The trip to Procyon III was quiet. Very quiet, aside from a few orders from Gabriel and the occasional smile that Rella sent his way, Tyrial might as well have been on the bridge by himself. Oh, there were other people there, Sarah and William were both at their stations, but neither one so much as glanced in his direction for the entire trip. They weren't openly hostile, but they certainly weren't friendly either. Rella, at least, acknowledged his presence and Gabriel seemed comfortable enough with him.

        Tyrial was happy enough, if a little unnerved, with the situation. At least two people seemed to like him well enough and the rest were at least not openly hostile. Rella was a little too friendly; in fact, he wasn’t quite sure what to do about that so he did his best to push the thought from his mind for now. It was better than most of his previous jobs, and the pay seemed like it was going to be pretty good too. Even if he could never convince everyone to give him a yes vote, he was fairly certain at least that Rella wouldn’t give him a no. That meant he could stay, and even at only four percent of every haul, it was more than he had ever made before.

        With no one to keep him focused on the here and now, he let his mind drift. Which is why he completely missed the warning indicator on his console that meant they were about to drop out of warp. A few seconds later the pool of gravitons he was directing in front of the ship to create the warp corridor were ripped away from him. Being jerked back to reality, he gave a surprised grunt and sat up straight.

        Glancing at him, Gabriel asked, “Problem, Tyrial?”

        “No, sir,” replied Tyrial, doing his best to hide his embarrassment. That's just what he needed to win his crewmates over, a complete lack of attention to the most important job he had on the ship. Sitting forward slightly, he bent all of his attention to the job at hand. He certainly wasn’t going to get caught not paying attention a second time. Not to mention his job at this point in the mission was just as critical as maintaining the ship's warp corridor had been. He opened his mind and concentrated on the space around the ship. If another Mage had recently touched any of the space they flew through, he would know.

        The ability to detect echoes of Will Power was a rare Talent, one that Tyrial did not strongly possess. At most, he would know if a Mage had recently used their Will nearby. A Mage with a stronger version of the Talent could also tell what had been done to the area in question and quite a bit further into the past. There was no point in worrying about abilities you did not possess though, so Tyrial did his best making use of the ones he did. At the very least he could hopefully give Gabriel some warning if there were Conclave in the area.

        Gabriel glanced at his console for a few moments and then said, “Set course for planetside, thirty-nine point seventy-eight degrees north by seventy-one point eleven degrees west. When we’re within ten kilometers, transmit landing beacon eight five alpha epsilon.”

        As they neared the dark side of the planet's surface, Tyrial strained to feel so much as a flicker of an echo. Gabriel had made it clear his job was to do whatever he could to protect his crewmates. Even if he hadn’t, Tyrial refused to lose the first decent job he had ever managed to land as an illegal Mage. Besides all of that, Tyrial was fairly certain that Gabriel knew more of the Opposition movement than he had indicated the first time they had met. Tyrial wasn’t going to blow his chance as he almost had the first time by pushing the issue too soon. No, first he would prove himself, then he would see what he could dig up.

        After having passed through the upper atmosphere, they slowed down considerably. The forward view screen was switched from showing course details to a real-time forward view. Tyrial couldn’t make out much given that they were on the dark side of the planet, but he did see the lights of a few settlements here and there.

        As they neared the surface, Sarah said, “Ten-kilometer point reached in thirty seconds. Twenty… Ten… Five... Mark.”

        At the same moment, as Sarah said ‘mark’, Rella said, “Transmitting landing beacon eight five alpha epsilon.” A few moments later, she said, “Receiving clearance on encrypted channel, cargo is awaiting us in bay three.”

        “Sounds good,” said Gabriel, “commence landing procedures.”

        Tyrial watched as one of those smaller specks of light on the ground began to gain resolution. It turned into a modest-sized compound with several starship bays and what looked like a self-contained biodome. As they drew near to one of the docking ports, Tyrial heard the smallest, briefest echo of Will Power. It was so small he almost dismissed it, but then he felt another small flicker. Very likely these echoes were old. Given how weak the echoes were, they were probably at least several hours old.

        “There was a Mage here several hours ago,” Tyrial said to Gabriel.

        Gabriel looked at him sharply, “Hours ago?” he said, “You can hear echoes?”

        “Not well, but yes,” said Tyrial, surprised that Gabriel knew of the Mage Talent.

        Gabriel almost looked excited as he asked, “Really? Can you tell what they were doing?”

        “No, sorry,” Tyrial said, “I can only tell they touched the space we passed through, not what they were doing with it. It’s the only Talent I have and it's not very strong.”

        Gabriel smiled, then said, “Finding an illegal Mage with a Talent of any strength is rare.” The smile faded slightly, “As to the possible Mage... well, it's not unlikely that other smugglers have come through here recently, but just the same keep your eyes open. If you see anything or something doesn’t feel right, don't keep it to yourself.”

        “Understood,” said Tyrial. He watched as the ship slowed just above the landing platform. He could feel the slight thud reverberate through the ship as the landing struts touched down on the platform. As the ship's systems switched to dock mode, Sarah and William got up from their stations and walked off the bridge without so much as a glance in Tyrial’s direction.

        Gabriel stood as well and said, “We’ve got an hour or so before the cargo is loaded, you should get some rest.” Turning to nod at Rella, who was still sitting at her station, Gabriel walked down the stairs and turned right through the door leading down to engineering and the cargo bays. Tyrial sat at his station, trying to think if there was anything useful he could do to help the rest of the crew. As he stood to go follow the captain, Rella came up to him.

        “How are you doing?” she asked.

        Tyrial glanced at her, a slight smile on his face. “Fine, just trying to make myself useful. I was going to go see if they needed some help with the cargo,” Tyrial said.

        Rella nodded, then said, “Ok, don’t take it personally if they are… reluctant to accept you. They’ll come around, I’m sure.”

        “I know,” said Tyrial, feigning confidence he didn’t have, “it’s fine. I’m fine with the way things are.” Tyrial hesitated, he realized that ever since he had met this girl, he had had the urge to be honest with her about his feelings. That wasn’t something he was used to and he didn't understand where it was coming from. Part of staying alive and sane in the world he had been born into was thickening his skin and keeping it that way. He had always tried to keep his emotions to himself and he certainly had never shared them voluntarily before. For some reason he could not fathom, however, he felt the urge to tell this small girl in front of him exactly how he felt at that moment. He realized that she had somehow neatly sidestepped all of the tall impenetrable walls he had erected to keep his mind safe.

        Fear welled up in him, an emotion he thought he had mostly mastered in the last forty or so years. Tyrial looked into the eyes of the short, young-looking girl with the innocent smile who stood beside him. He saw no malice or insincerity there, nonetheless, those eyes frightened him now. The realization of how close she had gotten to him without him even noticing shook him profoundly. He mentally took a hold of himself and tried with pure force of will to put the walls he had so painstakingly built back where they belonged. As Rella smiled up at him with those reassuring and calm eyes, however, he found he simply could not muster the necessary will to make the walls any taller.

        Doing his best to hide the whirling maelstrom of emotions that were scouring his mind, he mustered up a smile for Rella. Not trusting himself to speak at that moment, he gave her a nod and headed in the direction of the cargo bays. Thankfully she did not try to talk to him as he left the bridge. The prospect of working on a ship where no one hated him was interesting. The idea that he might make some money here was intriguing. Despite all of that, however, he still almost considered bailing. Mastering the momentary spike of fear, he reminded himself that this ship was the best lead he had seen on the Opposition in years. He wasn’t about to let the soft comforting smiles of one girl chase him away from that.

        Halfway down the stairs to the cargo bays, he suddenly realized he was smiling to himself. He froze, one foot almost to the stair below him. Slowly stepping down, he gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white and he closed his eyes, concentrating. She was just a girl, not even human. Whatever she was trying to do, it wouldn’t work out, he couldn’t allow it. His mind had been honed to a razor’s edge over decades. He had withstood Conclave questioners and escaped with his sanity intact, probably. He had dealt with years of discrimination and hatred for what he was. He had been used, abused, oppressed, and maltreated, sometimes all at the same time by the same person. He would be swallowed by The Void before he would allow one tiny woman to cause him to become completely unhinged.

        He took one long, slow breath, then another. He formed a picture of The Void in his mind. A small point of blackness so strong nothing could escape it. To this black hole in his mind, he fed his emotions, his fears, his longings. He watched them swirl around the point, losing definition and meaning before falling in and becoming nothing. His mind finally empty, he gathered his Will and simply held it, the power giving him some measure of comfort. With his emotions finally swallowed by The Void in his mind, he restructured his defenses and opened his eyes, a new look of purpose and determination now there.

        With his mind finally under control, he continued down the stairs. Walking past the engineering door he glanced in and noticed the small, hairy Karachi was nowhere to be seen. Continuing down the rest of the hallway and around two corners, Tyrial finally came to the cargo bay entrances. According to the placards in the hallway, there were two of them. Based on the noises coming from the first one, the cargo they were picking up was being loaded there.

        Stepping through the doorway, Tyrial watched as the four-armed Tartarin placed a large cargo container on the floor of the hold. The red giant didn’t even seem to be straining to lift the containers. The containers themselves had to weigh easily a hundred kilograms. Gabriel was down by the end of the ramp leading from the cargo bay to the deck of the landing bay. He was speaking to a well-dressed man whose only apparent claim to hair was the handle-bar mustache beneath his nose.

        Stepping into the cargo bay, Tyrial said, “Need any help with those?”

        Kreshen didn’t slow down or even so much as look at Tyrial as he made his way back out of the cargo bay. He simply said, “No.”

        Tyrial supposed he should be glad that he even got a response. Shrugging, he moved down towards the end of the cargo bay ramp, being sure to stay out of Kreshen’s way as he continued to load the cargo. Stepping to within a meter or so of Gabriel, Tyrial did his best to look uninterested in the captain’s conversation with the unknown bald man.

        “You’re sure you can get them to Antares IV in time?” said the unknown man.

        “Without a doubt, Sir, it won't be a problem,” replied Gabriel.

        The mustached man looked unconvinced and said, “So you say… However, the Conclave has been stepping up their patrols lately.” The man lowered his voice but Tyrial was still close enough to hear him say, “I have heard from reliable sources that you recently ended up on the wrong end of one of those patrols.”

        Gabriel visibly stiffened for a moment, but then he regained control of himself and let his easy smile slip back onto his face. He said, “No worries, Sir Darendel. I can assure you we have the means to stay ahead of them.” Gabriel’s eyes briefly flickered to where Tyrial was standing, then he said, “Speaking of... that very means is standing right here. Sir Darendel, I would like to introduce Tyrial, the Conclave’s worst nightmare.” Gabriel held out his hand in a gesture for Tyrial to come closer.

        Tyrial put on his professional, emotionless, straight face. Stepping up to the two men, he bowed slightly to the man Gabriel had introduced as Sir Darendel. “An honor to meet you, Sir,” said Tyrial.

        Darendel appraised Tyrial with a glance. Surprisingly to Tyrial, the man did not show any signs of disgust or fear at being faced with what he must have known was an illegal Mage. Finishing his appraisal, Darendel shrugged and said, “If you say so, Gabriel. At least he doesn’t look green. At any rate, I don’t care how you manage it, but this cargo must reach Antares IV by next week. Lives are depending on it.”

        “I understand,” said Gabriel, “it will be done.”

        Darendel grunted, he seemed about to say more on the subject, then shook his head slightly and said instead, “Safe journey, Gabriel.” Without waiting for a reply, the man turned and walked back to the compound, paying no attention to the nearly three-meter tall red alien who was manhandling his cargo like it was made of cardboard.

        “That was no simple merchant,” said Tyrial.

        Gabriel smiled, ignoring Tyrial’s comment and said, “Any signs of that mage from earlier?”

        Tyrial knew there was more to this meeting than a simple smuggling run. That man was almost certainly a member of a Great House; he absolutely reeked of nobility. But Tyrial had seen what pushing Gabriel too hard for information had gotten him last time. It seemed Gabriel had no intention of giving up any of his secrets just yet. Pushing his frustration and impatience aside, Tyrial responded, “No, Sir, nothing so far.”

        Gabriel nodded, continuing to oversee the loading of the cargo. For several minutes he said nothing, just making notes in his Tablet. Tyrial stood patiently, he didn’t have anything better to do. Besides, maybe he would hear or see something else that would give him a clue as to the real nature of this run. Although Gabriel didn’t seem the type to let anything slip unintentionally.

        As the last container was being loaded onto the ship, Tyrial suddenly felt the space around him blink out of his mind's eye. It was over as soon as it happened, but he heard the reverberations of Will Power that had been used to briefly cover the landing bay. He stiffened immediately. His first instinct was to spread his Will out over the bay to keep any rival Mage from doing anything to the space he would not appreciate. Holding back, however, he said under his breath to Gabriel, “A Mage just swept this area with his Will. Based on the echo, I would put him about one hundred meters in that direction.” Tyrial indicated with a slight nod of his head a direction out into the darkness away from the compound.

        Gabriel didn’t even twitch. He asked calmly, “Have you done anything to respond?”

        “No,” said Tyrial.

        “Good,” replied Gabriel, “for now, do nothing but observe. When the last container is onboard, follow me to the bridge.”

        Tyrial did his best to keep his game face on. He stood next to Gabriel trying his best to look bored. He was fairly certain that the rival Mage, whoever they were, already knew that Tyrial was there. It was impossible to impose your Will on the same space another Mage’s body occupied. When you attempted to impose your Will on a large area, other Mages stood out like beacons because of that. On the other hand, very few Mages knew what it felt like to have another Mage’s Will brush up against their body, and fewer still could hear the echos of Will Power, only the initial burst. That brush was light enough that perhaps the Mage responsible thought they were still undetected. That seemed to be the premise Gabriel was working on, at any rate, so Tyrial did his best to act natural.

        As Kreshen hauled the last container into the cargo bay, Gabriel calmly made one more notation on his Tablet, then walked up the ramp behind Kreshen back onto the ship. Tyrial followed a reasonable distance behind, trying not to look like he was in any particular hurry. This turned out to be one of the more difficult things Tyrial had to do. Not because he was afraid, but because he so desperately wanted to kill what was almost certainly a Conclave spy. His methods tended to be very direct and final, but Gabriel was in charge, and if Gabriel wanted subtlety, Tyrial would do his best to oblige.

        As they took the stairs up to the bridge itself, Tyrial felt another ever-so-faint and ever-so-brief pulse of Will sweep past him. The feeling almost made him want to crawl out of his skin. He desperately wanted to jump out of the ship and go put an end to the Conclave scum that was tracking them. Instead, he took his seat at his station as indicated by Gabriel and said quietly, “Another one, same as the last.”

        Gabriel nodded but didn't reply. Instead, he took his seat at the command station and began giving orders in a calm, almost casual manner.

        “Rella,” Gabriel said, “let the compound know we are departing. William, get us in the air, one half Grav Power.”

        “The compound replied safe voyage, Sir,” said Rella.

        “Lifting off at one half Grav Power, Sir, awaiting coordinates,” said William.

        Gabriel tapped at his console for a few minutes, seemingly unperturbed. After a few minutes, he said, “Set course for eight five seven one nine two mark six, after break orbit, accelerate to point four LYH.”

        As they ascended above the compound, Gabriel said, “Divert auxiliary power to subspace sensors. I want to know if someone sneezes in the next sector over.”

        “Yes, sir,” said William.

        Tyrial thought it was a testament to how close this crew was that William didn’t even ask why. Tyrial prepared himself as they ascended out of the planet's atmosphere. Not so much for the requested speed of point four light-years per hour but more for whatever traps the Conclave may have prepared for them. Tyrial had no doubt that the pulses of Will he had felt on the surface was a Conclave operative. No one else would have any reason to be so nosy. His mind was sitting on a razor's edge and he was holding his Will almost at capacity, prepared for anything.

        The one thing he didn’t understand, however, was why the Conclave Mage had let them go unmolested. Said Mage had to have known they were a smuggling vessel and certainly knew there was an illegal Mage on board. Yet here they were leaving the planet's surface and Tyrial had not felt a single attempt to sabotage the ship or harm anyone on it.  Then he realized if the man who owned that compound was a member of a Great House, it was likely the Conclave wanted to tread lightly around it. That, of course, meant two things. The farther they got from the compound, the more danger they were in. And two, why was Gabriel on a first-name basis with a noble.

        As they reached the outer edge of the planet's atmosphere, Tyrial’s console informed him that they were at a safe distance to begin spacetime warping. Careful to keep his mind open to even the slightest noise from another Mage’s Will, Tyrial gathered the waiting gravitons and began folding the space in front of the ship. As their relativistic speed began increasing, the uncomfortable feeling between Tyrial’s shoulder blades only got worse. He almost physically jumped when Gabriel leaned over to talk to him.

        “You don't like this, either,” Gabriel stated.

        Tyrial grunted in reply, continuing to pour all of his leftover concentration into listening for even the slightest pulse or echo of power. He most certainly did not like this. He still thought the better course of action would have been to go find and kill said Mage back on the planet. Dead Conclave spies could report nothing, but this was Gabriel’s ship so Tyrial would do this the captain's way.

        Four hours later, Tyrial was beginning to regret doing things Gabriel’s way. They had not seen so much as a blip of any other ship on the subspace scanners and Tyrial had not felt even the slightest echo of power as they made their way past the outer reaches of the Sol cluster and slowly towards the Antares Cluster. Tyrial’s head was starting to fiercely ache, not due to physical overexertion but due to continuous intense concentration. Now that they were almost completely in the dark reaches between star clusters, however, Tyrial was beginning to consider the possibility that he could relax. Maybe just a little.

        Sitting back slightly in his chair, he considered saying something to Gabriel. Perhaps apologizing for getting everyone so on edge for nothing. He thought better of it, though; he wasn’t the superstitious type but in his line of work he thought it best not to tempt fate. Just as he’d come to the conclusion that he would keep his slowly fostering optimism to himself, Sarah spoke.

        “I’m getting a graviton signature on subspace scanners, too far away to tell what or who but they appear to be following our course,” said Sarah.

        Gabriel nodded, then said, “Course correction to nine five seven two eight two mark six, two degrees per minute.”

        Per the captain's orders, Tyrial began to slowly adjust the path of the warp corridor. After a few minutes, they were now following the new course. They all waited tensely as the ship behind them caught up to the place they had changed course.

        “Pursuing ship has changed course to match ours,” said Sarah, “they have increased speed to one point two LPH. Interception in two minutes twenty-five seconds.”

        Gabriel looked at Tyrial and asked in a low voice, “How fast do you think you can go?”

        “One point two LPH without a problem,” replied Tyrial, “maybe as fast as one point six or one point seven, but not for long.”

        Gabriel nodded and said, “Increase speed to one point two LPH.”

        Tyrial tapped a few buttons on his console, then began using the increased pool of gravitons below him. He folded the space faster and deeper, pushing the ship faster and faster until they had reached the relativistic speed of one point two light-years per hour. He knew he could go faster but he had already been warping for over four hours. Even at this speed, he wasn’t certain how long he could hold out, two hours, maybe three, at most. The point became moot, however, a few minutes later.

        “They have increased speed to one point five LPH,” said Sarah, “interception in twenty seconds.”

        Gabriel was sitting almost on the edge of his seat at this point. He quickly said, “Tyrial, fight or flight, your call.”

        Tyrial was so surprised by the question that he didn't react immediately, still warping the ship at one point two LPH. As the question sank in, he had the decision ripped away from him. A weak stream of gravitons shot across the warp corridor he was maintaining for the ship. The stream wasn’t enough to cause the corridor to collapse but it interfered enough that the ship slowed down considerably. The sudden look of intense concentration on Tyrial’s face, along with the status screen indicating they had just slowed down, must have given Gabriel all the answer he needed.

        Gabriel gave rapid-fire commands, “Drop to sub-light and divert all Grav Power to shielding, divert auxiliary power to ablative plating, all weapons systems online. Sarah, get me a read on that ship.”

        Tyrial stopped trying to stabilize the warp corridor in the face of the incoming interference and allowed it to dissipate. He had faced Conclave ships before and he knew that before they bothered with conventional weapons, they would attempt to disable the ship by more direct means. As soon as he was no longer contending with the gravitons, he expanded his Will into a large sphere that encompassed the entire ship. No Mage could affect the space or matter already under another Mage’s control without overcoming that Mage first. With the space and material in and around the ship under his control his job now was to keep the enemy Mage’s from ripping their ship apart with Will alone.

        “Power readings indicate a Destroyer class human vessel,” said Sarah, “visual contact in ten… five… visual contact. Its Conclave.”

        At Sarah’s words, Tyrial’s anger began to burn. It seemed like he could never escape the Conclave’s reach. He let the anger inside him boil, however, he refused to be controlled by it. Instead, as his father had taught him, he fed it to The Void and let it fuel his Will.

        “One hundred eighty kilometers and closing,” said Sarah, “missile range in twenty seconds.”

        Gabriel sat back in his seat, looking more confident now that he finally had the enemy in front of him. “Come about one hundred eighty degrees, prepare full missile salvo delta spread, evasive maneuvers at will.”

        As the Conclave ship drew nearer, Tyrial felt the first probe against his shield of Will surrounding the ship. He prepared himself for the inevitable push the rival Mage would make in an effort to wrest control of the space their ship occupied from Tyrial’s Will. When it came, however, it was not only stronger than Tyrial had expected, it came from two directions at once.

        Tyrial grunted as if he had been hit in the stomach. Breathing quickly, he said to Gabriel, “There’s more than one of those bastards on that ship.”

        “Can you hold them off?” asked Gabriel.

        “For now,” said Tyrial, gritting his teeth, “either they're not as strong as I am or they’re exhausted from catching up with us.”

        “Enemy ship in range,” said Sarah, “firing missile salvo delta spread.”

        From somewhere beneath Tyrial came the dull thuds of missiles being fired from the fore missile launcher. As the Tri-Thorium warheads made their way towards the enemy ship, Sarah said, “Incoming ordnance from the enemy ship, Tri-Thorium energy readings.”

        At almost the same moment, William said, “All hands brace for impact, initiating evasive maneuvers and anti-missile systems.”

        For Tyrial, time seemed to slow. He intensified his concentration and expanded his sphere of Will around the ship. The rival Mages were still doing their level best to break into his sphere, but so far he was able to keep them at bay with mediocre effort. As the Osiris used its impressive Grav engines to move in an erratic pattern, Tyrial watched with his Will as the incoming missiles headed for the ship.

        “Five missiles incoming, impact in eight seconds,” said Sarah.

        Tyrial watched as the first of the missiles passed by and missed the ship entirely, the second and third were blown up by the anti-missile guns. The fourth would have clipped the starboard docking port but the Grav shielding deflected it out into the space behind the ship. The fifth missile, however, was too accurate. The Grav shielding did its best to deflect it, but even with that extra push, it was still going to impact the ship.

        Tyrial watched as it inched its way closer and closer to the hull, the anti-missile guns trying desperately to acquire a lock. Time slowed further, Tyrial gathered what Will he wasn’t already using to protect the ship. Bringing his concentration to a razor point, he energized the circuitry in the missile with electrons. Ten meters from impacting the ship, the missile exploded. The shockwave shook the ship like an earthquake, the inertial dampening system doing its best to compensate.

        “Damage report,” said Gabriel before the ship even finished stabilizing.

        “Minimal damage to starboard ablative plating,” said Sarah, “the first four missiles missed or were destroyed, the last missile detonated a few meters short of the hull.”

        Gabriel glanced at Tyrial, nodded, then asked, “And the enemy ship?”

        Sarah consulted her console for a moment, then said, “No damage, all missiles deflected or destroyed.”

        “Fire another missile salvo,” said Gabriel, “spread alpha, continue evasive maneuvers, close to plasma repeater range and fire at will.”

        Tyrial wasn’t sure what Gabriel was planning. There were at least three Mages on board that Destroyer, probably more. Tyrial was keeping two of them busy at the moment, but that wasn’t enough to keep the third from deflecting all of their missiles. This was a stalemate at best and not one they could keep up for long. One of those incoming missiles was going to get lucky and Tyrial was already starting to feel the strain from trying to keep the two Mages busy as well as keeping an eye on incoming missiles.

        “Five more missiles incoming,” said Sarah, “impact in fifteen seconds. Closing to repeater range in thirty seconds.”

        As the enemy ship’s missiles closed in on them Tyrial once again sharpened his concentration and expanded his Will. Time slowed once again and as it did so the pain in Tyrial’s head intensified. He did his best to ignore it as he concentrated on the missiles. As before, William’s masterful maneuvering kept the ship just out of reach of the first and second missiles. The shorter range, however, meant their opportunity for effective fancy maneuvering was reduced.

        The third missile was destroyed by one of the anti-missile guns, but the fourth and fifth were probably going to impact. As they got closer and their trajectory more certain, William shouted, “Brace for impact!”

        Tyrial concentrated on the two missiles that weren't going to miss. Using the same trick as before, he surged energy into the controlling circuitry of the two missiles and both exploded short of their target. Expecting another small rocking from the shockwave of the two missiles, Tyrial was caught completely off guard by the huge lurch and thunderous boom that followed. Barely holding onto his seat, Tyrial realized belatedly that the third missile he thought had been destroyed had cartwheeled into the aft port side of the ship with most of its payload still in-tact.

        As the ship stabilized itself, Gabriel yelled, “Damage report!”

        “Portside ablative plating down to forty percent,” said Sarah, “minor structural damage, all critical systems still online.”

        Tyrial could feel the Conclave ship with his own Will now, or at least he could feel the bubble around it created by the enemy Mage’s Will. They were doing much the same as he was by controlling all of the space their ship occupied. As they closed in on the Destroyer, Tyrial could hear the energy relays for the plasma repeaters engaging.

        “Within repeater range, engaging at will,” said Sarah.

        “Incoming plasma fire from the enemy ship,” said William, “diverting auxiliary power to ablative plating.”

        The ship shook as the plasma packets from the Destroyer impacted the ablative plating. As they passed by the Destroyer at the nearest point, Tyrial felt a renewed burst of Will from the enemy Mages. It took all of his effort to maintain control over the pocket of space he was controlling.

        As they passed behind the enemy ship and out of plasma repeater range, Gabriel said, “Damage report, both ships.”

        Sarah replied, “Ablative plating down to ten percent port side, fifty percent starport, thirty percent fore, eighty percent aft.” Sarah tapped at her console for a second then continued, “No apparent damage to the enemy ship.”

        The look on Gabriel’s face was not a pleasant one, but it also didn’t seem to be one without hope. Tyrial wondered if the man had a plan, or if he was just waiting for something to come up. “Come about one-hundred eighty degrees and prepare for another run,” said Gabriel.

        Tyrial didn’t expect another missile run to be any more successful than the last one, and he was very much in doubt of his ability or that of the ship’s to continue to divert the incoming ones. He glanced at Gabriel, then at Rella and Sarah and William. Tyrial would have labeled the situation desperate, perhaps hopeless, yet no one had a look of despair. They all looked as though victory was inevitable. Gabriel himself looked like a man who was reluctantly about to pull out the big guns, as if they weren't already giving it everything they had. This ship was impressive for a freighter; hell, it was impressive compared to any ship its size. But that Destroyer was easily six times larger than the Osiris and manned by ten times the crew and at least three Conclave Mages.

        As the reality of their situation sank in, Tyrial’s anger began to burn hotter. The Conclave were here to once again take away what little slice of belonging he could find. It seemed like they were always right behind him, doing their level best to make his life a living nightmare. That burning anger began to gain momentum into a raging fire. Tyrial did his best to feed it all into the Void in his mind, but it was burning hot.

        “I can disable them,” said Tyrial through gritted teeth. He didn’t look up, maintaining a death stare at the console in front of him. He was prepared to argue, he was prepared to ignore orders and do what needed doing anyway. He was prepared to —

        “Do it,” said Gabriel, not even a hint of a question in his tone.

        Tyrial didn’t bother to waste time marveling over Gabriel's apparent trust in him this time. Instead, he simply said, “Divert all auxiliary power to the Graviton Emitter.”

        William glanced at Gabriel, but Gabriel just nodded. William tapped at his console for a second then said, “Done.”

        Tyrial tapped on his console, bringing up every ounce of gravitons the emitter could produce. Gathering his Will in its entirety, Tyrial left only a token resistance on the shield he had covered the ship with. Before the rival Mages could make use of that apparent weakness, however, Tyrial gave them something else to worry about. In typical Conclave fashion, the Mages on the Destroyer did not give much thought to unorthodox maneuvers and had placed their protective barrier no more than a meter beyond their own ship’s hull.

        Tyrial directed all of the gravitons at his disposal to a single point in space only a few millimeters outside of the enemy's protective sphere. He used that massive quantity of gravitons to push the spacetime fabric at that point right to and then right past the breaking point. As the spacetime began to fold into itself, Tyrial pushed even harder. With all of his strength, he pushed. As he did so, the gravity emanating from the point he created began to reach critical proportions.

        Sarah said, “Subspace sensors are detecting an anomaly forming next to the Destroyer, it's putting out an enormous energy signature.”

        Tyrial gave up on the shield he was protecting the ship with and poured everything he had into directing the gravitons. By this point, the rival Mages had apparently found something more pressing to do as he no longer felt their presence. Tyrial’s rage was burning at a fever pitch, however, and he no longer cared what the other Mages were doing. He poured his rage and anger at the Conclave and everything they had done to him into the quantum singularity he was forming next to the enemy ship.

        “Sir,” Sarah’s voice was higher pitched than normal, “that energy signature, I think it’s forming into a singularity!”

        Tyrial felt the Osiris shudder slightly but he paid it no mind. Those bastards would pay for what they had done to him. He would reduce their ship to a soup can when he was done. He bored the hole in spacetime even deeper, pushing the gravitons harder, and the event horizon of his artificial black hole began to form. The protection the rival Mages had tried to extend around their ship meant nothing to the inexorable pull of gravity sweeping over it.

        “Full reverse, prepare to cut the Graviton Emitter,” said Gabriel.

        “No! Not yet!,” said Tyrial. He wasn’t through with them yet. He could still feel the Conclave Mage’s pushing futilely against his black hole, trying to stem the flow of destruction it was wreaking on their ship. He wouldn’t let them win, he wouldn’t let them live. They had killed his parents, they had taken away everything resembling love and happiness he had ever known. He would kill them all, kill them all!

        Gabriel put his hand on Tyrial’s shoulder and said softly, “Tyrial, let it go. There are more important things to protect.”

        Suddenly, Rella’s face flashed in Tyrial’s mind. All his life he had concentrated on destroying the Conclave, doing anything he could to hurt them. It was his one and only burning driving desire. A year ago, he would have ignored Gabriel’s words. He would have maintained the singularity until the Conclave Mages were sufficiently weekend, then he would have moved it into the center of their ship and crushed it into the aforementioned soup can. And he would have left the Osiris in critical condition, assuming it survived at all given its close proximity to the Conclave ship and his singularity.

        Tyrial let out a slow, shuddering breath, releasing his hold on the gravitons. His black hole evaporated in a matter of seconds, leaving behind a debilitated and badly damaged Conclave Destroyer. The Conclave Mages, however, still lived. Tyrial could feel the sounds of their power being used to hold their ship together by main force of Will. He still felt a strong desire to kill them, but for the first time in his life, something else was starting to fight for priority in his life. A desire to protect people. Tyrial sat back in his seat.  He glanced over to Gabriel and saw that behind him, Rella was smiling at him.

        All of the uncertainty and insecurity he thought he had put behind him earlier in the day came roaring back. He had allowed Conclave Spies to live and an entire Conclave Destroyer to survive, both of which had been within his means to permanently end. On top of that, he had a disconcerting feeling that the chief reason for all of that was smiling at him from behind Gabriel. He had never let a girl, or anyone, influence his decisions to such a degree before. All of this was making him slightly sick to his stomach.

        “The singularity is dissipating,” said Sarah, “We sustained no additional damage. Scanning the Conclave ship.” She tapped at her console for a few minutes, her eyebrows rising as she did so. “The Conclave ship is fully disabled, they appear to be on backup life support, no other systems appear operational. They have multiple hull breaches.”

        Gabriel nodded, then asked Tyrial, “Do you think you can still warp us out of here?”

        Tyrial collected himself as best he could, trying to put his uncertainty to the side for now. Sitting up straighter in his chair he said, “Ya, I’m fine, we can warp at any speed you want, as long as that speed is slow.” Then, belatedly, he added, “Sir.”

        Gabriel chuckled lightly to himself, then said, “William, how are our systems looking, do we need to make repairs?”

        William tapped at his console for a minute and then said, “No, Sir, nothing that can’t wait. We have minimal hull damage and the ablative plating should be able to self-repair. All other systems are online, Zin’dar reports that engineering is good to go.”

        “Sir,” said Sarah, “are we going to leave the Conclave ship? Their systems are almost completely offline, we could easily finish them off.”

        At Sarah’s words, Tyrial was very surprised to discover that he had suddenly lost his taste for Conclave blood that day. He had never before considered leaving an enemy alive behind him, one of his most important personal rules had always been to leave nothing but corpses behind him when dealing with enemies. Corpses couldn’t come back to haunt you later. Compassion was not a feeling he was familiar with. But today, after everything his emotions had been through, he found that he just wanted to leave this place and sleep. Before he could voice his opinion, however, Gabriel spoke.

        “What do you think the Conclave would do, if our positions were reversed?” he asked.

        Sarah didn’t hesitate, she said, “They would turn our ship into scrap.”

        Gabriel nodded, “And let me ask you something else, are you so fond of the Conclave that you would like to become just like them?”

        Sarah stiffened at her post. Her eyes darkened and for a moment her jaw worked but no sound came out. Even the normally passive William looked as though he was going to come to his wife’s defense. Instead, Sarah appeared to master her emotions, and quickly the anger on her face was replaced by regret. “No, Sir,” she replied quietly.

        “Murder is not justice,” said Gabriel, “there is no solace in revenge.”

        As Gabriel spoke, he was looking at Tyrial, not at Sarah. Tyrial suspected the words were meant more for him than for Sarah, who, given the expression on her face, had heard them before. Tyrial wondered which book the captain was quoting. Looking beyond Gabriel, Tyrial saw Rella. She had an expression of pity on her face. It was an expression that unexpectedly caused Tyrial a twinge of pain. If he was honest, perhaps more than a twinge. He had never asked to be hated or pitied, and in general, he could ignore either with equal ease nowadays. But the look he saw on Rella’s face caused his heart to ache and not in a pleasant way. He didn't understand the effect or the reason for it, but he knew he didn't like it.

        Having given his words the few moments they needed to sink in, Gabriel sat back in his chair looking at his console, then said, “Set course for two four one zero nine four mark six, point two LYH.”

        Without another word, the ship came about and began moving in the aforementioned direction. Tyrial engaged the Gravity Emitter via his console and began using the gravitons to create the warp corridor. As the ship’s relativistic speed increased to point two light-years per hour, Tyrial was not looking forward to the hours more he would need to maintain this effort. To be sure, point two LYH wasn’t much of an effort, or at least it wouldn’t have been if he had not just created a small black hole. Looking at his console again, however, he realized the coordinates the captain had set were well short of their final destination. Only about twenty minutes away at their current speed.

        Only twenty minutes, but those twenty minutes seemed to stretch on for hours. Tyrial was tired, beyond tired, he was exhausted.  He could have pushed through that with effort, but the uncomfortable silence that had descended on the bridge after their confrontation with the Conclave ship was unnerving. And above all of that, there was the look he had seen on Rella’s face earlier. That, above all the rest, burned painfully in his mind.

        Rella must have sensed something was wrong with Tyrial. He caught her looking in his direction more than once over the short twenty-minute flight. As often as he looked, he did not see that same look of pity again, only one of concern. Tyrial couldn’t help but replay that look in his mind over and over again, however. He still didn’t understand why it had hurt so much to see it. He had received far worse over the years and had learned not to let it bother him. But this, for some reason, cut him in a way he was not prepared for.

        As the gravitons he was directing cut out at their destination, Tyrial let out a slow breath and slouched into his chair. He wasn’t in much danger of overexerting his powers, but he was in danger of falling asleep standing up.

        As they slowed to sublight speed, Gabriel said, “Set course for two three eight one nine seven mark six mark seven eight three mark two five nine, one quarter grav power.”

        Looking at his console, Tyrial could see they had arrived at a large asteroid field. By the high precision of Gabriel’s coordinates, Tyrial suspected they were looking for a particular asteroid amongst the field. Most likely a hideout he had found previously, something well-shielded where they would not be found by any searching Conclave.

        Maneuvering through the asteroid field, they came upon one asteroid larger than the rest. As they flew around towards its anterior side, Tyrial saw on his display that the asteroid in question had a very large cave. William carefully maneuvered the ship into the cave mouth and slowly down an extremely large tunnel to a section that was mostly flat and smooth.

        “Commence landing procedures,” said Gabriel. “Once we’re steady, shut everything down but internal systems and life support. We can make some repairs here and get some rest. Rella, can you escort Tyrial to his quarters, he looks like he might fall asleep on the way there.”

        Tyrial did not appreciate the gesture; it was hard enough trying to fit in without looking like he couldn’t hold his own. Standing, he kept his legs from shaking by sheer force of will. Glancing at Gabriel, he said, “I can manage, sir.”

        Without waiting for a reply, indeed worrying that he might fall over if he didn't get moving, he started towards the living quarters. About halfway down the stairs of the bridge, Rella caught up with him. He didn’t slow down, not that he was moving very fast. Rella kept looking at him as he slowly moved down the hallway. Without saying a word, he kept his eyes focused on the hallway in front of him. Reaching the intersection, he took a right and continued down the second hallway towards his door.

        Reaching his door, he touched the access panel, and the door, sensing his biosignature, opened. It was at this point that Rella reached a handout and touched his shoulder. At her touch, Tyrial almost lost control of his legs. Reaching a hand out to the door frame to steady himself he just stood there for a second.

        “Tyrial —” Rella began.

        “Please,” Tyrial interrupted, “don’t pity me. Not that, not ever.”

        Without waiting for a reply, Tyrial stepped through the doorway and slammed his fist into the access panel on the inside, effectively closing the door in Rella’s face. He stood there, staring at his bed for a minute. Somehow his legs continued to work, even though he was paying them almost no attention. He suddenly realized he could feel wetness on his face. Reaching a trembling hand up, he touched his cheeks and realized they were tears.

        It was at this point that Tyrial’s legs decided they were done being ignored and gave out. Falling to his knees, he barely even cared. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him; why did it matter to him what that girl thought of him. Why did it hurt so much when he saw her piteous expression. Scrubbing his cheeks roughly with his sleeves, he forced his legs to obey him again. Standing unsteadily, he made his way to his bed and sat on it.

        He’d withstood better than fifty years of discrimination and hatred, of being used and abused. And now here, in a situation he should be completely content with, he could not keep his emotions in check. Rella seemed to know almost exactly what to do to worm into every tiny chink or crack in his mental armor. He shouldn’t care, it shouldn’t bother him. He should just keep his head down, make some money here, get whatever information on the Opposition he could, and then bail. With that girl here, though, he was beginning to think this ship was more dangerous than a Conclave interrogation cell.

        For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had no control over the situation or his fate. Maybe some of that was just the exhaustion talking, he wasn’t sure. Why did any of these people matter to him at all? They shouldn't, but for some reason they did. Rella in particular, no one should be able to unsettle him this much, but somehow she managed it. In a way, Tyrial was glad he was completely exhausted; he didn’t think he would have been able to sleep at all otherwise.

        Letting himself fall sideways onto the bed, he stared at the closed door and recalled the last thing he had said to Rella. He would have to apologize tomorrow, and the worst part is he still had no idea why he even cared. Why he cared enough for her look to hurt him so deeply or why he cared enough to want to apologize for being short with her earlier. This ship with its unfathomable crew was turning upside down everything he thought he knew about himself.

        With fear and pain and strangely, hope, swirling around in his head, he fell asleep.