Whatever I thought I might achieve returned to me as precisely the opposite. Khamuel swore beneath his breath as both Colonial and Akkadi ships abandoned the battle below to pursue the Taush. We had chased and shot down a Colonial ship; now we ran from the Colonial and the Akkadi. They opened fire on the Taush, and Khamuel just barely stayed ahead of them.

Khamuel called through my crown, “Return fire.” I was already lining up my next shot.

By the time The Akkadi ship exploded and fell, I was two things; I was scared and I was enraged. How dare they drag me into their violence! I hated myself for killing, and I hated them for making me. When I took down the Colonial ship, a bellow of rage escaped my throat, but it did not end with that. The ships below lifted, firing at one another, and at the Taush.

I shouted at the Colonials, men I had known and guided through the Esthos, “Stop this madness!” My voice was pitched and strained.

Khamuel's evasive maneuvering threw me around in my seat. I had trouble lining up a shot. I watched the ships behind follow and fight at the same time. I saw two of the four remaining Colonials go down, and I saw three of the five Akkadi ships fall from the sky. I fired on a Colonial vessel and it fell. An Akkadi took out the last Colonial just as I fired and took down the Akkadi.

One ship remained; it pursued, firing relentlessly. I hailed, “Akkadi ship, stand down. You don't have to die.”

An answer returned through my crown. “I know your voice. We are friends, Jeez, but I alone will rule.” It was the voice of Nimrod.

Nimrod was strafing and Khamuel was evading. Stunned as I was to hear a friend threaten me, I could not permit him to hurt my Angels. I fired and clipped one of Nimrod's scythe-like foils. That allowed Khamuel to turn and pursue. My head spun from the course of events, but what happened next, I could not have guessed. Three Vimana rose up and gave chase.

Khamuel said, “That Akkadi is fast. The blues are fast too. Jeez, come spot me; I need to look at Barachiel.”

I struggled free from the tight seat and squeezed into the cramped cockpit. I clutched the grips in white knuckles and held our course as Khamuel ran for med supplies. I looked over the rudimentary controls still at a loss, I had never used such a panel; the flashing pads and basic toggles meant nothing to me. I looked beyond the cockpit windows as the Taush sliced through white clouds, but I could see neither the Akkadi ship of Nimrod nor the Vimana.

Khamuel ran back to Barachiel, and I heard Barachiel moan. I heard the med kit opening and synth wrapping being ripped apart. Khamuel said, “He has a nasty gash.” Then, he said to Barachiel, “Hold still. You have blood on your face.”

I said to Khamuel, “I can't see the ships.”

Khamuel answered perfunctorily, “Lower right. Blue toggle. You'll get an overlay.”

I flipped the toggle and orange markers came up. I saw the positions of the ships, directions, speeds, and more. The 'more' I neither understood nor needed. I relaxed and took a breath, but a fire still burned in my chest. Nimrod was up to old tricks, and I felt betrayed. Friends? My mind denied his confession of friendship, and I was resolved that he must be stopped. I saw the Vimana fire on Nimrod and secretly hoped they would accomplish the task I dreaded.

Khamuel stood behind me. “Tell me,” he said. “Who is this Akkadi you're friends with?”

I gave the controls to Khamuel and sat beside Barachiel, who blinked and shook his head.

Khamuel said, “I'll get close and open communications.”

I watched Barachiel struggle with his condition. He took deep breaths, blinking and looking around. I got his attention with a hand on his shoulder. When his eyes focused on me, I raised an index finger.

“How many fingers do you see?” I asked.

Barachiel laughed and said, “All of them. Four fingers and a thumb.”

“Don't evade,” said I, worried.

Khamuel called from the cockpit, “Answer the question. We're concerned about the bump on your head.”

Barachiel turned to glower at Khamuel's back. With a snort, he asked, “And who put it there? Next time, I do the flying.”

Khamuel said, “If you feel up to it, take the weapons chair.”

Barachiel stood on shaky legs. I took his arm and walked him back. With Barachiel settled, I went to stand behind Khamuel, gripping the overhead rail. I looked through the viewport but saw nothing. Clouds slapped the Taush and made me blink reflexively. Even though the positioning was still up, I had no sense of how far ahead they were.

“Any closer?” I asked.

“Getting there,” was Khamuel's answer. “I have to hand it to him; he's an ace pilot. The Oliphareans are firing, but they're not even close.”

I said, “Nimrod is many things, but conqueror of this planet I'll not allow.”

“Nearly there,” said Khamuel. “Just to be safe, talk to them from a seat. Bar down. I'll let you know when I get a lock.”

I sat impatiently. My time away from the Seed Ship opened eyes I had rather remained closed. Perhaps, had I kept my crown, I could have led my people away from such wild abandon. It was as if, once they landed, they threw all our protocols out the window. Both Huims and Axerri had fallen in my estimation. They had become evil. And what about me? I had been wholly fooled by Nimrod's admission of friendship. I felt thoroughly abraded, and angry.

“I have a lock,” said Khamuel.

“Nimrod,” I hailed. “This is Jeez. Stop. You're going to get yourself killed.”

I listened and heard no reply. Khamuel suggested, “He does have his hands full at the moment. Try to talk the Oliphareans back.”

I said, “To the Vimana of the Olipharean people, this is Jeez. I wish to talk with whoever's in charge.”

“That would be me,” said Crish, his voice instantly recognizable. “Why must we talk? You've come to murder another of us?”

I sensed anger in the voice of Crish. I remembered Akhil who killed Bermesh. I gave my answer. “Akhil murdered Bermesh and was tried under fleet law. This is different. You can't just go around killing each other. There must be rule of law.”

“We have our laws,” said Crish.

I said, “Then a standard. Whose law applies when we're all up in the air?”

Nimrod cut in. “Jeez, stay out of this. You gave me this prison. Now, let me put these blue bastards in their place.”

Nimrod seemed to be on a course of destruction, and thus, on a course of self-destruction. I offered my hand in the highest spirit. “Let's all land,” said I. “Let's look each other in the eye and come to an accord. Nimrod. Crish. We can hammer out a compromise for whatever the issue is.”

Crish answered in a crisp tone, “Bha Huda has ordered. The Olipharean people will not bend the neck.”

I said, “Let me speak to Bha Huda.”

Crish replied, his voice accusing, “I'm sure he would rather pull out his eyes than speak with such as you.”

Nimrod said, “You see how they are. Unfit to rule. King to King, Jeez, it's not in my nature to compromise. If they will not bend at the neck, they will bend where I break the back.”

I exhaled utter hopeless exasperation. “Why?” I asked. “ We are guests here; none of us are meant to rule.”

Nimrod said, “That sounds like something your father would say.”

I pleaded, “Then, hear his voice, Nimrod. Submit to his reason.”

Nimrod said, “Excuse me while I effortlessly evade the best these fools have to throw at me. No, Jeez. I will claim the prize or no one will.”

I left my seat and stood behind Khamuel. I could see the ships ahead; small specks in a vast blue sky. The specks moved erratically, and bright flashes appeared between them.

Khamuel toggled off communications and said to me, “We are far to the east. Should we not leave them to fight it out?”

“No,” I replied. “Whichever side wins this battle will surely return for us later. Neither will win, I swear. This planet is our home.”

Barachiel said from the weapons chair, “I agree. Let me shoot them all out of the sky.”

“Put me through,” I said to Khamuel. When I saw the toggle flipped up, I spoke to Crish. “Crish, hear me.  A little diplomacy can resolve the issue between the Oliphareans and Nimrod.”

“Not so,” said Crish. “Nimrod destroys. That is all he knows. He must perish; we must survive.”

“We can all survive,” said I. “This planet is big enough for both indigenous and guests.”

Nimrod replied, “My destiny was determined at birth. I will be King, and all will submit to my rule.”

“You see! You see!” said Crish.

I said to Nimrod, “Non-interference is a form of rule. A benign hand, a subtle guidance, they accomplish more than suppression.”

Nimrod said to me, “Jeez, you're a fool; a softhearted, misdirected fool. I said as much to the former King. One is either for me or against me.”

Crish spoke to me. “Leave this devana to me. He is no match for the might of Olipharean preeminence. You should go and set your affairs in order. I'll come back for you later.”

Nimrod said, “You're not very popular.” There was an implied laugh in Nimrod's tone.

I could see the ships ahead. Nimrod traced a dizzying evasive pattern through the sky. The Vimana kept up, and Khamuel was closing fast. I could not take my eyes off the life-and-death struggle ahead of us.

Barachiel called from the weapons chair. “I'm waiting. Just give the order.”

I felt a mounting sense of dread. It really did not seem there was anything I could say to talk them down. Their minds were set, and their fates were locked in a win-or-die finality. I took a breath around my failure and loosed a hand to wipe sweat from my face.

I asked, “Crish, is there nothing I can say to stay your hand?”

Crish answered vehemently. “He is our enemy. He kills our people. He closes our mines and destroys our outposts. No, Jeez, your words will not stop me.”

Crish sought vengeance. Nimrod, on the other hand, maintained a calm and somewhat irreverent attitude; he spoke with an air of superiority. My mind raced to think how I might use the emotional weakness of Crish and the aggressive arrogance of Nimrod against them. I began with Nimrod.

“Nimrod,” I said, “if you kill everyone that disagrees with you, then most certainly, you will end up alone.”

Nimrod answered, “I have a people who worship me. But, I think you miss the point. There is a pattern that runs throughout the multiplicity. It is a truth. In a tiered reality, there is one at the top, and all direction must flow from the one to the many. I am the top. I maintain the universal order, but if you like, Jeez, you could be second.”

“Waiting,” said Barachiel.

I could see the point Crish had made. Nimrod was out of control; living in his own private fantasy. He was a danger to be dealt with. Someone had to stop him, but from what I had seen to that point, the Oliphareans seemed ill-equipped.

I spoke to Crish. “Crish, your approach is emotional. It will not end well. At least, regroup with reinforcements.”

“I think not,” Crish replied. “I have him in my hand.”

Khamuel spoke in anger. “You've yet to land the first blow.”

“Let me,” said Barachiel. “I have a lock. I promise; I can knock them all from the sky.”

Crish asked, “Do you make the Oliphareans your enemy? Do you side with this devana?”

“I side with sanity,” I said abruptly. “Something both of you tragically lack.”

“Ah, Jeez,” said Nimrod. “That hurt. Are these your best efforts? What a waste.”

Crish said, “You do nothing but talk. Our ears swell.”

Nimrod laughed, then said, “Go away, Jeez. You're not your father. Now, there was a man. Such power! But, he would not employ his full strength. I tire of this noise. Time to act.”

Nimrod used his opinion like a weapon. I had been thoroughly shot down. I looked out through the viewport, helplessly and quietly, as the Vimana banked away from one another while sending a lethal salvo at the Akkadi ship. They missed as Nimrod dove through the clouds toward the broad lush valleys below.

Khamuel brought us in behind the Vimana, and slightly above. The view was clear; the battle below us was pitched. I saw each of the Vimana fire a missile at Nimrod, but he sent out flares and escaped destruction. I stood and stared, mouth open until Khamuel cut communications.

He turned to look at me briefly, and asked, “Do you have a plan?”

That shook me; I did not have a plan. For the life of me, I could not imagine what I should do, and I could not answer Khamuel's simple question. My mind felt numb, then, suddenly, I remembered the death of Cloud. I recalled how my chest tightened in fear, and as I stood there behind Khamuel, I once again felt burning tears turn to rage. Lest something snap in me, and turn once more into a monster, I closed my eyes and sought calm. I fought to keep the clawing beast from breaching my control.

“Any time,” said Barachiel.

“Open communication,” I said to Khamuel. Then, I spoke to Nimrod. “Nimrod, you must stop. Stop, or I will stop you.”

Nimrod replied, “What will you do? Talk me down? You don't have what it takes.”

I was repulsed by Nimrod's utter disdain. I was wholly prepared to have Barachiel shoot him down when Crish spoke.

“Join us,” said Crish. “I will speak favorably to Bha Huda.”

“In league, are we?” asked Nimrod. “Watch this.”

I had not the time to blink, when one of the Vimana, the one on the left, burst into a ball of fire and smoke, falling quickly behind the Taush. I could not squeeze the overhead rail any tighter. I wrestled with my inner monster as it raged to free itself.

Khamuel said, “He's toying with us.”

I called out, “Crish, are you there?”

Crish answered, “That was Aryaman.” Then, Crish growled in anger.

I watched the valley floor draw near. I could see hills, trees, rivers, and farms. They sped by beneath our racing ships. I felt the pain of loss even though Aryaman was unknown to me. Who else was aboard the downed Vimana, I could not imagine.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I managed to say.

Nimrod laughed.

“Damn you!” said Crish. “Damn all of you.”

“A lesson,” said Nimrod. “A lesson in your own inferiority, and a forecast, I dare say, of future lessons.”

Crish howled rage. The sound chilled me. Nimrod answered with bitter laughter. I jumped within myself as Crish yelled my name. “Jeez! You see. You know. Fight with us. If not, I will turn and destroy you myself.”

I was between a rock and a hard place. I was pressed between the fury of Crish and the contempt of Nimrod; trapped like a fox in one of my cages, and in the the crosshairs of both men. I felt my inner beast getting closer to the surface, and I was angry with myself. I was angry and afraid. The situation was hateful, and I was coming to despise the nature of men.

“They're in my sights,” said Barachiel.

I was tempted to let him fire, to turn him loose on souls below us just to be done with the matter. Yet, I held back. I stayed my hand, wondering if Nimrod's words were the truth of me. What would I do? What could I do? All the while, Nimrod laughed and Crish vented venom. I hated my inaction.