The alarms chimed softly and melodically, gently rousing Cyrus from his sleep. Opening is eyes, he smiled; there was the sweet chorus of birds outside his window, where the sun was slowly rising, golden beams of light dancing across the room. Sliding out of bed he walked to the bathroom, the lights coming to a soft glow as he entered. Stripping out of his nightshirt he took a moment to admire himself. Young, rather good looking and impeccably groomed he was an excellent specimen. Even the red blemish of the palm sized scar on the left side of his jaw only gave him a sense of danger. Whistling to the birds outside he laughed as they responded in kind. Switching on the water to his shower, he called out to the enquiring tweets.
“Not today guys, I’ve got a lot to do today…”

In a few moments he was out again, his brown hair slicked back against his skull. Clad in a white robe he walked back into the bedroom, which by now was almost fully lit by the rising sun. It was sparsely decorated, but every piece of furniture was a work of art; subtle gold inlays and the finest woods hand crafted by masters of their crafts. Opening his wardrobe, the young man selected a fine silk tunic and matching breeches, and then his favourite coat and boots, before dressing.

Bounding down the stairs of his penthouse, Cyrus smiled at his butler who had his morning meal already prepared.
“Good morning young sir.”
“Indeed it is, I will be out most of today, meeting with my soon to be father-in-law and having a night in with my lovely betrothed.”
“Very good sir, also a message arrived that your RSVP to the ball has been acknowledged.”
Cyrus smiled, all was good with the world; soon he was to be married to the woman he loved, a promotion was around the corner, and the family business was doing very well. And to cap it all off the annual ball, and the official announcement of his promotion, was just a few days away.

Things were definitely on a roll.

“Ah Cyrus, come in.”
The young man entered the office, smiling warmly. The older man, siting behind the large wooden desk smiled warmly at him, motioning him to sit down. The office was expansive, as befitted one of the most powerful men in The Council. Ancient tapestries and texts lined the walls, as the councillor said – to forget history is to become a part of it. The large rear wall was dominated by a single large window, showing a brilliant view of the city and the far off mountains. Part of the sea was visible if one went out on the balcony.
“Not on duty today I see.” he said as the younger man sat down. “You must give me the name of your tailor.”
“I’ll have one of my people send it to your office when I get back, he is an excellent man, even if he is blind and has no thumbs.”
“Truly remarkable… I once knew a chef – the best there was – who had no hands… I never saw him work; I think some things are better left unknown.”
“I would think that would be for the best, yes.”
“Regardless of that - I’ve been told that the rest of the council will be meeting in two days for the final vote – I myself am ineligible due to our relationship,” he paused and smiled, as if to apologise, “but I am by no means unable to put in a good word for you.”
“Thank you my Lord, your efforts are most appreciative.”
The older man waved a hand dismissively, almost seeming embarrassed by the compliment.
“Nonsense, I am merely pointing out the qualities that entitle you to the position, nothing more – I just happen to know you better.”
He paused again, his expression taking a curious turn.
“And how is my daughter?”

He pulled the chair out for his fiancé, and she smiled at him, but something was definitely upsetting her. She was acting rather distant and almost seemed skittish. Perhaps she had another fight with her father – they certainly disagreed on many things, but she normally told him when they fought. Maybe she didn’t want it to affect his promotion and the ball, what with her father’s hand in it. Her father was far more strident in his beliefs than she was, but they were by no means more strongly held. It was unfortunate they disagreed on things, but that never diminished their love for each other.

But he put that thought out of his mind and paused a moment to admire her. The soft light of the candles made her already soft and delicate features even more enchanting. The only sound was the crackle of the nearby fireplace, but the silence was anything but awkward. They were like one heart in two bodies, since the moment their eyes had met he had been drawn to her, to the glow around her. It was like she carried a light inside her that made the whole world brighter just by her being there. But that was nothing compared to the beauty of her soul, so kind, gentle and loving. He considered himself the luckiest man alive to even have been allowed a glimpse of her inner beauty, that she let him into her heart and made him a part of it. He was a part of her as she was a part of him, and he could tell she was upset about something.

Sitting down beside her he looked deep into her glittering blue eyes.
“Darling, what’s on your mind?” He smiled warmly. “Something has been bothering you all night.”
“It… it’s nothing.”
She smiled again nervously and glanced away. Cyrus could feel a gnawing sense of dread starting to grow in the pit of his stomach, spreading like a chill through his body.
“I can tell it’s not nothing.” His smile became less warm, more fixed, and hers vanished all together.
“I…” She looked down at her hands, sitting palm up on her lap. Long strands of golden hair fell about her face.
Panic and fear gripped him, but his face was impassive. He could feel what was coming; he knew what she was thinking. After all, didn’t he love her? Didn't he know her every thought?
“I have to leave.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. The dim light of the candles flickered in the darkness, the shadows seeming to grow darker - encroaching, enveloping.
A question was stuck in his throat - he wanted to ask, even though he knew the answer would kill him.
“Is there someone else?”
“No…”
There was a hesitance in her voice, she was lying. It felt like a fire burned at his soul, his heart thrown to the flames.
“Why…”
“Cyrus, I…”
She stared up at him, tears in her eyes. Cyrus knew he should be crying - that’s what's supposed to happen when your heart gets broken isn’t it? But there was nothing but the pain.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen…” she stood up, touching his shoulder gently. He flinched at her touch - how could she be kind to him after what she’s done? She slowly took her hand back, walking out of the room and into the darkness. She stopped at the doorway and turned back to him.
“I never meant to hurt you, I’ll…”

He woke with a start, the sound of screeching birds drowning out her final words to him. It had been the same every night; dreaming of that final conversation. He glared at his chronometer; it was only a short while until he had to be up… light was already stabbing its way through the morning gloom. Rubbing his eyes he dragged himself to his feet, staggering slowly into the bathroom. Sliding out of bed he walked to the bathroom, the lights uncomfortably bright as he entered. Stripping out of his nightshirt he took a moment to admire himself. Black rings lined his eyes, which were dull and lifeless, and the colour was going out of his skin. The twisted, puckered flesh on the side of his face seemed even more conspicuous now. It was over a decade since the chemistry accident, but the nickname he’d gotten from it had stuck; Singe. He turned up the water to his shower, and cried.

After a long time he switched off the water, his hair half tangled and sticking to his face. Barely bothering to do up his robe, he shuffled into the grey lit bedroom. The sunlight showed up every imperfection, every spot of dust and dirt – they seemed to be mocking him, showing him what a mess his life had become. Throwing open his wardrobe Cyrus pulled out his official uniform and boots, tossing them onto the bed, and staring at the empty space where they used to be for a moment.

Shoving open the door to the dining room, Cyrus grunted at his butler who had his morning meal ready on the table as usual. He sat down, even though the last few days had sapped his appetite.
“Good morning sir.”
He grunted again.
“Remember you are expected at the council chambers in one hour, also that the ball is tomorrow.”
Cyrus nodded, hearing but certainly not caring. What use were meetings, promotions and socialising when he was dead inside? Now all that was left was the shell of his former self, the rest eaten away by the pain that burned inside. Why, why did she do this… she had said she loved him, that she would be with him forever… was that all a lie?

Stabbing at his food, he frowned again. It couldn’t have been a lie, he knew it couldn’t… but there was no more time for that now – he had to get to the council hall. He’d have plenty of time later; there was nothing else left in his life.

“Ah Cyrus, come in.”
The young man wearily entered the office, barely trying to hide his mood. The older man, sitting behind the large wooden desk smiled warmly at him, motioning him to sit down.

The expanse of the office seemed cold and unwelcoming. Ancient tapestries and texts heavy with the burden of times past – any happiness they once had lost to the ages. The large rear window showed the city, a mass of lifeless shells. He wondered if anyone out there knew what it was like to feel the pain he was feeling, but he doubted it – he didn’t think it was possible to hurt this much. Clouds were gathering in the distance over the ridges of the mountain, soon to come over the city and block out what little light was left in the world.

“I was told this morning what happened,” he started, pausing as he waited for his guest to sit. “And I just wanted to you to know that even though you are no longer getting married into my family, I still consider you a part of it.” He smiled again, brushing a strand of stark white hair from his face. Cyrus simply stared at him. “And if ever you need anything I, and all I have, are here for you.”
“Thank you, my Lord.” He was grateful, for sure, but he still couldn’t find the strength to smile.
“Please Cyrus, we’re family now.” The older man stood up and walked around his desk, putting his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Call me Zarak.”

“Brisko here is the man to who I really owe my thanks.” Zarak grinned, patting the other guest on the back. He smiled coolly, but if it was because he felt uncomfortable with the flattery or didn’t care for such pleasantries. The trio were standing by the window, overlooking the city. The rain had come, and was beating down on the window. Tiny rivers formed within an instant seemingly unchangeable in their flow, until but a single raindrop would change their course forever. Cyrus was only half listening to what Zarak was saying. He knew it was important, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“You see Cyrus, Brisko here noted the changes in the star charts that meant there were other space-faring beings in the area.”
“Yes, I noticed that the gravimetric readings from several of the outlying system probes were showing minor, but consistent fluctuations.”
“The other councillors ignored Brisko’s advice you see, but I knew there was something there.”
Zarak smiled again. Cyrus had never noticed before but he smiled a lot. Brisko however didn’t smile, at least not like he meant it. He was tall and dark, and carried himself with an air of menace he didn’t expect in someone who made maps. He would have found it disquieting if his mind wasn’t already preoccupied.
“The pulses were signs of some sort of hyperspace link, one operating out of our own system. The others felt that it was nothing simply because they could not pick up the signals.” His voice was quiet, but forceful… Cyrus found it hard to believe he had not been able to convince anyone to investigate. “Lord Zarak however was willing to finance an expedition to find the source of these transmissions.”
“Which,” Zarak put his hands on Cyrus’ shoulders, “is where you come in.”
“I don’t see what I can do… you’ve already…”
“Yes, I have already made contact and even opened trade negotiations. There is a whole race of living, thinking robots willing to learn from us, and share their secrets in exchange.” The councillor started pacing around his office. “Many have said my interest is simply because I run the largest cybernetics consortium in the system – but no. I feel we Nebulans have for too long been isolated, and here is a chance for us to expand our horizons and take our place in the galaxy.”
He stopped, fixing his gaze on Cyrus.
“Cyrus, I know I can count on you – the Council of Peers is to vote soon on whether or not we will open trade or ask these robots to leave our space. The Peer Protector has a vote in this and I need you to trust me, like I trusted Brisko. I need your support,” he paused, his expression softening, “like you have mine.”
Cyrus looked at his almost father in law… when he got the promotion he would be the voice of the World Watchers, and would carry significant weight in the council chambers.
“You have my vote,” he smiled as best he could, “Zarak.”

The door shut behind him, the dull thud echoing through the deserted apartment. Standing for a moment, he listened.

Silence.

He had given the servants the night off, he wanted to be alone. But that wasn’t entirely true – he wanted someone to want to be with him… he thought he had found that, but it was a lie. She had forgotten him in an instant, replaced by another. Had she loved him at all? Perhaps she did, but not as much as she loved this other man…

Walking through to the sitting room, he checked his machine – no messages. Her last words filled his head, “I’ll always care, I’ll always be there for you.” He sneered at the machine as he turned away in disgust, anger flooding his veins. If she cared why hadn’t she called, why didn’t she ask how he was doing, why had she forgotten him? But that feeling passed again in an instant; he knew she had found another, that he wasn’t enough, that no matter what he could have done he would have ended up alone.
“I’m always alone” he thought to himself.
Everybody knew what had happened, all his so called friends would have heard the next day – bad news travels fast. But none had called or visited in the days between. They probably didn’t want the burden of listening to his problems; they were no doubt having their fun in their happy, complete relationships – too busy for him. Even if they asked him out he wouldn’t have gone – feeling like a third wheel wasn’t what he needed on top of everything else.

He sat down and switched off the lights, the only light coming from the distant flashes of lightning. He felt the darkness close around him, smothering everything else in the world until he was alone.

So alone.

The grumbling in his stomach was rapidly turning into the beginnings of pain, and could no longer be ignored, so he reluctantly opened his eyes. The room was still dark, heavy storm clouds thick in the sky and drizzling down by the sounds of things. He was still sitting in the plush leather chair he had collapsed in last night, his neck sore, mouth dry and stomach growling. The pressing need for food overrode his misery, and he pulled himself up and groggily staggered into the kitchen. After throwing a pair of eggs on the boil he quickly downed several glasses of water for his parched throat. Momentarily cured of both thirst and hunger he smiled, but free from those distractions the pain and confusion of the last several days came flooding back.

Putting down the glass gently he put his hands over his face. He’d seen people do it before, but never understood why until now. Cut off from the world, swimming in the infinite blackness before him he found a brief respite from the pain. Here there was no one else; no one to hurt him, no one to see his flaws. Breathing in sharply as he slid his hands away, peaking them over his nose, he stared off into the distance… he was still alone; there was no one there for him.

Llyria had loved him for who he was, even when he felt blue before he knew he could make it through because she was there supporting him, devoted to him despite his gloominess. But obviously her words of never finding anyone else like him were a lie. Or she had found someone very much unlike him. She’d found someone who wouldn’t be a burden on her with his unending pessimism and negativity. Any time she laughed with him during those brief moments of happiness she was probably waiting with grim anticipation of his next downward spiral. He could see why she’d want to find someone else, it’s not like he could stand being with himself.

All that was inside was emptiness, while she had that radiating light of light, but now it was out from his shadow. He didn’t deserve to have her light shine on him, he deserved to be alone and forgotten. Now all that was left was for the darkness to take him again.

His eyes drifted to the block of knives sitting just and arm’s length away, glinting invitingly. He remembered what it felt like; the feeling of numbness spreading through his body as his lifeblood left him, slowly drifting into welcome nothingness. But then there was the sudden pain as muscles gasped for air, screaming in silent agony. All he had to do was to choose if that brief, consuming pain was more bearable than that that burned in his heart. Cold sweat gripped him as the thoughts played through his head, and he groped for the tap, his trembling hands struggling to get a grip on the handle. Eventually he managed to start the water rushing, and jammed his head under the nozzle, gasping for air between heaving sobs.

After a moment he fell back and collapsed against the wall, howling with abject despair. He clutched his wrist, feeling his other scar, the one only she had seen. Water ran from his sodden hair onto his skin, cool rivulets trickling over his skin and down his arm, pooling in his hand before seeping between his fingers. He clenched his fist, the scar turning from a dull pink to a stark white. Shivering from the cold he brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tight around them, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. His sobbing soon gave way to a slow tortured heave before he gave out all together. Finally spent, totally drained, he sat still and silent until he heard the toaster sound with a cheerful, seemingly out of place ding. Pulling himself to his feet he grabbed a cloth and washed his face, quickly using another to dry off. Then, after taking a deep breath, he had breakfast.

“So how was your day?”
“I’ve had worse…”
Cyrus didn’t look at his travelling companion, but kept staring out of the window as the grav-car glided along. The streets were dark, and almost deserted. Normally they would be busy with throngs from all walks of life, but the sudden storm was keeping most indoors. The torrential rain made the orange lit avenues seem like another world, an ever changing blur of shadows and half light. The car’s driver stopped at an intersection and waited for the cross traffic to clear. Black shapes flowed in front of them – the smear of guide lights seeming like a never ending stream of light cutting through the darkness. The blaze came to a sudden end and with a slight lurch the driver continued on his way.

“Hey, you’re that guy Zarak’s backing for the top spot in the World Watchers aren’t you?”
Cyrus tilted his head and looked at the other man disinterestedly.
“Yeah, it’s you – I see why they call you Singe.” He smiled a broad, friendly and very fake smile. “The name’s Kreb, from ‘Late Night with Kreb’.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! Guess you don’t watch then?”
He kept smiling, and Cyrus simply shook his head.
“No worries, guess you’ve got a lot of important stuff to do anyways…”
Cyrus welcomed the silence’s return.
“Say…”
But it was only a brief respite.
“It’s the first time going to one of these shindigs… I don’t have to bow or anything do I? Or know which fork to use or something? I learnt gazpacho soup’s meant to be served cold the hard way…”
Cyrus groaned; why was this imbecile even invited to the ball? And, more importantly, why was he stuck in a grav-car with him?

Extricating himself from the grav-car as quickly as possible Cyrus stepped out into the fine shower, his tall polished boots clicking and splashing as he walked towards the tall, imposing staircase that sat before the far more imposing structure of the Council chambers. Strapping on his sword as he moved, he dashed up the stairs, more to get away from Kreb than because of fear of getting his dress uniform wet. As he made his way up the flights all he seemed to pass were happy couples on their way in. They slowly moved ahead of him, clutched close to each other under their umbrellas sharing a joke only they understood. Grim faced he strode past the ceremonial guards, clad in uniforms of dark green jackets and white trousers. They were much like his own but far less ornate, lacking the gold lanyards and braiding. Saluting as he walked past, he entered the main foyer and paused a moment to brush the droplets of water from his epaulettes and peaked cap. He should be smiling and laughing right about now, but that just wasn’t him… even when he did it was only because he knew that when the mask of the happy person fell away that she’d be there to help him pick up the pieces. Now there was no one there for him, he didn’t feel the need to pretend to be something he wasn’t, that he’d never be.

“Happy?”

He whirled around on his heels, coming face to face with Duros, the commander-in-chief of the World Watcher’s military forces.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said you don’t look happy.”
Cyrus simply grunted – it answered the question.
“I’m sure you’ve guessed, but I heard what happened, and…” he had an uncharacteristically warm, sad look in his eyes, “…and I’ve been there too… so…” he put his hand on Cyrus’ shoulder, frowned and walked out into the rain. He left Cyrus wondering if that’s what was to become of him, old and alone with nothing but his work to sustain him, and even that was dissatisfying…

Trying to shake the thought he continued through the foyer, the noise growing louder and the crowd thicker. More people, more couples, were crowding around and he pushed his way through, trying to ignore the stares and whispers as he passed. As best as he tried to block them out he still subconsciously picked up the crowd’s message ‘I can’t believe he’s here after what happened…’ How could he not, he was going to get the councils approval tonight, and he didn’t think Llyria would be so cold-hearted as to be seen here with her new lover…

Though a part of him wanted to see her here with that man; see her laugh at his jokes, smile at him with that look in her eyes, a gentle touch of his hand. The thought gave Cyrus a sort of perverse joy; seeing her like that would make the pain so much more real, a stab at himself for being so stupid as to believe happiness could truly be his, not just a figment of his own lunacy. But at the same time it made his stomach churn, the thought of her being like that with another man, with her allowing another man to be like that with her... knowing that her feelings for him had faded, that he was forgotten in her heart…

Broken from his thoughts by the careless nudge of another guest - too busy gazing into his lover’s eyes he noted ruefully – Cyrus walked through the massive doors to the Grand State Ballroom, the plush red carpet soft under his boots, gilded carvings high above his head illuminated by massive crystal chandeliers. There was a short landing running a ring around the main floor of the ballroom, which was set below, affording a view of the crème de la crème of Nebulan society in action. Hundreds of people were gathered below in a swirling heaving mass. World Watcher officers mixed with business tycoons and politicians, who were all trying to catch the eyes of the media celebrities and other social climbers.

There was a large knot of young women just below excitedly fawning over the young man of the hour Gort, in spite of his faithfulness to his girlfriend Marita. Cyrus scoffed at the foolish youth, wasting his time with that woman – any words of love would prove to be nothing more than words in the end. Bitterly scanning the room he saw a similar, though smaller, crowd around ‘Stylor’ (as he called himself). Though, which Cyrus couldn’t help but find darkly amusing, there seemed to be more men trying to learn from him than women wanting to bask in his gorgeousness.

Clicking down the staircase to the main floor Cyrus passed a pair of businessmen and their cohorts in an animated discussion – it seemed a friendly enough affair, two professional men trying to out boast and brag but there was a very menacing undercurrent that their rivalry was far more serious.

Scanning the area, he caught a glimpse of Zarak talking to another World Watcher officer, though they were facing away from him. His path there was suddenly blocked by a tall, flashily dressed figure that grabbed his arm. She was dressed in a fairly outlandish military costume; a black frock coat with red and gold trim, and a large cocked hat with an equally large plume of red and white feathers. Under the hat he noticed a pair of ice blue eyes that fixed him in their gaze.
“Good evening, Cyrus.”
He studied her, momentarily recognising her strong, sculpted features, but he couldn’t place her face in the swirl of his mind.
“Good evening, Miss…?” he broke her gaze, glancing down at the hand that was still on his arm.
She drew back, feigning shock and offence. “You don’t recognise me?” she leaned in closer, leering disconcertingly. “Though we never did meet face to face before.”
“Lokos.”
“In the flesh, Peer Guardian Nominate Cyrus.” She removed her hat and bowed with a flourish, the sight of her distinctive coppery-red hair bringing instant recognition. The Watcher was intrigued; what was she doing here? Last he had heard of her she had evaded capture (by the ships under his command) and vanished… that was several years ago now. People assumed she had either fled out of the system, gone deep into ground or had indeed gone down with her ship.
“Didn’t you hear Cyrus? I’ve been given a full pardon.”
He hadn’t heard, only the council could do something like that.
“No, I didn’t hear. I’ve been… preoccupied…”
She frowned and gave him a knowing look, grabbing a pair of glasses from a passing waiter, handing one to him.
“They decided after all I’d done for them that I should be forgiven for my, shall we say, transgressions.”
Sipping from his glass Cyrus eyed her coolly and tried to figure out what her angle was. For years she had plagued the space lanes, robbing hundreds of ships. As she grew more famous she became less violent, even signing autographs for ‘fans’ when her ship, the Femina Forutna, boarded an orbital cruise liner. Her wit and charm hid the murderous cold blooded killer she had started out as, that Cyrus had almost (and by sheer accident) cornered over the Ridge Worlds.

Her flag ship was crippled in the battle, but no sign of the captain was found aboard her (nor of any of the accumulated booty from years of pillaging). Cyrus suspected she had fled – with her fortune – aboard one of the smaller cruisers out of the system. There had been a large initial public outcry at his defeat of the ‘Gentlelady Pirate’, but Zarak had come to his aid and reacquainted the populous with her more bloody history they had forgotten. It was the beginnings of his very sharp rise to the top of the World Watchers.
“And what did you do?”
“Well I got a new ship to replace the one you destroyed for one. The Femina Spernere - named in your honour.”
He smiled dryly at her, letting her continue.
“I used it to give Zarak’s fellow Brisko a lift to meet with his giant robot pals. Seems the council approved.”
Cyrus was very surprised, not only that she would do that but that she was still in the system.
“And what were you doing in the area to be able to do that?”
“Oh come now Cyrus,” she laughed coyly, “you’re really the last person I should be telling all my secrets to.”
“Very well,” he gave her a wry smile, “I’ll give you that.”
“Thankyou.” She nodded politely. “You are indeed as kind as I’ve been told.”
The officer simply gave a half hearted smile.
“And it does seem to be true that the tough guy act isn’t quite all it seems to be.”
He studied her for a moment, shifting his weight in his boots.
“And who’s been telling you that?”
“Oh, just a little bird…”
“You are a very intriguing person Lokos – and very odd.”
“Odd?” she laughed. “You’re too kind.”
He smiled at her; it was nice to talk to someone without them looking at him with pity.
“I would love to talk more, but…” the pirate glanced over her shoulder and sighed, “I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
She placed her hat back atop her head and winked at him before brushing past and into the crowd.

Somewhat bewildered by the latest turn of the night Cyrus continued on his way over to see Zarak, who was talking to a group fairly generic dignitaries. The Councillor saw him approaching and made his exit from the conversation.
“Funny I should see you; I was just talking to Galen a moment ago.”
“You won’t believe who I was just talking to,” then a thought hit him suddenly, “or rather you would… how did you come to get Lokos running freight for you?”
“You mean the expedition?” Zarak didn’t seem too phased.
Cyrus nodded, his face neutral but hiding a burning fury. If this had come out it would have ruined him – the nominee for the Peer Protector is in fact the soon to be son-in-law of the financier of one of the most ruthless pirates to plague the system in decades.
“Well I do owe you an explanation about that…” the older man took a momentary glance around before continuing. “None of us knew what the source of those transmissions was for sure, only it wasn’t from us. I needed someone who would not be an obvious threat and initiate hostilities, like a military force, but who would be capable if it were a hostile presence.”
“And Lokos..?”
Zarak sighed, a somewhat pained expression crossing his face.
“I’d known of her whereabouts for some time… she was indeed, as you said earlier, running freight for me – though at first I didn’t know it was her. You see I have many, many ships taking cargo and materials across the system, and I don’t meet with every captain, I don’t need to unless they do a poor job. Lokos, or Skolo…”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow.
“Not very original I know, but it worked. Now ‘Skolo’ was a perfectly capable captain and her deliveries were always on time or early; and never short. She was almost too good; I initially thought someone was cooking the books, but no. I eventually met with her in person and realised who she was, and agreed to keep her secret.”
The story mollified his rage, which Cyrus welcomed. He was on the edge of blowing up, at someone he considered a friend and who he owed so much to… clearly he was loosing his grip on things… but his contemplation was lost as Zarak continued.
“Now I know you may think it was wrong of me, to harbour a criminal – one I campaigned against myself – but I could see she was changed, or at very least trying to change. I couldn’t turn her in, and I’m sorry I lied to you about that.”
Shaking his head, Cyrus smiled faintly.
“No, no need to apologise.” his smile faded, thinking that if this had come out he would have been ruined, and Llyria would have left him for a reason other than himself.
“It doesn’t matter…”

Later that evening Cyrus crossed paths with Galen, the other nominee for the Council of Peers seat. Where Cyrus had built his career on the victories and martial aspect of their path, Galen had made his name through his many noble missions to repair and rebuild after natural disasters and peace negotiations between feuding factions. They were portrayed in the media as equal, but very different, leaders. The decision over who would command the World Watchers a seeming battle between strength of will and strength of character. Cyrus wondered if his opponent’s gallant image was as much a sham as his own indomitable persona.
“Good evening, Cyrus.”
“Galen.” He nodded curtly, not feeling much like talking with him.
“So…” the other man fidgeted, seeming rather awkward. Taking a sip from his glass, Cyrus just kept looking at him. He was obviously nervous and ill at ease; it was probably that he knew he wasn’t going to win the vote in a few hours.
The other World Watcher looked at Cyrus, and was about to say something, before excusing himself and darting away, his brow furrowed. A moment later Zarak sidled up to his one time soon to be son-in-law, the towering form of his bodyguard Krunk behind him. Unusually, Zarak wasn’t smiling, but was casting his steely gaze in Galen’s direction.
“What did Galen want?”
“Don’t know, he seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t… then he left.”
The Councillor frowned, arms folded across his chest.
“Guess he was just worried about the vote tonight…”
This though seemed to make Zarak brighten, the smile returning to his face.
“Yes, the vote… I would imagine he is much more worried about it than you.”
“I guess,” the World Watcher shrugged, “doesn’t really matter…”
“Of course it matters.” Zarak stepped closer, Krunk following almost imperceptibly like his master’s shadow. “When you are Peer Protector we will be able to work together to build a brighter future for all people, to throw off the shackles of isolationism and let the galaxy know that we are a people of great mind and spirit.”
“I guess…”
“Exactly! Now no more talk of this, there’s someone I’d like you to meet…”

Several hours later, and it was but moments to go until the Council of Peers would announce the new Peer Protector, who would in turn nominate his second in command. Cyrus would nominate Galen to help him lead, he held the man no ill will and he was a good leader after all. Not only that but it would be a good public relations move to show there was no hard feelings between them.

The Council was assembled on the stage, Zarak standing with his close supporters, deep in conversation. All around the chatter was of who the victor would be. Galen was standing not far away, talking with Duros, Gort, the scientist Arcana and a large number of others. Cyrus was standing apart from the crowd, isolated in a room full of people. It was as if he was standing in a river, the crowd the water flowing around him, but never stopping. Lokos was near the foot of the podium, watching him closely. She intrigued him, there was something else to her, something hidden behind those cold, hard eyes... but she kept it closely guarded. Perhaps it was just that she reminded him of himself...

The initial speech started, the river of people coming to a halt. Casting his eyes side to side, Cyrus noted there was still almost an arms length between the nearest person and himself. Sorgen droning on about how important the Peer Protector was, that is was his duty to decide when and where Nebulos went to war, and to be fair in his judgement.

After the first minute Cyrus tuned out, staring vacantly in the general direction of the speaker, but not hearing any of his words. He was thinking of Llyria, of how his heart still burned for her, despite all she had done to him. He knew in his mind she was gone, but he also knew in his soul that if she asked he would take her back… that more importantly he wanted to be taken back…

He thought of her with the other man… of her laughing and smiling at him as she had once done with him, of his place in her heart not being forever, but quickly replaced and forgotten. It didn’t pain him so much now, it was a constant ache in his soul to be sure, but the agony had faded as he had hardened his heart to the wounds of life. Now there was no pain, no joy, just an endless sea of nothingness. Happiness was for other people, not for him. He had only the memories of what once was, and the years to fade even them to naught.

He brought his eyes into focus as the speech drew to a close, summarising the brotherhood that bound all the World Watchers together, and even though Galen and Cyrus were in competition they were by no means enemies.

And with that he announced that Cyrus would take the position as Peer Protector…

Only he… didn’t... he said Galen’s name, a cheer erupting from the other side of the room. Cyrus stared with bewilderment at the stage, hoping for some sign from Zarak. Zarak however had broken his composure and was in a very heated discussion with some of the other Peers, his anger evident. Ascending to the stage to more applause, Galen started making his own victory speech. He promised to uphold all he had stood for, to not change his ways. And to do all this he would bring alongside his old mentor, and one of the most experienced of the World Watchers, Duros, as his second in command. It was like a punch in the gut to Cyrus. He stood breathless as what little hope he had in the world was snatched from him. Discarded by Llyria, spurned by the council, and not now even given honour in defeat…

Cyrus had to stand and watch as Galen was sworn in, as Galen received the ceremonial gorget, as Galen took what was his. The ceremony over, the crowd began to move and shift, everyone trying to get to the new Peer Protector. Cyrus stood rooted to the floor, still staring at the stage, when Lokos came up to him, a strange warmth in her eyes.
“Time to go home, Cyrus.” She said, sympathy in her voice.
“Where’s Zarak?” he replied tersely
“Now’s not a good time.”
“Not a good time?” He was incensed. “Not a good time?! Of course it’s not a good time! That’s why I want to talk to him!”
He started towards the stage, but she grabbed his arm, her grip like iron. The former pirate gave him a worried look, warning him it was a bad idea. He shook her gloved hand away, and stormed off.

The Councillor was still in heated debate with his group. Cyrus noted the scientists Hi-test and Vorath, the cartographer Brisko, one of the feuding businessmen from earlier in the night (Graf, Gran or something…), and several others - mostly nobles and businessmen, but there were a few he didn’t know. That annoying pest Kreb was there too, answering how he got an invitation at least. Snippets of the discussion reached his ears – the assembled men were all asking the same things; “what are we going to do now?” said the businessman.
“We’ve got too much at stake, we can’t go back now…” that was Spasma, the nervous and wretched noble from the southern provinces.
“The die is cast, there is no turning back…” added Vorath ominously.
All this talk only angered Cyrus more – where were all these people when he needed them? And only now their plans for him had fallen through did they care. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with their constant attempts to grease his palm and whisper in his ear…

Forcing his way through the group he came up next to Zarak.
“What was that?”
“Cyrus, you’re upset…” the older man didn’t seem like his offer of support was valid right now, “you should get some sleep and…”
“We had a deal. Or were you lying to me too?”
The other conversations stopped, the accusation of ‘like father like daughter’ had gotten everyone in earshot’s attention.
“Cyrus, I…”
“Feh – I’ve heard that one before.” He spat venomously.
“Cyrus please – I know this isn’t what we thought would happen.” Taking the young man he walked them away from the others. “I’m as shocked as you are.” Zarak paused waiting for a reply, but none came. Cyrus simply watched him, eyes burning with misdirected rage. “It seems that a number of my fellow Peers who promised their support did not follow through on their words.”
Cyrus realised he shouldn’t be surprised, it’s not like anyone keeps their promises to him anyway…
“Look, stay at my residence tonight, I’ll have my car take you…”
Putting up his hand, the younger man shook his head – he just wanted to be left alone, to be allowed to fade away from everyone’s memory in peace.
“Well at least take my car – I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
But he so desperately wanted to have someone care for him, even a little, and it not be a lie.
“Cyrus..?”
“Ok…” he nodded weakly.
“Good, I don’t have much reason to stay here myself,” he glanced to where the vast majority of people were still crowding around Galen, “so I’ll not be far behind. The staff shall be expecting you when you arrive.”
Cyrus nodded again.
“Thankyou, Zarak.”

“Is that you? I didn’t think you’d have gotten out of…” her voice trailed of as she came running into the foyer, her smile fading with it.
“Llyria…”
“Cyrus,” she was shocked, taking a step back in surprise, “wha… what are you doing here?”
“Your father asked me to stay here tonight… I didn’t get the position, it went to Galen.”
She looked away from him, her voice almost a whisper.
“I heard.”
He took a step towards her, half reaching out a hand, before pulling it back to his side.
“I… I didn’t mean to startle you… your father will be here soon.”
“Yes… like I was saying I didn’t think he’d have gotten away so soon… those things go on forever.”
“Yeah, like last years we didn’t get away until almost dawn.” He smiled at the memory of happier times.
“Yeah…” She smiled back at him, the brief moment of reverie fading, replaced by a stilted silence.
They looked at each other, him trying to find the words, her looking for a way to get out before he could say them.
“Well, anyways, I’ll let you get out of here.” She smiled awkwardly at him, a nervous laugh on her lips. “I know how much you hate being in that…” her smile turned to a face of regret as she realised what she was saying, “…uniform all night…”
Her voice trailed off, and Cyrus felt his heart sink. The ease of their relationship was still there – they knew each other too well for it to be otherwise – but the soul, the connection between them, was gone. He simply nodded; looking at the ground as she quietly retreated.

A moment after she had gone, one of Zarak’s servants entered, and took Cyrus up to one of the second floor guest rooms, where the clothes he kept in the house had been moved to. Opening the large double doors to the balcony he stepped out into the cool night air. Above him the stars shone through gaps in the emptied clouds, their cold light stark in the blackness above. Below he could make out the shadowy moonlit world of the large, decorative garden. He had spent countless hours there with Llyria; walking the paths, helping her take care of the roses, simply sitting under a tree and talking. Now it was dark – the life gone from it, replaced by a glittering stillness.

The silence was broken by the hum of an approaching grav-car, no doubt Zarak returning. He wondered if Llyria would be rushing to greet him this time. Probably not, her enthusiasm seemed lacking after seeing him. Heading back inside he lay down on the bed and looked up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. Even their brightest points were still in darkness, any light was just an illusion. He could tell himself it was light, but the moment any real brightness entered the room the shadows would vanish – feeble imitations of the real thing.

Outside he could hear the sound of footsteps and the hum of voices, a man and a woman. Slowly he sat up and shuffled to the door, lethargically twisting the handle and stepping out into the darkened corridor. Following the voices, he saw the red glow of a fireplace ahead, the flames within casting long shadows across the marbled floor. The long, twisting silhouettes of two figures stretched out of the study, standing close to each other and sharing some secret confidence. Drawing closer he recognised the voices; Zarak and Lokos. They were talking in hushed, conspiratorial tones that put Cyrus on edge.
“I think we should forget it, find some other way.”
“Getting squeamish? I didn’t think that was your style.”
“It’s not that – I think it’s clear how dedicated I am to this project – I just don’t like using him like this.”
“He’s nothing – since my darling daughter saw fit to part ways with him he’s fallen apart. We’re lucky he was even at the ball tonight.”
So even Zarak’s friendship was a lie too.
“Nothing? Then why the earlier concern over him – you were certainly eager to have him stay here.”
“Can you imagine if he went home alone and..? We can’t risk any extra attention, especially with Galen in office now. He’s going to cause trouble – he’ll be looking to send you away for a long time.”
“Don’t worry about me, Zarak.”
“I’m not. I’m worried about them… what they’ll do…”
There was a pause, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace.
“Don’t involve him further. It’s not right to take advantage of him like this, not now.”
“It’s too late now – he’s as damned as the rest of us…”

Cyrus slunk back to his room, crushed. He had nothing, no one to hold, no one to hold him, his career was effectively over (not that he cared), there was nothing – no future, no hope. Not wanting to risk disturbing anyone with his presence Cyrus gently closed the door, curling up on the bed, arms wrapped around himself. All he wanted was for someone to be there and tell him they wouldn’t leave, that he was special… that he could be loved. But there was only silence. Hot tears ran down his face, uncontrolled sobs softly escaping his lips. As a last act of desperation he put his arms over his face, trying futilely to shield himself from the sorrow and grief of the world. It was in vain, but soon the dark embrace of sleep took hold of him.

“Poor little soldier boy…”
Groggily opening his eyes, Cyrus saw a figure outlined against the night sky. Beyond them, through the still open balcony doors, he could see the clouds had once more gathered, rumbling threateningly. They sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand and running it through his hair. He smiled; it felt good to have that touch, that gentle caress.
“Llyria…”
They laughed softly.
“No… not Llyria…”
He sat up suddenly, his eyes focussing slowly in the darkness.
“Lokos?”
“Shhh…”
Sliding closer to him, she gently placed a finger to his lips. It was cold and hard – metal. Cyrus blinked away his grogginess and tried to focus on her again. She had discarded her coat, revealing a fine white blouse. Several of the buttons were undone, exposing polished metal beneath. She reached up and pulled the black ribbon from her hair, her sleeve falling away to bare the synthetic limb beneath.
“Wha…?”
Shushing him again, she smiled, the tender look in her eyes mixed with sadness and regret. She slid closer putting her arms around him, pulling him close. The pirate put a hand on his head, stroking his hair soothingly. Slowly, not without a little trepidation, Cyrus reached his own hand out and put it in hers. He rested her head on her shoulder – it felt so good to be held. She was cold to the touch, soft flesh and warm blood replaced by hard metal and cold wires… but it felt so good to be in her arms. The soft breeze of her breath on his skin, the caress of her fingertips along his arm, the sense that for even just this moment, he was important to someone, that someone cared.

Sensing his mood she half sat up, propping herself on her side with one arm, her free idly hand over his body. In the dim half light her eyes no longer seemed as cold as they had before, but instead filled with a lifetime of heartbreak and loneliness.
“Why do we do this?” she asked softly.
“What do you mean?”
“Open our hearts to someone, even just a little, when all we’ve ever had for it is pain… why don’t we just keep the happy, carefree mask on..?”
Looking into her eyes, he saw what she was hiding, and knew exactly why she hid it.
“Because the loneliness hurts more.”
Looking away from him, at some distant memory, she let out a quiet, half laugh.
“Yeah…”
With that she leaned down and kissed him, tenderly and gentle. Her lips were cracked, his mouth dry – but it was the sweetest, most loving kiss – one born of an aching heart longing to not be hurt anymore. Brushing away the hair from her face, he softly ran his hand across the soft skin of her cheek and down the curve of her neck. He could feel her pulse racing, much like his own heart. Together they lay in their passionate – compassionate – embrace, two lonely souls finding a brief moment of respite.

The sound of a clattering door roused Cyrus from his peaceful slumber. Opening his eyes, he saw Lokos still laying beside him. She was laying on her side, hair splayed over her face, a look of peace on her face. Sitting up he couldn’t help but smile as she mumbled in her sleep, reaching out a hand to where he had been a few moments ago. She fumbled for a moment, before her hand came to rest on his knee. As he ran a hand along the supple curve of her body he couldn’t help but think of Llyria. Was he over her? The pain was there still, but not the love he had felt… in its place was a burning desire to hurt her like she had hurt him, to see her lover crushed and broken as he was.

Another door creaked open before clicking shut, but this was below Cyrus’ room, the door out into the garden. The sound of voices, of laughter floated through the doorway to the overlooking balcony. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew the voices. The anger and rage that previously run free now had a name to focus on. Galen. His eyes narrowed with murderous intent as he slipped out of Lokos’ grasp, and crept to the veranda. Cloaked in the total darkness cast by one of the decorative pillars, he cast his gaze down into the garden below.

He saw her, the woman who claimed she would always love him and never hurt him, in tender embrace with the man who had taken everything from him. Cyrus heard her say his name with the same warmth she used to call him by. Then she kissed him, the way she once kissed him, the way he wanted to be kissed again. His heart burned, his stomach twisted. Rage and anguish mixed to form a heart wrenching pain like he’d never felt before. He’d imagined it to be sure, but seeing it was something else. How could she do this to him, after all they had and all they had promised each other? Fury at what was lost, sorrow for what was not to be. Hatred for the man who turned her against him, anguish for the woman who had broken his heart. He wanted to let go; he knew it was over, gone forever, but the fire in his heart burned strong.

There was a presence behind him, just beyond his vision.
“You want to see him hurt, don’t you?” her voice was calm, measured.
“No…" He wanted to say that he was free from his past and that he was ready to move on. But he couldn’t… the pain was too much...
He clenched his fists as the fire inside consumed him. "I want to see him burn…”
She nodded somberly, knowing full well what that would mean.

Time passed…
Nebulos fell to war and destruction; the Decepticons didn’t wait for Zarak’s new schemes to reach fruition, instead crashing on the unprepared people like a vast, predatory bird that had been circling a wounded calf. The Autobots came, and drew their enemies away to other worlds…

Singe detached from Spinister’s wing, transforming from twin barrelled flamethrower to his more familiar Nebulan form. It had been several years since that fateful night, since he had undergone the surgery that together with his suit of master armour turned him into a walking cannon. He had been pursuing Galen across the galaxy, biding his time until he could burn him slowly down to the bone. Time and time again the Autobots had escaped, but now they had reached their destination, and had nowhere left to run.

With barely a sound his larger partner reshaped himself to his robot mode, the ground crunching beneath his feet. Hairsplitter stood alongside him, gazing out through the trees at their objective; the large, smoke belching mountain that had been housing the Autobots on this planet – Earth. Around them were troops under Scorponok and Zarak’s command, though the line between the two was becoming increasingly blurred as the binary bonding process took hold. Brisko, speaking through his partner Fangry, remarked that from his understanding of local geology the mountain was almost ready to erupt. Sunbeam remarked it would be a good show from here but was quickly rebuked by Hairsplitter, who pointed out half their forces were still in the volcano.

As if on cue the ground shook, but it was just the crash of a tree, toppled by a bored Quake.
“Covert!” hissed Spinister. “You know what that means?”
Before he could reply, the earth shuddered violently, toppling several unwary Decepticons. Flames spewed from the crown of the mountain, followed by a terrific boom. Smoke and ash filled the sky, turning it dark and hellish.
“Damn this to the void,” the helicopter muttered, “I can’t get any signal on the comms through all of this… we’ll have to wait…”

Singe stood at the edge of the tree line, brooding. He could feel his time was almost here, where he would come face to face with Galen and let him know what pain felt like. Behind him there was another crash as Quake added one more uprooted tree to his collection. As he turned to look his eyes met those of Lokos, standing by her larger partner Squeezeplay. They stared at each other, longing in their eyes and the memory of that one perfect moment in their hearts. But they both knew it could never be, not until this was over – once again fate was against them. Turning away he looked at the setting sun and remembered the peace he felt in her arms. The memory was fleeting and tinged with remorse, soon replaced by the burning image of Llyria’s final betrayal.

Scorponok and the other Decepticons returned as the darkness fell, most carrying the marks of battle. Singe was itching to be called in as reinforcements, to continue the fight anew, but it was not to be. Zarak stood atop his partner and called out to his followers.
“Loyal Decepticons! Today we rejoice for we have won a great victory; Galen is no more!”
The assembled troops cheered, fists raised to the air in triumph.

All, that is, but two.

Lokos stood by him, wanting to comfort him, but at the same time not wanting to risk his pulling away. Falling to his knees Singe put his hands over his face; the fire went out, emptiness consuming him.

All that was left of him was gone, burned to ash and dust.