He hasn’t seen Vyse since the Second Battle for Humanity where the largest detachment of S-Class Potentials had been deployed. They walked silently, passing by baying soldiers and evading all kinds of traffic. The now teeming Geronimo base, previously home to just over six hundred men now expanded to house Twenty Thousand soldiers armed to the teeth, ready to be deployed in a moment’s notice. Men from the Americas Regiment, thick moustache-faced soldiers carrying heavy weapon bandoliers speaking in their exotic language, Men wearing mustard colored fatigues and full faced helmets bearing the logos of the Desert Cats, the crimson cloaked warriors of the Mars’ Finest, the mechanized infantry units of the Lightning Reapers and the heavily armored troopers of the Spawn Chasers. There were at least ten other regiments--all uniquely specialized in deserted environment warfare, all under the banner of the UTSF, remnants of those who survive the battles on Red 420’s orbit.

Each service man never failed to acknowledge the Knights both in salutes and in enthusiastic conversations and hushed whispers, mostly towards the Prime Lord Knight Kunze and the legends that preceded him but every once in a while he would hear stories of The Immortal Wolf and the defense of FOB Geronimo.

Vyse was always the quiet one, always the first to shy out of a crowd. Wolfe wondered if it was because he was early to experience the woeful and traumatic nature of war. But here Vyse was, stoic and intimidating looking as he is, greeted each saluting soldier and shook their hands, patted their backs and joined in their cheers. How does he do it? Wolfe thought.

They turned a sharp corner after passing between two storage depots. Wolfe now clearly saw where Vyse was leading him to, a tall, simple, pre-fabricated three story building, crowds of military and naval personnel endlessly entering and exiting it. An uncomplicated sign lettered Head Quarters was posted over the main entrance way. When the two entered the midst of the crowd, the congregation parted, gave way to the Knights and saluted in unison. Wolfe was mesmerized at the sight, a witness once again of the Prime Lord Knight Kunze’s reputation. He was so distracted that Wolfe didn’t notice the familiar face descending the building front steps.

“Knight Vyse, Knight Lyon, they are all waiting for you,” Clarahart greeted them, guiding them through the building’s double-door entrance. She winked at Wolfe when he walked past her, he answered with a smile. He was glad that she was safe after the latest attack on Geronimo. Vyse waited for Wolfe so they would walk parallel to each other. Clarahart fell in behind the two.

“It’s been a long time Wolfe,” Vyse muttered, returning salutes left and right.

“Yes, but it would longer for you I believe,” Wolfe replied. Vyse only smiled in answer, an archaic expression on the Prime Lord Knight’s face but Wolfe could tell it was genuine.

“I have to ask, why didn’t you ask for Clara or someone to fetch me?”

“You know me and issuing orders,” Vyse answered, “I rather do things myself if I could.”

Wolfe nodded, that he knew too well.

“Besides, it’s a Knight’s duty to raise the morale of the men and I try to go around every now and then,” Vyse added, “Ah, here we are.”

Vyse guided them into another set of double doors and they entered a rough, basic board room. A long table bisected the room and a dozen chairs lined on each side. The shuttered windows enveloped the room in reddish half-light battled by the dim glows of the halo-lanterns.

There were five other people in the room some of them familiar to Wolfe: Reid with his foolish grin, Captain Hawkins, Captain of the Marshall, the ship the where the Lion’s Streaks were boarded on, a stoic muscular Knight in his forties (or hundred and forties, Knight ages are hard to decipher because of their extended lifespans) bearing the insignia on his Segmenteta armor, his intimidating eyes milky white, a heavy set man wearing he crests of a Rear-Admiral on his uniform, whom Wolfe automatically saluted to and a tall painfully thin Knight in white and orange colored armor.

“Lyon!” Wolfe couldn’t help but exclaim and shook the Knight’s hand to a half embrace, the formal Knight greeting, “What happened to you? Don’t tell me, you noticed that you were fat?”

Lyon laughed, “I could say the same to you.” patting the gap between Wolfe’s armor and shoulder.

“Was it the Phoenix I saw yesterday?” Wolfe asked, “I swear I saw that bad paint job. I can’t believe you had your squadron painted like that too!”

“Hey, we’re the tacky squadron that saved your ass ok?” Lyon jested.

“If we may continue Lyon?” The Rear-Admiral interjected, “I am Rear-Admiral Ruslan Ivankov.” extending his hand towards Wolfe. Wolfe took it and shook firmly.

“I am honored to be in the midst of another hero sir.”

Ruslan guffawed, “I like your friend already Lyon!”

“But now to business.” Vyse intervened.

“Yes, yes to business,” Ruslan said, releasing Wolfe’s grip.

“For Wolfe’s information,” Captain Hawkin’s started, “There are three queens situated at Red 420, located at Hanz, New Gettysburg and Io. All of the major resource cities…”

Wolfe nodded. He and Reid already had thought as much after all the fighting they’ve done almost two earth standard days ago.

“…sweeping forces will be deployed after the planetary bombardments are done.” Hawkins continued.

“Sweeping forces sir?” Wolfe asked, “what about the Queens on Hanz and New Gettysburg sir?”

“They’ve been taken cared of Lord Knight,” the Rear-Admiral responded and gestured at Knight Kunze.

“Only the one in Io remains and on first light we will commence the attack,” Hawkins added.

“Excuse me sir,” Reid interjected, “If Prime Lord Knight Kunze could eliminate two out of three GEOM queens in just hours, why couldn’t he do the same on Io?”

“Because of the Butterfly effect Reid,” Wolfe answered, his tone urging the short-fused Knight to stand down.

“What Butterfly effect?”

“Let’s just say some things are meant to happen.” Wolfe’s comment confused Reid and successfully averted his attention of either mindless jealousy or rebellious insubordination towards Vyse. Unlike him and Lyon, Reid and Clarahart did not experience living, fighting or knowing the Prime Lord Knight. The ignorant mind tends to retaliate in many forms and pride was just Reid’s way. Vyse was as patient as always, standing silently on the table’s crown, observing and waiting.

“..Now for tomorrow’s battle plan. ” Lyon spoke, setting down pictures and scan reports on the table “We have scouted the industrial city and found hundreds of strong points, static defenses, gun emplacements and, most importantly, hive entrances.”

Wolfe checked the pictures as Lyon continued to report of the GEOMs numbers and piece together ground scout reports with his findings. Judging by the reports, Wolfe could surmise that they were almost a million GEOMs in Io alone; the parasites had made Io an impenetrable fortress. There were deadly overlapping fields of fire over the vast open plains surrounding the industrial city where traps and ambushes could be easily set up not to mention that the aliens could be see them from miles away. Io was also tough to crack from above, the volume of GEOM gun batteries and the lethal projectiles that they could inflict will take all the air power they have. Wolfe couldn’t blame Reid for questioning that why Vyse couldn’t terminate the GEOM Queen in Io as well, the other course of action was suicide and it frightened him that they had almost assaulted the city with just one division.

It made Wolfe shudder with the thought that his longtime friend had eliminated two GEOM queens in infested cities similar to Io’s make up. A monster to battle all other monsters

“..Wolfe you will take what’s left of the Lion’s Streaks and hold here in reserve.” The Rear-Admiral called his attention and pointed at a mountain pass north of the city beyond the deployment areas of the other divisions. Wolfe could see that a Black Raven piece was beside the Lion’s Streaks crest on the map.

“You’ve met Knight Alexander Silvus of the Black Raven’s right?” Lyon gestured towards the milky-eyed hard-faced man.

“No, I didn’t have the pleasure,” Wolfe answered nodding good naturedly at the Knight which the man returned, “We were rather pre-occupied.” The joke made the Black Raven Knight smile.

“I hope my boys served you well Lord Knight Sir.” Knight Silvus answered in his deep gruff of a voice.

“They did and more. We couldn’t have held Geronimo without you and your men.”

“..You and the Black Raven’s will hold here while the rest of the invasion force will assault Io on all fronts and keep the bastards occupied after initial precision strikes.” Ruslan continued, and you will deploy when the signal is given and eliminate objective number one.” He traced a tunnel network on an old map and ended with a rap at the heart of the industrial city.

“Which is what sir?” Wolfe asked, knowing full well the answer would be.

“The Queen, Wolfe,” Lyon answered, “You, the Lion’s Streaks and the Black Ravens will accompany Konig Team in destroying the GEOM Queen.”

SOLAR YEAR 2429, LEO SYSTEM, SECTOR ONE, PLANET RED 420, 1400 HOURS, THE NORTH OF IO TWENTY SIX HOURS AFTER INVASION

Clarahart was disturbingly enthusiastic. She had met legends yesterday: the persistent genius Prime Knight Banneret Lyon Vermillion, charming and calculating (and attractive) Rear-Admiral Ruslan Ivankov and the legends of legends, UTSF’s heart and gem, Prime Lord Knight Vyse Kunze.

She was preparing the equipment and vehicles for their mission, checking each crate, box, Dim, Dune and their newly acquired Stygians, hulking armored personnel carrier with heavy weapon capability. Red’s sky was a cascade of dark-ship dots, fading starlight and rain of ash-fall blown from the decimated cities of Hanz and New Gettysburg. The rough, sand strewn wind was cool but smelled rank, another residue of the bombarded cities.

She was glad for the distraction, the thought of working with the infamous and classified Konig Team and the day to day logistical job excited her but mostly kept her in check. Other Knights often teased him of doing a women’s job or being a workaholic and all that. She avoided silence or boredom because that’s when the voices come in and whisper, having her mind on other things kept them at bay, not that she was religious or anything.

Clarahart could hear them crawling on the ground, bubbling from the pores of the earth, jittering nonsense or reliving their deaths. Every mark on her checklist or signature on paperwork was a bullet against the ethereal beings that haunt her psyche. They followed her as he walked briskly from depot to depot, from vehicle to vehicle, from tent to tent. They kicked up the dust behind them and whispered to her their regrets and wishes. She was use to ignoring them by now but she would never get used to them, the insufferable ghosts that haunt her every day since she had awakened her potential.

Her father was the first. She had learned to cradle his spirit and keep him from floating to where ever the life essences go to. Her father was good to her family and took care of them untiringly until he did and died. She didn’t want her to let him go but when her mother got sick too, his father’s spirit was seemingly attracted to his mother’s ailing form, separating from the warmth of her fingers trying to escape as tirelessly as he did when he was working. When Clarahart finally released him, he merged with her mother and for the first time in weeks, her mother instantly awakened and eventually recovered to full.

She still remembered how her mother wept and talked about seeing her husband, embracing her and bidding him farewell. Since then she tried to view her curse as a gift but nothing was as easy as it first seemed.

Deathly Hallows only she could see walked among the living staring at her as she passed by with empty eyes or empty sockets. She was nearing the end of her list and so the dead were coming for her, eager to relay their regrets and goodbyes or stake their dissatisfactions of their abrupt end. She steeled herself for the inevitable commune with the spirits as was her duty. An ethereal was right in front of her, his long dark billowing cape and hooded head sent chills on her spine but she kept walking, closed her eyes and eventually will walked past through it as she did many times before with past ghosts.

Only this time she didn’t.

She ran into the person hard and fell backwards. She tried not to look up but muscle reflex failed her. The person was no ghost; he was too striking for that. He was pale, had slanting worldly eyes giving away a terran Asian descent. He only looked at her indifferently and finally offered his hand.

“Uh, Thanks.” She muttered, picking up her tablet and brushing off the red sand from her suit. Now that she was close, she noticed the uniformly colored black crown badge pinned on the collar of his dark cloak--The Konig team’s insignia.

She was again taken a back for a moment. The profiles and whereabouts of the Konig team members where of the highest of classifications and were considered the elite of already elect Knights. Before Clarahart could say anything more the cloaked figure had already started walking.

The ghosts again tried to swoop in but she tuned them out.

“It doesn’t get better does it?” a voice behind her said, when she didn’t respond the voice rasped again, “I’m not one of your ghosts.”

Surprised, she then turned and saw the cloaked figure with his hood down. His head was cleanly shaven and, even at the half-light, Clarahart could see the scars.

“It’s hard to think that communing with the fallen and using their essence or knowledge could be gift isn’t it?” he said, his lips were barely moving that Clarahart thought he was conversing to her through telekinesis.

“Uh, yeah,” she responded, “I don’t talk about it much but I guess it is. Are you a medium too?”

The male Knight looked down and around and answered, “Of sorts, yes.”

Clarahart could tell he was looking at the phantoms and apparitions that were trailing her. The specters gazed at the hooded figure, now aware of his awareness of them but deliberately avoided him like fire to an animal.

“They’re scared of you.”

“They should be,” he answered and started walking away.

“Hey! Hey!” Clarahart called, “I didn’t catch your name. I’m Maria Clarahart Simmons! People just call me Clara.”

The Knight paused as if struggling what to respond to an unfamiliar question.

“My name is Saito.” He answered without turning then continued walking.

“Saito,” Clarahart murmured then giddily turned around and skipped towards her post, the mysterious Knight’s name a shield against the dissented wraiths.