At exactly fourteen hundred hours, Captain Gabriel Vendal was nowhere near the Trella House. He was, in fact, only just stepping out of the airlock of the Osiris. He hadn’t really intended to be on time though. One thing he had learned long ago in negotiations is that it seldom pays to be on time. It made you look desperate. He didn’t want this new prospective ship’s Mage to get bored and leave, however, so he didn’t take his time making his way to the meeting place.

As he moved through the narrow streets of the port town of Mevvin, Gabriel noticed there were a lot more beggars than the last time he had come through. He tried to make a point of not frequenting the place however, it always depressed him for days. Not that he lately needed any help being depressed. Just two weeks ago he lost an entire shipment of goods and his ship’s Mage all in one shot.

Fyrial had been a good man, a rare trait in an illegal Mage. He had given his life to protect Gabriel’s ship and his crew. Unfortunately for Gabriel, Fyrial’s current replacement was nowhere near the upstanding individual Fyrial had been. Salazar wasn’t exactly a bad person, per se, but his priorities left much to be desired. For Salazar, money came first, also second and possibly third. He was at least above cheating and stealing to get it, though, at least if he was likely to be caught. He was the type of person you might find fishing credits out of a wishing well.

As Gabriel moved through the town towards the inner city, conditions improved slightly. The roads widened, apartments replaced hovels, and the people walking the streets walked as though they might actually have a destination. There was still the occasional beggar, but even those looked a little better off, a little less lost and destitute than their compatriots down by the docks.

Gabriel turned down another street, this one narrower than the others. The street life here was decidedly different from the others. Most of the establishments here didn't advertise their types of business, generally just opting for a simple non-descript name posted above the door. Said doors were usually always flanked by a burly individual or two. Very much the type of place Gabriel figured Captain Rosh would frequent. He didn't know why he had let the weaselly well-dressed man pick the location for this meeting; he was already beginning to regret it.

About halfway down the street, there was a simple, plain, white door with the words “Trella House” imprinted above it. Two unnaturally large men stood on either side of the door, doing their best to appear completely uninterested in the people going in and out. Just before Gabriel entered the building, he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He glanced around quickly but saw nothing suspicious. He almost turned around right then and there, but good Mages were very hard to find, and Rosh had talked this one up quite a bit.

Shrugging off the feeling, Gabriel walked into the Trella House. Through the doors was exactly what one might expect of a place dubiously labeled a Gentlemen’s Club. Scantily clad wait staff walked amongst the tables, serving drinks to patrons who should have switched to water hours ago. Near the stairs leading to the second floor were other staff, wearing considerably less than the waitresses below. Bare breasts and hollow smiles were both on equally prominent display. Gabriel had been to places like this before, even a smuggling Captain gets lonely from time to time. The staff here, however, unsettled Gabriel. Their laughs were just a touch too exuberant, their glances just a bit too quick and skittish. It smelled of lost hopes and forgotten dreams. Even the patrons seemed desperate to lose themselves, either in drink or debauchery.

Sitting in the far corner to the right of the doorway, Gabriel spotted the man he must have been sent to meet. He stood out as the only person here with a scowl instead of a smile, forced or otherwise. Walking up to the table, Gabriel noticed the drink in front of the stranger was untouched. A good sign, assuming this was whom Gabriel had come to meet. He didn't like crew members who lost themselves in drink.

“Tyrial, I presume,” asked Gabriel with aplomb.

“You’re late,” replied Tyrial flatly.

“A Ship's Captain is never late,” said Gabriel, taking an uninvited seat in front of Tyrial. “Now, to the matter at hand. Captain Rosh tells me you’re a man of morals and integrity. He spent quite a bit of time extolling those virtues. Knowing Rosh, this means one of two things. Either you possess no meaningful quantity of either, or you possess an abundance of both, but little else. Which is it?”

Tyrial continued to look uncomfortably at his drink, something he had been doing since Gabriel arrived. Gabriel’s comment, however, didn’t seem to phase him in the least. “The world is more complicated than your simple platitudes,” replied Tyrial, “you can’t boil people down to their essential virtues and think you have any useful measure of their worth.”

That was quite a bit more philosophy than Gabriel had expected as a reply. He shifted in his seat, sitting forward slightly. “Perhaps the measure is not so important as how one reacts to being measured,” said Gabriel.

A slight smile tugged at Tyrial’s lips, he mastered it quickly, however, and said, “I’m assuming you didn't ask to meet me here so we could trade platitudes. Rosh told me you were looking for a new ship’s Mage, it so happens I’m looking for a new Captain, one whose priorities are perhaps not so heavily focused on profit.”

Gabriel wondered what other focus there was for a smuggling vessel; profit seemed like the only viable goal one could have plying that particular trade. “If you're looking for a more worthy goal than profit, perhaps you’ve chosen the wrong profession,” replied Gabriel.

“There are not many options for an individual with my particular talents. You can’t do much more than hope to sneak some cheese off the table when the cats aren't looking. It takes a lot more than one mouse to threaten a cat,” said Tyrial.

Gabriel knew these types of negotiations usually beat about the bush, when you were plying a trade outlawed in every system you tended to be circumspect. “If you're not interested in stealing the cheese anymore, what are you interested in?” asked Gabriel.

“Perhaps finding a group of like-minded mice, tired of the cats’ tyranny,” replied Tyrial, finally looking up from his cup.

Gabriel looked into the eyes of the Mage who sat across from him. These were not the eyes of a man beaten or broken. They were the eyes of a man dangerously determined to see his oppressors pay for their malice. Gabriel was not sure he liked the look he saw in those eyes, he thought that perhaps he had an inkling now of what Rosh had meant when he said Tyrial had sometimes followed orders “creatively.”

Gabriel sat back from that intense stare. It seemed the rumors he’d heard about this man were somewhat understated. He started to think that perhaps he should have listened to his uneasy feeling back at the door. “I think you should concentrate on the cheese,” said Gabriel, “Mice that challenge a cat just get eaten.”

A look of disappointment flashed across Tyrial’s face, but it was gone in an instant and replaced by the scowl Gabriel had seen when he’d entered. Tyrial looked back at his untouched drink, “I’ve spent better than fifty years chasing scraps, and I know I’m not the only one who's tired of it,” said Tyrial.

Gabriel was about to make one more attempt at keeping this misguided Mage from getting himself killed when the PA strapped around his wrist blinked slightly. Covertly glancing at the device, he saw a brief message scroll past on its narrow display. It was from his ship and it said only “Vultures in the sky.” Shit. The Conclave.

Gabriel stood up, a slightly surprised look crossing Tyrial’s face as he did so. “I’m sorry, it looks like we're going to go in a different direction,” said Gabriel.

Gabriel hated using that line, but he didn't have time for explanations. That feeling he’d had just before coming in here crashed back on him. That, along with the probing questions about the Opposition from this mage and the rumors about him. It reeked of a sting. Gabriel was fairly sure the man sitting in front of him wasn’t a part of it but he couldn’t risk alerting the Conclave. Without waiting for a reply, he walked quickly to the door and stepped outside.

***

Tyrial watched the Captain leave. He knew he’d pushed the subject a little too soon, a little too fast, but Gabriel hadn’t seemed the type to be spooked so easily. Then again, he had seemed calm enough until he had glanced at the message on his PA. He wondered what it had said. Tyrial was certain Gabriel knew something about the Opposition.

Being in this place filled with so many lost souls made Tyrial intensely uncomfortable. He was tired of staring at the contents of his cup filled with some mind-altering poison these people called a drink. Tyrial stood to leave. Perhaps he should follow this captain and ‘convince’ him to talk. Tyrial wasn’t sure if he could do something like that to another person who wasn’t Conclave, but he was frustrated. He had to do something.

He moved quickly to the door and stepped outside. The two burly bouncers were still standing on either side of the door. One glanced at him slightly, trying not to appear obvious about it. The bouncer listened for a moment, but when he didn't hear any complaints about an unpaid tab from inside, he resumed his disinterested study of the pavement.

Tyrial looked down both ends of the street, catching a glimpse of the Captain's jacket about thirty meters to his left and moving towards an intersection. Tyrial prepared to follow him at a discreet distance. As he was about to move out into the thin flow of people on the street, however, two people on the opposite side of the street caught his eye. They made a less than discrete move to follow the captain themselves. The manner in which they dressed absolutely reeked of authority.

Tyrial waited a moment, then moved slowly out into the street, keeping an eye on the two following the captain. They were walking quickly, obviously intending to catch up to Gabriel without alerting him of their presence. While waiting for Gabriel earlier, Tyrial had overheard patrons of the Trella talking about two Conclave dogs prowling the area and wondered if he was looking at those same dogs now. It was amazing what you could learn in any establishment that served alcohol if you just kept your ears open. As he followed the two, he was more and more certain they were Conclave. He figured the Captain was probably in for a rough time of it very shortly.

Tyrial considered using the disturbance of the Captain’s imminent capture as an opportunity to make himself scarce. They would likely come looking for him next, in-fact he was surprised they weren't looking for him first. He considered it, and decided he could not. He still wanted some more answers from this captain. Besides, Tyrial just couldn’t leave another fellow human being to the mercies, or the lack thereof, of the Conclave.

The Captain began to move faster as he and his two pursuers moved onto another street with less traffic. It seemed he had some idea he was being followed by people he would probably rather not meet. The two pursuers quickened their pace, beginning to jog. One of them reached into his jacket and pulled out a weapon. As he did so, Tyrial saw something shimmer on the man’s inner jacket. Ragnacite. The man with the weapon shouted, “Stop and surrender, by order of the Conclave”. In a matter of seconds, the street was almost deserted save for the two men, the Captain, and Tyrial, standing at the corner of an intersection.

As the captain slowed to a walk and began raising his hands, Tyrial stooped down and collected two small rocks from off the street. Tyrial wasn’t sure why he was risking his neck for Gabriel, he had only just met the man. He just couldn’t let the Conclave have him. Maybe if it were muggers he could turn a blind eye, but not the Conclave. Tyrial raised his hands out in front of himself, palms up, one rock resting on each. As the two men closed in on Gabriel, Tyrial focused his Will in front of the stones.

An object in motion, Tyrial thought. The men had Ragnacite on them, otherwise he could have simply used his Will to stop their hearts. Men like this, though, they always thought Ragnacite made them impervious to Mages. Tends to stay in motion, he finished the thought. Releasing all of his focused Will into a concentrated gravity slingshot, he propelled the two stones forward in a blink of an eye at about half the speed of sound.

Two wet ka-chunk sounds were followed by the sound of two bodies dropping to the ground like rag dolls. The sound caused Gabriel to spin around, dropping to a crouch as he did so. Looking at the two corpses behind him, he glanced further down the street and saw Tyrial standing by the intersection, raised hands returning to his side. As the captain got to his feet, Tyrial walked up to the two bodies, inspecting them. “Conclave,” he said shortly.

Gabriel kicked one of the two over and a small shard of Ragnacite fell out. Tyrial took an involuntary step backward. Gabriel, however, ignored it, and stepped over the body of the first man, picking up the small plasma pistol lying by the head of the second. He looked up at Tyrial, put the weapon in his belt next to a similar one and asked, “So, what now?”

Tyrial thought for a moment. It would be more difficult to get them both to the docks than himself alone. But he had already expended this much effort to keep the captain alive. Perhaps saving his life might be enough to buy what the captain knew about the Opposition without resorting to more distasteful methods. “Let's get moving. Any Mages nearby will have heard that,” said Tyrial, indicating the two dead bodies.

Suiting words to action, Tyrial took off at a brisk jog heading in the general direction of the docks. He glanced back briefly to see the captain following close behind him. With a great deal of luck, they could get out of the area before any Conclave Mages could get close enough to find them. Just as they were reaching the first intersection leading out of the richer neighborhoods, Tyrial heard and felt a pulse of Will from another Mage.

Tyrial turned his head to let Gabriel know they were likely being pursued now. Just as he was about to open his mouth, he saw an opaque wall of what was likely condensed air heading for them from behind. Tyrial skidded to a stop and slammed his own hastily constructed barrier against the one being flung at them. Tyrial’s held and within seconds the attacking mage released his sledgehammer of air. Tyrial didn’t wait for the second attack, he turned and ran. Gabriel must have realized what was happening because he didn’t slow down, he was now about three meters ahead of Tyrial.

Tyrial yelled at Gabriel, “Head for that construction site ahead, I need ammo.”

Gabriel changed course and headed for the construction yard, Tyrial close behind him. Now that they knew where he was, Tyrial didn't bother to be quiet. He expanded his Will outwards all around him, covering a hundred-meter diameter area. He didn’t enforce his Will strongly, just enough to know if any other Mage or Mage’s Will entered it. As they ran down one alley after another, Tyrial felt another Mage attempt to push their Will over his, in an attempt to do exactly what Tyrial was already doing, find his adversaries. Fortunately for Tyrial, the other Mage was not as strong as him. His weak attempts at expanding his Will over Tyrial’s only served to pinpoint his location.

Only two streets away from the construction yard, Tyrial spotted some large heavy looking canisters sitting on the side of the street. Tyrial decided to give the pursuing Mage something to do since he knew roughly where he was now. Tyrial gathered his Will, losing some of the area he had been watching to the rival Mage. He launched the canisters one at a time into the air with gravity, giving them a rough trajectory so that they should land near the Mage pursuing them. All the while he never stopped running; it seemed most Mages relied so heavily on their Will they often dismissed out of hand more mundane things like flying debris.

As they came into the construction yard, Tyrial heard a few loud crashes in the distance followed by the push on his field of influence suddenly vanishing from the Mage he couldn’t see. He didn't relax, however, even if he had somehow managed to get lucky with one of the canisters - he was sure there were other Mages nearby. Conclave mages running stings like this never came alone. He prepared to expand his sphere of influence again; this site might have offered a great deal of construction debris, but it also left them very exposed.

No sooner had he finished the thought when two waves of hardened air came roaring at him from either side. Rather than attempt to deflect them both, he used a quick burst of his Will to create a gravity slingshot above himself. He jumped and the extra boost from his gravity well allowed him to quickly gain about six meters in height. Below him, the two waves of air crashed together with a clap of thunder. As he began to fall back to the concrete he used another small burst of Will to create another short-lived gravity well above him. Much weaker than the last, this new gravity well was used to slow his descent.

His feet touched the pavement for no more than a split second before he was already moving again. Gabriel was almost six meters ahead of him by now and still moving fast. Tyrial was about to use another gravity well to catch up to the Captain when Gabriel tripped over an unseen hazard and went down hard. Apparently the Mages had decided to change targets. Not taking the time to slow down, Tyrial grabbed the Captain's collar as he passed him and, using his Will to aid him, he hauled Gabriel back to his feet and into a run.

Glancing beside him as he ran, Tyrial saw that Gabriel still appeared to be in fighting shape. Taking stock of their surroundings Tyrial quickly came up with and discarded a half dozen plans for escaping. He knew if he stopped to fight these two new Mages he would be overrun with more before he could disable or kill them. As he and Gabriel sped through the site, Tyrial flung everything he could lay his Will on at the two mages who had attacked them. This tactic allowed them to reach the far end of the site and quickly duck behind a half-formed wall.

Tyrial listened to the various items he had tossed clang and crash to the ground in the general vicinity of the two attacking mages. As the last of the items hit the ground there was a moment of silence. Tyrial looked around quickly, looking for an exit strategy. As an idea came to him he heard another pulse of Will, this one shorter but stronger than the previous attacks. As the sound of the pulse faded Tyrial wondered what they had done. A second later his answer crashed to the ground in the form of a large piece of machinery no more than two meters from where they were hiding.

Apparently, even Conclave mages could learn if given enough object lessons. Rather than wait for them to pick up on any more of Tyrial’s tricks, he grabbed the Captain and nodded at a small reinforced outdoor shed, then made a dash for it.

“What's the plan,” asked Gabriel, trying to keep up.

“Looks like a perfectly good Jump Capsule to me right there,” replied Tyrial, pointing at the shed they were heading for.

“You want to Jump in a shed!? Are you mad?” asked Gabriel.

“Do you have a better idea?” Tyrial asked as he ripped open the door to the shed.

Without waiting for an answer, Tyrial shoved Gabriel inside just as another large piece of machinery landed three meters from the shed. While the Conclave mages had taken Tyrial’s lessons to heart, they still needed a good bit of work on their aim. Physics was a tricky bitch. Tyrial jumped inside the shed himself and slammed the door shut behind him. Looking at Gabriel he said shortly, “Stand close, and brace yourself.”

Tyrial began gathering his Will with all his might. He would need a good deal of Will for this maneuver. Gabriel looked askance at his surroundings, eyeing the walls filled with tools and other potentially lethal flying objects. Tyrial pushed at the fabric of space next to the tool shed, he pushed much harder than he did to simply warp the spacetime fabric. Instead, he bored a hole into it, pushing the other end of that hole out towards the docks. He couldn’t see what or who was at the other end of the Jump Gate, so using his memory of the area he put it about three meters above the ground and in an area unlikely to contain too many people. Hopefully, any that were there would get out of the way once they saw the Gate forming.

With the Jump Gate in place and open, Tyrial didn’t waste any time. The other two attacking Mages must have realized by now what he was planning. Without waiting to see what their response might be, Tyrial used a burst of gravity to hurl the shed through the Jump Gate. The trip didn't take more than a second but as the shed passed through the aperture the incredible gravitational forces at work tore at and crushed the shed from every angle. What came out the other end resembled a somewhat circular and loosely connected crumpled wad of steel and plating.

Inside the shed, Tyrial had created a hardened spherical shield of air around him and Gabriel just as the shed left the ground in the construction site. He had done his best to hold them steady as the shed had been destroyed around them. Still, it was a particularly bumpy ride and Tyrial was disoriented when they came out the other side of the Gate. As the shed left the far side of the Gate, it began an ungraceful fall to the ground from its three-meter vantage point in the sky.

Tyrial didn't have time to reorient himself after the trip before the shed hit the ground with a thunderous boom. What used to be walls and a roof flew apart in every direction, tools and bits of metal went flying into the air. All Tyrial could do was hold on to the shield of air with all his strength as the air rushed out of his lungs upon impact with said shield. Fortunately for Tyrial, Gabriel did not land on top of him. Unfortunately for Gabriel, this meant a rather unpleasant reunion with the ground.

The shield of air dissipated as Tyrial picked himself up off the ground. It seemed the shed along with the shield of air had given them just barely enough protection to make it. He glanced at Gabriel and noted the Captain was still conscious and moving, a good sign. He glanced around at the destruction his shed-turned-jump-capsule had wrought. Bits of metal and tool debris lay in a ten-meter circle where they landed. Thankfully he didn't see any dead bodies. He reached out and helped Gabriel back to his feet.

“That wasn’t so bad,” said Tyrial, a little unsteady on his legs after so much exertion.

As Gabriel brushed the dirt and dust off of his clothes, he looked at Tyrial with a flat unfriendly stare and said, “I’ll give you a few points for creativity, but minus several hundred for lack of sound judgment.”

Tyrial did his best to make his trench coat look presentable again. He gave up after a second. A sound caught his attention. “They’re coming after us, we need to move now,” said Tyrial. Looking around briefly to get his bearings, he said, “Captain Rosh’s ship is down at concourse E twenty-one, if we book it we might make it in time.”

“And then what,” asked Gabriel, “do you have a plan to get past the Conclave ships likely in orbit?”

“I do,” replied Tyrial with confidence. Gabriel looked at him for a moment longer.

“Alright,” said Gabriel, “my ship is docked at A seven, much closer. If you want a job, follow me.”

With that, Gabriel took off at a wobbly run in the direction of docking concourse A. Staring at him for a second, Tyrial wondered what he should do. He felt as though his fate was balanced on the head of a pin. On nothing more than his gut instinct, he took off at a run himself, following Gabriel to his ship.

As they reached the seventh docking pier on concourse A, Tyrial looked at Gabriel's ship. It wasn’t the largest he'd ever seen but it was perhaps the most unique. It most certainly wasn’t of human construction. As they made their way up to the docking clamps, an immaculately dressed skinny man was walking out of the airlock. He walked up to Tyrial and Gabriel, looked Tyrial over briefly, and dismissed him.

“That ruckus was you, I presume,” the skinny man said to Gabriel.

“Salazar,” said Gabriel, “no time for small talk I’m afraid. Remember that business opportunity I mentioned yesterday? If you want it, head to concourse E twenty-one.”

Salazar's eyes lit up. It was the type of expression Tyrial had seen from Captain Rosh whenever large sums of money were on the table. “One catch,” said Gabriel, “you’ve got thirty seconds to get your stuff and get off my ship. Any longer and you’ll meet a Conclave welcoming committee. Move!” That last sentence was given with the stiff authority only a veteran Captain could deliver.

Salazar jumped at the command, then sped back into the ship like a man saving his family heirlooms from a fire.

Gabriel motioned for Tyrial to follow him and headed into the ship. As they passed through the two-door airlock Tyrial saw a placard above the inner airlock door that simply read “The Osiris”. They moved quickly down a short hallway beyond the airlock with doors on both sides. The ones to the right were much finer and slightly larger than those to the left. Coming to a four-way intersection in the hallway, the Captain took the hallway to the right and practically jogged to the short stairs leading up to what could only be the bridge.

Tyrial, following close behind Gabriel, had little time to take in the various parts of the ship he was walking through. He did note, however, that it all seemed to be very clean and well kept. A stark contrast to Captain Rosh’s ship. As Tyrial stepped up onto the bridge and Gabriel moved off to the right, Tyrial was struck by the design of the bridge. It wasn’t the well laid-out stations to either side of the bridge that caught his eye. It wasn’t the fairly large three-meter square primary display at the front. It wasn’t even the modest Captain’s Chair that was set just to the right of the center of the bridge. What struck him was the ship’s Mage station, dead center of the bridge like most ships. It had one considerable difference from most he’d seen; it had a chair. It wasn’t a large chair, it was considerably smaller than the Captain’s chair, but it had armrests and a small ship interface display off to one side in front of it.

Tyrial could not help the huge smile that split his face as he moved forward towards the station. He was so engrossed by this anomaly that he barely even noticed the other crew members on the bridge. To the right of the marvelous chair sat Captain Gabriel himself. To Tyrial’s right and slightly behind the Captain’s chair at a station labeled “COM” sat a small, demure, girl with very long thin pointy ears; a Zyrtha. Also to Tyrial’s right but in front of the Captain’s chair, much closer to the display at the front of the bridge, was an empty station labeled “NAV”. To Tyrial’s left and slightly behind his new station was one labeled “TAC”, behind this one sat a tall fierce-looking red-headed woman. In front of her, also on the left, was the fourth and final station labeled “ENG”. In front of the plethora of displays and instruments at this station, there was a tall man with black hair sitting hunched over his displays as though they contained the secrets of the universe.

Tyrial noticed almost none of this; he had eyes only for the chair. “It has a chair,” he said. He realized he was stating the obvious like a fool, but he didn't care. He moved around the chair and, uninvited, sat in it. He just couldn’t help himself; it was even comfortable.

Gabriel glanced at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “If you want to keep it,” he said, “you had better prepare whatever tricks you have up your sleeve to get us past the Conclave.”

That snapped Tyrial out of his revelry like a bucket of ice water. The Conclave. He would show those clowns how Will Power was supposed to be used. “Have you ever seen a Mage Jump an entire starship before,” Tyrial asked.

That got Gabriel’s full attention. He stared hard at Tyrial for a few moments. “If you damage my ship,” he began.

“I’ve done this before,” interrupted Tyrial.

“Yes,” said Gabriel with a meaningful look, “I remember.”

“It’ll be just like the shed,” said Tyrial, “except with less falling apart… probably.”

Gabriel took a very deep breath. He must have realized he didn't have much choice at this point because he started barking out orders.

“Rella, is Salazar out of my ship yet,” Gabriel asked.

The small Zyrtha to Tyrial’s right tapped out a few commands on her console and replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Good, request docking departure from the port authority,” said Gabriel.

A few more taps from the girl, “They have denied our request, sir, they say the docks are currently on lockdown.” she said.

“No surprise there,” mumbled Gabriel.

“William,” said Gabriel, “get an override on those docking clamps.”

“Already done, Sir, retracting now,” said the man sitting at the ENG console without looking up from his instruments.

“Where to?,” Gabriel asked Tyrial.

“Space, doesn't matter where,” replied Tyrial, “Gate’s are much harder in an atmosphere.”

Gabriel tapped on his console for a second, “William, set course to one eight three nine two five mark six. Break orbit, maximum Grav power,” said Gabriel.

“Yes, sir,” replied William.

“Sarah, do you have a position on our welcoming party?” said Gabriel.

“Twelve hundred kilometers and closing, looks like the port authority ratted us out. At current speeds, four minutes to intercept.” replied the red-headed girl at the TAC station.

“You’ve got four minutes, Tyrial,” said Gabriel.

“I’ll only need two,” replied Tyrial.

As the ship moved out from the docks and began climbing through the atmosphere, everyone on the bridge was silent. Tyrial began to gather his Will. His fury and rage at the Conclave gave him extra strength. They wanted this ship and for that reason alone Tyrial would not let them have it. And also because he was on it. As the ship began to clear the atmosphere, Tyrial glanced at the interface attached to his chair. It looked much the same as ones he had seen built into the floor of most other Mage stations. Using the interface in front of him he commanded the Gravity Emitter below to gather all the Gravitons it could. Tyrial was surprised by the values on the display, this ship had a much more powerful Gravity Emitter than he had ever seen, even on ships twice this size.

The Gravitons built up below him. Tyrial used his Will to gather and direct them. He pushed them out far in front of the ship. Using his experience he estimated the location the ship would be when the Jump Gate was ready, then gave himself a little extra space, just in case. He pushed with all his strength at that point in space, bending, and then boring a hole. He pushed the hole far and fast, using the power of the Gravitons being generated below him to create a Jump Gate much wider and much longer than he could have done unaided.

He wanted to be sure that wherever he put the other end of the Gate, it would be far enough outside the sensor range of any of the Conclave vessels so it couldn’t be detected. To that end, he kept pushing harder and harder. Suddenly he began to feel a familiar tingling in the back of his head. He knew this feeling meant he was close to reaching his limit. He pushed harder anyway; he knew that brushing up against his limit was dangerous and potentially deadly. But he absolutely refused to give in to the Conclave.

He pushed the other end of the gate out to almost a full light year. It would put them out in the middle of nowhere but nowhere also didn’t contain any Conclave. The tingle had become a dull ache, Tyrial was beginning to lose focus, the world around him becoming an indistinct haze. He was reminded that he was taking too long by a hushed announcement from the red-headed women at the TAC station.

“Two-hundred kilometers and closing, one minute, twenty seconds to intercept,” said Sarah.

To Gabriel's credit, he didn’t say a word. That quiet vote of confidence made Tyrial put every ounce of his remaining strength into finishing the Gate. He pushed past what was fast becoming a sharp pain in the back of his head. He shoved the Gate open with the last of his strength without so much as a meter to spare. The Gate burst open directly in front of the ship, the edges still expanding as the ship began to pass through the aperture.

It was fortunate that Tyrial had this amazing chair to sit in. Had he been standing or even sitting cross-legged, he would have been lying prone on the floor by now. Even the mere seconds he needed to hold the Gate open so the ship could pass was an agony. His head was splitting, those two seconds passed as if stretched into twenty. The last of his Will was dripping away, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t produce anymore. He gave those last drops to the Gravitons holding open the Gate and hoped it would be enough. With that, he passed out.