The moon Leken, which was originally organic, created by the initial explosion of energy and following expansion, or by a great battle between the twenty-four gods depending on your creed, had been since, long ago, damaged during the Second Great Galactic War. Widely considered a geographical marvel across the galaxies, in part due to its unique makeup and close boom proximity to most neighboring galaxies (boom technology operating as a web of sorts between areas containing certain energy and high gravitational pull), it was rebuilt a hundred and fifty years after the war had ended, or in calendar verbiage 150 PSW (Post Second War).

  As the nature of things seem to be cyclical, and history favors familiar events, in another seventy years it would again be destroyed. This time in a proxy war between the Femorian and Nodeann empires. It would not be reconstructed this time. One of the greatest structures built during the reconstruction era, the Millennium Clock, which stood at nine hundred and seventy five meters, now lay destitute and destroyed, its circular shape undone and resembling something of a crescent moon. Mozzie thought it was ironic, in a way, as The Lazy Wolf lowered onto the top floor of the broken clock, that Leken, a moon itself, held a structure which resembled a crescent moon.

  The crew proceeded out, walking across rusted black marble, their figures like wraiths against the black. Another craft, obsidian and more sleek and slender than The Lazy Wolf's, sat a little aways on the crescent. They approached the craft, Mozzie inserting a square, narrow key into a keyhole on the side and the hangar opening, the group proceeding in. Mozzie and Ric sat in the pilot chairs, starting up the ship, Peter in the back next to Steven. A deep hum began to emit, and an array of lights came on.

  "Hartshorns we are go."

  Mozzie let go of the comm button. No response, save for the silence. After a moment, static greeted them, then a voice.

  "Roger that, Lazy Wolf. Wait for our signal."

  ***

  The Andar, a mercenary group originating from the Nodeann Empire, or Kafar galaxy, were having quite the unfortunate week. First, they were chased through the Phohonean sector, a shared space between the Femorian Empire and Nodeann Empire, by law enforcement and military from both sides after trying to steal from the highly regarded King James of the aforementioned Femorian kingdom, who lay invalid due to old age, and empire close to invalid due to war, debt and overspending. Though the young prince David would, and possibly rightfully so, disagree.

  After booming to the Na-Hatian moons, believing that their pursuers would lack the conviction to follow them there, their gamble was sadly proven false, and they found themselves not only in battle with the joint military of the Femorian and Nodeanns, but pursued by Ne-Hido fishermen. There, they found themselves going from moon to moon, the oceans as deep as abysses, and waves which seemed more like mountains. On the third moon, their ship, The Iron Wing, was destroyed, cut in half by several Ne-Hido fishermen who descended down from one such wave, a massive slab of Ordaxian stone shaped into something like a sword in their hands, and dove through the armpits of the craft, destroying it, a few of the fishermen themselves dying in the process. One, who dove through the front exterior and managed to semi-destroy the dashboard shouting "Se-em Vidar" upon being shot by Captain Hermes and falling to his death. Se-em Vidar in New Linguistic Collectivism (the foremost language of the Anaxian, Nodeann and Femorian empire, recognized as the default official tongue for most known galaxies) meaning "death to the slavers."

  After The Iron Wing plunged into the ocean, they found no reprieve as a Nodeann space force unit had found them, diving for them like a hawk does prey. As tables turn quickly, and chance ultimately controls the fate of every man, the Nodeann fleet quickly found itself the prey, as a Ne-Hido ship arose out of the rushing blue, raining down fire upon the Nodean crafts. Of the Nodeann crafts, which were seven, five were completely destroyed, cannon fire tearing them apart, the salvage that remained washed away in seconds by the ocean. One managed to escape, blue jet fire roaring as it turned from the expansive blue below and towards the blue above, cannon fire still shooting from the Ne-Hido fishermen ship but the craft eventually disappearing. The last, the seventh, was partly damaged, falling into the ocean. The Andar left the wreckage of The Iron Wing, swimming for the Nodeann craft. Upon entering through a hole in the side, they quickly killed the crew and seized the ship.

  Hank, the resident tech expert and repair specialist of The Andar, quickly dispensed a Ten-Harian web weaver, a kind of glue for structural damage in ships, against the walls near the torn open section, strange obsidian symbiotic material crawling across the gap and sealing it. Captain Hermes held up the head of a dead pilot to the retinal scan, the ship coming alive. They quickly rose out of the waters and departed, fending off attacks from the Ne-Hido ship before disappearing over the tidal wave and into the familiar black of space.

  Around Negmen, a sector close to Nodeann territories, they were again ambushed by a fleet of Nodeann space crafts while getting caught in a coronal mass ejection from one of the Kafar suns. As red tsunamis erupted around them, several, obsidian, bullet shaped crafts emerged out of the crimson tempest. The controls of the stolen Nodeann craft gave out, disrupted by the field of the CME. They fought valiantly, but nonetheless were quickly overtaken by the Nodeann crafts.

  Then, like the sighting of an angel from religious myth, The Deformity, the craft of the Jebaur clans oldest son, Zen Akar, descended out of the fire that raged in the cold black. Like its name suggested, tendrils of shifting, almost liquid metallic tentacles shot out from its body of jutting and ragged iron and Ordaxian. In under a a minute, the Nodeann crafts would be destroyed, torn asunder. The Andar would then be boarded, several members of The Deformity coming aboard the vessel, among them Zen Akar. With his face concealed by a worn, maroon oni mask, he slowly surveyed the ship, then, after a moment, spoke.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "We have saved you from certain death, and in return you shall perform a task for us. Do you agree?"

  Hermes, who lay on the ground, bleeding profusely from a gnash on his forehead, stared for a moment, before nodding.

  "We do."

  ***

  The dust, which had started up around sixty years ago and hadn't let up, blew across the plains, the smell of which carried faintly of ion. Daniel briefly scrunched his nose. Vindal, like most moons in the sector, used to be a hub of industry, men and women from across the Nodeann and Femorian galaxy coming in the millions for economic opportunity. As the proxy war beaten the Nodeann and Femorian empire raged, however, it would soon find itself, like most other nearby moons, caught in the crosshairs. And as is true of most conflicts, the innocent are favored to suffer the most. Daniel thought of his father's farm on a moon not too afar off from Vindal, where they would toil the ungiving soil everyday, from dusk to dawn. He thought of this, as the hot wind picked up, brushing by his face as if in mockery and malevolence. He thought of this as his radio gasped static, and the rough voice of Barron Dongal spoke.

  "The Andar are here, just boomed in. Near the cluster asteroids of Desvin."

  "Well", Daniel said, rising up from against the wall of the derelict house he leaned against. He dusted off his worn obsidian gloves, before the dust could fall from them to the porch, the wind snatching it and scattering it across the plains. "Let's go up to meet them."

  ***

  Hermes slowed the approach of The New Iron Wing, a gift of the Zhar clan, next to a particularly large and dented asteroid.

  "The Hilgreen gang are en route", said a woman, Tera, her voice soft like silk, as she approached Hermes side. "They're meeting us halfway."

  Hermes studied the dead stars that sat afar off, echos of light reflecting in his pupils.

  "Good. Prepare for descent."

  Hermes walked to the dashboard, lifting up a black helmet and setting it over his head, a click and hiss of air emitting. Two, small white wings sprouted, one on each side.

  ***

  The Hefty Beetle, the craft of The Hilgreen gang, which was called that due to its dense build and armor, weaved through the web of asteroids and stopped about two kilometers from The New Iron Wing.

  "They're here", said Thomas, the pilot.

  "Roger that", Hermes said, Hank attaching a jet pack to him. "Hartshorns, how do we look?"

  The Hartshorns sat in two chairs in the middle of the deck, monitors sat up in front of them and giant mechanical goggles that constantly extended and withdrew, tapping on the panels before them in a fluid, nonstop flow.

  "Pretty, pretty good if I don't say so myself", responded Jack Hartshorn. "The asteroid belt is proving to be good cover, and there's no activity within the nearby vicinity. We did see movement about several kilometers north of here, but we're going to chalk it up to most likely the passing of a merchant ship. Gaborian mining is of course still big on some of the moons here. They didn't scan us, so no worries there also. As for The Hilgreen gang, their weapons system is down, and we're reading only the body heat of the five members. I think we're in the clear."

  "Good", Hermes said, sheathing his blade. "Ishmael, if something so much as has whispers of peculiarity, fire at will."

  Ishmael, a tall and lanky obsidian haired man who sat at the weapons control panel nodded. Tera handed Hermes a long, black box, Hermes taking it. He looked at Tera, and only nodded before proceeding into the airlock, the first set of doors opening with a hiss then closing behind him.

  "Opening second barrier in 3", Hank said, pulling a series of switches. "2...1."

  The doors opened, and Hermes was sucked into the void. He moved through space like a newborn in water, the momentum pulling him. He pulled a lever towards the lower, left side of his jet pack, a low hum reverberating within his helmet and a sudden uptick in speed following. Through the web of asteroids and long destroyed structures, he saw who he assumed to be the captain of the Hilgreen gang, Daniel Hilgreen, donned in his traditional, uniform green space suit, a bulky, ashen mechanical helmet from the Second Galactic War era on his head. Daniel floated towards him, effortlessly dodging the field of debris that lay ahead of him. Hermes struggled somewhat, though not too much. Daniel was a frontier man, he was from these parts. Hermes wasn't.

  Like two pieces of space debris, they drifted towards each other. Hilgreen came to a stop at a deformed asteroid shaped oddly like a star, feet planting into the rock, gravity boots keeping him there. He watched as Hermes waddled towards him. Eventually, they floated just feet away from eatch other.

  "The sickle of the Hunter Wolvesbane", Hermes said, outstretching the box.

  Daniel observed Hermes for a moment, before reaching out his hands and taking the box.

  Like lightning, like a thief in the night, a black spacecraft, more like a missile shot by. A harpoon shot out, and took the box from the grasp of Daniel. Daniel flew back, withdrawing a pistol which he aimed at Hermes.

  "What's going on!"

  "I don't know", Hermes replied, attempting to locate where the craft had gone. "It's not us."

  "Glaxel", Daniel said, speaking into his comms.

  Aboard The Hefty Beetle, in a white room, the floor covered in several feet of strange, crimson liquid, a man hung, wires and cords extending from his inside his body to the circuitry covered walls ceiling and walls. A black cube levitated above the water, two cords extending from it to the man's eye sockets.

  "Already on it", Glaxel said.

  The room went dim, so dim as to be obsidian, and Glaxel groaned as it exploded into a disorienting swirl of blue, white and black. He turned his face to the left and to the right, then, after a moment-

  "There, I see you."

  Glaxel raised his left arm, extending his pointer finger, his nail black and overgrown. A square hole in the ship opened, a red light beaming. Glaxel did a firing motion with his finger.

  "Bang."

  A screech, like something eldritch and unholy, rang out, and a saber of red light shot out of the ship like lightning, or possibly faster. A moment later, the slender, obsidian ship found itself returned to the scene. It immediately fired, several beams of blue striking out and attacking The Hefty Beetle. The intensity of the beams would usually be enough to destroy a standard Anaxaian or Nodeann midsized battle craft, but The Hefy Beetle's ensuing damage was only its left wing, and part of the main deck, the craft beginning to descend. A door opened near the underside of the ship, three harpoons shooting out and goring into the obsidian ship, both now descending as they exchanged fire, further damaging each craft. The obsidian ship attempted to depart, thrusters igniting, but it was no use against the density of The Hefty Beetle.

  "What are our orders, captain?", Tera said over the comms, Hermes watching as both ships began their descent.

  Hermes continued to watch in silence, bouncing slightly between two asteroids. Finally, he spoke.

  "We were hired to safely deliver the sickle of The Hunter Wolvesbane to the Zhar clan, and that's what we'll do. We'll follow them down, but don't engage for now. If The Hilgreen Gang dies, it's nothing to us."

  "Roger that", Tera said. "Beginning descent to Vindal."