be noticed. This was their territory − _their_ domain. Down the manhole, carefully concealed and quickly re-sealed to ensure the deterrence of unwelcome visitors, the five descended the dimly-lit tunnel to the rebel's headquarters, the same headquarters Robert Stave headed to following Ansell's gruesome death, only days earlier.

The rebels, still busying themselves fathoming alien technology, acknowledged their leader's return with an inquisitive pause, sizing up those accompanying them.

'Stand at ease, everyone, all's good,' announced Zak. The engineers immediately returned to work duties. 'Welcome to our humble abode, gentlemen. This had better be important.'

Samuel gazed. The underground operation was quite magnificent − a mixture of exposed brick, an obvious remnant of a historic underground transport system, played off against state of the art alien technology. Samuel could learn a thing or two from these rebels − that was for sure.

'Look, Stave's disappeared. Could have a huge effect on both yours and our future. We've fucked up and sent someone after him. It hasn't worked and we need to know what Stave had in mind when he returned to 2018. Kinda hoping you can help,' said Maxius.

Zak paused. He sized up Maxius, rubbed his chin and turned toward Mikel, shrugging his shoulders. Mikel gave a reluctant approving nod.

'What do you wanna know?' asked Zak.

'Everything,' replied Maxius.

'Stave was in trouble. He killed a Drayzak and his friend Ansell had been eaten alive. The drones made a move and Robert headed down here with another guy called Andre,' said Zak.

'Burscalli,' added Samuel.

'Yeah, that's right − Andre Burscalli,' confirmed Zak, who then stopped himself disclosing any more information as he saw a trade-off opportunity. 'Look, what's in it for us? Why should we help you guys?'

'Way I see it, we're all in this together. The Olympianas have control of this zone, hell; they have almost half of Earth's 44 zones under control. We're trying to put a case against the Zaagans with the Council of the Light and Stave fucked it up.'

Zak knew that although they were rebels they were still humans. 'Yeah, we figured he might have screwed things up a little. Just to make it clear, we had no idea he was going to sabotage the time capsule. He needed a change of identity. He'd killed a Drayzak and was armed with an illegal weapon − he was history. We put him on to a surgeon, someone who, for the right price, would turn a blind eye.'

'We know all that, we just wanna know what his intentions were,' clarified Samuel.

'He was into this retro stuff, you know, all the 2018 crap, when the world was a better place without the aliens − all that bullshit! He did spend some time researching archived information before his operation, but I never gave it much thought. I can trace his searches if that helps, but you guys have got to give us more cover when we are out there fighting the cause. Do we have a deal?'

'I'll see what I can do,' replied Maxius. 'At the least, we get you some more ammo, some serious techno hardware.'

Zak walked over to a techno base, a transparent screen perhaps two metres square. The terminal was split into eight sub-sections, some with live CCTV footage, some news channels and some seemingly underground non-mainstream news outlets. With a touch fingerprint recognition coded, he was into Robert Stave's viewing history.

'Okay, so what do we have here?' asked Zak. 'Stealth bombers, names of personnel and plans of the layout at Area 51 on or around 23rd February − all pretty straightforward so far. Wait, what's this? Plutonium fused Z1845X. Hell, he's looking at where to acquire a plutonium fused Z1845X. There are two versions, a hardware version and a digestible version. What the hell is he up to?'

'I don't understand,' enquired Maxius. 'We know about the plutonium fused Z1845X but not about a digestible version.'

'Back in the day, military operatives who got caught behind enemy lines would take a cyanide pill rather than be tortured and divulge military secrets. This is our equivalent, except it can take out an area several kilometres square, but why would Stave need both?'

'He's going into the lion's den expecting to be captured. He wants to kill himself and destroy the alien base at the same time,' stated Samuel. 'He's taken the physical bomb in case he manages to get through via a stealth bomber. The pill must be back-up. Not that any of this information is of any help to us now.'

'Might do if Senator Adams or Klade return back to the present,' said Maxius.

'There's more searching. Seems he has a distant relative - Commander Michael Stave based in Fort Lauderdale, but that just seems sentimental. This appears more important; he's also been checking the portal amplifier, portal travel and space portals near Olympiana − all downloaded. Why portals near Olympiana? Is he looking to cause havoc there?'

'Whatever he's planning, one thing's for sure, it's not good for our present if he succeeds,' said Samuel.
CHAPTER 23

THE BODY DOUBLE

Qudor was rudely interrupted.

'The prisoner is restless,' said the ship's guard. 'She's awoken from the sedative and is demanding answers.'

'Are you totally incompetent?' asked Qudor rhetorically, ready at a moment's notice to unleash a Drayzak or two. Looking into the eyes of the guard with fear etched indelibly on his face, Qudor could see that something needed to be done. He ushered the guard away intimating that he would follow shortly.

The date on Earth time − 2nd April 2018.

With Qudor in combat uniform, black, heavy and with a look of menace, advised his second in command that he would be a while dealing with the matter brought to his attention. The ship had seen many battles, seen many prisoners viciously detained, tortured and murdered, in the most grotesque fashion. This was what Qudor loved best, the power over an enemy − not merely to outwit or out-manoeuvre his foe but to witness the pleas for mercy as his pets demolished their tortured, weary bodies.

The first door opened and Qudor swept through with no time to lose. The circular cutting in the floor ensured that Qudor was lowered to the torture chamber below the flight deck. A key element to his success in battle was to extract valuable information from a prisoner.

The Drayzaks were restless. The victim shook agonisingly in the same fashion as his last victim, Daxzus, had waited nervously. Two guards stood to attention outside the chamber, petrified. Either could be in the torture chamber at a moment's notice, joining the victim and adding to Qudor's entertainment. Qudor raised his hand several millimetres from the door; retina recognition completed the security check. The dark grey, heavy-duty door parted, revealing the horror on the other side.

The victim lay broken on the floor, hands above head, riveted to the wall by heavy-duty shackles. The Drayzaks immediately reacted to Qudor's entrance, also shackled, sufficient enough not to reach Qudor or the victim, at least for the moment.

Annaluce lay at the mercy of this monster.

'Oh! What to do, what to do?' asked Qudor. 'I suspect your lover will have forgotten all about you by now,' with evident sarcasm in his voice.

A weary Annaluce raised her head, almost unable to speak. Shouting endlessly for help had taken its toll. 'He will be back to rescue me,' threatened Annaluce. 'When he does your Drayzak _pets_ won't be able to help you.'

'Why would he come to rescue you, Annaluce? He thinks you're dead. You see, just like you, we planted a receptor in his brain. Pretty easy following the crash when you were both unconscious. We have been listening to all his communications. As we speak, he is on Zarduzian − Larquiston, to be precise. We had some wonderful times in your city, Annaluce, do you remember?'

Annaluce was repulsed at the thought, more worried that her beloved thought she was actually dead. 'I don't believe you,' said Annaluce desperately.

'We were lucky; one of our warrior's wives had your size and build. We checked you for any obvious markings, although if my memory serves me right you have no distinguishable markings naked.'

Annaluce grimaced at the remark, turning away from her captor. The torture chamber door opened and a guard handed something to Qudor. Annaluce couldn't make out the package as Qudor's back disguised the item.

Qudor turned slowly as the door shut behind and held up a severed head. 'This is the head of your lookalike, Annaluce. We burnt the body − can't be too careful − Dane may have realised it wasn't you but a burnt carcass and nothing to distinguish that it wasn't you. Far more convincing.'

Tears ran down her dishevelled face, the will to live draining from every pore in her skin. There was no argument left in Annaluce, for she was broken.

'Oh! What to do, what to do?' repeated Qudor. 'You might be pleased to know that I do not intend to kill you today, Annaluce. I still have a use for you, for the moment anyway.' Qudor knocked on the door to alert the guards waiting outside.

Annaluce looked up, the tears blurring her vision. Two guards were heading her way; one knelt down to release the shackles. She collapsed, exhausted.

'The visitors' chambers,' said Qudor. 'Give her something to make sure she sleeps. Be careful,' his final command. Despite his cold demeanour he couldn't hate her − how could he? He still loved this alien being.

********************************

The portal amplifier did its job. Oosapeth with his warriors less one who was still in quarantine back in the capital had control of Colony 7; entering the portal deep in space, a million miles from Earth, the space centre, complete with the degenerates from Xenox, silently, efficiently glided towards Earth. The mammoth space centre, in Oosapeth's eyes, would prove pivotal in ridding Earth of the unsavoury Qudor Volkan. Time on Earth was of no consequence, the date for reference revealed 2nd April 2018 according to the time alignment on board the craft. It had been a mere few hours since Oosapeth departed; the game had changed.

'Make contact with the base at Antarctica,' said Oosapeth, a command immediately obeyed by one of the many operatives assigned to this floating prison back in Xenon − they came as part of the package, more of a hindrance than an asset. The co-ordinates were locked into the on-board system, so sophisticated was the technology that a pin would not go unnoticed, even at one million miles from the designated target.

A warrior at the ice caves picked up the message. It read, ' _Colony 7 assigned, will be orbiting earth in 16.6 Earth hours (traveling at a rate of 60,000 kilometres an hour) '._

'Copy,' came the reply.

'Report on Dane Vhastek. Has he returned?' was the follow-up message.

'Negative,' was the reply.

_' What the hell is Vhastek up to?'_ thought Oosapeth. 'Give me an hourly update.'

'Affirmative,' came the reply.

Oosapeth had enough on his hands, the prison population on the space station was formidable − that would take some explaining but he would worry about that later. For the moment, the coalition had the upper hand, a meaningful base in orbit, a docking station for military craft, a vantage point to assess the game playing out on Earth and, more importantly, a secure base.

All was good as the beast of a station quietly and efficiently moved into play; in the chess game emerging on Earth this was the Queen. Oosapeth needed to address the prisoners and their confinement − whilst necessary for the moment would be Oosapeth's trump card. He could offer the prisons a release from their hell to fight his cause. The offer in return would be their freedom.

*********************************

It must have been several hours before Annaluce regained consciousness. This unsavoury ritual of induced sleep was becoming irritable, equally so, her unrest at being separated from Dane.

Qudor, the master technician in battle, played on weaknesses. Dane had shown immense naivety, first attacking without acknowledging the obvious ambush tactics of his adversary, secondly, showing emotion at the sight of Annaluce shackled to the rock. Dane Vhastek, in Qudor's eyes, had a weakness − Annaluce. The charred remains of the body Dane believed to be his loved one, would cloud his judgement. The return of Dane Vhastek from Zarduzian should reveal his plans once the implant signal could be received upon his return to Earth. Qudor afforded himself a wry smile.

Annaluce's appearance reflected the trauma of the torture chamber. Now she found herself in more familiar opulent surroundings, the guest suite. Qudor was playing a game, Annaluce had to match his deceit. If she had a chance of reuniting with her beloved she would have to be equally as deceitful as her opponent.

Annaluce sensed his presence, the security doors opened with silent precision. The room, complete with a centralised hologram; a sleeping facility which emerged upon vocal command from panelled surroundings; food in vacuum-sealed pouches heated to perfection in seconds; drinks for every occasion sealed in oblong glass receptacles released with a mere touch, both cooled or heated to perfection, were all impressive. The creature comforts in this pad were unbelievable, even by Annaluce's standards. To boast such opulence on a spacecraft reminded Annaluce of the attention to detail that first attracted her to the monster she now knew.

Qudor entered.

'I trust you are suitably refreshed?' asked Qudor.

No matter how repulsed she felt, Annaluce reminded herself that this was a game, one she must win if she was to see Dane Vhastek alive.

'Yes, thank you,' replied Annaluce, already wearing the translator headset that had been provided.

'I find it confusing, Annaluce. Apart from the obvious anatomical perfection, I am confused as to what exactly you have in common with the Undarthians?'

'I am fighting for my very existence, Qudor, what would you have me do? I am on a planet my father wanted to populate, I have both you and Dane Vhastek either wanting to make passionate love to me or kill me. This is a matter of survival,' replied Annaluce. In those few sentences, she knew she had thrown her nemesis an olive branch.

Qudor paced, an annoying habit, one Annaluce recognised as a time out mode, a process to analyse his carefully planned response.

'Are you saying that you fear Dane Vhastek?'

'I have become accustomed to his anger, but yes, at times I fear him.'

'Did you ever fear me, Annaluce?' A loaded question expertly delivered by Qudor.

'Not until we became enemies, not of my choice I might add,' replied Annaluce, an attempt to confuse her interrogator.

More pacing. 'It is not I who drew first blood. I am embroiled in a battle initiated by your father, deceitfully. I am here to reclaim the land of our forefathers. I did not pick this fight, Annaluce, yet you prefer the brute. What am I to do?' asked Qudor.

With this question Annaluce froze on the spot. This conversation could go horribly wrong. A change of tactic was necessary; a diversion.

'So, Qudor, don't tell me I'm the only love interest in your life. How do I know you weren't just stringing me along? How do I know it wasn't just to enrich your connections?' asked Annaluce. The question hit a chord.

'Because I do not play with my emotions, I have so few of them and so little time, I am a warrior. Warriors seldom reveal the kind of emotion I foolishly lavished in your direction.'

'How do I know that you are not just using me as a pawn, to bait Dane?'

'You think I need you? How naive! I will keep you alive for as long as I desire. You may have a use, but it won't be to defeat Dane Vhastek,' replied Qudor.

'I'm intrigued,' commented Annaluce.

A comrade entered the room, potentially punishable as the next meal for Qudor's pets.

'We have a problem,' said the quivering messenger, clearly ordered to interrupt − the order from a warrior who was prepared to sacrifice a comrade.

Qudor gave a look; the eyes slightly squinted hinting at an obvious disapproval. 'Well?'

'A space centre of some sort; Undarthian, Trollozyte or Zaagan, we can't distinguish. It's heading towards Earth.'

Qudor glanced in Annaluce's direction, weighing up whether she had any part in this offensive manoeuvre. 'Enjoy this torture-free time, Annaluce, it may not last.'

Qudor left swiftly with the messenger.

Annaluce managed a temporary satisfying smile; her plan to deceive Qudor somehow still alive, long enough at least to devise an escape. How? She had no answer but sensed a weakness; Qudor's bravado may be hiding his real feelings. This was a territory she knew well. A reunion with Dane just one plot away now, she had been granted time to devise a scheme − real hope was suddenly a reality.
CHAPTER 24

THE CONFERENCE

Scott McCabe hardly recognised Washington. Bella would also be making her way and with his daughter safe for the moment, he was thankful for small blessings. The job in hand − to relay what he knew to the most important man on the planet, the President of the United States. The loss of his wife and son had hit him hard, but Scott had an opportunity to prevent many others potentially having to deal with the same fate. This was now his calling.

The president's direct line number emerged from the dorker's dashboard, therefore, instant contact would be granted.

'Mr President, this is Scott McCabe.'

'Scott,' greeted the president. 'Where are you?'

'Hovering at 1,000 feet, Mr President. The machine is alien, kinda like a cross between a Vespa and a helicopter. You might recognise the machine; a couple were gunned down over Camp David. We need clearance and an escort in, if possible. Bella Laurent will join us, she is also on an alien machine. We'll need a similar escort when she arrives.'

Once the co-ordinates were relayed to the president's military staff, helicopters were disposed to escort the alien craft towards the White House while others were put on alert for the arrival of the second dorker.

The bunker below housed the president and his key staff. The situation on the outside was dire − the date − 2nd April 2018.

The military surrounded the war table in the bunker. Screens depicting the chaos on the streets of America's most famous cities were a gruesome reminder of the new reality. A world overrun with aliens and a war that humans didn't need. Drayzaks terrorising citizens, adopting park areas as breeding grounds − the situation was unlike any horror imaginable.

Fifteen minutes later, Scott entered the war room. The tension was felt as a wave. Surrounding the table, top military advisors suitably dressed in military uniforms: Scott noticed the array of bright colours depicting the rank and superiority of those advising the president. Others in suits, eagerly observing computer laptops, on the other hand, almost seemed indifferent to Scott's entrance.

'Scott McCabe,' repeated the president as he moved closer, hand out in front. The handshake was solid, depicting a confident, powerful individual.

'Mr President,' greeted Scott, his mind suddenly blank. He had witnessed portal travel, aliens, been shot by one whilst escaping the killing chambers, yet he was lost for words meeting the president, of what he considered, the greatest nation on Earth, the USA.

Around the table, in addition to the military, included the attorney general, joint chief of staff and head of defence, amongst others. Also, of course, his private secretary, all duly introduced and who all shook his hand.

'Scott, I don't need to tell you the gravity of the situation. You can see the devastation on the streets; it's like this in most of the capitals worldwide. That's bad enough but these aliens have either captured our most important military hardware or they disable our nuclear weapons at will with some kind of electromagnetic pulse. I mean, we need help right now,' stated the president as all eyes in the room focused on Scott McCabe. He had delivered many a sermon as an evangelist, without a shred of nerves. For the moment, however, he was momentarily speechless.

'We have allies,' said Scott as he steadied himself for his full delivery. 'It's gotten complicated.'

'You don't say,' said Wayne Straddler, the attorney general. With an immediate look of disdain and a shake of the head, Wayne realised his unwarranted comment did not meet with the president's approval.

'Carry on, Scott.' A word of much needed encouragement from the president steadied Scott's nerves.

'The threat is an alien called Qudor Volkan, the one responsible for unleashing the monsters. He murdered Daxzus Zaetsalsae, he is the immediate threat and his plan seems ridiculously simple. To take over our planet,' stated Scott.

'And the good news? I mean, there's surely _got_ to be some good news at the end of such an Armageddon statement.' Again, the president threw a look of disappointment in Wayne's direction as he groaned disapprovingly at the news.

'Perhaps... If you could just put a sock in it long enough I might get a chance to finish,' said Scott, clearly, like the president, not impressed with these unhelpful outbursts. There were a few chuckles amongst the distinguished posse around the table, an obvious approval of Scott's dressing down. 'We have a formidable alliance of aliens fighting our cause − Dane Vhastek and Oosapeth.' Scott was unaware of Oosapeth's full name.

'Jesus, we need a translator just to address them by their names. I mean, is it asking too much of these aliens, allegedly superior beings by all accounts, to keep their names simple like Dave or Mick or something?' asked Eric Miller, the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff. Seemed everyone was joining in the ridicule.

'Alright, gentlemen, enough!' ordered the president, conveniently intervening. The laughs amongst the delegates around the table were an indication of the underlying tension in the room. 'Please go on.'

'Look, you think this is a joke. Hell, I've been secured in a chamber ready to be fed to aliens prepared to eat me alive, shot at by an alien drone, witnessed my wife and son cruelly murdered by these alien monsters, barely managed to rescue my daughter, who, by the way, will be traumatised forever, in the knowledge that she will never see her mother or brother again. You think this is the time for quips or sarcastic remarks? Think again,' said Scott. The atmosphere changed and both Wayne and Eric lowered their heads in shame. The disapproving look from the president all the more evident.

'Scott, we appreciate your heroic acts on our behalf. I speak for everyone around this table in our admiration of your efforts and we pass on our sincere condolences for your personal loss,' said the president. Silence erupted and all the delegates stood. From each and every one a spontaneous round of applause. Scott wept, the reality of his losses, too much to bear.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect for Bella Laurent entered the room, saw Scott in distress which prompted an embrace. Bella and Scott hugged, their ordeal clearly showed for they were amongst their own − not aliens − the release of pent-up emotions was a natural reaction.

'Bella Laurent, a heroine,' announced Scott as he introduced his comrade, his eyes red and voice broken. Another applause, equally as loud, erupted around the room.

The applause died down as the president had to get back on track. 'So, how do we beat this Qudor Vulcan?' asked the president.

'Qudor Volkan, but close, Mr President,' replied Scott, this time the laughter in appreciation of the man addressing the delegates in the war room. 'By all accounts, his ears are pretty much the same as ours!' More appreciative laughter.

'Sorry, Volkan. How do we beat this alien with the same ears as ours?' The much needed laughter continued − a typical human trait to diffuse a highly charged situation.

'We beat the crap out of him,' said Scott. 'A term, I am assured is used by aliens, even with their superior intelligence, it is still the best phrase to get the point across.' A standing ovation reflected the highly charged atmosphere in the room and a rally call followed.

'So, to paraphrase an alien term, how exactly do we beat the crap out of him?'

'We keep in contact; we must join forces in a concerted effort to attack on all fronts. We are aware that our hardware, as humans, has been compromised. The good news, ladies and gentlemen, is that the aliens' allies' fire power is intact, non-negotiable,' said Scott.

'Then we need to get the message out to the world leaders. We need to meet with these alien allies of ours, preferably not at Camp David. It needs to be set up swiftly, this non-Vulcan alien is terrorising the country,' said the president.

'My thoughts precisely,' agreed Scott.

'Where are you based?'

'Predictably, Antarctica,' replied Scott. 'Don't know what it is but these aliens seem to like the snow.'

'Let's sign 'em up for the next Winter Olympics,' suggested Julian Argyle-Phillips, the Secretary of Defence.

'It can be arranged,' said Scott, now gaining overwhelming support amongst the room. Scott pondered that this was far more exhilarating and rewarding than any evangelical speech, the sad aspect being that his wife wasn't there to witness his triumph.

The challenge was marrying up the human contingent with his alien buddies. Scott would have to work it out as he went along. For the moment, he revelled in his new role of 'saviour of our planet'. _' Has a ring to it',_ thought Scott. _" Saviour of my family' less so_'.
CHAPTER 25

2018 MEETS 2218

Klade was led to the time machines in the hangar, which had housed the 'portal amplifier'. The intentions were unclear but obviously some action was intended.

'Right, show us how this so-called time machine works, then,' said the officer, dressed in full regalia. This was an army officer, not to be messed with.

'What do you mean, how does this time machine work?' retorted Klade. 'This isn't a machine to play around with.'

'You said this was a time machine, it could be total garbage,' said the officer. 'We need proof.'

'By all means, step inside,' invited Klade. 'I mean, it's not as if we aren't wasting precious time or anything whilst Robert Stave goes about the business of destroying your future.'

'That's precisely why we need you to prove your claim,' said the officer.

'Okay, that's fine. Would you care to sit in one of these two capsules?' Both of them had been transported from the interrogation room back to the hangar. 'There is just one warning,' said Klade.

'We figured there would be a catch,' said the officer.

'Oh, there's no catch,' said Klade. 'It's just that these time machines have a habit of disintegrating, but hey, be my guest.'

The officer threw a suspicious glance tilting his head slightly, the puzzled look indicating his thought process.

'Looks like _you_ got here in one piece,' said the officer observably.

'Yeah, well, I didn't have a choice. Orders! You know all about orders. Look, the only way to prove my case is for both of us to travel back to your future, my present, except there's a slight problem due to a potential paradox. The machines are set up so as not to allow two machines to simultaneously travel to the same destination point within 24 hours of each other. That's why I had to travel back before Robert Stave, only you guys screwed it up by rendering me unconscious for 36 hours.'

The officer looked at Klade as if he was speaking gibberish.

'Let me explain further,' said Klade. 'One of us has to go back first while the other sets the second time machine to 24 hours later. I suggest the first person to return to 2218 is me.'

'Yeah, I get it, you mess with the second machine, assuming of course this works and the second machine defaults and you're gone in a puff of smoke. I'm going to look a real idiot trying to explain myself to the president,' said the officer.

Klade shrugged his shoulders and exhaled frustratingly. 'Okay, so let's look at the other option. You go back first and hope that the military at the other end, in 2218, don't put a bullet through that stupid head of yours. So, now you have just doubled your chance of not surviving. What do you prefer, Officer, burning alive or being shot through the head?'

Klade's confidence made the officer dwell on that prospect. 'Stay there and don't move,' said the officer who instructed the military police to keep a vigil whilst he sought advice. He left the hangar swiftly. Klade folded his arms, looked down at his shoes and shook his head.

The officer returned precisely 18 minutes later with Klade still admiring his shoes.

'You guys in the future still understand the 'hands up' sign?'

'Yeah, still signifies a surrender, an unarmed man,' confirmed Klade.

'Then it's me first,' said the officer. No theatricals, no conversation − decision made.

'Assuming you get to the other side,' Klade said under his breath.

Klade set up the time capsule. Destination: Time Capsule Centre, New Manhattan. The override ensured that it would arrive back at the original time and date pre-set - _a time prior to the meeting with Croyolis Valentrek of the Council of the Light._ Klade decided not to divulge too much about the time capsule's settings, he needed to ensure that the officer would be at the precise destination once he arrived 24 hours later.

'I've set the time and date for you in 2218. It is a date I know will not cause too much alarm at the other side. You will arrive at a place known as the Time Capsule Centre in New Manhattan. I believe you understand that place to be New York City.'

The look on the officer's face demonstrated his terror. 'This thing gonna burn up?'

'Well, you take your chance,' said Klade, feeling little sympathy for the occupant. 'Hope you've worked out how you are going to convince my comrades that you're kosher and you haven't disposed of the expected occupant - me!'

'I can handle the situation. Unless of course this is all bullshit and in the next couple of minutes I arrive back and see your ugly mug staring right back at me,' replied the officer.

'You're in for a hell of a ride. Once you've disappeared from 2018 and there's no question that I'm telling the truth, perhaps I'll get some help to capture the real threat, Robert Stave.'

Klade's voice activated the time capsule to initiate a countdown of 45 seconds, ensuring those in the hangar could be well clear. The doors, opened by Klade's voice instruction only a few minutes earlier, closed slowly, the two halves sealing perfectly. The small window, almost menacingly revealing the current surroundings, would also reveal the truth to the occupant in a matter of seconds that he had travelled to 2218. The officer's sweat obvious, the concern very real, the torturous possibility of being burned alive evident, Klade knew that look - it replicated his before his arrival back in 2018.

Klade instructed all personnel to stand well back, moreover not to look directly at the time capsule. Back at the Time Capsule Centre, time travel only occurred under strict laboratory conditions; the lowering of the steel blinds acted as both a safety precaution in case the capsule ignited, as well as protecting the technicians from the blinding light − a by-product of transporting a physical object to another time dimension.

Klade and the others looked away. The entrance door to the hangar with its small square glass section about a foot square, was enough to see the reflection of the time capsule's departure. A blue lightning flash, followed by a blinding white light, indicated that the capsule had activated. A strange sound, unlike anything Klade had ever heard, accompanied the blinding light − a sound you might imagine an aircraft make, landing without wheels.

In a few seconds the capsule disappeared, the occupant thankfully saved from a horrific death.

Klade turned around and the others in the hangar turned in an almost choreographed movement. The time capsule appeared to have indeed catapulted to another time and place. No one spoke for a few moments.

'Right, that's my part of the bargain completed,' said Klade. 'I've got 24 hours to try to locate Robert Stave before I too return to the future. Let's not waste any more time than we need.'

The military police looked at each other, full in the knowledge that this prisoner would not be leaving the base any time soon, despite his insistence. Within a few seconds, Klade was being escorted out of the hangar. He thought he was on his way to fulfil his mission, yet in reality he was now army property and going nowhere.

********************************

A blinding flash of light, a crunching noise, metal on concrete; the officer, Jacob Adams, had arrived. The date − 25th February 2218. The time − 12pm noon. Senator Lace Adams, his future great-great-grandson, unbeknown to Klade, would be the occupant's ticket to safety.

The room was designated to both send and receive time capsules, set up to anticipate an incoming machine, initiated the lowering of the shutters. Engineers kept a vigil − two were present when Jacob Adams arrived. Protection visors were always at the ready, particularly with incoming time travel. They were there to ensure protection against the blinding light in case the shutters were not fully closed, an instinctive act as they were already secured on the engineer's heads.

Jacob Adams, eyes half shut, fully expecting the time capsule to have ignited, slowly focused. The room was not the hangar at Area 51 but a small room with shutters surrounding his time capsule.

_' Hell, I really must have travelled in time',_ thought Jacob. Instinctively, he checked himself down. He was real, he was alive − no signs of burns. The room was white and the shutters an almost dirty grey, he couldn't comprehend. ' _Focus, think ',_ thought Jacob. ' _What did that Klade fella tell me? That 's it_ − _' voice activated''._

'Open,' said Jacob. The time capsule responded, just as Klade had predicted. A noise − _similar to bus doors opening_ − the two sections of the capsule released. Instinctively, Jacob raised his hands − ' _Klade had said it was a recognised truce action '_. The shutters were raised and slowly the adjoining engineers' room was revealed and people stared back at him, Jacob Adams, with a look of utter terror.

In the engineers' room was Samuel.

'Who the hell is that?' asked Samuel aloud with a sixth sense, in realising that the time capsules meant trouble and now, confusion, as people they didn't know were appearing.

'Don't know, but I sure ain't going in there!' said one of the other two engineers accompanying Samuel.

'His hands are raised. Can't see a weapon,' said Samuel. 'Call the military anyway, let them handle it.'

An engineer carried out the instruction. Less than a minute later, several highly armed military entered the room barking instructions at Jacob.

'Keep your hands where we can see them. Don't make any sudden movements!' shouted a military operative.

_' Nothing has changed in 2218',_ thought Jacob, knowing that any movement out of the ordinary might instantly curtail his trip. 'Steady, I'm unarmed,' assured Jacob.

One of the soldiers, clearly of higher rank, waved his firearm towards the door, simultaneously moving his head sideways to indicate that the captive individual should move towards the door.

Samuel had put in a call, Dr Laderman answered.

'We've got a visitor,' said Samuel.

'Who, Klade?' asked Dr Laderman.

'No, it's an unknown individual. Looks human, in some kind of military attire, but looks vaguely familiar. Don't quite know what to make of it,' said Samuel.

'Needs apprehending and interrogating. Call for the military police.'

'Already sorted, he is being escorted to a holding room. He isn't a threat, at least for the moment.'

'Just what is going on? Klade, Robert Stave and Senator Adams, all missing and an unknown turns up. We had better find out what's going on and quick,' said Dr Kladerman stating the obvious.

Twenty minutes later, Kladerman and Samuel sat opposite their new arrival. The questions were prepared and the interrogation began.

'My name is Dr Kladerman and this is Samuel.' With the formalities now out of the way: 'This might seem a ridiculous question, but what persuasion are you?'

'I'm American, Sir,' replied Jacob, not quite sure in what context the question had been raised.

'I meant alien or human,' said Kladerman.

'Shit, do I look like an alien?' replied Jacob.

'Believe it or not, aliens look just like us. This apparently is the known form for all intelligent life throughout our universe,' said Kladerman. 'I'm assuming that you are from the year 2018?'

'Goddam right!'

'We mean you no harm. You have travelled here in our time capsule. You are clearly none of the three individuals who have used the time capsule recently, so we have a problem. You can see that, can't you?'

'Nowhere near the problem I have at the moment,' replied Jacob.

'Would you mind telling us your full name, your rank, as we can clearly see that you are military? And a brief on how you managed to acquire the time capsule,' asked Samuel.

'I am Colonel Jacob Andrew Adams, based at Area 51, Nevada, the US of A, Sir! We believe you sent a soldier back to our time, I only know him as Klade. He said his mission was to capture and return Robert Stave and that our future depended on it. You can see how sceptical we were in the year 2018, time travel is mere science fiction and so we needed proof. I'm here to obtain that proof, Sir,' said Jacob.

'We understand. Tell me, what happened to Klade?' asked Dr Laderman.

'He's on his way back here in the time capsule Robert Stave used. He said something about a 24-hour time delay between two capsules that are sent to the same destination.'

'Yeah, that's correct, it is the paradox phenomenon,' confirmed Samuel.

'Yeah, whatever,' said Jacob. 'I can see now that Klade was telling the truth. What exactly is this Robert Stave up to? Is it dangerous to our future back in 2018?'

'It might be. We sent Klade back to prevent Stave doing something stupid, but we are not altogether sure what he is up to. He seems to be trying to rid our planet of the alien races.'

'Alien races? What damn alien races?' asked Jacob.

'It's a long story. I'm not quite sure he's ready for this just at the moment,' said Dr Laderman addressing Samuel.

Samuel keyed Jacob's details into the computer. A look of shock. 'You might want to look at this,' said Samuel. Dr Laderman looked at his screen − _a clear screen formatted to Dr Laderman 's thumb print; a screen only visible to the authorised recipient._

'This puts a different perspective on matters, especially as his great-great-grandfather is missing,' said Dr Laderman.

'You guys mind telling me what exactly is going on?' asked Jacob, now becoming more than a little concerned.

'Jacob, this is getting more confusing by the minute. It appears that your great-great-grandson is Senator Lace Adams. He is a key member of the research division here at the Time Capsule Centre, the very building we are in at the moment. Jacob, we are going to need some time alone to try to evaluate the situation,' said Dr Laderman.

'Hell, first aliens, now my great-great-grandson,' exclaimed Jacob, shaking his head.

'The truth is, we are not too sure how messing with events of the past or future might work out. It seems more than a coincidence that you are a long-standing relative of someone who has also travelled back in time.'

'I'm confused. I thought it was just Robert Stave and this Klade character who had used the time capsule?' asked Jacob.

Dr Kladerman looked in Samuel's direction. Samuel shrugged his shoulders, indifferent as to what was the next move. Both screens clearly showed the images of both Senator Lace Adams and that of Jacob, the resemblance, even taking into account the many years, there for all to see.

'We have three time capsules in total, Jacob. You see, the Earth is in a perilous position right now. Your descendent, Senator Lace Adams, has also travelled back in time,' said Dr Kladerman.

'Well, we never picked him up at the base,' said Jacob.

'I'm afraid it's a time before Area 51 was even the remotest of an idea. It's a time before our civilisation, Jacob. At the moment though, our only concern is for the return of Klade in the second capsule and a plan to prevent Robert Stave from succeeding in his mission,' said Samuel. 'We're gonna need your help, Jacob.'

'A history lesson might not go amiss,' said Jacob, 'if only to convince the guys back at the base that this crazy time traveller is kosher.'

'We've got all of 24 hours to kill. What do you say we kick off with the Drayzaks?' suggested Dr Laderman addressing Samuel.

'No, let's keep it simple. Drayzaks might sound just a little too far-fetched,' replied Samuel.

'Drayzaks, what the hell are Drayzaks?' asked Jacob predictably.

'In time, in time,' replied Samuel, 'pardon the pun.'
CHAPTER 26

THE REBEL REVOLT

Zak Lancelot returned to the Hologram Arena once Samuel and Maxius had vacated their hideout. He and his two rebel comrades took their seats. The arena was in full flow, the cubed screen depicted the odds in real time and a bloody encounter had seen a Zaagan beheaded. The crowd lusting for more blood whipped into a frenzied chanting, eagerly anticipating the next game. Zak and his comrades had not been missed.

Sat next to Zak was a rebel Zaagan called Xaan Kroit, his headset suggesting that he was expecting Zak to return.

'Thanks for the tip-off,' said Zak.

'The guards are pretty clued-up. The two humans raised concerns, not on the radar so to speak,' replied Xaan.

'Yeah, good move to exit and see if they followed. Your judgment is spot on.'

'Are we still on?' asked the Zaagan.

'Slight complication,' replied Zak. 'My human counterparts have more time machines. They're gonna screw up.'

'Look, we had a deal,' said Xaan. 'We're funding your operation and keeping you informed of the Olympianas' movements. We've saved your skin on so many occasions.'

'Yeah, I know, but we've saved yours too. Look, the co-ordinated rebel movement is safe, solid. We've all got the same goal; rid this planet of the Drayzaks and the Olympianas. This time capsule thing is just complicating matters.'

'What, your time capsule or your fellow humans?' asked Xaan.

'You know we're not ready yet. Our engineers are working around the clock but we're just not ready,' said Zak. 'Now there's an added complication − Robert Stave.'

'He's _your_ problem! We had a deal; you take care of Qudor Volkan and alter the timeline. We join up with your rebels worldwide and take care of my fellow Zaagan hierarchy, as well as your own human tyrants. We've got the squalors on our side too, it's just been negotiated.'

'What about the Trollozytes?' asked Zak.

'Two-timing aliens. No time for them. History dictates that they can't be trusted.'

'Look, our time capsule isn't the most technologically advanced. The timelines are already fucked. In their stupidity, my fellow humans have sent two back already and there are rumours of a third. The Council of the Light are already involved. It's dangerous at the moment but whilst they are all preoccupied it might be best to strike now. Your rebels ready?'

'We need the Undarthians,' said Xaan.

'You said you had a connection.'

'It's not that easy. The 44 zones are pretty evenly mixed. We need the backing of the Undarthian controlled regions if we stand a chance. If we fail with this military coup we won't get a second chance.'

'You've definitely secured the squalors?'

'Pretty much − some final negotiations on territory after the victory,' replied Xaan.

The next game was announced. The holographic images merged with live victims displayed on the screens and betting was frantic. A welcome distraction from the tense conversation between Human and Zaagan.

'Fancy the warrior from Elacturn,' observed Zak.

'He's a hologram, I reckon. Mine's on the human − Achilles,' said Xaan.

'Not if you knew the story,' laughed Zak.

The crowd roared as the battle commenced. Holograms intermingled with live warriors. The screens displayed the betting odds, rapidly changing by the second as the bets flew in. Both Zak and Xaan were temporarily distracted by the events, both realising that a break from the tense discussions was much needed.

The arena housed an underground betting fraternity comprising of humans and other alien races, even rebels of the Olympiana race. Whilst security in the policed areas were difficult to navigate, alien outsiders − _not originating from New_ _Manhattan_ − found ways to infiltrate these vastly popular events, a key to cementing relationships with other splinter groups from across the 44 regions.

The betting continued, for the moment at least both Zak and Xaan immersed themselves in the spectacle of the holographic games.

A figure stood, an Undarthian, dressed in loose clothing. None of the attire at the games indicated the origin of the individual, a uniform dress code applied. The figure, almost two metres in height, formidable and strong, walked towards the area Zak and Xaan frequented. Most spectators adopted comfortable, recognised sections amongst their own so as not to be a threat to other rival rebel groups. Celestian Droggon, an outsider, ventured from his recognised safe zone.

'Spot the being at three o'clock,' said Zak.

Those adopting an alliance with the Undarthians were pointing in Zak's direction. A discussion broke out amongst his allies who were equally bemused by Celestian wandering beyond the recognised safe areas. The neutral attire did nothing to disguise the origin of the brethren attending the games; the Arena's organisers oblivious to its ineffectiveness. From time to time the odd scuffle was known to break sometimes resulting in murder, usually informers who might infiltrate these alternative, illegal betting arenas, with a view to gaining information. Sophisticated weapons were smuggled ingeniously, the body cleverly concealed following a hit on an informer before being disposed of on the outside − informers were hated by all. Migrants − _the term for a non-indigenous being_ − were vetted before attending and given an assurance of protection. In reality, known informants were tipped off to the rebels, effectively sentencing them to death. The games could be equally as entertaining and as dangerous on the terraces as in the arena.

Zak was a key player.

'Celestian Droggon,' said Xaan as the Undarthian neared.

'Informer?' asked Zak.

'Not that I'm aware of and he's wearing his translator. I think he might want to talk.'

'He could be heading for a communal area,' said Zak.

'He's taking the long way round if that's the case. He's heading over here.'

Both beings were immediately on their guard. Was this some kind of take out? Had either Zak or Xaan thwarted the plans of a rival rebel faction? Both were armed discreetly. Celestian was indeed heading their way.

As he neared, the tension increased, his movements causing anxiety amongst a number of attendees as they sensed a scuffle. Celestian reached into his breast pocket, a white cloth visible, suitably dropped on the floor − a recognised symbol amongst rebels to indicate an unarmed ally; this was not a take out manoeuvre.

Those not anxious simply returned their attention to the games but Zak and Xaan were still anxious.

'A decoy for a take out?' asked Zak.

'All seems clear. Either he's on a suicide mission or he wants to talk,' replied Xaan.

The huge figure inched towards Zak and Xaan.

A roar from the crowd, a temporary distraction − Achilles was a hologram. Zak turned to Xaan offering a triumphant smile; his warrior from Elacturn was still in the game. Zak's head turned as the foreboding figure neared; trust in other alien beings not quite at 100% for he had seen trickery, aliens not conforming to protocol. However, there was no indication of foul play in this instance.

Both Zak and Xaan had key positions near the exit aisle. The Undarthian stood at the aisle, his long hair and beads a giveaway to his origin.

'Celestian,' said Xaan, acknowledging the warrior in front of him.

'Xaan,' came the reply. 'I mean you no harm.'

'Please sit,' offered Xaan. The Undarthian somewhat clumsily inched past both Zak and Xaan. 'Let me introduce Zak Lancelot, human, a rebel.'

'Zak,' greeted the Undarthian. A clasp of forearms sealed the civility of the visit.

'I'll be brief; we have an uprising in a number of zones, planned simultaneously. There may be a deal in the offering,' said Celestian. Another roar from the baying crowd, the warrior from Elacturn was toast, also a hologram. Xaan returned the smile afforded to him moments earlier. Zak acknowledged the loss with a nod of the head.

'This might be too dangerous to discuss here, informers everywhere,' said Zak, handing the Undarthian a geo-microchip discreetly. He spoke quickly. 'My headquarters, immediately after the games, no more than three, unarmed. One of my operatives will be waiting to greet you, he will see you safely underground and we can talk there. Sit with us for a few minutes, hand me some cash. The informers amongst us will consider this a wager pay-out.'

'Already ahead of you, see you at yours,' said Celestian. A few moments later when another victim fell in the arena, the Undarthian stood and, with another forearm grasp, completed the illusion of a wager and the huge figure headed back to his safe zone.

'It's been a busy night,' said Zak. 'You aware of an Undarthian attack?'

'Had heard rumours of a discontent, not an attack though. Where do we come in?' asked Xaan.

'A coalition, perhaps. You said earlier that we would need help. Perhaps the Undarthians have reached the same conclusion?' suggested Zak.

'Or perhaps we are getting in the way?' replied Xaan.

'We'll find out shortly.'

The games continued − a loss of appetite as far as the humans and Zaagans were concerned reduced their interest to merely sitting out the last few bouts. Token betting saw out the final bets of the evening, the damage already having been done, as both Zak and Xaan had seen heavy losses. Their minds, however, were now firmly on the meeting, a momentous precedent. No Undarthian had ever set foot on the rebels' hallowed territory. Zak began to wonder the merit of his invite. They would need to be on their guard, however, Zak felt comfortable with Celestian; his revelations would be of immense interest.

This could be a good night for the human rebel insurgence. The games concluded, the crowd vacated and Zak and Xaan headed towards Zak's base, both apprehensive yet intrigued.

******************************

A rebel stood above Zak's headquarters on the roadside awaiting the arrival of the Undarthian − he would be easily spotted as his size was a giveaway. The rebel would need to monitor the activity of the drones, continually parading the no-go areas. The evening was dark and a light covering of rain created a sombre ambiance; a reflection in the wet indicated a larger, more prominent being, joined by two others; the rebel moved out of the shadows looking around, head turning rapidly in all directions, constantly on the lookout for drones. The three figures, one of which towered his comrades, moved closer towards the rebel. He, too, was frantically observing the surroundings for any suspicious movement. The rebel activated the manhole covering, virtue of a zapper; the entrance to the rebel caves became exposed.

The Undarthian at the centre of the small posse took one look behind him as they neared the rebel − not a word was spoken. With the manhole cover lifted, the rebel disappeared immediately and the Undarthians followed along the dimly lit passageways now that the manhole cover was safely back in its place. In less than 90 seconds the Undarthian was locking his forearm with Zak; a mutual respect was now developing between the two with each encounter. Celestian, complete with headset translator, was ready − talks would begin.

Celestian perused the caves. For a less advanced race their technological hardware was impressive. Operatives were everywhere, almost oblivious of the giant entering the rebel's headquarters, busying about soldering elaborate and complicated pieces of machinery, some human, some alien. Screens surrounded the base; a wave of news bulletins provided much needed information around the globe and the new Earth, now split into 44 regions. News was pirated from those zones not controlled by humans, which unfortunately accounted for the vast majority of the information.

'What's the news?' asked Zak, opening the conversation and getting straight to the heart of the matter − the opening question designed not to waste valuable time on idle small talk and chatter. Xaan looked on with more caution. Zak signalled with an acceptable nod of the head and a slight wink of the eye that all was cool. Xaan's immediate thought was how most of the alien species had eerily similar traits to those of the humans, especially where body language was concerned. Strange that, although many light years separated the aliens from this species on Earth, a pattern of similarities underlined a strange connection.

'We, in association with some Zaagan guerrilla rebels, squalors and Trollozyte captives, propose a takeover. We need you, Zak,' said Celestian.

Zak looked up at his counterpart; his eyes slightly squinted whilst he evaluated the suggestion. He needed more information.

'Sounds like you have pretty much got things sewn up,' said Zak.

'We need the humans on board. You have some key, strategically placed strongholds on this planet. We are missing an arbitrator,' replied Celestian.

'Understand, but the truth is, we, the humans, have been fighting these wars for almost 200 Earth years. We're pretty pissed off! Aliens have taken over our planet and are fighting amongst themselves for control. Why should they trust you?' asked Zak.

'That's precisely why we need you, Zak. Your influence is pivotal to a deal.'

'A deal?' asked Zak.

'The Volkans rule over New Manhattan, the most influential capital in all of the 44 regions. They're holding on by a thread. Tyrannical rule − sectioned off areas to imprison the human population − do I need to elaborate? It's two cities, two species, each trying to control their own zones, then you in the middle. You fight off the threat of the Drayzak population, yet despite the assurances to the Council of the Light that their sanctions are being upheld, the Olympianas are secretly breeding these freak monsters. You already have the trust of the most influential in the capital and that's going to be critical,' explained Celestian.

_' He certainly understands the logistics and the territorial_ _issues at play ',_ thought Zak. 'Look, we are trying to rid our planet of aliens. This, when all is said and done, is our planet,' said Zak, without being totally convincing.

'That might be the considered scenario but in reality the precedent has been set, Earth will never be the same again, even if humans were to reach their goal to recover control of their planet. I only have to look around these headquarters and I can physically see that humans have adopted a far superior technology. There's no going back.'

'So, what's the deal?' asked Zak, who had heard enough. In reality, he already knew that there was no turning back. Human existence on our planet also encompassed the alien beings whether he liked it or not.

'Look, I'm Undarthian. Our belief is that we have the footprint, we endorse your species as the rightful occupants but we have lost our way. The battle is relentless with no conceivable endgame; we have become weak, lost focus of our intentions. The solution is to drive out the Olympianas and cut a deal with the remaining species. Anything would be an improvement on the present arrangement. We need the humans on board.'

'What's the lead time? How prepared are you to make enough of an impact to drive out the Volkan clan?' asked Zak.

'We're ready. This has been meticulously planned over many years, usually at Hologram Arenas, scattered throughout the 44 zones.'

'You have agreements in place with the Council of the Light, we are aware of that. To break those agreements means sanctions. Heavy sanctions on your home planet. You are already in violation of that agreement. This is a dangerous move for you.'

'This is as much our home planet as is yours, Zak, you must know that. Generations of Undarthians know nothing other than planet Earth. We are fighting for the same home as you.'

Zak looked the Undarthian in the eye, sizing up the giant standing less than a metre away. There was no doubt in Zak's mind that Celestian was genuine.

'We have some serious planning to take care of. You want a beer?'

'Classic beer?' asked Celestian.

'Only home-made but 35% proof,' said Zak.

The giant laughed with head tilted back and another clasp of the forearms. A deal would be struck.
CHAPTER 27

TORTURE CYLINDER

Senator Adams wished he hadn't screamed. The cylinder - deathly, claustrophobic, held him captive with no escape - naked. The figure opposite, female, looked on in horror, desperate for Lace Adams to remain quiet for she − _an alien_ , had seen the result of the temptation to question the enforcement of captivation. The result would be a fate worse than confinement.

The time capsule, now a distant memory, was unobtainable. Senator Lace Adams questioned his own stupidity - ' _Why had I tried to be so clever? '_ he thought. ' _Why didn 't I wait to see if Klade or Robert Stave would return?'_ These were questions that constantly haunted his mind as he tried to get to grips with his predicament. Here on this Earth, 3.3 million years in the past, he had no power or control. Suddenly the problems in 2218 seemed trivial.

The torture cylinders − _an obvious phrase when faced_ _with a multitude of cylinders designed to resign the victim to the_ _horror of confinement or the torture of being burned alive trying_ _to escape_ − surrounded Lace. So many creatures, a hundred at least, so many torture cylinders with naked creatures all around, equally as distressed that Lace had drawn attention to himself − almost as if his cries had endangered them all. The time capsule, probably either destroyed or captured by these alien Earth occupants, was of little use to Lace now.

With a bright light overhead, Lace looked up, both hands overlapping to cover his eyes from the overwhelming brightness. He heard a boom, a noise not dissimilar to the supersonic boom of an aircraft going through the sound barrier. Suddenly the air in the cylinder swirled, a whirlwind within a cylinder. Lace was swept up in its force, too strong to resist, his naked body lifting gradually up with the sheer power, out beyond the open ceiling of the cylinder top and lowered to within a few feet of the ground. Another boom and Lace fell to the ground unceremoniously.

The creatures in each of the cylinders froze − not a sound or a scream, just silent, watching. Above Lace by about six metres, a drone-like contraption with its belly opened, began to lower. ' _The eerie silence of my fellow captors could not be good_ _news ',_ thought Lace. Whatever was lowering towards him must be a punishment. His fellow captors, by virtue of their silence, must know what happens next.

Suddenly there was a scream, a recognisable scream, beholding of a human or similar creature. Boom! The female opposite Lace swirled. ' _Why has she screamed? She must know what happens ',_ thought Lace. Another boom, a thud and the female was within metres of Lace. She ran towards him, the zap from the drone-like craft identical to Lace's drone, stopped her in her tracks.

'What do you want of us?' shouted Lace in an attempt to distract in a 'do what you want with me but leave her alone' manner.

In the distance a larger craft drew near, the water cubes and torture cylinders made for a surreal sight. The sun beat down hot, immensely bright. Lace looked around, he could not recognise the terrain, he could not spot the group of trees he had used to camouflage the time machine, for he had no manner of escaping this strange world, ironically his own planet, unfathomably unrecognisable.

The clarity of the water cubes unravelled the mystery. Species belonging to the water were equally confined. The cylinders were limited to life existing on land. The water cubes - the creatures of the sea.

Two identical crafts neared, descending slowly, effortlessly. The attention of the creatures imprisoned turned towards the craft, constantly moving their attention from the craft, to the two naked prisoners. A drill they had seen, their silence spoke volumes.

Senator Lace Adams sized up the situation, unable to move more than a few centimetres for fear of being stopped in his tracks by the severe electronic fire from either of the two drones above. The belly of the large craft opened fully and two metallic-looking, heavily framed, cube-like devices lowered through cylinders extending downwards. No sign of wheels, they hovered a metre above the ground. The cubes opened themselves, changed shape, taking on the form of a human shape with arms, legs and a metallic head. This latest robotic figure represented a cross between a manikin and a multifaceted penknife a boy scout might use.

'Stop!' shouted Lace. 'I am Senator Lace Adams from this planet, in the future.'

The two craft continued.

'I demand you stop!' shouted Lace again. Unperturbed, he continued: 'My name is Lace Adams and I am being monitored. I order you to stop.' Quite why he, Lace Adams, had adopted such a stance was beyond him. Perhaps there was a moral code amongst these creatures, a kind of Geneva Convention code − a long shot but Lace could think of no other method. His fellow captive creatures, other than his female counterpart, seemed unable to converse or in any way assist.

The female recovered from the electronic zapping which had temporarily disabled her ability to function. She began to shout in a similar tongue to Lace, yet in a language clearly not of this planet. Both drones ceased movement, stopped in their tracks, as if remotely controlled.

The belly of the craft, complete with its own exit pods in the form of cylinders that lowered from the undercarriage of the craft, revealed a new threat. Figures, of a human shape, descended, the lower half emerging were evidence to that fact. Lace looked over at the creature by his side. Close up her beauty was undeniable, her tears, however, a worrying testimony as to what might unravel. Again, she placed her forefinger to her full lips, an obvious gesture to ensure Lace kept quiet.

As the alien figures approached, their cube-like counterpart robots remained in a static position. As they neared, a mere three metres away, the female fell to the ground, hands out in front, parallel, placed on the earth in homage to the three aliens approaching. This was an act of a being who either knew the enemy was approaching or was preparing herself for punishment. Of the three figures, the middle one clearly demanded respect. The two following close behind at either side, heads lowered, an acceptance of the superiority of the figure leading the way, did little to convince Lace that they would be a threat. It was obvious that the lead alien was the real danger.

The figure in the middle, ironically smaller than his comrades but of a muscular build, spoke to the female on the ground. Strangely she appeared to understand and stood before him. None of the three approaching had hair on their heads, unlike the female beside Lace whose hair reminded him of an autumn red. Her long flowing locks, although dishevelled and windswept due to the tornado that had extracted her from the cylinder, looked awkwardly stunning to Lace.

She spoke back, pointing to Lace, shaking her head frantically − an obvious gesture to dissuade the bald-headed alien not to carry out whatever it was the creatures, watching from the cylinders, feared. He spoke back, the language of the same tongue; the creature of beauty understood his every word. The female shouted some more, arms flailing, gesturing. The gestures were similar to those of a human − the waving of index finger from side to side indicating a displeasure of a proposed action; palms held out parallel in an act of pleading; crossed hands to her bosom signifying an offering of herself − none of these looked remotely promising. The bald-headed alien − his lower half dressed in jodhpur-like pants, as if he might be ready for a horse ride, his top half a tight-fitting purple garment without cover over the arms - nodded in agreement to whatever the female had requested.

One of his accomplices walked over to the female with some garments in his hand. She duly dressed. The alien accomplice returned. Amongst the garments handed to the female alien was seemingly enough to also dress Lace. She walked over, handing Lace the garments. He didn't need to be told − he dressed.

'What's going on?' asked Lace. His immediate afterthought was, ' _She isn 't going to understand me, so why ask?'_

'They want to know about the machine you arrived in,' said the being, the accent a cross between French and German.

'You can understand me?' asked Lace.

'Language is universal. We speak all languages. I heard you shouting in the cylinder and picked up your native language.'

'But who are you?' asked Lace.

'I am Verzula. We are from the planet Noona on the outer regions of your galaxy.'

She sounded sexy and it seemed strange to Lace that he would even think that in these circumstances. He wasn't sure how to answer or if he could trust her.

'What do your alien people intend to do with me?'

'It would be best if you tell them the answer about the function of the machine. They will not torture us if we answer their questions. The kill will be clean,' replied Verzula ominously.

'You mean, if they like my answer they will kill us cleanly, if I refuse to answer they torture us?' asked Lace. This was surreal. An alien race, a distant planet, captured, no time capsule, no way out. 'It is a time capsule, but they will not be able to operate it without a special device,' said Lace, loud enough to be heard by the unwanted guests. The look in his eyes carried a subliminal message that his outburst might be for a reason, hoping his female captive would pick up on his suggestive gaze.

The bald alien of superiority walked forward slowly with a confident swagger, his shadow eerily human-like.

'Where is the operating device?' asked the bald alien, his voice almost indistinguishable, not nearly as appealing as his female partner, more a computerised offering and not in the least enticing.

'You might as well kill me; I have no interest in giving up the piece of equipment so superior to your level of intelligence. It is set to self-destruct if I do not disengage the timing device. I would rather die knowing you will never know the truth behind the machine,' said Lace.

The three aliens conversed in hushed voices. ' _Why_ _are they talking softly? I haven 't a clue what they are saying_ _anyway '_, thought Lace. Until he gazed at Verzula, it was immediately obvious.

'We will trade Verzula's life for the device and you will remain a slave,' said the bald alien.

An impossible position − Lace knew it and the aliens knew it. Lace paused.

'Why have you imprisoned her?' asked Lace in an attempt to buy time.

The alien paused.

'Releasing food,' replied the bald alien.

'Food?' asked Lace.

The alien looked at Lace in a manner to suggest that he wasn't prepared to elaborate. The penny dropped: the cylinders + the water cubes = food banks.

'I agree with your demand, on one condition,' said Lace. He did not finish the sentence but looked at Verzula in a manner to indicate that he needed her to trust him.

'Your condition?'

'That I kill her,' replied Lace.

The aliens again huddled with whispered conversations. The bald alien nodded.

'Then bring me my own garments. I need to dress properly,' said Lace.

The bald alien spoke, a comrade wandered off and spoke to another guard; each cylinder was guarded, these aliens were organised, like Roman centurions might guard a turret; within minutes the garments were returned. The device, a tennis ball size, was hidden amongst a number of travel items in a large pouch around the midriff. Other items included gel to quench thirst, a clever knife with ingenious attachments, a small pair of vision enhancers and scissors, amongst other useful items.

The item, similar to a hand grenade with a timer hologram activated by retina recognition, could destroy the whole area.

Lace took out the device. In the distance another craft was approaching, not a drone or a spacecraft but the kind the bald alien travelled in but a more robust, military-type space-craft, a dirty grey in colour about 50 metres in length. A smaller craft lowered slowly to within metres of Lace, partially blocking the sunlight from Lace's eyes; a blessed temporary relief. A sealed cylinder lowered, grey and metallic-looking; the time capsule was revealed as the cylinder retracted into the undercarriage of the smaller craft, disappearing silently, effortlessly.

'For this demonstration I need Verzula to sit in the capsule,' instructed Klade.

The bald alien pointed to the capsule, the order was made. Verzula walked slowly, looking back at Lace as she did, the sun beating down with her hair glowing. The creatures in the torture cylinders were absorbed with the action unfolding.

'Open!' shouted Lace and the two halves of the time capsule parted; vocal recognition guaranteed that they would. Holding the device in his left hand he walked towards the time capsule.

'Please sit,' asked Lace of Verzula. 'Set the time to 15 minutes from the present,' was the verbal order. 'I will send Verzula to her death but return the time capsule empty and unscathed. This will be a demonstration of its capability.'

This was a gamble. Lace hadn't figured out how to explain the way in which Verzula might die or whether they would indeed think to question how she might die.

'I will activate the time capsule with my device,' said Lace as he brought up the hologram image from within the Z1845X. 'I will set the device to activate the time capsule in one minute, Earth minutes. The capsule doors will shut, the capsule will disappear. I will reset the device and the capsule will return. Verzula will not. I will be forcing the time machine to return too quickly. Verzula will fragment in the same manner that colleagues of mine in the future fragmented, until we learned the safety time parameters for time travel.'

The hologram showed the seconds counting down. The aliens looked both bemused and confused. The hologram continued to count down. After 30 seconds, the capsule door was still open. Verzula had a look of terror on her face. After 15 seconds, Lace had the same look of terror. After ten seconds, Lace pulled his arm back and threw the device towards the bald alien. The Z1845X seemed to glide, almost in slow motion, glistening as it caught the sun's rays.

Lace lunged towards Verzula, pressing the red button to activate his instruction, 'Set the time to 15 minutes from the present and close the door.' The door closed and both he and Verzula were trapped, unable to move. The metallic noise indicated that the time capsule was activating, which followed by a flash of light with the capsule disappearing.

The aliens stared at the device that landed at the feet of the bald alien as the device counted down the seconds − five, four, three, two, one.

'Open,' insisted Lace. Verzula was bemused, trying to come to terms with the events taking place. Lace released his hold of the female alien, stepped back outside the time capsule once the doors were fully open and turned around. The area was devoid of water cubes and had instead become a flood plain. Absent were the torture chambers and sadly, so were the creatures - ' _a blessing ',_ thought Lace - the area flattened of any natural habitat, any creatures to which this was home were no longer − the devastation was as far as the eye could see. The land smouldered, charred and was lifeless; _' How could a device the size of a tennis ball cause_ _such devastation? '_ wondered Lace. Nevertheless, his plan had been a success.

Verzula emerged delicately from the small time capsule and lingered. She turned a full 360 degrees taking in the devastation. She was still alive and Lace was still alive with no sight of an enemy. ' _Where am I? '_ she thought.

The landscape had been changed, the enemy destroyed and Lace still had the time capsule. He contemplated his predicament. He could return to 2218, a complicated alien-controlled world, far and away from the desolate tranquillity of the barren land that lay before him. Verzula was stunningly beautiful; no more pressure, no demands, no facing the inquisition of the Council of the Light.

Lace looked at Verzula who looked back. Two beings alone in time, both unwanted by their own species, neither wanting the moment to end. Freedom beckoned − a new beginning where time mattered little.

The time capsule offered nothing − the new Earth, everything.
CHAPTER 28

THE TIME CONUNDRUM

Had Robert Stave altered events? That question, an inevitable conundrum, entered his mind as he considered the interrogation he must endure at the hands of the one he despised. His stealth bomber had been taken over by Qudor Volkan on February 23rd 2018. His instruments were frozen out of use, just as the F16s had been, as were the stealth bombers that his predecessors, in 2018, had sent from Area 51, or the Russian stealth bombers for that matter. Now Robert Stave had created an anomaly, an action that would prevent the historical events, from here on in, happening.

Robert Stave, despite his predicament − _his capture_ − had a weapon capable of devastation way beyond that of a mere military devastation in 2018. A weapon that Qudor Volkan could not combat.

Robert Stave faced Qudor Volkan, not with fear but with excitement. The knowledge that he could accurately predict the events of the future and manipulate those events in whatever format suited his situation was, in Robert Stave's eyes, the ultimate power.

The Olympianas, who controlled New Manhattan in 2218, were the most despicable of alien beings. He despised them right through to his core, no one more than Qudor Volkan, a legend of the past. Retribution was inevitable, Robert Stave intended to exact it. ' _Bring it on ',_ thought Robert.

Qudor Volkan was faced with a human he considered just an ordinary human, one of a number belonging to a fleet of craft he had already captured, primitive in its technology. His only concern was that this pilot was not part of a squadron and flew single-handedly. This would be a short interview: ask a few questions and let his beloved Drayzaks feast. Qudor had other, more important matters to attend to and this distraction was unwelcome. Time would not be afforded to his captive.

Robert had been unconscious for some time. His garments - _hidden underneath the stolen uniform of Hank Richards which he discarded as he entered the stealth bomber at Area 51_ − were not in keeping with the technology of the human race in 2018 but far more sophisticated. The wellbeing of the individual wearing these garments was a concern for those in 2218, therefore the sophisticated monitoring devices; anti-sweat garments, almost impossible-to-tear-material, were unknown in the 21st century. The fabric, known as Elaxa, had been developed to travel in space, to withstand solar rays, to keep an astronaut alive should the space suit malfunction, along with a multitude of other neat functions. However, the metallic colour immediately caught the attention of Qudor Volkan and puzzled him as it almost gave off the effect of an optical illusion.

Qudor wore the translator helmet, a necessary gadget but of which was becoming tiresome.

'I don't intend to spare your life. You have been in an induced sleep for some time now,' said Qudor unceremoniously.

'Interesting!' replied Robert, his stare demonstrating, without doubt, his total disdain for the alien who stood before him. 'Tell me, Qudor Volkan, who resides from the planet Olympiana, a planet your ancestors, who originated from Earth, populated some 3.3 million Earth-years previous?'

Qudor, for probably the first time in his life, found himself out-manoeuvred by this human standing before him. The squinting of the eyes, the confused frown − an indication, through pure body language, that Robert had played a checkmate move with his opening statement.

'Why place me in an induced sleep?' asked Robert of the Olympiana facing him.

'We have other captives, you were in the way.'

'Do you have the portal amplifier?' asked Robert.

'How do you know about the portal amplifier?'

'I'll explain. You won't get the codes from Daxzus.'

Qudor looked bemused. ' _How does he know about Daxzus? '_

'Dane Vhastek, a clever move,' said Qudor, trying to put a little confusion in his opponent's mind by name-dropping, in the hope to reveal how this human knew so much.

'Dane Vhastek, Daxzus Zaetsalsae or Oosapeth, perhaps? Would you like me to continue? How about your second in command, Gorgon?' replied Robert. His history of the alien wars was impeccable.

'Enough, enough!' said Qudor, now totally out-played by this unknown opponent.

The Drayzaks either side of Robert became restless as Qudor's voice became more aggressive. The same torture chamber that Daxzus would later suffer, as history dictated, was Robert's awaited interrogation chamber. Qudor was a being of habit.

'From where you hail?' asked Qudor.

'Earth,' replied Robert with a superior smirk, almost revelling in confusing his opponent, mindful however of his short temper; the pain he might suffer if he pushed his luck too far, would be unbearable.

'That cannot be. You could not possibly know this information,' said Qudor. For the first time his guard was dropping for he could no longer match Robert in the mind games arena.

'What if I told you that you will lose this battle? What if I told you that I know where you went wrong, that I know your opponents' every move?' said Robert.

'Then I should kill you now. You may try to fool me with random facts that you may have obtained through trickery. I have to admit it is an impressive display but not convincing enough to save you,' replied Qudor, having now absorbed the shock of the information Robert had offered.

Robert could see in Qudor's eyes that at any moment he could release his pets and his death would be agonising. His opponent had immediately regained control.

Robert needed to think and quick.

'If I was to give you information that only you, at this moment in time, are privy to, would you release me so that we could discuss a plan, to win over this planet?'

Qudor wasn't a being of his word; he could easily agree and then renege. Then again, if the information was of such a nature that this pitiful Earth being could be of use, there was an option - to extract as much information as needed before feeding him his two Drayzaks, eagerly awaiting their next meal.

'Enlighten me,' said Qudor.

'You are in love with Annaluce, the daughter of Daxzus Zaetsalsae. Furthermore, you have implanted a monitoring device into both her ear and her cranium. This will be your undoing.'

Qudor was convinced; this wretched man would be an asset, temporarily. His curiosity got the better of him. 'Tell me, how do you know this?'

'I hail from the future, 2218 Earth time,' replied Robert.

'Via portal travel?' asked Qudor. A clever question designed to draw out a reply that would divulge his opponent's method of time travel.

Robert was one step ahead. 'It might be. Release me and find out. What might be more useful are the codes to the portal amplifier.'

With a nod to the guard standing steadfastly beside Qudor during the interrogation procedure, Robert was released.

Now the games began.

******************************

Klade returned. He was home, back to the present, 2218.

Colonel Jacob Adams eagerly awaited his return, if only to validate his story. He had seen enough of the year 2218 to know that he needed to return to 2018.

Klade, Samuel, Maxius, Dr Laderman and Colonel Adams sat resolutely. The meeting was to establish two things; the validity of Colonel Adams and the whereabouts of Robert Stave. On the plus side, two of the three time capsules had been returned, a major victory in the battle to convince the Council of the Light that the humans were not actually a total liability. Each sat around the table, each looking out of kilter. It was an unprecedented meeting, the first of its kind, the situation becoming increasingly complicated. The humans of the year 2218, desperate to thwart the attempts of a certain Robert Stave to alter the present, whilst endeavouring to somehow administer the safe return of Jacob's great-great-grandson Lace Adams. Jacob, on the other hand, was simply trying to figure out how to return home safely, to put behind him the nightmare unfolding, a nightmare no one in the 21st century would believe.

Samuel decided to address the unlikely gathering.

'Klade, let's get down to business,' began Samuel. His growth as an individual had been brutal. Gone was the naive operative who worked at the Time Capsule Centre, enter the new individual, adept in the ways of a conniving manipulator and hellbent on obtaining information that would get the job done. His learning curve had been fierce.

'You don't know the half of it, Samuel − no disrespect,' replied Klade. Jacob kept quiet despite the urge to intervene.

'Exactly! That's exactly what we are looking for from you, the other half of it.' Samuel matched his sarcasm. He would not have dared question authority in the past, but these were extraordinary times.

'Stave has gone AWOL. We have inherited a newcomer just to complicate matters. Shall I go on?' replied Klade, equally as sarcastic.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said Dr Kladerman, sensing that the meeting was rapidly turning into a verbal fist fight. 'Can we please stick to the matters in hand? I think what Samuel was hinting at, was that we gather as much information as possible on the off chance that we can salvage something from the mess we have created. So, for the purpose of this meeting, could we try to stay professional?'

'Hell, it's 2218 and as a race we don't seem to have moved on. Still bickering, still disjointed, but hey, I'm feeling more at home by the minute,' observed Jacob, breaking the ice with some much needed humour.

The tension in the room physically changed. This was not a battle; this was an opportunity to rectify matters. The positive - two out of three time capsules were back under their control; Klade had returned safely with important information as to the intentions of Robert Stave, even having acquired extra baggage in the form of Jacob; the only outstanding matter was that of Jacob's great-great-grandson Lace.

Dr Laderman continued, following the timely interruption from Jacob, to put this meeting on a more formal footing.

'We have a decision to make, gentlemen. We are somewhat out of favour with the Council of the Light. In hindsight, we should have left well alone when Robert Stave sabotaged the operation, by murdering Colonel Alfred Patterson and come clean with the Council of the Light − damage limitation. However, that is now history, although in some ways history might not be as it was if Stave gets his way. The important thing now is to make the right choices rather than hastily trying to undo our errors. Klade, can we ask, what you believe, based on your journey back to the year 2018, exactly what threat Stave poses, in your opinion?'

'The man's a blithering idiot, that's our problem. I mean, he steals a stealth bomber and heads off into the skies like a man deranged. Who knows what his intentions are?' said Klade.

'Maybe I can shed some light on this matter but, before I do, is there any chance I can look at some footage of my great-great-grandson and perhaps find out some information about the man?' asked Jacob.

'Of course, Jacob,' said Dr Kladerman. 'Samuel will see to that. Now what is it that you feel is important?'

'He's headed towards Antarctica, we believe. There is an awful lot happening in the pole area. We believe he is in pursuit of an alien craft which we held at the base, but which was stolen,' replied Jacob.

'Volkan, as expected,' confirmed Klade. 'That pretty much confirms our worst fears.'

'One other thing, gentlemen,' continued Jacob, 'the tracker.'

'Tracker? What do you mean exactly?' queried Samuel.

'The stealth bomber Robert Stave stole had a tracker. The tracker became traceless as the stealth neared a location that we believe was occupied by alien beings. It wasn't the pole but some remote islands near Antarctica,' said Jacob.

Silence around the room. Maxius pondered.

'It must be Qudor Volkan. Didn't he disable the F16s as well as American and Russian stealths? He's got Stave if you ask me,' said Maxius.

'Jesus, he's going to mess with the timeline!' shouted Samuel. _Surprisingly, as technologically advanced as 2218 was, the term 'Jesus' was still a term to indicate dismay_.

A commotion erupted; expletives reduced a well-behaved meeting into chaos.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' said Dr Kladerman for the second time, ever the arbitrator. 'Calm down. Let us think this through. Lace isn't a problem as yet. Klade, to our knowledge, hasn't done anything to suggest a major shift in our timeline, so we only have the one problem − Robert Stave. A problem, I might add, which arose the moment he sabotaged the time capsule. We are no worse off and, to some degree, have a chance to redress the situation. What we need to consider now is whether to, a) inform the Council of the Light, or b) try to change the outcome.'

'We've screwed up once, sorry, twice,' said Samuel. 'I am all for coming clean.'

'I should go back and sort out that freak,' said Klade. Not a particularly helpful contribution.

'Now, now, Klade, let's keep this professional, if we can?' urged Dr Kladerman again.

'We send Jacob back. He will not interfere with the timeline as much as Klade as he belongs to that time and we don't,' suggested Samuel.

'Elaborate?' asked Dr Kladerman as a question.

'Look, if he goes back to 2018, the day after he was transported to 2218, he can relay the outcome of Stave's mission back to us − at least we will be more informed. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that Stave fails, in which case the timeline may not have been altered other than the fact that Stave dies. Jacob will act as our eyes and ears,' stated Samuel.

'And I was just getting used to 2218,' said Jacob.

'Still think I should go back and finish Stave off,' added Klade.

'You didn't even get past the military police at Area 51. My money's on Jacob,' said Maxius as Klade gave him the look of 'let's take this outside'.

'I tend to agree,' said Dr Kladerman. 'Jacob is our safest bet. The only obstacle is the Council of the Light. If we send back Jacob, then he must return safely with the time capsule. The bad news, Jacob, is that there will be no return to 2018 once the task is complete. We have to return the time capsules if we have a chance of contesting the rightful ownership of our planet, which means you will have to return with the time capsule.'

A bow of the head indicated that Jacob knew the enormity of that statement. He would never see his family again, his two young children and his wife. Did he really want to sacrifice his life in 2018 for a different future?

'I'm in,' confirmed Jacob. 'Now, will somebody please show me who my great-great-grandson is, what he's all about? He's the only family I've got in the godforsaken place you call New Manhattan.'

A hush around the room indicated that they knew his pain, the loved ones he would have to leave behind. Samuel glanced at Dr Kladerman and he nodded.

'Follow me, Jacob. Let's introduce you to your great-great-grandson, he's a hell of a man!'
CHAPTER 29

SISTERS TORN

Dane had returned again, triumphant. He rarely tasted defeat. The squalors were on board and he needed to return to Earth to hook up with Oosapeth. Elizan had other ideas. Anchorax returned with Dane. His taste for the high life was too much of a pull; he needed to be alongside Dane to return with him to planet Earth and sort out the logistics of transporting millions of squalors to see out the task ahead. In reality though, he had his eye on one of the waitresses at the previous function. After all, didn't he deserve a treat? Dane, on the other hand, regretted his close association with Elizan. It was too soon after the charred remains of Annaluce unceremoniously appeared in the square in Larquiston.

Elizan arranged the ball as dictated during her walk, on the wall, with her trusted second in command, Omalius. She sensed a change in the future of Zarduzian. Earth would be the perfect planet. She would select only a chosen few from the 37 capitals to join her on the mission to establish a footing on a new, rich planet. The trading, so professionally administered by her now deceased sister Annaluce, an obvious advantage to establishing herself as a formidable player; with Dane Vhastek in tow there would be no challenge from other family members to the existing portfolio and no challenge in the quest to claim a foothold on Earth.

The banquet pretty much went as planned as a carbon copy of the first, only a few days earlier. Dane, this time, was more cautious. His mind was elsewhere, fixed on the task ahead. Anchorax and his human companions all thoroughly enjoyed the festivities, as expected. Dane sat next to Elizan, also as expected, and the topic of conversation? Earth.

'We must prepare,' said Elizan, without being specific.

'Prepare?' quizzed Dane.

'Yes, Earth. We must prepare.'

'I've said before, it is too dangerous. Look what happened to your sister.' Dane's translation headset worked perfectly.

'I gifted you the squalors.'

'Not exactly gifted, more allowed me an opportunity to try to win them over − Zaagans who you have ostracised, I might add.'

'That may be, but without my permission there would be no opportunity. I have to protect my investment. This is an opportunity for the Zaagan elite. It is my duty to explore the opportunities. I can be your ally, side with the humans and offer much needed back-up.'

'I don't need any more back-up,' corrected Dane. 'I need to get the job done.'

'So, how exactly do you intend to move millions of squalors?'

'Haven't figured that out. That's why I need to get back. I need to speak with Oosapeth and see how this all fits into the war plan. Anchorax is the only ally I need at the moment.'

'The squalors could turn against you. You need to move them quickly or they may become unsettled. Isn't it easier if we help? We have the portals right here in the main square. We transport them using our craft, as needed. If I travel to Earth I can orchestrate the mass migration. Using our craft means you are not allocating valuable war ships in the mundane movement of foot soldiers,' explained Elizan.

Much to Dane's dismay, Elizan made sense.

'Tell me, I'm intrigued,' continued Elizan, 'why exactly did you think our outcasts, the squalors, would be of any use?'

'The death bait games,' replied Dane. Elizan had a look of total confusion on her pretty face. Her puckered lips and squinting of the eyes in bemusement caught Dane's attention.

'They kill death baiters with primitive but effective weapons. Death baiters swoop, just like Drayzaks. Squalors form in packs to bag a death baiter for they have no fear. Humans are too domestic and, with their main military arsenal out of action, courtesy of Qudor Volkan's electromagnetic waves, primitive is good,' said Dane.

'Do the humans know your plans?'

'They will do when I'm ready.'

'Think about it,' said Elizan, gently stroking Dane's inner thigh. 'With my father and sister both dead, I am the perfect ambassador to convince the humans that we are now truly an ally, that we are fighting alongside the coalition.'

Elizan was persuasive. Dane could not risk mutiny amongst the squalors. He contemplated and took a gulp of the wine on offer at the elegant table. Looking around he could see the influence the elite of Larquiston were having upon his squalor ally, Anchorax, the humans − Patrick and Demitri and his crew warriors. Perhaps he _did_ need Elizan by his side, if only to use her craft for transportation. He turned towards her with gold goblet to his lips, took another gulp and, with a heavy hand, put the goblet back on the table.

'We set off first thing,' said Dane.

_' We still have the night'_, thought Elizan.

********************************

Dane arrived at the ice caves around 10am Earth time. Oosapeth, who had returned from the space station and eagerly awaited the return of his ally, heard the rumble and asked James Eaton to check it. A long walk down the corridors − _expertly sculptured as an ice cream scoop might leave a perfect trail_ − leading down to the portal bay. The craft instantly recognisable, its occupant predictable.

Dane Vhastek.

The under section of the craft descended and there were six figures who emerged, led by Dane. James instantly recognised Dane; that was easy as he was by far the tallest. At his side walked a female who, whilst unrecognisable, seemed oddly familiar. Finally, his two friends Patrick and Demitri were just behind Dane and, at the rear, two Undarthians. Dane walked swiftly towards James, the female struggling to keep up. Dane was in no mood to waste time. James always admired him from that first moment in the killing chambers, the hair a sight to behold, his physique unrivalled; he was always a welcome sight.

Dane held out his right arm for the ceremonious clasp of the forearms, a sign of respect.

'Has Oosapeth returned?' asked Dane.

'Arrived back over 24 hours ago. There's been a development but I'll let Oosapeth explain. Where have you been?'

'Long story. Let me introduce you. This is Elizan, Annaluce's sister,' said Dane matter-of-factly.

James gave a confused look. Following him a short distance behind was Serenix. Lately, wherever James wandered in the ice caves, Serenix wasn't far behind. The new arrival would cause friction in James' opinion; aliens had the same jealous streak as human females.

The introduction was swift and Dane wasted no time navigating the corridor towards the war room, the rest following like sheep, including James. Serenix, almost caught in the wash of bodies, stepped aside, clasped James' hand and gave him a look.

'Who's the female?' she asked.

'Annaluce's sister by all accounts,' replied James through his translation helmet, although the past few days together in the ice caves had shown promise in teaching Serenix English as was his observation - _aliens catch on quicker_ − he was convinced that in the next few days he would have no further use of the translator.

Oosapeth greeted Dane in the same fashion as James, neither wanting to waste time on small talk. Oosapeth didn't even enquire of the female.

'You were longer than expected,' said Oosapeth.

'Long story, we need to talk,' replied Dane. 'James, could you see to our guest, make sure the troops are fed? We'll catch up in a while.'

'Sure thing,' agreed James. Serenix gave her father a look, a clear indication that she disapproved at the snub in the direction of Elizan. Looking directly to Dane, James' reaction was, 'Shouldn't you introduce our new guest?'

'Oosapeth, please meet Annaluce's sister, Elizan. There are others to follow in another craft. We need to talk privately,' said Dane, getting back on track to the business in hand.

The war hologram looked busy, Oosapeth's men were studying the logistics. This war was messy and Qudor was quickly gaining territory. Dane hadn't helped with his delayed return. James ensured that the warriors and guests were led away, leaving the two to talk privately.

Serenix linked with Elizan for a female was welcome in this male-dominated environment.

'Whilst you were away I secured a base,' said Oosapeth, 'a space station. It was a prison colony spacecraft. One slight problem, I could only secure it if we took on the prisoners. Can't be any worse than the squalors though. I assume, of course, that you have secured their services,' said Oosapeth.

'Done, but there are conditions. Elizan has offered to transport the army of squalors, I couldn't resist. Frees up our craft to attack from the skies,' admitted Dane. 'There haven't been any specific demands in return for this assistance, but we will deal with that later when the terms are laid out.'

Oosapeth gave a look, one that suggested he wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't acquired some baggage with this potential deal. 'Qudor's been busy whilst you've been away. He's taking territorial advantage and the Drayzaks are running riot. The humans' fire power is constantly thwarted by Qudor's electromagnetic pulse. We have been mere observers.'

'Our problem is the squalors,' said Dane. 'The numbers are huge; we can't transport them through the ice caves. I suggest we accept as much help as the Zaagans are prepared to offer. Use the natural portal in space and strategically drop the squalors in areas Qudor is having the most success. What about the criminals on the space station?'

'Similar to the squalors. The option of freedom is all they need. My worry is whether either the prison population or the squalors are up for the fight once we let them loose and whether they have the skills to reduce the Drayzak numbers.'

'To the squalors, this would be one huge death bait game. Their spokesperson, a Zaagan called Anchorax, can orchestrate our orders. He's following shortly with his newly appointed generals and Omalius, advisor to Elizan.'

'You're asking for trouble bringing Elizan to the ice caves. What happens if we manage to rescue Annaluce?'

'Won't happen, she's dead,' said Dane, who did not want to elaborate on the gory details. Oosapeth picked up on his desire to move swiftly on.

The ice cave rumbled. The second Zaagan contingent had arrived.

************************

Annaluce was safe for the moment but treading on thin ice. Qudor was volatile and could feed her to his trusted pets the minute she was no longer of use. Dane, at this moment, would think she was dead. Annaluce contemplated the poor female unlucky enough to be her size and build, beheaded then burnt alive or perhaps burnt alive and then beheaded, both options too scary to dwell on. With Qudor Volkan it could well be the latter. She needed to escape, she needed to draw attention and at the moment the plan was dormant.

She was summoned to speak with Qudor, _' an opportunity'_, she thought. One of his henchmen escorted her to the control room of the craft. She looked at the weasel and thought how insignificant he appeared compared with Dane. Somehow, he didn't look capable; a coward who utilised his monsters to carry out his punishment. Dane didn't need anyone or anything to do his dirty work for him.

'We seem to have lost contact with your lover,' said Qudor.

'I don't understand − contact?'

'We fitted the same device to Dane Vhastek as we had you. Did it whilst you were both strapped to rocks following the crash.'

Annaluce pondered. 'The same device you removed from the back of my neck whilst he watched,' said Annaluce in a fashion that suggested Dane had out-thought his enemy.

'A slip on my part. He's obviously removed it,' said Qudor.

'You know his weakness and yet you are refusing to use it.'

'Weakness?' asked Qudor. 'Enlighten me.'

'You are speaking to her.'

'I see, but you are dead, at least in his eyes. In any case at the moment, you only have a reprieve. Tell me, Annaluce, how exactly are you of any use?'

'Mind games − to catch him off guard. Think about it, emotionally he is drained. He is determined to kill you personally. Play with his mind; demonstrate that you have the upper hand. If you show him that I am still alive he will likely make the same mistake as he did with the crash. His judgement will be marred by emotion,' said Annaluce.

'Appease me, Annaluce, why are you informing me of this? Do you want to see your lover die an agonising death?'

'I have had time to think, Qudor. I have to look after my interests. I am needed in Larquiston. I am looking for a deal. Send me home and I will deliver Dane Vhastek.'

'Not convincing,' said Qudor.

'Then you have a war that will last for many Earth years. Dane is the influence, he is the bond that keeps together the joint forces, looking to defeat you, together.'

'You think I am that naive, Annaluce?' asked Qudor. 'Send you back home free whilst I await the delivery of your lover? Unlikely. I have a better idea.'

***************************

The second contingent had arrived; the ice caves had never been busier. Oosapeth gave a look of concern; the caves weren't sufficient to house an unlimited convoy. Elizan was captivated. Earth, the jewel in the crown of planets, offered a new home, a new hope.

Dane, the master planner, wasted no time inputting the new resources, an estimate of squalors and Trollozyte prisoners into the war hologram. The expansion of the Drayzak community had also been factored into the equation. The probability of the outcome was the only important factor. The incubation period for growth of a Drayzak was the worry − an estimated 12 weeks. Drayzaks were ruthless capturing donors at will − no human would be safe.

'Drayzaks will hide but their breeding grounds are forests,' explained Oosapeth, looking on as the war game computer estimated the Drayzak dominance over the coming weeks.

'The Drayzaks were dropped by containers,' said Dane. By now an audience had gathered and were marvelling at his skills as he played the hologram image with ease. 'Qudor would have each container crammed. The portal journey is instant; they would survive the journey from the portal in Earth's immediate outer space without fatigue. Several hundred per container, would you say?'

'Easily,' agreed Oosapeth.

'Each major capital city ring-fenced with containers, 30 or so containing 300−500 Drayzaks − 10,000-15,000 in total. They will multiply tenfold within 12 weeks, then tenfold again and so on. The squalors will need to get to work, but if we act fast it is a manageable number−'

'We need to agree the fee,' Elizan interrupted. A look of disapproval from Oosapeth.

'And what exactly might that fee entail?' asked Oosapeth, already wondering whether the need to enhance their territorial advancement on the ground was a good idea.

'This is exactly the planet that could see the elite re-housed from Zarduzian. I can see now why my father was so interested in Earth. Both my father and older sister, Annaluce, are dead, which leaves me in a precarious position. I am looking for assurances that once the battle is won that an alliance is formed and that we are assured asylum on Earth. I am only looking for assurances where the citizens within the great walls of Larquiston are concerned,' requested Elizan, a request that would hopefully include an alliance with Dane, not just in a military capacity but also of a personal nature.

A signal came through which needed de-scrambling.

'Is this one of your warriors?' asked Dane of Oosapeth.

'Impossible. They know the co-ordinates of this ice cave but I don't recognise this frequency. My warriors wouldn't send a scrambled message,' replied Dane.

'Could it be a human signal, a cry for help, perhaps?'

Dane barked some orders at his key technicians to try to decipher the signal. The advanced technology in the caves soon established that the signal was from an unknown source. That only meant one thing. Dane looked at Oosapeth in despair. 'Qudor Volkan!' he said with a raised voice.

The footage was grim. A being, human-like, quite pretty but not a being anyone recognised. Those in the ice caves watched; firstly in amusement that quickly turned to horrifying − a beheading with a laser beam. The setting was certainly on Earth, the executioner Qudor Volkan. The spacecraft in the backdrop, now recognisable to both Dane and Oosapeth, having been in battle, was the craft of the being who, without remorse or emotion, had murdered some young victim in cold blood. Qudor walked up to the headless torso and inexplicably set it alight. His smirk was sickening. His henchmen stood and watched, making no effort to prevent this mindless, savage act, almost as if relieved that they were not the victims themselves. Qudor wrote a message and pinned it to the burnt corpse. First, he held the message up so the recording of the event would clearly show the words 'Not so pretty now'.

Stunned silence in the cave. Most didn't quite understand the meaning of the delivery, of such grotesque footage sent through the airwaves or quite whom it was intended for.

Elizan looked at Dane. He did not return her gaze; his rage was too intense. With her eyes moist and emotions as twisted as a tightly wound elastic band, Elizan knew her older sister had not perished. Annaluce must still be alive, otherwise why send the message? She was carrying Dane's child and she knew that she was no contest for her older sibling.

This was not the time to announce that she too was possibly in the same state as her sister, as far as an offspring of Dane Vhastek was concerned.

The masterstroke by Dane's rival had messed with his mind. The war plans would have to be deferred. Dane's only objective now − to find Annaluce, and Oosapeth, was powerless to try to reason with his ally.

The game had changed and Elizan knew it.
CHAPTER 30

STAVE IN 2018

The portal amplifier was a sight to behold. Robert Stave marvelled at its magnificence. Far more impressive in real life than any of the historic memorabilia 2218 had to offer. With the amplifier effectively banned by the Council of the Light following a manoeuvre by Oosapeth that almost destroyed Earth during the great alien wars, all the Trollozytes' portal amplifiers had been confiscated. Robert knew the codes and he also knew that Qudor was desperate to utilise all at his disposal to win the battle for Earth − _the home planet of his ancestors._

The Drayzaks for the moment were secured at least and enough of a distance from Robert not to be a threat.

The amplifier stood proud on the ice, part of the pool of craft that Qudor had control over. In reality, he wasn't too sure what to do with all the human war craft. The amplifier stood out, its hieroglyphics signifying the far superior intelligence than the inventory of the human's primitive technology − the F16s or stealth bombers. The array of craft stood idle, the prisoners sectioned and an eerie silence encapsulated the arena where the craft lay, frozen, glistening on the ice, the sun low in the sky leaving a long blue ominous shadow.

The Olympianas' craft surrounded the captured idle warplanes, with the amplifier the centrepiece. Qudor had marched Robert to the jewel in the crown, accompanied by at least a dozen of his warriors and, of course, his trusted pets. Thankfully they were enough distance away not to seem an immediate threat to Robert's very existence.

Robert had rehearsed this part of his plan should he succeed in exiting the base at Area 51, that hopefully he would not perish with the journey, as did some of the brave humans who had been captured by the very being he was now trying to extinguish from his past in order to change the future.

Robert walked at a modest pace for there was no communication. Qudor's henchmen followed in military formation, their shadows long, Qudor at the helm, keen to extract the information from his captive, which he believed would end the conflict swiftly.

The craft was vast compared to the military hardware the humans had to offer. As they approached the door to the craft its underbelly opened − _clearly the Olympianas had figured out how to enter the craft_. Robert turned his head in acknowledgement, designed only to give his adversary the illusion that he was impressed. In reality, the vast technological advancements of 2218, following a 200-year war gathered from the many alien races occupying Earth, meant that Robert by far had the upper hand. He could handle any of the impressive selection of hardware on the ice, including Qudor's fleet.

Robert's mind raced. Complete with his translator, a primitive version of those available in 2218, he was ready to carry out the first part of his plan. He must have been sleep induced for some days − enough time for events to unfold and to ensure that his checkmate move might save his life; long enough at least for Qudor to believe that Robert could be useful and for Robert to dispense of the one being who destroyed Earth's future in 2218.

The entourage approached the magnificent ship. Robert entered first.

The base of the ship housed the mechanism that could stretch portals; stretch them enough to transport planets. This was some of the most advanced technology in the universe and this piece of kit belonged exclusively to the Trollozytes − Oosapeth the orchestrator.

The plutonium fused Z1845X was at the ready. Robert had acquired it for it was lodged in the survival kit at the breast of his space suit, suitably disguised in a package marked as 'Gauze' and hidden amongst the other items, as a fail-safe, a tablet version, albeit diminished in strength but available as a back-up. On the one hand, Robert was prepared to die for the cause. His life in 2218 was irrelevant. On the other hand, he might escape unscathed, though it would take some ingenious manoeuvring, particularly as Qudor was unpredictable.

'I lose patience very easily,' stated Qudor, expecting a swift resolve to the issue of the codes.

'This is tricky. It doesn't happen in a matter of seconds,' replied Robert.

'I lose my patience _very_ easily,' repeated Qudor, emphasising the point.

'Then you don't get the codes!'

Qudor was desperate. Anything that might give him an edge on Dane Vhastek, enough of an advantage to kill off the opposition quickly, was welcomed. Qudor was much shorter than Robert had expected, yet he walked proudly, confidently, his white hair distinguishing him from the other warriors, his air of menace reminding the enemy that he wasn't afraid − of course, his trusted pets always added to the tension.

Inside the portal amplifier the tension also rose. Robert had studied this craft. The history books had provided adequate information and, despite the craft being banned throughout the universe, Robert at this present moment had the upper hand on the enemy.

The base of the craft determined the functionality; a complicated, intricate piece of machinery resembling a cross between the magnificence of a fine watch enlarged a hundredfold with that of the most complicated computerised screens NASA could only imagine. Robert looked on in awe. Seeing the portal amplifier for him would be like travelling back to circa 1776 to see James Watt's first steam engine, whilst living in 2018.

The portal amplifier was the brainchild of the Trollozytes who discovered the phenomena accidentally. The discovery of natural portals strewn around the galaxy, our galaxy the Milky Way, saw the vast expansion of travel via intelligent life. Discovering natural portals led to the scientific study of the phenomena. The portal amplifier, as it became known, was originally designed to study natural portals by emitting electromagnetic waves that could be measured. Widening the field of waves could determine how much went through the portal, in effect, disappearing, and how much passed by the portal, thus enabling the portal's size to be measured accurately, thus slowly mapping out portals in the galaxy. Portal travel had become commonplace and, with that, complacency crept in. Oosapeth on a mission to plot more portals had inadvertently decided not to bother measuring the portal but to travel through and seek the destination at the other side. Most portals were large enough to allow safe passage of spacecraft. He hadn't yet encountered a portal too small for his craft, but on this occasion the portal was much smaller. The craft rumbled and shook violently, exerting tremendous pressure on the outside of the craft. A malfunction instigated the ship's electromagnetic pulse at its most powerful, the craft somehow remaining stationary at the centre of the portal. A whirlwind of colour surrounded the craft, an effect similar to a Catherine wheel on Bonfire Night. A strange sight was evident as the crew members observed their demise from the viewing gallery. The Catherine wheel grew in size. The portal expanded. Thus, the portal amplifier was born, developed and perfected to such a degree that the size of a portal could be as large as a planet or as small as a pinhole − this was considered the most powerful weapon in the universe.

'The codes,' insisted Qudor.

'First we need to reset the machinery.'

Qudor gave a look, a look that suggested he would not be taken for a fool.

'I don't know if this craft has been set properly. It has been captured by Daxzus, dropped off in the desert near Area 51 and, for all we know, an attempt may have been made, albeit unsuccessfully, to access the amplifier. The safest thing to do is to reset the craft,' explained Robert.

'And you know how to do that?' asked Qudor.

'I do,' replied Robert as he walked alone towards the machinery, disappearing amongst the cogs, a metre thick by three high, cylindrical, of different colours - blue, pink, yellow - each hollow, transferring data throughout this impossibly complicated machine.

The Z1845X was secured in an area out of view from those accompanying Robert in the craft. Robert returned.

The clear screen, a metre wide, lit up as Robert placed his palm over the centre.

'I will reveal the code out loud,' Robert said almost arrogantly. Qudor insisted his second in command record the numbers.

'Seven - three − seven − three.' Robert paused as if the code was challenging. In essence, this code was only intended to kick-start the craft, similar to cranking a car with a starting handle. He continued: 'Nine − five − one − six − seven − three - seven − three.'

The craft came to life with an array of gadgets emerging from the hull, the machinery started to move. Those watching turned around to marvel at the majestic complexity of a far superior technology by gazing at each other, shaking heads and raising arms. Qudor stood resolutely and nodded. The smirk did little to disguise the deviousness of his intentions.

'A demonstration,' requested Qudor.

'Do you realise the power of this device?' asked Robert. 'In 2218 this machine is outlawed because of its power − a threat to the very existence of civilised life.'

'I insist,' demanded Qudor. The codes were of no use unless he knew how to operate this magnificent beast.

'In the immediate future, Oosapeth will commission a space station called Colony 7. It will be instrumental in your downfall.' A somewhat exaggerated lie but Robert had the advantage that Qudor could not question him. 'He will use the portal near Earth. I believe you are familiar with that portal.'

'We also use that portal,' replied Qudos, somewhat bemused as to where this conversation might be going. The Drayzaks were at the ready the minute Qudos felt threatened.

'If we were to reduce the portal in size, Colony 7 will not be a threat.'

Qudor's eyes closed as he processed this information. He considered the proposition but clearly it was not sitting well with him.

'Tell me, Robert, why did you come back to 2018?'

Taken aback, Robert replied, 'I don't understand.'

'I am just trying to ascertain your motive. I mean, why help _me_? Why not Dane Vhastek?'

'I know the future,' replied Robert, stalling for time. It was a posing question and Robert needed to think carefully. 'The future doesn't turn out too well. The multi-alien co-existence in 2218 is intolerable. Vhastek's offspring are those who make our world unbearable following your demise.' Again, another outright lie but Robert was now thinking on his feet. His very existence depended on it.

'What makes you think that the world _would_ be tolerable if I win this alien war?'

Robert had no answer so Qudor continued:

'Wouldn't it be easier to rid your planet of all alien species? That's the plan, isn't it, Robert? We do not know the future so how can we be assured that you are telling the truth?'

'You have to believe me. I am the only one who knows _how_ you die, _when_ you die. If you truly want to change that event then I suggest you listen.'

The Z1845X would detonate in one hour but the events weren't going to plan.

'Where is the time machine?'

'Area 51,' replied Robert.

'Then we travel in this craft to Area 51 and recover your time machine.'

This was not going well. Robert immediately knew that Qudor could verify the future, in 2218, if he travelled forward in time. The game would be up; Qudor would see that he didn't perish. Moreover, the portal amplifier would explode in midair. A fatal blow to Robert's plan.

'You will take three of my best warriors, two of my trusted pets, recover the time machine and return.'

Robert began to wonder if this was all fate; that he could not change the events of the past other than merely rearranging the circumstances to deliver the same outcome in the future. The Z1845X was ticking; Robert had no option other than to agree. His own death was not an issue, merely the proviso that his mission succeeded.

'That is fine if you want to carry on wasting more time. Each moment poses a threat. Each missed opportunity an even greater threat. At the moment the only eyes who can see your future are those you see looking back at you right now.'

Qudor thought for a moment.

'You might have a point. So, this is what we do. You will turn off this craft but remain in it, tied and bound. We will discuss your plan and return in one hour, Earth time. I will leave a pet, also tied and bound, let's say, for company.'

Robert nodded but the fear on his face was evident. Unless he could find a way out of the craft he would be blown to kingdom come before Qudor returned. Suddenly he no longer wished to die. He questioned whether Qudor suspected that he had planted an explosive, hence the need to evacuate. Then again, that would be the end of the portal amplifier. Thoughts raced around his mind like cars on a Formula 1 racetrack.

Time travel and the changing of timelines were suddenly in question.

Perhaps he was powerless to change the future whatever action he took. His immediate future, however, was in doubt.
CHAPTER 31

HUMAN ALLIANCE

In 2218 the world was very different. In New Manhattan, occupied by the Olympianas, the humans were sparse, numbers diminishing each year as the aliens gained control. Strict curfews guaranteed territorial control and the dreaded Drayzaks ate humans for fun, should they stray outside the designated areas. Most humans were giving up the fight, accepting the incarceration within the city; life was almost worthless.

For those in power life was easier, the aliens afforded them luxuries and traded technology for the company of their women whom the aliens found fascinating. Those in government, as frivolous as the term now meant, tried hard to hold things together, to dream of a world devoid of these irritating aliens, yet as each day passed the prospect significantly reduced.

The head of the recently reformed government, representing the humans, was a man called Oscar Trebor, who despised the Olympianas but was duty-bound to offer up bounty to the aliens, in the form of young fertile women, ensuring as much of a peaceful alliance with the aliens as was possible. Whilst the technological exchanges were useful the aliens were always one step ahead. Whatever advantages our depleted military could gain from the alien super intelligence, it would never be a match for their vast superiority. The aliens, namely the Olympianas, were merely biding their time for the outcome of the decision of the Council of the Light and Oscar was in no doubt that if the decision did not go the aliens' way, all hell would let loose.

It was a pleasant surprise when word got to Oscar that a certain Zak Lancelot had called an emergency meeting. The chain of communication being such that it took at least six individuals to pass on the message that was very clear − ' _Meet at_ _my digs '_. It was the same each time the rebels made contact with the hierarchy, secrecy was key to keeping the alliance alive, an alliance that the aliens suspected but never proved. In essence they cared not, humans were no threat, only the other alien intelligence that, between them, controlled most of the current 44 regions of Earth sculptured during the 200-year Great Wars.

Oscar knew the routine: Await a suitable opportunity after dark and parade towards the manhole leading to Zak's hideout, knowing full well that the aliens would not pursue him beyond the restricted zone. Of course, the surveillance was such that the aliens could watch his every move. The normal tactics were to create a distraction, thus deviating the cameras and drone surveillance long enough to slip down the manhole. He had timed himself before and had perfected the manoeuvre to less than 5 seconds. This area was a human zone. The trick was simply to erect an area around the manhole to give much needed cover, a roadwork site, for example. The deviation, via a scuffle away from the site area, would allow Oscar to disappear beneath the road surface. This was all rather tedious but, to date, no alien had confronted Oscar regarding his potential alliance with the rebels. Tonight, thankfully, the plan had worked perfectly.

Descending towards the basement area was always a thrill for Oscar. This was an area out of bounds, a place where Oscar could be human and a place where there was hope.

Zak greeted Oscar like a long lost friend. They didn't always see eye to eye but the respect for each other was evident.

'Zak,' greeted Oscar.

'Oscar, you old devil, thanks for coming along.'

'All rather hurried,' admitted Oscar. 'Must be important?'

'Yeah, it is rather. We are going to rid the world of these bastard aliens, the bad aliens at least!'

'Now you are talking,' said Oscar, 'but we have been here before. What's the plan?'

'An alliance with some very pissed off aliens.'

'Sounds interesting. So, where do we come in?'

'Get the message out on the tom-toms. It involves most of the 44 zones. We need to get a message out to the governing bodies in the zones where humans have a presence. My alien contacts will do the same. We are tying up with the Undarthians as they're on our side.'

'What about the Council of the Light?'

'Fuck the Council of the Light. They're dragging their feet. They're more interested in the improper use of the damn time machines than helping us to take back our planet. They will most probably rule against us and award the Olympianas control in any case,' explained Zak.

'Might be, but we have no answer to the Council of the Light, Zak. They can shut us down as much as look at us.'

'Maybe so, but with two races taking a stance we might have more clout as far as our claim is concerned. It's not yet proven that the Olympianas are our ancestors, they are a race that were wiped out 3.3 million years ago. As far as I see it the Undarthians propagated our planet and are our direct ancestors. The fact that we are teaming up proves allied commitment. Let's worry about the Council of the Light once we have taken back control of our planet. _Our_ planet, Oscar. You in?'

'You need to ask?' replied Oscar.

A clasp of forearms proved the allegiance.

'Think I need a beer,' requested Oscar.

'You got it, we need a few. We have a lot of planning to do.'

*************************************

The plan in essence was simple. Use the hologram arenas to communicate. The emergence of these arenas around 2170, as a natural rebellion against alien dominance, forged hope. Both humans and aliens rebelled and slowly but surely, leading up to the emergence of the time machines in 2218, cemented common ground. Rebels existed both in the human contingency and that of their counterparts - the aliens. To make matters more complicated, due to the fact the aliens' form was that of human, sexual interaction between humans and aliens had existed for some time. Both humans and aliens tried to ignore the interracial tension, but it was profound. Rebels on both sides found an urge to unite, a driving force emerged for an alliance to try to overthrow those who wished to take control of Earth for the sole purpose of dominance.

In all the 44 regions, hologram arenas existed in some fashion, some more sophisticated than others, some concealed cleverly, some blatantly displaying a disdain for alien authority - even from their own kind. The aliens had technology that the humans could tap into, methods to scramble the alien intent, to thwart inter alien communication. In effect, the hologram arenas were wired with technology beyond human comprehension, with one difference - intent to form a coalition, a rebel consortium, to finish the alien domination and start a multi race intent on the same cultural desires.

The orchestrator - Zak Lancelot. The ally on the inside? Oscar Trebor.

Celestial Droggon, the Undarthian leading the alien rebellion, stood awaiting the arrival of Zak Lancelot. A brief intermission in the proceedings meant a scrabble for refreshments and the Celestial stood tall. He checked the time - Zak should be arriving soon. A menacing figure, almost a replica of the great Dane Vhastek, was losing patience − the beads in his long hair testimony to his ability to fight. The true warrior looked around impatiently.

Zak appeared through the crowd at the rear of the Hologram Arena in New Manhattan, moving swiftly with five of his henchmen. _You couldn 't be too careful in the arena_. He quickly glanced across and caught a glimpse of his new compatriot, Celestial Droggon.

The arena was in full flow. The cube in the centre displayed the next event merely minutes away. Zak, in full black rebel regalia, made his way down the steps towards Celestial. A few humans and aliens glanced over in Zak's direction and the mere entourage drew attention.

A clasp of forearms and Zak sat down to discuss business whilst his henchmen stood, hands locked over the crotch, signifying that nobody should approach and ask awkward questions.

'Well?' asked Celestial.

'The final piece is in place. We have the human hierarchy on our side.'

'The plan?'

'To move quickly. We organise the troops via the arena network, I advise my people and they are ready to put the weight of their technology and fire power behind our plan.'

'Okay, I will do the same. We adopt several strongholds in the 44 regions; we can use the squalors too. We need a co-ordinated attack, but we are not going to get a second chance. The enemy, the Olympianas, Zaagans and Trollozytes, need disabling at the first attempt. Otherwise, the battle might be too intense.'

'Agree,' replied Zak.

'What about the mutants?' − _A phrase used to describe the interracial beings_.

'They are in limbo anyway, least of our worries. Shouldn't be too difficult to convince though.'

'We need a gathering, a war plan,' said Zak.

'We will meet on Friday, that's 1st April 2218, your place.'

'Done. I'll gather our people; you gather all key personnel from your alien races. Let's put this plan together and end this nightmare,' instructed Zak.

The clasp of forearms again finished the meeting as abruptly as it had started. Zak and his henchmen disappeared out the back of the arena, the games had restarted and those participating were too preoccupied to notice. Celestial left a few minutes later, but the plan had been hatched.

The war would begin.
CHAPTER 32

DANE'S DILEMMA

Annaluce was all that Dane cared about and Oosapeth was worried. Elizan was now an unwanted distraction, but Dane's obsession with her sister could scupper the war plan. The ice cave was overcrowded, everyone was in disarray and someone needed to take control of proceedings.

The humans in the ice caves were irrelevant and yet it was Scott who decided to intervene.

'We have a battle to fight. The Drayzaks are running riot − I have seen it first hand, our governments are powerless to prevent the cruelty being inflicted by these monsters. In response, we seemingly have a ground position by securing the services of the Zaagan squalors and inmates from Xenon and we are squabbling over an alien,' he said, looking directly at Dane Vhastek.

Dane chose not to engage in eye contact, it was obvious by his expression that he would not be swayed − his intent was to find Annaluce. Oosapeth wanted to interrupt but the human was making sense, so he refrained.

'Scott's right,' said James, drawing disapproving looks from Serenix. 'The way I see it we need to act and quick. Distractions and changes of plan to save Annaluce is playing right into Qudor's hands that only demonstrates weakness.'

Dane stormed out of the war room, down the carefully chiselled corridor towards the portal chamber − alone. He did not need his warriors, this mission was personal and he was the only one who had an incentive. Dane entered his craft, fired up the colossal engines and within seconds was disappearing through the holographic ceiling on his way to save Annaluce.

The caves rumbled and all in the war room knew that Dane had left. Nobody spoke. The room, now a congregation of different species, all trying to form a common alliance to save Earth, gazed at each other forlornly, unable to fathom the actions of their key member. Oosapeth, effectively the joint in command, needed to establish a plan B − at least momentarily.

Dane had left Anchorax in a precarious position − in respect of how he addressed his race, the squalors, how he orchestrated the plan, a plan which was now devoid of the orchestrator − Dane Vhastek. Elizan felt betrayed and angry. Her plan for joint control of Earth to house the elite Zaggans was now in tatters. Oosapeth had Colony 7 to deal with; the human contingent was also at a loss.

Time for action.

'Anchorax,' said Oosapeth, 'you come with me. We are needed on Colony 7. I have a plan.'

Anchorax nodded, his translator headset transmitted the message, although the tone and assertiveness of Oosapeth's message was clearly noted. His actions portrayed that of a frustrated Trollozyte.

'Serenix, you stay here in case Dane has a change of heart and returns imminently. Scott, you take charge of the war machine until I return. Keep an eye on Qudor's movements and try to locate Dane.'

Scott nodded. James looked dejected, as Scott had been deemed the superior warrior.

'I should like to return to Zarduzian,' announced Elizan, also dejected. Oosapeth immediately signalled to one of his operatives that her wish should be honoured. He had no need for a love interest of Dane's who might blight their plans; she would be in the way so her demand was one of the more positive, welcomed suggestions.

Oosapeth pulled Marazeth to one side out of the way of the mayhem in the caves, whilst operatives put into practice Oosapeth's orders.

'Look, the game is changing. Dane is emotionally ruined, not a good state of mind to carry out the task ahead, assuming he doesn't get himself killed in the bargain. I've saved his life once; I will not do it a second time. I only agreed to act as partner in this alliance because he saved my daughter from the killing chambers. I've saved his life. Now we are even. I am taking the squalor leader to Colony 7. The prisoners are best suited to tie up with the army of squalors, to try to ease the growing Drayzak population. When we reach Colony 7, I will leave you in charge there as I am returning to Xenon. The rules have changed.'

Marazeth looked over his shoulder secretly, just to ensure the others hadn't intercepted the discussion. He nodded; the instructions were loud and clear.

Operatives meandered around the ice cave like ants, all on the same path, all carrying out orders with precision. Some were headed to the portal area preparing craft for both Elizan and Oosapeth, while others were assisting Scott, James and the other humans in accessing the war hologram, sorting access rights to this complex super programme. Dane was suddenly almost an afterthought.

******************************

Dane rose high into the atmosphere, the ice cave an irrelevance. He could not understand his actions. He asked himself, ' _Why am I acting so irrationally? '_ The answer was easy; he had found his soul mate in Annaluce. She was carrying his baby. The finest warriors are those who are not weak, those who do not succumb to emotion; Dane had committed the cardinal sin.

This was irrational. He was walking out on his comrades, taking the bait that Qudor had thrown at him, pursuing Annaluce when he had no clue where Qudor was hiding her, yet he was powerless to overcome his anger, his despair.

Dane decided to contact Oosapeth's base.

The message came through on the war hologram. In essence, Scott already had a handle on Dane's position, as well as the three unknown craft heading in his direction, about 10,000 feet higher, ready to swoop.

The message read:

_' Any sign of enemy craft at your end?'_

' _Sending data. Three craft unidentified and approaching, '_ was the reply _._

_' Got it. Qudor, I expect.'_

_' Would appear so,'_ replied Scott. As he typed the message, the war machine translated, sending it immediately back to Dane's craft.

'He's going to need help,' said James. As he spoke, several Undarthians were already heading towards the bay, firing up the war craft. Irrespective of the mental state of their leader's mind, this was a threat, one that needed to be addressed. Oosapeth had left as had Elizan and Anchorax had joined Oosapeth with Marazeth. The humans and the Undarthians were now completely engrossed in the danger Dane Vhastek faced. A level head was needed to ensure that Dane Vhastek was not a casualty, worse still, the possibility of the first major loss in the battle for Earth, one that would give Qudor Volkan a major psychological advantage.

Scott and James eagerly eyed the war hologram. Three craft headed out of the caves, three Undarthian craft with Undarthian warriors on board of the highest calibre, ready to die for the cause. They rose rapidly towards the path of the unknown craft, ready to intercept.

'Look to the rear,' said James. 'Three more unknown craft.'

'They must have been expecting a response, so we need three more to attack the rear!' instructed Scott. 'He's in danger and Oosapeth has vacated the caves. Dane should rise and use his superior speed.'

'What about the first set of three craft?' asked James.

'Dane rises above them and they split. The three unknown craft are no match for the Undarthian superiority. The war machine suggests our guys rise, split in different directions, use their speed to lose the six unknown craft and destabilise them with an electromagnetic blast,' explained Scott.

'I'll send the visual through to Dane,' said James.

'Heading back to base,' was the message from Dane. The craft were no match for Dane's speed except that now the ice cave would become known. His impulsiveness had put the whole operation in jeopardy.

*****************************

Colony 7 was magnificent, a space centre unlike anything humans could build. It was a huge construction, housing thousands of inmates in well-concealed safe cells, electronically separated with force fields. Oosapeth had laid down the terms - fight for your survival on Earth, earn freedom and a new start on a bright new world. Of course, in reality, Oosapeth knew nothing of the practicalities of such an operation, having little or no experience of dealing with such a vast number of citizens. Anchorax, on the other hand, knew exactly how to orchestrate such vast numbers; certainly the Trollozytes couldn't be any worse to handle than his fellow squalors.

Oosapeth, Marazeth and Anchorax arrived, docking into the station with ease. Having a platform way above Earth certainly had its advantages strategically. Anchorax was in awe. Only days earlier he had been fighting for survival, reduced to cannibalism for his daily meal, living off dead death baiters and wild animals. His alien race, although Zaagan, were Zaagan in name only, a completely different species to the elite of the planet Zarduzian, who lived within the city walls. This opportunity, however, turned the tables. He was well equipped for the job in hand, to rid Earth of the Drayzaks - it would be child's play.

On board the space centre − _neutralised to a gravity force within the craft that would simulate that of Earth_ − the three unlikely comrades sat in the central hub, fully equipped with technology like nothing Anchorax had witnessed. Complete with headsets they sat around a transparent table that appeared to hover all of its own accord. Talks began:

'Dane is impulsive, as you can see,' said Oosapeth. 'We got involved because Dane saved my daughter from the death chambers on your planet.'

'Why did Dane save your daughter? How did that happen?' asked Anchorax.

'It's a long story; it's not important right now. I'll explain when we have more time, but the game has changed. I can't support this cause of Dane's, which has now become a game to find Annaluce. Qudor will play on that weakness and we are losing time.'

'I can see that, but Dane Vhastek is the reason I am here.'

'I understand, however, the undertaking to defeat Qudor Volkan is not going to be easy. He has portal access and I would expect that he could call upon vast resources back home in Olympiana. This will be a long, drawn-out battle. He has superior territorial advantage at ground level and the Drayzaks are multiplying at a frightening rate. What exactly has Dane offered you personally for securing the back-up of squalors on the ground?'

'Freedom,' replied Anchorax.

'Exactly what we are offering the doomed on Colony 7. They have no hope other than an existence of nothing but eating to stay alive, cooked up in an isolated cell from which they cannot escape, surrounded by a force field that would burn them alive should they try to escape,' said Marazeth.

'We need an alliance,' said Oosapeth, 'one where we join forces. One which rewards you with far more than just your freedom.'

'What about Dane?'

'He's got two females to worry about now and it has put this operation in jeopardy. He is supposed to be caretaker for the species on this planet but has lost the plot. Whoever defeats this Qudor Volkan wins the prize − Earth. The humans are no match for our intelligence and their planet has resources. Resources we can trade.'

'So, what are you proposing?' asked Anchorax, now warming to his new-found power. Having lived a squalor's life, sentiment was not his number one priority.

'Dane is the problem. His vision is to suffer this war on a whim − allow the humans to continue to enjoy the freedoms and resources their planet offers, for nothing in return. With the Drayzaks wiped out and Qudor Volkan beaten, what exactly do _we_ get in return for our trouble? Very little at the moment. The humans will still be the dominant force. The way I see it, they don't deserve that luxury. They are of a low intelligence level and seem more concerned about annihilating their own species, the exact reason why the Council of the Light came into being, to prevent species wiping themselves out and to encourage the propagation of other planets. It seems evident that the human species need saving from themselves. That's where we come in.'

Anchorax was both concerned and excited about this opportunity, in equal measure. On the one hand, Dane had given him hope; on the other an opportunity like this would never repeat itself. His mind ran ahead of itself. He envisioned living like a king for the power was intoxicating.

'How many bodies do you have on this craft?' asked Anchorax.

'In excess of 10,000. I can get more if needed.'

'I can get access to hundreds of thousands. Transporting that many, however, would be the challenge.'

'Not with a portal amplifier. This whole Space Centre could be moved back and forth to the outer regions of space around Zarduzian. We have enough spacecraft on board to pick up squalors, confine them and then deliver to Earth. We could have this war game well underway in no time.'

'How do I know you won't do the same to me, as Dane?'

'I'm only interested in the resources. We trade throughout the galaxy and Earth has a lot to offer. I have no interest inhabiting the planet. As long as I am allowed to mine resources, I will help dominate vast regions of Earth for you,' replied Oosapeth.

'Dane will surely find out. How do you propose we deal with that dilemma?'

'We don't have to deal with that straight away. Dane will not suspect anything. He will think we are carrying out his plan, to gain territorial advantage on the ground. We let him continue to think that is the case.'

'And when do we let him know the plan has changed?' asked Anchorax.

'Just before you kill him.'

This was the only part of the plan, so far, that Anchorax didn't like, but he didn't show it. He calculated the options. At this moment it seemed that he should either agree or, if he didn't, to watch his own back.

'Introduce me to the prisoners,' instructed Anchorax.

*******************************

Elizan and Omalius arrived back in Zarduzian, somewhat dishevelled. With Annaluce still alive and Dane's very existence seemingly dependent on finding her, Elizan knew she was no longer of interest. Pregnant with Dane's child, Elizan at least had some leverage to bargain a position whereby a mass migration, albeit restricted, could still be on the cards. She needed distance from the pressure cooker within the ice caves to re-evaluate.

The craft, supplied in the ice caves, arrived as scheduled via portal near the main square in Larquiston. The munika immediately recognised the important passenger − with the form of an impressive circle around the craft, with backs to the craft and steadfastly staring straight ahead, the group resembled a well-organised Roman battalion. Elizan signalled that she wished to be escorted to her quarters, Omalius following, only a few steps behind.

Inside the great hall Elizan said little. Omalius, recognising her fragility with evidence of a few tears, confirmed his suspicions - she was heartbroken. Omalius signalled to the munika escorting them that they should leave. Elizan headed to her private quarters.

'I will call for you when I need you,' said Elizan.

'Understood,' replied Omalius. 'Would you like any food or refreshments, perhaps?'

'Drink,' was the stern reply.

'Understood,' said Omalius and with a sharp clap of his hands, servants appeared in the hallway of the great hall. Her request was arranged. Omalius knew precisely the concoction of drink required.

Elizan lay on her bed, the sheets of a silk nature, white and gold − _a grotesque reflection of the stubborn regard for opulence within the city._ Elizan never showed emotion, not openly in public, but in the privacy of her own room she wept. Everything had been so perfect, she had found her suitor in Dane Vhastek, her elder sister had perished at the hands of the evil Qudor Volkan, she was pregnant and on the verge of a deal to secure a safe migration to a new world, Earth. The news that her sister was alive changed everything.

Elizan decided to shower and clean as if to rid herself of the events of the past few weeks. She stepped out of her discarded garments. Totally naked she headed towards the shower. A verbal command and voice recognition assured that the shower area erupted with water, flowing from every angle in a cascade of controlled bursts. She caught a glimpse of her body in the array of mirrors surrounding the room. Her multiple reflections ensured that no area of her finely sculptured figure was overlooked. She paused and thought for a moment. Within a very short period of time her almost perfect figure would change, the new life inside her would make sure of that. Again, the tears flowed. Heartbroken and pregnant was not a good combination.

Elizan emerged from the shower area refreshed. She had been in there for the equivalent of two Earth hours contemplating, deliberating, toying with the events which had led to the bombshell that her sister Annaluce was still alive. The world of Zarduzian was predictable. The squalors remained behind the city walls, incarcerated, whilst the privileged Zaagans enjoyed the fruits of the land, an existence of freedoms beyond the comprehension of the oppressed and yet they were imprisoned themselves. Elizan thought through the situation. She had enough of her father's traits − Daxzus - to revaluate, to change the rules. She walked across the room. The abundance of grandeur was a testimony to her high privilege; she remained naked - _Zaagans were not shy of their bodies._ She called for Omalius. The high technology inbuilt into the fabric of the Zaagans' infrastructure allowed communication to anyone instantly within the great walls of Larquiston − the complex and sophisticated thought communication system, being like nothing ever witnessed on Earth. Within the time it took Elizan to dress, Omalius was outside the door awaiting her command to enter.

The door opened upon her command and Omalius entered, dressed in his usual gold robes.

'Omalius,' said Elizan, 'we have work to do.'

'It's good to have you back,' replied Omalius with a hint of a smirk.

'The mighty Dane Vhastek has crossed the wrong sibling. He can chase my sister, probably lose his life in the bargain, but he will not use me as a pawn.'

'What do you have in mind?'

'We block his supply of squalors.'

'Interesting,' said Omalius.

'Anchorax is a squalor. If he returns to Larquiston hoping to transport an army of fellow squalors to aid Dane Vhastek, then he is mistaken. As of this moment he is the enemy. Inform the munika to arrest him the minute he arrives through the portal,' said Elizan.

'A wise move, Elizan, but you must protect the citizens of Larquiston against a squalor rebellion. Anchorax is their hero, their passport to a better life on Earth. May I suggest an alternative?' asked Omalius.

Elizan gave a quizzical look. Omalius was her most trusted advisor. 'Alternative?'

'Well, if you arrest Anchorax, the way I see things, we run the risk of not only antagonising the squalors but the others in the coalition to fight the evil Qudor Volkan.'

'I'm listening.'

'Why don't we secure new terms with Anchorax? He has witnessed the volatility of his comrade, Dane. At this moment he will surely be wondering just how secure he is and he will be vulnerable. In my opinion, he might be susceptible to the suggestion of an alternative plan.'

'I'm liking this new idea, Omalius. Tell me more.'

'I noticed how relaxed Anchorax was when we entertained Dane and the humans, before the return to Earth. Indeed, I do believe he had his eye on a few of the eligible single females. I think one in particular took a liking to Anchorax.'

'Omalius, I like your thinking. This is more my domain than a war. So, what you are suggesting, if I understand this correctly, is that we entice Anchorax over to our side. Let us say, for example, we offer him this particular female as bait, let him settle in comfortably and propose a new alliance.'

'Alliance is a good definition. We need to award him the freedom of Larquiston. He is a Zaagan when all is said and done, he could have the best of two worlds.'

'That could be part one of the plan, Omalius, but I have a twist, a part two,' added Elizan.

'Being?' asked Omalius.

'Being that we ally with one of our conquered worlds. My father was prolific in acquisitions. We need an army, foot soldiers, millions of foot soldiers. We hit Earth when they are least expecting an ambush; that way, the squalors, led by Anchorax, will merge. We may need to sabotage the portal amplifier to move the masses quickly in one trip. Anchorax would be the perfect insider. He is close to Dane and Oosapeth. He needs more than the freedom of Larquiston. Omalius, he needs power on Zarduzian, power of which no Zaagan could refuse.'

'I will check the portal for incoming. The next craft from Earth must be Anchorax returning for the first cargo of squalors. I will inform the munika to escort him to your quarters,' said Omalius. 'I'll also check our archives for a suitable battle-hardy alien race from the many planets within our arsenal.'

Elizan now wore the hint of a simper for she trusted Omalius would deliver. Earth was still very much on the table.
CHAPTER 33

THE UNCHANGED TIMELINE

Samuel Parker had a hunch. Something at the back of his mind was troubling him but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. What was it about the history on the Olympianas that he recollected? It was a subliminal message in the back of his mind - whatever it was, he needed to research the history of these forgotten Earth dwellers before the next inevitable visit from the Council of the Light, who would, no doubt, be seeking answers.

In 2218 the technology was exceptional, data was accessed by verbal command. Samuel knew that the records hacked from the database of the occupying aliens of New Manhattan, was extensive.

On this particular evening, instead of calling for his robot chauffeur-driven vehicle and heading home, Samuel decided to do some research. He wasn't sure exactly what it was he was looking for but whatever it was he was driven to find out the truth. Senator Adams had asked Samuel to transport him back in time to the advent of the population explosion 3.3 million Earth years ago, when the founders of the then civilisation first appeared on planet Earth. Senator Lace Adams was hellbent on changing the outcome of the birth of the civilisation who fled Earth, in the wake of an asteroid explosion on Earth, one which would annihilate most of the living creatures on the then planet.

Samuel, in the confusion of this hunch, had only been concerned about sourcing the details of the advent of the birth of the civilisation of the Olympianas. According to historical records, there appeared an almost religious doctrine that the Olympianas held dear. Trawling through the records with Senator Adams before his time travel, back to a time 3.3 million years ago when Earth was devoid of intelligent life, he remembered stumbling across some spurious names, equivalent to the Adam and Eve story celebrated by Christians in 2018. Of course, in 2218 religion was almost wiped out, except for the very few, who frankly, were considered mentally deranged. With the advent of aliens, religion almost disappeared overnight following the incident on 15th February 2018.

The night was young, the sun was setting in the Manhattan sky and Samuel was one of a handful of personnel still left in the Time Capsule Centre. The small room adjoining the concealed area, which carried out the time travel, seemed suitable for this task. Although the room, inevitably instigated flashbacks to the murder of two of his colleagues following the sabotage of the time capsule by Robert Stave, he was becoming accustomed to extraordinary times, so didn't dwell on the harrowing memories.

Sifting through the archive footage was tiresome. The Volkans' ancestors when they occupied Earth, was eerily familiar. The first Olympianas emanating from Earth were extremely advanced − hieroglyphics was clearly the predominant means of communication, an accepted standardised method of communication amongst the very highest intelligence in the universe. This in isolation was baffling. What was more confusing was the advent of the English language as the adopted means of verbal communication. Whilst it had been broadly accepted amongst humans in 2218 that the English language was the most likely derived tongue amongst highly intelligent life, it still puzzled Samuel that it was the case with the Adam and Eve of the Olympiana race, here on Earth − the language being adopted at the earliest sprouting of this new civilisation.

A knock at the door and the figure behind the opaque glass was instantly recognisable − Dr Olask Laderman. Samuel spoke and the door opened as instructed.

'Samuel, shouldn't you be heading home?' asked Dr Laderman.

'Just doing some research, Olask,' replied Samuel.

'Surely it can wait?'

'No, not really. Something's bothering me.'

'What? I mean what can be that important that it can't wait?'

'It's the history of the Olympianas, Olask. There's just something not right.'

'Is it anything I can help with? Though my vehicle will already be round the front waiting,' said Dr Laderman. _Although humans still referred to transport machines as 'vehicles', they were not representative of vehicles in 2018 as they were without wheels, operated by robots and looked demonstrably futuristic._

'Possibly. What do you know about the hacked data we have on the Olympianas when they originally occupied Earth 3.3 million years ago?' asked Samuel.

'In what respect?'

'Well, the first originators. I mean, there is almost a folkloric tale about the origin of these Earth dwellers at that time. It is very reminiscent of our own Adam and Eve story, albeit now just a historical document, rather than a religious one − there are eerie similarities.'

'Yes, I do recollect. There were a couple of beings that the Olympianas referred to as the originators, strange names by my recollection. Couldn't reel them off but they were, well, let's say, very alien. I mean, most of these aliens have rather strange names anyway, most with an x or a z, all very unearthly like.'

The hologram Samuel created from the control centre in the adjoining room, flashed hundreds of images, pages and pages of hieroglyphics, doctrine of a sacred nature, amounting to a belief system, of their origin. Samuel spoke, to which the hologram would respond.

'Locate the first two descendants of the ancient civilisation which culminated in the emergence of intelligent life on Earth, 3.3 million years ago. The civilisation was wiped out as a result of an asteroid collision with Earth. These first dwellers would be in the region of Mexico City as it was known in 2018 and, I believe, the Ancestral City of the Olympianas' origin 3.3 million years, into Earth's past,' instructed Samuel.

The hologram went berserk and into overdrive, producing hundreds of images, thousands of characters of text, in a bid to locate the prime information Samuel sought.

The hologram answered in verbal communication, at the same time producing images and drawings of what the Olympianas deemed as their origin.

Two names appeared:

Verzula Trello − it claimed they emanated from a planet called Noona, deep in the outer layers of our own Milky Way. The second − Dacas Lema.

'It's strange,' began Samuel, 'as the doctrine gives the precise origin of Verzula, the equivalent to Eve, in this scenario, but no reference to Dacas.'

'Obviously from precisely the same planet as I read it,' said Dr Laderman.

'Not so sure. What's troubling me is the assumption that the English language is prevalent throughout the universe. I mean, we are overrun with alien species and none of them speak English, that's why we have to wear these abominable headsets. Why English?' asked Samuel.

'I must admit, that's baffling but not impossible,' replied Dr Kladerman. 'The rule of probability must apply.'

'So, we know that Verzula emanated from the planet Noona. Search 'Noona',' insisted Samuel.

Another flurry of activity and the constellation was revealed. The images homed in on a solar system, not dissimilar to our own, then the planet.

'Search 'history',' exclaimed Samuel.

The history revealed a torrid chain of events. Intergalactic warfare. The inhabitants of Noona, whilst intelligent, were a peaceful species. The brief history revealed a takeover from a dominant warfaring species known as the Sudonarks, an advanced species who captured the inhabitants of Noona. The world, which was originally abundant with life, became entrapped. The landscape revealed prisons, huge masses of cylinders housing the inhabitants and cubic water blocks entrapping the creatures of the seas. This was a food stock. Inevitably, the Sudonarks devoured all living creatures before moving on to other planets. This was the locust of the galaxy. One small, quirky trait revealed that this species took trophies with them from each planet. This was a stockpiling of galactic creatures that they could replicate, with whom they could breed for their own purposes − more food. The vilest of species to roam the heavens.

'Nice,' said Dr Laderman sarcastically.

'Makes the Olympianas look like angels,' admitted Samuel.

'Verzula was a captive of the Sudonarks, so they must have arrived here on Earth,' deduced Dr Laderman.

'That's puzzling. I mean, how the hell did Verzula and this guy Dacas overcome these sons of bitches?' asked Samuel, aghast. 'Research the folklore relating to the emergence of Verzula and Dacas.'

The hologram raced. The images were abundant showing conflicts, wars, water cubes and prison cylinders leading to the creation of a civilisation here on Earth, the ancestors of the Olympianas. The image was a mushroom cloud with Verzula and Dacas in a bubble, a time bubble.

'That's a time bubble. How the hell did the originators of a civilisation on Earth 3.3 million years ago obtain a time machine? It looks as though this Adam and Eve somehow changed the timeline and disposed of what must have been the Sudonarks. Hell, we've enough trouble with time machines in 2218. This is really fucked up!' said Dr Kladerman.

'It's not fucked up, as you say, it makes perfect sense, actually. Think about it. Verzula and Dacas had a time machine. We have established that Verzula was a prisoner, part of a food bank, imprisoned in a cylinder of which there is no escape. It must be Dacas who has access to a time machine. I mean, either he is a Sudonark or another alien. The question is, if the Sudonarks had time machines they would surely have created an easier method of devouring species than travelling across the galaxy. They would use the time machine to change events to their favour. It would be easy. Travel back in time on any given planet to a time before the inhabitants were intelligent and they would be easy pickings. There would be no need for war. It doesn't make sense,' said Samuel.

'It makes perfect sense, Samuel,' said Dr Laderman.

'Enlighten me,' asked Samuel.

'Because the time traveller is not a Sudonark, he is a human. Dacas Lema is an anagram for Lace Adams!'

They both looked at each other in a jaw dropping moment, the realisation that 2218 was destined and that Senator Lace Adams needed to use the time machine for the current reality in 2218 to exist. Senator Adams had not changed the timeline, he had created it.

'So, Adams and Verzula hook up, he decides to stay, they obviously have offspring and their offspring are the ancestors of the Olympianas who are claiming their alleged rightful inheritance of our planet,' said Samuel. 'I knew there was something. In the back of my mind I must have subliminally recognised the anagram Dacas Lema as Lace Adams. We need to let the Council of the Light know our findings immediately.'

'Not so fast,' said Dr Laderman. 'Perhaps the Council of the Light already know this truth. Perhaps that's why they have been so lenient. Perhaps they gave us the three time machines to save our own timeline, not so that we could screw up the present but to protect it. The question is, Samuel, is _this_ all in their plan? Was it destined that Robert Stave would travel back in time?'

'Do we tell the others?' asked Samuel. 'That it was our decision on how to deal with this revelation, assume it was instrumental in saving the present, then do nothing? Are we destined to do whatever we are supposed to do, or could we wipe out our very existence by choosing the wrong option?'

'Let's go home to sleep on this and meet in the morning at 8 o'clock,' said Dr Laderman.

With that, both men made their way towards the vehicles at the front. In minutes they were gone.
CHAPTER 34

THE REBELLION IS UNDERWAY

The Earth in 2218 could be best described as a zonal battlefield. Forty-four regions sculptured by a 200-year war for supremacy. Aliens intermingled with other aliens; humans intermingled with all aliens across the globe in a triangle of uncertainty. Each region had a dominant force, usually an alien race − yet other aliens and humans caught up in that region were allowed to co-mingle but had to adopt the laws of the presiding ruler of that zonal area. In effect, their lives were diminished, their privileges reduced and, as for the humans, they got the raw end of the deal in the main. Drayzaks occupied many of the regions; the Olympianas were not sympathetic to the indigenous race, so injustices occurred frequently. It was inevitable that rebellious groups formed, just as it was also inevitable that both alien and human rebellions would join forces. So it was; the Hologram Arenas that sprouted up across these 44 regions created the perfect environment for collusion to flourish. July 4th, still the American Independence Day even in 2218, was the perfect anniversary to begin the assault on the domination of the elite of these alien races; to take back the Earth that rightfully belonged to the humans.

The secret to the blueprint for success lay with the plan to dominate the ground, not space. Colony 7 kept a vigil on behalf of the Trollozytes; the squalors were mainly tied to the Undarthians; the Olympianas trusted nobody but ruled through tyranny and fear with effective policing using Drayzaks; the Zaagans had formed an alliance with another race called the Otterbans who hailed from the outer edges of our galaxy, the Milky Way: the stage was set for one almighty global conflict.

Zak Lancelot headed the assault on behalf of the humans. He co-ordinated the best and most rebellious humans from across the globe, whilst forming important alliances with the most likely ally, the Undarthians.

Interbreeding amongst aliens and humans, as well as aliens and aliens, had made the world a far more complicated co-existence. The Olympianas killed any female who was reported to be pregnant through interbreeding. In reality, this was an excuse to diminish the co-existence of other races for they would kill on sight without trial; even to suspect a pregnant female through interbreeding would be punishable by death. The population diminished rapidly as females of the occupied variety no longer wished to become pregnant for fear of a brutal death, courtesy of the Drayzaks.

Those areas dominated by the Olympianas were the first targets. As they were the predominant race across the globe this was no easy feat. The Volkan clan dominated 25 regions primarily across America, Europe, China and Australia, as they were known in 2018.

On July 1st 2218, a gathering of rebels, across all races, was held in the underground base in New Manhattan, courtesy of Zak Lancelot. Special measures over the previous days had been put in place to gather together the key leaders in the coalition of rebellion forces, to discuss the blueprint.

The time, 10pm local in New Manhattan, the streets almost deserted, Drayzaks keeping the local population at bay as well as organised drone patrols seeking out unauthorised personnel, either up to no good or straying from the designated zones within the city. Forty-three key leaders of all races including humans, descended upon New Manhattan, heading for a monumental meeting with Zak, as well as a few key players within the government representing the humans - albeit a government in name, rather than a force to be reckoned.

Inter travel amongst the 44 zones wasn't easy. Drones that could destroy unauthorised ships entering or leaving the zone heavily patrolled each zone. However, cargo ships freely moved between zones, carrying food and livestock, each ship meticulously checked for authenticity by the drones. Zak Lancelot had mastered a technique to disguise almost any craft as a cargo ship.

Drones sought to identify craft by the raised lettering on the hull, the sequence of hieroglyphics, numbers and unique alien lettering, almost impossible to replicate. Zak had discovered that the code could be erased using simple laser technology, then replicated. Zak found a way to recreate the code erased on to another craft; the ability to masquerade war craft as cargo ships meant military craft could now move freely amongst the 44 zones, for a limited time at least, until the cargo carrying goods, failed to arrive at its destination.

One of the many benefits of hologram arenas across all regions, was the emergence of new ideas, generally ways of beating the restrictions imposed on zones − _whether that be goods that a region needed which might not be permitted, or_ _arsenal needed to stock up rebellion forces for the ongoing battle_ _with the occupying force_.

This covert operation required rebels on the inside who could furnish Zak with details of cargo ships both leaving and entering zonal areas at a particular time. A network of rebels exchanged the coding of an authorised cargo craft in order to replicate the coding onto their war craft.

Zak had his connections and, for the last five days, prior to the meeting at his headquarters, each of the 43 delegates were advised of the unique codes to mask onto their war craft to ensure they arrived safely on the said date of the gathering in New Manhattan. Drones would not detect the entrance into the city of these rebels.

At precisely 10pm on July 1st, the unique gathering of lead rebels sat, awaiting the deliberation from one, Zak Lancelot, on the advent of the mass assault, to rid the planet of the occupying forces.

Zak began his deliberation:

'We have a war to fight. A war we must win. A war which must end the segregation, imposed on us, by the oppressors. This will be a strategically planned operation. It is going to be challenging. We will lose battles along the way, but we will prevail. We will win. Harmony amongst the races on Earth who want peace, races who expect freedoms, races that can form an alliance for the betterment of individuals are all paramount to the success of this coup. We have three days before we strike, that day will be 4th July, our Independence Day, but now the birth of a new Independence Day − one which changes the way we live on planet Earth, changes the very fabric of civilisation. Are you ready? Are you prepared to die for the cause?'

Everyone understood. Those who could speak English understood. Those who wore translator headsets understood. For a few brief moments the crowd of 43 rebel leaders were silent before the eruption began. War cries lifted the roof. Zak had found his calling.

Amongst the delegates were two trusted allies, Celestial Droggon - the Undarthian rebel − _instrumental in gathering the many Undarthian rebels across the globe_ − and Oscar Trebor - _the political representative of the humans in the area known as_ _New Manhattan_.

The rebels were roused by the war cry, expertly delivered by Zak; however, Oscar wanted firm details of the master plan to overturn the alien control of the vast majority of the 44 regions.

'How do we co-ordinate the plan, Zak?' asked Oscar. 'There are 44 regions, individually controlled where drones detect alien craft immediately. Look, I understand that you can alter the odd individual cargo craft to meander in and out of zones, but we are going to need thousands of alien craft to co-ordinate an assault, never mind the war on the ground. Drayzaks are quite formidable. How do you intend to liaise with the other 43 leaders once battle commences?'

A muffled interaction began amongst those who now formed a global coalition, as they eagerly awaited Zak's response.

'I apologise, Oscar. I don't think I have quite kept you up to press. This war effort has been in the planning for some time. Most of those you see here today have in fact been considering a rebellion for years. We are merely co-ordinating an all-out attack to occur simultaneously. The Hologram Arenas, of which there are many in each region, is where the uprising began. Each of these delegates has similar underground operations to ours and plans have been in place for some time. We simply orchestrate an uprising.'

'How do you intend to deal with the inter regional communications field? How do we co-ordinate the attack?'

'We suspend the electromagnetic forces,' replied Celestial.

'You got that kind of technology? I mean, no one to date has successfully broken through the force fields. We are going to need an indefinite impregnation of the force fields − that's force fields in all 44 zones.'

'Been working on that, Oscar,' confirmed Zak. 'We can disable the force fields via satellites, the same satellites that the aliens use to monitor those same fields. Had a few dummy runs and it works. Our attack will be simultaneous; we suspend all force fields whilst we attack the regions where we need to take control. The assault will be brutal. We give the opposition so much to worry about that they abandon re-energising the force field.'

'Let's check out the plan,' said Celestial.

A hologram image appeared. Earth. The 44 regions were clear; each determined the dominant alien species. Those dominated by the Olympianas, tormented by Drayzaks, being the primary target. Each region had a head count, the number of occupying aliens as well as the anticipated number of Drayzaks. The aliens occupied the central regions, the cities, whilst the Drayzaks roamed the forest areas. Only a few were designated to city centres to act as a deterrent to those aliens and humans who co-mingled.

Zak indicated the areas the other 43 rebels had been assigned. Each of the regions occupied by the Olympianas were primary targets, whilst those predominantly occupied by the Zaagans or the Trollozytes were a secondary target. Networks of rebels in each region were on hand to help co-ordinate an attack. Once communication was live and the electromagnetic fields disabled, all lines of communication were open in order to carry out a sustained attack. Each of the rebels listened intently, their headsets translating the message perfectly; all rebels were thoroughly engrossed in the briefing.

Oscar was impressed.

For the next hour the rebels discussed the plan, raised questions, adjusted the plan slightly if needed − the hologram acting as the blueprint to take back control of Earth.

Oscar took a moment to check out the underground operation that Zak Lancelot had so expertly built up over the years. Around the room were signs of technology that certainly weren't of human origin. Scattered around were all sorts of strange hardware, alien hardware depicted by hieroglyphics. Strange metals not of this planet were being scrutinised, squashed in huge presses to test their durability, whilst in other sections these metals were being subjected to immersion in acids − Oscar assumed from the smell that the acid emitted was likely sulphuric, surprisingly, it seemingly had no effect. Other areas had bits of alien craft; Oscar thought to himself that it resembled some kind of retro garage. The news bulletin played out in the background, a screen that split into 20 smaller screens showing various news outlets, both human and alien. Zak obviously kept a keen eye on the activities outside of his hideout.

Oscar felt strangely proud. The plan was in place and in just three days the plan would be acted out. Oscar considered this event with both excitement and total fear.

The 'war of the aliens' was now a reality.
CHAPTER 35

ANCHORAX RETURNS

Anchorax was faced with a dilemma - does he tell Dane of the back stabbing antics of his so-called ally Oosapeth or does he trust this back stabbing alien enough? Will he simply use him for his military resources whilst secretly planning to make him a victim, as Dane Vhastek?

Some time had elapsed and all had returned to the ice caves that, due to Dane's selfishness to try to find Annaluce, had put their hideout in jeopardy. The tension was unbearable. The humans were clearly reliant on the aliens; Serenix was feeling uneasy about James' involvement in the war games; Scott, Bella and the others were equally perturbed; Oosapeth was playing things cool, if only to disguise his treachery and Dane was feeling ever more guilty that he had been acting inappropriately; all of which made it easy for Anchorax to put into plan his next move.

'I need to return to Zarduzian,' he stated almost matter-of-factly.

The look around the war room was almost nonchalant abandon. There had been so much drama; the group of mixed aliens and humans were at a stage where they could no longer handle any internal bickering.

'I'll come along with you,' said Dane.

Anchorax shook his head. 'I'm returning to secure the support of my people. It seems to me you have more important things to worry about − the destruction of these caves by Qudor Volkan for one thing.'

'He's right, Dane,' agreed Oosapeth, who was sure that this was an act of allegiance to his cause by Anchorax, meaning Dane would clearly be a liability. 'We have to evacuate these caves immediately.'

Dane knew it made sense; his infatuation with Annaluce had derailed the operation enough.

'I will need a craft. I'm going alone,' stated Anchorax.

With a nod, two of Oosapeth's guards headed towards Anchorax, to escort him towards the portal bay.

'Safer if you return to Colony 7 following your trip,' said Oosapeth. 'I'll ensure the co-ordinates are input into your craft.' An order acknowledged by the guards escorting Anchorax.

'I'll need to square things with Elizan.' Anchorax's headset perfectly translated his message as it occurred to Anchorax that this technology was special. Each headset of each recipient translated his own words into their specific language. It also occurred to him that only a short time had passed, yet he was becoming accustomed to technology which would have astounded him before and yet now, it was all very normal. Not only had Anchorax embraced the technology, he was also embracing his newly appointed power. He wasn't just a squalor fighting for survival; he was a player in the fight for a piece of planet Earth.

**********************

Omalius walked through the great hall. He had been summoned to a meeting with Elizan. Surrounded by the munika he waltzed into the meeting room, his face beaming. This could only be good news.

'Take a seat,' insisted Elizan, her somewhat revealing gold and white dress illustrating once again to Omalius that Elizan was a perfect specimen. The five guards escorting Omalius, dressed in their customary black menacing attire, almost couldn't look at her beauty for fear of being reprimanded. She revelled in the power she possessed, enhanced tenfold by her stunning appearance. 'By the look on your face I suspect that you might bring good news.'

'Maybe,' replied Omalius cautiously.

'It's impolite to keep a female waiting,' retorted Elizan.

'Your father was quite prolific, as you know. The killing chambers were once full of captured aliens before being horrifically disposed of.'

'Spare me the details, Omalius, and get to the point. I'm having lunch any moment and I would like to maintain an appetite.'

'Quite,' replied Omalius, realising that this was not the time for an elaborate delivery. 'Well, we do have quite an extensive dossier on each of the planets your father was hoping to acquire for resources, usually involving the Trollozytes to clean up the mess left behind. What we have found was your father's obvious desire to assess and possibly ally with, other known warmongering alien species. We believe that he was looking for some insurance should his relationship with Oosapeth break down. Quite ironic in the circumstances.'

'Yes, yes, yes! Could we get to the point?'

'There is a species, a planet, around seven light years away - a remote planet called Ommon and the species are known as Drakonians. A rather primitive species, not dissimilar to humans, maybe a little inferior. Anyway, their planet is in disarray − it seems imminent that annihilation is on the cards. What's interesting is that they are massively overpopulated. Resources are drying up, which is why Daxzus saw the potential in using their military powers, rather than raping the planet of what was left of their natural minerals.'

'This is all very well and good, Omalius, but have you contacted them?'

Omalius turned and nodded to one of the munika guards who opened the door. A short, very stocky alien entered the room. His garment represented an inferior species: a red and white dishevelled war-like attire with a red breastplate obviously battle worn, over a short sleeved white undergarment. A kilt, consisting of leathery strips seemingly intertwined with metallic finely woven chains for sturdiness, finished off the look with heavy black boots.

'Let me introduce you to Eugenell Spartok, from the planet Ommon,' said Omalius who, judging from the initial reaction of Elizan, might need to work a little harder to convince her that he was a genuine contender.

Donning the technologically advanced headset, the alien dropped on one knee, punched his chest with his right hand and hollered what sounded like a war cry; quite intimidating to those observing.

'Please sit,' insisted Elizan.

The warrior sat.

'It seems that your father grew quite fond of this species. Indeed, he withdrew his intention to clone and concentrated on an alliance, which he conveniently kept to himself. This species knows all about our superior technology, gifted by your father. It seems that they hold us in high esteem. Quite refreshing, wouldn't you say?' said Omalius.

'Speak,' insisted Elizan.

'We were promised other worlds, untold riches and resources,' said Eugenell.

'By whom?'

'Daxzus Zaetsalsae,' replied Eugenell, as another war cry accompanied a thumping of the chest, an act of which Elizan was already becoming tired.

_' This is going to be hard work',_ thought Elizan. 'Perhaps we could discuss this matter over lunch,' she suggested with a sharp clap of the hands, indicating that she expected the matter to be organised immediately.

'Interestingly, there are far more Drakonians than squalors,' said Omalius in an attempt to put the importance of this alliance in perspective.

'Tell me about the plight of your race, Eugenell,' asked Elizan.

'We have been at war for decades. We have civil war in many of our regions. The power belongs to the occupants of just two vast landmass we call Tivvalia and Subonia. We have lived under a threat, that the two major powers might destroy our planet. Thankfully, Daxzus introduced technology that could neutralise the threat and the tyranny stopped. We thank your father for saving our planet. We are very sorry to hear of his death and we are here to help in any way we can.'

'Let me paint the picture,' said Elizan. 'We have a situation on a planet called Earth, a beautiful planet, rich in resources, where the land is good and plentiful. Like you, my father was trying to help this species, called humans. Also like you, they were on a path of destruction,' said Elizan, who was delivering such a convincing speech that she almost believed it herself. 'However, other alien species are trying to move in and take control of the planet; they are aliens who are despicable and have plagued the planet with deadly creatures known as Drayzaks. We need help. We need numbers on the ground.'

'And if we help you, what do we receive in return?'

'Freedom,' said Elizan. 'Freedom to move to a lush planet, freedom to rid yourselves of tyranny.'

The door opened as a parade of Zaagans walked in harbouring the best food and wine Larquiston had to offer. Male and female servants, dressed scantily, almost naked, didn't go unnoticed as far as the guests were concerned.

Elizan smiled. ' _Males are so predictable '_, she thought.

****************************

The rumble in the square was a familiar sound in Larquiston. The arrival of another portal traveller was always expected. The munika would automatically be notified of the emergence of any new arrival and would gather in their predictable formation, near the portal, as a precautionary measure. Lined in a block, as Romans might formulate their centurions, the munika waited. Junipex was never too far away in case the Larquiston police needed to act. In this case the arrival was from planet Earth. The craft arrived and the indication was that there was only one passenger.

Anchorax emerged from the craft. Just a short while ago he was a squalor with no rights, fighting to survive. Now he was an honoured guest of the very capital he despised. The fact that he was now feeling comfortable with his new position, for the moment at least, was disconcerting.

Five munika began to escort Anchorax; this was now a familiar ritual and one that didn't trouble him in the least. Walking across the square to the great hall was so familiar, it was frightening. He still revelled in his new-found fame and the pure opulence of the city only enhanced his importance. He gazed up at the array of craft travelling to and fro throughout the city, the high-rise buildings being a sight to behold, not to mention the floating cities. If he had been offered this life, before venturing to Earth, it would have been perfect. In a sense, Anchorax was pleased to be back in Larquiston.

Anchorax arrived at the great hall but was told to wait in reception as Elizan was in talks. A door opened and leaving the room were several servants, having just served up lunch. Anchorax recognised one of the scantily dressed females. She glanced at him, only to gaze at the floor in embarrassment. He immediately figured that it might be a good idea to stay the night and harbour in on his next move in the morning. Judging from the slight embarrassment of the Zaagan, he was sure she would agree entirely that an overnight stay would indeed be a good idea.

The door opened again. Omalius appeared. He had been given the news by Junipex, as inappropriate as his timing might be, that Omalius could only see as a positive in the arrival of this glorified squalor. The trouble was in keeping the two potential allies separated to the cause, whilst Elizan tied down a much needed alliance with the Drakonian. The terms of that agreement would influence her talks with Anchorax, so Omalius needed to keep Anchorax busy.

'Anchorax,' said Omalius, greeting the squalor with the same respect as any other dignitary might expect. 'You must be weary. Let me sort you out a room. Please freshen up. I will arrange food. Is there anything else you might require whilst Elizan prepares herself?'

'Some company would be nice,' replied Anchorax.

'Certainly,' said Omalius with subtlety, knowing exactly to whom Anchorax referred.

Omalius whispered to one of the munika and immediately left the room. Within a minute the guard returned with the female, who only moments ago had blushed. Anchorax smiled. He had all the time in the world and was in no rush to meet with Elizan. Rather, he was revelling in this honourable position, which had completely changed his existence.

Omalius left the two lovebirds to rekindle their affections for each other and returned to the room where an alliance was being sealed with the new aggressor, to hopefully complement the squalors against the now enemy, Dane Vhastek. 'A female scorned' could never have been so apt a description of the treachery that would be served up to the formidable Dane Vhastek. Annaluce was welcome to him. Elizan would decide the fate of Dane's offspring she carried, at a later date. It would be a delicious irony, should Dane find her sister alive.

The meeting was progressing just as Elizan had hoped. The body language indicated that the new aggressor, Eugenell Spartok, was completely at ease as he mimicked every pose, sometimes hands clasped together as if praying, sometimes legs crossed in a complete mirror image of the Zaagan beauty, who now had the warrior eating out of her hands. In reality she was far too sophisticated, far too intelligent; this was merely a game. Elizan had the alien beaten when he bent the knee.

'May I propose that our guest retire, freshen up, ready for the evening banquet?' suggested Omalius.

'Of course,' replied Elizan. She clapped her hands once more and a munika left the room. It was strange that the same handclap seemed to indicate different commands, yet it was the Zaagans' telepathic ability that differentiated the order.

Eugenell arose before purposely, for the second time, bending the knee, as the munika returned with two splendidly gorgeous young female Zaagans. The formula to play to the weakness of her male counterparts was a tactic Elizan was the master at. The alien aggressor left. The telepathic instructions for the two Zaagan offerings were too explicit to be expressed verbally.

As the door shut firmly behind the trio, Elizan wasted no time getting to the point.

'I assume our other visitor is Anchorax?'

'Astute as always,' replied Omalius.

'I trust he is being well catered for.'

A slight twist of the head and a rather subtle smirk said everything that needed to be said.

'Perfect,' said Elizan, 'then we have some planning to do. It could be awkward to have both potential war partners meet until we have secured the services of Anchorax. He holds the key to the destruction of Dane's plan, but it is a very sensitive issue. However, we already know one of his vices.'

'Precisely,' replied Omalius. 'I rather suspect that our young squalor is becoming accustomed to the way of life inside the great wall. It is not inconceivable that Anchorax would prefer his rewards here in Larquiston, rather than Earth. Let us consider that we reap the benefits on Earth, once Dane is defeated, rather than offering that prize to our war partner.'

'As usual, Omalius, we see eye to eye. Tonight will be an interesting banquet. I need you to organise _the_ banquet of banquets, the finest delegates Larquiston has to offer, the finest food prepared meticulously and, of course, the finest available young offerings.'

'I will see to it immediately. Perhaps you might wish to retire,' offered Omalius.

Elizan arose. The munika stood to attention. Omalius walked steadfastly towards the door, Elizan ten paces behind.

The stage was now set.
CHAPTER 36

THE SERENIX FACTOR

The ice caves were now a dangerous place. Serenix had seen pandemonium. Dane Vhastek was emotionally challenged and now, an evacuation of the only place on Earth she truly felt safe, was under threat. Dane had exposed the caves to the potential onslaught of the enemy.

Serenix was truly worried about the future, not only the future of the planet but of her future with James. He had almost become surplus to requirements in the riotous brawl of alien activity. In fact, the humans were merely playing lip service to the aliens, now fighting among each other.

Things needed to change.

Anchorax had left to obtain more resources in the fight against the Drayzaks and emotions between her father and Dane were frostier than the ice caves. There was one element that all parties were overlooking, the dreadful situation that the native race had been placed in - who was helping the humans?

Serenix, dressed in a bright yellow Trollozyte garment − _one which was designed to withstand both extreme cold or heat_ - _a garment that monitored vital organs, blood pressure and_ _any sign of malnutrition or alien viruses - a garment that would_ _ensure her survival and a garment her father, Oosapeth, insisted she wear even though he had not afforded himself the same protection_ − walked over to her beloved.

'James, we need to talk,' said Serenix.

James took one look at his alien partner, those beautiful sea green eyes and her flawless porcelain-like complexion and immediately knew that all was not right. James afforded one glance over his shoulder, ensuring complete privacy before taking hold of her left upper arm and walking a few paces until they were completely out of sight of her father. He spoke softly:

'Sorry to manhandle you but you know how your father hates seeing us talking quietly. Now, what's the problem?'

'The problem is that my father and Dane are at loggerheads and no one seems to be concerned about the welfare of your kind,' said Serenix. The translator, in perfect working order, was almost unnoticeable as far as James was concerned. 'I mean, you don't even know whether your family has survived the dreadful invasion, especially the threat of the Drayzaks. Doesn't that worry you?'

'Every minute of every day,' replied James.

'Then we must do something about this. We need to speak with Scott, Bella, Demitri and Patrick. We have to help your people.'

'I had been thinking the same. In fact, Scott approached me after he and Bella returned. He lost his wife and son. His daughter is in safekeeping at the moment but he has no idea whether she is still alive or not. We need a craft.'

'If we survive this and Earth is to be my home, then I belong with your race. The sooner I become accustomed, the better,' said Serenix. Her eyes welled, emphasising her sincerity. 'Father will want us to stay. He will not agree to an expedition to find your parents.'

'Then we take a craft,' repeated James. 'I'll explain to Scott and the others discreetly.'

'My father will notice if we all disappear.'

'Not if we secure our own craft when we evacuate the caves. We'll convince your father that we, the humans, need to travel separately. All I have to do is change the co-ordinates at the portal at CERN and we take our chances.'

'My father might become suspicious if all the humans travel together.'

'We explain that we, as humans, have to get used to travelling without the aid of an alien, if we are to be useful in battle. What better time than now? It's portal travel, he won't suspect anything untoward.'

'If I lost my father I would be devastated. If I lost you, I would not function,' said Serenix. An embrace. A loving kiss. The plan was hatched.

*****************************

In the advent of a possible attack, the ice caves were to be destroyed once the convoy of craft safely exited and arrived on Colony 7, the use of portal travel being the quickest and safest to evacuate the ice cave in numbers. Dane Vhastek, the cause of this rushed migration, was becoming accustomed to destroying ice caves, an unwelcomed habit. By now he cared not, his only concern − Annaluce.

The migration involved many warriors, operatives and various alien species as well as the humans. Meticulous measures had been put into place to transfer all relevant data to those craft exiting the ice caves. Both Dane and Oosapeth independently, were preparing to exit. Anchorax had been supplied with co-ordinates to join his comrades on the space station later. Frantic movement of all personnel, although giving an impression of chaos, was in fact a well co-ordinated operation.

James Eaton made his move.

'We have never operated a craft independently,' said James, looking his future father-in-law squarely in the eyes.

'This isn't an appropriate time, James,' replied Oosapeth.

'I understand but it is important. Lately, I have been a spectator. I want to prove myself, both to you and your daughter. It's only a portal manoeuvre. What could go wrong?'

'As long as one of my operatives join you,' replied Oosapeth.

'Why?' asked James. 'What's going to go wrong with portal travel? It's not as if I'm flying the damn craft. I'm just going to sit there. I input the co-ordinates and we see you on Colony 7. At least give me that responsibility. I love your daughter but feel completely helpless whilst you and Dane orchestrate this war,' said James as he gave a look, a look that suggested Oosapeth had deprived him of any dignity.

'One trip?' said Oosapeth.

'If that's all I am granted, yes, one trip.'

Oosapeth walked away. The deed was done.

***************************

The humans had undergone this exercise on many occasions, since the incident in Rome, which seemed a lifetime ago. James, Serenix and the others secured themselves into the alien seats, ready for the portal transportation. James knew the hologram; it was similar to that of the ice caves − the operational mechanisms were identical. The hologram of Earth appeared with the pre-determined destination already factored in, that of the space centre hovering many thousands of miles outside of Earth's atmosphere.

James thrust his hand into the hologram and played the contraption with consummate ease. His abilities to hack just about any human computer system on Earth had been useful in his assessment of alien equipment. His colleagues looked on in awe, as did Serenix.

'Guys and gals, we are heading to CERN. From there, the White House, Washington DC. Our species needs us. Are you with me?'

A cry erupted. His colleagues were with him. After weeks of conforming to the aliens' commands, these humans were taking control. It was exhilarating, liberating and testimony to human resolve. If they died in the cause, so be it!

James looked around. Serenix was beaming with pride and mouthed the words, 'I love you.' She was mastering the English language.

The craft shook; the familiar sound of the entry through the portal was now as familiar as the sound of a plane preparing for lift-off. Within seconds the craft emerged at CERN. A flash of blue and the craft appeared. The hologram instantly detected many drones. Qudor Volkan had guarded the portal. James Eaton had not factored in the extent of the opposition they might meet.

'Activate the electromagnetic pulse!' shouted Scott.

'Activated,' confirmed James.

'Now, get the hell out of here!' was Scott's follow-up order.

'Jesus, we are hit!' screamed Patrick.

The hologram resembled a swarm of bees. Drones everywhere. Hundreds of them. Many more than Dane had encountered.

'We got any kind of protection shield on this craft?' shouted Scott.

'Not sure,' replied James.

'A hell of a time to start referring to the operating manual, James,' said Scott.

'Yeah, sarcasm is really going to help!'

'I can translate the hieroglyphics!' shouted Serenix.

'You can't leave your seat,' replied James.

'Don't need to,' she said as she shouted out an instruction to the hologram in her native alien tongue. A symbol emerged; it was a triangle with three dots inside.

'Now what do I do?' asked James.

'Touch the symbol.'

The symbol turned green. The view through the cockpit visor displayed a bright green halo surrounding the craft. The enemy fire was no longer rocking the craft. The ship was stabilised.

'I repeat − let's get the hell out of here!' said Scott.

The craft sped and the drones were powerless. The humans were on their way to join their own, it felt good.

'Good job, Mr Eaton!' shouted Patrick, as an appreciative round of applause erupted.

'Don't mention it,' replied James in a typically blase English fashion.

The craft was being bombarded with missiles, but the shield was holding well. James Eaton had a graphic on his destination, the White House, Washington DC. Unbeknown to the humans and Serenix, their presence at CERN had gained attention. Qudor Volkan was astute enough to consider a scenario where enemy alien craft may be able to dust off the drones. His other spacecraft were far more powerful, far more capable. The move not to follow Oosapeth to Colony 7 seemed naive at best but in reality their lives were in grave danger.

Boom! A huge hit to the craft, destabilising the intricate on-board technology. The hologram imaging was severely challenged as it flickered − _as a satellite dish might distort a television image._

'What the hell was that?' asked Scott.

'I think we might have upset someone,' said James.

'Understatement,' said Patrick.

'It's a pulse wave to destabilise our shield,' said Serenix. 'We can't take too many hits.'

'Hell, looks like a swarm of craft heading our way,' said James, observing the holographic imaging. 'What speed will this bird fly?'

'We should be able to out run them,' replied Serenix. 'We need to descend, get low to the ground.'

James homed in on the ground imaging − playing the hologram with the same precision, speed and elegance that you might expect an expert weaving a tapestry. The craft fell at speed, meandering majestically to try to throw off the enemy. Boom! Another hit and the hologram flickered, the craft temporarily thrown off course.

'Are we all strapped in?' James checked, a rather frivolous question given the barrage of extensive fire. They had naively expected little opposition. Serenix was questioning the stupidity of her actions. Her father, assuming she survived the onslaught, would clearly blame James, but it was the least of her worries at that moment.

Boom! More hits to a no doubt, damaged craft.

Nobody would know that the only humans on Earth, who knew the extent of the battle for control of Earth, were all gathered together in one alien craft. Nobody could come to their rescue. Nobody would know. This was war. They were unprepared, at best, too optimistic; they were out of their league.

*******************************

The bunker underneath the White House had become the president's home since the onslaught of the Drayzaks. It had been weeks since the incident in St Peter's Square, Rome, on 15th February 2018, yet it seemed like years. The world was at war with aliens, not just one alien race but several. Not only had the aliens demilitarised the humans with far advanced technology, they were now inflicting these monsters, Drayzaks, on the unprotected and unsuspected public, worldwide. Anarchy had set in. News channels were more or less powerless, satellites were being tampered with, telecommunication masts destroyed - there was no way to fight back, no realistic possibility of allying with humans on a global basis. The president could only watch helpless, defenceless and powerless.

The president sat with his key personnel in a room designed for the possibility of combating a nuclear war from our own species, but not from aliens. The mood was sombre. Several commanders were present including the Secretary of Defence, Julian Argyle-Phillips and the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff, Eric Miller.

The Head of Administration at NASA, Edmund William Nelson, knocked on the door. Normal protocol had been abandoned once the president realised that his power had significantly diminished with the superiority of the alien beings; so, Edmund didn't wait for an acknowledgement to enter. He simply entered. Wearing jeans and a t shirt, again with protocol out the window, he addressed the group.

The president looked up; there had been so many false dawns, so many disappointments in this seemingly hopeless battle, that his face represented a beaten man. His folded arms did little to offer protection, just a symbol of a dejected man.

'Mr President, there has been a development,' said William, his tone depicting a man who didn't want to deliver a further blow to the cause.

'I sincerely hope it is good news,' said the president. 'If you are going to tell me that we have run out of coffee, William, then I would rather you keep it to yourself.' A comment that drew muted laughter. Spirits were low and yet often, a humorous comment could show enough defiance to raise spirits.

'No, we're good on the coffee, Mr President,' replied William as the president put his right palm on his chest to indicate a close call. 'It's an image we have received, Mr President.'

'Don't tell me − it's a white flag and the aliens have surrendered?'

'We have an affirmative of at least one casualty from an alien craft which has crashed near CERN. The craft was under heavy fire, Mr President, but the image of the casualties is significant. We have identified one of the casualties as Bella Laurent.'

'How in hell's name did that happen? What in God's name is Bella Laurent doing in an alien craft near CERN?' asked the president incredulously.

'There are two other causalities, but they are face down, so we are unable to get a clear visual for identification purposes. Our concern is that there may have been more than one human on board.'

'Are they alive?' asked the president.

'Unknown, I'm afraid.'

'What about the aliens who shot them down, are they still in the area?' asked Julian.

'Negative,' replied William. 'Looks like it's a case of mission accomplished, Sir.'

'Then get our boys over there and pick them up!' demanded the president.

William left followed closely by Julian.

The fight against the aliens just took a turn for the worst and the president knew it.
CHAPTER 37

THE VIRUS

Oosapeth arrived at Colony 7 by way of a manufactured portal within the space centre's vicinity. The ice caves would no longer be of any use, Dane had seen to that. There was just one problem: Where the hell was Serenix and the others? All other craft had safely arrived, the migration from the ice caves complete, except for that of his daughter and the humans. What could have possibly gone wrong? Without the craft there was no possibility to access the data to see whether there had been a malfunction, if any. Travelling through the portal should have been quick. The problem baffling Oosapeth was the loss of contact.

_' This is all Dane Vhastek's fault'_, thought Oosapeth. ' _If he_ _hadn 't chased after Annaluce recklessly then we needn't have_ _evacuated the ice caves '._ His worry turned to anger. In full military regalia he was prepared for a battle; in reality, no armament could assist him with this dilemma.

Oosapeth's first reaction was to check the working order of the portal. Had there been a malfunction of some kind? He messaged through to Dane's craft that his daughter was missing while at the same time checking the portal reading to see if all was in working order. In essence, it was a fruitless exercise, as portals were fixed tears in the fabric of space and Oosapeth had never known a portal to cease of its own accord. The readings confirmed his theory.

He messaged Dane for the second time:

_' I need to go back to see what has happened to my daughter'_, the message read.

' _Too dangerous. The ice cave will be destroyed. The only_ _portal available is CERN which is surrounded by enemy craft ',_ came the reply.

Oosapeth knew it was pointless. Now was not the time to further jeopardise the mission. His only salvation in his mind was that Anchorax would be taking Dane Vhastek out of the picture. He needed to get his thoughts together.

_' We dock at Colony 7. We will assess the situation from_ _there ',_ was the final message from Oosapeth. All other craft on the convoy heading to the space station, from the nearby portal, were notified.

********************************

The operation was precision. Even though Qudor Volkan had electromagnetically destabilised the majority of the most devastating weapons humans possessed, thus seriously denting their ability to fight back, aircraft were still operational. Indeed, the Olympianas had to systematically send pulses of electromagnetic force worldwide to continue destabilising the enemy. Lulls allowed communication to re-establish. The military in France, during a lull, ensured that the casualties from the crash were rescued. In an orchestrated effort those casualties were delivered to Area 51. Within ten hours via helicopter and a stealth plane the victims were in quarantine, seeking medical assistance.

Colonel Smithers, heading the operation to quarantine and interrogate the casualties, made the call to the president; all were now fully aware that his new residence was the bunker beneath the White House.

The date, 25th April 2018, the time in Washington DC, 11.28am.

'Mr President, this is Colonel Smithers. Sir, I have an update on the crash victims at CERN.'

'Good to hear from you; go ahead.'

'We can confirm that one of the victims is Bella Laurent, who is in a very serious condition but still alive. The other remaining victim is James Eaton, Mr President, who is also alive and able to talk,' reported Smithers. 'I have some bad news, I'm afraid. The rest of the crew who perished were humans, Mr President, except for one other casualty who is an alien, a female called Serenix.'

'All other casualties are human?' asked the president.

'Yes, Mr President. The rest of the surviving humans, from the abduction in St Peter's Square on 15th February, are all dead.'

A silence engulfed the room.

'We need these two heroes to fully recover and we need as much information as possible to help us beat these damn aliens. I want an hourly update, you hear me?'

'I hear you, Mr President,' was the reply as they both signed off.

***************************

The convoy prepared to dock. Colony 7 was an impressive sight as the craft approached, a huge complex, a menacing black mini space city; the craft docking as insignificant in size as a car travelling across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. They entered the docking area on automatic pilot as the space city controlled their entry.

Oosapeth was impatient and angry. He wanted answers. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be persuaded by the human. He had made the same mistake with his wife all those years ago, on an expedition, a dangerous expedition where she had insisted that she would be fine, only to fall to her death. He should have insisted that she do as she was told but he didn't. History was repeating itself.

An operative greeted Oosapeth, as were those in the other craft, but as Oosapeth was commander in chief the operative gave preferential treatment to his superior.

Oosapeth looked stressed and tired. He put this down to the trauma of the whereabouts of his daughter. His brow was drenched in sweat and his skin blotchy, probably due to the adrenaline rush caused by extreme concern. The operative, however, immediately recognised his ailment.

'We need to quarantine you, I'm afraid,' stated the operative.

'I don't have time for this!' replied Oosapeth impatiently.

'It's routine, I'm sorry,' pressed the operative, not wishing to draw attention to his concerns.

'Serenix is missing and I need to track her whereabouts. I'm overriding your order.'

'On Colony 7, _I_ override the commander in chief if I believe there may be a threat to the space centre. You need to follow me to the quarantine area,' instructed the operative. 'It's routine and will only take a few moments. I will need to quarantine all the passengers of the incoming craft.'

Oosapeth considered the persistency of the operative. He knew the rules, he also knew that quarantine wasn't a usual request but didn't want to alarm the others. He reluctantly agreed.

The passengers gathered and the operative walked along a corridor, brightly lit and clinically white. Oosapeth was only a few paces behind the operative. Each side of the corridor were cubicles, about 100 or so at first glance, segregated, one to each cubicle. Oosapeth's concern was that many of the cubicles were already occupied; the transparent cubicles told a story - there must be an outbreak. Oosapeth had only ever known a handful of cases where an inmate needed to be quarantined. An overwhelming concern consumed his thoughts.

The operative followed him into a clinical disinfected sparse cubicle, equipped with medical apparatus, way beyond human understanding. Oosapeth stripped of his garments and lay on the futuristic bed. A kind of clear jelly-like substance containing a calming tranquiliser was applied that moulded to his frame before impregnating Oosapeth. The operative hovered over his torso and the overhead robotic arms went to work, taking samples of blood and bodily fluids, by which, measurements of his wellbeing could be analysed.

The operative spoke.

'I apologise for having to override your request to seek the safety of your daughter, but no doubt you will have noticed the occupancy of the quarantine booths?'

'I noticed,' replied Oosapeth. 'What exactly is the problem?'

'I'm afraid the problem is not just confined to the quarantine rooms. By the time we noticed there was an outbreak, most of the victims were too far gone to save.'

Oosapeth looked visibly shocked, despite the calming drugs. 'How many?'

'Almost 30% of the inmates and counting,' replied the operative. 'It seems that it could be a virus you brought on board. We are aware of all the viruses on our planet and Colony 7 is sterilised, so we have never had an outbreak on the space centre. We normally deal with injuries where inmates have tried to escape and have been burned by the lasers guarding their space. Our medical equipment is just not able to deal with this new strain of virus. We are working on it but, as yet, haven't found an antidote.'

This was turning out to be a nightmare. First his daughter goes missing and now his own life might be in danger.

'I'm running a test to see if you are infected,' said the operative.

Oosapeth thought about his last visit back home when one of his warriors was refused entry to the city due to an unknown virus. Where had they possibly picked up such a deadly disease? If he indeed carried the infection and was confined to quarantine, how would he be able to track down his daughter?

The operative had checked the results.

'It's positive, I'm afraid.'

'I need to know if any of the others are infected,' replied Oosapeth.

'The data has just come through. The virus only seems to affect our race. Dane Vhastek is clear, as are his warriors,' replied the operative.

'Then find an antidote and that's an order!'

*****************************

James Eaton was well enough to talk, but very groggy. He was still in quarantine at Area 51 but the president was impatient. He needed information. Tests had been carried out and Colonel Smithers entered the room to brief James.

'A beard suits you, James,' commented Smithers.

'My alien girlfriend wasn't an admirer,' he replied.

Smithers looked down at his perfectly polished shoes. This was going to be difficult. 'James, this isn't going to be easy. It's your friends on the craft. You see, you crashed and there were casualties.'

'How many?' asked James.

'All but you and Bella Laurent.'

The grief consumed every fabric of his being. A deafening silence ensued. Each second that passed could have been an hour; such was the intensity of the moment. Smithers needed to break the silence, but what to say? How do you console the inconsolable?

'We have recovered the bodies. Your friends are confirmed as deceased, but we know nothing of the alien's state,' said Smithers, who inadvertently had given hope about the other victim.

'I don't understand,' replied James.

'She's an alien − an alien of far superior intelligence and far superior technology. We are not sure whether she can be revived. She has been frozen for the moment. We are flying in specialists and keeping the body at a temperature where, if there is any possibility of revival at a later date, we have given the alien a chance. We did the same thing following the alien crash at Roswell in 1947.'

'Oosapeth!' screamed James. 'We need to get a message to her father.' He was now losing his self-control, but Smithers needed answers.

'That's why we need information,' he replied. 'We need to save her; we need the aliens to help us. We are losing this battle, James. The aliens are decommissioning our nuclear weapons and constantly messing with our telecommunications. Our banking systems are defunct and we have alien monsters running riot. Frankly, we are in a mess! We need help.'

James restored his composure. He thought of Serenix but accepted there was a chance she might be saved so he parked his concern for the moment. What do you need to know?'

'How to pulverise these aliens? Who are our allies and who are our foes? Look, we're not good at understanding hieroglyphics or alien lingo and we have no idea how to beat these monsters wandering all over the place. Maybe, just maybe you can help. The president is relying on you, James. Hell, the _whole world_ is relying on you!'

'No pressure then,' said James, trying to add light to the ghastly situation.

'You're good with pressure, James. You thrive on it. Now, let's beat the crap out of these aliens!'

_' Typical Yank'_, thought James. 'I'm British. We do things in a gentlemanly manner. We should consider the spirit of one of our greatest when he said − _' We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight on the hills, we shall never surrender!''_

'Churchill?'

'Who else?'

Smithers nodded, it grieved him to acknowledge a Brit so appreciatively, but that steely determination was exactly what was needed.

'Well, Mr Churchill, we need to write a new speech. Let's go meet the president.'

''We'll fight them at Area 51' doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?' said James.

The smile said it all. Smithers ruffled his strawberry blond hair. 'Let's go get 'em, but first a shave.'

It's amazing how the norm brings you right down to Earth. So it was!
CHAPTER 38

THE DEAL

Anchorax was suitably relaxed and refreshed. He had fallen for the Zaagan servant and the feeling appeared to be reciprocal. As a squalor, he dreamt of a life behind the great wall in Larquiston, but little did he realise that those who were affluent, who lived a life of total luxury, had slaves of their own. He dressed ready for the meeting with Omalius and Elizan, but now his priorities had changed − gone was the new Anchorax who revelled in his new-found notoriety, the servant had re-aligned his priorities.

Anchorax had showered and Dina vacated the room. Both agreed it was best not to announce their fondness for each other just yet, but he agreed to meet her in a secret location later that evening on the outskirts of the city where they could talk privately. Neither were sure that they weren't being monitored so, to be safe, they arranged their rendezvous whilst showering together. He kissed her before she left the room and she smiled, her deep blue eyes framed by her flaming red hair.

Omalius greeted Anchorax as he entered the hallway, accompanying him to the room where Elizan was waiting.

'I trust you had a good rest and have eaten well?' asked Omalius.

'I wasn't disappointed,' replied Anchorax, falling short of directly referring to the slave girl.

They entered the room accompanied by the obligatory munika guards who left once they were inside. They closed the great doors engraved with iconic buildings in Larquiston; the clunk depicting a heavy-duty, almost metallic, door. No one was escaping, the munika would see to that.

'Please sit,' said Elizan who had changed, now 'wearing' a revealing blue dress that left nothing to the imagination. Omalius wasn't surprised; he expected Elizan would display her best assets − whenever she was meeting an ally she needed to impress. It was cheap, but he always marvelled at the results this tactic produced.

'Tell me, did you enjoy the food and the company?' asked Elizan. Unlike Omalius who thought it best to be discreet about the female, Elizan as a female herself insisted on letting her guest know that he was a male and a weak one at that.

'I have already been asked that question,' replied Anchorax. Omalius gave a disapproving glance in Elizan's direction that was acknowledged.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, Anchorax, we just want to ensure you feel comfortable. So, tell me, how is Dane Vhastek?'

'If you are referring to his emotional state, I would prefer not to answer the question. I am only concerned with the task in hand and the deal on the table for those outside the great wall.'

Elizan sensed a change in Anchorax, but he was quite right, the deal was what this meeting revolved around. 'I understand,' agreed Elizan.

'Dane's temperament has changed; the alliance is moving out of the ice cave and heading towards Colony 7. It is a Trollozyte space station commissioned by Oosapeth as a base for the alien and human coalition, to orchestrate an attack.'

'Interesting,' replied Elizan. 'It all sounds a little unsettling though.'

'No more so than the announcement your sister is still alive. I guess that must be unsettling?'

Elizan hadn't bargained for such an awkward confrontation and needed to get the discussion onto the subject of a new proposed deal. 'It seems to me that this coalition might be fragmenting somewhat. With Dane destabilised and the operation fleeing from the ice caves, if I was in your position, I would feel a little uneasy.'

'I have been considering my role in great depth. I need to be sure I am not leading my fellow Zaagans to the slaughter,' falling short of calling his comrades squalors.

'We are the same race. We are all Zaagans,' acknowledged Elizan. 'It's ironic but we should trust each other. Our planet needs resources, we cannot continue with the floating cities for much longer as our population increases to unsustainable levels. My father has been searching for a new home − other planets that might offer us a chance. Earth is such a planet,' explained Elizan.

'Earth has already been offered,' said Anchorax. The statement was designed to throw Elizan, to derail her from the script.

'Offered?'

'Offered! In return for murdering Dane Vhastek.'

'Oosapeth?'

'Let us say that tempers are running high and the prize is in sight. Dane is the alien who rescued me from a squalor existence and has given my fellow Zaagans a chance to escape. What should I do?'

'You look after the interests of your friends,' replied Elizan, 'but there may be an alternative.'

'I'm listening.'

'Oosapeth is not to be trusted. The Trollozytes brokered deals with my father; they have no morals as it is all about business. Rape planets of their resources, kill or imprison the alien population on the planet and move on. I am not saying that my father is honourable, but Oosapeth is not to be trusted.'

'So, what is the solution?' asked Anchorax.

'We work together and conquer vast areas of Earth for ourselves. We need to create the illusion that you are going along with Oosapeth's plan for the moment. There is one major change.'

'I'm still listening,' urged Anchorax.

'We have an ally. A race that can offer extra numbers on the ground. There is a trade-off but it won't affect any arrangement we agree.'

'Why should I trust you?'

'Would you rather trust an alien who can turn on his friend? What's to say _you_ are not part of his plan? What's to say that he isn't planning on terminating you?'

'It had crossed my mind. Tell me about your plans to migrate should the plan succeed. How many of the elite in Larquiston would leave?'

'Most, I would say. Of course, the other major capitals would also follow suit otherwise they may be at the mercy of your friends.'

'Suppose I am not interested in Earth. Suppose I suggest that I am interested in your technology and taking over the capitals here on Zarduzian?'

This meeting was going far better than planned. Elizan had been given the opportunity to seal a deal with Anchorax, which secured her the reward she craved − Earth.

'I can't promise you all the capital cities, but I can promise you the crown jewel − Larquiston. You would have the power over the other capitals. Whether you free the squalors or bask in the power, will be up to you,' said Elizan.

Anchorax's mind immediately turned to Dina. He was meeting her later. He was surprised how easily his wishes were granted. He knew he would have both Dane and Oosapeth to contend with, but for now he had an ally and a way out.

*************************************

Dina had left a gizmo with strict instructions to keep the rendezvous quiet. There was a place just outside the hustle and bustle of Larquiston − an area of diminished opulence, one where the munika hardly ever patrolled, a park area consumed by trees, one where lovers could meet, particularly those lovers who were otherwise attached. Dina was unattached, but this was a perfect spot to rendezvous, an area the Zaagans of Larquiston generally avoided. The device she handed Anchorax, as she said her goodbyes earlier, would twin with the identical device in her possession. It was small, the size of a coin, easy to conceal but effective nonetheless.

Anchorax agreed to meet again with Elizan after a good night's sleep, to talk further. He cleared the way to go out into the square that night by requesting that he be given freedom to celebrate in the great city of Larquiston. He argued that he should start becoming accustomed to what Larquiston had to offer, now that he would become the benefactor. His wish was granted and Omalius insisted that he would not be bothered unduly by the munika.

Anchorax had freshened up in his room, changed into some attire provided for him by Omalius and duly walked across the reception area, acknowledged the munika and walked through the magnificent doors of the great hall. Once outside he viewed the device. A green dot indicated his current position and a red dot indicated Dina's. She had said that she would wait for him; the device would indicate to her when he was on the move. The gizmo would instruct him.

Anchorax checked the device, it indicated to walk 200 yards before veering left. He looked around to see if anyone noticed him looking at the device. It seemed no one cared. The streets of Larquiston were busy, awash with partying citizens. The city was vibrant on a night-time, there were few munika about; Anchorax was enjoying his freedom, his mind clearly set on meeting up with Dina. He headed out of the square, past the portal bays which were always busy and was now heading away to the north of the city. A few revellers, worst for wear and obviously inebriated, asked if he would like to join them. One Zaagan, a female, had given him the eye; Anchorax refrained and moved on, checking the device for the next deviation of route.

It took around 20 minutes to reach the destination. With both dots forming an orange dot, he had arrived.

Anchorax looked around the park area that was dimly lit. The trees were many; he could hear laughter in the wooded area, laughter that suggested misgivings. He looked around frantically but there was no sign of Dina. She was right, the area was not patrolled by munika, but Anchorax was feeling anxious and he couldn't shout out. Had she been harmed? Had anyone found out about their rendezvous? Family, perhaps? Perhaps they didn't approve?

Just then, two hands covered his eyes by someone behind him.

'Shush!' said the female. 'Walk forward and say nothing.'

'Dina,' Anchorax whispered.

'Of course, who else?' she replied. 'Walk forward and I will guide you.'

A few moments passed and Dina removed her hands from his eyes. He turned and in the dim light he could see that she was naked; her robe lay crumpled at her feet.

'So, this is how it is done,' said Anchorax.

'Are we going to talk all night?'

Anchorax revelled in the mystique. Dina was not only beautiful, but also exciting and exhilarating. They made love as if it were the most natural thing to do, even though they were in the middle of a park and both vulnerable.

He promised Dina that he would see her the following night. She wasn't too sure, it was dangerous and her family would be suspicious. They agreed that Anchorax should check his device tomorrow at precisely the same time. If her red light was lit then she had the all clear. He left content, in love, infatuated, his silhouette disappearing as Dina watched.

Another silhouette soon appeared the second that Anchorax was out of sight. It was a familiar silhouette, rather portly, but smaller than that of her lover. The figure, equipped with the same gizmo Anchorax had so successfully used, had also negotiated the meeting point. However, this meeting wasn't going to be as pleasant.
CHAPTER 39

TWIN IMPOSTERS

The casualty rate was rising amongst the Trollozytes on Colony 7. The virus had taken hold and the on-board technologically advanced medical machines had failed to find an antidote to the unknown virus, which was killing those infected on the space centre. Quarantine had, to a degree, contained the spread of the virus, but those afflicted had perished. To ensure the virus would not completely annihilate the Trollozytes on board, the dead were jettisoned from the spacecraft in a sealed, white, cylindrical container with a warning in hieroglyphics that the contents should not be opened.

Oosapeth's body was the last to be jettisoned, to a hero's salute.

The deaths were gruesome: first a temperature, followed by an outbreak of a reddish rash. Once the rash appeared the virus had taken hold and the end was swift, within 48 hours. Blood would weep from every orifice, the surge of blood from the eye sockets being the most harrowing to witness. The victim was in agony.

Unaffected by the virus, Dane Vhastek was called upon by Oosapeth once he had been told that there was nothing anyone could do to prevent his demise. There was a slim hope that an antidote could be found; in truth, Oosapeth knew his fate. Through a glass partition, Oosapeth spoke:

'I have respect for you as a warrior, but you have betrayed the cause in your endless pursuit of Annaluce. I am to die. I have made a mistake.'

Dane looked puzzled. ' _A mistake, what mistake? '_ he thought.

'My daughter is missing, Dane. You have rescued her before and I want you to promise you will rescue her again. I have to die knowing that everything will be done to save my daughter. Do I have your word?'

'I would rescue your daughter even if you hadn't requested it. You must know that,' replied Dane.

Oosapeth lowered his head in shame. He had betrayed his friend. 'I have betrayed you, my friend, and you need to be wary. It was a shameful moment when you exposed our whereabouts to Qudor Volkan, so I arranged for you to be removed.'

'Removed?' questioned Dane.

'Do I need to spell it out? Removed!'

'By whom?'

'Anchorax,' replied Oosapeth. 'He never confirmed that he would accept my offer but he has returned to Zarduzian. You must be wary, Dane. I need you alive to find Serenix. I need your word.'

'But Anchorax has no deal if you perish.'

'I need your word, Dane!'

'You have my word. I will deal with Anchorax upon his return to Colony 7.'

'Now leave!' demanded Oosapeth as the clear glass turned to opaque upon command as he left. He needed to die with dignity, a true warrior.

***************************

Elizan waited for Omalius to return. The hour did not matter. Her room was dimly lit as she paced around, agitated.

Omalius knocked politely before activating the retina secure locking device. The door would not open without Elizan verifying the visitor, which she did by simply speaking the code. Failure to acknowledge the visitor within ten seconds would alert security that would zap the visitor with an electric pulse. In this case thankfully, that was not necessary.

Omalius swiftly entered, somewhat shaken.

'I'm afraid your concerns were justified,' said Omalius.

'The slave, did she squeal?'

'She needed proof that her brother would be released from the floating prison. I gave her your reprieve certificate as you instructed, as well as her freedom.'

'Well?' asked Elizan.

'Anchorax was to betray you. It seems his allegiance is to Dane Vhastek. He sees Dane as his saviour and his plan was to lead you along and come clean with Dane once he returned to the space station Colony 7. He wanted to take Dina with him and they were due to meet tomorrow night.'

'It seems no one is to be trusted, Omalius.'

'I might take that the wrong way, Elizan.'

'I'll ignore that childish remark but for the sake of clarity I will rephrase that - it seems only those close to me are to be trusted.'

Omalius nodded before continuing, 'It seems there is one other complication. Oosapeth had already offered Anchorax a deal.'

'In return for what?'

'The head of Dane Vhastek.'

'As I said, Omalius, it seems no one is to be trusted.'

***************************

The incoming spacecraft was recognised as a Trollozyte craft. The reading from the space centre, Colony 7, deduced that the craft had gone through the portal, well outside Earth's atmosphere, that co-ordinates had been pre-set and the craft was heading towards the space station in automatic mode. Oosapeth's signature was acknowledged as the last individual to enter any co-ordinates into this particular craft before he perished on Colony 7.

The operative on board the space station alerted Dane Vhastek who immediately headed to the bridge.

'We have an incoming spacecraft,' informed the operative.

'Friend or foe?' asked Dane, his headset ensuring the operative understood every word.

'The incoming data suggest that the craft is on its way back from Zarduzian, courtesy of co-ordinates entered by Oosapeth himself.'

'Then it must be Anchorax. He was to go to Zarduzian to secure troops and then return to Colony 7,' said Dane.

'Precisely our deduction, but there is one problem.'

'Problem?'

'There is no communication. It is almost as if nobody is on board,' replied the operative.

'When he docks, I'll enter the craft. It might be a trap,' said Dane.

The craft looked to dock − everything about the craft looked normal. The automatic docking procedure engaged and the craft slowly neared the space centre. Once the craft locked into position the door would open, the passengers could pass through the docking chamber where computers would analyse and verify those travelling on board. Oosapeth would have already processed Anchorax as the passenger, so the clearance through the docking chamber would be a formality.

Dane waited at the other end of the docking chamber, armed and ready with a few of his warriors alongside for good measure. They waited.

'Hold fire until I give the word!' said Dane. His warriors did as he commanded.

They waited.

'Still hold fire!' barked Dane.

They waited.

'I'm going in,' said Dane. The warriors followed cautiously. This could be a trap. Step by step the posse of warriors entered the craft. It was lit and operationally, nothing appeared untoward. Dane eased into the docking area of the craft, below the flight operating deck. This was the tricky section; only one warrior could enter the flight deck at any one moment by way of a lift-like section on the floor, which rose onto the flight deck. As the lift could also be disengaged, this was a security measure in case the craft was invaded.

Dane being the warrior he is, ignored requests not to be the first to enter the flight deck. He stood on the spot, gave a nod to his warriors and disappeared. They waited. There was no sound of any ammunition fire or communication. The warriors continued to wait.

The silence was worrying − not a sound, nothing. In what seemed an age, the lift device eventually began to return to its original position. The first glimpse of the being − the boots. Heavy-duty, black, warrior boots. It was Dane Vhastek returning. His full figure emerged and he was alone.

Dane walked forlornly towards the most senior warrior and uttered something in his ear before walking slowly towards the docking chamber.

The warrior in charge occupied the same spot where Dane had stood moments earlier. As he rose, his eyes peered into the flight deck − a body. The body was charred, the head was missing and there was a message in Undarthian even though the victim was Zaagan.

The message read: ' _Traitor! Once a squalor, always a_ _squalor! '_
CHAPTER 40

STAVE'S SALVATION

The Z1845X was ticking. Robert was stranded. It was only a matter of time and he would be history. His only consolation was that he would take everything with him − the ugly Drayzak opposite, Qudor Volkan and his entire arsenal of war craft, the F16s and stealth bombers as well as the portal amplifier. ' _Perhaps this was how it was to be? '_ thought Robert. He had changed the timeline; the future would be different − it had to be. The one thing that worried Robert was that he wouldn't be around to witness exactly how the future would change, how 2218 _would_ have been. This was not in his plan.

Robert stared at the restless Drayzak. He had seen Drayzaks before, one that killed his friend Ansell mercilessly − he despised the beasts − it was ironic that his death would also mean that he would take out a Drayzak. Robert smiled at the irony.

The portal amplifier was a magnificent craft; Robert was in awe of its technology. Even in 2218 with the advent of all the technology the multi alien races on Earth had to offer, the portal amplifier was still, in Robert's opinion, the most outstanding alien invention.

Robert had set the countdown at 60 minutes. He estimated that approximately 20 of those 60 minutes had elapsed. Being tied to the hull of the craft by his hands and with his legs also bound meant that he could not access any implement stored within his uniform, which might help his escape. He became more agitated as each minute passed. His plan had been to talk Qudor Volkan into allowing him to return to Area 51 to rescue a time machine, it would mean being escorted by one of his henchmen but, by the time they were a few thousand miles into their journey, Qudor Volkan and everything within 50 miles would be incinerated. He reminded himself that the aim was to change 2218, to give back control of Earth to humans; he hadn't done this to be a hero. To eliminate Qudor was the only objective and yet he didn't feel as though this was a true victory in the sense that he wouldn't be around to see whether his actions had the desired effect. He didn't want to die this way.

Time was ticking and the Drayzak became more restless. Robert was running out of time.

A white flash appeared out of nowhere. The light was blinding and the Drayzak squealed. Robert instinctively moved his face to one side, shutting his eyes to protect him from the light that engulfed the portal amplifier. There was an accompanying sound, similar to the crack of a lightning bolt. Within seconds, the light dispersed. Robert blinked profusely as he tried to focus on the area directly in front. He could make out the Drayzak still squirming, but there was another figure emerging. As Robert focused he could see an upright creature around seven feet tall, very stocky, human in shape but scaly. ' _What in God 's name is_ _that thing? '_ thought Robert. The scaly skin was familiar, in fact it mirrored the skin of the Drayzak opposite, but it wasn't a Drayzak. Robert could vaguely recognise a human form, the torso was that of a human and it was obviously male as the trademark chest was in evidence and it had arms and legs of which the muscular tone was off the Richter scale. By now the light had disappeared completely and the second monster in the room stood before Robert in all its glory.

The monster looked around the ship and headed towards the Drayzak who was desperate to free itself from the shackles in order to attack the imposter. It took less than five seconds for the incoming monster to break the neck of the Drayzak. Whatever this thing was its strength was monstrous.

'Where's the Z1845X?' asked the creature.

'You speak English?' asked Robert.

'I am from the year 2257. You are Robert Stave and I need to defuse the bomb.'

'Free me and I'll show you,' replied Robert.

The creature walked over to Robert towering his meagre six feet stature, ripping away the shackles as if it was snapping an annoying bit of cotton from a garment. Robert headed straight for the weapon, defusing it within seconds.

'Who are you? What are you?' asked Robert.

'I am the future. _Your_ future,' replied the creature. 'I am the brainchild of a being in the future intent on taking over planet Earth. I am part human and part Drayzak, a monster with intelligence. I am the direct result of your actions.'

'I don't understand.'

'I am here to prevent you from changing the future. In precisely ten minutes, in our history of time, this area will be a mass of destruction. You successfully kill Qudor Volkan and you change the future - for the worse,' explained the creature.

'What alien could possibly be worse than Qudor Volkan?'

'Not an alien, a human - his name, Zak Lancelot.'

'That can't be,' said Robert, 'as Zak Lancelot is a rebel, he's a good guy.'

'He might have been in your timeline but not in this one. It was too late for you to prevent Drayzaks roaming the Earth. You only managed to kill Qudor Volkan. Without Qudor the alien races take on a different path.'

'That's not supposed to happen.'

'Well, it did. In 2257 the new weapon is the hi bred, the human Drayzak.'

'What was that flash?' asked Robert.

'In 2257 you don't need a machine to time travel,' said the hi bred. 'I need to get rid of this explosive device, it's too dangerous to have lying around. You know how to fly this bird. We need to get high enough to dispose of this device in space.'

Robert fired up the portal amplifier and it rose rapidly into the outer atmosphere, its speed way and above the capabilities of the Olympianas'. Qudor would not be able to react quickly enough. As the craft rose, Robert turned towards the hi bred.

'What happens once we dispose of the explosive device?'

'You are coming back with me, to 2257.'

***********************************
