"You… you're not real," Tygra stammered, staring up in horror at the familiar figure now sharing his cell. "My brother is dead. This can't be happening. This is an illusion. It has to be…"

The vision sighed wearily. "I thought we'd gone through this, Tygra. Don't be tiresome."

"But you are dead. You can't be here. This isn't real!"

The hand that suddenly connected with his cheek was proof to the contrary. "Either I am completely mad or you are here," he murmured, gingerly touching his smarting skin. "Are you?"

Tyree grunted with amusement. "I think we've already covered that point, don't you?"

"Why?"

Orange eyes suddenly blazed and, before Tygra knew what was about to happen, Tyree had grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. "'Why am I here?' Is that what you were going to say?" he hissed, punctuating his remarks by slamming him up against the wall. "Look at yourself, Tygra. What a pathetic coward you are! Hiding in this infernal place to save your own hide!"

"It wasn't my choice."

"Yes, you preferred death for your crimes, didn't you?"

"I didn't kill Mardak!"

"Save it!" Tyree yelled. "There's no one to hear your pathetic whining and it sickens me!"

With that, he released his hold. Unsupported, Tygra dropped to the floor. He watched with growing trepidation as his brother took a small vial from his sleeve and carefully removed the stopper.

"What's that?" he asked.

Tyree held up the vial and stared deep into the slightly sparkling contents. "This is…" He pursed his lips and considered. "This is life, brother. This is understanding. And it's all for you."

Instinctively, Tygra tried to back away. His efforts carried him only a few yards before he hit a wall. Thus trapped, he had nowhere left to go when Tyree knelt down beside him and brought the vial close to his face.

"Now, are you going to take your medicine like a good little tiger?"

Tygra shook his head. Tyree gave a weary sigh, then, in a sudden movement, his hand flew up and smashed his head back against the wall. The world span in a hideous confusion of light and dark in which he was dimly aware of the tight grip on his mane that forced his head back and pressed cold glass against his lips. He tried to fight, to prise the strong hand away from his mouth, but the liquid had already begun to trickle across his tongue and on down his throat. Before he could cough it up, his mouth was forced shut and his nose pinched. With his airways closed, the need for oxygen overcame his dread. He swallowed, and with obedience came release. The grip on his mane fell away and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

"There, not so bad, was it?" came the voice of his tormentor. "In a minute, you'll feel much better."

As if on cue, Tygra felt his mind start to clear. A warm, mellow feeling spread throughout his body. He recognised the familiar call and welcomed it. But with the eturn of clarity came the inevitable realisation of the connection between the feeling and the potion that had been forced upon him. This was not simply the waxing and waning of the disease as he had thought in the past. He saw now something much more sinister.

"You… you've been drugging me?" he said uncertainly.

Tyree smirked. "There now, as I promised, understanding. And don't you feel so much better for it."

Tygra glared at him. "You bastard!"

"A little more respect, if you please," said Tyree. "From my point of view, it's certainly been fun watching you squirm like a worm on a hook, but I think even you would agree that you derived a certain amount of pleasure from the experience."

"Pleasure? You made me think I was losing my mind!"

"Did I misread those mission reports of yours then? Some very interesting material in there. Silky, the Keystone… Not that I'm surprised of course. You always did have an addictive personality. And now it's caught up with you. It has meant destruction for you and everyone you care about." Tyree bent down so that he was on eye level with him. "Just so you know," he said, "she was everything you dreamed she would be."

"What are you…?" He trailed off into silence, finally catching Tyree's meaning. "Where is she?" he yelled. "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing she didn't willingly agree to," Tyree said calmly. "In fact, she's been only too glad to help me, seeing as how I saved her from certain death. Actually, she's been very co-operative. Know what I mean?"

Rage-fuelled strength he thought had long deserted him got him up on his feet. He flew at Tyree, grappling him around the waist and taking him down. Holding him to the floor, he pounded him time and time again before he was thrown off and hurled across the room. He hit the wall with a force that shook him to the bone, but he was too fired up to care and struck out as Tyree came up behind him. Somehow the vial had ended up in his hand and, driven on by all his anger, it ended up embedded deep in his brother's abdomen. Tyree seemed mildly surprised as he took in the sight of the blood spewing through the tube protruding from his stomach. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he pulled it from his flesh. A red river followed its departure, splattering down his legs and onto the floor. Whatever pain he was suffering seemed not to bother him, for he was more interested in the broken vial, which he studied with care.

"Inventive," he murmured. "I didn't believe you had it in you, Tygra. Such aggression."

"You should know. You put it there."

"Quite so," said Tyree. "But if you think you can be rid of me so easily, you are mistaken."

He put his hand over the wound and wiped the excess blood away. Then, peeling back the torn edges of his tunic, he revealed the skin beneath. The healing process had already begun and Tygra watched in horror as the wound disappeared, leaving no trace of its former presence. Tyree patted his restored stomach and smirked.

"Ah, that's better," he said. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, Cheetara. You know, I wasn't sure, but after this display of emotion, I believe you do care for her after all. Don't worry, I'll look after her in my own inimitable way." He laughed cruelly. "Who knows, I might even let her visit to tell you how happy we are together."

His words were evil enough, but Tygra was still staring at the place where the wound he had inflicted upon him had been. "What are you?" he murmured.

Tyree's eyes glittered. "One who has been denied for too long. I have come to claim that which should have rightfully been mine all those years ago."

"No! Lion-O is the rightful heir of Thundera. Get over it!"

"Rightful!" he roared, slamming his foot into Tygra's side and leaving him doubled up on the floor. "It was promised to me! You know the prophecy. 'Through madness and fear, the crown draws near; the twin sons rise and fall, and whence comes king over all'. Well, I have seen my rise and fall, lived through the madness and now let others fear me!"

"I… won't… let you," Tygra grated, between pained breaths.

Tyree laughed, filling the small chamber with his deafening roar. "And how exactly do you propose to do that? This is your world now, the entire range of your influence. I brought you to this."

Tygra stared up at him in new understanding. "You… killed Mardak?"

"It was a pleasure," Tyree hissed. "He tried to deprive me of my little playmate. But your life is mine. So I took his. Now, what do I do with you? I had thought to let you rot away in here for all eternity, sustained in unnatural life by my potion. But my allies deplore waste. And I think it would cause you greater suffering to see the fate I have in store for your friends." He smiled thinly. "How ironic! You always put friends before family and yet, when you needed then, they betrayed you, just as you betrayed me. Fitting then that traitors should die together!"

Before his eyes, Tyree started to change. His body became translucent, a mass of swirling grey mists. The transformation continued down his arm as he reached for him and grabbed him around the neck. Tygra tried to squirm away, but Tyree held him firm. As air was increasingly denied, the mists drifted into his eyes, filling his mind with fog until all coherent thought was smothered and he knew no more.

***************

Panthro strode purposefully along the corridor, scattering Lair employees in his wake. Most stepped aside when they saw the look on the panther's face; the unwise few who dared stand in his way were tossed aside like grain before the wind. Even Leosus had scuttled away when he had approached, gone to get his loathsome master, Panthro guessed. His path clear, he walked straight into Lion-O's room without knocking, stopping abruptly when he realised that they were not alone.

"My lady," he said, with a curt nod. "Forgive the intrusion. I have to talk to your husband."

Liodella gave him half a smile and looked grateful for the chance to leave. "It's all right, Panthro. We were finished anyway."

There was something in her voice that made him look at her a little closer and he thought he detected the merest trace of a tear on her cheek. She slipped past him and shot out of the door. Lion-O registered her departure with a deep sigh of frustration and sat back into his chair.

"Bad timing?" asked Panthro.

"Not really," said Lion-O wearily. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking over what Bengali said, about us having a traitor in our midst."

"Oh, that," Lion-O sighed.

Panthro glanced at him. "You don't think it's important?"

"Yes, of course, I do. I just don't see how Bengali could have known."

"Because of this," Panthro said, slapping a sheet of readouts on the desk. "He showed me this and I told him to bring it to you. Just now, I rechecked the data. He was right."

"About?"

"The disguised communications being sent to the Lair. He didn't tell you?"

Lion-O picked up the sheet and squinted at it. "He might have done. I'm not sure. He was here with something before the business with the Mutants, I think. Was that it?"

"Damn it, Lion-O!" Panthro roared. "What's wrong with you?"

"Don't start on me!" Lion-O retorted, jumping to his feet. "If you think you can do a better job, then step right up and try." He glared at him, then turned away and wandered over to the window. "I'm sorry," he said heavily. "My friends are dead and there's not one blasted thing I can do about it. And now Tygra--"

"What about Tygra?" Panthro demanded.

"You've not heard?"

"Nothing. What's happened?"

Lion-O studiously avoided his inquiring gaze. "Mardak's dead. They think Tygra did it. I had to have him confined to the asylum for his own protection."

Stunned, Panthro down sank into a nearby chair. "You don't believe it?"

"I…" There was something about his voice that made Panthro look at him sharply. "He admitted to that and much worse. I don't know what to think any more."

"Nor do I." Determination slowly hardened in his mind, and with effort, he got to his feet and cleared his throat. "I'm going to Ursa with Lynx-O this morning." Lion-O opened his mouth to protest, but Panthro pressed on. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but while I'm away, I want to know you're safe. I can't be sure of that if there's a traitor here."

Lion-O wandered back to the desk and his hand hovered uncertainly over the sheet. "Do you have any idea who it is?"

"Perhaps. I can certainly tell you where the last few communications went."

"Where?"

"The Leaders' Offices on the Third Floor. If you run a crosscheck, you'll find that there was only one House Leader home at the time. That Leader was--"

"Panthro. What a pleasant surprise."

He turned, almost reluctantly, to find that Saturnus had breezed into the room with Leosus yapping at his heels. The smile was forced, the eyes were hard, and Panthro knew his time was up.

"How nice," said Saturnus, moving round the desk to join his nephew. "Two friends catching up on old times. However, I do have business I need to discuss with Lion-O, so if you don't mind."

Panthro held his gaze for a long minute. The warning shone clear in those icy eyes. Leave while you still can. His feet itched to move towards the door, but resolve held him steady. As Lynx-O had rightly said, now was the time to speak out.

"Traitor," he hissed defiantly.

"An interesting choice of words," Saturnus remarked. "What have I done to deserve such slander?"

"This," Panthro said, pointing to the paper, "puts you on the spot at the time a coded message was sent to the Lair."

Saturnus adopted a tolerant smile. "I thought this little problem had been sorted. Leosus, you did have the technicians see to that rogue relay, didn't you? Well, it seems that another has cropped up in the centre in my suite. Have it seen to."

"You expect anyone to believe that story?"

"Let's examine this so-called evidence, shall we?" Saturnus said. "You find a glitch in the system and instead of doing the logical thing and repairing it, you jump to the erroneous conclusion that there must be foul play. So you dig a little deeper and -- gosh and surprise! -- it originates on the Third Floor and guess who was there that day? Of course, it has to be me, therefore I have to be a traitor. Sheer nonsense if ever I heard it!"

"It happens to be true," Panthro said.

"Then let's put that assumption to the test. Lion-O, do you believe I'm a traitor? That I would betray my world to a pack of flea-bitten Mutants?"

Lion-O shook his head. "No, uncle, of course not."

Saturnus folded his arms and his face took on a smug expression. "Over to you, Panthro. I believe the onus is on you to prove otherwise. But then, you won't be around for a while, will you?"

Panthro clenched his fists against a rising tide of anger. "I will prove what you are," he growled. "And if my friends are dead because of you, then you will pay."

"How very melodramatic," Saturnus said. "But then, you always were fond of overblown outpourings, weren't you?"

Panthro felt the blood start to drain from his cheeks. The abyss gaped before him. But if Lion-O was half the leader he knew him to be, nothing that Saturnus was about to say would shake him for long. At least, he prayed not.

"Of course, I remember you swearing vengeance after that other incident," Saturnus went on. "You said the Mutants who killed Lion-O's mother, my dear sister, would pay too, didn't you? Did you ever catch them, or were they just noble words?"

"You swore that, Panthro, for my mother?" Lion-O said with surprise. "You never told me."

The chance to explain was denied to him, for as he opened his mouth to reply, Saturnus spoke again.

"Did Panthro never tell you of his attachment to your mother?"

"No!" said Panthro, trying to stop him. "Not like this."

Saturnus paid him no heed and continued. "Never told you that they were lovers, that she was waiting for him that day when the Mutants attacked? She was caught in the crossfire and killed. A very tragic end for one so young."

Lion-O slowly turned to Panthro, his expression torn somewhere between horror and disbelief. "Say it isn't true," he grated.

"I can't."

A few, long, heavy seconds passed, in which Lion-O sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. "Leave," he said, without looking up.

"At least let me explain," Panthro began.

"Get out!" Lion-O suddenly roared, slamming his hands down on the desk with a fury that sent papers flying in every direction.

"Lion-O, please, I never meant--"

"What? To have an affair with my mother? To betray my father? He was your Lord, Panthro. He trusted you! And all the time, you were… you were…"

"It wasn't like that," Panthro insisted. "I loved her, Lion-O. She was lonely and unhappy and--"

"Just stop, please stop, before I lose any more respect for you. Just… go."

The hurt in his eyes seared itself into Panthro's soul. There was nothing to do now, but leave. He had caused grief for one and triumph for another. Perhaps one day there would be forgiveness, but not today and not where he would ever hear it. He strode quickly from the room and out into the corridor, heading for the hangar. He had caused enough damage for one day, he thought. There was only one way he could make amends now.

***************

"Please, please, Divine Mistress, you've got to help me!"

Jageena shifted her gaze from an inspection of her painted claws to the red-eyed lioness currently prostrate at her feet. "Yes, so you've said several times since you got here. But you still haven't told me what the problem is, Liodella."

She sat up nervously, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. "Saturnus said if I was ever in trouble, I should come to you."

"And you're in trouble now? Well, tell me."

"I… I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations."

"But it's--"

"Not Lion-O's child. Yes, I know. So what's the problem?"

Liodella dropped her gaze and sniffed heavily. "Saturnus says it's my fault. I've tried, Divine Mistress, I swear, but I can't make Lion-O sleep with me." She looked up, desperation burning bright in her eyes. "Perhaps you can."

Jageena allowed her eyebrows to rise in a gesture of part surprise, part disapproval. "Are you asking for a love potion? I'm sure you're aware they are highly illegal."

"I'm willing to risk it. If Lion-O finds out this isn't his child, I'll be disgraced. Please grant me this, Divine Mistress. I don't know what else to do. My need is great."

Great indeed, Jageena thought. Love potions had been outlawed on Old Thundera many centuries ago, condemned as being dangerous quackery. That fact did not stop people asking for them nor her supplying them. It fostered gratitude, a precious commodity in these trying times. To have the gratitude of the Lady of Thundera could be a very useful thing indeed. When the time came, her support for the jaguars' claim on the Lordship of Thundera would solve the problem of what to do with her. There was always a convenient accident, but this way was much neater.

"It just so happens I have something that might be of use to you," she said, rising from her chair.

Descending from the dais, she went to a side table shrouded in the gloom of the flickering torchlight. A large studded casket, intricately carved and inlaid with shining gems, obediently opened as she passed her hand over it. She smiled as she retrieved the vial that she had taken from Saturnus' office containing the remainder of the juice of the Lacklight plant. Returning to where Liodella was still kneeling on the floor, she held it out to her.

"A love potion, as requested," she said. "Empty the contents of this vial into your husband's drink and he will not be able to resist you."

Liodella took it in her trembling hands. "It won't hurt him, will it? I… I wouldn't want that."

Jageena smiled. So the little fool had feelings for her unresponsive partner. Not for much longer, she thought. "Have no fear," she said. "The effects, I can assure you, are most pleasant."

"Thank you, Divine Mistress," Liodella said, bowing her head in grateful acknowledgement. "I owe you my honour."

"And much more besides," Jageena murmured. "Now go, my lady."

Thus dismissed, Liodella hurried away. When the double doors had closed behind her, the smile on Jageena's face gradually gave way to a broad grin until the Hall shook to the sound of her laughter.

"Ravenglass!" she yelled out. The little sprite materialised at her feet and looked up at her expectantly. "You can tell the Evil Ones I expect to take control of Thundera very soon."

"They will be pleased," he said. "I always had faith in you, my lady."

"Only when it suited you, Ravenglass. You may soon find yourself out of a job as my familiar."

"Oh, my lady, you wouldn't!" he pleaded. "I have a family to feed and my poor old mother is ill and--"

"I'm not interested, weasel!" Jageena snapped. "There's going to be changes around here when the jaguars retake their rightful position as Lords of Thundera. If you want to be part of it, I suggest you don't go running to Saturnus with this news. Understand?"

"Yes, mistress."

"And, Ravenglass, who do you work for?"

"You and you alone, mistress," said the sprite, bowing low enough to touch his nose to the floor.

"Better," she said. "That is definitely something I expect to be hearing more of in the future."

***************

Dust swirled into Bengali's nose and mouth, making him gag and bringing him sharply back to consciousness. He blinked and opened reluctant eyes to find himself on his back staring up at an orange sky. So, despite everything that had happened, despite all the odds, somehow he was still alive. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, he was still undecided. Physically, he felt terrible. His mental state was only slightly better. Hazy memories drifted in and out of his mind, allowing just enough insight to know that something unpleasant had happened to him. Quite what remained stubbornly out of his reach and after several minutes of fruitless searching, he came to the conclusion that it was probably better not to know anyway.

With a sigh, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up to his knees. A quick inspection of his surroundings offered few clues to his whereabouts. Rocks, sand and sky had all been cast in the same colour. The ledge on which he sat offered a clear view across a wide plain and he searched in vain for any break in the orange monotony. But there was nothing. No trees, no grass, no water -- only scattered dust storms wending their way across the lonely expanse.

"All right," he murmured to himself. "Bengali, I think you're in trouble. So what happens now?"

"Now you die."

He spun round at the sound of the unexpected voice. While he had been contemplating the view, a group of Mutants had crept up the slope behind him. Of various species, they stood behind a giant ape who seemed to be the leader of the group.

"Oh, hi," Bengali said nervously, forcing himself to his feet. "Am I glad to see you! I thought I was in the middle of nowhere."

"You are," said the ape.

It was a bald statement of fact and, for a moment, Bengali was unsure how to respond. That the group was hostile was clear enough, but it was the unnerving glint in their eyes as they stared keenly back at him that caused his stomach to knot.

"Well, er, if you could tell me the way to the nearest town," he began, "I'll--"

His words were lost as the gathering roared with laughter.

"You thick or something?" the ape sneered. "You're going nowhere, tiger, but down!"

"Down?" Bengali echoed, glancing over his shoulder at the steep drop from the ledge down to the plain below. "You don't mean…?"

The ape nodded. "That's exactly what I mean!"

Despite the cloying heat, Bengali felt a chill sweep through his body. He was outnumbered and trapped between them and the edge. Wits, rather than strength, would be needed to get him out of this one, he decided.

"Look, let's be realistic," he said. "I know our two peoples don't exactly get on--"

"An understatement," hissed a reptilian from the group.

"But I can help you," Bengali went on. "After all, it's not unheard of for Mutants and Thunderians to work together in a spirit of co-operation. I mean, here I am and here you are and we've both got the same aim to get home, haven't we?"

"That's what we intend," said the ape. "And, yes, you can help us."

Bengali breathed a sigh of relief. "That's more like it," he said. "How?"

"By jumping off this ledge."

The other Mutants cackled nastily and several rubbed their hands together with evident glee.

"And what will that do?" Bengali asked with trepidation.

The ape smacked his lips. "From this height, you should be nicely tenderised."

It took him a moment or two to catch his meaning. "You're not serious? You can't eat me. Haven't you heard that tigers aren't exactly tasty?"

"Do we look like we care?" growled a reptilian in the howling mob.

Bengali found himself agreeing with that remark. They were the scrawniest bunch he had ever seen. Granted, he could not remember his last meal, but these Mutants looked as though they were on the verge of starvation. Their eyes glinted with the desperation of the hungry and, worst of all, they were looking at him. This was not some idle threat.

"I can see we're going to have to come to some arrangement here," he said, glancing round warily. "How about I offer you an alternative?"

"The only alternatives you've got are whether you prefer to be roasted or grilled," said the ape.

Bengali gulped. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of cutting a deal. You see, I'm a Thundercat," he said, tapping his bare chest where his insignia should have been, only to remember how easily he had cast it aside. "Well, I am, you have to believe me," he went on, "and my friends are sure to be here in no time at all and if I ask them nicely--"

"You don't know where you are, do you?" the ape growled. "Welcome to hell, Thundercat. Here, there are no friends to save you, no Sword of Omens to come to your aid. What you see is what you get. Dust and death. There's no food here, nothing. That's just how the Scourge wants it, so we have no choice but to offer ourselves up to them. Accursed blood suckers," he swore. "We're doing you a favour by putting you out of your misery, Thundercat."

"Forgive me if I don't see it quite like that," said Bengali.

"Three times, that's all we're worth to them," the ape said, holding up the appropriate number of fingers. "They leave us here when they're done with us and come back later for a refill." His eyes darkened and he glanced over at the mob. "Most of us are on our last time. The next time we're taken, that'll be it. Well, I don't intend to just lay down and die. That's what you mangy cats do, but not Mutants of Plun-darr. I'll fight those scum until they crush the last breath from my body."

"Good for you, but how?"

The ape slowly turned his head back in Bengali's direction. "If we resist for long enough, they'll have to come down here and find us instead of hiding up in those ships of theirs. And when they're down here…" He thumped a hand into his palm. As he did so, Bengali noticed him wince slightly. "What we need is food," he went on. "You'll keep us going for a while, just like the others did."

As much as skin was starting to crawl, a question came to mind that refused to be denied. "Others?" he said. "You mean, other Thunderians?"

"Yeah!" sniggered a jackal. "Good eating they were too!"

The gathering roared its approval and began to press forward, eager for the promise of more food. With his feet only inches from the edge, Bengali decided it was high time for action. He threw a punch, aimed right at the ape's leering face. It never hit home. Even as his hand balled into a fist, something tightened around his neck and threatened to crush his windpipe. The punch was lost in mid flight as his hand went instead to his throat. As his anger turned to surprise, the grip lessened. Where he had expected to find fingers about his neck, he instead found something smooth clinging to him like a second skin. Looking at the mob around him, he saw that they all wore grey collars, much, he presumed, like the thing he could feel about his own neck.

"What the…?" he began and looked to the lead ape for answers. He was met with a derision that made his blood boil. With a roar, he threw himself at the Mutant. Once again, the collar tightened, more fiercely this time, sending his mind into a dizzying whirl. He fell to the floor gasping for breath, his lungs burning for want of precious oxygen. A fringe of blackness formed at the edge of his vision, warning him that collapse was near.

"Look at you, Thundercat," the ape jeered, "on your knees, where all cats belong. We could kick the life out of you if we want, but having you jump is more fun. Now get over that edge!"

Bengali slowly raised his head and glared at him. Giving up voluntarily was one thing; being forced into it was another and there was no way he was giving this crowd that satisfaction. But even getting to his feet was difficult. His anger was ready to explode, but his weakened body could give him no outlet. Impotent rage gnawed at his soul and the collar grew tighter. Every breath now had to be fought for, each pain-filled wheeze tore at his dry throat and still the darkness encroached. Unconsciousness would come soon and with it the Mutants' final attack. He could only wonder why they had not already done so, given his condition.

As if anticipating his end, they started to crowd round him, eager for the kill. Then, in the still air rose a high-pitched howl. Every Mutant froze. Then another howl sent them scuttling in every direction.

"Fools!" the lead ape yelled. "Finish this!"

Realising that he had been deserted, the ape gave Bengali a thunderous glare and then ran after the others. Left alone, he gulped down each hard-fought breath and wondered what was so terrible to make the starving band flee. Anger was slowly turning to wary curiosity and with it the collar loosened its death grip about his neck. Then, to his ears, came the hurried scrunch of running feet. He looked up just in time to see a cloaked figure racing towards him. This newcomer skidded to a halt and knelt down at his side.

"Are you all right?" asked a distinctly feminine voice.

"No, not really," Bengali said.

"Just keep breathing and try to relax. Banish all angry thoughts and think of something pleasant. That should loosen the collar."

"Something pleasant," he muttered. "Not so easy when your world is very unpleasant."

"This is not my world."

The hood fell away and he had to stifle a gasp of amazement. Masses of braided deep red mane framed the sandy fur of a pretty yet determined face.

"You're Thunderian?"

"Once," she replied. "Now I'm fodder. Come on, we can't stay here. Can you make it to your feet?"

His anger now firmly banished, air was once again flooding into his lungs. He was a little dizzy, but his strength was intact. Leaning on her for support, he got to his feet and took a few uncertain steps. She bore his weight without complaint and helped him along until he could manage on his own.

"We have to keep moving," she urged, taking the lead.

"Yeah, those Mutants don't seem the friendly type."

"Mutants are the least of our worries. It's the Scourge I'm talking about."

She jerked her thumb at the sky and Bengali looked up to see a large shape moving across the clouds. Only the faintest distortion at its edges gave any indication of its presence.

"What's that?" he called after her.

"It's the Scourge, didn't you hear me?" she said impatiently. "They're out hunting. Why d'you think the Mutants ran?"

She started away at considerable speed and Bengali had difficulty keeping up with her. Still trailing some distance behind, he was relieved when she finally came to a halt by an outcrop of rocks. In an otherwise featureless expanse of sand, the faint outline of a mountain range had appeared in the distance and to this she pointed.

"Our camp, or what's left of it, is over there," she said. "We'll be safe there."

"Camp? You mean there's more of you?"

"There were," she said. "Let's go. We can get there by dusk if you don't dawdle too much."

She began walking again and Bengali had to call out to her to satisfy his curiosity. "When you say were…"

"We were a scouting party trying to get to Thundera," she explained, slowing to let him catch up. "We'd heard rumours that the planet was reborn. It sounded too good to be true. I mean, a planet that exploded, just suddenly reforming? Crazy, huh?"

"Not as much as how it happened," he murmured.

"So our leaders decided it was time to see if it was true," she went on. "Six of us were chosen to go to Thundera. We never even got close. Something took our ship, just devoured it. The next real thing I remember is being dropped off here. Between that, there's only hazy memories. I remember how it felt, but not much else."

"Probably not a bad thing in the circumstances."

She nodded in agreement. "Given that experience, we were determined not to be taken again, but it was hard. The longer it went on, the harder it got. Every time one of those ships went by, I felt this need to follow it. My friends were taken. I tried to resist, but in the end, I failed too." She sighed. "And so it happened all over again. I'd just been dropped off, when I heard that ape and saw you. Lucky for you I knew about the howl."

"That was you?" Bengali said. "You saved my life."

"That's their warning call for when one of the Scourge ships is sighted. It certainly made them run, didn't it?" She smiled, but her eyes were still sad. "My team is out there somewhere, I'm sure. I know it's probably hopeless. They could be anywhere on this planet, but I have to try."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her about the fate of the other Thunderians the Mutants had found. But seeing the glint of moisture in her eyes, he stopped himself. What the Mutants had told him was best left unsaid. Better to leave her a little hope. "I'm sorry," he said instead.

"Thanks," she said. "The name's Lexi, by the way. And you are?" He told her and she held out her hand for him to shake. "Nice to meet you, Bengali," she said. "What brings you here, as if I couldn't guess?"

He shrugged. "It's a long story involving Mutants and a lunatic brother of a friend of ours…" He trailed off into silence as the thought suddenly struck him that his ordeal had not been endured alone. "Cheetara," he murmured.

"Who's that?"

"She was with me. Have you seen her?"

Lexi shook her head. "Maybe the Scourge haven't finished with her yet."

Bengali shuddered. "Don't say that. I have to find her."

"Perhaps you don't hear too well," she said impatiently. "She could be anywhere, if she's here at all." With that, she set off again. "We'll look for her later," she called back over her shoulder. "It isn't safe now with the Scourge still on the hunt."

Feeling helpless, Bengali watched her go, then glanced back the way they had come. All was empty and lifeless. There was no sign of anyone.

"Please let her be all right," he whispered to the still air. "Cheetara, where are you?"

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