Hans opened his eyes, trying to keep them open this time. Nyck was still outside, pacing back and forth, apparently uninjured but quite upset. Nyck had earlier woken him to ask if he was okay, but had otherwise done nothing but alternate between two states: anxiously staring at the body of Quinn, which he'd dragged to the side of the road (or had it been flung there? Hans wasn't sure), and pacing back and forth peering off into the distance. Hans had tried calling to him since, but he could not be jolted out of his routine. The sunrise was approaching, the sky neither black nor orange, but some awful and beautiful mixture of the two, with tinges of scarlet as well.

  Hans could not see Mordei or Marthah, but from the sound of their voices, they were behind the truck arguing. Mordei was ranting and Marthah was crying as she shot back, but the only word Hans could make out was the repeated use of 'rabadon'. He wasn't sure whether they were referring to the creature or the curse word. He was glad they were alive, but growing sick of their voices. Why aren't they helping Quinn? Hans realized that he was not being much help either, yet held onto his resentment as he climbed through a sideways door and carefully dropped to the ground. His body trembled with pain as he landed, letting him know that some of his plates were either sprained or worse, cracked. He limped over to the body of Quinn, being slowly buried in sand swept by a cool wind from the south. The sand was gray and red, a mixture of the small clay pebbles lining the shore and blood. There was no hope for Quinn. He was deader than a rabadon, and likely more so, as the old phrase was suddenly incorrect in this strange new world. Hans looked around him. Something was missing.

  “Nyck, have you seen V'han?”

  Nyck was standing two feet away, staring at Quinn, but he may as well have been on Condar. His straw garment was completely disheveled and his hands soaked in blood from his efforts to revive Quinn.

  “Nyck? Where’s V’han?”

  “The war, the war,” mumbled Nyck without looking up. “The war hath slain us all.”

  “You don't mean that!” Hans turned and stumbled back to the truck. Behind it, Mordei and Marthah were still arguing.

  “Where's V'han?” demanded Hans.

  Mordei paused in the middle of a retort to spare Hans a glance. “Who?”

  “The V'hogel, dear. Surely you remember picking it up. You know, the creature that looks like a rabadon but isn't deadly–”

  “I know what a V'hogel is.”

  “Just tell me where he is.”

  Marthah shrugged. “I thought it was with you. Maybe it's run off. I think they like to be alone.”

  “No they don't,” said Mordei. “They bond to the first Sheepel they meet; everyone knows that. Why do you think it was following this kid around like a lost gritten?”

  “So he’s not dead?”

  “Of course not. I heard Nyck shouting at it.”

  Hans sighed with relief. V'han was alive. He limped back to Nyck, leaving the two to debate the habits of the V'hogel.

  “Nyck, where is he?”

  “I don't know. It ran off. Doomed, doomed we are if it falls into the wrong hands.”

  Hans' eyes widened. “What are you talking about? What will they do?”

  “You know,” he mumbled. “Crack it open, see what's inside of it. All is lost.”

  “Nyck! How dare you!”

  “It's the truth. They want it for the war, so they can win,” protested Nyck, breaking his stare for a moment to look up at Hans in confusion. But it was too late. Hans had stormed off, as best he could with the pain in his plates. Nyck turned back to the body of Quinn, knelt down and held his cold hand. “I am sorry I failed you, Quinn. You never let go of it; always it was with you. Even in death you clung to it, but the creature has cheated us. I should have taken the suitcase for myself as soon as you died; I should not have left you alone with that… thing. The war is lost, is lost, is lost. The war hath slain us all.”

  Hans returned to the vehic, his mind in turmoil. There, he found Mordei and Marthah leaning on its side listening to the radio. “What's going on?” he asked.

  “They're talking about the storm. It sounds pretty bad… listen.”

  Mordei turned the volume up a hair, but only that, in fear the vehic’s battery would not last much longer. Hans heard the crackling voice of a news reporter, her speech slow and somber:

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  “I feel all alone. Around me, the land is dark and bleak, and visibility is very low. The streets are empty, except for the vehics strewn alongside the edges and a few Sheeple wandering around with handlights. The buildings in the area have suffered heavy damage, electricity is out, and local scientists are at a complete loss for an explanation. In all of recorded history, there has never been anything like this. Residents report that the ground literally shook for approximately eight seconds, knocking down apartments and tearing up the land, forming crevices extending for miles, though only inches wide and a few feet deep.

  “We are also receiving reports of volcanic activity in southern Selfar. These claims are as yet unverified, but if true, we will be facing major catastrophe. Volcanic activity has only been documented on Syndos, and it is likely because of the heat and poisonous gases we believe to emanate from volcanoes that there is no life there. If Shamonj produces volcanoes of the same magnitude, our planet will have taken a drastic turn for the worst. Unfortunately, little is known at this time about the nature of volcanic evolution. As of yet, religious groups have declined to comment. The Seven Scrolls contain references to earthquakes, but they have always been taken allegorically. There is also no official word from Emperor Gaelen. The Sheek Authority, however, is urging residents to stay in their homes and avoid all travel. This is Cinqa Hsen for Egg Harbor Radio News.

  “Thank you, Cinqa. Now while we wait for reporter Dann Malore to reach the site of the supposed volcanoes, we have another sad piece of news. Yesterday afternoon, scientists were once again left in defeat after another attempt to solve the problem of the disappearing, well, stuff. Friends, family, and scientists will gather tomorrow at Greenhill Cemetery in Kroga to mourn the loss of Sheek Daved Breggs, a Wanderer, who volunteered for the fateful experiment. The Sheek Authority is considering legislation that would ban the use of the dangerous mix of chemicals that has led to the loss of so many lives, but the current proposal would apply only to Sheeks. There is as yet no consensus on whether Hakes too should be exempt from the concoctions.”

  The radio switched to advertisements and Mordei turned it off.

  “See,” he said. “I told you it was an earthquake. If I hadn't swerved, we would have gone over… that.” He pointed ahead, where the roadbed had fallen several feet. The ground had collapsed downward along a cracked fault line. The land looked like a giant had smashed a fist into it; a huge swath was sunk in and strewn with cracks.

  “You could have crashed a little more gracefully.” Marthah looked over at the body of Quinn, even as Nyck rose from it and walked over to join them.

  “Hmmph. He was bad luck,” grunted Mordei. “Earthquakes, volcanoes… surely this is a sign that Quinn and his 'Leader' are frauds. Those stories he was spreading of a new era, a time of victory and peace… they were ludicrous. So ludicrous, the planet is revolting.”

  “Don't the Seven Scrolls say something about earthquakes?” asked Nyck, joining the conversation in defense of Quinn. “They are another sign of the coming leader.”

  “The scrolls are a bunch of nonsense,” said Mordei. “Shamonj killed Quinn–this was not of my doing. Shamonj killed Quinn to show that Hakes will be Hakes, Sheeks will be Sheeks and you don't go messing with nature, claiming new lights in the sky and equality for two separate sub-species. We should have just let the Sheeks do their thing and not complained.”

  “You're the one who wanted to help Quinn!” protested Marthah. “I tried to tell you we shouldn't be wandering the desert picking up strangers.”

  “Well if you had been watching the–the thing...”

  Nyck interrupted them. “You two don't know anything about Quinn! He was fighting for Hakes, for you, and yet you slander him. Like you, I had lost hope in him; had given up on war and sought satisfaction in other things. I don't know what I was doing; my life made no sense, though at the time, I thought I had everything figured out. But when I saw Quinn again, and heard him speak… he hadn't given up, even though I had. All this time, while I was disillusioned, he was giving Hakes hope. He said a Leader was coming to replace him, and I still believe him!”

  “Quinn is dead. The Hake Army is destroyed. We Hakes are doomed. And if it wasn't for the resistance, the Sheeks would have let us alone.”

  “I don't believe it! I’ll tour every city and visit every Hake. Somewhere, someone will remember Quinn. Quinn–the hero of the wars! Quinn–the voice in the desert! My only friend!”

  “Quinn is right there.” Mordei pointed to the side of the road.

  “That is not Quinn. That is a body.” Nyck turned and left.

  “Nyck, wait!” called Hans, hurrying after him. “May I come with you? Those two are driving me nuts.”

  “Ah, so you do not agree with them.”

  I do agree with them, thought Hans. This planet was so beautiful, and then we had to mess it up.

  “I don't know what I think. But my guess is that you plan to find the Leader.”

  “If he may be found.”

  “Then I will listen to what he says, and make my judgment then.” Hans' hand was unconsciously drawn to a pocket deep inside his robe, where he gripped a slender, steel knife. He did not voice his thoughts: And if I find him to be deceitful, he will not live to see another day. For, they prophesy great things that never come to pass. I have had enough of all this. I cannot take much more.

  “I wish V'han would come back.”

  Nyck frowned. “That seems unlikely. But yes, we should keep an eye out for it.”

  “What do you mean, unlikely?” Hans glared at Nyck. “I thought you said he ran off.”

  “Ran off, yes, but with Quinn's suitcase. He stole it.”

  “You lie! V'han would not steal anything. He is under my authority.”

  “Then you told him to steal it.” Nyck stepped back from Hans, suspicion rising.

  “I did no such thing! Why would I want Quinn's suitcase? And if I did, why would I still be here?”

  “Then V'han is working for the Sheeks.”

  “He is not! He is bound to me! He is my friend.”

  Nyck said nothing.

  “I will not travel with you.” Hans turned and stormed off to the south in the direction of the seashore. Nyck is a lunatic dressed in straw. His personality changes faster than the weather. I will find the Leader myself. And V'han will come back to me in good time. If he did take the suitcase, it was to keep it away from Nyck. Yes... he will bring it to me. We all know that suitcase is the key to many mysteries; why else would Quinn guard it so closely? It is plain even to a V'hogel.

  Thus it happened that Nyck walked west alone, towards the Burning Wilderness. Hans reached the shore of the Shallow Sea, then turned east. Mordei and Marthah sat in the shade of their upturned vehic, arguing with one another about how best to get it upright and running. And V'han raced silently northwest across the Burning Wilderness in the direction of the Sheeks' Land, carrying a small, black suitcase and a lock of Quinn's hair.

  The twelfth planet in Shamonj’s Solar System.