Hours later, Stanton woke Amok from his doze. "Found some more sir," he said in a low voice. "A bunch of em' like the others, but one of em's a sparkin'." he moved the jewel carefully as he zoomed in.

       "It probably didn't hear the command to shut itself down," Amok waved airily without opening his eyes. "They got knocked around a lot," he waved again. "It's probably this one and a few others like it that Locura and the Lord Councilor were talking about."

       "Okay," Stanton was frowning. "Should I follow it?"

       Amok raised his head and opened his eyes, a puzzled expression forming, "Follow it? It should just be sitting there wondering what to do next."

       Stanton chuckled deep in his throat. "I'll take that as a yes, sir."

       Amok rose and went to the desk. He reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a keyboard for an ancient computer from the late 20th Century. He took the cable and plugged it into a small port on the side of the desk. The wall behind the desk lit up into a dark grey Ob Screen monitor.

       "Get as close as you can, Mr. Stanton," Amoks' fingers flew across the keyboard. Panels of information flashed on the monitor. "There should be a serial number. I can look it up and see when and where and who made this."

       Stanton was captivated. All the previous practice had given him the skills to swoop to within a few feet of the ancient machine. Giddy as a schoolboy, Stanton read the 12 digit serial number to Amok.

       Amok was not so pleased. "From what it says here, he squinted at the tiny letters. "... GoNNaGanKuRaSsnTaKeUrsHit"... year 24." he frowned. "That can't be right. If it is, then someone pulled it in and reactivated it using these interfaces," he waved towards the monitor scratching his head. "There's no energy," he shook his head. "You'd need a half dozen crystals for... what's so funny?"

       "Would that be Captain GoNNaGanKuRaSsnTaKUrsHit, sir, or 2nd Lieutenant GoNNaGanKuRaSsnTaKUrsHit?" Stanton brayed loudly.

       Amok stared for a confused second and joined Stantons' laughter. "I see what you mean. Some of the names they came up with were truly, truly original. We spent hours sifting through em' laughing."

       "Players?" Stanton shook his head. "What players?"

       Amok grinned wryly. "This is all part of an experiment I did with the help of the dwarves and Enderheim." he took a drink of ale and sighed gustily. "Every 500 years or so, all the Owners get the opportunity to present anything of interest to the High Ones. I intended to present a few Humans. Hopefully, Owners would want colonies of their own to raise, and Mankind would be spread so far across the Universe there would be little chance of it ever becoming extinct like it is now."

       Amok reached in his robe and pulled out a piece of Root. He bit a small chunk off and continued. "Enderheim stopped me," Amok frowned in reverie. "He said the High Ones would not only reject Humans but would order them eradicated."

       Stanton listened, keeping his eyes on the machine he was tracking. He glanced over quickly, confused. "What? Why?"

       "Because, Mr. Stanton," Amok was looking down, scowling darkly. "It seems that humans enjoy fighting each other more than anything else. Humans are the most warlike people I've ever met. They truly enjoy killing." he sighed, blowing out his cheeks.

       "Enderheim pointed this out," Amok went on musingly. "I disagreed, and then we both agreed to disagree, and one thing led to another, and then we wound up wagering just how violent the humans were."

       "So who won?" Stanton sat a little more forward, focusing on his task with wide eyes.

       "Enderheim did," Amok grated, frowning anew. "As usual, he cheated."

       Stanton chuckled. "I couldna' imagine that happening, sir."

       "Everything was going beautifully," Amok sighed. "We started them out small, letting them harvest from mineral-rich asteroids and building ships from plans the Dwarves provided."

       "The Dwarves had the best time of it, inventing new ship hulls and letting humans run them to see how well they worked. And then," Amok grimaced, "I got called away with the Thirteen on a mission that took 3 months. When I got back, Enderheim had removed all the military ships we had to keep players from killing and stealing from each other in the safe zones. Without Police, the experiment descended into what would amount to a living hell for anyone entering the experiment for the first time. Enderheim said that the average life expectancy for a new subject was less than 4 minutes."

       "I think I understand, sir," Stanton started to laugh. "Without rules, it's total Chaos."

       "Now that's exactly what I argued, Mr. Stanton," Amok was shaking his finger as if scolding. "But Enderheim said it made no difference. He showed me instance after instance where, given the choice of killing another player or leaving the player in peace, there is a fight almost every time. The fact that often the victim had no weapons to fight back with made it all that much worse. If this experiment were real life, letting the humans into our midst with our technology would result in a disaster of Universal proportions; literally. The High Ones would have seen this and ordered them exterminated before they evolved to the point of becoming a real threat."

       "I dunno sir," Stanton was rubbing his chin. "It sounds like if anyone would've known they might've behaved differently. A little more civil, if'n I'm a hearin' this a right."

       "Again that's precisely Enderheim's point, Mr. Stanton," Amok sighed heavily. "The Humans would need to be watched constantly. Our culture isn't set up like that. We're expected to govern ourselves without supervision. Those who don't face very harsh penalties from the High Ones or the Sisters of Fate."

       Stanton was nodding slowly, following the mining machine around a particularly huge asteroid, and his eyes widened suddenly in surprise. "Sir," he breathed. "I think Miss Locura and the Lord Councilor may have been on to something." he heard a noise and glanced over.

       Amok stood with both fists clenched at his sides, and his face was nearly white with rage. "So! This is how you've been hiding." his shout was savagely triumphant. "Hah!!"

       "It's a class 5 station," Stanton manipulated the jewel and the view shot past the miner and zoomed-in till the station filled the wall in front of them. "It's Wolf Zero, sir!" Stanton almost dropped the citrine.

       "There's something else," Amok's voice was hoarse. He pointed to Spymaster Greadles's stealth craft tethered next to a loading dock hanging by.

       "I don' understand," Stanton shook his head wonderingly. "How did that get there?"

       "I don't know," Amok stood to his full height with his arms crossed in front of him. "But we're going to find out."

Stanton moved the citrine. "There are thousands and thousands of ships behind it sir," he said with a touch of awe. "How are we going to get past those?"

       "We don't have to," Amok's deep chuckle was nasty. "Sit back for a moment, Mr. Stanton. I'll show you why it's a bad idea to play with our stuff." he smiled ferociously and went to the desk. His fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur of motion. Amok turned in his chair so Stanton could see. He was grinning from ear to ear.

       "It's going to take a while for the systems to diagnose themselves and come up to Power. In the meantime, we're going to sneak in there and see what's going on."

       "Oh, I dunno, sir," Stanton said worriedly, shaking his head. "Maybe we should wait, and bring back some help."

       "Don't you worry about that, Mr.Stanton," Amok was fumbling through the pockets of his robe. "I can handle a few hundred pirates. But Rokiki took something and I want it back."

       "Sir," Stanton's face was grave, "With all the respect I can muster, I canna go in there. I don't have the Mojo and the barriers you have."

       "You aren't going to," Amok rested his hand on the shoulder of his friend for a second. "You get to be the getaway driver."

                                                                             ...................................................................

       Leeki sat in a dead ship, shivering in the darkness. He'd wasted a few precious hours of his Power trying to find a way to get the ship moving; to no avail. The two explosive charges, though small, had ruined key components in both the propulsion and life support systems. Enderheim had done a thorough job of scuttling Greadles ship.

       Leeki's best defense was turning into the final seal for his tomb. The Nalamite infused hull prevented anyone looking for him to succeed. Nalamite blocked psychic emanations both ways. The Healer's talents could never find him here.

       So Leeki was alone, feeling his energy wan, trying to figure out how he'd' been bested so easily. In a few hours, he would no longer be able to maintain himself, and he would slowly freeze to death. He was spending his final moments fantasizing different ways he would wreak sweet revenge was he ever found and resurrected.

       The ship vibrated for the barest second, and, suddenly Leeki was squinting against a bright light. He held up his hand and saw the silhouette of a man standing before him.

       "Let me guess," a rich tenor sounded ironically amused behind the glaring bright light. "Amok."

       "Close," Leeki replied dully, his deep baritone contrasting sharply with whoever stood before him. "Enderheim did this. Who're you?"

       "My name is Rokiki," he said in his sneering, arrogant tone. "I saw this ship and thought you were the spymaster Greadle looking for us when I noticed your..." he half-smiled. "Predicament."

       "I've heard of you," Leeki's eyebrows rose. "You're the one Amok and Enderheim are looking for."

       "They can look all they want," Rokiki gloated. "But they'll never find us," he smiled wider, "until we want them too."

       "We?" Leeki echoed. "Whose we?"

       "Who are you?" Rokiki countered bluntly. "I don't think I've ever met you before."

       "I am Leeki," Leeki drawled. "Is there somewhere else we can talk? I'm cold."

       "Maybe," Rokiki's eyes narrowed. "It depends on how you wound up here."

       "I wound up here because the High Ones are forcing me to help Amok so they can find the Sisters of Fate. I was trying to escape when Enderheim did this," he blew warm air into his fist.

       "So you're working for the High One's?" Rokiki allowed the light to dim some so he could see who he spoke to clearer. His eyes widened. "Wait a minute." he pointed. "I have seen you. You're the propulsion guru. The Everdrive guy."

       "No," Leeki frowned, yet feeling a sudden surge of hope. "And yes. I'm not working for the High Ones. Well, not anymore." he shrugged, using his hands. "Right now, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. The High Ones are no doubt going to cast me into some dark pit somewhere for failure, and the Sisters of Fate want to skin me alive and dance in my blood for betraying them."

       "I have some Snath outside," Rokiki said, looking down his nose. "if you know where the Sister's of Fate are and promise to help us, you can have one. If not, I can leave you here."

       "I have little choice," Leeki was scowling. "Besides, Enderheim is holding Sally hostage and I need to rescue her."

       "Sally?" Rokiki was mystified for a moment and his face cleared. "Nevermind that now. We have to get this ship and you out of here before someone spots it and comes to investigate."

 

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