Tyrial sat at a table in the mess with Rella, Sarah, and William, idly picking at some kind of fish-based stew in front of him. He wasn’t really paying much attention to the conversation between the other three individuals. The last four days he had spent on Antares IV had been some of the most relaxing Tyrial had ever known in his life. He thought back over all the time he had spent talking with Rella in that forest glade with the large pond.

While they had never been as intimate with each other as they had been that first fateful day, they still seemed to be getting closer. Not that Tyrial had a great deal of experience with such things, but he was almost certain what they had could be called friendship. He had never had a friend before. He wasn’t entirely certain of the definition, but he figured anyone he felt comfortable talking about his past with should fit that category.

“Tyrial?” Rella’s voice suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts.

Refocusing his eyes on the group around him, he glanced around and realized everyone was looking at him. He couldn’t immediately find a reason why. Dredging through the memory of his surroundings that he had been ignoring, he realized that Rella had asked him a question, twice. He could not for the life of him, however, remember what it was.

“Ahh, sorry, I uh… wasn’t paying attention,” Tyrial said. He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the slight embarrassment out of his voice. It seemed those lapses of inattention were getting worse lately. He had thought that they were being caused by all the stress of his life, but even in this relaxed environment, he found himself losing track of reality with disturbing regularity.

Placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder, Rella said, “Are you alright?”

Tyrial did his best to ignore his concern, he put a smile on his face and said, “Ya, I’m fine. I was just lost in thought, that’s all. What were you saying?”

“I asked if you wanted to go with Sarah and me into town later, you said you’d wanted to see the gardens,” Rella said.

“I do, actually,” said Tyrial, “the way you describe them they sound incredible, but I have plans for this morning. Apparently, Gabriel has finally convinced Zin’dar to let me take a closer look at the antimatter reactor.”

Rella looked impressed and said, “Really? Zin’dar doesn’t let anyone touch his reactor.”

“Oh he didn’t say anything about touching it,” said Tyrial, “just looking. My nuclear and particle physics are a bit rusty, but I’m hoping I can convince Zin’dar to teach me a few things.”

“Good luck with that,” said Sarah, “the last time I set foot in engineering he told me to get out before I shot something by accident. I don’t think he has a lot of respect for my profession.” She fingered one of the two plasma pistols she always had strapped to her sides.

Standing and smiling, Tyrial said, “Well, I don't plan to bring any guns, so hopefully I don’t get kicked out.”

Looking at Rella and smiling, Tyrial said, “Thanks for the meal, fish was definitely a… unique choice for breakfast.”

“Well, you wouldn’t tell me what you liked so…” she said, waving her hand at the half eaten stew as way of explanation.

Tyrial chuckled, then said, “Point taken.” Standing and looking at them all in turn, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have an engineer to annoy.”

As he turned to leave, Rella gave him a smile and a nod. Sarah skipped the smile and gave him a nod. William, as always, ignored his presence entirely. That didn’t bother Tyrial nearly as much as it used to. Sarah at least was becoming personable with him, especially since the day he had rectified things with Rella. Everyone seemed to care about the little Zyrtha a great deal and Tyrial was beginning to understand why.

He shook his head as he walked down the hallway towards the stairs, his smile falling slightly. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Rella was a friend, nothing more. He didn’t think there was any danger that she would have romantic feelings for him, but either way, he couldn’t risk a relationship with her. The more he cared about her, the more important that fact became. Even with his newfound calm and the brooch she always wore, he couldn’t risk it. He had suffered another episode the night before. Another dent in his nightstand being the only casualty this time, but the danger was too real.

Doing his best to put those concerns aside for now as he walked down the stairs, Tyrial tried to put himself into a mindset suitable for the task at hand. It had been decades since he had last given any thought to the physics books he had read when he was a child. He knew that Zin’dar was going to be a difficult one to impress, but Gabriel had said that it was worth a shot. He had told Tyrial that there seemed to be little rhyme or reason as to who Zin’dar would accept and who he would not.

Taking a deep breath outside the door to engineering, Tyrial opened the door and stepped into another world. Just as it was the last time he had seen it, the area was clean and well maintained. No tools on the floor, no missing panels, no cables strewn about. All of those things had been a common sight on most ships he had served on prior to this one. Even a Conclave commander would have grudgingly praised this ship's engineer.

Standing just inside the door, Tyrial looked around for the small, hairy Karachi. Not finding any immediate signs of him, he decided to go exploring. Walking around the antimatter reactor, Tyrial got a closer look at some of the components he had only briefly seen last time. Next to the Electron Collector was a panel showing the energy output from the reactor. Tyrial could hardly believe the values it showed. The reactor was currently producing a little over three hundred gigawatts at idle and the listed maximum output was one point five eight terawatts.

The capabilities of this ship began to make a great deal more sense now. That listed maximum output value was almost four times the amount your average Conclave Cruiser Capital ship could produce. Looking more closely at the Electron Collector, a device that should be fairly standard across any type of reactor, Tyrial found component after component he could not identify. If Tyrial didn’t know for a fact it was impossible, he would have said the reactor was a Vaylen design.

Tyrial knew, however, that the tall blue aliens didn’t share their technology with anyone. Still, the complexity of all the systems on this ship was daunting. Tyrial hesitantly reached a hand towards the control panel.

“If you enjoy your continued existence,” said Zin’dar from behind Tyrial, “I would strongly recommend you keep your hands to yourself.”

Tyrial smiled to himself, summoning the Karachi had been easier than he’d expected. Slowly dropping his hand back to his side, he turned. Zin’dar stood fully half of Tyrial’s height, but here in his own domain, he seemed to tower with authority.

Glancing around, Tyrial said, “Gabriel thought you might be able to use my help down here.”

Zin’dar looked dubiously at Tyrial, then said, “Know what that is you were about to fondle?”

Tyrial replied, “I would say the control panel for the Electron Collector.”

Zin’dar nodded, a slightly more neutral look on his face now.

When Zin’dar offered nothing more, Tyrial continued, “My nuclear and particle physics are a bit rusty, but I was hoping I might learn a few things about this unique reactor.”

Zin’dar looked at him for a moment longer than said, “Flattery will get you nowhere. A desire to learn, however…” He looked speculatively at Tyrial for a few more moments then asked, “How much do you know about antimatter?”

Tyrial began to recite an entry from one of his old physics books, “Matter composed of antiparticles whose mass is the same as particles of ordinary matter, but with opposite charges. Collisions between matter and antimatter lead to the total annihilation of both. The total consequence of this annihilation is a release of energy proportional to the total matter and antimatter mass in accordance with the mass-energy equivalence equation.”

Zin’dar almost looked impressed, almost. He said, “Reasonable, if sparse on details. So with that in mind, how is it that we manage to carry antimatter fuel safely?”

Tyrial pointed to the antimatter containment vessels on the reactor, “Containment vessels lined with gravity compression stabilizers. They’re used to keep the antimatter from coming into contact with any matter until it reaches the reaction chamber.”

“Indeed,” said Zin’dar, “and what exactly keeps those gravity compression stabilizers operational?”

Tyrial began to detect a somewhat patronizing tone and suspected he was about to step into a trap. Having a suspicion as to where this was going, Tyrial said, “A great deal of energy, likely fed directly from the Electron Collector that I was about to, how did you put it? Fondle?”

Seemingly unphased by Tyrial’s attempt to diffuse his trap, Zin’dar continued, “Correct, and do you have any idea how much antimatter fuel we carry on this ship?”

Tyrial replied with complete confidence, “Exactly no idea whatsoever.”

“Seven metric tons,” said Zin’dar, “enough to destroy the entire planet we are currently sitting on.”

Tyrial was impressed. Seven metric tons of antimatter was more than he would have guessed the containment vessels could hold. Keeping a straight face, however, he nodded and said with aplomb, “Well, probably not the entire planet. That couldn’t amount to more than say, about a million gigajoules of energy. Hardly enough to obliterate even half the planet…”

For several seconds, Zin’dar looked at Tyrial incredulously, then he suddenly burst out into a raucous laugh. “Half the planet indeed,” he said between laughs. Finally calming down he looked around for a moment then said, “Alright, come with me. I’ve got a few things that need lifting.”

The first thing that apparently needed lifting was an enormous power distribution station. It was easily over a meter square and probably weighed a hundred tons or more.

“I usually ask Kreshen for help with stuff like this, but since you offered,” said Zin’dar.

Looking at the massive device, Tyrial gathered his Will and prepared his concentration. He was sure the device was filled with delicate electronics, and Zin’dar was watching him intently. He wouldn’t be able to use a simple gravity well here. Not to mention the possible disruption to the nearby reactor. Sharpening his concentration he prepared a very specific configuration of gravitons. He directed them downwards in the exact shape of the device he wanted to lift, exerting exactly equal force on all parts of the device simultaneously. While doing this he had to make sure that no stray gravitons went in the direction of the reactor, or even a millimeter below the device he was trying to lift.

He started to sweat before he had even lifted the device a centimeter off the floor. Once he had the device clear of the floor and nothing had fallen off or cracked, he breathed a little easier. Maintaining his razor-sharp concentration, he slowly moved the graviton configuration and the device moved with it. Once to the location Zin’dar specified, he ever so slowly reduced the flow of gravitons until the device settled to the floor with a soft thud.

Tyrial was rather proud of the grace he had displayed in such a complicated maneuver. He continued to be proud of himself right up until Zin’dar asked him to move an even larger spare superconducting electron stabilizer. By the fifth such large object, Tyrial had the distinct impression he was being punished for sidestepping Zin’dar’s trap earlier.

“Need you to fetch me some tools,” was all Zin’dar said after Tyrial had finished moving the last large piece of equipment.

Tyrial wasn’t sure if he was being tested or punished but either way, he had suffered far worse before. If this was what it took to get on the Karachi's good side, then so be it.

For the next three hours, Tyrial stood next to Zin’dar as he worked on various components of the ship and reactor. Whenever the Karachi asked for a tool, Tyrial handed it to him. It wasn’t very engaging, but at least it wasn’t as difficult as moving large heavy delicate objects around.

It wasn’t until well into the first hour that Tyrial realized Zin’dar was muttering to himself. Almost out of boredom, Tyrial tried to follow the little Karachi’s near-continuous stream of mumble. As he did so, he realized Zin’dar was talking about what he was doing. Explaining, as if to himself, how each circuit integrated with another. Or how a particular device worked. Tyrial realized it was probably Zin’dar’s way of teaching.

For the rest of those three hours, Tyrial followed Zin’dar around engineering, listening intently to everything he mumbled and passing him tools. At one point Zin’dar asked for a ‘sonic spanner’. Not having any clue what that was, Tyrial said as much.

“Doesn’t exist, just messin with ya,” Zin’dar had said, then went right back to his muttering.

At the end of those three hours, Zin’dar simply stood in front of the reactor and stared at it. Tyrial wasn’t sure what, if anything, he should say at this point. While he had gathered a near wealth of information from the Karachi’s mutterings he still had a few questions left he had wanted to ask.

To that end, Tyrial said, “I didn’t know the Karachi had ships this advanced.”

“They don’t,” said Zin’dar, “this one's the only one of its kind.”

Remembering a thought he had had earlier, Tyrial asked, “Is this some kind of Vaylen design?”

Zin’dar grunted derisively, “Vaylen? No, it’s mine. Designed it and built it for the most part.”

Tyrial was almost at a loss for words to that, staring at Zin’dar he said, “You… built it?” Tyrial shook his head and simply said, “Impressive.”

That did bring up another question though, one he had asked of Gabriel earlier and been told to “ask the Karachi” for an answer. “If you designed and built it,” asked Tyrial, “how did Gabriel end up as captain?”

Looking at Tyrial, Zin’dar considered for a moment, then said, “Bit of a story to that, follow me.”

Leading Tyrial to the back of the engineering area, Zin’dar slammed the side of his fist into a panel on the wall. The two-meter long panel fell open to a ninety-degree angle with support braces holding it up. It made a perfect bar table, due in no small part to the several cups and bottles of liquid that were stored behind it.

Grabbing two small cups and a small bottle of bluish liquid, Zin’dar placed the cups on the impromptu table and poured a measured amount from the bottle into each. He then replaced the bottle and grabbing both cups, offered one to Tyrial. Taking it, Tyrial stared at the contents for a few moments.

Raising his own, Zin’dar said, “A human custom, if memory serves. To Gabriel, may the bastard live forever, or at least longer than me.” Leaving his cup raised he looked expectantly at Tyrial.

Realizing Zin’dar was waiting for him to complete the ritual, Tyrial raised his own glass and said, “May he live forever.” That done, Zin’dar downed the contents of his glass in a single swallow. Tyrial looked at his own for a moment longer. He generally abhorred alcohol, or anything that might dampen his mental acuity. He didn’t want to give offense to Zin’dar, however, so bracing himself he emptied the contents of his cup and swallowed hard.

The last time he had had any alcohol was at least twenty years ago or more. He didn’t remember a great deal about that particular time, but he was fairly certain that none of the drinks he had tried at the time tasted like liquid plasma. This stuff, whatever it was, burned with such intensity on the way down that Tyrial was genuinely surprised it did not keep going when it hit his stomach. He spent the next minute hoping he did not cough up a lung. The coughing finally mostly under control, he wheezed, “By the Void, what was that?!”

“Mmm, in Basic they call it Alarian Fire Whisky,” said Zin’dar. “Not sure what its native name is.” While Tyrial had been trying not to die from the poison he had just imbibed, Zin’dar had apparently poured himself another glass. While Tyrial continued to hold on to the bar for support and wheezing as though he had just run a marathon, the Karachi tossed another glass of the stuff down his throat. Smacking his lips, Zin’dar said, “Not the most subtle drink. Good for two things though, degreasing parts and killin’ brain cells.”

Setting his cup back on the bar, Zin’dar leaned on it and said, “Now, as to your earlier question. Assuming you’re going to live that is?” Zin’dar looked questioningly at Tyrial who was still leaning over trying to catch his breath.

Tyrial did his best to stand upright. He nodded to Zin’dar, then immediately regretted it. The world was slowly rocking back and forth and his hold on the bar was the only thing keeping him stable. Taking a deep breath he did his best to concentrate on keeping his mental faculties operational.

“Good,” said Zin’dar, “now, where was I. Ah yes, this ship. About fifteen years ago I was working for the Karachi Conglomerate Skunk Works division. Our job was to create a miniaturized highly stable and robust antimatter reactor that could be used on a starship. When they had originally asked me, I refused. I was sick of being stuck behind a desk and had decided earlier to leave the Conglomerate and go find something more interesting to do.”

Pouring himself a third glass of the foul blue liquid, Zin’dar only stared at this one as he talked. “Should never have trusted the bastards,” he muttered to himself. Continuing in his normal voice, he said, “At any rate, when I told them to go pound sand, they made me an offer. They said that as a proof of concept they needed us to build a ship along with the reactor and that they would make me captain of the prototype if it worked.”

“Well,” Zin’dar continued, “a ship captain sounded like an excellent idea to me, so I accepted. For the next four and a half years I worked my ass off designing this reactor and ship. All said and done, it worked like a charm. You’d be amazed how dedicated you can be to a project when you think you’re gonna be the one using it.”

Zin’dar shook his head, snorted, then said, “Fuckers.” He followed the expletive up by downing the third shot he had been holding. Pouring himself a fourth, he held this one and continued, “They never had any intention of giving me this ship. Paranoia got the better of me and after breaking into one of the manager’s offices I found out they had planned to lead me on with promises for as long as they could, then they were going to switch to threats.”

Zin’dar slammed the glass he was holding onto the bar. To the glass’s credit, it withstood the abuse, losing only a little of its contents to the tabletop. “They were going to imprison me in that facility and try to wring every last ounce of innovation from me, then toss me away like a used rag. To the Void with them all, I showed them. I stole the ship that was supposed to be mine and took all my research with me. Now they have nothing.” Zin’dar spit to his left and said, “Fuckers.”

Tyrial’s head was still swimming, but he was somehow able to keep the narrative straight. It still left a big question, however. Namely, the very question he had initially asked. “Wait,” he said, trying to gather his thoughts. After a few seconds, he continued, “Wait… wait… if you were sposed to be the captain, an you stole it, how did Gabriel get to be captain?” Tyrial was proud of that sentence, he only slurred it a little.

At that question, Zin’dar lost some of his anger and chuckling, he said, “Funny thing about one of a kind items like this, lots of people want it. I’d picked a perfect day to steal it though, company party. Everyone was drunk off their asses, even the guards. Not a soul saw me creep onto the new ship. I had launch codes, escape vectors, everything all planned out. I got everything ready, rerouted control systems to the bridge, hacked into the foundries launch systems, I could run the whole show from the bridge.”

Zin’dar chuckled again as if from some inner personal joke. Throwing back the fourth shot he had been holding in his hands, he continued, “Imagine my surprise, when I stepped on the bridge of what should have been a completely empty ship and found some little human shit standing there. He was sitting at the engineering station tapping away at the console like he had some clue what he was doing, which he clearly didn’t. Well, seeing someone standing there trying to steal the ship out from under me, I did the only logical thing. I asked him if he needed any help.”

Tyrial watched incredulously as Zin’dar poured himself a fifth shot of the awful blue drink. He was beginning to wonder if the Karachi was immune to whatever intoxicant was contained in the stuff and maybe this was all a big joke at his expense. He might have accused Zin’dar of exactly that if he wasn’t so busy concentrating on keeping the contents of his stomach from rebelling. Unaware of Tyrial’s internal struggle, the Karachi continued.

“Heh, well,” said Zin’dar, “I needed a crew anyway and the enterprising young human fit the bill at the time. We talked it over, briefly, and together we stole the ship. We agreed I was the captain at first. But I ended up spending all my time in engineering. And every time we needed to conduct any business, I always ended up sending Gabriel to deal with it. In the end, I realized all I really wanted was the freedom to tinker to my heart's content. I told him he could be captain as long as he agreed I was in charge of the ship itself. It’s an odd arrangement but it works for us.”

Finishing his narrative, Zin’dar downed the fifth shot he had been holding. Putting the glasses and the bottle back into the storage area, he looked at Tyrial who was still holding on to the impromptu bar for support. “I heard this stuff hits humans a bit harder than Karachi but you must really be a light-weight if one glass is about to put you down,” he said. “Good news is it runs its course pretty quick, bad news is I’ve got work to do and your PA has been flashing for the last ten minutes.”

Tyrial did his best to gather what remaining wits he had left and tried to stand without the aid of the panel. He only stumbled slightly before managing to find his balance, then quickly losing it again. Using one hand to steady himself against the nearby wall, he glanced at his PA. He saw that Gabriel had sent him a message to meet him in his ready room. “Shit,” he said, “Gabriel wants me.”

“Ha,” said Zin’dar, “well good luck, mate. Thanks for all the help, you’re welcome in my engineering anytime. Oh and I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t throw up until you get to the corridor.” With that, he banged the open panel/bar closed again and headed off in the direction of his reactor.

Tyrial stood there for a few moments longer because he wanted a higher degree of certainty from his stomach and sense of balance before he tried to walk. Eventually deciding he wasn’t going to get said certainty, he headed for the corridor and the stairs leading up to the bridge at a brisk stumble. All things considered, he was fairly happy that he only fell twice on the way there. He could feel the effects of the poison the Karachi had fed him slowly leaving his system, but not nearly fast enough for his tastes.

Pausing in front of the captain's ready room door, Tyrial made one last attempt to steady his stomach and bring his mind back into order. Deciding eventually that both tasks were a waste of effort, he requested entry. Once inside he headed for one of the chairs and sat uninvited. Looking at Gabriel, who was at this point eyeing him steadily, Tyrial said, “You rang?”

“You picked a bad time to start drinking,” said Gabriel.

“Wasn’t aware there was a good one,” Tyrial slurred. Rubbing his temples, he continued, “That Void blasted Karachi tried to poison me. ”

Gabriel chuckled and said, “Broke out his personal stash, huh? Well, I guess you succeeded in getting on his good side. Bad timing though, I just got a message from the Opposition Council, they want to meet you. Now.”

Sobering from extremely drunk to mostly inebriated, Tyrial said, “Now… As in right now? They're here?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Gabriel, “you’ll see. Anyway, do whatever you have to and pull your shit together. We have to be there in twenty minutes.”

Tyrial stood abruptly, which in hindsight was a bad idea. Stumbling he made a grab for the desk, missed, and took a detour via the floor. Gabriel stood and walked around the desk, grabbing Tyrial’s arm he helped him get back on his feet.

“Come on,” Gabriel said, “I’ve got something in the mess that might help.”

Gabriel helped Tyrial stumble down the stairs to the hallway and down to the mess hall. Tyrial was intensely thankful that he didn’t meet anyone else on his way there. If Rella had seen him like this he would have been mortified. Once in the mess, Gabriel dumped Tyrial in a chair near the door and walked back to the food prep station.

“I guess I should have warned you about Zin’dar’s stash,” said Gabriel. “Most of the stuff in it is pretty potent. I’m guessing you're not exactly used to intoxicants.” Tyrial could hear liquid being poured, he wasn’t sure he wanted to experiment with other strange drinks.

Walking back to Tyrial, Gabriel placed a porcelain mug filled with some dark, almost black steaming liquid. The smell was, pungent to the say the least. It tickled some memory in the back of Tyrial’s head. “Here,” said Gabriel, “this’ll taste like crap, but it should help get what brain cells you have left working again.”

Tyrial picked up the mug, the contents were warm, almost hot. Deciding to throw caution to the Void, he took a swallow of the dark liquid. It most certainly did taste like crap, it was bitter and thick. For some reason, it reminded him of being a kid, although he still couldn’t quite pin down the memory. Taking another gulp, Tyrial asked, “You sure this is gonna help?”

Sitting down across from Tyrial, Gabriel said, “As much as anything will. You’re gonna have one mother of a headache later, but hopefully, that’ll wait until we're done with the council. Now come on, hurry up, we have to leave.”

Tyrial chugged down the remainder of the awful stuff, it seemed to clear some of the fog out of his head. At the same time, it left him jittery. He wasn’t entirely sure which feeling was worse. Standing, he shook himself. At least he could manage to maintain his balance now.

“You good?” asked Gabriel.

“Don’t suppose it matters if I say no,” replied Tyrial.

“Not really, let's go,” said Gabriel.

Gabriel headed out of the mess and Tyrial followed. They walked down the hallway and took a right to one of the external airlocks. Once outside, they headed in the direction of the largest building in the compound. Tyrial was doing his best to get his mind under control. It didn’t help that his heart seemed to be trying to beat out of his chest. Tyrial could not remember a time he had ever had more drugs and intoxicants in his system. And now he was about to address a group of what were probably nobles who almost certainly held the key to his revenge on the Conclave.

As they made their way towards the building, Gabriel said, “Listen, do your best to keep your mouth shut, let me do all the talking. If they ask you something, keep the answer short and to the point. And by the Void, whatever you do, don’t lose your temper.”

Coming up to the stairs leading to the front door of the large structure, Tyrial noticed there were no shortage of armed guards in this area. Well, at least if this went extremely badly he wouldn't have to wait long for the firing squad. At the top of the stairs, one of the guards held up his hand in front of Gabriel.

“Hold, name and business,” the guard said.

“Gabriel Vendal to see the Council. We have an appointment,” said Gabriel.

The guard consulted a tablet in his hand, looking at Gabriel and Tyrial several times. Finally, he seemed satisfied and stepped aside, gesturing at them to enter. Beyond the large steel doors was a long hallway with several doors off to either side. Servants moved quietly in and out of several of the doors. The place looked like a maze to Tyrial, but Gabriel moved with purpose towards the back of the hall and two large double wooden doors.

In front of the large doors stood a servant in black livery. He looked down his nose at them both as they walked up.

“Gabriel Vendal and — “, Gabriel began.

“I know who you are,” interrupted the servant haughtily, “stand quietly until you are called.”

For some reason, the servant's attitude did not sit well with Tyrial. Clenching his teeth and narrowing his eyes, he began to gather his Will. Tyrial did not consider himself an expert in attitude adjustments, but he was willing to give it a try. Gabriel nudged him in the ribs with an elbow, glancing in his direction Tyrial saw him shake his head slightly.

Suddenly realizing what he was about to do, Tyrial relaxed his Will. By the Void, between the poison in that blue liquid the Karachi had given him, and the drugs in Gabriel's bitter tasting concoction, Tyrial was not acting like himself. Or perhaps he was acting a little too much like himself. At this rate, he would be lucky if he didn’t get himself killed by the end of the day.

At some unseen signal, the servant opened one of the two doors and said, “Go in.” Still clenching his teeth, Tyrial followed Gabriel into the dark room beyond the door. He had barely cleared the doorway when the door was shut firmly behind him. It took every ounce of will he had to keep from turning and blasting the door off its hinges. Tyrial would like to see how pompous that servant would be when he was picking splinters out of his ass for the next week.

Shaking his head, Tyrial beat back at the emotions raging at will inside his head. He had to keep control of himself, not just for his own sake. He had a feeling Gabriel’s ass would be in the fire right next to his if he did something stupid. Looking around, Tyrial couldn’t see much of anything. There was a well-lit path leading forward about three meters to a circle of light in what was presumably the center of the room. Everything else around it was shrouded in darkness and shadows.

Following Gabriel, Tyrial walked down the lit path to the circle at its end. Once there the two of them stood side by side and waited. Tyrial couldn’t help the shivers that ran up his spine, anything could be hiding in those shadows but he didn’t dare risk expanding his Will into them to find out what. For now, he stood quietly and trusted Gabriel not to lead him to his death.

Almost a full ten minutes after they had been standing there, movement caught Tyrial’s eye. A flicker of light off to his right, suddenly that flicker blossomed into a sphere of light, inside which stood a man. Looking closer, Tyrial realized it was a hologram. Suddenly more sprang up around Tyrial, light after light flickered to life with someone projected inside. In seconds Tyrial and Gabriel were surrounded by a circle of twenty holographic figures. Tyrial was almost proud of himself for being able to count that high in his current state.

One of the holographic figures in front of Gabriel stepped forward slightly. He was a man who looked to be in his mid to late fifties with short graying hair. He wore a mask covering most of his face, as did all the others Tyrial could see. The holographic man stared intently at Tyrial for what seemed like several minutes. Finally shifting his glance to Gabriel, he said, “So this is the Mage with anger management issues I’ve heard so much about.” Looking back at Tyrial, the man continued, “Did you tranquilize him or something? He looks drugged.”

Smiling, Gabriel said, “Just a late night, Lord Vargrid, my crew are on shore leave. If I had known you wanted a meeting I would have —”

“Coached him until his eyes crossed,” interrupted Vargrid, “yes I’m sure. You told me he didn’t drink.” Looking back at Tyrial, Vargrid said, “Boy, what are you on?”

“Boy?” said Tyrial. He may have looked in his late twenties but Tyrial was certain he was older than the hologram standing before him. He could already feel his anger starting to boil up. He had dealt with people looking down on him for so long. Now that he had a taste of what if felt like to be respected, he was finding it harder to swallow his pride.

Looking slightly panicked, Gabriel interjected, “Lord Vargrid, —”

Vargrid held his hand up to Gabriel, effectively silencing him. Still, looking at Tyrial, he said, “You have a problem with that? Boy?”

Tyrial was in no mood to be diplomatic. His head was starting to throb, the dizziness still hadn’t gone away, and the jittery feeling from Gabriel’s concoction was as strong as ever. Despite all of that, however, he still didn’t want to get Gabriel in trouble. At least, not too much trouble. So he swallowed back his burning desire to lay waste to the room with his Will and instead settled for letting his mouth run off.

“Not at all, old man. You can call me whatever you like,” Tyrial said. “In answer to your question, I am not ‘on’ anything. Someone convinced me to drink some foul intoxicant as part of some supposed ancient greeting ritual. The shit made my head swim like I’d just been slapped by a Tartarin. Then, just to make things a little more interesting, I was given a ‘cure’ that tasted even worse than the cause. And while I can almost think straight now, I feel as twitchy as a mouse in a room full of blind elephants. So you’ll have to excuse my appearance.” Tyrial finished the rant with a note of dry sarcasm, while also just managing to leave the implied ‘fuck you’ unsaid.

Finally coming to a stop, dead silence filled the room. Gabriel looked as though he was going to be sick. Vargrid stood expressionless for a moment, then looked to Gabriel and said, “I don’t know where you found this uncultured youth but you should throw him back.” Looking back to Tyrial, he said, “Your parents failed abysmally at teaching you any manners boy, we expect better than the whining of a spoiled brat here.”

Mention of his parents sent a bolt of lightning through Tyrial. He stiffened, the fog in his mind instantly cleared, burned away by white-hot rage. He reached for his Will, filling himself to capacity. A split second before he released the destruction that his rage demanded, a face flickered across his mind's eye, Rella. Then another, Sarah, then Gabriel. One by one he saw the faces of everyone on the Osiris. Faces of the people he would be letting down if he lost his temper here.

Breathing deeply, Tyrial took hold of his rage and did his best to tamp it down. The white-hot raging fire was pushed into a slow smoldering pile of embers but those absolutly refused to go out. Between clenched teeth, he said, “Leave my parents out of this.”

Rising his eyebrows slightly, Vargrid said, “Oh? Or what boy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrial saw that Gabriel had lost almost all of his color. The man looked as though he was going to faint at any moment. He probably expected an imminent explosion. Truth be told, Tyrial had come all too close to doing exactly that. A few months ago and this building would already have been leveled. Tyrial felt that he could really use Rella and her brooch right now, but with some effort of his own, he managed to quench the raging fires of his anger again, at least a little. Enough to bring the uncontrollable inferno down to a more stable ice-cold anger.

“I’ll leave,” said Tyrial, as cold as the dark side of a frozen planet. “I won’t pretend there's anything meaningful I could do to you here other than flip you the bird and say ‘fuck you’,” Tyrial demonstrated by flipping the pretentious politician his middle finger, then continued, “I could destroy this compound but that would be pointless since you're not actually in it. You can insult me all you like, whatever it takes to get your jollies. But leave my parents out of it.”

“Destroy the compound you say,” Vargrid looked almost amused while somehow also managing to ignore Tyrial’s rude gesture. “Go ahead and try. Maybe you’ll learn a lesson in humility when you fail. Much like you failed to protect your parents from the Conclave all those years ago, much like your father failed to protect you. An entire family of failures.” Vargrid sniffed dismissively.

Tyrial was a hair's breadth from unleashing his Will in a destructive cyclone that would likely have killed everyone in the building, perhaps himself included. Had Vargrid used any other topic to infuriate him it might have ended that way. But the cold anger he had pushed down earlier along with the mention of his father had brought back a piece of advice his father had given him long ago.

It blossomed in the midst of his maelstrom of rage like the eye of a storm. ‘The easiest way to control your enemy is to make them angry. You turn them into a predictable simple minded machine of destruction that can easily be turned on their own interests.’ With that memory in his mind, his rage suddenly melted away like snow before a spring thaw. He realized what Vargrid was trying to do.

Gabriel had told him earlier that the reason the Opposition didn’t want anything to do with him was because of his uncontrollable anger. They were testing him. That thought almost brought his anger storming back. This time, however, he crushed it ruthlessly. He refused to lose to such simple tactics. Allowing his expression of anger to melt into a calm poker face of indifference, Tyrial calmly said, “Well then, fuck you after all.” Suiting actions to words, Tyrial flipped the man his middle finger a second time and turned for the door, walking towards it slowly.

It was a gamble, to be sure. But if he lost it then so be it, he would find other ways to deal with the Conclave. Not even halfway back down the path that led to the center of the room, however, a female voice called out levely “Wait,” then a few seconds later as Tyrial only slowed instead of stop, “Please.”

Tyrial stopped, still facing the exit, he glanced over his shoulder. One of the women who had stood in the circle had stepped forward. “Enough of this Vargrid,” she said. “There's no need to be that rude to the man.”

Vargrid looked at him for a long moment, only the occasional flicker of his hologram belying any movement. Finally, he said, “Hmph, had to know if he could control his temper.” Turning, his image walked back to the circle of other nobles, taking his place amongst them. No apology or even acknowledgment of his actions. Typical noble.

Tyrial continued to stand halfway down the path, he had no intention of returning to his previous position without something in the way of a concession. He waited.

The women who had stepped forward must have realized Tyrial was waiting for something. She said, “Please, stay. I apologize for Lord Vargrid’s rudeness.” At the mention of his name, Vargrid harrumphed. The woman shot him a steely-eyed glance then returned her attention to Tyrial.

Well, it wasn’t an apology from the man himself, but it was probably as good as Tyrial was likely to get. Besides, in all honesty, he almost couldn't entirely blame them. If it wasn’t for Rella, Gabriel and the rest of the crew Tyrial would likely still be the loose canon the Opposition thought he was. Turning back to the center of the room Tyrial walked, slowly, back to Gabriel’s side. He noticed that Gabriel was looking decidedly pale and unwell. Glancing over, Tyrial said under his breath, “I thought I was the one that got poisoned.”

The woman who had apologized for Vargrid said, “Let me introduce myself. I am Lady Aseltine. These other distinguished men and women,” glancing at Vargrid she muttered, “I use the term loosely,” returning her gaze to Tyrial she finished, “are members of the Council of the Opposition. We have asked to meet you here today because we are considering your request to become an Opposition Mage.”

Tyrial did not recall making such a request himself. Up until only recently, he had not been able to find any concrete leads on the Opposition at all. He suspected the request was likely Gabriel's doing. No matter, he decided to roll with it. It was mostly going in the direction he wanted anyway.

“To that end,” Aseltine continued, “we have agreed to allow Captain Gabriel to employ you on a trial basis while on official Opposition business. Unless anyone has any last-minute objections?“ with this last sentence she pointedly eyed Vargrid. Vargrid just as pointedly ignored her completely.

With no objections being made, Aseltine said, “Very well, it is done. Your first mission will begin three days from today. One of our operatives is being held in a Conclave detention facility near Regulus V. We need you to rescue him. And we need you to do so with minimal casualties. The facility is manned by House Radiline associates with whom we are still in negotiations to join the Opposition.”

“So…” Tyrial said, “to summarize: Storm a Conclave stronghold; don’t kill anyone; steal something, sorry, someone; and escape with our lives. Seems simple enough, perhaps you’d like us to convince the Conclave to surrender en masse while we're at it?”

“How droll,“ said Aseltine. “You may have learned to control your temper, but you still have much to learn in regards to your manners.”

“Not my job, Lady Aseltine,” replied Tyrial. “I get paid to bend space and reality to my Will. Being nice to people is above my pay grade. Besides, I think I’m doing fairly well, all recent events considered,” he shot a glare at Vargrid who was still pointedly ignoring the whole preceding.

“Perhaps,” said Aseltine, “and I’m giving you a great deal of leeway as compensation for that. Don’t abuse it, or expect it to last forever. Now, back to the topic at hand. We have an insider at the facility whom we have contacted to help us. Your ship will be registered as a prisoner transport, so they will be expecting you. You should have no problems docking and getting inside. We will also provide you with appropriate uniforms and passcodes. We know that our operative is being held in detention block AA twenty-three. We have created a fictitious paper trail for his transfer to a remote interrogation facility. With all of this in place, you should be able to remove him from the facility without a confrontation of any kind. Are there any questions?”

As Aseltine looked from Tyrial to Gabriel, Tyrial muttered under his breath, “Sounds great, can’t see what could possibly go wrong.”

“Was there something?” asked Aseltine, raising an eyebrow.

Glancing at Gabriel, Tyrial shared a wry smile with the still pale captain. “No, Lady Aseltine,” Tyrial said.

“Very well,” Aseltine said. “Captain Gabriel, the extra supplies you have requested have been transferred to your ship. Also, the Council has agreed to overlook your recent use of a non-Opposition Mage for Opposition business, this time. If you need anything else, please let us know.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said Gabriel. “We will see your operative safely back in your hands.” With that, Gabriel saluted.

Tyrial might have saluted, but his head was still spinning, and it seemed to be getting worse. Whatever Gabriel had given him earlier was starting to wear off, at least his jitteriness was going away. Unfortunately, it was being replaced by one seriously monster headache.

Returning the captain’s salute, Aseltine said, “Good luck captain.” With that, the holograms of the Council flickered and vanished.

Left in a dark empty room, Gabriel turned to Tyrial and, smiling, said, “Well, at least you didn’t get us killed. Come on, let’s go get you some Invarafon and a bed. Looks like you’ve got a few days to recover before we have to head out.”

Tyrial was already gritting his teeth from the hammers pounding away inside his skull. “By the Void,” he said, “is this seriously going to take that long to go away?”

Laughing, Gabriel said, “I doubt it, but the memory of it might.”

Gabriel headed for the door at the end of the lit path. Following Gabriel through the door, Tyrial noticed the overly rude servant from earlier was nowhere to be found. Probably just another part of the test. If Tyrial wasn’t concentrating on staying upright, he might have been annoyed.

As they left the large building and headed for the ship, Gabriel asked, “So, exactly how close did I come to witnessing the end of the universe back there?”

Tyrial grunted and replied, “Let’s just say that now would be a good time to go gambling while you’re still on a roll.”

Shaking his head, Gabriel said, “I’m not sure I would have blamed you. If I had known that was coming, I would have warned you. Or just told them to stick it up their collective asses.”

Stepping back through the ship’s airlock, Gabriel looked at Tyrial and said, “You look like shit, why don’t you go lie down. I’ll have Rella bring you some Invarafon.”

Tyrial was going to protest, for any number of reasons. But he just couldn’t summon the will to do so. Instead, he just nodded, which he instantly regretted doing. Holding his head, he walked past Gabriel and down the hallway to his room. Opening the door, he walked to the bed and very slowly, very carefully laid down.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying there with his eyes closed, wishing he was unconscious before his door chime went off. Someone was requesting entry. Fumbling for the PA on his wrist, he tapped the button to open the door. Someone walked in and sat on the edge of his bed.

“I don’t normally approve of drinking,” said Rella. “Gabriel told me what happened though, so this once I’ll feel bad for you. Here, drink this.”

Opening one eye, Tyrial saw Rella holding a small cup of liquid in front of him. “Is it poison?” he asked hopefully. “I think I would rather be dead right now.”

Smiling, Rella said, “Drink it, you’ll feel better, I promise.”

Tyrial picked his head up off the pillow and winced. Rella put her arm under his head and held it gently while putting the cup to his lips. Tyrial drank whatever it was, after everything he had drunk today he really didn’t care what was in the cup. It didn’t actually taste too bad though, tea apparently with undercurrents of some medicine. Still tasted better than either of the things Zin’dar or Gabriel had given him.

Finishing the contents of the cup, Rella gently laid Tyrial’s head back on the pillow and placed the empty cup on the nightstand. Tyrial put his hand back over his eyes and tried to will the world to go away.

A few seconds later, he felt Rella get up and walk to the door. Even through his closed eyes and fingers, he could tell the lights had been turned off. He figured Rella was going to leave him to his misery, which was fine with him. He didn’t like people seeing him in a state of weakness.

Which is why he was very surprised when he felt her hands on his head. She gently lifted his head up, Tyrial could feel shifting on the bed. When she released his head, instead of laying back on the pillow, his head was resting on her crossed legs. Removing his hand from his eyes and opening them a crack, Tyrial looked up at Rella’s face in confusion.

“Shhh,” she said, “just close your eyes and relax.” With that, she started to softly rub his temples. Surprisingly, what she was doing seemed to be easing the pain in his head almost immediately.

As her fingers worked on his temples, Tyrial started to feel the effects of the tea and whatever had been in it, it was making him very drowsy. As he started to contemplate falling asleep he suddenly remembered who was in the room with him, and what he was about to do.

Startling himself back to full wakefulness, he opened his eyes and said, “No, Rella. You can’t be here when I fall asleep. I —”

“Shhh,” she said, placing a finger over his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

Reaching up and taking her hand, Tyrial said as earnestly as he could, “If I ever hurt you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” Nodding slightly in the direction of his still dented nightstand, he continued, “You’ve seen my nightstand, you have to promise me if I fall asleep that you’ll leave.”

Gently touching his face with a look of sadness, Rella completely ignored the nightstand and said, “Alright, I promise. Now close your eyes and relax.” He did as she requested and she went back to softly massaging his temples.

His paranoia about possibly hurting Rella kept him awake for almost an hour. As he lay there worrying about whether he could trust his dreams, Rella began to hum softly. Unsurprising Tyrial did not recognize the tune, but it was soothing. Within a few more minutes, he was finally drifting off to sleep. His last thought before he fell asleep completely was a desperate plea to the Gods he didn’t believe in to keep Rella safe from him.