Snarfer sat alone on the outskirts of New Thundera City. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and the last of the brilliant colors was starting to fade. Normally Snarfer loved Thundera’s sunsets. He would sit on a balcony at Cat’s Lair and watch the clouds turn from golden to orange to red to navy blue and finally to a deep violet that faded into night. Sometimes he watched alone. It was his time for introspection and thinking. It was his time to feel at peace.

But he did not always watch the sunsets alone. Cheetara loved the sunsets, too. Sometimes she would join him. Occasionally Lion-O would stop by and watch. He usually had Leonari with him on those visits. In fact, all of the Thundercats had watched the sunsets with Snarfer at least once. But no one had come more often than Uncle Osbert had. And now…

Snarfer felt a growing sob and tried to choke it back down. Because of all the fires in New Thundera City, the sunset had been unusually red before it faded. Red as blood was the analogy Snarfer thought of. Red as blood. Red as Snarf’s blood.

The young snarf was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. When a hand came down to rest on his shoulder, Snarfer jumped at least twice his height and swung his tail around. It slammed into a tight stomach, and the resulting grunt was accompanied by the sound of a falling tiger. A falling red tiger. Snarf had died because of red tigers. Red tigers had killed his uncle. Red tigers were the enemy and red tigers—

"Snarfer, wait! It’s me!"

Snarfer blinked and stopped his charge. "Mantyro?"

The tiger held his hand up and nodded. "Just me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

Snarfer stared for a moment, shook his head, and then turned away. "Sorry. I shouldn’t have attacked like that."

"No, you were well within your rights to attack me," Mantyro replied, getting up and brushing dust off his uniform. "After what’s happened, none of us should take anything for granted. Someone behind could be either friend or foe. I should have said something." The red tiger shook his head and sighed. "It’s getting late, Snarfer. We should think about heading back to the Lair."

"Have you been back there?"

Mantyro shook his head. "No, not yet. I’ve been looking for red tigers. I can’t be certain, but I think they’re gone."

"I have."

"Pardon?"

Snarfer shuddered. "I’ve been back to the Lair. I found a child. She was only four, maybe five. Cougar-panther hybrid, I think. Might have had a touch of jaguar, too. She was crying. She was so small. I couldn’t find a cheetah, so I took her to the Lair myself. It’s…Mantyro, it’s awful. So many Thunderians. So many dead. So many wounded."

"Listen, Snarfer. It’s been a long day. You need some rest. If you don’t want to go back to the Lair then at least let me get you to some shelter. The cheetahs say they’ve set up a tent just south of the Lair for everyone who’s—"

"Don’t you understand?!" Snarfer demanded. "Don’t you see it yet? He’s gone! Great Jaga, they’re all gone. All of them. Lion-O, Servalla, Tygra, Pumyra, Wiley Kat, your sister Chinga, even Snarf…" That sob had crept back again, but Snarfer pushed past it. "Gone. All gone. It’s only a matter of time, now. Any minute, they’ll come for us. What good is it to rest? What good is it to sleep?"

"We’re not through yet," Mantyro insisted quietly. He moved to Snarfer and knelt by the snarf’s side. "Lion-O wasn’t dead when the cheetahs took him back to the Lair. Neither was Servalla. Wiley Kat still had a pulse. And there’s no proof that Tygra and Pumyra are actually gone. No one’s recovered anything that proves—"

"Look me in the eye and tell me that any of them are still alive," Snarfer challenged.

Mantyro stammered for a minute. "Lion-O is alive," he finally said. "I know that. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. And he’ll return to us. And we’ll unite this planet again and we’ll destroy the Kentroans."

"And the others?"

"I still believe that Tygra and Pumyra live," the tiger said quietly. "I believe Servalla will pull through. I believe Wiley Kat has a chance. I can’t prove any of this, but it’s what I believe."

"Your sister Chinga?"

"Gone." The tiger’s voice was flat and his eyes were expressionless.

"And…Uncle Snarf?"

Mantyro frowned. "You know the answer to that, Snarfer. You saw him as clearly as I did."

"Yes, I did," Snarfer whispered. "He was lying there. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t…he didn’t say anything to me. He didn’t respond."

After listening to this for a few more minutes, Mantyro eased his arm around Snarfer’s shivering body and picked him up. Snarfer didn’t notice. He kept mumbling to himself. With a tired sigh, the red tiger started for Cat’s Lair. Mantyro was in desperate need of sleep; they all were. But he doubted he would get a chance to rest that night. There would be defenses to make, shifts to assign, wounded to tend, and dead to bury. But at least he could see that Snarfer slept. If nothing else, he could do that much for the Thundercats. At least one of them could start the recovery process.

"I will kill you, Sybar," Mantyro vowed quietly as he walked. At the mention of Sybar’s name, Snarfer shivered, stopped mumbling, and curled his tail defensively around Mantyro’s waist. Mantyro didn’t notice. His own anger and rage had taken over, and all he could see was Sybar’s grinning face framed by a sea of fire. "I will kill you," he promised again. "If it’s the last thing I do, I swear I will see you die."

The touch of a damp rag brought Snoedaro back to reality. For a moment, the snow leopard was completely at a loss. His surroundings were foreign and he’d become so accustomed to the screams and roars of war that silence was unnerving.

"Where am I?" His tongue felt thick and swollen, and his voice didn’t sound right.

"Rest. You’re safe now."

Snoedaro turned his gray eyes toward the voice. "Who are you?"

"My name is Stealon. I am the leader of my people, the ocelots. And you are Thundercat Snoedaro. I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

The snow leopard blinked his eyes and tried to sit up. "I can’t move."

"We have you tied with light restraining harnesses," the ocelot leader explained gently. "When we brought you on board, you were delirious and we had to find some way to keep you subdued. You kept shouting orders and yelling about the shields and the weapons. You’d been in battle far too long."

"My ship. What happened to my ship? And my crew? Are they—"

"Your ship was falling apart. We evacuated you and your crew to the ocelot command ship. They’re fine. You yourself are in worse shape than most of your people."

"What about Bengali? He was with me on the command deck. Is he okay?"

Stealon’s jaw tightened. "We don’t know. He’s a very sick cat. We repaired the damage that his broken ribs did to his lungs, but he’s lost a lot of blood. And with the trauma to his body…we just don’t know yet. It’s too soon to tell."

Snoedaro closed his eyes and sighed. "I should have stopped him. I should have made him lie down." Opening his eyes again, the snow leopard glanced around. "So where am I? What happened? What about the wolves?"

"I believe you should rest. You’ve had quite a—"

"Please tell me," the snow leopard said.

It was not quite a command, but it was more than a request. Stealon hesitated and then nodded. "It goes against my better judgement, but alright. One quick explanation, and then you must rest again." The ocelot paused to collect his thoughts into a summary and then began. "Kentro was closing in on your forces when the wolves attacked. The humans turned to deal with the new threat, but then the wolves broke apart and Kentro came face to face with our force of ocelots. They were taken by surprise. Half our vessels engaged the Kentroans in battle while the other half rescued what we could of your ships. Some of your fighters are still intact and flying home. The rest we had to destroy. We couldn’t let your technology fall into Kentro’s hands."

"But what about the Bi-Dimensional Gun?"

"It blew up. And it gave us just the break we needed. We were going to have to leave almost a third of your forces, but the gun’s distraction gave us just enough time to make it out. Because of that gun, we got to your ship, we got to RedEye’s—"

"RedEye? He’s alive?"

"He’s unconscious, but none the worse for wear," Stealon replied. "His ship was a wreck, though. It’s a wonder he lived."

"And the wolves? Did Alphon get anyone off the Bi-Dimensional Gun before it blew?"

The ocelot grimaced. "I’ve talked too long. I think you need more rest, Snoedaro."

The snow leopard seized the ocelot’s arm. "Did he? Did Alphon rescue anyone?"

Stealon hesitated, and then nodded. "He did. Three Lunatacs and two Thundercats."

"Two? But…there were three. Three Thundercats, I know that."

"It’s time you got some sleep," Stealon instructed. He reached behind him to a small white cart and found a cup filled with a dark red liquid. "Here, drink this. It will help with the healing process."

"Not until you tell me—"

"Snoedaro, I’m normally very easy going, but I have a ship to run, a war to fight, an alliance to solidify, reports to view, ocelots to command, chores to finish, sick to visit, plans to make, communications to send, and troops to organize. I’ve already spent too much time here. I won’t tell you again: drink this."

Snoedaro looked at the drink, looked at the ocelot, and reluctantly took the cup with the one arm not held down by restraints. "Who did Alphon rescue?"

"Drink."

With a sigh, the snow leopard took a quick sip. "Nasty," he commented. "Now answer my question. Who did Alphon rescue?"

"He might not have rescued anyone," Stealon said, taking the cup back from Snoedaro. "Of the five he saved, none of them have been responding to treatment, or so we have heard. They might not make it home."

"But who’s there? Who’s on the…on the ships?" Snoedaro suddenly realized he was very tired and fought hard to keep back a yawn. "What was in…that drink?"

Stealon smiled. "Sleep, Thundercat. We’ll talk more when you wake."

Snoedaro tried to fight back, but it was hopeless. His body was drowned in sudden warmth and sleep crept over him as quickly and silently as a predator over a kill. Within moments, his breathing had deepened and his eyes had closed in slumber.

The situation aboard Alphon’s ship was not as dire as Stealon had been led to believe, but it was grim, nonetheless. Hypnon and Glacion were both unscathed, though they were exhausted. TugMug was recovering from severe laser buns, but he would pull through. All things considered, the Lunatacs were fine. Panthro would have a significant limp for several months and would require physical therapy for some time, but he was also recovering. It was the other Thundercat that worried Alphon.

"Now tell me again, TugMug," Alphon instructed. "What happened?"

"Again?" the Lunatac whined.

"If you don’t want to repeat the beginning, start with the disintegration weapon. But try to remember every detail. It might help in healing the Thundercats."

"Stupid cats," TugMug muttered. "If I’m not carrying them through alien ships, I’m missing sleep to talk about them."

"TugMug? The story please." Alphon’s voice was still calm, but his lips were curled back and his ears were beginning to flatten.

TugMug took the warning to heart. "The disintegration gun," he sighed. "Right. We were trying to make it back to our ships. The humans were firing lasers, but they only had short-range beams. We were far enough ahead that we were fine. And then out of the blue, Panthro shouted at me to duck, so I did. And the wall in front of me just disappeared. It was gone. Vanished. But before I could even begin to think about what was happening, we were going down the hall again. It was insane. I could hear them behind me, I could hear Leonari and Panthro shouting, I could hear the hull buckling, I could feel the gravity shifting, and then…" TugMug trailed off and tried to collect his scattered memories.

"Then?" Alphon prompted impatiently.

"I don’t even remember what he was saying before, but Panthro suddenly roared. I’ve never heard him holler like that. Even when battling Mumm-Ra on Third Earth, Panthro never cried out like that."

"TugMug, I need details, not memories," the wolf growled.

The Lunatac glared at the alpha male, but he was exhausted and knew the only way to get sleep was to appease the wolf. "I think a laser caught his calf. It was smoking when I grabbed him. I threw him over my shoulder, we jumped out of the way, and more wall disappeared. We kept going. Then…I’m not quite sure what happened next. I think I was hit in the back, but I don’t know. I—I went flying down the hall. I didn’t have Panthro anymore, and when I looked back, Panthro was curled up against the wall. Leonari’s shoulder had been hit. The disintegration gun was coming to bear on Panthro. I was trying to get up, and then that lioness—that stupid, stupid lioness—jumped in front of him…and she was gone." TugMug looked away briefly. "The beam tore her apart before she disappeared. I’ve never heard anyone scream like that."

"What happened next?"

"Panthro was frozen. Shock does that, you know. He wouldn’t move, so I hauled him out of the way before they could shoot again. That’s when the hull collapsed behind us. I threw up a reversed gravitational field between us and the breach, and we kept running. Or, I kept running, I guess. Panthro couldn’t do much of anything. And then I found Cheetara. She was caught underneath a fallen beam. So I pulled her out—"

"You’re skipping details again," Alphon interrupted. "Slow down and explain. How was she caught? Was she damaged in any other way? How did she get under the beam to begin with?"

"Her right leg was pinned beneath a steal beam and it was broken," TugMug growled. "Flattened, if you want to be really accurate. I have no idea how she managed to get herself caught under the beam and I don’t know if she was injured any other way. Is that enough for you, or do you want me to try and remember if the beam was a titanium alloy instead of steal?"

"What about head injuries? Internal trauma?"

"We were in a collapsing, exploding gun. I didn’t stop to make a full diagnosis."

Alphon shook his head. "Keep going. What happened next?"

"I pulled her out, flung her over a shoulder, tossed Panthro over the other one, and we all squeezed into Glacion’s ship."

"All of you?"

"None of us knew how to fly a Thunder Dagger, my Scout was on fire, and Hypnon’s had been smashed by flying metal. So yes, all of us squeezed into Glacion’s Lunar Scout. All of us left alive, anyway."

"And then?"

"Well, then, we tried to fly out of the gun, but the opening was beginning to explode and we couldn’t. So we were sitting ducks until you dematerialized us out of there. It was quite a surprise for all of us, but it was a welcome one. And another welcome surprise would be for you to let me go and get some sleep."

Alphon rubbed his head. "My apologies, TugMug. It’s been a long day for all of us. But did Cheetara say anything? Anything at all? How coherent was she?"

TugMug snorted. "When she was under that beam, I think she called my name, but she didn’t say anything after that. She mumbled a bit, but by the time we reached the ship, she was completely gone."

"And Glacion and Hypnon said she’d had a vivid psychic impression before she left them," Alphon mused. "It must have been Leonari’s death. But what could be the problem now?"

"Can I go to sleep?" TugMug grumbled.

Alphon nodded absently. "Dismissed. The guard outside will lead you to your quarters."

The Lunatac parted with a grumbling remark of some kind, but Alphon didn’t hear it. He was lost in his thoughts. TugMug’s story had been no help at all. Cheetara’s condition remained an enigma. Her leg was properly splinted, though swelling was still high and could become a problem. In fact, given the extent and severity of the damage it was doubtful if Cheetara would ever make a full recovery. At most she might regain partial control over the injured limb, but that was if she recovered at all. For the moment, the area of concern was not her leg; it was her mind. No matter what they tried, they could not rouse Cheetara from her coma. And based on some of the readings the wolf healers had taken, Cheetara had very little activity in her brain at all, even for a coma condition. There was enough to keep her alive, and there was some strange activity in a normally dormant part of the brain, but that was it. The healers were baffled. There seemed to be no explanation for this coma. There were no head injuries and the pain from her broken leg should be under control. But still the comatose state persisted.

The leader of the mutant wolves snarled in frustration and began pacing the room. It was unusual for Alphon to care so much about a single patient, but there were mitigating circumstances to consider. First of all, Cheetara was one of the leaders within her own pack. Many Thunderians looked up to and respected her. Second, she was a valiant warrior. Her loss would be a waste. And finally, Alphon felt partially responsible for all the deaths that had happened during the battle. Though he hadn’t known of the attack until it was practically underway, he was still a member of this pack and should have kept in touch with the Lunatacs or the Thundercats.

With a frustrated sigh, the wolf eventually left his command room and wandered toward the medical section. The wolf healers had reattached Panthro’s calf to the remainder of his Achilles’ tendon and the Thundercat would be out from under the anesthetic by now. If the panther was alert enough, perhaps he could shed some light on the cheetah’s condition. The wolves had no idea what to do for her.

Red. Carmine. Scarlet. Vermilion. Ruby. Crimson. Cerise. Blood.

So many words to describe one color. Why so many? Those who truly appreciated the color had neither the desire nor the need to find words for it. Those who truly appreciated the color knew it by its true name: pain.

Of course, pain had other colors. There were the hits of blinding white, the nauseous sea of black and purple, and the unconsciousness of navy blue. But ultimately, it all came back to one color. It all came back to one over-powering, sadistic color: red.

And at the moment, red was the color of reality. His consciousness was a dizzying whirlpool of blood. His eyes no longer saw the world around him. He was losing awareness, and he was losing all sense of location and surroundings. He knew he was being beaten, but even that was becoming academic. He hurt too much to feel the individual whip strikes; they had become a blur, adding to the agony that already echoed through his crippled body. His exhausted mind tried to deal with all that was happening, but his sanity was beginning to crumble. So he turned his pain into colors as though somehow that would make it more bearable. Red. Blue. Red again. Black. More red. Pain. Still red. Hurt. Again red. Torture. Nothing but red.

Blood. Crimson. Scarlet. Red.

Tygra wondered if he was screaming. He decided it didn’t matter; he would be dead in a matter of minutes if the abuse did not stop. A strange feeling of relief accompanied this thought, and with a twinge of guilt, Tygra silently prayed for the whipping to continue so that he might die. If he died, he would never have to recover. He would never have to work in the mines again. He would never have to pull painful wires from the collar on his neck to covertly reprogram a static buoy to broadcast a hidden Thunderan code. He would never have to force down the meals of thin gruel and molding bread. He would never have to quietly vomit what little food he’d managed to stomach. He would never have to feel pain again. He would be free. Truly free. Free from slavery, obligation, duty, strain, trust, and responsibility. Cut off from anything that could hurt him, anything that could harm him, anything that could destroy him…

Cut off from his friends. He would never see Cheetara again.

That thought broke something within him. The little strength that remained in the weakened tiger had been born from memories of Cheetara. He couldn’t let her down. He had to get back to her. He had to help her. But…did she even need him? He was all too aware of how much he needed her. Perhaps their relationship had been purely one-sided. Perhaps he should let go so that the universe might be rid of him. Perhaps it was best to die. It was the easiest thing to do. He could leave this world and…

The tiger’s thoughts paused when he sensed a subtle change in his surroundings. It took a moment, but gradually he realized what was happening. To his great disappointment, Tygra felt reality coming back. He was dimly aware that the whipping had stopped. He’d also been moved. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but some form of sensory perception informed him that he was out of the corridor and in a much larger area.

His pain-drugged mind began working slowly, trying to connect knowledge with fleeting awareness. He decided he hadn’t left the pyramid. He was fairly certain he wasn’t outside, and the smothering feeling of arcane evil persisted. And if he was still within the pyramid, then Mumm-Ra was around somewhere.

Mumm-Ra…

In a moment of courage and bravery surpassing anything he’d done before, Tygra opened his eyes.

Again, all he saw was red, but this was the red of blood, not the red of pain. He moved his hand to his eyes in a vain attempt to wipe the blood from his face, and his arm exploded in piercing agony. He felt skin slide along his shoulder like frayed clothing. Nausea swept the tiger, but his stomach had been empty for several days. The result was a burning session of dry heaves. After the fit had passed, he tried again to wipe his eyes, and this time, he succeeded in clearing some of his vision.

He soon wished he’d kept his eyes shut.

The first thing he saw was a river of red. Tygra shivered at the sight. He knew that he would never look at the color red again without shudders of revulsion coursing through him. Unable to stop himself, the tiger's eyes traced the trail of crimson and discovered…

"No."

This broken whisper of horror was all Tygra could muster. Pumyra was curled into a fetal position with her back to the tiger. A pool of blood was collecting around her, and her body was one raw mass of whip welts. From his position, Tygra could not tell if the puma was still alive. He hoped, for her sake, that she was not.

Someone behind him was moaning piteously. It sounded like Chilla. After arriving on Kentro, it had not taken Tygra long to discover that his former enemies had changed dramatically, but he was still amazed at the change in Chilla. She was prone to violent emotional swings ranging from fanatical hope to suicidal despair. Maybe somewhere within the cold one, a warrior still lived. But if that was true, then the warrior was deeply buried, and Tygra doubted if the warrior would ever be found again.

The tiger would have continued assessing the situation around him, but he suddenly found himself being carried upward in the air. Lacking both the strength and the will to stand, Tygra wondered what was happening, but the explanation came quickly when his airway was abruptly cut off. Someone was picking him up by the throat.

A month ago, the tiger would have fought valiantly for air. A week ago, he would have tried half-heartedly to break away. A day ago, he would have made some kind of gagging sound. Now, he simply closed his eyes and stopped breathing. He could say with complete honesty that he didn’t care whether or not he started to breathe again. Whoever had his throat seemed to realize this and the hold was loosened. As involuntary reflexes began to draw air back into his lungs, the tiger opened his eyes and found himself looking at a face he’d hoped to never see again.

"Are you that far gone already?" Mumm-Ra asked with a low chuckle. His red eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam. "I never expected that one of your kind would submit so easily. But then I must remember with whom I am dealing. You always were the vulnerable one."

Tygra had no response. Everything Mumm-Ra said was true. The Thund…his former comrades—it hurt to think of them by the word Thundercat—would have never given up. They would have fought on no matter the odds. But he had always been weak. To his supposed friends, he’d always been a burden. A liability. A failure.

Helpless. Useless. Worthless.

His eyes were closing and his breath was beginning to falter. He could feel himself slipping into layers of unconsciousness as his body grew cold. Then he was shaken roughly, and reality grudgingly returned. "You can’t leave yet," Mumm-Ra whispered to the dying tiger. "That was just my servant. I still have to repay you and your kind for sealing me in the Book of Omens."

Tygra needed to say something at that point. Mumm-Ra was watching him expectantly, but the tiger lacked the energy and the breath to respond. But if he did manage to say something, maybe he could stall Mumm-Ra. Maybe he could give Pumyra and the others a chance to die before Mumm-Ra lit into them. "Why not just kill us?" the tiger finally murmured, amazed at how much effort it took to get that simple question out. "Why are you doing this?"

"You have the impertinence to question a god? I see still require some training. Maybe I can help those worthless humans in this area."

Tygra wasn’t sure where it started, but he was suddenly aware of a raging fire encompassing his entire body. His raw, bleeding skin shrank in the heat of the supernatural flame. Then he was flying through the air, but when his limp body struck a wall, he barely felt the hard impact. That pain was insignificant compared to the inferno in which he found himself. Tongues of fire continued to lick at his wounds, causing him to writhe and scream.

It wasn’t long before his screams were joined by the screams of others. Tygra’s earlier thoughts about lingering for Cheetara’s sake vanished like smoke, and he found himself wishing for death with an intensity that frightened him.

"I’m sorry, Cheetara," he whispered, still wondering if she’d ever felt anything other than disdain for him. But he had loved her, and at that moment, nothing else mattered. Once again he pictured her. As his last untainted memory of the past, he ferociously latched onto the cheetah, calling her name to mind over and over. Amidst howls of pain, he forced himself to remember her. He remembered long hours working in his lab on Thundera while she perched on a stool and provided much needed company. He remembered the dark nights of double watch shifts during the Lunatac wars where she would make conversation more with herself than with him, understanding his reclusive nature and accepting it as no one else, not even his family, ever had. He remembered vicious battles with the mutants on Plun-Darr when they’d fought back to back and had wondered if they would live to see another day. He remembered taking her into his arms and his heart one glorious and eternal night after the news of Claudus’s blinding and the loss of half the Thundercat force had been radioed from the frontlines. He remembered the words they’d whispered as their souls merged into one and the empty promises they’d made of a peace they both knew would never become a reality. He remembered the destruction of Thundera and the comfort he found by simply looking into Cheetara’s eyes and knowing she would be at his side in whatever direction fate led them. He remembered sharing private doubts about Lion-O’s sudden leap from boy to Thundercat Lord with the cheetah he knew he could trust completely. He remembered listening to her as she insisted that things would work themselves out if they only had faith. He remembered watching helplessly as Cheetara battled her sixth sense for control while he wrestled vainly with the fear that he would lose her for good. He remembered long, rambling conversations between Third Earth and Thundera filled with friendly banter and cut-throat Katak games. So many memories began to flood back, and Tygra’s eyes brimmed with tears. He’d forgotten. Despite all of his efforts and all of Slithe’s warnings, he’d forgotten so much about the past. And now he was about to lose it all again.

The flames were growing hotter and he could feel death prowling nearby. Reality was fading into a crimson darkness and the screams of the outside world had grown faint. With the last of his strength, Tygra firmly centered himself around Cheetara’s image. He could almost feel her mind now. It seemed so close. Maybe beyond this life, they would find each other again. Maybe then, they would discover that peace for which they’d both yearned. And as these last thoughts began to fly on the winds of time and space, Tygra closed his eyes and prepared for eternity.

Separated from reality, Cheetara floated in a shapeless void. She no longer controlled the direction of her journey. She merely drifted, allowing the cosmic currents to sweep her mind along at will. The call she’d once felt so clearly was now gone. She hoped that if she waited long enough, the call would come back. But another thought was beginning to tickle the back of her mind, and it was anything but comforting.

"Am I dead?" she finally asked the empty void, putting words to her fears.

She didn’t expect an answer and she was not disappointed. As far as she could sense, her mind was alone in this world. Her mind. Now that was an interesting thought. Where was her body? Maybe that was why she was drifting. She had no anchor.

"I must be dead," she murmured. But as soon as she said it, she knew it was wrong. She was alive, but she was no longer with herself. What had happened?

She’d been with—Panthro? No, not Panthro. A Lunatac. TugMug. She’d been with TugMug. And had she been on a ship? Thundera? A weapon? Yes, that was right. A gun. The Bi-Dimensional Gun.

Gathering her psychic strength, the cheetah tried to center herself. Fuzzy memories of the recent past began to drift in, and then they came together. A picture formed, and within that picture, Cheetara stabilized her mind. It took a moment, but the cheetah knew if she did not center, she could be lost forever in psychic space.

After a minute or two, though time was nearly impossible to measure in this realm, Cheetara felt something click. She had found herself. With a figurative sigh, the cheetah reached out around her and began to tentatively explore. Brushes of vagrant thoughts tickled her senses, but she ignored them. If she wasn’t dead, then she’d really heard a call that had lured her into this place. She had to find that call. Whoever needed her was in dire straits. She had to help them. In her rush, she almost pulled herself apart again, but slowed down just in time. Steady girl, she told herself. Steady. Keep looking.

But the void of thought stretched out into infinity. It was impossible to find something without direction. If the call didn’t come again, then how could she—wait! What was that? Maintaining her concentration, Cheetara turned and followed a trail of thoughts that seemed to revolve around—they revolved around her! The call! It was back and more desperate than ever. Who could be calling her? And why? Another Thundercat, maybe? Panthro, perhaps? Possibly Leonari? Maybe even Lion-O?

Cheetara followed this psychic trail for quite a while, trying to make sense of the thoughts and identify the caller. But all she could really get from this mind was an overwhelming feeling of despair and sorrow. In fact, that seemed to be the reason she was called. This mind was desperately seeking her in an attempt to find comfort and strength. There was something familiar about the mind, but at the same time, Cheetara was certain she’d never touched this mind before. She felt she would remember such despair and anguish.

I’m coming! she called. I’m coming! Just hold on!

She didn’t know if the pained soul heard her cry, but whoever was out there was fading fast. They wouldn’t be able to communicate much longer; she had to make contact now. Gathering her psychic self, Cheetara flung herself at the calling mind, offering it her strength and commanding it to hold together for a few more moments.

She was almost there now, but a wave of crippling pain suddenly knocked her backwards. Reeling for a few moments, she almost lost her center but managed to hold together in spite of the agony. Pausing to analyze the situation, Cheetara was shocked to discover wave after wave of torturous pains flooding from this calling mind. If she tried to communicate, part of that pain would be transferred to herself. But there was something curious about this mind. She still felt that it was vaguely familiar, and yet there were things in it that she’d never felt before. Just below the surface ran fierce loyalty and love, but beyond that, Cheetara could also feel hatred so bitter it nearly made her turn away. But again, the familiarity drew her back. She had to know who this was. Bracing herself, the cheetah initiated contact.

At first, she was lost again. Without her body to absorb some of the impact, Cheetara’s mind took the full brunt of the pain. For a second, she thought she was going to completely lose herself, but the cheetah had not survived for so long to give up now. Firmly anchoring herself once more in the sea of pain, she stabilized the contact and reached out to the mind.

Who are you? Cheetara asked.

The mind paused in confusion at the psychic thought. Apparently, it hadn’t expected an answer to its calls for help. Who…death? Are you death?

There was such a hope of relief in that question that Cheetara almost said yes. She stopped herself in time and thought for a minute. Why do you wish for death?

There is freedom in death.

Cheetara grimaced, wondering what to say to that. At a loss for words, Cheetara fell back on her earlier question. Who are you?

There was a pause and the cheetah could sense this mind was holding back bitter tears. I’m no one, the mind finally answered. I’ve always been no one. Are you death?

Tensing herself, Cheetara made a decision. No, she said. I am not death. But I am a friend who can help. Tell me where you are.

Where I am? There seemed to be a mirthless laugh. Nowhere. And soon I will be dead.

You’re not going to die. I won’t let you. Cheetara’s intuition was trying to tell her something about this mind’s identity, but she brushed it aside. Her former need to know who this was had been replaced by the more immediate need of holding the suicidal mind together. Please, tell me where you are! I will do everything in my power to help you; I swear it by the Code of Thundera.

Thundera? The mind cringed at the word, but it also clung to it with painful intensity. Thundera…I wish I could see it again before I die.

By Jaga, you are NOT going to die. Now tell me where you are! Cheetara was finding it harder and harder to maintain contact as the mind faded into delirium, and she needed information fast. But she was feeling a reluctance to force anything out of this mind that longed for death and refused any hope of rescue. The other Thundercats and I will come get you, but you must give me information. Please! I don’t want to take it from you. I want you to give it to me. Please, and I promise that I will gather the other Thundercats and we will help you.

Thundercats…This word conjured a swarm of painful memories, and the mind broke down, sobbing in exhaustion and grief. I’d give anything to see their faces again. To talk briefly with them one last time before all is over. To tell them I’m sorry I was never…could never…

You ARE talking with one of them, the cheetah interrupted, feeling her psychic link grow even weaker. I’m Cheetara, or didn’t you realize who you were calling?

Cheetara? For a short moment, there was a glimmer of excitement in the pained voice. It can’t be. It was just a memory. Cheetara, is it really you?

Something about the way his thoughts caressed her name made the cheetah pause. How do you know me?

How could I not know you? Your memories have kept me alive. For that I both thank and curse you.

Who are you?

There was now clear hesitation on the part of this other mind. Just a dying slave. A failure. Don’t trouble yourself.

Cheetara was quickly losing patience. Her contact was breaking apart and if she was to do anything to help, she had to know more. But this mind didn’t want to involve her. She knew that part of its reluctance to dispense information was because it wanted to spare her, but Cheetara had always been stubbornly independent. SHE would be the one to decide what she was spared. I don’t have time for this. Tell me who you are," she commanded.

Just let me go. I’m not important and I don’t want to go back. If you have any mercy, please let me die.

Tell me your name! the cheetah roared, livid with anger and frustration.

My name? There was a deep sigh and the mind’s resolve began to tumble. My name…I had a name once…

Cheetara had almost lost contact and she was using all her erratic powers to maintain the tenuous hold. By all the Ancients, what was your name?! she screamed.

There was silence in answer to her question. Cheetara couldn’t hold the mind any longer without risking permanent damage for both of them, and she was forced to let go. But before her contact was completely lost, she caught a faint reply that shook her to the very core of her being.

My name…my name was…Tygra…

"That’s the last of it," Lynx-O whispered as he slumped down in a hard chair. "I suppose we can tap the compatible white tigers again, but if Sybar attacks within the next few days…" The lynx trailed off, knowing there was no need to elaborate.

"But Wiley Kat still needs more blood," Tahee protested wearily. "His pressure is far too low and I can barely make out a pulse. We need another transfusion!"

"You need a source for a transfusion," Serbino mumbled from his cot where he was trying valiantly to stay conscious. The tiger had given far too much blood and it was catching up with him. "We’re out of sources."

"Mantyro and Snarfer should be returning soon," Lynx-O murmured. "If memory serves, Mantyro’s blood is compatible with Kat’s. He could contribute a pint or two."

"Or three or four or—"

"Go to sleep, Serbino," Tahee ordered.

The white tiger sighed. "I wish I could. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid that what’s happened today will come back. I’m afraid of the dreams that will come."

"With any luck, this is all just a bad dream anyway," Cougrois muttered from the doorway.

Tahee looked up as the cougar entered. "Any change?"

Cougrois shook his head. "None. Physically, he’ll recover. But his mind…I don’t know. His brain is a blur of activity and his vital signs are still down. Something’s going on in there, but who can tell what. If he pulls through, it will be nothing short of a miracle."

"He is Lord of the Thundercats," Lynx-O reminded the cougar. "Don’t underestimate his strength. Lion-O has faced many adversaries before."

"He has," Cougrois agreed. "But this…this is something different." The Thundercat shook his head. "I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore." The cougar was silent for a moment and then decided to change the subject. "Any sign of Mantyro or Snarfer? The civilians down in the morgue tell me they can account for almost everyone."

"That’s an awful thought," a voice from the hallway remarked. "I can’t believe we’re using the morgue to count civilians in New Thundera City."

"It sounds as though Mantyro has returned," Lynx-O observed.

"It’s not that bad," Cougrois explained. "The morgue is also doubling as sickbay for everyone not critically wounded. We’re just calling it a morgue because…well, because—"

"Don’t bother to explain," Mantyro interrupted. "I can figure the rest out on my own."

"Mantyro? Get over here and lie down in that cot next to Serbino," Tahee broke in briskly.

Mantyro blinked, but did as he was told. "What am I doing now?"

"You’re giving Wiley Kat some blood."

"Oh. Is now a bad time to tell you that I have a fear of needles?"

"Close your eyes," the cheetah said mercilessly.

Mantyro obediently followed the instructions, but his red coloring had paled slightly. "How is Kat doing?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"His condition is critical, but stable," Tahee informed the tiger as he quickly inserted a needle into the Thundercat’s forearm. "Now keep quiet. And somebody find him something to drink so he doesn’t faint," the cheetah ordered.

"Faint?!"

"So where’s Snarfer?" Cougrois asked the petrified red tiger.

"I put him to bed," Mantyro murmured, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

"How is he taking all this?" Lynx-O asked.

Mantyro shook his head darkly. "Let’s just say you’re better off not knowing."

Cougrois sighed. "Well, I’m going to check on Lion-O again. See if there’s any change in his condition. When Snarfer wakes up, why don’t you send him up to join us? Maybe hearing a snarf will rouse Lion-O."

"Or maybe it will drive him deeper into whatever he’s experiencing," Lynx-O objected.

The cougar shrugged as he moved to leave. "Maybe. But the way I see it, we have nothing to lose by trying. Lion-O can’t get worse."

Panthro growled fiercely and slammed his fist down on a communications panel. On the other side of the room, Glacion and Hypnon both jumped.

"I take it you’re still not having any luck," Glacion observed.

"It’s like no one’s listening. They’re receiving, but they’re not answering," Panthro snarled.

"We just finished speaking with Starn," Hypnon said slowly. "This information isn’t helpful, but you should hear it anyway. The Lunatac Moons have not been able to raise Thundera on communications, either. No one can figure out what’s going on, but the capital city seems to have shut down."

Panthro rubbed his forehead and sighed. He was exhausted, wounded, traumatized, hurting, and still groggy from heavy anesthetics, but he had to get through to Thundera. Lion-O had to know what had happened, though Jaga only knew how Panthro would break the news about…Leonari.

"Panthro?"

Her scream still echoed in his mind. He doubted he would ever be rid of it. He could still see the look in her eyes. Fierce determination and undying loyalty. Those were the last things he saw before the beam hit. She’d lunged in front of him so quickly and he’d been so slow in responding…and then she’d screamed. He’d watched, unable to turn away, and before his eyes a light filled her body and exploded outward, taking the lioness with it. It had happened so slowly—so agonizingly slowly—and she’d screamed and writhed in pain as the beam tore her apart on the subatomic level.

"Panthro?!"

She’d died! No more than a few feet away from the supposedly mighty Panthro and she’d died! She’d died saving him! It should have been the other way around. She would have been Lady of the Thundercats. As future mate of Lion-O, she’d been entitled to the panther’s protection. It should have been him in that beam! She’d been everything a Thundercat could hope for in a leader. She’d been strong, intelligent, clever, kind, gracious, witty, practical, courageous, loyal, honest, faithful, devoted—

"PANTHRO!"

Panthro blinked and looked around. Hypnon, Glacion, and Alphon were gathered around him, and somehow, he’d ended up on the floor. "What’s going on?"

"That’s what I’d like to know, Thundercat," Alphon growled. "What are the three of you doing in the communications room and out of sickbay?"

"Calling home," Glacion answered coldly. "I took the liberty of hacking into your computer systems, and you hadn’t informed our respective governments that we were defeated."

"We realized you had been busy, so we did the job for you," Hypnon finished calmly.

Alphon glared at the ice Lunatac. "Must I remind you who runs this ship?"

"Don’t start," Glacion warned. "I’m tired, upset, frustrated…"

As Glacion went off on a tirade, Panthro tried unsuccessfully to stand, but his injured leg refused to permit it. Hypnon noticed the panther’s vain efforts and, while holding back a chuckle, quietly helped the Thundercat to his feet. "Normally, I’d expect this to work the other way around," the hypnotist whispered. Panthro growled softly.

"You are challenging my authority on my vessel, Lunatac," Alphon was saying. "You will pay dearly if your behavior persists."

"You weren’t caught in an exploding weapon, wolf!" Glacion shouted. "Don’t you dare threaten me!"

"Excuse me?" Panthro interrupted. "Unless we’re talking about something important, could you let me get back to work. I’ve got a planet to contact."

Alphon threw up his hands in despair. "You’re all impossible. No wonder your planet exploded. No sense of discipline."

"But there is a sense of oneness," Hypnon broke in quietly. "I believe you would call it pack."

The wolf shook his head. "Perhaps. Very well. The Lunatacs may have access to communications. Panthro is going back to sickbay."

"WHAT?!"

"And you are going to tell me what you can of Cheetara’s condition."

"You really do need to recover," Hypnon whispered.

"I guess I really do need to recover," the panther sighed.

Alphon glanced suspiciously at the hypnotist and then turned back to Panthro. "Glad to see you’ve come to your senses. Hypnon, get a portable bed so we can wheel him back to sickbay. He should stay off that leg." The Lunatac nodded and left the room. "So Panthro," Alphon continued. "I assume that since you’re awake and moving, you’ve had a chance to see Cheetara?" The panther nodded. "What have you heard about her condition?"

"I filled him in," Glacion said. "He knows as much as any of us."

"I can answer for myself, Lunatac," Panthro growled.

"Then answer," Alphon challenged. "What is wrong with her?"

There was a grimace on the part of the panther. "I don’t know," he finally said. "Based on what I’ve heard, Cheetara should have recovered. But if she’s still in a coma…" Panthro trailed off. "At one point, Cheetara had enough control of her psychic powers to prevent them from weakening her. But within the past few years, her visions have become more and more vivid. Sometimes they’re so powerful that it takes her days to regain consciousness after receiving them. My best guess is that her coma is related to her sixth sense. But that’s only a guess. I can’t say anything with certainty."

"Guesses are all we have," Alphon murmured. He sighed and took a seat on a convenient chair. "I thought you might be interested to know our present course. My ship and the ocelot cargo ships are heading for Thundera and the Moons of Plun-Darr. We should reach it in twelve hours or so. I’ve taken the liberty of dispersing the rest of the ocelot fleet with my own wolf patrols. It will help them learn the area and the situation. And while the two of you are here," Alphon went on, drawing Glacion into the conversation, "I desire your input. Rataro has blatantly betrayed us. Therefore, Rataro must be punished. The question is how."

"Punish him?" Panthro said. "To my mind, we have more important things to worry about than the mutants. Kentro, for example."

"Traitors in the pack must be hunted down and destroyed," Alphon growled. "Otherwise they are a disease, spreading their filth wherever they may travel."

"They’re not traveling anywhere in the near future," Glacion pointed out. "Let’s forget about them. Like Panthro said, we have more important things to—"

"NOTHING is more important than the purity of the pack!" The wolf’s ears were flat against his head and his eyes were gleaming a dangerous yellow. Glacion found himself backing up. Panthro might have been backing up, too, if he’d been able to walk on his own.

"What about a compromise?" the panther asked. "We can’t take punitive action against Rataro, but we can show him that his plot failed."

"Did it?" Alphon asked.

"We can pretend," Panthro murmured. "But let’s give him a call. Let’s see what the rat has to say, and then we can decide on a course of action."

"Very well," Alphon snarled. "But sooner or later, the mutants will have to pay for their treachery."

"No argument there," Panthro agreed with a low growl and a silent vow of vengeance. If Rataro had kept his word, Leonari would still be alive.

Limping aside so Alphon could access communications, the panther tried to assume a commanding position behind the wolf. His leg was throbbing and he knew he should rest it, but it was important to show Rataro that the Thundercats had not suffered. Panthro clenched his teeth as he thought about how much they really had lost.

The communication screen was clearing and Panthro found himself growling quietly. Glacion nudged him, but the Thundercat noted that the Ice Lunatac was also tense. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side, and icy breath was creating ice crystals in the air. Alphon’s thick fur was beginning to rise and his tail flipped back and forth in agitation. If nothing else, this would be an interesting meeting.

The reptilian mutant who answered communications seemed distracted and disheveled. When he saw who was calling, he went so pale that his green coloration almost disappeared.

"Greetings, reptile," Alphon said coldly. "I wish to speak to Rataro. It is a matter of some urgency. Transfer me at once."

The lizard stammered for a minute, looked around, and then left the communications area. Panthro and Glacion exchanged glances.

"Something’s not right," Glacion whispered. "There’s something going on, and it’s got the mutants rattled."

"Serves them right," Panthro muttered, but his curiosity was also aroused. What was happening over there? He’d never seen the mutants lose face like that before no matter what the situation.

Before long, the communications channel faded and then changed locations. Rataro sat before them in a high-backed command chair. "Well, Alphon. What can I do for you?"

As hard as he tried, the rat couldn’t hide the fact that he was upset. His breath was coming hard, sweat beaded his brow, and his eyes glittered with hidden anger. Alphon noted all this in one quick glance and then proceeded. "You may explain yourself, vermin," the canine snarled. "You were part of an alliance. You broke that alliance."

"Alliance? You mean…you mean the attack on Kentro? But that’s not until tomorrow!"

Panthro pushed beyond Alphon to glare at the rat. "LIAR! You knew exactly when it was, rodent. We talked several times and you assured me that your troops were on their way."

"Panthro?" Rataro blinked and stared at the panther, surprise written clearly in his face. "But how—"

"How did we survive?" This time it was Glacion who shoved Panthro and Alphon out of the way. "Was that your question? Listen, you mutated mouse. No one treats the Lunatacs like this. No one. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see your head encased in blue ice and mounted on my wall!"

At this point, Alphon managed to get both Glacion and Panthro behind him and he leaned forward to wipe the screen. Glacion’s breath had frosted part of it. "Rataro, needless to say, we’re all very upset by your actions. I demand you turn over leadership of the mutants to me, and if I were you, I’d find myself a different galaxy."

Rataro stared at Alphon and then began to laugh. "Turn the mutants over to you? My dear wolf, you are going senile. When all this began, we mutants handled the Kentroans alone. We handled them without the wolves. We handled them without the Lunatacs. And we handled them without the Thundercats. We can do the same thing again. For your own good, I suggest you turn your own forces over to us. All of you."

"Consider our alliance terminated," Alphon growled. "And may the First Pack have mercy on the first mutant my fleet comes across." With that, the wolf cut communications and Rataro faded from sight.

"You do realize that you’ve just cut our forces in half," Hypnon observed from behind them. "Maybe more than half. With our recent losses, the mutants might outnumber us."

"No one asked you," Panthro snarled.

Hypnon smiled disarmingly. "It was my understanding that the Code of Thundera embraced truth. Surely you have not forgotten, Thundercat Panthro."

The cat stared at the hypnotist and then turned away. "Perhaps I have forgotten. I seem to have forgotten a lot of things."

Hypnon blinked. That was not the response he’d been expecting. Alphon chose this moment to involve himself. "We may have cut our numbers, but I will not fight with traitors. Once a traitor, always a traitor. You must continually watch them."

"I understand the philosophy," Hypnon replied. "I just wanted to point out a pertinent fact."

"I don’t think it matters," Glacion murmured. "With or without the mutants, this empire is still too big."

There was silence for a while, eventually broken by Panthro. "I’m going to try and contact Thundera one more time. Then I’ll go back to sickbay."

Alphon nodded reluctantly. "Go ahead. It can’t hurt anything. Very little can hurt anything now."

Panthro didn’t respond as he limped back over to a communications panel. The other three spoke quietly among themselves for a bit, but they couldn’t ignore what was happening at Panthro’s station. The cat had trained the wolf transmitters on Thundera, and he was broadcasting in earnest. But the answer he was receiving didn’t change, and it was a grim reminder of what they’d been through and what still awaited them.

The answer Panthro received was silence.