Barth DeManth was back at his Seoltin office, fiddling with a stapler as he waited for Emperor Gaelen's men to arrive and drag him away to the Prison. I am a failure. Everything had been coming together, and then in the blink of an eye, it collapsed. He had the green chair, then suddenly it vanished during testing. His V'hogel spy had found Quinn, but Quinn was dead and would tell no tales. The spy had also recovered Quinn's suitcase, but the mathematicians had as yet to decipher even one line of the convoluted codes found inside. And his most promising lead had been the most disastrous.

  A digital comparison of fotos revealed a one hundred percent match between Quinn and one Yog Kanorr, a Hake Wanderer who died in an experiment at Filstar Labs generations ago. That they were the same Hake seemed utterly impossible; yet the likelihood of a false positive was equally so. What was the connection between Quinn and the Filstar lab subject, and how did it cross so many generations? Was this related to the Hakes’ success in war? What happened at the Battle of the Zone that changed the tide so drastically? Quinn was dead, but his followers were gathering in the south. Even the V’hogel spy had wandered to the Site of the Seven Scrolls without any orders to do so. V’hogle had an uncanny ability to know when great events were about to take place, and Barth was certain that whatever connection Quinn had with Filstar Laboratories was certainly being passed on to his successors.

  Thus Barth ordered a fleet of Sheek soldiers to round up the Hakes gathered at the Site of the Seven Scrolls and question them, searching for those connected to Filstar and Quinn.

  But the soldiers' guns were somehow silenced, and news spread like wildfire across the media networks of how not only their flyrs, but every Sheek war-flyr across the planet had simultaneously self-destructed that fateful afternoon. Thus, Barth had no power over the Hakes, nor could he explain how they came to have such power. No wonder the emperor is so furious. No wonder I will lose my job. With power like this, the Hakes will take over the world. What they did to The Gaelen, they have done to our entire fleet. I should have foreseen this and stopped it, but I did not. We are doomed. Why did this responsibility have to come to me? All I wanted was to teach history.

  So Barth waited, but the emperor's men tarried. His thoughts drifted back to the destruction of The Gaelen, the first flyr destroyed by the Hakes. It was specially commissioned, named after the emperor. It was to be the centerpiece of the parade honoring the emperor and our victory in the Battle of the Zone. But the parade was canceled. I thought it was because the emperor was focused on finding Quinn and the green chair. But if finding Quinn was such a high priority, why was the task left to me? And why have I not seen the emperor since before the battle? Why does this seem to consume every aspect of his life that all other events and public appearances are at a standstill? He looked up at a model of The Gaelen, reconstructed earlier to help solve the mystery of its destruction. Everything began to make sense. The emperor was in that flyr, wasn't he? The pompous, irrational fool. It would be just like him, wanting to be there to witness firsthand the destruction of the Hake Army. And the Hakes were destroyed–their flyrs captured or shot down, their leader sent on the run, the others imprisoned. Hundreds of Hakes died that day; over twenty Hake flyrs were destroyed, the rest captured. But only one Sheek flyr was lost: The Gaelen. And I'll bet it was just the luck of the Hakes that the emperor was in that craft, instead of at his desk signing papers like he should be.

  Barth looked over the messages he'd received urging him to find out who shot The Gaelen, and how. Every one was from 'The Office of the Emperor'. Not one bore the emperor's actual signature, only a digital copy. Suddenly the recent ineffectiveness of the Sheek Army made more sense. The Sheeks were without a leader. But someone up top was hiding this information. Perhaps they feared a new vote might bring more Hakes to the polls than Sheeks. Perhaps they didn't want to throw the entire government into chaos. As if it wasn't already.

  As Barth continued to think, his head fell into his hands. The emperor was certainly dead. The Hakes had somehow destroyed his flyr, despite its being equipped with every defensive device invented. The Sheek's war fleet was destroyed in the same manner; its soldiers limited to what civilian and cargo flyrs remained. The Hakes had the upper hand. With the power to shut down weapons and blow up flyrs, the Hakes could not lose. “But where could they get such technology?” exclaimed Barth aloud in desperation.

  A technician cleared his throat and Barth turned to face him.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Shebarr! How long have you been standing there? What do you want?”

  “Er, Sir, I don't know how to say this. I know the answer to your question… but you won’t believe me.”

  “I'm willing to believe anything at this point,” snapped Barth. “Just make it fast, before the Authorities come fetch us for not solving this mystery.”

  “Oh, it's solved, believe me. But the solution only raises more questions. Terrible ones.”

  “What do you mean? What have you found?”

  “Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”

  “The short one, I suppose.”

  “Aliens.”

  The detective coughed. “I'm sorry; it sounded like you said 'aliens'.”

  “I did.”

  “You'd better give me the long answer.”

  “There is a flyr waiting outside for us. We must get to the Site of the Seven Scrolls as quickly as possible. I can tell you everything we've learned on the way over, but there are still many questions that only their new leader, one who calls himself Rimdar, can answer. With him as evidence, not only the Sheek Authority, but every Hake and Sheek on the planet will side with us.”

  “But we already tried to capture him and failed! He has power to destroy our flyrs and neutralize our weapons.”

  “The Hakes are only targeting war-flyrs. I am certain we will get there safely. And we need not capture Rimdar. No, there is no need! When we present our findings to the mob of Hakes gathered at the Site of the Seven Scrolls, they will take matters into their own hands!”

  “You are speaking in riddles!” exclaimed Barth as he followed Shebarr down a hallway. “What has this Hake done?”

  “All the evidence is waiting in the flyr. During our flight to Selfar, I can show you everything we’ve discovered.”

  * * * * * * * *

  The Supreme Coordinator of the Xenonite Republic broke the silence, motioning to the image of a small planet on the screen. “So small a world Arro, yet so dangerous.”

  His assistant took in the display of an orange-hued planet with narrow, blue seas, winding chains of mountains, and patches of yellow plains intermixed between two ivory caps of ice. “It looks pleasant enough.”

  “The Usurpers have targeted it. A Sphere is quickly approaching.”

  Arro nodded. “Ah, M-13. I remember it from the reports. Is it randomly targeted? Or can the Usurpers predict the effects of their arrival?”

  “None can say, but always it is the same. Their arrival plunges the world into anarchy and chaos, and this chaos is brought to the stars. I thought if we acted early, before the fire was kindled, we might prevent this. The mission I proposed should have been simple… but now the Council is calling for my resignation. If things do not quickly improve, I’m afraid you will inherit this mess. That is the greatest danger of being Assistant to the Supreme Coordinator: one day you will have to lead–and the worse things get, the nearer that day comes.”

  Arro was shocked. “They are calling for your resignation? But why?” He had heard nothing of this, but of course if such a thing were being discussed it would be kept secret until enough votes were assured. Never before had a Supreme Coordinator been impeached. That would be like flinging aside the sun!

  The Supreme Coordinator's expression darkened. “The Council grows restless–and I do not blame them. The weapon of old is lost, and the Ciri who awaited it are dead. Until it is recovered, all is in peril.” He gazed at the image of the small, remote world. “This orb is a hundredth the size of Xenon, yet the space-time drive could be anywhere. We have few native Ciri to seek it, but worse, I fear it may be destroyed.”

  Arro stammered in confusion. “But… surely it is not lost! We control the drive; how can we lose it?”

  “When the drive was sent to M-13, it was programmed to arrive on the ship of a native Ciri named Quinn. But a digit was entered incorrectly, at the ten-thousandth decimal place, and the drive materialized about a quarter-mile to the north of Quinn’s ship.”

  Arro stared. He had heard none of this.

  “Normally, this would not have been an issue, for the drive can usually be quickly located and reprogrammed. However, it seems the drive’s errant destination was within the engine of a local aircraft. We received reports of an explosion indicating such… but the chair itself seems to have vanished. Our Ciri have found no trace of it at the site.”

  “But it is indestructible! It can move through sun and stone!”

  “So went the theory. But never has the chair been operated so far from Xenon. It is hard to say what has happened to it. If we are lucky, it survived the explosion, was collected by a local, and will turn up soon. But the Council assumes it has been destroyed, and though it was a third-class technician who is responsible, it was my plan to send the drive so far away. They hold me responsible for its loss.”

  “Then let us make another!”

  The Supreme Coordinator shook his thick head. “Arro, if you are ever to become my successor, you must learn to distinguish truth from what is told to the populace. How could we ever have fashioned such a device, when we cannot even replicate the space-time ships of the Vorians, which move at only a fraction of the speed and power of their namesake? No, not even the Vorians can approach the power of the race which granted us this weapon.”

  “It was a gift?” Arro couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Yes… and we have fallen far from the graces of its creator. I’m afraid we shall not receive another. If the green chair, as it is nicknamed, cannot be recovered, not only will my term end, but the power of all Xenon, plunging the galaxy into turmoil and the merciless whims of the Usurpers.”