XVIII. NEIL

                                                                                                      CHAPTER XVIII (18) – (“NEIL”). 

                                         

                                                                                                                THE FIRST SHOTS.

                   Shocked and caught off guard by the sudden surge of dire news, Captain Glepko raced toward the bridge. Close behind him, Colonel Oblika followed—summoned not just as a witness, but as a bearer of ominous confirmation. 

                  Oblika had just returned from a high-level meeting with the Supremes—an enigmatic and a spiritual upper echelon of the Ardoccan’s Pioneer Corps Divisional command. What he reported seemed unthinkable.  

                 Could it be true? 

                 Was the Ardoccan Space Control really under attack once more targeted by the formation fleets of the Vastian Galactic Empire? If confirmed, this would mark the third time in Captain Glepko’s lifetime that he had faced war against that relentless and expansionist foe. 

                He didn’t need to check his frilled exoskeletal ridges to feel the chill of memory crawling over him. To the two battle-hardened Ardoccan commanders, the short dash to the I.A.S. Tevloe’s Bridge and command centre passed in a blur—driven by stimulated reactions and disbelief. 

                A veteran of the first Vastian-Ardoc War, Captain Glepko had seen—and endured—more trauma than most Ardoccans cared to imagine. He had sat out the second war with the Vastians, serving instead with the Pioneer Corps' Transport Wing, where he spent years ferrying various alien specialists to desolate outposts across ASC space on missions of discovery and re-supply. 

              It was safe, non-frontline duty—exactly the kind of assignment where his expertise in piloting older-class cargo vessels remained invaluable. 

             The Pioneer Corps was a unique branch of service, authorized to operate across any of the five Territorial Area Sectors currently held by the Ardoccan Space Control Empire. Glepko’s prior combat record and wide-ranging experience ensured he could apply for—and usually receive—any transfer he desired. 

             Oblika, too, had known war. His heart was racing as he neared the bridge. 

He had served in the Second War against the Vastians, aboard some of the more modern classes of starships. His preferred type was cruisers—fast, powerful, and sleek. Not the largest vessels by any means, but more than capable of delivering a solid blow when necessary—and quick enough to make a clean escape when things went sideways. 

                 As the two officers approached the bridge entrance, Captain Glepko’s communicator lit up with an urgent signal. 

                 He tapped the device. “This is Glepko—I'm en route to the bridge. I’ll be there momentarily. I have Colonel Oblika with me. He’s carrying a critical report that needs immediate verification.” 

                A pause, then the bridge responded with a crisp acknowledgement. 

        

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                  Captain Glepko and Colonel Oblika hurried down the corridor toward the sealed doorway leading to the Bridge of the I.A.S. Tevloe. Glepko struck the triangular pad beside the door with his right claw. A soft hiss followed as the door slid smoothly from right to left. 

                 Beyond lay the Bridge — a vast, vaulted chamber. Its curved walls shimmered with blue, glasslike panels that pulsed with flowing sequences of light. White and multicolored dots raced across the displays, while bursts of garbled Ardoc speech echoed through the air. These were the ship’s sensor and control feeds, streaming an endless flow of situational reports to the officers on duty. 

                To the untrained eye, it might have looked like organized chaos — a living storm of light and sound. But for the Ardoccans, it was simply the heartbeat of a vessel in motion, every flicker and tone carrying purpose. 

               Glepko paused a moment, his compound eyes narrowing. The Bridge was far busier than usual this morning. 

               A torrent of fragmented communication signals flooded the Tevloe’s long-range sensors. The emissions originated from vast distances—faint, intermittent, and barely coherent—but even through the distortion, their tone carried urgency. Analysts were still struggling to interpret the confused transmissions when Captain Glepko and Colonel Oblika stepped swiftly onto the bridge. When Captain Glepko and Colonel Oblika swept onto the bridge, their clawed feet striking the deck plates in sharp rhythm, the dim light glinting off their armored carapaces.

               A bridge officer turned to greet his captain, then announced formally, “The Captain is on the Bridge!”

               In response came a unified, low howl — a resonant sound that rose from every Ardoccan throat present, answering the call as a salute of respect.

              As Captain Glepko strode onto the deck plates and took his place at the center of the bridge, surrounded by the twelve posted crew and joined by his second-in-command, the much younger Officer Jessius Thak-lok, he felt a pang of pride. Jessius reminded him of his father — a veteran of the First Vastian-Ardoccan War — whose cool efficiency and unwavering discipline had saved countless lives. Glepko still remembered the burning wreckage of the destroyer they’d served on together, and how Thak-lok’s father had worked selflessly to keep the power conduits alive just long enough for the escape pods to launch.

              If the son proved even half as capable as the father, Glepko thought, it would be both a blessing and a privilege to have young Jessius among his hand-picked crew aboard the I.A.S. Tevloe.

            "Jessius, have you heard that we have been attacked by the Vastians? …or so it’s said. If that’s true, why was I not informed?” Glepko’s voice carried an edge of disbelief, tempered by the discipline of command.

            “Sir, I’ve been trying to contact Eastern Fleet Command, but I’ve been placed on a call wait list… told to ‘STANDBY,’” Jessius replied, his voice tense. “Their tone was firm, and from the garbled transmissions coming in from a distant source, it sounds like… some emergency is unfolding. I knew you were busy with Pioneer Corps matters, so… we were simply instructed to ‘standby’ for an important announcement from Central Sector Command Council — not even our own Fleet Council.”

            Jessius’ voice began to waver, as if the memory of his father’s untimely death and the trauma it had brought upon his family was surfacing like a fresh wound.

            Glepko placed a reassuring clawed hand on Jessius’ shoulder. “It’s okay, son,” he said quietly. “We’ll face this bad news — or whatever it may be — together.”

           “I just want to know what’s going on, Sir. That’s all,” Jessius said, his voice tinged with frustration and dismay.

           Glepko replied in an almost fatherly tone. “We must remind ourselves that we are a relatively small and aging cargo vessel, engaged in a somewhat arcane mission for a rather quirky organization, far from the heart of our settlements. We have little in the way of defensive capability, and our role—if an emergency even exists—will likely be supporting and re-supplying, whenever we are called upon.”

         “Standby for an incoming transmission on the emergency channels!” shouted a nearby crew member, his head encased in a tangled maze of listening apparatus, antennae twitching as he adjusted to the signal.

         As soon as the crew member finished announcing the incoming message, several of the glass-like screens around the bridge flickered and flashed with currents from power surges. Slowly, the figure of the Chairman of the Central Sector Presidium Council appeared across four of the ten screens. This individual was the current de facto Head of all Ardoccan Armed Forces and Fleet Services in the Empire of the A.S.C.

       “Good tidings to all in our Empire. I speak to you from the heart of the vast empire of trade that we have built. During our expansions, we have encountered many alien species, some of whom we have invited to join us in trading and exploration.”

       “One species, however, has repeatedly demonstrated aggression against us: the Vastians. This race consists of five distinct sub-species sharing a common origin, and they are inherently hostile to almost every other species they encounter — including our own.”

      “With solemn duty, I must inform you that we are once again under attack by this aggressive and inherently hostile species. We have fought two previous wars against them: the first brought them to a standstill, though we were unable to reclaim the territories they seized. The second, concluded not long ago with the Treaty of Temparlos, was considered a victory as we pushed fresh waves of attackers back to their starting positions.”

      “Now, the Vastians have violated this treaty, launching aggressive strikes on the eastern borderlands and our sentry stations that monitor their movements. I have the sad duty to announce that a state of war now exists between the Ardoccan Empire and the Vastian Galactic Empire.”

     “To all sector fleet formations and starships: your respective Sector Fleet Commands will issue specific orders. Stand by for further instructions. May our gods travel with us and grant us the strength to prevail, driving our foes back to whence they came.”

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                                                                                                                        RELEASED! 

                          The euphoria of Mike's re-appearance could be heard echoing down the corridor—likely all the way down the two decks below, as his two bandmates were still reveling in Mike’s return.

        A couple of security Guards reported to the quarters where the humans were being housed. Banging on the door before it opened automatically stood a disheveled Mike firmly positioned between his security duo. One guard remained as stoic as an old Locust, his face as unreadable as ever. The other couldn’t suppress a broad grin, clearly in agreement with his superior’s decision to release this "Parris” character.

       Word had begun to spread among the Tevloe’s crew about the Humans’ star band, and their performance had struck a chord—literally. Their music, a strange and unfamiliar fusion of human sounds, was slowly catching on with the Ardoccan crew, eager or curious to listen to examples of these Concerts on their time off duty. To some, it was a novelty, an oddity to be indulged in. To others, it was something... more. Oblika, ever the shrewd officer, was doing his part to promote the sound. The music had quickly become an unexpected bridge between the Ardoccan and human worlds, and even he could see the potential in it.

      Mike glanced at the guards, his smirk matching the one on the grinning security officer’s face. He knew exactly where this was going—he’d done enough to earn their respect and a little leeway. Now, it was just about playing the game with confidence.

     No one aboard the TEVLOE really understood why one of the Star Band’s four members had been sentenced to confinement. To the Ardoccan crew, it was a mystery. Humans had a reputation for being a little wild—unruly when left to their own devices—and a few of the crew figured one of them must’ve finally stepped out of line. Still, orders were orders. And if the senior officers had signed off on the punishment, then it wasn’t their place to question it.

     The two security guards were just dropping Mike off when Colonel Oblika approached from behind. His massive, dark bulk filled the doorway, dwarfing the three of them and instantly silencing the two band members celebrating inside their quarters. They knew Oblika had been instrumental in securing Mike’s early release—but they also knew the weight of the authority he carried over their lives. One look at the scowl carved across his nearly unreadable face was enough to keep anyone from risking his wrath, especially now.

 

     After a short, dismissive salute and a few grunted words exchanged, the security detail turned and headed back the way they’d come. As Mike made his way toward his quarters, he couldn’t help but notice the change in the air. The TEVLOE’s corridors buzzed with a new kind of energy—crew members moving with sharper focus, eyes locked on their tasks. It felt like the whole ship was bracing for something, gearing up for an event he hadn’t yet been told about.

     Outwardly, Neil and Mark were elated to have another member of their group back. The only one still missing was Patrick. Knowing he was receiving vital medical treatments to restore his health—and maybe even improve his appearance—brought them some comfort. There was also talk of a temporary prosthetic being developed for him, something that might even boost the Band’s stage presence. The idea alone was enough to stir a spark of excitement among them.

     The words Oblika spoke to the two guards were delivered in that strange, coded Ardoccan battle language—one not available for translation to non-Ardoccan species, including the human band members. Neil and Mark hurried to find their small but intricate translator helmets, slipping them on before attempting to speak with Oblika in his usual Ardoc tongue.

     Neil had already filled Mark in on Mike’s and Patrick’s situations, so nothing needed explaining. By then, Mike had stumbled through the doorway into his old quarters. Without the guards holding him up, his weakened body swayed, unsteady on its own.

     Mike stepped into the quarters, his movements unsteady, each step a small battle against exhaustion. He made his way to the bed he’d been missing during his confinement on the lower decks and collapsed onto it, the familiar surface feeling almost unreal after so long.

   "Hi, guys… glad to be home," Mike murmured weakly, sinking into a sleepy heap on his soft bed.

    Neil and Mark hurried forward to steady him, but he reached the bed first, leaving them to simply pat his back as he settled in. Adjusting their translator helmets, they lifted their eyes to meet Oblika’s imposing gaze.

  ["He will be alright, lads,”] Oblika said solemnly. [“His time in confinement left him depressed and confused. In the past several days, Mike had been refusing food. Now he has been restored to his original status on board, before his wayward adventures in Wonderland… I was fortunate enough to influence his early release"].

    There was a subtle pride in his voice, though not entirely his own—he took partial credit for an order issued by the Supremes considering the Invasion that was happening, and not solely for any personal intervention.

    By now, Neil and Mark had their translator helmets on and had caught most of what Oblika had been saying. The reassurance that Mike would recover was a comfort. What he needed most now was rest, followed by proper nutrition. Oblika had already arranged for a meal to be sent to him shortly, but first, rest was essential—the walk from his detention quarters had been long and arduous for someone in his weakened state.

   Oblika steeled himself, knowing he had to break the bad news to the bandmates—they would find out soon enough.

 ["Listen, lads… something terrible has happened while you’ve been in your quarters, lounging about,”] he said grimly. [“Far, far away on a distant frontier, a treaty has been broken, and our Empire has been ruthlessly attacked. We are now at war with our sworn enemies, the Vastians"].

   His face bore the weight of past pains and pressures, and subtle, tense movements along the sides of his head hinted at the stress pulsing through his mind.

  “Oh! Shit!” Neil blurted out, unable to hold it in. “Where is this happening, Oblika?”

   Oblika’s gaze dropped, his expression tightening in concentration. [“In our Eastern Sector…in multiple locations. A surprise attack, with overwhelming localized force”].

   Mark’s voice cut in, calm but edged with concern. “How far is it from here, Oblika? I’m… really, really sorry to hear of this, my friend.”

  [“Mark, Neil… there is nothing you can do. This has been brewing for many of our years, and I am honestly surprised it has taken this long to erupt. We are expecting—"] …

   Oblika’s words were abruptly cut off by a shrill klaxon blaring through the quarters. He glanced up at the dome overhead, the source of the grating sound, just as the guttural, unintelligible cadence of Ardoc Battle Language filled the air.

  “What is it saying, Oblika? Are we under threat ourselves?” Neil asked, his concern sharp.

  ["No, Neil… wait. Let me listen…"]. Oblika replied. His eyes darted from side to side as he absorbed the message streaming from the dome above.

   Mark and Neil were both on edge.

  [“Alright, lads,”] Oblika said, his tone clipped and urgent. [“We’ve just received a direct message from Eastern Fleet High Command. Here’s the situation—officers are being briefed, and new orders are coming through. I don’t expect things will stay as they were, and it’s possible we’ll be re-routed away from Hollien”].

    He straightened, already preparing to leave. [“I must get to the Bridge. Food is on the way—make sure Mike eats something. We’ll be needing our strength soon enough"].

   Oblika wasn’t wasting words anymore.

   With those final words, Oblika turned and strode back the way he had come. He gave the bandmates a brief farewell, promising to return with whatever news emerged from the Bridge. As the door closed behind him, the room fell into uneasy silence. The three of them now found themselves adrift in uncharted waters—facing an uncertain fate that none of them could yet see.

   After Oblika left for the Bridge to confer with Captain Glepko and his staff officers, Neil and Mark crossed the room to check on the sleeping Mike. His breathing was steady, and a faint snore escaped him—a small but welcome sign.

  “I wonder what’s going to come of all this, Neil?” Mark said aloud, worry etched into his tone. His concern mirrored Neil’s own.

  “I’ve no idea, Mark,” Neil replied quietly. “But I’d expect a lot of pain and suffering before it’s over.”

  “I just wonder how all this might affect our mission,” Neil said, his tone a mix of worry and weary curiosity. “If any of it changes what we’re meant to be doing, or not, Mark.”

  “I expect it will, Neil. Let’s face facts—we’re a long way from the center of the conflict, but we’re still aboard a cargo starship under the Eastern Fleet. That’s our sector—the one under attack. It’s not hard to imagine the powers that be will want this ship running logistics soon enough,” Mark replied, his logic steady but grim.

   The two bandmates fell silent, the weight of realization pressing down on them. After a long pause, Mark sighed. “I’d give anything right now to be in a deep sleep like that poor sod over there.”

   They both glanced toward Mike, still blissfully unaware of the storm closing in around them.

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    Up on the Bridge, the atmosphere was electric. Lights flashed across the consoles, and garbled messages poured in—some direct, others bleeding through the common space comm channels. The usual dozen or so bridge crew had been reinforced by several additional officers and staff.

    Captain Glepko stood at the center of it all, issuing sharp, precise orders to the watch officers, while several off-duty personnel had rushed in to assist. The tension was unmistakable—these were serious times aboard the I.A.S. TEVLOE, and everyone on the command hub knew it.

   “Ah—Oblika, we’ve got ourselves some ‘game’,” Glepko barked, half-amused, half-raw. “Welcome to my chaos, friend. Plot: we proceed to Hollien as fast as possible. Drop off our ‘guests’—their retinue, all equipment, every piece of cargo needed for their mission—and resupply from pre-existing planetary stocks. Once provisioned and refitted with much-needed weaponry, head for a prepared logistical concentration behind our lines.”

    The order landed like a hammer in the charged silence of the Bridge.

   “Reinforcement of the bulkheads will continue without pause,” Glepko said firmly. “My crew was hand-picked and is fully up to speed for whatever we’re called to do.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice—pride in his command and in the people running it.

    But the truth was harder to ignore. Most third-rated warships—especially aging ones like the TEVLOE—were slow, temperamental, and plagued with technical faults that could cripple their performance at any time. Oblika, listening in silence, had little faith the ship would reach Hollien any sooner than the schedule allowed.

   But there was something in the confident, almost defiant way Captain Glepko spoke that hinted at a deep pride of place for his ship. Yes, the TEVLOE was an old Tartak-class medium cargo vessel—a quaint, nearly antique design by modern fleet standards—but there was something special about this veteran star-runner. A sense of history clung to its hull, as if it had earned the right to still be flying among younger, faster ships.

  ["Glepko, you plan to run this ship into the ground getting to Hollien, then?"]. Oblika asked, his tone edged with condescension. He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism—he had little faith that the TEVLOE could handle being pushed to its limits without either breaking down or blowing apart entirely.

   “Disintegration isn’t on my schedule, Oblika—nor is pessimism,” Glepko shot back with a thin grin. “This ship will get us there in half the time—two cycles instead of the usual four or five at standard cruise.”

   There was a glint of pride in his eyes, a hint that he had a few tricks up his sleeve. The TEVLOE wasn’t just another aging cargo hauler—it was one of five Tartak-class vessels secretly refitted with cutting-edge engine technology, the fastest propulsion systems ever built for ships of its kind.

  [“How is this possible, Glepko? The age of your starship… I mean, it can’t be that fast… can it?”] Oblika asked, skepticism plain in his tone as he questioned the TEVLOE’s capabilities.

   “We’ve been retrofitted with the fastest, newest engines that current technology can provide,” Glepko said, eyes gleaming with pride. “Hidden beneath the old engine shrouding lies a devastatingly fast beast—two of them, in fact. You’ll see for yourself, Oblika… or rather, you’ll feel it,” he added, a triumphant note in his voice.

   Colonel Oblika straightened, his dark carapace glinting in the cold bridge light.

  [“Understood, Captain,”] he replied, voice steady but low. [“Your navigation array has already plotted a course for Hollien. Estimated travel time: five-point six standard cycles at Cruise speed”]. Oblika paused, antennae twitching as he glanced toward the central tactical display.

   A helm Officer offered a better timetable.

   “Estimated travel time: Eight cycles at Cruise, five cycles at sustained thrust, and two Cycles upon your orders Captain, at maximum speed. But we shall have to secure our loads before we go that fast.”

   “Oblika,”Glepko said sharply, turning from the flickering screens, “we must make haste for Hollien. Other vessels will rendezvous with us there. We’re to load every type of supply available—food, fuel, munitions, medical stock—everything needed for the journey to Taproot.”

    His voice carried the clipped precision of an officer who had already begun to calculate logistics even as the echoes of the war declaration faded. Determination hardened in his tone; there was no room left for doubt.

   “Ardoccan forces were already engaged along a vast frontier, pressed hard by the Vastian assault. Sector reports indicated withdrawal after withdrawal—ad-hoc gathered forces falling back to rear positions to regroup and re-form shattered lines. Every hour lost meant lives spent in waiting.” Glepko’s mandibles twitched once, a habitual sign of tension among his kind.

   “We won’t be among those who wait,” he muttered.

    Another Helms Officer barked up…

    “I’ve received word from Central Sector Command—frontline fleet forces are retreating from the Lantros and Dey’ara corridors. Several outposts lost contact within the last rotation, Sir”.

   Glepko exhaled through the small vents along his jawline, the sound almost a growl. “They’re folding faster than the reports admit,” he said. “If the Vastians are pushing that deep, our planned Taproot concentration may not hold without immediate reinforcement.”

   Oblika spoke up.

 [“What is ‘Taproot’, Captain?”]. He inquired.

  “It is the Code-Name for a concentration of Ardoccan Fleet forces and some allied starships who can get there. Like a big club, for a lack of a better description, Oblika. If we fail to hold them at the Taproot concentration, we can kiss our carapaces goodbye!”

   Glepko turned toward a helms officer.

  “Signal the engine room. Start to prepare for Full readiness in one time cycle. Batten down and secure all loads for maximum speed very soon. Warn the Crew what to expect. Full readiness very shortly. I want drive coils primed, and auxiliary power transferred to the jump capacitors.”

   “Yes, Captain,” came the crisp response. Around the bridge, Ardoccan officers bent over their consoles, talons flicking across luminous surfaces. The low hum of the Tevloe shifted pitch as systems came alive.

   Colonel Oblika moved closer to Glepko’s command dais. “If I may, Captain—should we inform the human delegation of this development? They may sense the change in ship operations.”

   Glepko considered this, compound eyes narrowing. “No. Not yet. Their role aboard remains… symbolic. Until we have confirmation from Hollien, I’ll not burden them with what they cannot change.”

   The captain’s gaze lingered on the forward display where the Ardoccan sector map pulsed in shades of blue and crimson. The borders that had once marked safety now flickered like wounds reopening.

  “Let them sleep a little longer,” he said quietly. “They’ll learn soon enough that the galaxy doesn’t wait for peace.”

   A silence settled across the bridge—efficient, disciplined, and filled with unspoken apprehension. Beyond the viewing canopy, the stars stretched like frozen currents. Within minutes, the Tevloe would turn toward a faster route to Hollien, joining the gathering tide of war.

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                                                                                                            “A MEAL FOR THREE.”

                     A soft chime announced a visitor. The door slid open with its usual hiss, revealing an Ardoccan orderly standing in the corridor—tall, broad, his chitin gleaming faintly under the corridor lights. Balanced in his claws was a low, steaming tray, its surface divided into three neat compartments.

    Mark was the first to rise. “Looks like dinner time,” he muttered, half to Neil, half to himself. Mike was still sprawled on the bunk, breathing deeply, his recovery sleep undisturbed.

    The orderly stepped forward with surprising grace for such a heavy form. He spoke in crisp, formal Ardoccan—tones that rolled like gravel yet carried precision.

   ["Meal allocation: human contingent, three portions. Nutritional equivalence confirmed"].

    Their translator helmets hummed softly as the words reshaped themselves into English.

   Neil smiled faintly. “Thanks, uh… appreciated.”

   The Ardoccan inclined his head, mandibles shifting in what might have been a polite smile—or its species’ approximation of one. He placed the tray on the narrow table between the bunks and stepped back.

   Steam curled upward, carrying scents that were oddly pleasant—sweet and metallic all at once. On the tray lay a shallow bowl of blue, strawberry-shaped fruit floating in a glossy purple sauce; beside it, a compact pie that looked suspiciously like melted cheese baked over a flaky crust. A third dish held a pile of golden-brown flakes—thin, curled pieces that crackled when Neil poked them, glistening under a thin layer of melted cheese.

   Mark raised an eyebrow. “Ardoccan food never ceases to amaze me, Neil. Looks like somebody crossed a breakfast cereal with nachos.”

   Neil chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, it is their idea of what they think we like. It really isn’t that bad. It smells a hell of a lot better than the protein paste we had last week.”

   The orderly tilted his head slightly, as if curious about their reaction.

   ["Flavors adjusted for mammalian palate. Preparation supervised by ship’s nutritional tech"].

   “Yeah,” Neil said, grinning as he glanced up at the towering alien, “you tell your nutrition tech they’ve outdone themselves.”

    For a moment, the orderly didn’t move. Then, in a gesture neither man had seen before, it pressed one claw lightly to the center of its chest and inclined its head again—solemn, respectful.

    Neil and Mark exchanged a look. Something about the small ritual felt… sincere. Not mechanical.

    As the door slid shut and the corridor lights dimmed behind it, Mark exhaled softly. “Guess even in space, someone’s still gotta bring dinner.”

   Neil nodded, watching the closed door a moment longer. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And maybe that someone still cares if we eat.”

   He turned back toward the tray, reaching for one of the blue fruits. Its skin gave slightly under his fingers, warm and alive with scent. Outside, faint vibrations pulsed through the deck — the heartbeat of a ship bracing itself for war.

   The two bandmates checked on their sleeping guitarist. Mike was breathing evenly now, the tension gone from his face. He looked as though he’d finally found the rest he’d been needing freedom had done what no medicine could.

   Not wanting to wake him just to offer food he probably wouldn’t touch anyway, Neil and Mark quietly made up a small plate of the alien fare. The tray’s odd colors gleamed under the quarters’ soft lighting—blue strawberries glistening in purple sauce, thin golden flakes baked with cheese, and the small, aromatic pie still warm at its center.

   They brewed what passed for herbal tea aboard the Tevloe, its scent a mix of citrus and something faintly metallic. The two musicians settled at the narrow table, their translator helmets resting beside them for once, and began to taste their way through the strange assortment.

   Mark laughed softly after a cautious bite. “You know,” he said, “it’s not half bad. Kinda like lemon pie crossed with… I dunno, a pretzel?”

   Neil smiled. “If they ever let us play again, maybe we can trade a concert for a recipe.”

   But before either could take another bite, a shrill alarm split the quiet—high-pitched, mechanical, echoing through the corridor outside. The lights dimmed, then pulsed red in warning.

   The two men froze, half-risen from their chairs, listening.

  “What the hell is that?” Mark muttered.

   Neil glanced toward the door, heart pounding. “No idea… but it doesn’t sound like a drill.”

   They looked once more toward Mike, still sleeping through the noise, and then at each other—an unspoken thought passing between them. Whatever was happening out there, their brief peace had just come to an end.

   The door slid open with a hiss and Technician TAI burst into the room, mandibles twitching with agitation.

  "Damn these bridge officers!" he barked in Ardoccan, the translator helmets rendering his voice into a sharp, accented English. "We’re going into hyperdrive, lads—put the food down and help me strap Mike in!".

   Neil and Mark froze for half a heartbeat, then scrambled to obey. The plates and cups clattered as they were shoved aside. TAI was already at Mike’s bedside, his claws moving fast and sure.

   Neil hurried over. “TAI, what’s happening?”

 {"Unclear,"} TAI snapped, tightening one of the restraints. {"We are not under attack—nor running a drill—so I do not know why the captain ordered this maneuver!"}.

   Mark, still clutching one of the straps, gave a nervous laugh. “Maybe Glepko just wants to get to Hollien before we finish his snacks!”

 {"Not the time for humor!"},TAI shot back, thrusting the second strap toward him. {"We’re about to accelerate exponentially—brace yourselves. Secure him with these"}.

   Neil and Mark fastened the straps to the buckles mounted beside the bunk. The material flexed like rubber but locked with a metallic click.

  “Like this?” Neil asked.

  "Yes! Quickly! Then get against the wall—hold the rail!"

   Mike stirred, murmuring something incoherent as the restraints tightened across his chest. The floor trembled beneath them, the air humming with rising energy.

   Tai’s compound eyes flicked toward the ceiling, his tone dropping to something between awe and dread.

  {"Engines are spooling. A low whining was apparent—clear throughout the entire Ship. It rose in pitch and matched the increasing acceleration of the TEVLOE, right now she was the Queen of the Stars…Jump sequence in five… four…"}.

   The room lights dimmed, and a deep vibration rolled through the walls—building, pulsing, alive. The whine rose in pitch…

   Neil grabbed the wall rail beside him. “Oh, hell—this is really happening.”

   Mark swallowed hard, knuckles whitening. “Guess dinner’s over.”

  {"GET DOWN!! NOW!!"}, TAI Roared.

   Then the Tevloe roared, and gravity itself seemed to lurch sideways.

     ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                                                                   “THE JUMP”.

                  The vibration grew into a deep, throbbing roar that shook the very air. The deck plates quivered beneath their feet, then seemed to soften, as though the ship itself were stretching. The howling crescendo of the whine reached its zenith. Then everything went white. There was a BOOM! And a rocking back and forth as food and beverages slid past Mark, Neil and TAI pressed into the flooring. Neil was shouting and seemed to be spinning around on his stomach on the floor. TAI was as a rock, his claws and feet splayed out like a starfish. Immovable and robust. Humans on the other hand—not so fortunate. To be smaller and lighter in this situation was not good. TAI caught a hold of Mark as he slid past him- holding Mark firm. Mark thanked TAI, who looked across at the Strapped in Mike—yelling profanity, only his head was moving as the gravity pulled at his Straps.

    The whining lessened after it reached highest pitch. Like air deflating from a Balloon, in sound. Lowering in tone and pitch. A slow shaking and rocking seemed to indicate Maximum Speed attained. The TEVLOE was inside of a speed bubble. Drawn forward along its own pressure waves!

    Neil’s stomach dropped. The walls bent inward for an instant—no, not the walls, but space itself. Every atom seemed to lean forward in one impossible direction.

   A blinding pulse of white-blue light filled the room, washing out every shadow. The air turned thick and electric; the taste of ozone and metal coated their tongues. For a heartbeat, gravity lost meaning—up and down dissolved into a weightless blur.

   Mark cried out as his body lifted a few inches from the floor, the restraint rail wrenching against his grip. Mike, still strapped to his bunk, groaned faintly but didn’t break loose.

   Then—impact without impact. A soundless concussion rippled through the hull, and the pressure inside their skulls eased all at once.

   Silence followed. The hum steadied into a low, rhythmic thrum—familiar, constant, like the beating of an enormous heart. The red warning lights dimmed to amber, then faded altogether.

   Neil exhaled slowly, realizing he’d been holding his breath. “That… was hyperdrive?” he managed.

   TAI straightened, his mandibles twitching in relief.

 {"Jump successful. We are in flux-space now"}.

  Mark looked at him blankly. “Flux-space?”

  {"The realm between places,"} TAI said, voice calmer now. {"You humans might call it… the deep fold"}.

   Neil stared at the trembling feet of a now silent Mike on the bed, the remnants of their unfinished meal still quivering on the floor. “Whatever you call it,” he murmured, “I hope it’s worth the ride.”

   Outside the viewport slit, the stars were no longer points of light but long, fluid streams—silver rivers bending across an endless dark.

            ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                                                                                                                            “AFTER THE JUMP” ...

                    For several long seconds, none of them spoke. The air still carried a faint shimmer, as though the ship hadn’t quite decided whether it belonged to this reality or the next. Mark finally lowered himself into a chair, rubbing his arms. “My whole body’s tingling,” he muttered. “Like static, only inside my bones.”

        Neil nodded, blinking to steady his vision. “I feel it too. Everything’s vibrating—just a little.”

       TAI checked a small wrist console, his movements slower now, more deliberate.

     {"Residual harmonics,"} he explained, his tone returning to the steady patience of a technician. {"Flux-space interacts with your nervous systems differently. For my species, it is… almost soothing. For yours, disorienting, sometimes painful"}.

     “Comforting,” Mark said dryly.

      TAI ignored the remark and moved to check Mike’s straps. The guitarist was now unconscious, breathing shallowly but evenly. The shock of this experience chased him back inside the hallways of sleep.

     {"He will recover. The inertial field dampers are working within limits. No physical damage detected. We shook good—as we are in an old ship. I would think we will likely fall apart if trying this again"}.

     Neil leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly. “So, TAI… where exactly are we?”

     The technician glanced toward the small viewport slit. Beyond it, the cosmos had changed. The stars were no longer stars—just rivers of light curving across the void.

    {"We are between stars, and on our way to Hollian at the fastest speed possible, why exactly I have yet to be told,"}, he said quietly. {"In the folds of flux-space, distance has no meaning. The engines maintain a dimensional corridor that keeps the Tevloe stable. Travel time to Hollien: approximately one hour, by your measure"}.

    Neil stared at the strange, liquid horizon. “One hour to cross? … what, hundreds of light-years?”

    TAI’s mandibles flexed in what might have been a smile.

   {"For us, no. For those outside the corridor—who can say? But we shall be at Hollien in half the time"}.

 

        The hum of the ship settled into a steady rhythm. Gradually, the lights warmed from sterile white to a faint gold, signaling the all-clear.

  Mark let out a long sigh, sinking back into a seat. “You know,” he said, glancing at the food littering the floor, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Neil chuckled softly, but the sound carried an edge. “Do not. We might need the calories if this is just the beginning.”

  TAI straightened, the formal tone returning to his voice.

 {"Remain in quarters until further notice. The captain will issue communication once we exit flux-space. And get this place cleaned up!"}.

   As the door slid shut behind him, the room felt heavier, smaller. The faint thrum of the engines filled the silence once more—steady, unrelenting, like a heartbeat in the dark.

   Neil, Mark, and Mike—the returning Prodigal Son—set about tidying up their quarters. Platters, plates, and the remains of half-eaten meals were strewn across the room. Mike, recently unstrapped by Neil and Mark, was still gibbering about the rough conditions he’d awoken to. Fresh from recounting his Lockdown ordeal, this grim awakening was the last thing he needed.

   Sitting up on his bed, he began to speak haltingly.

  “I never meant for anybody to get hurt, fellas. I mean—no—my intentions were good. I was always in my sleep capsule, after all. It doesn’t make any sense. This… this is an unknown and strange science, and I’ve got no logical explanation for it.”

   Neil and Mark listened intently.

  “I’m no stranger to that same experience, Mike,” Neil said quietly. He too had transitioned back into his own set of circumstances—but his return hadn’t brought tragedy, only mild disruption for his Ardoccan handlers.

  “The best way it was explained to me by Oblika is like this,” Neil began. “We occupy a Time–Space continuum. During our abductions, we left an imprinted space—a kind of echo—where we once stood. That image, or pattern, was burned into the continuum like a camera flash, a sort of blueprint of the space we occupied.

  “That imprint can be recalled, even exchanged, because our brains generate the energy that re-fills that space. Think of it like this: those flash shadows left on the sides of concrete buildings in Hiroshima—the silhouettes of people who once stood there when the blast struck. It’s the same principle; except we can re-inhabit that imprint with our specific energy … mostly, but only temporarily, hence the fading out or vanishing experiences. Eventually, we just… disappear.”

   Neil spoke with quiet certainty. He’d held more conversations with Oblika than anyone else in the Star Band—perhaps more than all of them combined. That’s why the fading and vanishing happen.

    Mike’s face tightened. “I experienced the fading, Neil,” he blurted. “It grew worse every hour I stayed active”.

   “Yes—and it will, Mike.” Neil said. “Until you reach the point where you completely vanish and transition fully back to lying within the sleeper capsule once again.”

    Mike considered telling Mark that he’d kept his promise—he had tracked Kate down and visited her. But uncertainty gnawed at him. He didn’t know what, if anything, Oblika had already shared with Neil, or what might eventually filter down to Mark. It was the kind of secret that could erupt if it surfaced the wrong way—volatile, charged, inevitable.

   The longer he kept silent, the heavier it would become. Should he risk Mark finding out from someone else, or should he face it head-on and tell him now?

   Mike pondered for a moment. It was better to be forthright, he decided. He would tell Mark—trusting in Oblika’s promise that Kate would be spared from the Wrath of Agamemnon. There might never be a better time.

   Across the room, Mark was gathering several strewn bags of clothing, stacking them neatly in the corner of their shared quarters. Mike watched him in silence for a few seconds, then spoke.

  “Mark, I need to share something with you. Would you join me over here?” He patted the edge of his bed.

  “Okay, Mike. I’ll be right over.”

  Neil looked up from his work, shooting them both a quizzical glance.

 “Mark wandered over and sat on the edge of Mike’s bed.

 “Are you feeling okay, Mike?” Mark asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

 “I’ve never felt better, as it happens,” Mike replied with a faint smile. “Do you remember that request you made — that if I ever found myself in London again, I should look up Kate?”

 Mark nodded slowly.

 “Well… I did.”

 “Whaaat!?” Mark exclaimed, nearly sliding off the bed. He caught himself and sat back down, eyes wide.

 “How—how did you even get to Teddy’s salon?”

 “On a bus, Mark,” Mike said with a grin. “It wasn’t difficult. Yes, I met Teddy—arrived just before Kate got into work. It was a busy day; she had a few hair appointments, but her co-workers and Teddy covered for her so we could slip away to a nearby pub and talk.”

  “I had to wear a dark hoodie,” Mike continued, “because I’d started noticing patches of myself fading out in the bathroom of my flat. I knew I had only one chance to find Kate and deliver your message. It was my final day in London; after that, I planned to go to Wales to stay with my aunt.

  “But it never panned out. I was attacked by a giant Arachnid called ‘Agamemnon’. Once a pet of Oblika’s, of all things! It had been re-trained as an assassin by the Supremes. Oblika’s furious about it. I managed to injure the creature, but now it has marked me for death—wherever I go. I cannot negotiate with it. I will have to always ask Oblika for its exact whereabouts….”

  “Anyway,” Mike went on, “giant assassin spiders aside—I’ve had absolute assurance from Oblika that Agamemnon will never go after Kate. He did, however, go after my renters—the Cables. I was the last to meet with them, so now I’m in a very compromising position in the eyes of the law".

  “In short, I’m probably a wanted man back in London. The police’s top suspect. I guess that’s my insurance—so I don’t try to make contact again.”

   He drew a breath, rubbing his face. “But Kate misses you, Mark. She has been through the works—denial, depression, anger, then back to denial again. Now she knows you’re alive, at least. I spun the best cover story I could: that we’re being held abroad by wealthy clients who love rock music and pay obscene amounts to have us perform private shows. Sounds insane, right? Kidnapped rock musicians…”

   Mike laughed bitterly. “But what the hell else could I say? Tell the truth? Okay, sure. We were snatched by an alien race of eight-foot-tall black, robotic grasshopper-like beings who pilot starships. They have got us playing rock and roll to a bunch of monkey-parrots to immunize their minds against some incoming cosmic evil!’”

   He shook his head, eyes wild. “And now we’re flying through space in an armored cargo ship that’s been refitted into a war vessel, fighting a superior alien race that outnumbers us a hundred to one!”

   A harsh voice cut through the air.

  {"Strange how life can be at times, eh, Mike?"} sneered Specialist TAI, who had been eavesdropping nearby.

   Before Mike could answer, TAI’s tone hardened.

  {"You can recount your tales later. We must get you ready for the shorter transit to Hollien—right now"}.

   The authority in his voice left no room for argument. The room fell silent, the weight of everything said—and unsaid—settling heavily between them.

   After Specialist TAI finished outlining the travel schedule to Planet Hollien, he instructed the three of them to remain in their quarters until their starship—the Tevloe—completed its approach. Before leaving, TAI mentioned Patrick with his assured statement, making it clear he would be checking on his health personally. His decision to reunite Patrick with the rest of the group, he said, would depend entirely on Patrick’s progress and whether everything with his treatment continued to run smoothly. Only then would Patrick be cleared to join the others on the shuttle down to Hollien’s surface.

   With Specialist TAI finally gone, Neil seized the moment to retell his abduction story. His voice carried a mixture of disbelief and lingering awe as he described the night it happened—how he’d been making a late phone call from a lonely London phone booth tucked away on a dark side road when everything changed.

   The strangest part, he said, wasn’t even the abduction itself. It was that the entire phone box had been taken with him. Somehow, the old booth had folded itself neatly into the confines of the Transition Capsule, as if it had been designed for the impossible. Now, that same battered box sat on display behind the Musical Instrument Warehouse— “the Sound House,” as the band called it—on Planet Jellsius IV, a relic of Earth stranded light-years from home.

   Neil went on to explain how, during a deep sleep cycle, he had temporarily slipped back into his London life. The transition had been so vivid, so abrupt, that he’d woken unprepared and disoriented. His only instinct had been to see his parents. But before he could decide what to tell them or even form a plan, he had begun to reawaken on Jellsius IV, the moment lost like a dream fading at dawn.

   It would turn out to be an interminably dreary two Earth-days’ travel to Hollien — an endless cycle of meals delivered to the three of them by their Ardoccan hosts. TAI had confined them to their quarters on Captain Glepko’s orders, forbidding them even a short walk about the I.A.S Tevloe as it neared readiness for final approach to the giant planet Hollien.

   For the Star Band members — still nursing bruises from being unexpectedly tossed about their quarters during the Hyper-jump — it felt like insult added to injury. Still, the Tevloe was being retrofitted for a new task: that of a warship in the Ardoccan Auxiliary Forces of the Eastern Fleet. Operational secrecy was now in full effect. This was no time, Glepko had insisted, to have a group of meddling humans wandering the decks and getting in the way of work crews installing bulkheads and weapons systems.

   Neil, Mark, and Mike — the three remaining members of the Star Band — now needed only one thing: their fourth and final member, Patrick. None of them would leave the Tevloe without him; they had vowed as much.

   Patrick was still undergoing medical tests and treatments for the disfiguring ZART addiction that had cut him down. His face and behavior had been altered, and the ship’s laboratories were now working to restore both. He had apparently been fitted with a series of metallic masks — an innovation that, some said, might even enhance their stage presence before audiences on Hollien. For now, it afforded Patrick a measure of dignity. Whether the disguise would truly work, however, only time would tell.

           ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                                          “APPROACH TO HOLLIEN ALPHA”.

                   Colonel Oblika stood near the observation deck, reviewing the latest reports as the Tevloe drifted through the quiet shimmer of flux-space. Technician TAI had already briefed him on the humans’ condition—and his own.

    The jump had caught them all unprepared. Even TAI, though experienced, had only traveled through flux-space once before. Many aboard the Tevloe were veterans of war, but few had endured long-distance hyper transitions; for most Ardoccans, it was an ordeal of endurance and instinct.

    To the fragile humans, it had been far worse. Their smaller frames and soft tissues were not built for such stresses. Even their primitive nervous systems seemed to rebel against the distortions of flux-space. By contrast, the Ardoccans—encased in natural armor and further shielded by their battle suits—weathered the storm with relative ease. Theirs was a physiology born for hardship.

   Oblika’s compound eyes flicked to the data scrolling across the holo display: life signs stabilizing, ship integrity nominal, flux corridor decay within safe limits. The Tevloe had survived its first full jump in months.

    After roughly two Earth days—close enough to two Ardoccan cycles—the vibration underfoot began to fade. The humming resonance of the engines lowered to a steady rumble, and the elongated rivers of light outside the viewport began to resolve into pinpoints once more. The ship was slowing, descending out of flux-space.

    Gradually, the vast blue-and-green orb of Hollien filled the forward screens. A world of contradictions—tropical regions alive with dense, bright vegetation, and others drowned beneath ancient swamplands where mist drifted like living breath.

    Oblika felt the subtle shift as normal gravity reasserted itself. He steadied himself against the railing, antennae twitching as he addressed the bridge officer on duty.

   “Notify the captain. The Tevloe has cleared flux-space and is on a final approach to Hollien. All systems normal.”

    The officer saluted in acknowledgment. The distant war might be waiting for them beyond Hollien’s skies—but for the moment, the ship and her crew had come through intact.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                                              CHAPTER XVIII (18): PART 2.               

                                                                                                          “ARRIVAL AT HOLLIEN ALPHA”

                   Two Earth days later, the I.A.S Tevloe slipped into orbit around Hollien Alpha. Word from Specialist Tech TAI was cautiously optimistic: medically, Patrick had begun responding well to the treatments. The strange bumps and facial abnormalities caused by the ZART exposure were finally receding after a series of small procedures.

      But psychologically, things were far less encouraging.

      Patrick remained in absolute denial—insisting he’d never been ill, that nothing unusual had happened to him, that the symptoms were simply some normal bodily quirks. Specialist Tech. TAI made it clear: this was the ZART talking. The toxin had carved itself into his reasoning, distorting his sense of reality. As soon as he found an opportunity, Patrick would seek out more of the substance. He was, without question, addicted.

     To help him cope—or at least keep him from obsessing over his appearance—the skilled metalworkers aboard Captain Glepko’s crew had crafted several stage masks for him during the voyage. Intricate, expressive pieces of work. They wouldn’t cure anything, but they might help him hide the damage and reclaim a sense of control.

     With his medical treatments stable, Patrick was finally cleared to rejoin the rest of the band in their shared quarters. The reunion was expected to be loud, emotional, and chaotic in all the usual ways. And, of course, Oblika would be there ready to deliver his version of the ‘Riot Act’ to the lads, and especially to Patrick.

 

        The Bridge of the I.A.S. Tevloe came alive with quiet, purposeful motion. Displays brightened, the soft hum of recalibrating sensors filled the air, and a ripple of data flowed across every console as the ship’s systems adapted to real space once again.

       Captain Glepko entered with his usual deliberate stride, his dark eyes reflecting the growing image on the main viewport — a planet of blue-green seas, wide ochre continents, and spiraling white storms. Even from orbit, Hollien looked alive in ways few Ardoccan worlds did.

     “Status?”. He asked sharply.

     ["Flux-transition complete, Captain,]” replied the Navigation Officer. ["We’re at seventy-three thousand Parlaars above the equator. Orbital insertion in six minutes. All systems reading nominal"].

     Colonel Oblika stood beside Glepko, his voice low but firm. ["We’ll have to coordinate with Hollien Orbital Command for docking assignments. They’ll be expecting a dozen transports inbound within the next few cycles"].

     Glepko nodded. “Signal them at once. Priority code Alpha-Seven. Inform them the Tevloe carries Pioneer Corps personnel and civilian guests—four Humans under protective custody.”

    The Communications Officer’s antennae flicked briefly in acknowledgment before his claws danced across the control pad.

    Outside, the planet’s curved horizon grew sharper. Vast belts of emerald jungle stretched between glittering seas. Lightning flickered through a distant storm front, and on the night side, faint clusters of light hinted at sprawling settlements — or perhaps military installations.

   Glepko studied the view, his carapace plates shifting in quiet tension. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But beauty often hides danger.”

   Oblika inclined his head. "A fair observation, Captain. Hollien’s lower atmosphere is thick, unpredictable. Its gravity runs high in places. Still, the surface colonies are well fortified — ideal for re-supply and repair".

  "And of your Star Band, Oblika, where would you like them deposited?" asked Glepko.

   It was a good question, considering that the mega-planet Hollien was now beginning to gear up as a far-flung supply base for a conflict that had erupted almost too far away to seem significant. But it was significant.

   ["The Vastians had allies — and one of these had now been unleashed in this part of the galaxy: the Shadowman, and its maniacal, planet-killing Lyrans, rampaging toward settled worlds such as Hollien, directly in their path"]. Oblika explained.

   "Then we’ll make the most of it," Glepko replied. He turned toward the helm. "Helm control, prepare for synchronous orbit above Hollien Central Command. Once our docking coordinates are verified, initiate descent sequence".

   ["Well captain,  I'd appreciate ir greatly if you could position the Tevloe over the Continent of Tammak. I can transmit the precise coordinates for the City of Joppolis-- specifically for the Quelmy Stadium. It's enormous, and there are accommodations nearby that the Pioneer Corps usually uses for their meetings. They'll be more than suitable for us, and they're already expecting our arrival"].

   A deep tremor passed through the ship as the maneuvering thrusters engaged. The view tilted gently, the horizon line sweeping upward until the planet filled the display — vast and luminous, a reminder of how small even the mightiest vessel could seem in the face of an alien world.

    ["Our first gig is scheduled in five cycles, and we're bringing a mountain of gear--Stage lighting, speaker arrays, and all the specialized equipment a show of our calibre demands. We've also got the Fengu Dancers aboard, both female and male troupes, along with my full crew of helpers, technicians, and support staff"].Oblika continued. 

   ["They are all below decks, and ... I've been told several of the Fengus were injured during the surprise hyper-jump. I'll need medical clearance to check on them as soon as possible"].

     Captain Glepko folded his arms behind his back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listened. When the request was finished, he gave a single , purposeful nod.

    "Your coordinates will be accepted and once transmitted, "he said. "We can hold a stable geostationary position over Tammak without strain on the engines. Joppolis and the Quelmy Stadium are familiar territory to the Tevloe-- your accommodations will be prepared".

      He paused, glancing toward the lower decks as if he could see straight through the bulkheads.

    "As for your equipment and personnel, the cargo managers are already clearing space for offloading. Your lighting arrays, sound towers, and performance  materials will be transferred ahead of schedule. A show of your magnitude requires precision, and I have no intention of hindering it". His tone shifted subtly-- still firm but edged  with concern.

    "Regarding the Fengu Dancers ... yes, there were injuries during the hyper-jump. The Maneuver was unavoidable, and I take full responsibility for the consequences. Regrettably the first casualties of war on this side of the Empire ,Oblika. Med-Tech. reports that the injured are stable, but shaken. You will have clearance to see them the moment we seal orbit around Hollien". Glepko's gaze softened a fraction.

    "Your people are under my protection while they travel aboard my ship. I intend to honor that. Prepare your coordinates and keep your Fengu Crew calm. We'll have you ready for you performance in five cycles". Glepko reassured. 

      

     ["Captain, have we received any confirmed reports of losses along the Eastern Sector frontier?"]. Oblika's mandibles tightened as he spoke. The Pioneer Corps mission-- his Band's mission-- he felt as if it were drifting toward danger, even though their orders remained unchanged... for now.

     "Yes, I had a quick briefing on the bridge. Six frontier Bases have been attacked. Two of the six have been completely destroyed, one other possibly 'boarded' and some personnel taken captive. Yes, there have been some prisoners taken by our enemies... for intelligence gathering purposes. They will be tortured, Oblika". Captain Glepko was sullen in relaying this news. His distress for the fate of fellow Ardoccans was unmistakable. 

     ["Do you have any new orders?"]. Oblika needed to know how these unfolding events and crises may possibly affect him and his 'Star Band'? 

    "Yes, I do... we are to re-fuel and re-supply our stores from Planet Hollien once we disembark your Touring Entourage and Concert Equipment. Many other nearby Starships have been re-routed from their current directions to Hollien. Some will be ordered to remain there in orbit, to defend it. For now, Hollien will become a supply Hub for this part of the Sector". Glepko continued...

    "The fact that your 'Star Band' is here-- and sent to Hollien, as a 'Stop-Gap Planet, and you were sent with these Humans ...to mentally immunize the Fengu population there, is no coincidence is it. There are multiple points aimed at our Empire by the V.G.E. by their enlistment of their Allies too. They are not acting alone. And you are more familiar than most about this 'Shadow Man' thing, having had it destroy large chunks of a Planet your family had settled upon, and many of them along with it!"

     ['Indeed, I am Captain, only too familiar!"]. Oblika was seething with with revenge at this painful reminder. ["I shall do everything in my Powers to fight against, or destroy this 'Shadow Man' entity, Glepko. This pain ends here!"]. Oblika turned his head to glance out an observation window at the vast Planet below. Then looked back at Glepko.

    ["I must assemble our Concert Tour members below decks and begin to orchestrate our inventory's move to the surface once we are nearby to Joppolis City, Glepko"]. Oblika stressed, continuing ...["I am certain that there are many details to organize and over-see, and I'll be meeting with the Tour's Organizers and Crew very shortly"]. Oblika assured. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed by all this.

     With a gesture as like a salute, Oblika moved off to do what he stated, and was only a few steps from the lift doors when Glepko's voice halted him. 

    "Before you leave, Colonel-- there is more". Oblika turned back, Antennae raised. Glepko's tone shifted, becoming heavier, edged with a seriousness that surpassed tactics or politics.

   "We are to remain in orbit above Hollien once we arrive. After replenishing our stocks, we are ordered to load supplies, weaponry, and provisions for transport to the Taproot concentration". Oblika's mandibles clicked once-- acknowledgement, not surprise. 'Taproot' was the kind of place one supplied only when war had turned grim, it was line of desperation. But then Glepko's voice lowered.

    "Unfortunately...I fear the Tevloe may not be capable of fulfilling all of these orders". Oblika stilled completely--a predator's attention sharpening. Glepko spread his hands in a defeated gesture.

    "There are design issues with this ship--age-related, certainly--that I must discuss with my engineering team. The Tevloe is dependable, but she is old. Her hyperdrive frames old, the hull even older. Oblika's thoracic plates shifted uneasily.

    ["How old?"]. Glepko gave a dry, bleak chitter.

    "Old enough that I do not believe we can survive a fourth hyper-jump". He glanced toward the deck beneath their feet, as if feeling its strain.

    "In short, the third Jump we made in getting here in such haste...may have been this old ship's last ,colonel?" For a moment, Oblika experienced the rare sensation of cold dread--an instictive reaction buried deep in Ardoccan biology. The 'Star Band', the Civilians, his Fengu Crew, all his responsibility.

   ["You are certain?"].He asked, voice low.

   "Certain enough that I will not risk my crew without confirmation". Glepko's Antennae sagged in quiet frustration. "If the Tevloe tears herself apart in hyper-transition, it will be instant. No warnings. No recovery". Oblika's eyes hardened.

  ["Then we do not Jump again until your engineers finish their evaluation"]. Glepko nodded, grateful for the clarity of command--even from a superior riding as a guest.

   "We will hold our place above Hollien and complete our tasks here. Beyond that... the Eastern Admiralty may decide that they may need another vessel to carry Taproot's supplies?" A tense silence settled. Oblika finally exhaled, long and steady through his spinacles. 

  ["Very well captain, I will adjust my expectations accordingly. You see to your ship, and I will see to my people"]. 

  "And together," Glepko added, "we will see to Hollien".

   The colonel gave a final, firm nod, then stepped towards and into the lift. Its doors sliding closed with a soft hiss-- they looked at one another as the lift doors closed their view. Leaving the weight of duty pressing on both as the Tevloe continued her steady, aging pathway around a world bracing for war.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                                                                 THE MASK.

                      In the observation quarters several decks below, the three Humans, and Patrick soon to join them, would soon feel the gentle weight of gravity return, unaware that Hollien was far more than a resting stop — it was a staging world for the largest Ardoccan operation in generations.

      Mike was deeply grateful for the full pardon he’d received from the Supremes. In truth, he knew the timing had worked in his favor. With the Ardoccan Space Control Empire and the Vastian Galactic Empire once again locked in a brutal struggle for dominance—each fighting to secure territory, trade routes, and any scrap of strategic advantage—his own misstep suddenly seemed insignificant.

     Against the vast machinery of two warring empires, Mike’s wayward transgression was small fry, barely a footnote. Still, the relief that washed over him was real. For the first time in months, he felt the weight on his shoulders lift, replaced by a cautious sense of possibility. He would yet to properly thank Oblika for endangering his career on Mike’s part. But that would have to wait for a private and quieter moment. 

      

                    Patrick was escorted down the long corridor toward the 'Star Band's' quarters. The escorting crew stepping aside as the doors slid open with a soft mechanical sigh. He entered wearing his stage Mask. It was not merely metallic-- it was a sculptured, living artwork. Large, ornate and heavy-looking, the faceplate was engraved with intricate Ardoccan swirls and angular glyphs, each line carrying cultural weight and symbolic meaning. The alloy shimmered with shifting iridescence: Blues that slid into violet, red-oranges that glowed like embers, and greens that flashed like polished Jade. At certain angles, specks across it's surface glittered like starlight caught in metal. A piece of pure spectacle. Patrick wore it with a regal posture, as though he were some ancient god-king resurrected from forgotten mythology. 

        The energy of his entrance made the room seem to brighten, as if even the overhead lights were compelled to acknowledge him. For the 'Star Band' members gathered inside, the effect was immediate and electric. A few Fengus were present delivering food, and ripple of astonished chirrs, clicks, and murmurs swept across them-- pleasant, surprised, delighted. The Ardoccan escorts reacted too, their Antennae arched toward him instinctively. Their compound eyes reflected the Mask's brilliant play of colours. The last missing presence of the ensemble returned, PATRICK was back!

        With Patrick's arrival, the 'Star Band' felt whole again. Several members stepped nearer, captivated as the Mask caught a particularly brilliant shaft of light. It scattered across the walls and floor in sharp, dancing streaks-- the reflections striking like miniature bolts of lightning. Lines of vibrant colour hurled themselves across the room in quick flashes, casting the Ardoccans in dramatic silhouettes. One of the percussionist Technician Fengus gave a low, chittering laugh. Another swayed slightly, absorbing the visual energy, as if already imagining how it would transform a stage performance. Oh! how it would! The Mask wasn't merely beautiful, it was commanding. Iconic.

        A presence that elevated the room around it. Oblika had not exaggerated-- this was going to be a massive advantage in future concerts, especially under the powerful stage-lights of an indoor domed arena, or the open-sky brilliance of Hollien's evening Festivals. Patrick spread his arm slightly-- a showman's instinct. The reflections burst outward again. The 'Star Band's' Ardoccan and Fengu followers erupted in a chorus of approving clicks and harmonic vocalizations. 

        For the first time since the Crisis of a new war began, the room felt... hopeful. Even excited. War might be looming. Danger might be thickening around Hollien like a gathering storm. But this day, in this small, brightly lit cabin aboard the aging Tevloe, the 'Star Band' was complete, and something dazzling had returned to them.

       Oblika's earlier conversation in the Lab. echoed in Patrick's mind as he adjusted the Mask and surveyed the delighted Band members. The Colonel had been very clear about one thing: Their Concerts were no longer merely performances--they were broadcasts. Oblika had explained it with the stern pride of someone who understood the political weight of art. ["When we perform on notable worlds,"],he had said,["our concerts are recorded both audially and visually. Once we depart, those recordings are re-broadcast across the local planetary networks".]

        This was a purpose that had been carefully laid out. To give the Fengu populations something uplifting. Something distracting. Something unifying. Even, perhaps, something healing. Oblika had added-- with a rare hint of wryness-- that the broadcasts were also very popular with off-worlders stationed on those planets for Empirical duties. Some species did not fully understand Ardoccan culture, but Rock and Roll needed no translation. And the idea of an eight-foot-tall, black insectoid people, famous for warfare, Trading and intensity, producing, in this case introducing, explosive and emotionally-charged Music...well, it intrigued practically every developed species that encountered it.

        The 'Star Band' had become unexpected ambassadors. Patrick glanced around the room, noticing the spark in the others-- the realization that their next performance on Hollien might be viewed not just live, but again and again, long after they'd left orbit. Young Fengu children watching from classroom screens. Off-duty military staff sitting in canteens. Workers in the markets of Joppolis City pausing to see their masked figure blaze across a Holo-display. The thought carried weight. As Patrick lifted his chin, the Mask caught the overhead lights again, hurling spears of colour across the room. Yes... this would play beautifully on camera. And Oblika was right, the Band wasn't only entertaining anymore. They were inspiring. Mentally immunizing a population on edge. The responsibility felt vast-- but not unwelcome. 

        Around him, the Musicians began to think about their gathering of Instruments, imagine they were tuning equipment and thoughts of the familiar preparation of a Gig were comforting to them. The clicks and low harmonic murmurs filled background noise and the only thing absent now was the Music itself. Anticipation, unity and the simmer of creativity made the atmosphere. For a brief moment, Patrick and the other members forgot about the war pressing in from the stars. They forgot the failing hyper-drives and shaking Hull. Even forgot the looming threat of the 'Shadow Man'. Because right now--- the 'Star Band' had a mission, and a Mask worthy of Legend! 

       A vast, cost-effective series of portable Radio designs  had been distributed across Hollien and the surrounding Fengu settlements on nearby Planets in the Hollien star system. These were rugged, simple and cheap to produce, these Radios were becoming almost as popular as food packets. They were part of a massive communications initiative-- a propaganda and moral- support wave orchestrated by the Pioneer Corp Radio Network. 

       Oblika had described the system bluntly to Patrick. The strategy was brilliant. And the possibilities for spreading their Music was endless. Patrick could barely contain himself in passing on this news to he rest of his Band mates. Oblika had told Patrick that when the 'Shadow Man' advances, panic spreads faster than soldiers can march. The plan was to counter panic with Unity, and Serenity. He had said, [" Patrick, we counter... Fear with Sound, through Music!"]. And so, the broadcasts had began.

      

                    The Pioneer Corps stations came online one by one, their Transmitting Towers rising like skeletal fingers across the lowlands and Cities of Hollien Alpha. The Fengu masses had began tuning in--- first out of curiosity, then excitement, then outright devotion. Before the 'Star Band' even landed, a magical fan base had erupted around them like an as-yet Invisible wildfire. The Radio stations replayed their previous concerts, interviews, backstage sounds, tuning sessions, even test crude recordings. 

        Wherever a Radio sat on a windowsill or market table, a Fengu citizen would gather, listening with wide, eager eyes. Then can occasion outbreaks of mania. When the Band performed Live, the crowds had roared. When their recordings aired, the crowds began to surge. When Patrick's Mask was mentioned-- and the preview images of it were leaked, some crowds that were gathered in various location in Joppolis City exploded in joy. The comparison was whispered, first by the Human band members, then by Ardoccans who had studied Earth's popular cultural history: "It is like The Beatles, all over again".

        Fengu teenagers painted their doorways with glowing Ardoccan Glyphs. Street markets sold crude imitation Masks made of polished Tin and coloured paper. Younglings climbed onto rooftops to get better Radio reception when the Band's music was played. Merchants halted mid-trade the moment a rebroadcast began. The 'Star Band' had become the sound of hope, the iconic noise of Unity in a time when Hollien Alpha feared the looming darkness of the 'Shadow Man' entity and his titanic, enslaved Lyran monsters drifting somewhere out in the void. Patrick, adjusted the Mask before a nearby mirror, felt a chill-- not of fear, but of realization. This wasn't just a fan base. It was a movement. A wave of fervor and emotional resilience being built in real time. Oblika had been right. They were already immunizing a population with the spread of their Music. And somewhere out in the Galaxy, the darkness grew nearer. 

        The moment that the Colonial Fengus were exposed to live Rock 'n' Roll, something remarkable occurred. It was subtle at first, only localized. A tightening of focus, an involuntary sway, a smile creeping across mandibles unaccustomed to such joy. But soon, the transformation became unmistakable. The Fengus were being mentally fortified. The music acted as a kind of inoculation., immunizing them against the shadows that sought to twist thoughts, to manipulate fear and to spread chaos. Every note, every chord struck into the collective psyche of the population, creating resilience where doubt and despair had once lingered.

         And now, the Radio Culture had begun spreading across Hollien Alpha and also unleashed back upon Jellsius IV, the 'Star Band's home-base Planet. This amplified the effect exponentially. Those who could not attend the concerts live were swept up in the phenomenon. Broadcasts spread from village to city, from markets to classrooms, from makeshift shelters to Imperial outposts. Every new transmission reinforced the message: UNITY, JOY, COURAGE and DEFIANCE. The 'Star Band' was no longer just a musical ensemble. They had become a cultural vaccine, a catalyst for resistance against the creeping evil headed towards them. Across the colonies, the message was clear: No darkness could dominate a population united by rhythm, harmony and the raw power of Rock' n' Roll.

        Colonel Oblika, had been surveying the operation with his usual meticulous intensity, allowed himself the smallest flicker of satisfaction. His Plans were working! The Pioneer Corps Radio Network, the logistics of the Band's Tour, the staging, the morale campaigns-- all converging perfectly. It was a triumph of strategy and vision. Promotion and Recognition would follow once the Eastern Sector and Eastern Fleet Admiralty reviewed his work.  Right now they had rather a lot one their hands. If successful in this War, and when the time was right, his story would come to light as a huge factor in it's Victory. Oblika's eyes were not on himself alone, but on a bigger picture locally: An entire Planetary culture reshaped, protected, and inspired, one electrifying concert at a time. Yes-- the Galaxy could indeed be re-educated, one chord, one chorus, and one legendary Mask at a time. 

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

                                                                                                                                 "EMBARCATION".    

 

                  A feint shudder rippled through the I.A.S Tevloe. The familiar vibration that told both crew and 'guests' that the ship was easing into it's final position above Joppolis City. In a matter of minutes, the first shuttles would begin dropping toward the surface, carrying the touring equipment to the Quelmy Stadium terminus, over Joppolis City on Tammak. As continents go, Tammak was a small one on Hollien. Approximately close to Australia in size, but this Exoplanet had seventeen Continents on it-- so, plenty to see. But it was sparsely colonized. Much of Hollien had yet to be explored.

        The organizational plan was, that once the stage and lighting rigs were in place, the Fengu technicians and 'road crews' would follow with the heavier, more temperamental gear. Then a succession of shuttles will ferry the personnel and smaller items to the surface below. It ought to go smoothly, given the stronger gravity involved. The Band were worried that the usually busy and agile little Fengus from Jellsius IV maybe dragging their feet more and tiring quicker? Humans can adapt to the more similar-to-Earth Gravity pull, but would their little 'Road Crew' similarly adapt? Time would tell. 

         Hollien's Sun was just clearing the curve of this giant exoplanet, flooding the world below with splendent colours and vast sheets of glittering Oceans. After the long, grinding journey from Jellsius IV, the four Human members of the 'Star Band' stood ready, travel-light but eager, waiting for their Ardoccan handler, Colonel Oblika, to give the order. For the first time in weeks, it felt like the familiar rhythm of touring life was returning. 

         Patrick adjusted his 'Day' Mask--- a smaller, plainer version of the elaborate stage Mask he would wear during performances. Even so, the chrome edges still caught the morning light as he moved. The Band had grown used to the curious stares of the Ardoccan crew. Over the past few days, their insectoid hosts had been gradually exposed to the group's Rock' n' Roll cover Songs through played recordings, and the novelty of this Human music, seemed to ripple through the ship like an unexpected breeze. They were now developing a healthier opinion of their fellow-travelers. It was for some. a Novelty Voyage.  

       On Hollien, the Fengus had been awaiting their arrival for Earth-weeks. And now, with the world turning bright beneath them and the Tevloe settling into orbit, the four musicians felt the same simple thrill they always did before a run of shows.

      A knock sounded at the cabin door before it slid open, revealing the towering hulk of Colonel Oblika. 

    ["Okay Lads!"], he announced, his mandibles clicking with his version of enthusiasm. ["It's your turn to collect your things and head to the shuttle deck. We've got a sixth run going down to the surface, with a couple more after that. Most of the Fengu crew are already Planet-side---either checking into the accommodations at Quelmy Towers or busy at work setting up the stage apparatus in the Stadium next door. Everything is running smoothly"].

       He delivered the update with the calm confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times.

     "Oblika,"Mike said, stepping forward.

      The Ardoccan turned slightly.["Yes, Mike?"].

      Mike hesitated only a heartbeat. "Where is Agamemnon these days?"

      He needed to hear the answer out loud. He needed to know that Hollien wasn't the new home of that gigantic Assassin-spider. It wasn't paranoia-- Agamemnon's presence could mean life of death for him.

      Oblika's antennae twitched. ["Fear not, Mike. He's on assignment on another world entirely. And from what we've been told, he was injured during one of his recent...murders"]. The Colonel's tone cooled with distain. ["The 'Supremes' have corrupted him---turned him into a tool for their filthiest operations. We won't be encountering him for the foreseeable future"].There was something almost triumphant in Oblika's voice, but also something hollow.

        It was hard to reconcile this with the history between them--hard to picture that Oblika had once saved Agamemnon from an early death, raised him from a hatchling, even bonded with him in the way someone might with a pet Tarantula. And now Agamemnon had been taken, his abilities enhanced, and now twisted into an instrument of terror. The truth was simple and painful: Oblika no longer knew the creature Agamemnon had become.

        ["I'll be back in two of your hours to collect you, Lads. Food is on the way; once you've eaten, we head for the shuttle. Any questions?"].

        "No", Neil said, glancing around at the others. "Unless any of you can think of something"? It all seems well organized from here". No one spoke up, and Oblika, satisfied, turned and left. 

       "This is it, then," Patrick said, his voice warm behind the day-mask. "We're off on yet another adventure".

       "Well", Mark corrected, "a new location... and a different venue. The adventure though, Patrick, will be whatever you bring with that stage Mask of yours".

       "Oui, Mon Amis," Patrick replied, the smile beneath his Mask easy to hear even if it couldn't be seen. "I have much to tell you boys, about Radios, our Music, and what Oblika called the 'Rock 'n' Roll effect' that is being spread by the Pioneer Corps using Transmission of our Music!!" Patrick gave the rest of the Band the low-down on what Oblika had told him down in the Med. Lab... The other Band Members were...completely Gob-smacked.

        Their Shuttle had arrived. 

     

      The party of ten made their way down through several decks, each level feeling smaller and more confined than the one above. Leading the group, as always, was Oblika. Behind him followed the four band members, two Fengus carrying an assortment of masks for Patrick, two more hauling the band's baggage, and Specialist TAI bringing up the rear. It was a decent group to be traveling with. All were in great spirits. It was the cusp of a new and amazing adventure.

      The route to the shuttle deck twisted and doubled back on itself in a way that felt unfamiliar. Mike frowned as they passed yet another tight corridor with newly installed bulkheads. Was it his imagination or were there more doors and walls than before?

      He had not recalled all these interior changes when they left the Shuttle deck upon their arrival. Back then, there was a lot more room to move about, he wondered how it is that these larger Ardoccans could maneuver through these small corridors, or even find their way through them without becoming disorientated now. It is not what he would have done. It had now been turned into an internal fortress. And seemed akin to a metal Termite mound. The cramped feeling made sense, he supposed--- the Crew had spent much of the voyage reinforcing the Tevloe's interior in preparation for potential battle.

      At last, they reached reached the shuttle bay. The main doors slid open to reveal a gleaming silver craft, streamlined and imposing. It looked like a giant bullet with wings--sleek, polished, and utterly out of place among the overworked, boxy cargo shuttles they were used to.

      This one had presence. Prestige.

      THAT kind of shuttle meant celebrities were on board.

      Mike took in the wide windows, the curved hull, the immaculate finish. This was clearly a vessel from Hollien's surface--something built with money, style and the expectation of notable passengers. This ride, he thought, was going to be a Rock' n' Roll roller coaster like none they'd ever had before. Silver in colour with four thin, blue stripes around the sides. Mike was reminded there were four members in their Band, to match the number of stripes? Nah! 

 

      The ride down to the splendorous world below was nothing short of exhilarating--and, disappointingly, it all ended far too quickly. The shuttle's Passenger cabin was spacious, but even that felt secondary to the breathtaking views unfurling beyond the windows as they pierced the upper atmosphere of Hollien Alpha. It was a cascade of colours, light, and strange beauty. The four Earth men felt genuinely blessed to witness it. But arrival meant work-- real, repetitive and necessary graft.

      The set-up began the moment they touched down: Stage Lighting Rigs, framework pieces, the silent and multi-coloured effects bombs--someone in their entourage, or even on this planet was clearly a pyro Genius, though Mike had yet to meet the mysterious mastermind. Speakers followed next, towering stacks of them, enough to deafen a herd of Elephants if pushed to their limits.

      And the Band's most valuable pieces of equipment will be? EARPLUGS!

      Then finally came the Instruments. Compared to what was in their first show, and what they used, that was only a fraction of this colossal set-up. Each successive concert would demand more, bigger, louder. And yet, as they watched the Fengu workers assemble the pieces in a fluid, almost choreographed motion, one thing became clearer....

  ...it was the building of a Dream.

             -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                                                                         QUELMY.

                            The shuttle kissed down on the soft-landing pad with a soft, cushioned shudder, it's silver-and -blue hull gleaming beneath Hollien's peach-gold sky. A hiss of depressurization rolled along the ramp as it extended, and the four human musicians stepped out into the warm, perfumed air of Joppolis City. 

        For a moment they simply stood there, blinking---partly from the brightness, party from the relief of finally being planet-side again. Their terrestrial feet were on ground once again, not their land, their Earth, but it will do for now. The gravity was pretty close to that of Earth's, and there seemed no need to be wearing gravity-soled boots here-- which now seemed like lead weights to walk in. Removing their burdensome footwear, the Band could now move around more freely. Patrick's metallic mask caught the sunlight and threw it back in a sharp gleam; Mark nudged him lightly, as if to say we made it, while Mike inhaled deeply, savoring freedom after weeks locked in a sterile Ardoccan cell. Neil, still a touch unsteady from a short illness, braced himself on Mark's shoulder.

      Joppolis City, it was quite a sight. Towers and Giant Domes in every direction. Civilians teeming around them as they exited the Quelmy Shuttle Terminus. There were onlookers gawking at the four of them. Few if any, had ever seem Humans before. The Lads drew together in a huddle now in reaction to those staring. The 'Star Band' stared back...what creatures lived, or worked here? Mike stared at the Local Fengus-- who regarded him oddly. It was not a warm welcome, nor unfriendly, but one of 'what are YOU doing here'? Mark said, "Look guys, check out 'Mr lizard man' over there". And he pointed at an upright-walking, tail-less, brown mottled black ,monitor lizard-like creature-- wearing a blue hat, and with a small red bag over it's shoulder. It scurried up to Mark, and looked him up and down, then made a disapproving 'HISS', then scurried away. The four Band mates burst out laughing. Also, amongst the Fengus who were now looking for longer and longer, were some rather strange wolf-men 'things'. Hairy humanoids, who did not seem to have any faces?!  Oblika hurried the gawking Humans along..

        [" Come on Lads! You are drawing a crowd here, lets get off the street and get to where we are going...NOW!"]. Good advice here. 

          Ahead of them lay rose the Quelmy Towers-- a spiraling cluster of silver and glass, twisting upward like a colossal seashell. It shimmered with shifting colours, reflecting the city lights and the drifting clouds above. Somewhere beyond it lay Quelmy Stadium, the venue that would host their return to the spotlight tomorrow. The small entourage ducked under the shady shadow of this extremely tall tower, this was the 'Quelmy Towers' accommodations they sought. (The 'Hotel'). The entourage was met by some Ardoccans in the Foyer, and a couple more Fengus got off chairs to help their brethren carry baggage and Masks. It was a warm welcome. A small group of Fengu 'Roadies' were already waiting near a grav-cart, waving their long, soft-furred arms in greeting. Their voices were a fluttering series of trills and clicks, enthusiastic and oddly soothing after the sterile noise of the Ardoccan starship.

          Suddenly, some loud shrieks erupted from outside and in the direction they had just come from. A small number of Fengus of the local variety had twigged who these four Humans were-- and were attempting to follow them into the Foyer. Oblika spun in an instant-- and emitted a series of very loud clicks. This made the tiny Fengus cower, and then they fled the foyer. 

       ["It seems we have been 'busted' Lads! Our Cover is blown. They know who we are, and where we will be staying now-- damn it!"]. Oblika was very pissed off. 

       "Oblika, we never had any 'cover'!" Said Neil. Mark was laughing. 

       "The price of fame Neil," Mike chirped up.

       "I am sorry guys, I am not too hard to miss am I?" Patrick was feeling this was all his fault. 

      ["It isn't your fault at all Patrick"]. Oblika reminded them all. 

 

      "Welcome Musicians!" one of them translated through a hand-held device. "Your equipment is being transferred. Your rooms are prepared. Please follow".

       Mark exhaled, "Hotel first," he murmured to the others. "A hot Meal, a real bed-- then we can worry about the concert tomorrow".

       Mike gave a low whistle as he looked up at the spiraling Tower. "That thing better have room service".

       Patrick tapped his mask lightly. "And privacy", he added.

       Neil chuckled weakly. "As long as it has pillows, I'll take anything".

      Together, the Band followed the Roadies toward the gleaming tower's staircase, their lighter boots now clacking on the smooth black stone of the Foyer flooring. The air around them hummed with distant traffic and alien music drifting from the city streets.

      Tomorrow, they would play their first of sixteen Gigs on Hollien Alpha. Tonight, they were simply glad to be alive, together, and out of the war's shadow---at least for a while.

      Their new accommodations were on an entirely different level. The Group were collectively very grateful there was a lift in the Quelmy Towers Accommodation complex, the thought of navigating all those stairs was scary. The Quelmy Towers was a far cry from the quaint, adobe huts and villas they'd lived in back on Jellsius IV. Those dwellings were crammed with mismatched, mid-century and 1950s-60s Earth furniture, pilfered from who-knows-where--that felt like being part of some miniature model village, charming but toy-sized. In contrast, the suites within the Quelmy Towers radiated a sweeping, futuristic grandeur that made everything they'd known before seeming almost laughably small. 

       The 'Star Band' had been placed together in a shared suite, while Oblika enjoyed a room of his own just across the corridor. Several senior Fengu members of the Road Crew occupied another suite, and the Fengu dancers were divided by gender-- tall males in one room, tall females in another-- each buzzing and clicking in anticipation for the coming performance. 

      And then there was the Maestro.

      The creepy, soft-spoken figure who claimed to be the tour's official organizer had been conspicuously absent during the entire voyage aboard the Tevloe, vanishing somewhere in it's metallic labyrinth as if swallowed by the ship itself. No one had missed him-- not for a moment. But now, here on Hollien Alpha, the first planet of the Hollien Star Group, he had resurfaced... pale, smiling and far too pleased with himself. He had been seen down in the Quelmy Towers Foyer. 

      The touring group and their entourage had taken over an entire floor of the Quelmy Towers accommodations. That alone promised a certain level of post-gig chaos--something Colonel Oblika intended to keep firmly under control. Discipline was a Golden Rule on his watch. And no one in the Group needed reminding of Patrick's brush with ZART, nor the Mask he now wore to cover the deformities the drug had caused. 

      Oblika had been watching the Maestro from a distance. He, too, has noticed how the Maestro never mingled with the smaller Fengus, the shorter dancers, or the forest-kind crew members. The 'Maestro', a winged, larger variant of the Fengu species--seemed to enjoy intimidating them. He was a mystery; useful, yes, with his impeccable talent for organizing concerts and plotting complex travel itineraries. Oblika trusted his competence enough to leave him alone to, "do his thing", as the Humans put it. But what else counted as 'his thing'?  If he paid any attention to any members of the Entourage, it seemed to be the company of the taller Female fengu Dancers. This made him seem even the creepier.

     Why the aloofness? Why the self-imposed isolation, the disdain for his own species? Oblika intended to confront him. It seemed a bold and judgmental theory, but he suspected the 'Maestro' had supplied Patrick with ZART, perhaps even orchestrated the addiction itself... though he had no proof. He would need to choose the moment carefully-- and he would need allies.

     Neil for one, would love to confront the 'Maestro'.

             ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                                                   THE QUIET CONSPIRACY. 

                                            

                          The entourage had finally settled in. Meals had been eaten, rooms claimed and settled into for a few Night, and the hum of activity from the Fengu Roadies setting up the stadium stage drifted faintly through the walls-- lighting Rigs, sound systems and last-minute adjustments for tomorrow's gig. The air was alive with anticipation. A security detail would arrive in the morning for Oblika to address. They were to protect the Band, and Dancers. Also, a security barrier would be needed to divide the Performers from over-zealous Concert goers. Things seemed to be getting crazier.

     Neil and Mike were lounging in their spacious suite, its over-sized Furniture intended for the larger Ardoccans swallowing them all, when a soft knock came at the door. Mike frowned. "Who would that be at this late hour?"

     Neil opened it to find Colonel Oblika, looking unusually serious, his tall insectoid frame filling the doorway. Mike had now come over to the door too.

    "Bars!? What is it? It is late my friend". Neil asked.

     ["Gentlemen,"] he said, his voice low and urgent. ["I need to speak with you. You two-- come with me"].

      Curiosity prickling, they followed Oblika down the hallway, the metallic hum of the Tower beneath their feet, until they reached his room. He closed the door behind them and gestured for them to sit. 

     ["I need your discretion,"] Oblika began, eyes sharp. ["You are to spread a message-- quietly--to Mark and Patrick. No one else must know"].

     Neil leaned forward, sensing the gravity in Oblika's tone.

    ["The 'Maestro'..."].Oblika's voice dropped further, almost a whisper, ["I believe he is involved in ZART smuggling. He's supplying the drug. Perhaps even orchestrated Patrick's addiction?"] 

     Neil's fists clenched and Mike's jaw tightened. "That is a bold conclusion to accuse him of, Oblika", Neil stated.

     "Are you sure, Bars! "Mike said.

      [" I cannot prove it,"] Oblika admitted, his mandibles clenching slightly, ["but his movements, the way he keeps to himself, the way he treats the smaller Fengus...observe him. Watch his interactions. Take note of who comes and goes"].

     Neil nodded. "And you, what will you do?"

     ["I will confront him!"] Oblika said. ["But I will not act alone. I will need you, Neil. The right moment will come-- one that will minimize disruption to the Tour. Until then, you watch. You wait. And you tell no one"].

     A heavy silence fell, filled only by the distant thrum of ventilated air passing into the room. Neil and Mike exchanged glances, the weight of Oblika's words sinking in.

     The Plot thickened. The 'Maestro's' calm measured presence now carried an unmistakable threat, and the Band's upcoming performances--the sell-out Gigs at the Quelmy Stadium-- would unknowingly play the stage for a hidden, dangerous game. 

       --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                              

                                                                                                                             'THE BIG BASH'.

                         

                          At approximately 08:00 Hours--Earth Standard Time (GMT), the system the 'Star Band' preferred to use, a knock on their door announced Breakfast.

      What arrived felt more like a warning.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Four bowls of blue, stone-cold Porridge.                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Four cups of green juice, the color of pond water.
 Four bread-like pastries oozing a cloying, cheesy cream.                                                                                                                                                                                                       And, worst of all, four grey slabs of something that looked like square sponges, smelled like low-tide, and had the texture of Styrofoam riddled with holes like Swiss cheese.

           The band stared at these foul, fishy blocks with collective horror. It honestly looked—and smelled—as if the hotel management were attempting to poison them before their concert.

           Not one of them touched it.

           To complete the spread, there were also four cups of cold tea, sweet-smelling and vaguely syrupy, as though someone had steeped leaves in liquid sugar.

           All in all, it was a meal fit to vomit over—one that would’ve finished off King Henry VIII himself.

           No V.I.P service at the Quelmy Towers today.

         The Band barely picked at this pile of garbage and were not happy with this quality of nourishment. They would drop by Oblika’s room before they left and see if some food more palatable can be arranged for later in the day. Sandwiches even.  They did not want to go on stage full of food, but likewise, would prefer not to go hungry either.

         Before arriving early that morning for their Premiere Concert at the Quelmy Stadium, the ‘Star Band’ went through their usual routine—morning ablutions, a quick scrub-up, and dressing in their travel clothes. Their final stage outfits were already waiting in their changing room behind the stadium’s massive performance platform. And hopefully Patrick’s Dazzling Mask?

        They had been looking forward to room-service breakfast, imagining that Ardoccan management might treat them to something resembling a gastronomical event. Instead, the platters delivered to their quarters were… disappointing. Very disappointing. Whatever the Ardoccans considered “Human Food” clearly came from the bottom tier of some interstellar canteen experiment.

      Because of privacy, security, and—more importantly—the growing curiosity of a handful of overexcited FENGU fans already lurking about, the band unanimously chose to eat upstairs in their shared room. Between sips of a lukewarm attempt at Tea, of a sort… and bites of something that looked like folded rubber, they went over the plans for the evening’s Opening Night.

      The FENGU dancers would take the stage first, spending two to four hours warming up the crowd. As usual, they’d twist, stomp, and chant the local rhythms until the audience drifted into that hazy, pre-trance excitement the species was known for. Before the crowd fully slipped into that state, the band would make their entrance—twenty to thirty rock covers, played hard and loud, blasting straight through the towers of speakers waiting for them outside.

         The meeting had gone well. The 'Maestro' was being measure, his every word replayed through Oblika's mind for any trace of deceit. The Humans followed easily, as he spoke in normal Ardoc,-- the un-muddled, non-combat dialect now in use aboard the I.A.S Tevloe. It was important they understood the planned structure of the show; their act comprised half of it. They needed to know and expect the precise sequence of events as the gig unfolded.   

         The 'Maestro' did not present as overbearing or bullying in this setting, particularly toward his fellow FENGU -- the Roadie Techs. Sound Engineers, and Lighting Specialists. Keeping them motivated mattered. Their roles had to be executed impeccably, not undermined by intimidation. The success of the concerts directly served the success of the mission.

         And if the 'Maestro' sensed that his darker habits were under scrutiny within this closed meeting, he would mask them --playing the part of a team player rather than risking exposure.

         After the meeting, the sound checks would begin. The Band played two of The Beatles' Numbers, 'Get Back' and 'Saw Her Standing There' - not on the line-up... but a Song that gives a good loosening up of Drums, Skins, Strings and helps the Lads to get into the swing of things.

        All seemed ready from the 'Star Band's perspective, and Oblika assured the four that all would be alright, on the night. To not concern themselves about incompletely entranced FENGUs among their audience. Their Music will shut them down soon enough. But just to do their part of the show, and trust that the Pyro / Lasers, smoke effects and other stage effects would work on cue. They trusted Oblika's promise.

                                                 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                             

        At the appointed time, the doors opened and throngs of FENGUs surged into the Stadium. It took well over two Earth hours for them all to arrive and swell the seating to capacity. An army of FENGU ushers worked frantically, attempting to organize tens of thousands of furry little monkey-parrots into their assigned places. It was disorganized chaos.

        As the Stadium filled with clicking, excited furballs, the lighting slowly diminished. A low, distinct hum rolled out from the massive banks od speaker towers flanking the Lotus Stage. When the final seats were taken, the lights fell into complete darkness-- then detonated into brilliance as the stage array ignited.

       The crowd erupted in a wall of clicks and buzzing.

       The long-anticipated opening night on Hollien Alpha had begun.

       It was.... SHOWTIME.

  

       The concert would begin in ritualized chaos. Drums rolled first-- giant, Kettle-type bass drums-- hammered into life as the FENGU drummers unleashed their clamorous din. Four Horn blowers joined

in, followed by a six-member whistle team, their shrill blasts completing the cacophony. Fortunately, the 'Star Band' would endure only two Earth hours of this madness, not the usual six to eight, when FENGU pheromones flooded the air, exciting and overstimulating every sense. The Lads had remembered their Earplugs.

       The opening barrage would last roughly ten Earth minutes, softening FENGU minds before the Dancers emerged. Lights shimmered across feathered limbs and four female and male performers gyrated and dazzled, teasing primal instincts in wakefulness. The crowd began to sway as one, clicking and chirping in approval, their thoughts blurring into a shared trance.

      Then the Robo-Balls were released, swooping low over the massed bodies, showering them in glitter and neon paint. 

      The 'Star Band' waited in the wings, tucked away in their dressing room. Patrick had not yet donned his spectacular Mask; the less time spent inside it; the cooler he could remain. 

      Nervous? Hardly. They were accustomed stepping out before half-numb, lucid audiences-- aurally battered into a state of mental fatigue.

      This night, however, marked a new notch above their usual performance threshold: a doubled song set, and unfamiliar--possibly terrifying-- arrays of sensory effects meant to bedazzle these simple creatures. 

      At the front of the stage, several rows of judgmental Ardoccan dignitaries clogged the prime seats, effectively blocking the view for multiple rows of FENGUs behind them.  Mike quietly voiced his concern that the flying FENGU species might attempt to vault over the Ardoccan's heads, triggering outright pandemonium.

 

      The four bandmates slipped out from their dressing room for a brief look at the Stadium beyond. One by one, they leaned forward to take it all in. The vastness of the crowd, the hypnotic Dancers on the Lotus Stage, the Robo-Balls swooping low as they swept the masses beneath them. Glitter and neon paint drifted through the air. Clinging to bodies already glowing in the lights.

      Smoke effects rolled lazily across the stage, thickening and thinning in slow pulses. Above it all, laser arrays went a mile a minute--crossing, fanning and slicing through the throngs of clicking, chirping and near-maniacal spectators. The Stadium felt alive, vibrating with sound, light, and barely contained frenzy.

     "Look at the line of Ardoccans in what seems like the first three rows." Mike said excitedly. "This crowd is going wild, but they're just sitting there-- like a solid black wall of silence". 

     "That's our Security, Mike". Mark replied.

     "No," Neil said, shaking his head. "Those are the Ardoccans posted here on Hollien".  

     "Exactly!" Mike insisted. "They've been ordered to form a barrier for our protection". 

     "Not quite," Neil corrected him. "They're stationed on Hollien to work on Hollien. Imperial service-- you know".

      That made more sense. These must be the dignitaries Oblika mentioned-- Civil servants of the Empire.

      "Right!... My God! Mike said aloud. "There must be a couple of thousands of them. With their size, they're blocking at least six rows behind them".

      Patrick frowned. "So where is our security, then?"

      "I don't know, Patrick," Neil said quietly. "Oblika promised us some measure of protection-- but I don't expect those blokes are going to come running if things turn ugly".

That was a problem.

      They needed to find Oblika and straighten this out. Judging by the FENGU crowds and their relentless clamour--with infernal Drums banging and Horns blaring, the audience was having the time of their lives. The noise rolled endlessly through the Stadium, feeding itself.

      Onstage, the Dancers continued their routine-- gyrating, snapping their Beaks, Wings flaring as feather flashed under the lights. The female FENGUs shared a broadly Human shape, though layered with rippling plumage, crested heads, wings, clawed feet, and unmistakably beaked faces. Long legs moved in precise rhythm; tails swayed behind them as part of the choreography.

It was mesmerizing... and unsettling.

     Mike couldn't resist a final comment.

     "I miss Earth Girls," he said flatly, "but I would never stoop to seeking the company of those creatures".

      The other three chuckled, and with that, they all retreated to the dressing room.

Several FENGU Road Crew were already inside. Over time, the Band had developed a solid rapport with a number of the little beings, building a system of trust and communication that relied upon key words and expressive hand signs. "Get me my Guitar" was conveyed by tracing its shape in the air. "More sticks please", "Turn up the Volume"-- a twisting motion, like turning a knob.

It worked.

      They also understood the Human name, "Oblika", and at its mention, one of the FENGUs immediately darted off, clearly acting as a runner to fetch the Colonel.

The FENGUs rarely wore Translator Helms anyway-- none were built to fit them properly, and yet, somehow, understanding had found a way.

      A few minutes later, Oblika arrived.

      ["Sorry I am a bit behind, Lads," he said, "I was up in the Control Tier watching the progress of the gig and lost track of time, it'll be yours soon-- you go on in one of your hours coming up. You four need to start getting changed"].

       "Bars," Neil said, "where's the stage Security?"

       ["Out there, Neil,"]. Oblika replied.

With a sweep of his arm-claw, he indicated the audience. Oblika paused, sensing the reaction.

       "Those are dignitaries and their guests," Neil said. "Not exactly a Security detail-- what, a couple of thousands of them?"

       ["Pretty good guess." Oblika said, "One thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three to be precise. With a few gaps. My Security detail is sprinkled among them. Trust me-- it'll be fine"].

       Neil grinned. "Did the math in my head. Three rows, several hundred seats per row. Close enough."

     ["The FENGUs are packed in tight," Oblika added. "There are many thousands of them out there, Lads"].

       "We know, Bars." Mike said. "Only too loudly. We'll give 'em hell with the speakers when we come on".

       "All right-- enough banter, fellas, " Mark said. "Time to suit up".

        He reached into the container, and drew out his most reflective Robe, the fabric catching the light even here, as the countdown to their first note quietly began. 

        The four then changed.

        Mark's robe was resplendent in its reflectivity, catching and throwing back every stray glimmer of light. He was pumped--centered. Of all four, Mark was the only one who had fully taken to the robes issued by the Ardoccans and FENGUs. For a drummer, the coolness and freedom they allowed while playing percussion was a blessing.

        Nearby, Neil jogged lightly on the spot, coiling himself like a spring of muscle and sinew-- ready to unleash the moment the cue came.

        Mike had already checked on his Guitars, just as Patrick had. Now he dropped to the floor, knocking out push-ups, psyching himself up the way each of them did in their own way.

Patrick removed his Day Mask.

       The damage was unmistakable. ZART poisoning had left its mark-- his face still distorted, his deformities lingering despite everything he had endured. He had done his best to shield his Bandmates from seeing it, to keep the worst of it hidden. But now, there was no avoiding it.

       Neil and Mike felt anger rise-- sharp and immediate, at the thought that the 'Maestro' might had been responsible for what had been done to their friend, their Bandmate.

        Patrick turned instead to a large wooden container-- one that looked strangely familiar to Mike. From within, he called, 'The Wonders of the Universe'.

It was pure, dazzling Psychedelia.

       With the help of two Road Crew FENGUs, Patrick raised it and proudly settled it over his head. Instantly, the Mask came alive, casting shifting reflections that ricocheted around the dressing room., spilling luminous patterns into the corridor that led towards the stage.

Ten minutes remained.

Ten minutes until they stepped into the light.

Ten minutes from a destiny that promised immortality-- waiting just beyond the curtain.

         Once changed. Time passed in an instant. The FENGU Dancers were finishing up their Act, and the Audience was going ballistic. Still the silent wall of Ardoccans sat idle, probably disturbed by the Horrendous and disjointed Noise that passed for FENGU sensory enjoyment. 

        The Dancers filed out on both sides of the Lotus Stage. They bowed to their Audience, which reacted in respectful salutations.

                                 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                    The lights went down, immersing a seething ocean of clicks and chirps into the inky darkness. There began a low HUM as power raced into the Speaker Cubes and sound levels were adjusted to avoid distortion. (Not that the FENGUs would notice).

                    LIGHTS CAME ON ... THE BAND WAS IN THEIR PLACES......

                    The Stadium erupted!

         Speaker towers unleashed a wall of sound so immense it seemed to bend the air itself. The first chord of the opening Song, 'For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)'.... tore across the Quelmy Stadium., raw and searing, the sixty thousand FENGUs answered in a single, thunderous surge of motion. 

                    Lights detonated outwards ...  

                    Lasers crossed and fanned in blinding lattices above the Lotus Stage. Plasma Fountains roared skyward in timed bursts. Smoke bombs rolled across the floor while Robo-balls screamed overhead, scattering glitter and neon splashes that turned the crowd into a living, luminous storm.

                   At the center of it stood Patrick.

                   The 'Wonders of The Universe' Mask blazed to life-- its surfaces fracturing light into impossible colors that rippled across tens of thousands of faces. The Mask dazzled, hypnotized, commanded. It was spectacle made manifest.

                   Mike's guitar screamed-- blistering solos cutting through the chaos-- while Mark's drum pounded like a planetary heartbeat, relentless and precise. FENGUs leaped and swarmed, some overly zealous bodies vaulting rows of silent Ardoccans, only to be swiftly swatted and hurled back into the writhing, jumping mass of monkey-parrots behind.

                  It was pandemonium.

                  Some FENGUs, utterly unable to restrain themselves, began hopping over the lines of the Ardoccans in the front rows-- perhaps frustrated at having their view blocked by the massive, Insectoid barrier before them.

                 They didn't get far. One in every six Ardoccans surged forward, intercepting the over-zealous monkey-parrot with swift efficiency. The FENGUs were seized mid-leap, and with little ceremony, tossed back into the heaving swarm from which they had sprung.

                 Order reasserted itself almost instantly.

                 The Music never faltered. Controlled. Perfect.

                 Neil's voice soared above it all-- strong, sure, undeniable-- and in that moment, there was no doubt who led them. The four moved as one, every cue locked, every strike intentional. History was being written in sound and light.

                 Even the Dancers returned, swept up by the energy, feathers flashing as they joined the celebration rather than commanded it.

                 Quelmy Stadium shook.

                 And the music roared on--lasers blazing, smoke churning, bodies surging in ecstatic unity-- the 'Star Band' claimed the night.

                       -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

            ** The following two nights would descend into their own brand of chaos-- but never quite as un-hinged as Night One.

               An outside observer might have assumed that the munitions, smoke, blasts and special effects had been all but exhausted during the first eruption. They would have been wrong. The 'Maestro' -- alongside a true pyrotechnic genius-- had ensured a near-inexhaustible supply of spectacle to fuel the remaining shows.

               Night Two and Night Three were no less Epic in their execution. 

               By then, Patrick was no longer merely a performer.

               He was well on his way to being worshipped as a God! 

                   

                    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                                                                       END OF CHAPTER XVIII (18) 'NEIL'.