If there was anything she would die to avoid doing, it would be proving Mordon right.

Cyrene moved slowly through the halls of her palace, feeling extremely out of place. Not because of her attire, or her mood, but because she walked among the wounded, clean and unscathed, while her own citizens -- the people who trusted her with their lives -- were dead, wounded, or dying.

Even their pain did not distress her overly much, and she admitted to herself that her lack of feeling was probably what caused her discomfort. She cared for her people, but as she looked upon them, she felt...... nothing. And that rankled, if only because she had ever strived to prove that Lacan and Mordon had been wrong in their assessment of her humanity.

Still, even that only occupied half of her thoughts. She turned away from the line of stretchers entering the palace and continued on to her chambers in silence, occasionally stopping to comfort a wounded pilot or a worried family member. They smiled at her, reassured by her statement that nothing was wrong, that everything would be fine.

Everything was most certainly *not* fine.

It was a losing cause. For the first time in five hundred years, she could not muster the resources to throw Solaris back, or advance. Running...... running is what had gotten them in trouble in the first place. But they were going to have to run again -- and this time, Solaris was not the only enemy Shevat had to escape.

**Foreign space logic patters..... I don't care what it might be, we are going to move NOW, before we find out.** She could only recall one time in her life when she had seen the same sort of occurance, and she did not want to be around to see whether they were one and the same.

"Your Highness......"

Cyrene slowed, allowing the Minister of Defense to catch up. "If you give me one more delay, you're going to find yourself deported," she said caustically.

"No......" He puffed, trying to catch his breath. "We are on the move. All of our troops have been gathered from the battlefield, and Shevat has reached Level Four elevation. But Solaris is following us, Highness."

"How many?"

"Two battle cruisers and a phalanx of long-distance heavy assault gears."

She shrugged, dismissing them. "The gears cannot reach our current elevation, and the battle cruisers will run out of fuel sooner or later. All we have to do is keep our distance."

"But Highness!" He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She gazed at him coldly, and he removed it hastily. "Their fuel emissions are irregular! If the computer is right, we won't be able to keep our distance without depleting the Gate's energy significantly. They're moving too fast!"

"What am I paying you for, Synclair? Can't you manage such a simple task?" She started walking again, almost to her rooms. "Find a balance. We can stand a few hits with a weakened gate, as long as we're moving fast enough."

Didn't the fool understand? Speed was of the essence! Survival would require risk...... and she was willing to take risks, if it kept Shevat alive. **Count yourself lucky you're not in my position, old friend,** she thought silently.

Synclair sighed heavily, still rooted to the middle of the corridor. "It will be as you say, my Queen." She heard him start down the corridor.

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. "Synclair." He halted. "...... Do you ever wish for the old days?" It was as close to an apology as she could give, right then.

He smiled, face lined with sadness, and nodded to her in understanding. "Always."

"...... a few hours away from position over Bledavik, my Queen. Do you wish to send agents to the surface?"

"This is the last day of the Tournament, correct?" the officer nodded. Cyrene leaned back in her armchair -- the same armchair she had posed in for Lacan, back in the day...... "Yes. Send two scouts into the city proper, and one into the Arena. It never hurts to find prospective allies."

The officer nodded again. "Any other orders, Highness?"

She thought a moment, mentally scanning her list of important tasks for an extra assignment. Nothing came to mind. "No. Carry on." The officer bowed and faded from view.

Bledavik...... she had not been there in ages. She would really rather visit Nisan again, but that city carried with it its own set of painful memories, and Aveh couldn't hold a candle to that. Still...... something was drawing her back there. It was almost like a hand on her shoulder, drawing her back to that place.

**Perhaps we should make our way to Nisan instead......** she thought to herself, fiddling with a loose strand of her hair. **Or Kislev...... our treaty with them should hold here.** But the half-made plans would never be played out, and Cyrene knew it.

The Gate had been damaged. Although Solaris had done it no severe harm, it would take at least a day to repair, and during that time Shevat would have to remain stationary. Although Aveh was technically in the hands of Solaris's organization called 'Gebler', she doubted the forces stationed in Bledavik would bother with her city, or had the resources at hand to do so.

That didn't make their location any less nerve-wracking, however. After their earlier skirmish with Solaris, she had started to feel increasingly jumpy.

No no...... Solaris knew it had them beaten, for now. Mordon knew she had run out of resources, not to mention options. The question was, would he try to finish her off now, or let the game play out, to the end?

Or would that unidentified disturbance destroy them both?

**I have a very bad feeling......** She was starting to sound like a half-mad psycic. But she couldn't deny that, lately, her feelings had served her well. But what could she do about it, when she didn't know what it was she feared? Cyrene shrugged and stared across her brightly lit room, eyes resting on her old portrait.

Before the Solaris-Nisan war it had hung in the great ballroom, last in the long line of Aphel and Aquavy queens gracing the ancient chamber. It had been the most beautiful by far, not because of her face, but because of the masterful skill that had created it from nothing.

Lacan's work was almost otherworldly in its perfection. His brushstrokes were almost invisible, his blending flawless, his pigments holding the very essence of life...... Even with centuries of dust dimming it, the painting held the same vibrancy she had sensed from *him* during their first meeting.

Not for the first time, her mind wandered to that meeting, and the sessions and numerous good times that had followed it. He had always been so nervous around her, even during his last days in her city, two years after his arrival. Yet he had been loyal, friendly...... so different from her own court of nobles and followers. She had spent more than one session just staring at his face while he worked, facinated by him.

He had never noticed.

**But he noticed Sophia,** a small voice whispered in her mind. **He noticed that Lamb-turned-Great Mother, and never strayed from her side, did he?** She quashed the thought, eyebrows contracting. The portrait blurred in her vision.

"She wasn't a...... a Lamb......" Cyrene said softly, listlessly to herself. She quelled the old stab of jealousy and shivered at the sudden cold of the pendant around her neck. Cold, like the day Lacan had thrown it at her in rage.

The comm system beeped insistently, breaking through her mournful thoughts. Cyrene tapped the button impatiently, annoyed by the interruption.

"What is it?" she demanded, eyes boring through the image of the officer appearing before her. The hologram broke and shimmered a moment, then coalesced again. She frowned, watching the disturbance occur again at short intervals.

"We've picked up the disturbance again, my Queen, right above Bledavik. We are maintaining Level Four elevation above the city, above the cloud-cover, but the temperal waves are disrupting our systems."

She drew a deep breath, dread filling her soul. "Do we have the energy to rise higher?"

"I'm afraid not -- not without severely depleting the Gate's remaining energy."

"Damn!" she swore under her breath, clenching her small fist in frustration. So this is what it was playing out to be -- she was trapped, at the mercy of Solaris and this strange disturbance. Which one would end up destroying her? she wondered bitterly.

"My Queen?"

Cyrene turned her attention back to the officer, at a loss for what to say. She was hoping things were not as bleak as they looked. "What about --" she began.

Red emergency lights lit up her communication console, and faintly, she heard an alarm klaxon go off below, in the tactical center. She bolted out of her chair, and the officer disappeared for a moment.

"Sensors have picked up a massive output of energy over the city!" he called, now communicating through the audio device only. "Sending data to your location......"

A wide, holographic projection filled her room, spreading out before her, occasionally broken by the same disturbances that had marred the officer's report. A massive air cruser hovered directly above Lower Bledavik, blotting out most of the region. Sensor readings showed the western wall had been melted to slag.

Cyrene's body went cold. **Omega......** The omega symbol burned brightly on the cruiser's black hull, bringing hideous, scattered memories to her mind.

"Diabalos......" she whispered, the fact not quite registering in her mind. She knew her eyes must look ready to fall out of her head. Impossible! ...... Right?

She sank into her chair, staring at the screen with wide eyes. **Again......** Why now? She took a deep, shuddering breath, closed her eyes.

**I dropped my people right into the middle of this. I took them from one danger and planted them before a greater one!** She gripped the arms of the chair until her kniuckles turned white. "Michael?" she said aloud, only just recalling the young officer's name.

"Yes, my Queen?" A nervous tremble marred his voice.

"Take us out of here. Do what you can to conceal our presence, but keep our main energy feeding the Gate. We need to get away before we are noticed."

"B-but...... what about Bledavik?" he stammered, shocked.

She sighed. "Aveh has Solaris to protect them. If Gebler can't do it, we certainly would not stand a chance as we are. Relay my order, Michael."

"Y-yes, Majesty......"

The audio comm clicked, signalling his departure. Cyrene hardly noticed, staring at the hologram depicting the unfolding battle above Aveh's capital.

They would not escape notice. The sensors the strange force used far exceeded even Solaris's technology, and she knew they would be pursued, even as the battle in Bledavik would advance. Shevat's speed was hampered by a lack of energy, the Gate was weakened...... if her city survived this day, she just might start to believe in miracles again......

"Why......?" she whispered. Had Kyouran somehow summoned them again, as he had five hundred years ago? Why else would they come?

The Omega...... come to destroy the Alpha.

It made a strange sort of sense. It was a chilling realization...... for all the talk of her warriors, or those of Solaris, the idea of annihilation, so close that one could reach out and touch it, was chilling beyond belief.

They could do it. She knew they could. Without the Omnigears, nothing could stand up to them!

The floor beneath her feet vibrated, and she felt Shevat begin to move from its position, traveling south with startling speed. At first, she thought they might get away unscathed; the Diabalo gears seemed completely absorbed in their task.

Then, a detachment of familiar, dead-black gears left the battle, racing in her direction. Another left the ship, following them.

"What have I dropped us into......?" Cyrene clasped the pendant, longing for Sophia's guidance.

No answer.