The throne room of the new ruler of Silus Ord, the Ieasle Hanna Gax, was becoming an important place. Circular in design, it displayed a strange combination of the medieval and the modern. The walls were faced with rough-cut stone slabs—and concealed a thick alloy layer capable of sustaining all but the most powerful of energy blasts. Rows of flickering, smoky torches lined the walls—while discreet solar panels in the ceiling provided most of the light.

But the most impressive combination of old and new was found in the two gold figures flanking the throne. In accordance with tradition, Hanna Gax had selected two gods from the Tuolon pantheon as his personal deities upon assuming the title of Iaesele. Having chosen Seket, the god of war, and Tersis, the god of vengeance, Gax had placed golden effigies of his gods at each side of the throne, as countless Iaeseles had done before him. But his icons were far more than mere decorations placed to satisfy tradition; rather, they were cleverly disguised machines of war. Any aggressive move towards the throne was now suicide, and even those closest in his circle feared to move too quickly as they approached.

Hanna Gax himself was a mix of tradition and technology, as well. Although he dressed in the customary ceremonial leather armor of an Iaesele and chose to dwell in conditions that resembled, at least on the surface, those of his distant ancestors, he was different than those he ruled. Thanks to his ancestors' dabbling in gene mutations, he stood at least a half a foot taller than an unaltered Tuolon; his limbs longer and more heavily muscled. Even his claws had been manipulated, making them sharper and more deadly than nature had intended.

But it was more than just these surface alterations that separated Gax from the rest of his race. In his large, black eyes, a higher level of intelligence shone—along with a deep streak of aggression and cruelty. As a Tuolon prince, Hanna Gax had been born to a degree of influence and wealth. But it had been his own insatiable desire for power, and his ruthless determination to achieve it, that had helped him grow strong in the two years he had dominated his small Tuolon principality.

Tonight, Gax watched a display of Tuolon slave girls dancing on the stone platform in the center of the chamber, sipping wine from a goblet. Apart from the dancers, guards and courtiers, most of those who crowded the throne room were of the Iaesele's clan. The tall, black human winding his way through the throng to the prince's throne was a notable exception.

He moved almost unnoticed until he stopped at in front of the throne. Gax turned soulless eyes to his top official.

"What is it Nerius?" he asked in the grating tones of his native Tuolon. Although Gax had recently begun a study of Amalgam, he would never lower himself to use it in his own court.

"My Lord," the human answered in the same tongue, "there is news from Tae."

"Report," the Iaesele barked, taking another drink of wine.

"The novices you sent to kill the Sylvan made contact. It would seem they have failed." He paused, swallowing nervously before he went on. "In fact, they have managed to lose their ship to him as well."

Gax's black eyes widened and he ran a clawed finger down the side of the goblet. "They couldn't kill one, small Sylvan?" he asked in a cold, deceptively calm voice.

Nerius shook his head. "No, my Lord. They say someone helped him, a young Herkulun warrior."

Nerius watched closely as his ruler lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Then a dark flame ignited in Gax's eyes and he turned his attention back to the waiting human.

"I should kill them now," he hissed. "But, their father is a loyal warrior."

"What would you have me do, Lord?" Nerius asked.

"Send them another ship. But if they fail again…" He drew a claw across his throat to indicate his meaning. "Now go."

Nerius bowed and left to carry out the orders.

Gax drained the goblet and beckoned to a small figure standing inconspicuously by one of the huge pillars. Nodding, the figure moved quickly over to the throne and pulled down his hood, revealing the features of an ageing Sylvan. Other than a large scar running down his left cheek, there was very little striking about him. Gax looked at him as he would an insect.

"It appears this peasant boy of yours is not so easy to kill, Prince Tahl."

The Sylvan was silent for a moment as the small device in his ear translated the guttural Tuolon tongue. "He's still alive?" Tahl gasped when it had finished.

"That is my meaning, yes," Gax sneered.

Tahl ran a hand nervously across his brow. "Where does that leave us?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice. "If he succeeds, I lose all hope of becoming the next Elesin." He began to twist the large blue ring on his index finger.

"And if that happens," he added, his eyes narrowing, "our agreement no longer applies. Keep that very much in mind."

Gax stared at the posturing little Sylvan, and contemplated how satisfying it would be to simply reach down and snap his neck.

It was a desire he knew he could not afford to indulge just now, though. Tahl had stockpiled a small arsenal of Sylvan weaponry and ships, in case it became necessary to press his claim to rule as Elesin, and had promised to share a portion of this with Gax in return for the services of Tuolon soldiers. The soldiers were to make sure the mission to save the young prince never succeeded, and that Tahl's hands stayed clean.

"You need not worry," Gax told the Sylvan prince. "If you know exactly where he is heading, we can mount another attempt." He leaned forward, cruel black eyes fixed on his diminutive guest. "You do know, I take it."

Tahl shifted uncomfortably. He did know, as it happened; his spies among the disgruntled Merdine had told him everything. But he had never intended to tell Gax any more than he had so far. The barbarian knew nothing of the Space Gate, the relic ship, or the suspected horde of relic machinery to be harvested on Suliman's planet, and Tahl would have preferred to keep it that way. But now he was at this filthy alien's mercy.

"Come," Gax went on. "Let allies not keep secrets from each other." He laid a powerful hand on Tahl's shoulder and pressed just hard enough to make the Sylvan wince. "What do you have to tell me?" he asked, his voice low, yet commanding.

Tahl looked nervously up at the Iaesele's cold, cruel features and began to tell him exactly what he wanted to know.

Dragon, as Sillow had named the ship, had been locked in the distorted light-tunnel of hyperspace for a long time. At least, it seemed that way to Sillow, who spent his time pacing the ship, playing cards, and puzzling out the strange holographic game built into the circular table in the rest area. He was searching for another diversion when he heard the change in the ship's engines. He let his cards drop to the table.

"Is something wrong?" Brok asked. The Herkulon had refused all offers to play cards, and had spent much of his time practicing with the compact staff he seemed to have claimed as his own. The weapon now stopped in mid stroke.

Sillow jumped up. "Ship's slowing," he replied, rushing into the flight deck.

By the time Brok got there, the Sylvan was already seated in the main pilot's chair, running his delicate fingers over the controls. He hit a switch and the view screen flashed to life. As they watched, the tunnel of light faded away like a fine mist, revealing normal space. Sillow pointed at the cloud of a nebula not far in front of them.

"The space gate must be in there," he said to his companion.

Suddenly a dragon's face appeared, superimposed over the view screen. It looked at them with black eyes bisected by a sliver of red.

"You are correct Silla Low," it said, curls of flame escaping from the flared nostrils. "I have disengaged warp drive at the last possible moment to bring us this close." The voice had an eerie, slightly distorted quality to it.

The Sylvan sat back in his chair. "Er, call me Sillow," he said automatically, a puzzled look on his face. "Who are you?"

The dragon face considered the question for a moment. "I am a representation of the ship's computer," it replied. "I hope the image I have created is acceptable."

Sillow threw the Herkulun a look and scratched his head. "Uh, sure," he told the dragon face. "I, uh, didn't know ship's computers did things like this."

The dragon face studied Sillow with its intense red and black eyes.

"You know," the Sylvan went on when the image remained silent. "Create their own appearances, and stuff."

The dragon nodded. "I am still exploring the parameters of my programming," it said. "I created this image to match the name you gave me."

Sillow smiled. "You know about the name, huh? Do you like it? I'd thought about—"

Brok frowned. "If I may interrupt," he rumbled in his deep voice, doing just that. "Can you tell us how we enter the Space Gate?"

The dragon stared at him. "I do not know you."

"I am Altus Brok," the Herkulun growled. "You may call me Brok. Now, answer my question."

"I would, Dragon," Sillow cut in. "He has an anger management issue."

The ship's avatar nodded. "If the data left by Suliman is correct, all that is required is that you use the scanners to activate the device. After that, a tractor beam will draw the ship in." The dragon face looked at them both in turn. "You should activate the scanners when we are within visual range."

As they watched, they entered into the nebula, cutting through the fine, luminous white clouds. And then they saw a giant, cone-shaped object hovering in the center, growing rapidly until it filled the screen.

Sillow felt his palms grow moist and his heart begun to hammer in his chest. "Scared?" he asked, looking at Brok's tense features.

The Herkulun stared angrily at his companion.

"Hey, it's okay to be scared," Sillow said, putting a hand to his chest. "I'm terrified, to be honest. I mean, there's nothing to be ashamed of, it's only—"

"Enough of your nonsense!" Brok barked. "Activate the scanners!"

"Okay, big guy," Sillow shot back, "but hold on to your beard!" He ran lightning fingers over the controls then said, "Scanners activated."

Nothing happened for a few moments. Neither the Sylvan nor Herkulun spoke as they stared at the screen. Then suddenly points of light formed in the dark, cavernous area at the front of the Space Gate. They grew in intensity and began to spin, forming a bright whirlpool.

The light erupted, and both Sillow and Brok instinctively turned their heads away just as the ship was sucked into the gate, vanishing into the center.

By the time the Tuolon ship tracking them reached the location of the gate hours later, Dragon was on the other side of the galaxy.

Teoni, as Suliman had named his world, was a planet of white clouds, blue oceans, and green continents. From above it, looked like a utopia.

"I've got the readings for Suliman's city," Sillow said, studying the readout. "It's big, considering one man's cult built it all."

Brok, irritated by his lack of ability to understand the highly technical data, leaned over. "What about life readings?"

Sillow hit some keys. "Massive," he said with a nervous swallow. "But none of it humanoid, or anything resembling what might be… You know." His smile was relieved.

Brok nodded, although his expression didn't change. "There is one possibility you have not considered, though."

"Which is?" Sillow had a feeling he would not like the answer.

Brok considered the peaceful looking world on the view screen. "Perhaps the humans have mutated so far that they no longer register as biological animals."

Sillow's jaw fell open as he began to imagine all sorts of nightmares.

Clad in the black armor of his encounter suit, Sillow was the first to leave the jaws of the metal dragon after it touched down onto the soft, grassy surface.

"Holy…" he said, stepping onto the dewy ground. "I never imagined Suliman had built anything like this. It's huge!"

The city was indeed impressive, a technological marvel. Whatever had been done to the one and a half mile area when the city had been built, it had resisted all of nature's attempts to reclaim it. Even the simple farmland areas and the small, white domes of the homesteads dotting it were almost unchanged.

The real wonder, though, lay at the center of the city. The huge, dark, pyramid of the temple dominated everything else. Studying it, Sillow saw that steps had been carved into each of the sides, reaching all the way from the ground to the large, arched entrances positioned about two thirds of the way up, allowing hundreds of devotees at a time to make their way to worship. At the pinnacle was a huge image of Sett, the winged, snake-like god Suliman and his followers had worshipped.

At the temple's four corners were tall, cylindrical buildings, uniform in design, different only in the hieroglyphs that adorned their fronts. Reaching into the new information implanted in his mind, Sillow found he was able to read them.

"The data we need is under one of those," he said as Brok, also in full armor, came up beside him. "That one, to be precise." He pointed at one on the left.

Brok scrutinized the cylinder, which was identical to the others as far as he could tell, and gave a non-committal growl.

"Dragon," Sillow said into his com link, "can you get a scan of the interior?"

There was a long pause before the ship's voice came back. "Negative. The material is too dense to allow such a probe."

Sillow sighed. "So, no guide once we're inside, right?"

A loud screech from the forest made Brok turn, just in time to see a giant, birdlike creature emerging. "How long before that protective shield Dragon reactivated fails?" he asked, looking at the red particle beams crisscrossing one another at the city's perimeter.

Sillow turned and studied the ring of columns generating the power. "Not long," he replied. "A couple of hours, maybe. Suliman said that's all the back up power the cells could absorb from a ship's laser blasts."

"Then we have no time to waste here," the Herkulun replied.

Sillow nodded. "You're right. We'll just have to trust to the map they put in my head." He tapped the side of his shell-shaped helmet.

"Are you sure it is reliable?" Brok rumbled.

"If it's not," the Sylvan answered, "we're going to get very lost, big guy."

The labyrinth beneath the city was complicated, and it took some time for the Sylvan to locate the medical lab. More than once, Brok cursed as his fleet footed companion raced ahead of him, leaving him in danger of being perpetually lost in the series of mazes. Eventually, Sillow stopped before a large set of doors.

"What now?" Brok asked as he came running up behind.

Sillow walked up to a control panel and punched a series of numbers. "Now, we go inside."

The doors slid open, revealing a large, sterile-looking chamber. Sillow stepped in and studied the layout.

"If all the information stuffed into my head is right," he said, looking at a large computer station on the wall, "this is it. Don't worry, I'm good with this sort of thing."

Sillow ran over to the computer, but before he could begin typing, a tremor rocked the chamber and knocked him off his feet. "What was that?" he cried, jumping back up.

"I do not know," Brok replied. "Perhaps this landmass is subject to earthquakes."

"Well, whatever," Sillow said, hitting a series of controls. "Let's just hope there isn't another one." A monitor flickered to life, and he began searching a mass of images.

"You understand all this?" Brok asked, astonished.

Sillow shook his head. "Not really, but I do know what I'm looking for. At least, I think I do."

He continued to study the monitor, typing frantically. Several times he thought he'd found what they sought, only to find that the data was incomplete. He found that a whole team of scientists had conducted the early stages of the search for a cure, but their data was useless. It was Suliman's personal discoveries, made when he'd been locked down here alone and terrified, surrounded by mutated creatures that wanted to tear him apart, that they needed. He kept searching. And then, suddenly, he stopped.

"Royal flush!" Before his eyes danced a mass of three-dimensional chemical and biological strands, moving on the screen in a virtual reality simulation. "It matches perfectly," he said, tapping the side of his head. "Now to download it."

He pulled a small disk from his belt and inserted it into the console. The data flooded down into it in seconds. He ripped it out and placed it carefully into his utility belt.

"Impressed?" he asked, turning to the Herkulun. "And to think I was so worried about this mission. It was a piece of cake! We didn't need your muscle after all." Sillow grinned.

Brok looked at him coldly. "I will concur with your statement after we are safely back in known space."

"Mr. Sunshine, as always," Sillow shrugged. "Okay then, let's go." He took a couple of steps then turned to his huge companion. "Wanna race?" he challenged, launching into a sprint.

"Wait!" Brok barked after him. "I do not know the way!"

Sillow had not told Brok that the armor they were wearing was equipped with a skeletal framework that enhanced natural movements. On average, it could enhance a physical ability about six times, but if the wearer had a particularly developed attribute, like Brok's strength or his own speed and agility, it was even more greatly magnified. Sillow had used such armor before, at the academy, and knew Brok would have no chance of keeping up, if he chose to exercise his full speed.

As it was, he was far ahead of his companion when he stopped in the chamber leading up to the main doorway. He couldn't suppress a small chuckle as the Herkulun came lumbering into view, but seeing the menace in his companion's movements, he held his hands up defensively. "Sorry, Brok! Really, don't be mad. It was just a joke. You know, a joke—"

The Herkulun slammed him into the wall, pinning him with an arm like a tree trunk, and Sillow realized Brok could easily crush him if he wanted to.

"You will not do that again. Do you understand?"

"Sure do," Sillow assured him. "No more childish, infantile jokes. Gotcha, okay?"

The Herkulun released his captive. "Very well, then, as long as we understand one another. Now, lead the way."

The two made their way up to the huge doorway. As they drew near, Brok stopped abruptly.

"Now what?" Sillow asked, a little impatiently. He made as if to go around the Herkulun, but Brok held him back, shaking his head.

"The perimeter shield is gone."

Sillow's mouth dropped open. He gaped at Brok, then the doorway, and back again.

"The earthquake," Brok told him. "It was caused by the force of something breaking through the field."

Sillow stared at him in disbelief. "But what could be—Wait!" he said snapping his fingers. "We can contact Dragon from up here." Activating his com link, he cried, "Dragon, can you hear me? What's going on out there?"

There was a moment of static then the distinctive voice of the ship came through. "A Tuolon ship has crashed through the energy field. The three occupants have landed and are now searching for you. All are armed."

"WHAT?" Sillow could guess who the three Tuolons were. "Why didn't you warn us?"

"I have been sending out a regular warning every thirty seconds for the last fifteen minutes," the ship told him evenly. "Be advised that the Tuolons are closing in on your position."

"Well…" Sillow began to complain, but seeing that Brok already had his staff fully extended, he drew his blaster instead. "Just tell me how close the three Tuolons are now."

As if in answer to Sillow's question, E'en appeared at the entrance, followed a moment later by his two brothers.

"Never mind, Dragon. I see them."

Sillow's recently acquired enemies were wearing the same leather garb they'd worn on Tae, but now they were heavily and dangerously armed. En'n, holding an especially sinister looking rifle, focused on Sillow while his brothers turned their attention to the big warrior who had so badly humiliated them.

En'n hit a switch on his rifle and it began to hum. His snout curled back from his dagger teeth in a parody of a grin. "Now," he croaked from his electronic collar, "you die. This cannon take only seconds to charge. When it charge, nothing save you."

"Er, Brok?" Sillow asked his giant companion. "Should I start firing now? I mean, you're the one who knows about these things"

Brok's only response was to level his staff at their attackers. Following his lead, Sillow dove to the side and, his natural speed enhanced by the armor, fired off half a dozen blasts in under a second.

The bolts refracted around En'n and dissipated into the distance. Shots at his companions had similar results. "Their armor generates some type of force field," Brok yelled, launching a series of blue energy spheres from his staff at En'n's brothers.

While the Tuolon force fields seemed immune to blaster bolts, they proved inadequate against the strange, mental energy from Brok's staff. As the blue energy hit them, the brothers fell to the ground, motionless.

En'n glanced over briefly as his brothers dropped, but then the cannon emitted a high-pitched signal indicating it was almost fully charged and he let out a guttural laugh. Turning his black eyes back to his enemies, he rasped, "No matter; still die. Even you kill me now, still die."

Brok stepped forward, preparing to fire another shot, but Sillow stopped him.

"Brok, wait! I've got a better idea than an heroic last stand." He leveled his blaster at the controls and unloaded a series of energy bolts into it. The panel exploded and the doors, deprived of power, slammed shut. He took a deep breath and looked at his companion.

A wordless signal passed between them, and they raced away from the door. They'd barely made it to the next level down when the cannon detonated, destroying the floor above them. The entire building shook, sending Sillow's light frame lurching from side to side.

The heavier Brok stood unmoved. Looking up, he noticed the ceiling above him beginning to heat up. "I thought only Sylvans had weapons that advanced," he commented.

Sillow regained his balance and studied the glowing metal above their heads with a deepening frown.

"That was a Sylvan weapon."