Wolves
Conciliation

“Steady now!” Claudius Vault ordered, gripping thecaptain's seat tightly as the ship jolted from hyperspace. Sparksflew all about him, briefly illuminating the room, as wires dangledfrom the broken ceiling panels.

“We're here, sir,” the only remaining pilotreported. Vault rose from his chair and gazed out at the viewscreenof the command bridge. Cracks chiseled in from a few corners, thescreen displayed the space around Neptune.

Massive chunks of GAM vessels drifted in orbit, withsprays of smaller shrapnel, wires and even dead crew mingled withthem. Among the broad cemetery were several Nektro battleships aswell, splintered apart by the devastating GAM cannons. And throughall the space rubble, Vault could make out the capitol, which was notas he remembered, even from that distance.

“Life sign report,” he commanded, still staring atthe lifeless, cold battlefield.

“A few faint traces here and there. Human. They'refading quickly though, we don't have enough time to reach them beforethey flatline,” the technician reported. He tried to focus on hiswork, and not his fallen comrade lying two feet beside him. “And...ohgod, there are several large ships closing in on our location now,from the other side of the planet. Nektro. What are your orders?”

Vaultwas silent. He could see the Nektro battleships prowling from the farside of the planet. Despite the obliteration the battle left, hecounted at least two dozen Nektro warships still majorly undamaged,and approaching the Indefatigable.

“Arm the torpedo bays,” he commanded.

“Sir, the torpedoes are in a very risky positioncurrently, due to the damage we've sustained,” the gunner notified,clutching the side of his head with one hand to stop the bleeding.“If we fire, or even load them, we are putting the entire ship athigh risk.”

“Proceed with my orders, Lieutenant,” Vault toldhim nonetheless, still watching the battleships advancing. He almostforgot to blink. “Notify me when ready, and fire on my command.”

Fifty seconds later, the gunner notified, “Torpedoesare armed and ready to fire, sir. Targeting systems still online.”

Vaulthesitated. The Nektro fleet stopped, like a pack of wolves beforetheir prey. The flagship emerged from the fleet, on a direct, steadycourse for the Indefatigable.“Wait...” he told the gunner.

“Incoming transmission,” the technician reported.“It's from the Nektro flagship.”

Vault was a bit perturbed. He had never even heard of aNektro ship sending a transmission. “Accept it,” Vault orderedwith both suspicion and curiosity.

There was a short chirp as the command bridge'sspeakers came back online, and a Nektro voice began, “This is DukRevi'ktas, supreme commander of the Nektro order. Is Captain ClaudiusVault still alive?”

“You're speaking to him,” Vault answered, an air ofpride about him. He was still prepared to open fire, and was notabout to relinquish such a liberty. He took little note of the factthat he was speaking with a Nektro in the human tongue.

“Excellent. My associates have requested yourpresence,” Duk informed Vault.

“Associates?” Vault asked. He was deeply interestednow.

“Your squad of soldiers. Traw, Moore, Aveer, Claytonand Sanchez. You know of whom I speak?”

Vault laughed to himself. “You made it, boys,” hesaid half to himself, looking at the ground and placing his hands onhis hips. With a relieved smile, he ordered, “Disarm torpedoes,Lieutenant.”

As the gunner dealt the orders to disarm the ship'sweapons, Vault told Duk, “I will join you then.”

“We have no further business here,” Duk corrected.“At this point, I fully expect Venko to be dead. That being, Itrust you will inform the rest of your command that the Nektro haveno further interest in war with mankind. That is, unless you bring itwith you.”

“I'll make certain that's clear to the othercommanders of the GAM,” Vault told him. He realized for the firsttime the true nature of his adversaries.

“Let us work to maintain this peace. But should youmount any sign of attack...there will be another war a thousandfoldthe one we just ended. And men will lose,” Duk told him with aforeboding tone. It was not quite menace, but it easily could havebeen.

“Understood and agreed,” Vault confirmed. Duk cutthe transmission.

With a slow, lurching motion, the flagship turned away.The fleet followed it, gathering into formation with the speed ofwhales and the dominating presence of sharks. As soon as the fleetjumped to hyperspace, Vault turned about to face the rest of the crewaboard the bridge, few as they were. They looked at him, some withrelief, others with confusion. No one spoke a word, mostly out ofreverence for the historic agreement that was just made between manand Nektro. Every man who witnessed it had a deeper sense that whatthey had beheld was a pivotal moment in human history to be made,though none of them said a word of it.

“Drop us down to the Trinity. We'll make port thereand wait for the rest of the fleet,” Vault ordered with a newfoundhumility. “Maybe we can salvage what we have left and come up witha plan to rebuild. Engage thrusters.”

TheIndefatigable cutthrough the field of shrapnel and destruction, making her way towardthe planet, and more importantly, toward the capitol.

Itdocked at the closest available port to the Trinity, where the DeathSquad was bunkered down among the rubble waiting for some kind of airsupport. Traw lifted his head and saw the Indefatigablelanding nearby. “Take a look, boys,” he muttered, pointing to theship as the landing gear extended with no small deal of difficulty.Moore looked out and saw the ship, almost laughing to himself.

“Gutsy son of a bitch,” he grinned with a haggardface. “You made it, Vault.”

With scraped and dented armor, Traw emerged from therubble and made his way toward the ship. Then he turned and saw a man standing among the rubble. He stood as if he was just on a morning stroll, and he was watching the birds congregate in the trees. Traw could tell the man took note of the ship landing, but he seemed to dismiss it with an air of nonchalance.

Traw decided to approach the peculiar man as the rest of his team made their way toward the more obvious sign of life. As Traw drew well within speaking range, the man remarked, "Fascinating how this city is nearly reduced to ash simply by five traitors."

Traw stopped in his tracks; the man bore no threatening appearance, but there was a different danger about him. It was a danger of intelligence rather than strength. "Who are you? How did you know that?" Traw asked suspiciously. The man had still not turned to face Traw.

"I go by many names, young one," the bearded man answered. "Most common among them is the Disciple. Perhaps you've heard of my lifelong task in service of the State."

Traw conceded, "I'm afraid not." He ignored the fact that the Disciple had not answered his second question.

"I study history with the purpose of understanding it, so that we as a race would not be condemned to repeating it endlessly. I am a Disciple of history. Let me take you to the chamber, it will do more explaining than words ever could." The Disciple began to leave for apparently a particular spot, and Traw considered following him. He looked back toward the rest of Death Squad, who was already meeting up with a group of crew members.

The Disciple pushed aside some rubble with his weary, wrinkled hands and revealed a hatch in the ground. "Do you intend to come?" he called back to Traw, who was still watching his squad. Traw looked back, escaping from his thoughts. He joined the Disciple at the hatch, and they both looked down. "It's been quite some time since I climbed these twelve ladder bars," he remarked, as he descended into the hole.

Once Traw reached the bottom, he glanced about. He was in a large tunnel, relatively clean and well maintained. The lights were still at full power, and everything seemed to be completely operational. "Ask no questions as to why this place is completely fine. The priorities of the State are often misplaced: that's all you need to know," the Disciple mentioned as he made his way down the tunnel. Traw scanned around him, half for threats and half for curiosity's sake.

Finally, they reached a massive steel door with a small keypad at the center of it. The Disciple checked behind him out of habit, then punched in a sixteen-digit code. With a contented chirp, the door unlocked and slowly began to turn open. "Ever wonder where a word or a term comes from? Ever wonder what that bird is on the GAM logo? Ever wonder the origins of the sword or the hammer? Or anything at all?"

"I always assumed it was just an earlier time in the State," Traw shrugged, watching the door revolve open at a snail's pace.

"Contrary to the common propaganda, there was a time before the State. The old world ended with the event known as the Exodus. Humanity dwelt on earth for many a century before the State ever existed. Then the war came." The Disciple walked into a broad room, Traw close behind.

The room stretched out in all directions, with countless bookshelves towering nearly to the ceiling. Several study tables were arranged near the door, each of them with a collection of books and artifacts. Archaic paintings and posters hung on the wall, many of them with glass cases around them to preserve their qualities. "This is all that remains of history. And I have devoted my life to its protection and preservation. I am the third Disciple. And I am seeking my scion."

For a moment Traw drew himself back from the sheer awe of the room. "Wait...do you want me to take up this mantle?" Traw wondered, a bit confused.

The Disciple laughed, cracking open a book with a man on a ship holding a harpoon on the front cover. "Of course not. You're far too old," he answered. "I simply wanted to show another person, in case the designated heir has fallen in the fire. Please, take your time and look about. I'm in no rush. Not at this age." He chuckled to himself once more and sat down with the book in hand.

Traw scanned the walls first, as they were adorned with paintings and posters that were easy to understand. There was one with a strange-looking man in despair, people in the park by a pond, a vase of yellow flowers, a woman rolling up her sleeve, all of which were framed and protected by a layer of glass.

Though they each intrigued him, he lingered on one particular piece on the wall: it was a picture of a man raising his right arm stiffly and wearing a decorated military uniform. Traw squinted and looked a bit closer, noting the unique cut of his moustache: it was small and rectangular, sitting directly under the bridge of his nose above his mouth. "Who is he?" Traw inquired, pointing to the poster and turning back to the Disciple, who was deeply engaged in his book.

The Disciple looked up, and a grave shadow overtook him. He stood up and joined Traw, looking the poster over. "That is a man not unlike the one you just killed," he commented gravely. "His reputation has been largely described as the incarnation of evil. He is one of the main reasons I study history, that I may play a part in the prevention of it being repeated. He represents a dark time for humanity."

"Why was Venko allowed to be so much like him?"

"Evil always replaces a crack in society. There's always a flaw in the system. I can advise, not control. It would seem the State has become no better than any other human civilization, though they seem to boast moral and intellectual superiority. History will always repeat itself. I cannot stop that. No one can."

For longer than either of them could track, they both stood observing the poster.

Interrupting his meditation on the ominous man, Traw heard Moore's muffled voice from the speakers inside his helmet, saying, "Traw, I don't know where the hell you are, but Vault wants you here now, so you'd better haul ass." Traw sighed and put his helmet back on.

Turning to the Disciple, he said, "Keep this safe."

The Disciple concluded, "This will always be safe. Humanity will never fear a lack of intellect. It's a lack of humility that will bring about its undoing."