Dasco, Jan, and Auden remained in silence for a moment. Each one was lost in their own thoughts and, perhaps, their own prayers. And then the door opened, bringing their attention back to the present as they looked up to see another figure enter the room. But this wasn't just another one of the Draxmoorians.
This was a monster.
The figure was humanoid—about the same size and general build as Dasco—but his skin was green and scaly like the skin of a lizard and his fingers were more like claws than fingers. His head was hairless with a sort of ridge or crest, his pupils were slits rather than circles, and his teeth were sharp and pointed. But once you got past all that, his face wasn't that different from a human's. He wore only a loincloth and once when he turned his back to them, Dasco noticed that the skin—scales—of his back were covered with scars, like the marks of a whip but almost more like burn marks.
Of course, Dasco and his friends didn't take in all this immediately. But they had plenty of time to make observations. The stranger walked into the room dragging a large box behind him. Always keeping his eyes fixed on the three boys, he began unpacking the contents of the box onto the small table. With more gentleness and finesse than seemed possible given the composition of his hands, he placed plates, silverware, and cups on the table, and distributed food to them from the inside of the box. Once he was done, he squatted down at the side of the table and waited.
“Is the food for us?” asked Dasco, questioningly. Probably it was a silly question since there were three places set at the table, but the provisions seemed strangely generous for prisoners.
“Does you sees anyone else to eats it?” asked the stranger, hissing slightly on all the Ss. When he spoke, Dasco came to the conclusion that he was probably a boy of his own age or perhaps a little younger—though, of course, he really didn't know the lifecycle of this species.
And so the three of them, after another moment of hesitation, moved to the table. With everything that had happened, none of them had even thought about food, but they also hadn't eaten all day and so, now that they had the chance to think about it, they were hungry. The food was all strange to them and Dasco wasn't sure he even wanted to know where any of it came from, but it was good and now he was hungry enough he wasn't too picky. The only thing that made the meal awkward was the fact that the lizard boy was staring at them unmoveably while they ate.
Dasco finally, half in sympathy and half in annoyance, held out a chunk of meat from his plate. “Are you hungry?”
In a single movement, the lizard boy was at his side and had the meat out his hand and in his mouth.
“Back, Pol!” ordered a voice suddenly, breaking the silence of the room. “If you've hurt him, I'll have my whip to your hide or your hide for a whip, one of the two.”
The lizard boy made a sound that might be closest described as a yelp and in the next moment was hunched over at the far side of the room.
“Please forgive his indiscretion,” continued the voice as a figure pushed into the room. “His kind has their uses, but of brains they have none and of manners still less. All your fingers still intact, I hope?”
Dasco didn't even have the presence of mind to answer, though as a matter of fact, the boy hadn't even touched him. He was too busy taking stock of the man in the doorway.
He was a short man, with blonde hair pulled back from his face and a neat mustache, an unusual feature among the Draxmoorians. (Most of them were either clean-shaven or had full beards.) His armor was by far the most ornate of any they had seen among the soldiers and seemed more ornamental than functional—and he carried no weapon. Over his shoulders was thrown a cape of gold silk which attached at his neck with a clasp that looked like an enormous eyeball.
But it wasn't any of these things that caught Dasco's attention. It was the man's face. It seemed like an age before and with everything that had happened since then he had forgotten about it, but now he remembered it—that morning on the way to the meeting room, meeting a Cosinite soldier who had greeted him by name even though he didn't recognize him. “It was—it was you--” he began, rather incoherently.
“Ah, did I not tell you?” The man with the cape raised one hand as if in appeal to an invisible companion. “His mind is sharp and his eyes almost as clear as mine.” He walked forward to stand beside the table and gave a deep bow. “I am Bain the Unblinking of the Dragon's Eyes. You must understand that swiftly and strongly as fall Draxmoor's limbs, they could do nothing if they were not guided by its eyes. I have been living on your planet for three weeks as one of you, arranging everything for the invasion. With my work done, the actual attack was simple and unhindered. Truly, a masterful triumph—a work of art.” And then he paused and looked down and his voice sounded almost embarrassed. “Not that I can expect you three to see it in that light, of course.”
The next moment, he was at Jan's side, and with movements that were firm but gentle, he had lifted his head so he could examine the bruise on his face. “But what is this? Did you do this, Pol?” he added sharply, glancing at the lizard boy.
“No,” answered Jan, a little sullenly. Clearly, he wasn't sure how to deal with their strange host. “It was the one who captured us—the giant.”
“Blue Cedric.” Bain the Unblinking threw his hands up in a motion of despair. “The height of his stature and the greatness of his strength are matched only by the smallness of his intellect and his complete inability to follow orders. I knew deputizing him to capture you was a mistake. But I had many things to attend to today and simply could not capture you in person—for that I apologize.” He bowed again, throwing back his cape as he did. Then he snapped his fingers. “Pol! On your feet. Find the ship's medic and tell him that Bain the Unblinking requires his presence here.”
The lizard boy scrambled up and, walking sideways, always keeping his eyes on Bain, moved out of the room. “Now, I am sorry to interrupt your meal,” Bain continued, turned back to the three boys, “but in a few moments the invasion will be finalized and your presence will be required as is mine. After that we can talk more—and by then the medic should be here to attend to your wound.” He threw back his cape again. “If you will, try not to embarrass me.” He moved back to the door and motioned for a figure on the outside. “Escort them to their place and keep an eye on them. I want no problems now.”
“Of course, your excellency,” answered the soldier who was standing outside the door.
A few minutes later, Dasco and his two friends found themselves standing on a sort of balcony overlooking the bridge of the ship. But they were not alone; the space was filled with other captives—all of Dasco's age or a little older. He recognized most of them; most of them had been his acquaintances, members of the families of some of the leading figures on Cosin-34. But there were some he didn't know and a couple who, based on their clothing, must have come from the outlying settlements of the planet. He would have been interested in comparing notes with them, but the soldiers who guarded them seemed insistent on keeping them quiet.
They had a very good view of everything that was going on below. There were a few members of the ship's crew working the controls, but since the ship wasn't moving, not much work was required there. Dasco also noted that there were several lizard men working among the crew, though they were clearly on a different level than the Draxmoorian crewmen.
But while some ordinary work was going on, this was clearly a special meeting. In a chair set on a dais in the center of the room sat the middle-aged man in golden armor whom he had seen earlier. Now it was quite clear that he was the leader of the expedition. On one side of him stood Blue Cedric, his arms folded, scowling at everyone around him. To the other side, Bain the Unblinking had just taken his place, looking exceedingly pleased with himself. They were both on the dais, on the same level with the man in the golden armor. Standing directly in front of the dais was the girl with the purple spear, the one who had destroyed Cosin-34's mech.
A large assortment of soldiers of various ranks were ranged in the rest of the room facing this central group. And in the space between the two groups stood a winged soldier holding a tablet. He wore a white robe embroidered with golden threads which made the form of an enormous dragon. Just as Dasco and the others got into position, he began to speak.
“Lord Kurizon, my liege and captain, heir of the dragon's scepter—have I your permission to speak?” he asked in a loud voice, his words formal and precise like a man reciting a ritual.
“Speak to us, voice of the dragon,” answered the man in the golden armor. His voice was strong but not rough. It reminded Dasco strangely of the way his father had always talked on state occasions. “Have you seen all that transpired this day? Have you seen the fate of Cosin-34?”
“I have, my liege. Cosin-34 broke their treaty with Draxmoor and allied with his enemies. And so we have struck them down.” And then the man raised his tablet and began rattling off statistics, still speaking in a formal voice but with perhaps less interest. First, he listed the number of casualties and injuries among the Draxmoorian soldiers. It wasn't a large number. Then, he began listing all the resources of Cosin-34 which they had captured. He gave statistics for the population of Cosin-34, the number of dead among the Cosinites, and the number of captives. Seemingly, they had accounted for nearly the entire population. Cosin-34 didn't have a large population, but it was still impressive that they had kept track of all that. And then the man went on to convert those statistics into cold cash which, when balanced against the expenses of the expedition, would give the total profit of the raid.
Dasco gripped the railing of the balcony until his knuckles turned white. It was almost worse than watching the battle—hearing his homeworld being converted into mere numbers. How had everything he had ever known somehow been reduced into a statistic? But more than that, he knew now for sure the fate of the people of Cosin-34. Most of them were to be sold as slaves in the markets of Draxmoor. A few, mostly from the captured soldiers, would be taken to fight as gladiators in the arena. And those who were too young, too old, or too weak for such a fate were to be—or already been—simply killed.
It was so complete and spoken of so casually that Dasco could barely take it in. As terrible as it was, though, at least they were seemingly taking no captives back to the capital for execution. Unless Jan was right and that was to be their fate. No word had been spoken regarding them thus far.
“And are all preparations in place for the final stroke?” asked Lord Kurizon, after the scribe had stopped, perhaps needing to take a breath.
“The engine is constructed, but we must wait at least twelve hours for all adjustments and synchronizations to be complete.”
“Of course. And what of you, Bain the Unblinking. Are your guests secured?”
Bain bowed deeply. “Can you even doubt it, my liege?” He motioned upwards to the balcony where Dasco and the others waited. “All are accounted for and unharmed—no thanks to the incompetence of my underlings.” He threw a contemptuous look at Blue Cedric.
The giant moved for the first time since the meeting began. “You may be one of the dragon's eyes, but even you may not mock Blue Cedric, Bain the Bleary-Eyed.”
“I speak no mockery, but only truth, Cedric the Oversized.”
“Silence!” Lord Kurizon struck the arm of his chair. When he spoke, both men immediately became quiet. “Bain the Unblinking—these charges are in your care until we reach the capital. You are accountable for them.”
“Of course, my liege.”
“And you are also to be commended—it was largely your work that allowed us to strike so quickly and completely.”
Bain bowed again, throwing back his cape as he did. “As always, you may depend on the work of Bain the Unblinking.”
“A spy may plan the war, but only soldiers can execute it. The sly can conspire but only the strong may conquer.” It was the girl with the purple spear who spoke, contempt clear in her voice. “We spend this day fighting, striking down our enemies. Where was the unblinking one all that time?”
“He was fulfilling his role, as you fulfilled yours, Katalina.” Lord Kurizon spoke in a controlled voice, but with a clear note of irritation. “We have our rules and we live by them. You may be the dragon's chosen one—you may be of my own flesh—but even you may not speak against my decisions or the order of battle.”
Dasco raised his eyebrows in surprise when the man spoke. His own flesh? Now that he looked more closely, he could see a certain resemblance between the two. Probably they were related—father and daughter, perhaps?
But he didn't have time to think about it further.
“Voice of the dragon—prepare all things for the requiem for the fallen, to be offered tomorrow. Blue Cedric, you shall oversee the rest of the preparations for our departure. And for the rest--” he stood up and paused, perhaps for dramatic effect-- “the conquest of Cosin-34 is officially complete.”
With that, the meeting broke up and Dasco, Jan, and Auden were escorted back to their room. When they reached it, they found the lizard boy waiting for them along with the ship's medic who, rather impatiently, examined Jan's face and applied a few topical remedies. (Dasco got the impression that the man had no desire to be ordered around by Bain the Unblinking.) Once he was gone, the boys sat down to finish their dinner. The food was cold now, but none of them were in a state to be especially picky.
By now, Dasco honestly wasn't very hungry anyway, but he ate because he had no idea when he might eat again. He was still puzzled about why they had been captured. Clearly, they—and the other children—were being kept apart for some reason, but what was it exactly? He still couldn't get out of his mind what he had seen that afternoon or some of the stories he had heard about Draxmoor's harsh justice. Those thoughts didn't help his appetite any.
Once they finished the dinner, the lizard boy gathered up all the dishes and put them back in the box (licking most of them with his forked tongue as he did). He was still in the process of this when Bain the Unblinking returned. “I apologize for forcing you to endure all that,” he remarked as he entered the room. “But according to the rules of protocol, you had to be there. And trust me--” he spoke in a lower, confidential voice-- “that was much faster and less tedious than those meetings usually are.”
Dasco still didn't know how to deal with their strange host. But he had to know. “So—what about us? Why are we your prisoners? What--”
“No, no, no. Not prisoners. Guests.”
“Guests?” repeated Jan, a little bitterly. “Is this what you call a guest?”
“Well, it is true you have no choice about being here, but--” Bain smiled-- “trust me, younglings, there is a clear difference between the way we treat prisoners and guests, even guests by coercion. The quarters of our prisoners are not as comfortable as this.”
The man walked forward to stand beside the table where the three of them were sitting. “Since you are now to be living as one of us, you must learn this about the men of Draxmoor. We prize above all things honor, and next to honor, strength, and next to strength, efficiency.” He placed his finger on one side of his nose. “Be sure to remember that. And on this ship, Lord Kurizon looks after honor, Cedric the Oversized worries about strength, and my provenance is efficiency.”
Dasco shook his head. “Efficiency?”
“Yes. These sorts of punitive raids are necessary for maintaining the honor of the empire. But they are inefficient. They are a waste of our time and resources and a waste of the resources of those we raid.” Bain stepped back and threw up his hand. “Look at you three—young, intelligent, well-educated—a budding politician, an accomplished scientist, a competent historian—such talent would be wasted in the market or the arena. As I told you, I have been living on your planet for weeks—partly to arrange the invasion, but also to seek for those among your people who could be of use to us. I was seeking those young enough to be taught and to be unaffected by the dishonor of your planet's government, who could be brought to Draxmoor and made useful to us. I found several—you saw the others at that meeting—but you three are the ones in whom I have the most hope. In talent and promise, you surpass all of the youth of your planet.”
Dasco just stared at him. He didn't even know how to respond or even to process the man's speech.
“I think you're overestimating us,” said Jan in a cold, unemotional voice which probably was caused by a similar confusion to that which Dasco felt.
“Do you know why they call me Bain the Unblinking? It is because my eyes miss nothing. Bain the Unblinking does not make errors in judgment. And if he did--” he screwed up one eye in something like a wink and cocked his head-- “would you really want to be the one to tell him?” He crossed his arms and spoke in a quieter voice. “I realize that at this moment, you may not feel this as an honor. But believe me that it is and you will someday come to see it. And, at any rate, it is far better than what you could be facing.”
Dasco still couldn't figure out how to make sense of this new information. So he changed the subject, asking the question that had been burdening him since the meeting. “What about Cosin-34? What will happen to it?”
Bain seemed almost embarrassed. “Come, younglings, you should be staring towards the future, not squinting at the past.”
“What will happen to it?” Dasco repeated quietly.
“It will be destroyed. You saw the engines they were constructing, yes? They will cause instability in the core which will initiate an explosion of the entire planet.”
Dasco shouldn't have been surprised, given how complete and competent the invasion had been. But it still startled him. “But—why?”
Suddenly, Bain threw his cape back and leaned down so that his head was almost level with Auden's. “Come, my little scientist. You know why, do you not?”
Auden frowned for a moment in concentration. And then he opened his eyes wide and started back slightly. “A dimensional gateway?”
“Ah, I see you are everything I hoped you would be.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jan, turning to his brother.
“The amount of force released by an entire planet exploding will cause relative space to warp temporarily along the fourth dimension. If they simultaneously phase the ship along the fourth dimension, that will break open a dimensional gateway—a sort of wormhole.”
Bain nodded. “Cosin-34 has few natural resources except for its ores, which we can mine from the fragments afterward. And with the possibility of a war with Zamuna, we need a dimensional gateway here more than we need another colony.” He threw back his cape and swept his eyes across the three boys. “Now, younglings, I should suggest you go to bed. This has been a difficult day for you, I know, and tomorrow may be harder. I trust everything has been provided that you need. I'll leave Pol here with you. If you need anything else, he should be able to get it for you.” He snapped his fingers. “You hear that, Pol? Listen to these boys and do whatever they need done.” The lizard boy raised his head and made a hissing sound but made no other response. “He can sometimes be a little difficult, but I can imagine you'll figure out how to deal with him. His kind have a tough hide, but if you kick him hard enough, he'll probably listen to you.”
None of the boys slept well that night. Every time Dasco closed his eyes, all he could see was a replay of the scenes of the day, of the things he had seen and what was perhaps worst the thing he had not seen, things he could only imagine—like his father's death and the fate of the other prisoners. And even with his eyes open, his mind just kept racing as he tried to sort out and come to grips with everything that had happened. And through it all, one thing kept running through his mind with the measured certainty of an incantation and the insistency of a mania. It was the words of that song: “
All day long I've been with Jesus.” It seemed almost like a mockery now and yet Dasco still believed it—believed that somehow He was still with them. That was the only fixed point left in his mind and the only thing that kept his thoughts from fragmenting his consciousness completely.
Because more than all the trauma of the past, there was uncertainty and confusion regarding the future, a confusion that seemed only to intensify the trauma of the past.
“It seems strange to say that mercy could be more terrible than vengeance,” he commented to Jan and Auden the next morning. “Yesterday, I was terrified of what punishment they would inflict on us. And they have saved us and that's somehow worse.”
Jan's face was darker and more morbid than usual. But his voice was almost cheerful as he answered, “Time is on our side now. They may still choose to kill us before it's over.”
It seemed wrong to speak of that as being the hopeful part of the situation. But the idea of facing death, though it scared Dasco, seemed more handleable, more honorable, more cohesive than living out life serving their enemy. Even to be a slave would have seemed somehow more appropriate than this strange status of coerced guest.
He glanced over at Pol, who still sat crouched at the side of the room watching them impassively. He thought he had sat like that all night, though he wasn't sure. Certainly, the position of slave among these people was not enviable either.
“So do you think they'll give us breakfast?” asked Auden, breaking the momentary silence. As stressful as everything had been, none of them should have been hungry, but Dasco had to admit he was now and he supposed it was worse for Auden who was younger.
“You woulds be better not eat this morning,” hissed Pol, speaking for the first time all morning.
“Why?” asked Dasco curiously.
“Today we shall be makings the jump, savvy? You woulds lose your breakfast.”
Dasco glanced at Auden who nodded and explained: “Traveling fourth-dimensionally without a proper gateway is physically demanding and commonly causes extreme nausea.”
Pol gave a strange smile. “You may be lucky if that's all you haves.”
“Oh, well, there's no need to scare them,” remarked Bain his breezy manner as he entered the room.
“Should we be scared?” asked Dasco, looking at their host.
Bain folded his arms and cocked his head thoughtfully. “Well, to be honest with you, yes there is some danger involved. The stress of making the jump is a bit much to handle for some people. Our men are trained and conditioned for it. And of course, the lizard men are tough enough to take almost anything. That's why we bring them along. But for you and our other guests—well, making the jump with civilians on board is not something I would do if the decision were up to me. But even I cannot alter the commands of Lord Kurizon. I hope I don't lose any of you, but one can never be sure. All we can do is say our prayers to the First Dragon and hope for the best.”
“The—First Dragon?” repeated Dasco questioningly.
“Ah, but yes of course. It is time to begin to instruct you in the knowledge of our people.” And then gave an exaggerated sigh and bowed to Jan. “Except that I can see in your eyes that you already know all about it without having it explained, eh? You are the master of history and culture, after all.”
Jan had a look on his face that was half annoyance and half embarrassment—but he explained in a cold, clear voice as if reciting a lesson for school. “The First Dragon is the chief deity of Draxmoorian religion. It is said to have appeared to the people of Draxmoor when it was an impoverished and unimportant planet and gave them the power to become conquerors--and now its spirit is said to inhabit the empire as a whole. In reality, it was probably an actual animal that the Draxmoorians trained to help in warfare and then subsequently deified.”
Bain smiled wryly. “You might not say that last part too loudly among our people. The reverence for the First Dragon is the unifying force that holds us together. In one sense, anyhow, his spirit most certainly does fill this empire.”
Jan's face had become more brooding now and he had folded his arms. (All three boys had stood up when Bain entered the room.)
Bain did not seem to notice his attitude. “But at any rate, because the First Dragon is the guardian and protector of our race, we always offer a prayer to him before making a jump. That's what I've been doing all morning and that's why I'm here; to lead you in prayer.”
The end of the sentence struck Dasco with a strange shock even though it shouldn't have. Somehow, up to that point, he had been listening to Jan and Bain talk about the Draxmoorian religion with the same detachment as he would have listened to such a discussion in school. It was certainly odd and somewhat interesting to consider all this as a question of comparative religion. He had almost forgotten that they were captives of their enemies and this whole question had a very practical application to them.
He took a step back. “Bain, we are not going to pray to your god.” He glanced quickly at the other boys, realizing that he had spoken for them, but both nodded in agreement.
Bain sighed and threw back his cape. “Really, younglings? I had hoped you would not prove stubborn. Strength of will is a noble quality but it is unstable in the hands of youth.” He placed one finger against his nose. “You are not wanting me to lose my temper, are you? Ask Pol and he will tell you that I am not nearly so pleasant to be around when I am angry.”
Dasco swallowed. He remembered the scars he had seen on the slave's back. But he also remembered the promise they had made the previous day. He knew what he had to say. “Do what you want, but we will not offer prayers to your god.”
He had expected Bain to grow angry or, perhaps, to go on in the same manner as before. So he wasn't prepared for what happened. Bain threw his cape back and sat down on the table and looked at the three of them with an expression that could almost be described as
pleading. “Come, younglings. Why make trouble over this? None of the others of your people have made any objection. The wildest and most profane of our men do it regularly. Even the lizard men who have no soul say their prayers before a jump. Why should you be the ones to cause trouble?”
So the other Cosinites had gone through this ritual? Dasco was surprised. He knew not everyone among those of Cosin-34 even made a profession of believing in the true God, but he would have expected that at least one or two would have stayed true. “Bain, we believe and serve the one true God. We will not say prayers to any other.”
“So you believe our god is a false god, yes? Nothing but a legend, a myth.”
“Yes.”
“And your God is a true and living God?”
“Yes.”
“So it can do no harm to pray to ours, since he would not hear you anyway—and your God, who is alive, would surely understand your predicament.”
Bain said this in such a reasonable and logical way that for a moment Dasco had no idea how to respond to it. And then he remembered the conversation from yesterday. “It would be a violation of honor. I thought you of all people would understand that.”
“Yes, of course, but--” Bain was playing with the clasp of his cape and for once did not seem perfectly at ease.
Dasco took a step forward. “Do you even believe that prayers to your dragon god really help anything?”
“What I believe is not important,” Bain answered without meeting his eyes. “What matters is what Lord Kurizon believes. And because his daughter is one of the dragon's chosen ones, he has become extremely devout and religious.” He looked up and now stared Dasco in the face. “When we jump, there is the chance that I will lose one of you—perhaps all of you. And if you are killed and Lord Kurizon learns that you did not ask for the First Dragon's protection beforehand, then he will probably have me executed. So long as we are on this ship, his will is absolute and even I am not safe from his wrath. It may make no difference to you whether you pray or not, but it could make a good deal of difference for me.”
Bain spoke this so seriously and so candidly that Dasco felt almost sorry for him. He glanced at Jan and Auden but they both seemed to be expecting him to act as the spokesman for the group. He thought for a moment and finally spoke. “Bain, we are not wanting to cause trouble for you or to be merely stubborn. But we will not say the prayer. But this is what we will do. We will pray to our God—the true God—and ask that He grant us protection in this jump.”
“That will not satisfy Lord Kurizon if you are killed.”
Jan still had his arms folded. “Well, it's your only option other than beating us to death in trying to force us to pray—will Lord Kurizon like that any better?”
Dasco thought that was a little strong, but maybe it was the very strength that made it carry conviction to a Draxmoorian. Because after he spoke, Bain's eyes seemed to grow brighter and after a moment, he leaped off the table and threw his cape back. “Ah, well, it is a gamble—but life is nothing without risks, do you not agree? You are my guests and now I am yours; my life and honor are in your hands and the hands of your God.” He snapped his fingers. “Come, Pol. I know you will say your prayers like a good boy.”
Pol moved towards Bain, though still without actually standing up. Bain turned to Dasco. “Before the jump, you'll hear a siren—it should be in about two hours. When it comes, lie face down on your bunks—try to be as flat as possible. And don't move from there until after the jump. And please, for my sake, try not to die.”
And with these cheerful injunctions, Bain twirled his cape and left the room, followed by Pol, leaving the boys alone.
The three of them sat back down again. Dasco, with some effort, managed a slight smile. “Well, I guess even here we are still able to have our morning prayer meeting.”
Jan seemed unusually thoughtful, even for him. “It's hard to believe not a single one of the others would refuse to take part in this pagan ritual. Are we three really the only ones who have stayed true?”
“Who can say?” answered Dasco carefully. He had been as surprised and disappointed by that fact as Jan was. But also understood how easy it would have been to give in; how many excuses could be made for it. Maybe he would have given in as well if he hadn't had his friends to support him. Anyway-- “That's not our concern. If anything, what we should do is pray for them.”
Jan nodded soberly, and all three of them bowed their heads.
As Bain had said, it was about two hours later when a metallic siren blasted through the ship. With a final glance at each other, the boys moved to their bunks.
As Dasco flattened himself on the bed his mind was filled with one final prayer. He had prayed for their protection during the jump and prayed for their souls if they didn't make it. But his final, overpowering desire was that, whatever happened, it would happen to all three of them. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he survived but Jan and Auden didn't, and he knew the others felt the same.
It was strange. Waiting there as if for some blow, even though everything seemed perfectly normal—as normal as anything had seemed since the invasion, anyway. And then they heard, blasting through the silence like the siren, the sound of a voice counting.
“10... 9... 8... 7... 6...”
Dasco could barely hear the voice over the pounding of his own heart. In just a moment they would know...
“3... 2... 1...”
To be continued...
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