Hundreds of light years away, the obese planet Xenon squatted within its single ring in a low orbit around the star Xenia. In the middle of its face was the continent Xado, a roughly fractaled blob with a few large peninsulas and bays, although thousands of engineers and bulldozers were working around the clock to change that. The goal was to reshape Xado to the letter Xa, placing Xado City, capital of the United Republic of Xenon, in the exact center.

  And in the exact center of Xado City was the Xagon, which held the offices of government. It was, of course, shaped like a Xa with four long wings in an X. In the basement level was a great circular room, dimly lit and heavily guarded. The room was empty except for a desk littered with swampapers and a massive chair which the overweight Supreme Coordinator of the United Republic of Xenon was slowly flattening. The Supreme Coordinator leaned back, looking over the document his assistant Arro Dusk had just handed him: the Report on the Galaxy. He flipped immediately to his favorite section and stared grimacing at the Synopsis of Advanced Worlds in the Milky Way Galaxy, notably the line concerning M-13. The distant planet was still in trouble. The line stated simply: 'M-13–up three and still rising. Space-time drive presumed unrecoverable.'

  “What do they mean by that?” he growled, trying to scratch his stomach but failing to reach.

  “By what, Sir?” asked Arro.

  “Unrecoverable. Where is this drive that our Ciri cannot find it?”

  “Er, a pit,” coughed Arro, embarrassed. “It’s difficult to describe.”

  “This pit had better be in the center of the planet if they’re going to proclaim defeat so easily. I’ll have them all voted off the Council so fast…”

  “Um, Sir, it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s complicated, but essentially, there are chambers running deep into the planet, which are so full of dangerous fire and gases they’ve been permanently capped. They’re sealed with fifty feet of concrete, and what’s more, the drive itself is at the bottom where the temperatures exceed–”

  “If they’re sealed off so well, how did the drive get into one of them?”

  “There are a few capped gates, apparently. Our Ciri cannot get accurate information on them; the gates themselves are secured miles below ground in a prison with such strong security that even the locals know little about them. Only the highest government officials and prison guards have access, and our Ciri are, er, of the wrong species–we could never smuggle one of them in.”

  The Supreme Coordinator flipped through the pages in silence, searching for an answer in the reams of reports. A few minutes later, he spoke again.

  “Do we not have a single Ciri who is…” he glanced at the document, “Sheek? Not one in the entire galaxy?”

  Arro pulled a datapad out of his pocket and pushed buttons for a few minutes until he found the appropriate personnel list. “Oh, an update! There is one, Sir. A new recruit, stationed a planet away. He has no experience.”

  “Has he finished basic training?”

  “Nearly. He has requested a transfer to Xenon to continue his studies.”

  “And what of Rimdar? How is his work coming?”

  It took Arro a second to make the transition to the change of topic. Rimdar was who… yes, Quinn’s replacement, working on M-13 to keep the peace while the space-time drive was searched for.

  “As expected. The population both loves and hates him. His style is unique; I fear he is more a poet than a Ciri.”

  “Ah, so he has taken the power we have given him and run with it.”

  “He’s running all right. No idea where he’s going.”

  “Then he is doing his job well. Send a message to the Council that the space-time drive, the green chair, as the locals have nicknamed it, will be ours within the next month. I will have a plan drawn up by tomorrow morning for them to review.”

  “But Sir, is it good that Rimdar is praised so highly? The Hakes call him their leader, thinking him to be the fulfillment of their prophecies against the Sheeks. When they discover that he means to bring peace and not war, they might destroy him.”

  “I expect they will. In fact, my new plan requires it.”

  Arro stared at the Supreme Coordinator. “You do not mean that we, the United Republic, will willingly send an alien Ciri to his death?”

  “He will die, yes. The Council will have ample time to review the plan. If they see any other way to recover the drive, they are welcome to speak up. But if we do nothing, Rimdar will die anyway, the Hakes and Sheeks also, and every last Xenonite as well.”

  * * * * * * * *

  History of Condar

  - 253 B.C.

  The Xenonites establish a floating base upon the Ocean of Condar to monitor nearby systems.

  - 380 A.D.

  A Hake named Yog Kanorr is teleported off Shamonj, but intercepted by the Xenonites before his death. The Xenonites train him as a Ciri, and he later returns to Shamonj with the pseudonym Quinn.

  - 462 A.D.

  The scientists of Filstar Labs send Satellite One to Condar, which sends back data suggesting the presence of mountains on the surface of Condar and then mysteriously disappears.

  - 476 A.D.

  There are some born with such self-assurance that they will readily face any trial knowing that they will come out for the better. Thus when faced with new opportunities or daring challenges, where others might withdraw inward and pursue a safer path, they stride forward without a care. After such trials are easily overcome, whether by --boldness or by chance, their self-confidence only grows stronger.

  Daved Breggs was one of these. Born to a wealthy Sheek family in Kroga, he gave up all he had, choosing the life of a Wanderer. With almost nothing, he circled Shamonj on foot, yet never suffered need or faced fear. Later in life, when he grew impatient of walking, he used his meager savings to purchase a battered, scarcely functional flyr–but even this he cherished lightly, eventually giving it away to two Hakes in need, aiding their escape from Filstar Laboratories before he set off for a new adventure.

  He gained friends easily, drawing a crowd as he discussed his ventures in each new town, but lost them just as quickly, forgetting them as he moved on. In each town, families opened their homes for him to stay; he shared their customs, chatted until late, slept well, and disappeared the next morning after little more than a nod of his head and a farewell proverb. He was not trying to be rude or ungrateful when those he drew about him with such phrases as 'my new best friend' and 'greatest person ever' were forgotten only days later, but being endowed with such self-assurance and good fortune, it did not occur to him that friends need to be preserved in case of hard times; that open homes should be cherished in case all others close. He was envied by all, but none truly knew him, for he was constantly on the move in search of the next experience. He hardly knew himself, for each day he learned something new about the world, and what he learned, he shared to all as stories, giving the knowledge away instead of securing it as his own. The only sure thing that defined him through his constant travel was the set of three items he carried with him no matter what: a hatchet, Alltarp, and tallgrass twine.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  So when Daved Breggs found himself in an experimental flyr plunging through space toward a blue orb with no idea where he was or how long the air would last, he felt no fear, only awe, for such was his confidence that this was just another of his countless adventures–and even if it was the last, he felt he'd seen all there was to see, learned all there was to learn.

  He couldn't have been more wrong.

  Into the cold atmosphere of Condar, fourteenth planet of the Myria System, the flyr plunged. Its casing was lit with orange fire, but Daved’s sturdy Sheek body bore the heat well. The Sheeple knew little about their nearest neighbor except that it was cold, blue, and entirely covered by water. The flyr hit this planet-sized ocean with a noise like thunder, but miraculously held together as it sailed down into the deep, quickly losing speed and leaving behind a trail of steaming water. The ocean was shallow, and when the flyr's fall ended, it was buried beneath the sea floor in sixty feet of muck. The power went out, and the air grew stale, but still Daved did not fear. He munched on a granola bar and practiced tying knots with tallgrass twine, waiting for the scientists at Filstar Labs to come rescue him, for when it became obvious that he could not escape the craft, surrounded on all sides by thick sandy muck, he had used the flyr’s battery-operated radio to send a distress call back to Filstar Labs.

  Since he was on Condar, millions of miles away from Shamonj, the radio had no chance of reaching Filstar. The hours passed and Daved soon fell unconscious from the thin air.

  Yet two days later, a grappling hook on the end of a steel arm yanked the flyr out of the sand. The door to the flyr was broken open and a team of divers brought Daved's limp body to a waiting submarine and from there to the floating Xenonite base on the far side of the planet, a gargantuan complex that constantly sailed west to keep it out of sight from Shamonjian telescopes. His health was restored, and upon accepting an offer to join the Xenonites in service as a Ciri he was given the life extension drugs and his training began.

  Now, four months later, he felt like the universe had been opened up to him. Thousands of worlds were waiting to be visited and innumerable mysteries remained to be solved, despite the seemingly unending knowledge he devoured from the Xenonite libraries and Instruction Manual for Xenonite Spies. He stared out across the blue sea, lost in his thoughts.

  “It's amazing, isn't it?”

  Daved swirled, startled. He wondered if he would ever get used to the jarring voice of the Xenonites. “Commander Tovil. I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming.” He gave the senior Ciri a fumbled salute.

  “When I was a child, I was able to visit the sea once a year. My parents had a cabin beside the Waters of Gati that we would visit. I spent hours staring at the Waters in awe. Yet that sea was a mere puddle compared to the Ocean of Condar.”

  Daved watched the distant waves rise and fall like a breathing chest. “My story is similar. If such a wonder exists on Condar, one planet out from Shamonj, I cannot imagine what must be found in the other systems.”

  “I understand that you are finishing your first level of training this week. You requested a transfer to Xenon to complete your training as an intergalactic surveyor.”

  “It's not that I don't appreciate it here, but all my life I have been a Wanderer. The opportunity seemed too good to pass up.”

  Tovil rubbed his fat chin, staring out into the ocean. “Daved, I know how much this means to you, and you know I have supported you every step of the way. But unfortunately, we are in need of your time for a little while longer.”

  Daved said nothing. Clearly decisions had already been made, debated by Xenonites in a chain of command far above him.

  “Truly, I was sitting at my desk signing the papers to have you sent with the next supply ship when the news broke; I did not mean to mislead you. But hear, I think you will find our offer fair.”

  “What exactly am I needed for?”

  The commander sat down on a long wooden bench facing the ocean, motioning Daved to sit beside him. “As you know, our Ciri have been searching Shamonj for the missing space-time drive.”

  “You mean the green chair?”

  “Yes, but of course it is much more than a chair. Anyway, it has been found.”

  “Where?”

  “The Sheek Authorities recovered it in Talmyn; they broadcast the news to every media stream. They have no idea what it does, but they know that it is of value to the Hakes, for our spies have been seeking it, and so they brought it to Seoltin for destruction. We tried to intercept them, but received the news too late. The drive has been thrown into the Pit of Seoltin, below the city’s prison and beyond all hope of easy rescue.”

  “I’ve never been to Seoltin–I would be no help in recovering it.”

  “I know you do not want to return to Shamonj, but I have no other candidate but you. The Supreme Coordinator has signed off on a plan to rescue the drive, but it requires a Sheek Ciri. Except for you, all of our Ciri are Hake. The Hykalondicate experiment was never before performed on a Sheek, so to recruit a Sheek Spy, we would have had to kidnap one from the planet itself, something we never even considered, as it seemed that Hake spies were just as qualified. But now, we must get a Ciri into the Prison itself. It is an easy matter to get a spy ID’d as a prison guard… but to change the very race of the guard; that is impossible. We need you, a Sheek, to play the role of the guard. Rimdar has already agreed to play the role of the prisoner; that part will be much more difficult.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Ah, that is the good news. There will be some training. Rimdar in particular will need extensive medical work to have any chance of surviving long enough to even reach the drive. But the mission itself will only be a few days. After that, the Council has agreed to waive all further training for you. You will be graduated to a class La Ciri and assigned an x-craft. You may take the x-craft to work on any survey mission you choose. Our budget is tight, so it won’t be a fast ship, but you will have appropriate authority over your schedule and will be paid for each completed project.”

  The thought of bypassing another year of training was tempting, but Daved knew this first mission would be extremely dangerous–far more perilous than anything normally asked of a mere surveyor, let alone a new recruit. “And I must do this?”

  “Naturally you may decline. But if you do so, you are declining any future as a Ciri. You remember the alternative.”

  He did. Spying for the Xenonites was voluntary. If you chose not to, your memory was purged and you were shipped back to your home planet to start life over. Some chose that option, but how could he, after all he'd seen? How could he give up the chance to explore the galaxy? Yet to venture to the very heart of Seoltin, to the fire chambers, even to the Pit itself…

  “I will leave you to think it over. Report to my office tomorrow.” The Xenonite rose and left. The bench seemed to sigh in relief at the departure of so much weight.

  Again alone, Daved leaned back, trying to remember Shamonj and the day he decided to throw his life to chance. He could still remember the Crazed and Dazed Restaurant in vivid detail. The smell of burnt out wires in the elevator. The taste of day-old swampdrink in a dirty glass. I was talking to that guy I met, Nyck he said he was. A disillusioned ex-soldier. Daved laughed. Nyck was looking for the 'Reason for it All'. That's what inspired my venture. He'd even listed 'Why did Satellite One report mountains on Condar when our telescopes only see water?' as one of his vexing questions. If only I could tell him about this floating base… that answer would give him something to talk about!

  But it got me thinking about stuff. And the Authorities were kicking the Wanderers out of town, so I decided I'd had enough. I was sick of the war, what it was doing to everyone. No one was sane any more. No one was safe, not the Hakes, not the Sheeks.

  So I went to Filstar Labs, prepared to give all in exchange for the chance to be elsewhere–anywhere–than that dying planet. I even rescued Nyck when I heard he was imprisoned, along with those others… but for what? What does anyone have to live for? How much longer will even the air last? Shamonj is drying up, like the air in my flyr when I crashed into Condar and buried myself beneath the ocean.

  And then it hit him. Millions of Sheeple were going to die. This wasn't another battle, another fight between Sheeple. The planet itself was under attack by the Usurpers, the name given by the Xenonites to the mysterious race who powered a Sphere ever closer to the star Myria. Every day, that dreadful orb drew closer, tearing apart the planet and its inhabitants. If the space-time drive wasn't recovered, the planet would plunge into chaos. Few would survive the effects of the Usurpers. Even the Xenonites would have to abandon their base on Condar, fleeing the system until another defense against the Usurpers could be contrived. This was what they’d told Daved, at least, and from his studies of other planets and what he’d seen already, he believed every word.

  And here he was, the Xenonites' last chance at recovering the chair. He had to help them. He had to do his part, for the sake of all Sheeple. With the Xenonite life extension drugs, he might see a million planets in his lifetime… but how could he visit any other if his own was enslaved?

  Daved took one last look out over the frigid waters. A chilly gust of wind rose from the sea, crying to be released from the eternal draw of the waves. He clenched his uniform tighter around his waist and closed his eyes. The cold bit at him, but he savored it. If he was going to stand above the fires of Seoltin, he would cherish this moment. I only hope these aliens know what they're doing. Now that I've glimpsed the heavens from this watery bridge, I am not ready to die.