Betty Jo put a teabag in each of the mugs and carefully poured boiling water on top, the process of fixing a cuppa automatic now. When she'd finished, carrying both cups carefully, she went to find Ian.  She found him in the small suite of rooms they'd been given when they'd landed on Silka.  She stood in the doorway for a moment watching him, indulging herself in the sight of him. She loved looking at him. He could still make her mouth go dry and make her stomach turn over, just like he had the first time she saw him.

"Ian honey, I brought tea.  I thought you'd like some." She held the cup out to him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It was a long meeting I guess. Did you get everything planned?"

She also liked the way his eyes lit up when she surprised him. "Thank you, Betty. It was a long meeting. I believe we've managed to coordinate with everyone. Now we only hope we have enough time to evacuate before the Star Lords discover where Silka is, or our Rim friends have to retreat."

"The dragons want at least another two days," she said.  "That's what Puff told Julian.  They've been at it, day and night for days already."  She sipped her tea.  "The Silka are taking it remarkably well.  I can't imagine what it must be like for them knowing that if things go right their home will be blown to bits.  Or if things go wrong..."

"Well, they see themselves as a species with a mission.  Perhaps more species might be better off having a raison d'etre. I suppose knowing they were altered by a god-like creature to fulfill this mission has something to do with it," Ian added dryly.

"Do you disapprove?"

"I'm undecided. I admit to the motivation being reasonable. I suppose we're lucky it was Marc who was involved and not someone who wanted to rule the universe. Although I gather even he had temptations in that regard at one point."

She set her cup down and slipped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest.  "I don't know all that much about him.  Contrary to popular opinion us women don't spend a lot of time gossiping about our men.  Or at least Dinah and I don't.  How worried are you?"

"Quite worried, actually. It's a rather frightening prospect to be attempting to save a species from powerful enemies with abilities we don't fully understand," Ian admitted.

"The dragons don't seem all that worried and they know them better than the rest of us.  But perhaps that's a dragon thing."  She stole a glance at him through her lashes.  "I keep wishing we had one."

He shook his head, fighting back a grin. "If Puff is representative of the species, I'd rather not tempt fate. But, as I understand it, the dragon decides."

"They aren't all like Puff.  I think he was created especially for Julian.  And a wizard needs a dragon, to go with the pointy hat with the stars and the moon on it, the velvet gown with the full flowing sleeves and the star tipped wand.  How come I've never seen your wand?" 

"It's in my sock drawer."

"You left it at home?" she demanded, fighting back a gurgle of laughter.  "Aren't you going to need it?"

"Not in the least. I don't wear the tau robe any more either. I've given up the trappings of ritual magic. Although I do rather miss the naked in the moonlight bits. And, as you well know, I've chosen to limit the sex magic to your bed."

"I know what a sacrifice that's been for you.  Would it help if I offered to do the naked in the moonlight bits with you?  To show my appreciation?"

"And shock the vicar?  Sounds like a plan to me."

"What is with you and the vicar?" she asked.  "He's a pleasant, inoffensive man who just wants to do his duty by you and insure you make it to heaven."

"And won't give up on me. I know. And he plays chess quite well too. I'm a wretch."

"No, not a wretch, my love.  Just basically irreverent, with a repressed penchant for mischief.  A penchant, I might add, that's of compelling interest to me.  I need to find ways to bring it out in you more often.  So far only the vicar seems able to do it consistently.  It makes me quite jealous.""

"We'll work on it once we're back home then, shall we?" Ian asked grinning.

She pouted.  "That could be a while."

"True, alas. Although if you get yourself chosen by a dragon you too can learn the pleasures of shocking the vicar. I can see you arriving for Sunday services now."

She gave in to the need to laugh.  "You are truly bad, you know that.  It's a wonder the vicar works so hard to save your soul."

"He enjoys a challenge. I'm kind enough to indulge his need. Think of it as a symbiotic relationship. And since you've arrived he's even more determined to save me. Poor fellow."

"Hmm.  I'm not sure I follow the logic, but then...I'm not surprised.  So what's the plan?"

"Same as ever. We evacuate like mad, hoping our friends can buy us the time we need," Ian replied, sipping his tea. "I miss our leisurely mornings in Wiltshire. I'll be quite put out if it is too chilly for morning tea on the terrace when we get home."

"I meant the plan for when the battle here starts."

"The dragons and the Houses will hit them in the air, and we mages will attack those that land."

"So simple, so direct.  Then back home to deal with Patrick and Collins.  When this is all over I think I'll take a vacation.  A beach, sand, bikinis, coconut oil, fizzy pastel drinks with little umbrellas in them and fruit on a skewer."

"I'd prefer Patrick on a skewer myself."

"Hmmm.  Then I should book for just one?  I can do that of course.  I'm sure the cabana boy will be happy to make sure the coconut oil is evenly applied to those portions of my anatomy I can't reach.  And I'll save the skewers for you."

"Oh, I'm invited along?" Ian asked, raising an eyebrow. "The use of the singular pronoun had me rather convinced you were strategically withdrawing so you wouldn't be in the line of fire when I take on Patrick and his father."

Her eyebrow matched the elevation of his.  "Not at all.  Until you stated your preference for skewering Patrick rather than fruit I assumed you would.  Besides, I rather doubt there's anywhere out of the line of fire."

"Oh, good then. Do book us something remote. Quiet. Don't tell anyone where it is. Even me."

She laughed.  "All right.  I won't.  It'll be a surprise.  Now, seriously, tell me what you need me to do.  I know you hate that I'm here, but since I am I might as well be useful.  All four of us might as well be."

"Ah. I don't suppose rolling bandages will keep you happy."

She just shook her head.

He shrugged. "It was worth a shot."  He paused then and she could imagine him reviewing the battle plan.

"I'd personally like a backup to the metaconcerts. How attuned are you four mentally?  Could you set up your own relay service to pass info from say, magic users, to Houses, to dragons to the Cephi?  I expect the Star Lords will prioritize an attempt to kill Marc and Christopher. While I doubt they will be able to manage it, they might attack the metaconcerts with enough force to disrupt them, so that we won't be getting up to the second information fed to us on the whole status of the battle. Perhaps you four could be our backup for that."

"We could do that," she said after she thought for a moment.  "It wouldn't be a problem.  If we pick a common mental channel it wouldn't be all that difficult to shield, I imagine."

"Good. Each of you can be on hand for each group and keep up to date on what is going on. And if our main channel for info does become blocked, you can take over."

"Good.  Now what can I do for you?"

"Let me hold you," he replied.

She moved into his arms, shaping herself to the lines and angles of his body.  "As long as you'd like."

The metaconcerts flared to life as the Star Lords broke through the lines attempting to keep them engaged at the Rift. Ships, people, dragons died, but in vain. They could not hold the technologically superior races any longer. Marc, monitoring, called for the retreat, only when it would seem to be a rout. Orderly it wouldn't be, he wanted it to look as much like a capitulation as possible. That he got.

It took the Star Lords almost a day to find Silka.  They'd hoped for at least two.  The evacuation was not complete, and when Ian got the word, he and Carmine, commanding a squadron of vampires who would help hold the planet as long as possible, shared a look.

Ian knew as soon as they breached the solar system.  Now, they had hours at the most.

Lev eyed Dia but kept his mouth firmly shut. That he didn't like the idea she was going to be riding along with the dragons was clear in every angle and movement.

Anja raised an eyebrow as she watched him watching Dia.  She'd be leaving soon to lead the dragons of her own world into the battle in a somewhat different manner.

"I see," was what Lev said as Dia wound up her explanation regarding what she'd be doing.

She surveyed him doubtfully, waiting for the catch.  "And?"

He shrugged. "There's no and. Be careful."

She moved closer, stepping into his personal space, creating a place of shared intimacy.  She brushed her fingers over his mouth, her eyes huge.  "You as well." 

He nodded, meeting her eyes.

She swallowed hard.  "I love you."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. Lev was never much with words.  Fortunately she wasn't the sort of woman who needed them.

She drew back first, resting her forehead against his chest.  "They're almost here," she whispered.  "Do not let worry for me become a distraction.  I really can take care of myself.  Just make sure I don't have to add bargaining with Samael on your behalf to the events of this day.  Other than you, I have no wealth."

"Sic Azael on his ass if he gives you a hard time," Lev suggested, the corner of his mouth tweaking up. I'll be careful. Just you be as well, my love."

"I will," she said and then reluctantly stepped back, letting her arms fall to her sides.  Behind her a dragon snuffled in her hair and Salem rubbed against her ankles, meowing loudly.  She stifled a smile.  "I wonder where Cele is?" 

"I locked him in our closet," Lev replied.

She laughed out loud.  "And you think that will stop him?"

"No, but it will piss him off enough to stay away and stay safe," Lev confessed.

She shook her head and kissed him swiftly, one last time before mounting Jelly.  "Unlikely, but a valiant try just the same."

And right on cue, as Lev watched Jelly bear Dia away, Cele materialized next to him. "Damn cat," he muttered.  But he picked Cele up and set him on his shoulder as he walked over to his dragon squadron.

Kalie turned a jeweled eye on the cat as she lowered a wing so Lev could mount and grinned, her expression predatory.  "Felines are merciless hunters," she observed without inflection.  "Does he have friends?"

"Two I know of but I think they're otherwise occupied," Lev replied as he climbed aboard. "He's got a mind of his own, so I try not to pry."

"Probably wise," Kalie said and launched herself into the sky.

Outside of the building they'd turned into a triage station Jonah watched Lev follow Dia into the night, then Anja and Snow, leading another group of dragons aloft.  They cloaked themselves as they went, using a spell he and Ian and Julian had developed so they could hide them until the last minute.  It would also make it harder to target them as they provided air cover.

The remaining Master Dreamers, deep in the caves that were their preferred world, began to dream of war and death, indifferent to the fact that the dream they were spinning was one they'd likely never wake from.  They dreamed and all around Jonah an army rose up from nothingness, forming out of the low lying droplets of mist. 

The power that formed them, used by the Silka to turn dream into reality was like a fireworks display across the mental landscape.  Aboard the battle group flagship the second in line after the head of House Be'to felt his face settle into feral lines, blinking once as his inner eyelids dropped, changing the everyday world into one more suited to the hunter, the stalking predator he, like all his family, were.  The light was tinged with red, the visible spectrum expanded to include the infrared and as it did, the turbinates inside his nose flooded with blood, with chemicals expanding the amount of information he could glean from the air by a factor of thousands.

In his ears the hair cells, the mechanoreceptors that regulated the release of the neurotransmitters that governed his hearing began to multiply and diversify.  Within seconds his auditory range and sensitivity expanded to match the acuity of his eyesight and hearing.  The receptors on his tongue followed suit in response to the flood of hormones his brain was releasing, also changing his biochemistry back to that of his forebears, back to that of a lethal, cunning predator who lived to hunt and to kill. 

Deneth flexed his fingers, feeling his nails give way to razor sharp claws.  Below him, on the screen on the bridge he watched as the planet loomed large, filling the display.  On the launching decks the fighters were already taking off, machines as lethal and, in their way, as sophisticated at killing as he and his people were.  After all they'd both been created to do just that and, in the case of the machines, only that. 

"Last squad launched, Admiral," came the voice over the comm unit from the fighter bays.  "Ground troops ready to deploy on your order."

Deneth's grin grew larger.  "I'll meet you on the surface, brother."

His brother the Admiral, a sibling only by virtue of being a member of the same House, grunted and gave the order to deploy the the ground troops, warriors related to Deneth by virtue of species and race...as deadly, as cunning and as merciless when in the grip of the blood lust that consumed them when they went into battle as the Viking berserkers of old that the Admiral at least, had never heard of.  It was in him to feel pity for the beings on the surface.  And he did, but only for a moment before he went back to work.

The air assault began without warning, the fighters bursting into the atmosphere at mach speed, coming in hot, and launching their missiles as soon as the gravitational forces stabilized.  Then they dove, thinking the skies were empty, dumping altitude and speed in order to strafe the surface using the gamma lasers that seared through everything, anything, and touching off a chain reaction of sub-atomic chaos that spread through whatever was living, only dying when what it hit was already dead and unable to feed it.

The dragons, ridden by the warrior monks, the House warriors and those that were riderless met them, pouring fire and flame straight back along the path of energy, sending shock waves of surprise and destruction into the close combat fighters.

Jonah knew it happened only because his mind was locked on the flow of information being channeled to him and everyone else through the relays set up by his daughters.  He absorbed it, integrated it using a very small fraction of his mind as he merged with the battalions created by the Silka, ready to face the assault troops materializing by the hundreds already attacking before they were fully formed.  He sent an order into the merged minds, pulled power from the very air around him and launched it. 

Laz, commanding on his right flank saw the energy arc, the explosion as it hit the enemy and sent his own orders out along the mental merge he was holding with the troops created by the Silka.  Seconds later they charged, reminding him vaguely of accounts he'd read of the assault on Hougoumont at the Battle of Waterloo...wave after wave of charging infantry, the defenders formed into squares, firing in relays then forming up, bayonets fixed, in the classic defense against light cavalry as it attacked while the enemy infantry reformed for the next charge. 

He thought it, and let the thought go as the first of the invaders appeared before him, firing a laser weapon.  Laz flung himself to the left and rolled, coming back up like he was using a trampoline, taking the man down.  Just before he blocked out all thought but what related to the battle he was fighting, he decided that Hougoumont was only half the story.  The other half was the Zulu War and the Battle of Rourke's Drift.  One hundred thirty-six British against forty-five hundred Zulu.  In both battles the British won.  He took that as an omen. 

He was glad he preferred hand-to-hand combat.  He was going to see a lot today.

Marc, in tactical position on the metaconcert, watched the deployment and the first wave of attackers arrive and strike. He signaled the Houses and the vampires forward to support the Silka mental troops. It had to look real and desperate.  Still, he held the main body of the dragons in reserve, reassuring Lev and Anja that things so far, were going as planned.

Marc also could sense through the enhanced mental powers of the metaconcerts the hell-for-leather approach of the Rim forces, supposedly trying to stop the Star Lords, but too late to save Silka.

That was when the first concerted strike on the metaconcerts began.  Marc ground his teeth and reached for whatever power he could find, pulling it from Stephen and his channelers, from the planet itself and from the suns in the Silka system.  He covered Christopher and the rest of the children, determined to not let them be distracted or weakened. He sent out a warning to Chris and told him to turn on the power.

Christopher obliged, directing it towards the flagship, reasoning that if they took out the command center the attack would at least degenerate into chaos.  Kella, her mind tuned to his, launched her torpedoes, sending them in at an oblique angle to the shields around the ship, while Christopher focused his own attack straight on. 

The shield wavered for a second but held.  Then the nearest star cruiser wheeled, using reverse trajectory, and launched against Kella.  Christopher briefly buttressed her own shields and send an energy pulse akin to a star going nova back along the same path, sending it straight up their launch tubes and exploding the ship. 

Azael, aboard Aaru, had her uncloak and show herself to the Star Lord army just before he coordinated with Ther'lin and took out the next two ships in command in a deadly crossfire.

Julian, aboard Puff, made a face. Sitting in reserve sucked. Big time. The dragons with him agreed whole-heartedly.

Meanwhile, Marc covered the last of the evacuations from the planet, pulling out every Silka he could manage as their ground troops held off the Star Lord armies.  Then he gave the all clear to Christopher that now was the time, and he loosed the dragon phalanxes.

Lev signaled the dragons as Anja turned her group toward another target, one not, strictly speaking offensive. She, and they, angled down toward the planet, toward a hidden cavern where secrets were hidden and had to be saved at any cost.

Christopher rapidly calculated the orbit of the battle fleet and swore softly.  He had the entire battle dancing in his head like his own private movie, seeing every piece and every possibility within the parameters of their plan and within the boundaries of everything he knew that could possibly go wrong.  He had know idea how he could do it.  He supposed Tabitha would roll her eyes and say he was channeling his father, Richard the III.  He suspected his father's relationship with Tabitha had been a lot like Marc's and then some, his father having reserves of royal arrogance and aloofness not available to Marc.  They were both, he supposed, afflicted with the same virulent strain of noblesse oblige, which would explain a lot.

Regardless of who he was channeling, if anyone at all, the battle group was in a higher orbit than he liked.  So he sent an order to Paxx, commanding the Margassan and Guild fleets and then another one to the Cephi, while McGee and Ing took Ther'lin and Aaru in under the fleet, skimming the upper levels of the atmosphere, exposing both ships.

The Admiral saw them, saw the tempting underbelly on both ships, knew what a coup taking out one of the Cephi would be, knew if he got both it would finally land him in the direct line of command, and in the line of succession for House Be'to.  He thought of his superior, Deneth, and his expression became as feral.  He gave the order, sending the fleet closer to the gravity well of the planet. 

At the outer reaches of the solar system the Guild and the Margassans began crowding the battle group's rear guard, fighting with everything they had, forcing them closer to the larger of the system's twin suns, while maintaining the illusion of being vastly out gunned, only able to achieve such a feat by virtue of the number of ships they had to harass them with.

Christopher watched, monitoring the dragon reserves with only half his mind, tracking the ground battle and the minutes until he could take the next step, the rest busy moving pieces around on his mental game board and maintaining a separate channel to Drianna and the metaconcert held in reserve, powered by the old ones.  He sent Paxx a request for an update, and another to Ingev on Aaru.

A second later a wave of power hit him, swamping him, sending energy into the matrix and separating him from it, clamping off his connection to it at the same time.  Christopher froze and then slammed a mental explosion back, using it to hide the mental harpoon he sent blasting back at the power attacking him, hoping to drive it deep into the mind he saw taking his place in the matrix, sliding into it so smoothly, mimicking him so perfectly it was impossible for anyone tell what happened.  He sent the harpoon into the depths of the mind, attaching himself like a filament to it while in his own head he heard the soft sound of sardonic amusement.

Marc saw the split-second collapse of the metaconcert when the power hit Chris, and dared to breathe again when the metaconcert stabilized again. He didn't have time to even mentally speak to Chris as he signaled for the healers and ground troop evacuation to begin as stealthily as possible. He watched, holding his mental breath as Anja and her dragons arced down into the atmosphere, aiming at a remote range far from the battle. That was a small blessing though, since Star Lord battle cruisers were in that area and were aiming at her and her dragons. But once they reached the mountains they'd at least have some cover.

The Old Ones, through Tabitha, signaled the completed evacuation of the healers and the wounded. Carmine's vamps also had been pulled back, leaving only the mages and the Silka generated battle brigades.  The mages would wait until the actual explosions began, hoping to fool the Star Lords into missing the rest of the evacuations.

McGee, linked with Ther'lin and Aaru waited until the last second possible to start the hard roll that would end with their shields directed at the battle group, counting them down in his head as the fleet came closer and closer.  The Admiral, having no sense of a need for patience and a low opinion of the cunning of his enemy nonetheless took the time he needed to assure himself his attack would not fail.

Deneth, on the surface, and not privy to his subordinate's machinations in the never ending pursuit of position and power slashed through another Silka generated obstacle.  He couldn't even call them soldiers.  They were hardly fighters and they were a puzzle he'd been working on even as majority of his higher, executive functions were swamped in the biochemical stew battle unleashed in his species.

He sensed more than saw the thinning of the defenders and for a moment believed that they were finally beginning to retreat, leaving the remaining fighters on the battlefield to cover their withdrawal.  But he rejected that idea almost at once.  There was no where to retreat to.  He could see his own troops surrounding the main part of the battlefield, the ring of them tightening their grip as they advanced towards him. 

In the sky the dragons had abandoned their use of cloaking and were fighting desperately to drive back the fresh wave of fighters screaming into the skies above them.  As he looked he saw one of the dragons take a direct hit, bursting into flame and even heard, over all the other sounds of war, its mind shattering scream of pain as it plummeted towards the surface.

He automatically shot two more of the enemy, working his way steadily towards the center and a knot of fighters who clearly were a caliber above the rest of the enemy he'd faced this day.  He was hoping for at least a minor challenge but he wasn't betting on it.

And all the while his brain worked furiously at the problem of what the enemy was about.  The comm unit in his ear was crackling with a steady stream of data from the battle group, including the hidden data streams the Admiral had no knowledge of.  When the unit whispered in ear that the fleet was dropping into a lower orbit he hissed, ducking a blow from his right.  He avoided the brunt of its power, taking the rest on his back, stumbling as he absorbed the impact.  He recovered, listening to his electronic spies tell him the Admiral was about to attack two Cephi ships, and whirled, his leg coming up and slamming into his attacker's temple.

Or so he'd planned.  Instead, hands grasped his ankle, using his own momentum against him, twisting savagely.  He heard his hip socket give out at the same time he heard that the Cephi ships were rolling even as the Admiral fired.  He hit the ground listening to his spies tell him his rear guard had been driven to the side, exposing their flanks and were trapped with their backs to the larger sun.

In that instant his brain gave up the answer he'd been waiting for and he screamed into his comm unit for the Admiral to pull up, pull back, send the fleet into t-space.  The Admiral never heard him, being distracted by Aaru and Ther'lin's direct hit on the flag ship, switching all the power he could find back to his shields in order to survive.

Deneth was still screaming his warning when Laz grabbed his head in his hands, twisting hard, snapping his neck.

Anja, in the lead aboard Snow, arrowed down toward the highest peaks on Silka. They were shrouded in heavy clouds blizzard conditions giving them an edge for this business. The warrior monks from her world T'aego, on their own dragons followed closely in her wake.  She looked a question at the Master of T'aego and at his nod banked Snow and shot downward. At the last possible moment Snow pulled in his wings and let their momentum drive them down, down into a narrow chasm almost too small for the larger dragons.  They shot past the last of the lasers aimed at them and into a deep and pitch dark cavern. Anja blinked, hoping that Snow could still see after the whiteout conditions outside and the near total darkness now.

Snow reassured her he could and as if to prove it brought them to a soft landing at the bottom of the cavern.  She more heard than saw the arrival of the others.  But her eyes were beginning to adjust.  And as they did she gasped to see a cavern very much like the one Darin had found on Tyvek.

Anja slid off Snow, her mouth hanging agape. The monks were doing the same but with a purpose. They began singing, the dragons joining in. It was a haunting sound, in a minor key, using a somewhat odd scale that seemed more alien than any music she'd ever heard before.  Still, it was beautiful.

As they sang, the cavern lit up in response to each note. Small hidden caches opened and other monks took their contents and packed them reverently in cotton wool and stowed them in panniers upon their dragons. When the song ended, all the caches closed.

The monks mounted their dragons, Anja mounting Snow. The cavern rocked just as the first of the dragons leapt up in a flying takeoff.

A cracking sounded and it seemed as if the mountain was going to come down on them.  Anja screamed when Snow, barely airborne, was hit by a massive piece of rock and crashed toward the cavern floor.

Christopher felt the harpoon sink deep into the consciousness of the mind holding his in a soft, but unbreakable grip.  Gritting his teeth he closed himself off to every sensation, every awareness but that new point of vulnerability.  He sent his awareness crawling along the filament that connected his mind to the harpoon and for the first time in his life used the dark gift bequeathed to him by his mother; he forced a mental bond on another sentient mind, planting it deep, uncaring of the damage he might cause, or the distress.  Held as he was, severed from the matrix like he'd been it was the only weapon he had and he was perfectly willing to use it.  Scanning around him, as he began to focus, searching for the energy he needed, and tapping into the very power holding him in its grasp. 

M'cal shifted a fraction of his own awareness to Christopher, his sardonic amusement growing.  "Be still," he commanded, his voice warm, gentle and utterly compelling. 

Christopher froze, the voice pouring over him.  He felt its softness and the implacable will that masked it, like the supplest butter-smooth leather worn over iron.  It compelled and commanded.  It was coercion made palatable.

"I am no threat to you and yours.  Be still," M'cal repeated. 

Christopher wasn't convinced.  "Who are you?"

"I will introduce myself properly when this is finished.  Until then you'll just have to trust me.  Or, if you'd rather, I can take the decision from your hands and make it impossible for you to do anything at all."

Christopher didn't wait for more.  He sent the energy ball he'd gathered and shaped down through the bond, hurling it as hard as he could, risking a mind burn worse than the one Marc had gotten in the last battle if he couldn't disengage fast enough once it hit the harpoon. 

M'cal caught it and extinguished it, managing it as if he were playing catch in the park on a lazy Saturday afternoon.  As he did he laid a gentle finger on a portion of Christopher's mind, sending him into oblivion and then turned his full attention the task at hand.

The evacuation was almost complete.  He could hear Marc giving the order to start the count down.   Then holding all the minds in the matrix under the control of his, he merged with the other metaconcerts, taking command of them all with ease while keeping his mind hidden, his control invisible for a few seconds longer.  Once he acted his presence and his control would be impossible to hide but until then it was safer this way for all concerned.  During those last few seconds he readied the power he'd gathered, using the core of the planet, the nuclear reactors of both suns, and then shaped it with the power of the minds he controlled.  At the same time he fashioned a shield around the Cephi, creating a narrow cone of protection that would hold for mere seconds but would last long enough to get them to safety.

As soon as the Cephi ships acknowledged the order to evacuate the remaining combatants, and as the mages and the dragons winked out he detonated the bomb he'd fashioned in the center of the Star Lord battle group. 

Marc sensed the difference in the metaconcerts. He couldn't put his finger on what was different, but since the orders were rational and fit with his own ideas, he didn't move to change things, but he was ready to do so if things changed.

That was when he felt a dragon in agony and arced his attention down to see if he could help. He gasped when he realized who it was.  He sent all his attention downward once he reassured himself that the back door to the metaconcert was intact.

He sent a pulse of energy into a collapsing mountain and reached...

And the planet exploded.

Marc sent energy pouring down toward the tenuous connection he had.  He fought to keep it against the powers of exploding stars and disintegrating planets.

M'cal swore and focused on the energy pulse, saw it waver and swore again, sliding sibilants of sound that he didn't shield from the mind of the man who was trying to control it.  He reached, feeding power into the arc, stabilizing it.  In space he was aware of the Cephi plunging into t-space, while the battle group incinerated, fodder for the imploding suns as the gravity spike went logarithmic, sucking everything into the black hole that was forming from the nova.

Marc didn't hesitate, he grabbed every bit of power offered and tugged, pulling what was at the end of his mental and energy line toward him with everything he had, shielding the barely living creatures with all the power he could spare for it, praying he wasn't too late and that the healers could work with what was left.

M'cal waited until Marc's grip was sure.  "The ships are gone.  You can not pull them to you through t-space.  Your shield will hold only seconds."

"The hell I can't," Marc replied, barely sparing a bit of his attention to reply, and not in the least easing up on the energy drain.

M'cal smiled.  "Give them to me.  They will never survive the attempt."

Marc hesitated, weighed his options, then mentally agreed. "Keep them safe."

"Until I return them to you," M'cal said as he took them.  "See to your wounded."  And then, disengaging from the matrix, relinquishing control as smoothly as he'd taken it, he and they were gone, leaving no trace behind. 

Aboard Aaru, Christopher vanished.