“You see, it was all theoretical until Johan joined me. Say hello Johan. *Tylasian hum in background*. Yes, you see, his translator is not here yet. Also, not his real name. He likes German history though. Where was I? Ah yes, I was very lucky to have a Tylas join me, as remote as I am, for some voluntary testing. Their ‘skin’, as it were, is fascinating. It almost appears and feels like cloth or nylon, but is far, far stronger. Initial testing shows the tensile strength of their outer layer is in the hundreds of thousands of megapascals, truly remarkable. For the most part, their solid body is indestructible to most damage able to be inflicted by normal human. However, introduce the cold, or affect their core, and it is whole different story. Now, Johan, let’s get you come hot coco.” *distant Tylasian speech* – Unter Gleenholm, ex-CCH Professor of Theoretical Xenostudies, 2263. Taken from amateur submitted articles as part of the Interspecies Galactic Symposium.

  Sixteen Years Before

  Adin Pike, message runner for various smaller gangs around the Crescent level of Titanlock station and now the proud owner of an official Universal Corporation ID tag, couldn’t help but turn up his nose as he watched his friend chomp down a greasy burger with glee.

  “How can you eat that?” Adin said with a grimace.

  “How can I not?” Sebastian LeClaire replied. “The line to get my card took forever! Don’t blame me for stuffing my face – I was starving!”

  “Yeah, well, speak for yourself.”

  Smoke and vapour swept through the dirty alley that the two found themselves in, leaning on the wall beside the fast-food joint Sebastian had gotten his cheeseburger from. Adin had been enthused that morning to finally be able to get his ID tag done, since he had managed to save up enough utus to pay for the registration fee, but could only feel a tightening sense of anxiety as the future was laid out before him. Sebastian had gotten his funds a few weeks before and had offered to help him out but Adin refused any hand outs – if their plan was to succeed, then both of them would need to be independently successful enough to climb the corporate ladder alone.

  It was once each of them had arrived at the peak that they would reunite.

  “So, made up your mind on which one you want to join yet? Sebastian said, shoving a close to falling piece of syn-patty into his maw. How on earth could such a skinny guy eat so much?

  “I was hoping you would have a preference; it’d make it much easier for me to decide.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that Adin! This is a good thing! Step one is done, and now it gets easier from here. No more living like sewer rats for us anymore. Once we each get a spot on the Suns, then it’ll be smooth sailing, more or less.”

  “You say that like Black Sun isn’t the most competitive megacorp in the galaxy, with Second Sun not being much better.”

  “Ah, but that’s why this’ll be a breeze! Compared to climbing Tripwire, there’s no need to get ourselves killed as a mercenary. Just putting our nose to the grindstone, and bam!”

  “Sure, and then what? Say we actually get to the top – what’ll it be all for?”

  Adin couldn’t help but shake his head at the stupid plan they had made as kids, a plan they had continued to follow through just for a chance at a silly dream. A few years on, and it still seemed little more than a mirage on the horizon. At least, to Adin, it was. Sebastian’s enthusiasm was infectious, nonetheless.

  “Hey now, with each of us in the Suns, near the top that is, then there’s no way they will be able to resist a merger. And once Solarian is back around, then we can fix this damn place. The other corporations would never consider combining their power, but the Suns? There’s a chance there. And once we’ve put it back together, we can save this place. Of course, then we can enjoy the good life with all the luxuries that comes with it, eh?” Sebastian jabbed him in the arm with an elbow.

  “Yeah, and on that day, Glass Tip will make something worthwhile, the Jade Emperor will die and Paradise will hold an election.”

  “Don’t be like that man. By the time we’re done, they’ll be making statues in our honour.”

  “And how are you going to get to the top looking like that?”

  Adin pointed to Sebastian’s, not exactly chic, get up. Big, round glasses gave the impression his eyes were much larger than they actually were, and his scruffy shirt wasn’t exactly smart attire. Still, Sebastian looked proud to try. He always looked proud. There was no way their plan would succeed if at least one of them wasn’t full of so much optimism.

  “Looks are just a shell, Adin,” Sebastian lectured, holding a finger up in the air. What a nerd. “Wear it as armour and they’ll never expect what you’re hiding underneath.”

  The two waited in silence, listening to the constant hum that pervaded the lower levels of Titanlock. Like a mechanical heart, it thrummed away at all hours no matter where one stood. It was worse near the lower floors, where Adin had first met Sebastian as a child when they fought over a half-rotten substitute-cornbread roll. Adin had been winning, and had knocked the smaller child to the floor when the local bullies had arrived. Thinking that it was better that anyone else other than the squabble of pre-pubescent pissants get their hands on it, Adin had worked with Sebastian to fend them off. Splitting the bread, noses bloodied and cheeks bruised, was the best decision Adin ever made.

  And now, older and only slightly less dumb, they were about to step foot into a whole new world. What would it be like once they lived on the higher levels, or even once they worked in those towers that rose all the way into Titanlock’s starless sky? There was only one way to find out. After finishing the last of a vapour cig, Adin tossed it to the floor to accumulate alongside the other trash that had built up. One last souvenir for his time spent in the rotten guts of Titanlock before he moved up in the world.

  “I think you should go for Black Sun,” Adin finally said. “They’re more competitive, so you’ll get the most out of it. I can handle Second Sun – it might be full of old farts clinging to life with Evergreen at the top, but I can deal with them.”

  “You sure?” Sebastian said, wiping his hands with a single ply napkin. “I don’t want you getting bored in there. Heard they don’t even party that much.”

  “Heh, maybe I’ll find something else that’s fun. Dress up maybe. Always pictured myself as a rogue or a desperado – god knows I need some sort of hobby.”

  With a sigh, and misty eyes, they both agreed to stay in contact and meet up once they signed their lives away to their respective megacompanies. Shaking hands, Adin looked at Sebastian dead on.

  “With your attitude, you’ll rise to the top in no time,” Adin said. “You’ll be fine.”

  Adin had been wrong. So, terribly, terribly, wrong.

  Adin Pike, board member of Second Sun Limited, awoke from a familiar dream. He looked out into the pitch-black firmament beyond the window of his personal spacecraft. Trying to win a staring contest with himself wouldn’t help anyone, but he couldn’t resist glaring at his reflection. He knew he should have been pretending to enjoy some fancy new wine or tasting some inordinately expensive appetizers his staff had recently acquired, but even for the sake of his cowboy persona he couldn’t muster the strength. Waking up often left him feeling sapped of all the energy he had gained from sleep.

  Adin took a moment to reevaluate his situation. He had taken his personal craft to head to the final meetup point with Basilisk - the group of terrorists he had organized together. How had it all gone this way? It was as he was heading directly to meet with them all, the first time they would meet in person since the first discussion months before, that he could now only feel the weight of his actions crushing him. Where had it gone so wrong? He looked into the empty reflection of the window, only to see himself, eyes hollow and his bushy mutton chops doing little to hide the gauntness of his cheekbones. When had he become so frail, so similar looking to the others in Second Sun?

  What would Sebastian say to all of this? It was for his friend’s sake that he had pushed on, even when he wanted nothing more than to sit back and let the world kick him into the dirt. Adin felt his own reflection morphing as he looked into the far healthier, far more disgusted visage of Sebastian. It was a ghost in the glass, an apparition of the guilt in his gut, but he knew a look at himself from another perspective might give him some answers.

  “You don’t look so hot, cowboy,” the caustic voice of Sebastian echoed out in his mind. Is that what he would say? What did he even sound like? It had been so long.

  “Life a bit too hard, hmm?” Sebastian continued.

  “Why would you care? Looks were just a shell, as you always said,” Adin felt himself mumble back.

  “Ah, but a shell can reflect the yolk inside, and frankly, my friend, yours is well and truly rotten.”

  “Sometimes… something rotten is needed to remove a greater evil,” Adin lied to himself.

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  He knew he had become the greater evil in almost every sense of the word. How many lives had he ruined in chasing power? A handful? Tens? Hundreds? Thousands? How many of those were Sebastians, or Adins from years past. And for what? To get a chance at destroying Black Sun, killing further thousands or more? Hells, if he started an intercorporate war as he had dreamed off just a few years prior, tens of millions would perish in the conflict across Titanlock. If the road to hell was lined in good intentions, then he had dug out an even worse path.

  Sebastian’s apparition tutted.

  “Oh, Adin, where’s the heart, the soul? Besides, who cares about ‘greater evils’? If you did, then you would’ve actually made a difference after all this time. Gone after Heaven’s Doctrine or Paradise years before. No, you wanted this, so why even pretend about having regrets? Being sorry you hurt people whilst changing nothing about yourself sounds more like justification than repentance, my friend.”

  Part of him did want this, he was certain. It was just the lengths. Adin had done evil. He had no illusions that he would get what he deserved one day. He had seen to that when he clawed his way up the Second Sun’s ladder of profit margins and under the table deals with unyielding determination.

  A fellow executive was dealing in underage pornography? Blackmail him with every fibre of your being, promising you won’t release the footage, leak it anyway, take his role in the company, then butcher him in his own house to hide the evidence of any involvement.

  A manager who runs a club for high rollers sometimes has competition inside? Get close to him, get access to his security systems, use the cameras to see who the rivals are working with, replace the rivals by offering them better deals, then spread rumours about the club’s lack of privacy to remove a rival from the great game of corporate politics.

  It was all worth it, right? The blood, the deals, the attendants whispering in his ear that ‘Brian O’Halley, from the marketing team, had a nasty fall’. Oh, O’Halley. Always such a pest, sucking up the board members whilst shitting on everyone below. It was easy to get rid of people like him. All that was needed was to check with those close to him to agree to a little… accident. In Titanlock, there was little difference between an enemy and friend; at least the former would stab you in the front.

  Except… Basilisk was different. He had once seen it as a step in the right direction, one last layer of his limits to be cut away. No more guilt, no more plans that had to be stopped once they got out of hand. If Adin could make the leap to full blown terrorism, no more attempts at dividing ‘innocent’ from ‘guilty’, then maybe he had a chance at finally destroying Black Sun. Becoming a real monster to kill a monster. Fuck the costs, they were for the unwilling. Only then would the memory of finding Sebastian’s body, beaten and cut up beyond recognition in a slum alley the day before his birthday fade. Only then.

  But, remembering the look of Sebastian’s eyes, not as they actually had been the day he died, gouged out, but before, when they were both young and life seemed so bright.

  So alive, so free.

  How many Sebastians would be in Kral’Thul? How many fresh eyed, pure spirited men and women would be attending, preparing for the future, and how best to lead it? Maybe Basilisk would live up to its name – a deadly beast with no real weakness against its surprise strike.

  “What now, cowboy?” Sebastian said, fading away. It was time to decide.

  Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The ticking of the clock his grandfather had passed down, and used to so proudly admire, chatted away against the background noise of his ship.

  Tick, tock, tick tock.

  Time was up.

  No, he couldn’t live with what he had set in motion. Not as it was going. Yet, he lacked the energy to stand. It was easier to sit down, let Basilisk tear and slaughter through the Tylas, the scientists or whoever else got in their way. He had no doubts that he milquetoast to stymie the violence the other members clearly desired would be followed – a stealth infiltration into Nucleus, who was he kidding?

  Otherwise, he could maybe make a last-minute gambit, a message to the Out-Han, or corporations, or literally anyone, to warn them. Death was coming, in the form of a mythological reptilian monster, but maybe the Basilisk could be struck first with warning. He had to make a change, to kill the part of himself that had led him to this point. The part that Sebastian had once fought to remove from the CCH and make the world a better place.

  The cowboy within him.

  The second he had donned those stupid fucking hats, wearing the persona as a guise against any who might underestimate him, that he knew he had betrayed everything he had wanted as a child. He could brush all responsibility off to that man – not Adin Pike, to the ‘cowboy’. Such an idiotic title that he had almost believed he could be free of the blame of his actions. Adin had to make a baptism of sorts. He was not a religious man, as no God would make such a horrid world, but all good steps started with a gesture. At least, that was what he hoped with the decision he was about to make.

  With calm movements, he slipped his hand under his luxury seat, slid out an attaché case and removed the revolver he kept within it. It looked close enough to a fake that when he brought it for show to a business meeting, another tool of the cowboy persona, that it was more humorous than frightening when he showed it off by spinning it on his finger.

  Now it would finally have a chance to show how dangerous it really could be.

  At least, he would if he was actually suicidal. Adin wanted to change, not to die. Not yet, at least. Then again, considering who he was about to screw over, maybe it actually was suicide.

  He held up a single bullet, brass casing catching the light from within the ship. Placing it back in the Velcro section, he opened the empty cylinder. Mimicking the actual insertion of a bullet, he dropped the bullet, gave the cylinder a spin and slid it closed.

  The old him would die. The new one, he who lived, would try for Sebastian’s sake. If he didn’t act, Kral’Thul would burn. Adin drew the gun, cocked the hammer, and shoved it into his mouth. The iron kissed the back of his throat. One last farewell to the cowboy within Adin.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Click. Empty.

  The cowboy was dead, and the shell was cracked.

  In one single motion, he dropped the gun, stood up and approached his secretary, who was listening to music in the corner, completely oblivious to her boss’s partial ego death.

  “Sorry, Milly, a slight change of plans,” Adin said, forgoing the exaggeration of his natural accent. “Before we make the next jump, I need to send a message out. High urgency, and on tight frequency band. Can you get the comms station ready?”

  Likely pointless, but still less pointless than doing nothing.

  Part of Adin had blown its brains out, staining the proverbial wall of hesitation in his mind, and another part had slid back in, a dying pheonix reborn.

  Goodbye space cowboy.

  Yuri Olegovich, third of his name, and now chief combat operator for Basilisk stood at the pinnacle of his glory. Overlooking the bridge of his private transport ship, the Rusalka, he smiled at what he saw. Before his eyes, Citra’s fleet was amassing in the system over from Kral’Thul, hidden next to an asteroid belt. The time was approaching fast for Yuri to reclaim the sense of freedom that had stolen from him at the hands of the Corpse Emperor.

  The pain from the brutal cybernetics, a reminder of his torture, was nothing compared to the thrill of the work ahead. Yuri had promised to himself that the throbbing of agitated skin against improperly affixed metal was to remain until both sources of his suffering were dead. Based on how the Separatist war was going, it was a coinflip as to whether the old bastard at the Doctrine’s head would be ousted, and so Yuri left that one to chance.

  The other, far more pressing target was Mikhail.

  Mikhail, Mikhail, Mikhail.

  It didn’t feel like too long ago when he thought of nothing but humour and maybe even a sense of… fear? No, not fear. He wasn’t scared of what his brother had been turned into from all the years serving the clan, it was different. It was the palpable sense of energy and action burning from his brother whenever he returned from a mission, his fake smile poorly hiding the rage he hid behind it. There were times when the whole family was happy, when even the distant members or the children of Yuri’s long dead older brother, Vladimir, came to visit. It was on those nights, when the fireworks lit up the sky of the Broken Fang’s homeworld and Yuri, Roksana, Aleskey-Oleg, the patriarch of the clan, and Mikhail would stand side by side and laugh. But then, Mikhail would be needed to be put to use, and the mirth was gone. As much as Yuri hated to admit it, there was only one word for how he used to feel towards his younger brother when he returned from each mission, blood drenched and his hunger for violence barely quenched.

  Awe.

  But that awe had crumbled away. Like a childhood hero, the fa?ade crumbles and the lies are torn away. His brother was nothing but a coward for what he did. No! Not that, he was worse. A spiteful traitor. After all the years he had been tempered, how did Mikhail see what he did to the Broken Fang as anything other but the worst betrayal possible? They were family, once. Now all Yuri had left was to return the favour.

  Realising the gloom that had settled over his mood, as often occurred whenever thoughts of the traitorous bastard arose, he turned away to seek distraction. Thankfully, such a disruption was not far behind. With a sashaying to her hips and a delightful swing to her long hair, dearest Roksana appeared from the elevator. Though she too was besmirched by what the Emperor had done to them, Yuri looked past them to see the real woman his sister, his lover, was.

  He moved to hold her, but there was a sense of apprehension to her body language. He knew it couldn’t be himself, she had previously made clear of that part; Yuri and Roksana were twins, and they shared a soul between them. To hold back any feelings would be like cutting a mind in half. And so, Yuri calmly asked for the matter.

  “My love, what pains you? If it is the state of the fleet, worry not. Dobermann will be here soon to assist that Doctrine whore with the planning. As for the cowboy…”

  It had been a sad discussion earlier that month when Juno, Citra and Dobermann had approached the Oleg twins. They had come to the conclusion that Pike had to go. Having someone like him, a suit, was too risky for the whole operation. Now the operation was financed, and having the control of the team slipped from his fingers, the cowboy was no longer needed. It was a shame; Yuri liked the man. And yet, the choice had been made, and he was to be dealt with upon arrival. The plan for the operation had been very simply adjusted – all members were to focus upon Nucleus, but were otherwise free to hunt where they wished.

  Still, there might be some good from the change in Basilisk’s composition. Yuri had always wanted some insider information on the corporations, and perhaps Adin did not need to die. Still, that was for later. His sister was in front of him, and she needed him.

  “Yuri… brother… I just had a discussion,” Roksana weakly whispered. She was always so weak when they were in safety. In front of others, she was as bright as the sun. No one could match her enthusiasm. But within the walls of their ship or at home, she became a blade of grass in the wind. But Yuri was there for her. He would always be there for his love.

  “With who?”

  “An alien. From the cluster… He knows…”

  “Damnit all! This could ruin everything!”

  “Wait, brother! He agrees to help. In some way, it appears others within the Tylas already know. They plan to wait it out, as best they can.”

  “Interesting. But why are you shaking, so?”

  “Brother…” Roksana was barely audible, even with Yuri’s enhanced senses. “The alien, a priest of sorts, he said he knows someone who is coming. He said no names but… it was him.”

  Him.

  Mikhail.

  He knew it from the line of cold sweat that broke out across Roksana’s forehead. Where Yuri burned with fury at the failure of a brother, his poor sister had been utterly broken by the betrayal. She often awoke in the night, dreaming of their little brother strangling her in her sleep, of boarding the Rusalka and butchering her crew. As Yuri was tempered by his pain, his anger, Roksana had been shattered by it.

  “Worry not, my love. I will handle him. You focus on the mission. Work with the dog, the hacker and the Corpse Emperor’s idoliser; Mikhail will fall to me. I promise you this.”

  She nodded. They held one another, the others of the control room around them not daring to break their moment. After not long enough, they separated to their duties.

  Yuri moved to the armoury. If he was to slay the white serpent, he would need to be ready. Perhaps, wherever Mikhail was, he was thinking such thoughts too. Only time would tell if the traitor prepared well enough.