"Cursed shall be the ground because of you; in toil shall you eat of it all the days of your life.... In the sweat of your brow shall you eat bread, till you return to the ground, for dust you are and unto dust you shall return."                                                            |
                              "Cursed shall be the ground because of you; in toil shall you eat of it all the days of your life.... In the sweat of your brow shall you eat bread, till you return to the ground, for dust you are and unto dust you shall return."
     - The Bible, Genesis 3:17-19


The War For Mobius - Part 2
	Collision
by Scott Kelly

Somewhere in the universe, the ponderously large bay doors of a ship creaked open with the grind and hiss of hydromechanical engines. Inside the hangar, hundreds of tiny creatures scrambled about, dwarfed by the enormous ships into which they clambered. When the doors were finally open and the aqua-and-green face of the planet below stared up at the ships, a klaxon sounded, and the hangar glowed bright blue with the activation of countless uranium-powered fusion engines. Eerily in sync, the ships lifted into the airless air of space and floated towards the waiting planet below. A glittering wave of humanity drifted through outer space towards the innocent civilization below.

On the bridge of the Earth spaceship Heracles, a silent Captain Gregory Vosper watched his ships float in formation towards Earth Mark II. The unknown planet. It's so pretty, he thought contentedly, for the second time that day. You almost wouldn't know the evil lurking underneath those swirling pearly clouds was even there. Unless... maybe they're--
	"Captain."
	Vosper whirled around with eyes wide, like a child caught doing something reprehensible.
	"Yes! What?" He straightened up and repeated more calmly, "What is it?"
	"The extra-atmospheric surveillance ship just sent back the first shots. You'd better take a look." The deck officer, a man named Ryan Wulf, handed three photographs over to the captain, glossy and fresh and dated five minutes previously. Vosper took them and squinted at them, as his heart finally began to slow down.
	Officer Wulf indicated the last two photos. "It's clearer there, sir, and in that one, the infrared." Against the dark green and black shades of the planet's plains, an orange-and-red blot stood out starkly.
	Wulf stood back to let his words sink in. "It's a city, sir."
	"A city." Vosper's face was dreamlike for a second, but he quickly recovered himself. "Move the ships into formation and let them touch down into the forest outside the city. If they must raze, do it quietly. And do a radar sweep first, to make sure it's clean down there. Supply ships first, then troops ships, then scout ships." He handed the photos back. "And for God's sake, don't let them see us."
	Wulf nodded shortly and passed on the order to move in the ships, leaving Vosper to his own thoughts again.
	So, he thought, it has begun. We can show these aliens a thing or two. In his mind's eye, he could see it already: a street full of aliens--little green men, he thought with a smile--thrown into chaos as their landsurfers came cruising down the avenue, tossing shrapnel bombs and firing missiles at the fleeing enemy. Imagining this, he felt a swift and sudden rush in his blood, as if he wanted to be the one doing all the joyous killing. Then just as suddenly, all sorts of unsettling thoughts occurred to him. Were these aliens equally warlike? If they could make a city, could they make a gun, a plane, a bomb, an army? Maybe they were hyper-intelligent beings after all this time. Yes--with a flash of paranoia--he imagined they were watching him and everyone else now, chuckling as their warheads flashed upwards in the sky, shooting down the men who had come so far for nothing. Suddenly, his dream of last night came flooding in his mind: a horrible vision. He pictured a fleet of alien ships, burning down the forest and charging on his exposed army. Closer they came, and closer, and closer, until they struck! He felt suddenly and utterly helpless, as if he could only scream, yell, throw punches into nothingness, but he was utterly helpless to stop the tidal wave of certain death that slaughtered his troops. That was all he remembered, and with a sudden surge of will he pulled his mind out of the terrifying fog and calmed himself.
	That was utterly stupid, he reprimanded himself. Why get scared over some stupid thoughts of yours? No army in the universe can beat your army. Don't think about that anymore, think about what needs to be done.
	Vosper remembered the last time he had been scared, sitting alone in his cabin as the Heracles approached Earth Mark II. If anyone found out he was so doubtful of his own army, he would get immediately demoted, or even discharged. But they were his private thoughts, and no one else could divine them. He then remembered a book he read in college in his Ancient Literature course. In this book, some fool scribbled down what he imagined the world would be like in the year 1984, which was the future back then. In this boring book--he forgot its name already--there were legions of clandestine Thought Police agents, and they came after you and tortured you and killed if you thought bad thoughts. It took an effort for him not to laugh aloud about it. Thankfully, that book never came true anyway.
	No, he thought happily, this future was much better.
	Taking several steps forward, he looked out of the large viewbubble of the bridge. Having gotten their orders, the ships now moved silently down, in perfect formation, until they disappeared in the misty clouds far below.

At the center of the Acorn District of Mobotropolis was the Acorn Plaza, a large circular open-air marketplace, where stalls vended everything from clothes to jewelry to fruit to electronics, and a large statue of the Founding Acorn King stood amid a spray of fountain water in the middle of it all. The buildings around the plaza were mostly government establishments: the Industry Control and Regulation Center, the Police Headquarters, a long flat building that held political rallies and conventions, and the two story home of the Mobian Scientific Research and Advisory Board. It was out of this last building there stumbled a tired and rather haggard-looking duck named Shalin. He had been working all day by himself, and needed to take off early, so he did. He checked out an hour early, and now he made his way across the packed and noisy plaza towards his home. He had a lot of work and everyone else on the Board was in a meeting for the entire day with some important visitor. He wasn't sure who they were with, but working by himself was frustrating and time-consuming. Shalin was assigned to inspect and fix a shipment of circuit breakers from the Industrial District down the street. Since it was the last day before the celebration of the Passing of the Crown, Shalin found tons of defective breakers, the result of shoddy work. And all the slack had to be taken up by him. After several hours, he got sick of it, and passed every breaker, whether it worked or not. Now shoving his way through a dense crowd of mammals gathered around some phony stage magician, he relaxed a little as he thought of what he'd do at home: take a long soak in his pool, rest on his synthetic down mattress, and maybe take a few of his favorite pills to ease away his long day. As his mind wandered to the bottle of blue tablets in his side pocket, another small figure pushed its way across the Plaza.
	Naita was tired. She didn't want to be doing this now, pushing through a crowd of jostling noisy shoppers, during the day-long meeting she was in. When she'd been given leave to find Shalin, she was a minute too late. Realizing where he would be headed after leaving early, she knew she had to find him before he got home, or he'd never leave. The young gifted hedgehog was a lot shorter than anyone else there, and she could only plunge blindly on though the moving, swaying mass of mammals. Thinking now of what the meeting had been about, and why she needed to find Shalin, she felt a spark of terror, and pushed past people with renewed fervor.
	Shalin had just gotten onto his home street, where the crowd thinned out, and he felt like sitting down already when he got a sharp tug on his tail. He whirled around, eyes wild, for this was considered a very rude thing to do to a duck. Where he expected some practical joker, however, he instead saw Naita, her eyes dull and glazed, looking ready to collapse at his feet. He felt a sudden rush of pity sweep away his anger. Poor kid, he thought. She's barely eight cycles old; she should be the one at home.
	Naita brought Shalin's face near hers and breathed a sentence into his ear:
	"I need you to follow me."
	"What? I--hey!" Shalin was grabbed by the arm and pulled quickly back through the mob, back towards the Advisory Board Headquarters. He tried to get an answer out of the silent hedgehog about what she wanted, but she just kept marching stoically ahead. When they reached the building, Naita took him back into an unmarked side door in a back alley. The hedgehog took out her personal mangicard and slid it into the doorjamb. A cleverly concealed card reader was there, and the door chimed and clicked open.
	Shalin now found himself in a dark vestibule, on a hard, cold floor. He tried to see around, but all the spectrum bulbs were off, it seemed. Ducks and one or two other species could only see in the "C" spectrum of light. All government buildings used all six types of light, but here it was completely dark, which was a shame, because he'd never been here before.
	"Naita, where--?"
	"This way. And be quiet." Shalin was now pulled through the dark some more, down one or two echoing hallways, and then there was light.
	A spectrum bulb was situated above a metal door that was shut. Naita stepped up and knocked five times on the door, then stepped back.
	"Look here." Shalin finally found his voice. "Why in the world do--"
	"Quiet," Naita interrupted as the door began to slide open. "Say no more than you're told to say. We're all tired here, but we have a little problem on our hands."
	Shalin was about to ask the obvious question when the door clicked open, and the two stepped through into a bright, spacious room. In the sudden light, Shalin could see the blurry semicircle of a meeting table. Then he blinked a couple times and saw that from a high podium in the center, the dark brooding face of the King looked down at him. Beneath his Majesty, a royal Guardsmammal took a step forward, pointed a stun gun at Shalin's chest, and fired.
"There they are now," announced Second Lieutenant Elias Glavian. He increased the power on the field surveillance goggles and studied closer. "Naber, take this down: subject is bipedal, about a meter and a half in height, dark pink in color, small head with truncated snout and mouth beneath it, two eyes above, wearing a green vest--" Glavian paused, as if to double-check what he just saw, then went on. "Um, okay, subject is carrying a basket and a flask, and is walking past the outer fence surrounding the city."
	"Fence?" Corporal Wilson Naber looked up from his digipad.
	"Um, yes, a fence surrounding the city, about four meters high, slender wire running on struts across the top, tight perpendicular mesh driven into the ground and secured with loose rocks."
	"This should be easy," Naber sniggered, scribbling on the digipad.
	"Shut up, they'll hear," Glavian muttered. "The subject is now about a hundred yards away... wait! it's stopping... it's kneeling down in the grass... it's..." he stopped again, shocked. "Subject is picking flowers and putting them in the basket."
	"Picking flowers?" Silence. Each once looked at the other, but they both knew what the other was thinking now.
	"Is that all?" Naber's voice broke the quiet.
	"Yeah, let's keep it at that. Go ahead and dump the file, then we can head back home." "Home" was a term soldiers used as a joke, but it served its purpose. "Home," in this case, was the troop ship Relentless, which was stationed by a river in the forest. They were two of the best scouts on board and both felt that they had better things to do then watch aliens collect floral specimens.
	"Transferring now." Naber opened a radio frequency channel to transmit the data on the alien to the ship. Glaivan pressed a red button on his goggles, and images of the alien were sent along the same channel to go with the document. When they were both finished, they melted into the background, making their silent way back home
	Moving quickly around rocks, bushes, and trees, the two scouts wound their way back to the Relentless by a prearranged route guaranteed to lose any tails. Glavian was certain he hadn't seen any aliens following him, and if some beast was caught snooping, they could take care of it easily. Have a little fun with it. Start the war off a little bit early. His gun seemed a little heavier at his side as he thought about it.
	"So, Naber said, trying to make conversation as they scrambled across a ravine floor, "Do you think the Captain is in the mood yet?"
	"I think we just put the icing on the cake back there, Naber. I think the captain shouldn't have a problem with attacking a race of flower-picking wimps." For the last three days--by the new planet's standards, anyway--all field troops had been on the move, amassing data on the aliens and trying to determine behavior patterns and things like that. No fighting, no disturbance without direct command. No one was in the mood to sneak around, really, but it was captain's orders. Know thy enemy, Vosper had preached to his men. Or something like that.
	"Well, let's hope for the green light," muttered Glavian as they came to the clearing which housed the slim, oblong ship that was the Relentless. A seventy-meter square area of forest had been razed for the ship. On  nearby charred tree stumps, the men liked to sit and talk around snapping ground brush fires. Today, though, the clearing was empty as men awaited word from their captain for the first strike. Birds chirped far off, but they did nothing to undo the knots in Glavian's and Naber's stomachs as they knocked on the solid hull of the ship. It cracked and shimmered and came apart, and the two stepped through the man-sized gap which melted shut behind them.
	Inside the officer receiving bay the air was cool and sharp, laced with artificial oxygen. On the far wall, near a locked door, was a facial grid. When the two were cleared with the computer, their mission completion time was noted on a register. The small speaker above the grid crackled.
	"Welcome back, Lieutenant, Corporal. We're glad that you have returned safely with your valuable information. Please take the green slider tube to the bridge. First Lieutenant Lilimoor has been informed of your return and awaits your report. Thank you for your invaluable service to your army and your planet."
	By the time the recording stopped, Naber and Glavian were already sliding. Their bodies were reassembled on the top level of the ship, where the bridge and command centers were. The two of them walked out onto a polished chrome floor which melted into the wall and ceiling inside the spherical room. Concentric control panels ran around the circular floor, with operators squinting at their scrolling displays. The surface commander of the three troops ships, First Lieutenant Max Lilimoor, was  standing by the tube as they arrived. He was a tall and lean man who had worked his way up the ranks by diplomatic strategy rather than fighting. Though it was everyone's first time in the game of war, he had read up on the subject, and felt ready for anything. His face was a grandfatherly type: long and reassuring, with smiling brown eyes. white brows and hair. Presently, he smiled at them from beneath his mustache and goatee.
	"Welcome, you two. Glad to see you made it back on time. We're all waiting for what you've got to say, so out with it." The report was probably read and already filed away, but it was a formality.
	"Sir," Glavian saluted and reported by himself, being the higher ranked of the two. "We gathered physical data and captured shots of an alien specimen on the outskirts of the city. The subject was gathering flora and did not seem to notice us as we observed it. We returned after taking notes and making sure we were not followed. The files were sent to you by radio link and should be arriving soon."
	Lilimoor patted Glavian's shoulder. "Already got 'em, my friend. This is prime stuff, we sent it up as soon as we could. Captain should be making a public announcement later tonight. Once Vosper gives the go-ahead, those aliens will be pushing up daisies instead of picking them." His kind old face twisted into a grin as he laughed. Naber cracked a smile, and so did Glavian. All three of them were in delight thinking about being the one to make those aliens pay.
	That was when the bridge comm chimed and announced that another field scout had just returned and was on his way. No sooner had it been told than the slider tube hummed, and into the bridge staggered the stout Field Officer Jacob Pascal. He had his arms wrapped around his chest and was walking with a limp. His face was white and his breathing ragged. He stumbled and fell on his knees before Lilimoor, turning his face up to the ceiling.
	"Good God, what the hell's wrong with you?" Lilimoor said to the shaking young scout.
	Pascal choked suddenly, and a red spray of blood came from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Lilimoor took a quick step back. "Jake, are--are you--"
	"They found us--" he gasped, and collapsed at Lilimoor's feet. When his arms fell at his sides, bright red blood gushed from beneath his uniform, puddling around the shocked Lieutenant's boots. He looked up beseechingly into Lilimoor's face, and gave one last word in a thick, choked voice as his life slipped away.
	"Leave..."

"There! See, he's coming back around," cried a voice. The voice was Naita's, and it sounded far away in Shalin's ears. Light suddenly stabbed at his eyes, and he rolled over onto his knees. Another voice, deep and rich, came to him from up above.
	"Now's your chance, Guard. Go ahead."
	Shalin's vision swam with tears and pain, but he looked up, and saw on top of the podium the figure of the King. Next to Shalin was the canine Guardsmammal. The dog stepped forward and said stiffly, "I apologize for unjustly harming you, citizen."
	Shalin's head was spinning as he stood, but he was able to moan, "S'okay. That's fine." He blinked his eyes and looked around the room. Behind a semicircular table sat Jules, Chuck, Naita and some unfamiliar figures: a female squirrel in a red flowing robe, a gray wolf in a green vest and a hat, and a large number of armored guards who stood stoically around King Acorn on his high podium in front of the table. He turned his knowing eyes down to Shalin, who did his best to straighten up.
	"Please," he said with forced politeness. "Take a seat. Your help would be greatly valuable here. I'm sorry, but my guards removed your medical instruments for... safety reasons." Shalin clapped a hand to his side pocket to find that it was empty. The pills had been in there.
	Shakily, he fell into a molded metal seat as the King spoke again. "I understand you are not familiar with everyone here. In that case may I introduce Thala, my personal advisor and General Richa, the commander-in-chief of our military." The squirrel and wolf stood and greeted Shalin with brief nods. "I assume you already know Chakiver and the rest. Now, maybe you can brief our newcomer on the specifics of our meeting, Chuck."
	Chakiver, or Chuck as he preferred to be called, stood wearily and went through a pile of photos in his hand. He passed three of them down the table to Shalin, who took them uncertainly.
	"Yesterday night, our forest-side weather station reported a sudden four degree temperature rise in the span of about two minutes. When this information was passed along to the weather station facing the Leper Plains, they reported no change at all. Immediately, all of the militia's scanners were brought out and panned over the Great Forest. They got several shots of heat-producing craft coming down under cover of darkness." Shalin finally looked down and gasped. On the infrared shots, the blobs of intense heat that descended were over seventy and eighty meters long, with over a dozen smaller craft grouped around them. The other photos showed showers of medium-sized and small machines as well. Shalin knew they didn't have any daylight shots of the invaders, but the red blots on the sheets put a faceless terror in his gut. He shivered and put down the photos.
	"More activity has been recorded throughout today by the infrared scanners. We tried testing with all six spectrums, but every one came out negative. No other heat activity has been recorded other than the objects that descended last night."
	Richa, the wolf spoke next. His voice was smooth and deep and utterly weary. "We've held out on deploying soldiers because of the possible public reaction. We couldn't go unnoticed because of the pre-festival crowds, anyway. We sent out several scouts incognito--you know, taking nature walks, gathering flowers, that kind of thing--but they had nothing they could find."
	"We might--" began Jules, but they all turned when there was a knock on the door. The canine guard stepped forward and unholstered his stun gun. Another walked forward and turned the bolt on the door.
	The squirrel that nearly fell through the door was young, almost as young as Naita, with lean legs and dark red fur. He was carrying a visidisc in his hand. He was gasping for breath, and stepped forward towards the King. The canine guard growled and tightened his grip on the gun, and the runner stopped. He looked up at the King and swallowed heavily.
	"Sire, I've got important news from Weather Post Ceti. Their radio receptors have been registering transmissions all day, but they've been encoded prior to transmission. The KED mainframe just cracked some. Here's the newest one. We recorded it and managed to unscramble it. Go ahead, look." He proffered the disc to the guard, who took it and slipped it into the nearby disc viewer.
	The giant projection screen, meant for business presentations, now flickered and lit up red. There was a flash of numbers, then there was a view of a field which rolled out underneath the camera, dotted by flowers and a shrub or two. The view shook and moved, and there was a close up shot of a pig, kneeling in the grass, picking flowers and arranging them in the tiny basket on his arm.
	Richa's chair toppled over as he stood.
	"That's--that's--"
	There was a stunned pause.
	"Spying on our spies," muttered Jules.
	"Poetic, almost," said Thala, speaking for the first time.
	"There could be a city-wide panic if this gets out!" Naita cried.
	The seven voices around the room broke into a frantic chatter as order was lost. The chairs were all pushed back and everyone stood and argued the invasion over. The canine guard shifted his weight and hefted his stun gun. It was the King who silenced everyone by standing slowly and raising a hand for silence. As he was noticed, His Majesty's subjects bowed their heads and returned to their seats.
	"Right," said Chuck, regaining his composure. "We know something is out there, and it may or may not be docile. We must wait to see what moves they'll make. Right now we should focus on the Festival. King Acorn especially needs to be ready, since he'll be making the announcement about this to the people tomorrow."
	"What?!" Across the room, Shalin sprang from his seat.
	"That's madness!" Thala broke in.
	"I agree with Chakiver," said the King softly. Six pairs of eyes turned to the ruler on his podium. "There's no way to keep this secret from the people, so I will tell them during the Festival of the Passing of the Crown tomorrow. Until then, nothing that happened here ever goes past this room. I must have utter secrecy. Understood?"
	Silence answered the King's question. He motioned to Thala, who brought his gravity chair from the corner of the room. With His Highness situated on his movable throne which old age had confined him to, he said, "You are all dismissed. And remember, not a word of this to anyone in this room or out." He suddenly brightened a little. "See you at the festival tomorrow."
	The chair whirred as it floated out the door, with Thala and the guards in tow. The remaining five of them were still for a minute. Then, one by one, they all got up and walked out the door, without good-byes.
	Shalin was the last to go. He stared at his webbed feet on the cement floor and didn't know whether to cry or rage or just get up and go home. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He would have a lot of work to do tomorrow. Maybe he'd even have to fight these aliens, if they were that kind of creatures. He wanted to run and hide all of a sudden, but soon he repressed the panic, got up, and walked out the door, shutting it behind him.
	On the floor outside the door, by the light of the spectrum bulb, were his laser instruments in a neat row, and his little pill bottle. He picked them up. The bottle was empty.

There was a moment of silence on the bridge before anyone did anything. It was a bridge officer who broke it by crying, "Sir! The heat sensors are picking up groups of creatures all around the ship." He paused to gasp with shock. "Pockets of intense heat indicate heavy artillery ready to fire."
	Lilimoor's eyes bulged. "Huh? Get me an exterior visual, right now!"
	Another officer nervously cleared his throat. "Exterior cameras are seriously malfunctioning, several have been shot down, but none are getting visual. Audio just got fried to hell in the past minute. They may be preparing an attack."
	"What? No! They can't!!" said Lilimoor, not realized how stupid he sounded. He dashed across the bridge, his boots squeaking with Pascal's blood. He felt his heart thudding and a lump growing in his throat, as if he was about to cry. When he stopped next to Officer Wulf at the main controls, he ordered hoarsely, "Open that viewbubble now, or I'll turn you into a cinder."
	"In a second, we'll all become cinders!" a hysterical officer screamed.
	"Shut up! Everyone shut up!!! Get that window open quickly! We need to negotiate with them! Make contact or something!"
	"Yessir," said Wulf, who turned to touch the viewbubble controls. The panel exploded in his face. Flames spat from the inside of the console in a sudden belch, catching Wulf in the chest. He was thrown out of his seat and slammed into a nearby chair, already dead.
	Lilimoor was driven back a split second later by the flying sparks and smoke. When he got his breath back, he managed to yell, "What the hell--"
	The lights were next to go. Bulbs around the ship popped in a flashing chorus and the bridge was thrown into deep terrifying dark. The wildly blinking display panels across the room shed pale red and green lights on the operators' wild faces.
	"This is not good," came an officer's voice out of the black. If he could find whoever said that, Lilimoor raged quietly, he'd put his head through the wall. The silence from a minute before was back, and even heavier this time. Lilimoor was about to say something soothing to the panicked men around him, but just as he opened his mouth, something dark and menacing was inside his head. He took a step forward, and choked on his voice, unable to speak. The lieutenant was wrapped in a smothering shroud of potent evil which hung over him. His head spun, and he was ready to throw up. His whole body was assaulted by some otherworldly presence, and his own pitiful being shook before the great power which picked at his mind from outside the ship. He suddenly cried out, "Go away! Leave us alone!" His voice was frail and weak inside his head. In reply, there came a sudden voice that wormed its way into his head and spoke in a hissing, howling, snarling voice of terror.
	You have been warned...
	He collapsed. Suddenly, there were hands all around. Lilimoor's officers helped him to his feet. Officer Ryan Wulf, standing shocked by the main controls, stared for a moment, then rushed over to revive him. The lieutenant blinked once, twice, and looked around. The viewbubble was open, and the trees swayed outside to the rhythm of the wind. Above his head, the pale lights were humming softly. It was a moment before Lilimoor spoke again, carefully.
	"Get Pascal out of here. The Captain's telebroadcast is soon. We need to clean up our act here. Casualties are not something we want the Heracles to be seeing. Make it quick, the broadcast is soon."
	Officers ran to carry out his commands, and Pascal's body was carried away on a respectfully covered stretcher. Lilimoor stood by the viewbubble, looking outside. All around the ship, the forest floor was barren of people and animals, marked by black tree stumps and piles of ashes.  Next to the window, a green bird landed on a sapling and sang with no sound in his ears. Lilimoor reached out to the little bird, thinking of what he had just said.
	We need to clean up our act...

Several minutes later, Captain Vosper appeared on the three planetside viewscreens in the ships. His round face was pale and stretched out, and his eyelids were sagging. He rubbed the four days' hair on his face thoughtfully and spoke hoarsely.
	"Hello to all planetbound ships of planet Earth. Uh, I looked over the data we've amassed and it's, uh, very thorough. Impressive." He paused to rub at a puffy eye. "I think the attack can begin tomorrow. First I think I need some rest--we all need some rest. My officers are wiring to Earth now, and we'll be ready to go tomorrow, so, uh, everyone just get some sleep." He blinked once, very slowly. "Tomorrow," he repeated, as if to remind himself. "I'll be coming down to lead the forces in the morning. That's all for now. End of report."
	The screen flashed END MESSAGE, and Vosper's image shrank to a dim dot and faded.

	Night fell on the planet of Mobius. The sun, so familiar, but so strange to the humans, dipped itself slowly beneath the featureless horizon of the Leper Plains.  A sky afire with dusty red and violet tinges of light gave way to a deep purple dusk. Within the shimmering fence of the city, creatures returned to their homes, found their rest under blankets and next to fires that drove away the cold that had seized the night air.
	Inside the forest, creatures of all sorts crept and fluttered and crawled into their homes and dens and slept in their contentedness, with no tragedy or sorrow or destruction on their minds. Only the instinct to run and jump and fly and eat and swim and hunt and to survive.
	And inside three oblong capsules that had made their own homes in the forest, thousands of tiny creatures were resting or communicating, and some were planning the downfall of a planet.
	The tiny nameless meadow between the city and the forest was covered by a purple haze of night, and accompanied by the chirp of insects, like a symphony of nature. A figure stood quietly on the rock near the median of the field, motionless. The figure was tall, lithe, and blacker than a hole in the darkness. It shifted back and forth several times,  studying the shadows of buildings on one side, the patchwork of trees on the other. After what seemed a long time, there came a whispering chuckle from the animal, and it slid down to the ground. It dashed along the edge of the humming fence and out past the grass into the Leper Plains, where it disappeared into the distance, melting into the night as if it were a part of it.
	After that, the night closed back in around the fields, and the magical calm and peace of the evening was reclaimed. And the stars shone overhead like little explosions in the sky.

When morning came to the planet, people inside the city were already up and about. In the Acorn Plaza, workers arranged platforms and hung banners on all five streets leading into the Plaza. Several citizens loitered about, watching the preparations and occasionally offering to lend a hand. Shalin was there too, not that he wanted to be. Rubbing his eyes open again, he looked at the switchboard in front of him. His vision swam, and he needed to sit down. He fell into the King's red embroidered chair behind the podium. He tried to convince himself he was just tired, but he knew deep down that he needed those pills back. His Dexatrin had been confiscated last night, and he was sure those good-for-nothing agents were running it through the Local Medical Network and checking his history. They'd find no nervous disorders of any type, then they'd find his falsified prescription, and then-- He tried to clear his head. He knelt down in front of the podium and tried again to rig the connections from the King's podium to the seven speakers around the edge of the courtyard. A wire here, a pair of jacks flipped, and all seven POWER lights lit green. He leaned over the King's recessed amplifier and spoke, "Checking for sound, one, two."
	His voice boomed resonated around the large Plaza from all seven mammal-sized speakers, making the workmen jump. One enthusiastic citizen clapped, but Shalin was finished for now. He had been working non-stop for the past quarter-cycle, he needed rest badly. Some extravagant inheritance celebration was worth missing for several precious hours of sleep.
	Climbing down from the Royal platform, he made his way across the Plaza towards his house on Emancipation Street. He walked steadily against the first waves of citizens coming to see the festival. Performers, vendors, and spectators were going down the dusty street, bringing tools, signs and banners with them. Someone nearby called to him, but he didn't feel like looking behind him; his house was three doors away. The units were two floors high, not graced with much more room than the average house. Shalin's home was the sixth apartment in a connected row of fifteen. Opening his door with his personal magnicard, he went into the bedroom, fell on the bed, and was asleep in seconds.

The wind was always strong on the Leper Plains. Rainstorms and tornadoes were also frequent there, and the imbalance of weather made the Plains a stretching vastness of dry cracked desert ground. Not a leaf or branch touched the ground for miles around. 
	The dry, harsh wind whipped at the leader's face, but he hardly noticed it. He stood contentedly at the head of the group, twice as tall as anyone else. But for all his grandeur, inside he was dizzy with the realization that the day he had been awaiting for so many years had finally come.
	The one next to the leader peered up at him with the green eyes nestled in her black-furred face. She was tall for her species, but she squatted down next to her master in respect. She too felt giddy with the coming of the revenge which they had plotted for what seemed their whole lifetimes.
	"The time draws near," she breathed happily. "The ones in the forest are almost prepared."
	The leader's face did not change. He kept his emotion inside like a seasoned veteran. "Yes, it is almost time..." She could feel the anxiety of everyone behind them swell to a fever pitch, but they kept themselves still and under control. Not until the leader said so. Instead she calmed herself by looking out, away from the hateful city, and over the flat expanse of desert. The Plains were so beautiful.

Several hundred meters underneath the now busy streets of Mobotropolis, inside the underground palace of the Acorn dynasty, Prince Acorn swept his favorite cloak around his body. The King was a full-grown fox, and a very handsome one. His figure was muscular and tall. His dirty blonde fur was cut long in front, so it hung down a little in front of his face in a way that drove all the vixens crazy. His eyes were piercingly blue, the kind that made you think of summer skies when you peered into them. The cloak was blue and trimmed with crushed red velvet, and it had been his coming-of-awareness present from his grandfather many, many cycles ago. It was only a little bit too short, but he was almost the King, he would wear whatever he pleased.
	The King. Despite the fact that he was almost a hundred cycles old, the idea still made him giggle like a kid. He was just announcing to the empty room, "May everyone please stand for His Majesty of Mobius--" when his wife walked into the room. He stopped quickly and turned to face the fair creature who was several cycles younger than he. The queen of Mobius was a ground squirrel the King had met in the marketplace, and asked for her hand in marriage five cycles ago. She was short, with deep green eyes, and chocolate-colored hair, and she was pregnant. Her finest silk dress was draped over the conspicuous lump in her chest, and her face, though tired-looking, was alight with happiness.
	The King drew her into an embrace, his stomach pressing against the small nascent life inside his wife. When he drew back, he placed a hand there, just to be able to feel his child. He practically glowed with pride.
	"It's almost time," she whispered. The King nodded, and hand in hand, they walked out of the double doors, the two happiest beings on the face of the planet.

Vosper, on the other hand, was feeling sick. His men stood with him, waiting, on the outskirts of the forest, waiting for his command. Through the maze of tall skinny tree trunks, the gleaming hulk of Mobotropolis was glaring at him and all the soldiers. A collective anxiety stirred through everyone. Half a dozen landsurfers, taken from the Relentless, floated in a quiet hexagon around the massed troops. On one landsurfer, standing astride the back of the fuselage, was Captain Vosper with a stun rifle in hand, ready to lead the charge. He looked like a leader, and acted like one, but he never felt like one. They'd just put him in charge on Earth because he was the one closest at hand at the time. He had actually stayed up late the night before reading progs on all sorts of military tactics and leader skills. They didn't help him to feel any less like a cheap second-rate commander, but he tried not to show it as he looked over the army of men with guns raised.
	When he felt the soldiers were ready to attack, he led his speeder to the head of the group, placing himself between the men and the city. He licked at his suddenly dry mouth and ahemed for attention. The crew of the Relentless, close to a hundred faces, all looked up into his. There was a deep silence, broken by Vosper's voice. He was amazed at how clear his voice sounded.
	"You guys," he began. He paused for effect, like the prog on public speaking had told him to. He began again. "They say that first impressions are everything. This has never been more true than now." Pause. "This is the time to introduce yourself to these aliens. Show these things what we're made of." Another small pause. "Don't forget to leave some of them breathing, too." A ripple of laughter went through everyone. Good. The prog had mentioned jokes too, to ease up the crowd. They seemed more ready than ever now. "Remember... this is just a hit-and-run now, just to show them that we're here. We're here to give them a strike that they'll never forget."
	Vosper thought back to the prog one more time, and let a long pause go by before his next word.
	"Charge!!!"
	The army began to move.

The Plaza now was packed to capacity with Mobotropolians, most of them waving posters of the young King, and several young mammals displayed their homemade pictures of the King too. Several meters above the throng, the platform was not quite as busy. The two Kings sat beside each other, with a small army discreetly surrounding them. The older one had the Acorn Founder's Crown upon his head, shimmering with red and blue and green gems of inestimable value. The young Queen was laid back in a plush chair off to the side, just so the baby would not be put under strain. The life of the young Princess was valued above everything else that day. The Seal of the House of Acorn in gems and metal hung polished and gleaming in front of the podium. From the ancient King's pocket, a small pocket watch chimed the midday hour. It was time.
	The older half of the Royal House of Acorn stopped his chair short of the podium and helped by two guards, the King got to his feet before the lectern, and stayed that way. A swift gasp passed through the massed citizens, and whatever chatter was left stopped instantly. His Majesty was actually standing, though he was leaning heavily on the podium with all his effort. The King never once flinched at the shameless stares of his subjects, instead he shifted his weight more onto the podium, and spoke.
	"When I was here, nearly a hundred and sixty cycles ago, I was young, and a little impetuous, as my son is, I'm sure." His son, still wearing his favorite cloak, squirmed a little at the remark. "But I soon learned the way to control and care for this city, and the single most important person in my growth was my own father. He taught me how to think to both sides of an issue, how to hear the citizens' voices and act on them, and the experience I gained from my father's gentle guidance was more valuable to me than any of my regal training had ever been. In this same way do I promise, as I stand here before you all, that I will show my son the way to be a King, and I trust that he will bring this city to even greater heights than it has ever before reached."
	The King leaned back a little and let the wave of applause wash over him. His son, taking the cue, rose from his chair and stood alongside his father, a full head higher than the hunched and gray-haired ruler. The King leaned a little forward to say, "On that note, by the godly power vested in me as King of this great city, I place all responsibility and power of the Kingship of Mobotropolis in the capable hands of my son..." The Plaza was gripped by a smothering silence for the most reverent part of the ceremony. The two rulers now turned to kneel facing each other, clasping their right hands together in the sign of power changing hands. With their left hands, they each gripped a side of the Crown, and with deliberate slowness, the crown was lifted from the head of one and placed gently upon the head of the other.
	When the two stood up and embraced each other, the crowd suddenly broke forth with an explosion of mad fanfare. The posters of the old King were now turned over to show the younger face, and a banner was lifted in the front of the crowd which read LONG LIVE THE KING. Open palms were raised to the sky in a gesture of royal salute, and the crowd pressed forward to get closer to the new King they adored so much. In the front of the crowd, several screaming vixens had to be dragged away by overzealous royal guards.
	The cheering was passing into its second minute when suddenly the Queen, who had been reclining all this time, sat up quickly in her soft chair, clutching her stomach. When she tried to struggle to her feet, her husband was quickly at her side, with an arm around her, easing her back into the chair.
	"My darling," said the King. His eyes suddenly flashed and he smiled. "Is it--"
	The Queen nodded. "It's time," she said.
	The tall Police Headquarters building at the rear of the Plaza collapsed into the cheering crowd. People tried to push their way out from under the monolith's shadow, but it was only a split second until the mass of stone and mortar came slamming down on a dozen bystanders, killing them all in the blink of an eye. The crowd noise was suddenly replaced by a collective cry of fear. The crowd moved in a hectic jumble, each mammal looking for a different way away from the sudden danger. The dust kicked up from the falling building was just beginning to pass in front of the sun when half a dozen landsurfers sped into the Plaza, each with a strange gangly creature astride it. The six of them fanned out in different directions, and each began to blaze with searing bolts of fire at the panicked mass. The crowd was beginning to split up now, with the streets now packed full of fleeing mammals. Under the deadly fire of the attackers, the ones lagging behind were torn apart in a matter of seconds.
	By this time the royal Guardsmammals had mustered enough presence of mind to grope for their weapons, but their pathetically tiny shots always fell short of the darting landsurfers. All fifteen Guardsmammals now began to dash across the Plaza, jumping over dead bodies to get to the attackers. When one of the creatures noticed them, it wheeled it landspeeder around and sped at the pack of guards. With one, clean efficient shot, the savagely grinning man atop the surfer caught one guard straight through the chest, and another through the leg. Even more furious at the sudden attack, the other Guardsmammals ran on, raising their weapons. A flurry of stun bolts flew upwards from the guards as the speeder darted overhead. With the sudden damage, the fuselage of the craft belched out sparks and the path of the craft began to change.
	It was now headed directly for the King's lectern.
	The new King had already placed his wife a short distance away from the platform, and was now returning to get his father, who in his amazement could only stand awkwardly and stare. With the approach of the landsurfer, the son began to lift the father onto his shoulders but instead he stumbled and fell. With scarcely a twitch of resistance, the King's father tumbled off the platform and fell on his back on top of the LONG LIVE THE KING banner.
	"Dad!!!" screamed the King. He leaped off the platform and grabbed his father's hand. He pulled in vain; his father would not move. In the split second before the flaming craft met the platform, the King had to choose between his father or himself.
	He chose wrong.
	As the King threw his body away from his father and fell on top of his sobbing wife, the speeder hit the platform in a burst of fire. The explosion that followed threw the King and his wife several meters from the blast, and threw shrapnel and smoke up into the sky. The ancient King never once stirred before the fire wrapped him in its deadly embrace forever.
	The explosion heard round the city was followed by several distinct noises: the quiet, almost gentle, crackling of the flames, the pleas of the wounded and dying strewn about the Plaza, the heartfelt cry of anguish the King gave as he lay on his face next to his wife--and a second after the cry there was heard the very quietest noise of all: the cry of a newborn baby. vixens had to be dragged away by overzealous royal guards.
	The cheering was passing into its second minute when suddenly the Queen, who had been reclining all this time, sat up quickly in her soft chair, clutching her stomach. When she tried to struggle to her feet, her husband was quickly at her side, with an arm around her, easing her back into the chair.
	"My darling," said the King. His eyes suddenly flashed and he smiled. "Is it—"
	The Queen nodded. "It's time," she said.
	The tall Police Headquarters building at the rear of the Plaza collapsed into the cheering crowd. People tried to push their way out from under the monolith's shadow, but it was only a split second until the mass of stone and mortar came slamming down on a dozen bystanders, killing them all in the blink of an eye. The crowd noise was suddenly replaced by a collective cry of fear. The crowd moved in a hectic jumble, each mammal looking for a different way away from the sudden danger. The dust kicked up from the falling building was just beginning to pass in front of the sun when half a dozen landsurfers sped into the Plaza, each with a strange gangly creature astride it. The six of them fanned out in different directions, and each began to blaze with searing bolts of fire at the panicked mass. The crowd was beginning to split up now, with the streets now packed full of fleeing mammals. Under the deadly fire of the attackers, the ones lagging behind were torn apart in a matter of seconds.
	By this time the royal Guardsmammals had mustered enough presence of mind to grope for their weapons, but their pathetically tiny shots always fell short of the darting landsurfers. All fifteen Guardsmammals now began to dash across the Plaza, jumping over dead bodies to get to the attackers. When one of the creatures noticed them, it wheeled it landspeeder around and sped at the pack of guards. With one, clean efficient shot, the savagely grinning man atop the surfer caught one guard straight through the chest, and another through the leg. Even more furious at the sudden attack, the other Guardsmammals ran on, raising their weapons. A flurry of stun bolts flew upwards from the guards as the speeder darted overhead. With the sudden damage, the fuselage of the craft belched out sparks and the path of the craft began to change.
	It was now headed directly for the King's lectern.
	The new King had already placed his wife a short distance away from the platform, and was now returning to get his father, who in his amazement could only stand awkwardly and stare. With the approach of the landsurfer, the son began to lift the father onto his shoulders but instead he stumbled and fell. With scarcely a twitch of resistance, the King's father tumbled off the platform and fell on his back on top of the LONG LIVE THE KING banner.
	He chose wrong.
	As the King threw his body away from his father and fell on top of his sobbing wife, the speeder hit the platform in a burst of fire. The explosion that followed threw the King and his wife several meters from the blast, and threw shrapnel and smoke up into the sky. The ancient King never once stirred before the fire wrapped him in its deadly embrace forever.
	The explosion heard round the city was followed by several distinct sounds: the quiet, almost gentle, crackling of the flames, the pleas of the wounded and dying strewn about the Plaza, the heartfelt cry of anguish the King gave as he lay on his face next to his wife--and a second after the cry there was heard the very quietest noise of all: the cry of a newborn baby.