The two wires came together slowly and carefully. Very carefully. A wrong move at this point could send the entire computer system crashing into oblivion. Current started to jump and arc as the wires neared each other. "Why didn’t someone shut off the power!?" Monkian snarled as he concentrated on the wiring in his hands.

"Sorry," a canine mutant whined down the hall. "I thought I had, but I guess that somehow the signals were crossed and—"

"Shut up and do it, hoo!" Monkian ordered. "And then get out of my sight!"

The simian received a whimper for a response, and before long the other mutant had vanished down the corridor. Monkian closed his eyes and cursed himself quietly. Ever since…ever since that day on the control deck, he hadn’t been able to look at a canine mutant, much less a jackal mutant, without memories coming to life in vivid and terrible detail. Why had he pulled the trigger? What demon had possessed him? The damage had been done. Why couldn’t he have backed away? Why did he have to follow through with his threat? Why couldn’t he have let Rataro or Cobri see to Jackalman’s punishment? Why did it have to be him? Why?!

Monkian swallowed a lump in his throat and tried to turn his attention back to his work. But he tried in vain and the memories kept coming. He could see Jackalman’s shocked expression of hurt and betrayal. He could see the blood collecting in the dog’s hands as he clutched at his chest. He could see Jackalman’s haunted eyes filled with questions that would never be answered.

"By the Sword of Plun-Darr, why did you have to turn noble on me?" Monkian hissed fiercely, wiping at his eyes. "You could have just let things go. You didn’t have to tell the wolves what was going on."

But the past could not be changed, and Monkian’s actions continued to haunt him. He remembered the shocked silence and the fearful stares from the other mutants as they realized that Monkian had shot and killed his best friend. He remembered Vultureman lifting Jackalman into his arms and leaving the room. He remembered Cobri congratulating Monkian on his patriotic spirit and Rataro’s nod of approval for a job well done. He remembered the feelings of shame, guilt, and grief that had swept over him and forced him to stumble from the room in a blind dash for solitude. He remembered the dreams that had haunted him that night.

"MONKIAN!"

Cobri’s voice over the intercom startled Monkian back into reality and almost ruined the Rat Star’s computer system. "What is it?" the monkey demanded.

"Are you done yet? We need to reposition our troops."

"Five minutes," Monkian sighed. "You’ll have all your systems back in five minutes."

If Vultureman were still around, they would have been able to effect repairs immediately. But Vultureman was the reason the Rat Star was such a mess in the first place. When Vultureman left the control deck, he’d gone straight to the shuttle bay and stolen a small interstellar craft. Overriding the commands on the airlock, the vulture had escaped the Rat Star and fired on it before making good his escape. Under normal circumstances, a vessel the size Vultureman took would not have seriously damaged the mutant command ship, but Vultureman had known exactly where to hit the Rat Star and how to get the laser blasts between the shields. He’d destroyed propulsion, hyper drive, navigation, weapons, and had partially taken out communications. The resulting ship-wide chaos had taken hours to control, and after that it had taken hours to find mutants capable of repairing the vital areas.

"I will hold you to that five minutes," Cobri told Monkian. "Any longer and you may find yourself alone and adrift in space."

Monkian knew the snake’s threat was not an empty one. It had happened before and would undoubtedly happen again. "But not to me," Monkian resolved under his breath. "I will concentrate. I’ve got to concentrate. If I don’t concentrate…"

The mutant stopped himself before he could bring his memories to surface yet again. He stubbornly forced his mind away from Jackalman and back to the job at hand. Slowly and carefully, he maneuvered the connecting wires into the memory gel pack, positioning them so they would power the data banks but not burn them out. After a few minutes of intense concentration, the mutant withdrew his hands and examined his work. He couldn’t be certain of success for he was not a born mechanic, but he didn’t know what more could be done. Moving down the hall to a remote access control panel, he closed his eyes, said a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening, and powered up the computer systems.

"Congratulations, Monkian," Cobri’s voice said over the intercom. "It appears you will be staying with us a while longer."

For some reason, Monkian found no comfort in that thought. He muttered something in response—he didn’t know exactly what—and left the area. For a long time, he just wandered. He knew he would be expected to report in soon and give Rataro a brief rundown of his repair jobs. But he couldn’t face the rat at the moment. He couldn’t face anyone. He couldn’t bear the thought of holding conversation. He couldn’t—

Monkian stopped abruptly and a sinking feeling of dread filled his soul. He hadn’t watched his steps and his traitorous feet had led him to the door of Jackalman’s room. Whenever Monkian had been troubled or simply needed a good laugh, he would come here. And out of habit, he’d come here again. But this time, there was no one to talk to. He’d shot the one mutant who would listen and understand.

Unsure of what he was doing, Monkian approached the door hesitantly. Sensors hidden in the wall picked up his approach and the door slid open for him. As though driven by an unseen force, the mutant edged into the dark room.

Jackalman’s quarters were much like the quarters of any other ranking mutant aboard the Rat Star Prime. They were rather cramped and contained a small bed, a computer, some shelves, a bathroom, and a closet. There were very few personal items in the room and it had always seemed rather barren to Monkian, but Jackalman had liked it. He’d claimed that a cluttered room meant a cluttered mind and had always wondered how Monkian could think in a room full of traditional heirlooms from his simian clan.

In the semi-darkness, Monkian’s foot bumped up against something and he bent down to examine it. When he saw what it was, his breath caught in his throat. Gently, almost reverently, Monkian picked up Jackalman’s old club. It was a club the jackal had fashioned himself when they were first marooned on Third Earth. Even though they eventually convinced Mumm-Ra to return their technology, Jackalman had still carried his club around. It was a reminder of what they’d accomplished without technology. It was a reminder that no matter what happened, there would always be something to fall back on.

"Until now, hoo," Monkian murmured. "We’ve fallen back as far as we can. Any further and we’ve lost for good. Kentro’s taken everything from us. And now you’re gone, too."

With a mournful sigh, the simian put the club down on Jackalman’s bed. Guilt washed over Monkian again as he envisioned the jackal who once held that weapon. Overcome by his emotions, the simian sank down next to the bed and covered his face. "Why did you have to do it?" he whispered. "Why, Jackalman? Why? Why did you tell the wolves?"

It’s for our own good. What we’re doing now will doom us all!

Jackalman’s words echoed through Monkian’s head, but they offered no comfort. If anything, they made the situation worse. Jackalman had known something. He’d known something about the alliance system and had been trying to change it. He’d been trying to save the mutants, not destroy them. But Rataro and Cobri had ordered him shot down. Monkian had only been following orders. He’d done nothing wrong. Jackalman was the one at fault. If he hadn’t taken matters into his own hands…

If there are traitors, then I’m looking at one right now. Why are you so intent on getting us to betray the Thundercats and Lunatacs? Because Rataro will take the blame, not you. As soon as this is over, sometime in the near future we’ll have to reform the alliance to save our own skins. But the other races will never consent to ally with Rataro. They’ll demand new leadership. And you’ll step up.

Vultureman’s words to Cobri sprang to mind. The bird had accused Cobri of treason. He’d implied that Jackalman was not the traitor; the mutant second-in-command was. Monkian shook his head furiously. That wasn’t right. Cobri wasn’t a traitor. Cobri was practically the law. He couldn’t be a traitor.

You know me. Help me.

"But I didn’t know you!" Monkian exploded, trying to silence the voices that kept ringing through his mind. "You’d changed. You weren’t the jackal I knew on Third Earth!"

You know me. Help me.

It had been one of the last things Jackalman said before Monkian was forced to pull the trigger. Yes, he was forced. He hadn’t wanted to pull the trigger. It had been the last thing he’d wanted. It was the jackal’s fault. Jackalman made Monkian pull that trigger.

Help me.

"How?" Monkian wailed. "How could I have helped you? If I’d joined you against Rataro and Cobri, we’d have both died. You should have backed down. Blast you, you should have backed down!"

Help me.

The simian buried his face in his hands again and started to shake. "How?" he sobbed as madness began to overtake his mind. "How, Jackalman, how? How could I have done such a thing?"

The silent room held no answers for Monkian, and it’s doubtful he’d have recognized the answers had they been there. And so Monkian curled into a ball and began to rock back and forth, crying out for a life-long friend he would never see again.

The muffled pounding on the wall woke Snoedaro in the early hours of the morning. For a moment he lay still and tried to determine what was causing it. It was almost as if someone was knocking on the wall, but it seemed too quiet to be anyone looking for attention. Yet it was too irregular to be mechanical.

The snow leopard frowned and looked around the room. Because refugees, white tigers, and cheetahs were all using Cat’s Lair as shelter, they’d had to combine rooms for sleeping. Lion-O lay resting on the bed, Lynx-O was sprawled in an easy chair, Cougrois was curled tightly in a heavy blanket beneath the window, and Panthro was muttering in his sleep next to the door. None of them seemed to hear the soft thuds and Snoedaro wondered if he weren’t having some strange flashback from the battle at the Fire Zone.

"Only one way to find out, I guess," the snow leopard muttered. He pushed himself off the floor in the corner where he’d spent the night and stretched his cramped muscles. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the snow leopard made his way to the door, stepped quietly over Panthro, and left the room.

The corridor was dimly lit and allowed only enough light to see that there was a shadow against the base of the wall. Snoedaro reached instinctively for his ice lance but stopped when the shadow sighed suddenly. He heard the thumping noise again and a small smile came to his face. Moving out of his defensive stance, the snow leopard walked quietly over and gave the shadow a gentle shake. "Snarfer?"

Snarfer whimpered and his tail smacked the wall.

"Come on, Snarfer, let’s get you out of the hall," Snoedaro whispered as he gathered the snarf up in his arms.

The young snarf whimpered again and shuddered. Opening his sleepy eyes, he looked around. "Snoedaro?"

"You fell asleep out here," the snow leopard explained quietly as he started walking back to Lion-O’s room. "I think you’ll be more comfortable in—"

"You’ve got to get Cheetara!" Snarfer interrupted, jumping out of Snoedaro’s arms and racing down the hall. The snow leopard stared at the snarf. Turning around and noting that he had not been followed, Snarfer glared at the Thundercat. "Come on! This is important!"

"Snarfer, where are you going? It’s four in the morning! You need rest and—"

"Will you just come with me? Please? There’s something I have to show you!"

Snoedaro sighed. "Can’t it wait?"

"I tried to show you last night, but Tahee wouldn’t let me take Cheetara from the infirmary and you were already asleep, snarfer. So I waited for you to wake up."

The snow leopard gaped. "You’ve been out here waiting for me all night?!"

"Panthro wouldn’t wake you for me and I didn’t want to go into a room where Lion-O is." Snarfer turned around and began trotting down the hall again. Confused and frustrated, Snoedaro hurried to catch up with him.

"What did you mean about Lion-O?" he asked when he finally caught the snarf.

"He—he’s not the same. And he reminds me too much of…" Snarfer trailed off and whispered something under his breath. "I’m sorry. I’m trying to get over it."

"Don’t apologize," Snoedaro said quietly. "You’re doing a better job than Lion-O from what I’ve been told."

"But I didn’t have Sybar in my head ripping my mind open," Snarfer whispered. "Lion-O did."

The two had now reached the infirmary where Cheetara was kept. The door slid open at their approach and muted lights came on. Around them slept the patients not seriously injured but still needing medical treatment and occasional observation. Snarfer walked immediately to Cheetara’s bed and elevated himself with his tail. "Cheetara?"

"Snarfer!" Snoedaro scolded. "She’s sleeping. Leave her alone."

"No, I’m awake," Cheetara murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted against the light. "I haven’t been able to sleep for a while. What’s going on?"

"We need you in the control room," Snarfer explained. "Can we move your bed?"

The cheetah blinked. "I think so. But why do you—"

"I’ll tell you when we get there," Snarfer interrupted, turning around and bouncing toward the exit. "Come on, let’s go!"

The two Thundercats exchanged confused looks. "Do you know…"

Snoedaro shook his head. "I’m as lost as you are. What do you think we should do?"

"I wish I knew how stable Snarfer’s mind is," Cheetara murmured. "He might be living out a waking dream brought on by Snarf’s death. I think…" The cheetah trailed off and considered the problem. "I think the best thing for us to do is to go along with it. I don’t think it will harm Snarfer in any way and we might be able to bring him out of it."

"Whatever you say," Snoedaro replied. He stepped behind Cheetara’s bed and pushed it away from the wall. "But you should do the talking. You know Snarfer better than I do."

Snarfer poked his head back in the room impatiently. "Are you coming?"

"We’re coming, Snarfer," Cheetara called softly, careful not to wake the other patients. "Lead the way."

Vultureman shuffled his feet impatiently and glanced around the pre-morning darkness. "Blasted wolf, where is he?" the vulture hissed to himself. "I’m not going to wait around much longer for him. I don’t care if he does shoot me out of the sky; I’m going to get out of here."

"Have patience, bird, and you will leave in once piece," a raspy voice warned from the darkness. Alphon disengaged himself from the deep shadows and moved quietly to the startled avian. "If you cooperate, this should not take long."

"I told you before, I’m not a spy," Vultureman protested. "I don’t know what you expect to get out of me but—"

"What is the position of the Rat Star Prime?"

The vulture blinked. "The Rat Star Prime? It was holding orbit around Plun-Darr when I left, but I’m sure it’s not there anymore."

"Where will I find it?"

"Why do you—awwk—want to know?"

"I have a personal score to settle with Rataro. His betrayal will cost him his life."

Vultureman crossed his arms and frowned at the wolf. "What about the Thundercats and Lunatacs? From what I’ve observed, they lost more than you did because of Rataro’s betrayal. And if you want to know the truth, Cobri deserves the blame, not Rataro."

"Rataro leads the mutants, does he not?"

"He does, but—"

"Then he shall pay the price," Alphon vowed, his eyes gleaming in the dim outer lights of the Lair.

"That still doesn’t answer the question about the Thundercats and Lunatacs," Vultureman persisted. "They lost more, and yet you called me out here this late at night for a meeting with only you. Why weren’t they included?"

"Their values are not mine," the wolf growled. "They think only of Kentro. They don’t see the evil within the pack. They don’t see the need to purge it. This is something for the wolves to handle. I have answered you, bird. Now you will answer me. Where can I find the Rat Star Prime?"

Vultureman shrugged helplessly. "I don’t know. It might still be around Plun-Darr, but it may have moved."

Alphon moved closer to the other mutant and his ears flattened against his head. "Where would you look if you needed to find it?"

The vulture stammered for a minute. "I’d start at Plun-Darr, I guess. After that, maybe the Fire Zone? Or somewhere near there? I know Rataro had plans to retake it after the Thundercats and Lunatacs had weakened it."

"Lecherous vermin," the alpha male snarled quietly. "Thank you, Vultureman. You have aided our quest for vengeance. You will be spared our wrath."

"Wrath? Wrath for what?!"

Alphon bared his gleaming fangs and the vulture backed up hurriedly. "You are free to leave Thundera. My ships will not fire on you. I suggest you go now."

"But what about Cat’s Lair? It has weapons, too, and—"

"Cat’s Lair will not see you leave," Alphon said as he moved back into the darkness, his dark gray coat blending perfectly into Thundera’s black night. "The felines have asked the wolves to watch the perimeter this night so that they may rest. In light of all they have endured, we agreed. Now go!"

Vultureman hesitated for just a moment and then raced for his ship. He was still not sure what had possessed him to come to Thundera and a part of him wanted nothing more than to leave the planet. But there was another part of him that longed to stay. The Thundercats had something he’d never really understood but had always longed for on the instinctive level: family. And the wolves and Lunatacs had joined this "family" as extended relatives. It wasn’t a perfect family and he could sense underlying friction between the groups, but it was still a family. It was something most mutants on Plun-Darr had no concept of. Vultureman could barely remember his father. He’d never known his mother. He’d developed no fondness for either of his two brothers and his only sister had left home at an early age. He’d never really had a family. Most mutants had never had a family. But Thunderians…

The vulture shook his head and fiercely berated himself. He was losing himself in thought again. Sternly disciplining his scientific mind, the mutant boarded his small ship and warmed up the engines. He had to leave Thundera. The planet wouldn’t last another six months before Kentro overran it and he didn’t plan to be around when that happened. The ship maneuvered delicately off the ground and with a final glance at Cat’s Lair, Vultureman headed for the stars.

"I have another idea," RedEye said softly.

The Lunatac’s gravely voice broke though the silence that had gripped the imperial council chambers. A sleepy TugMug grumbled something derisive, Luna turned away, Amok continued to snore, Starn leaned back in his chair, Hypnon’s eyes glittered, and Glacion sighed. "What is your idea this time, RedEye," the ice Lunatac asked.

"And it better not be surrender," Luna added with a hiss.

RedEye grunted and adjusted the sling that supported his right arm. "I wouldn’t call it surrender. Not really, anyway. But it runs along the same lines."

"If we keep telling ourselves that we can’t win, then we’re guaranteed to lose," Hypnon warned. "We can’t afford to be crippled by pessimism."

"We can’t afford to be deluded by optimism," Starn broke in unexpectedly. "The Kentro Empire is massive. We know that. Their weapons are deadly. We’ve seen that. Their mission is to enslave or destroy us. We’ve heard that. And almost every time we come up against them, they are the victors. We’ve experienced that. All things being equal, I don’t see much hope for us. I for one am curious to hear RedEye’s latest idea."

"Thank you, Starn," RedEye replied, grateful for the surprising support. "I suggest this: evacuate."

"Evacuate?!" TugMug demanded, his longing for bed abruptly forgotten. "Do you have any idea how long that will take? We’d have to recall every ship on patrol and the Kentroans would overwhelm our Moons in a matter of weeks!"

"That’s where the Thundercats come in," RedEye explained. "They’ll hold the Kentroans off for us."

"And what are the Thundercats going to do when we leave and the Kentroans surround Thundera?" Glacion asked.

"The mutants have left; the alliance is broken," RedEye said quietly. "I see no reason to keep up the pretense any longer."

"So we lower ourselves to the mutants’ level?" Hypnon asked. "We abandon Thundera and the wolves? We let Kentro waltz in and take whatever they want? We set our tails firmly between our legs and run?"

"Yes," RedEye responded. "That’s one way of putting it. It may not be the honorable thing to do, but it is the safest thing to do."

"The idea has merit," Starn mused.

"I don’t believe I’m hearing this," Glacion hissed. "You expect us to give up the Moons? This is worse than surrender, RedEye. This is a humiliating retreat. It’s not even retreat, it’s a rout." The ice Lunatac threw up his hands in disgust. "I don’t believe that anyone in this room could possibly support this idea. Especially you, Starn!"

Starn favored Glacion with a mild glance and then turned to Luna. "What do you have to say on this matter?"

Luna frowned. "I don’t like the idea of leaving the Moons, but RedEye is right. There really isn’t an alliance anymore. And Kentro is too big a military threat for us to take them on alone. Even with the mutants, we were losing ground."

Glacion’s jaw dropped. "You, too?!"

Luna shrugged and Amok stirred in his sleep, sensing the tension in the room. Luna patted her mount reassuringly and he slipped back into deep slumber. "If it’s the only way to save our people," she whispered, "then it’s the only way."

"There has to be another option!" Hypnon insisted. "Leaving the Moons can’t be the answer!"

"The Thundercats left Thundera," TugMug observed reluctantly. "They returned, eventually."

Glacion and Hypnon exchanged bewildered looks. "Are we the only Lunatacs in this council that feel otherwise?" Hypnon asked.

"I don’t wish for an evacuation," Starn clarified. "If there is any possible way for our race to hold on to the Moons, we should stay. But I see little hope. If only for the sake of prudence, we should start scouting for suitable home worlds, we should began the evacuation of all nonessential personnel, and we should pull our troops closer to the Moons so that they may assist if necessary."

"It all seems so desperate," Glacion murmured, his shoulders slumping under the weight of responsibility.

"How would you describe our current situation?" RedEye asked. "I’d say desperate is a good fit."

"Speaking as one who has been forced to live away from the Moons, it can be done," Luna added. "It is not easy and it is not desirable, but it is not impossible. And if those mangy Thunderians can do it as a species, surely we Lunatacs can."

"Is this the decision of the council?" Glacion asked. Everyone nodded with the exception of Hypnon. "So be it," the young Lunatac declared heavily. "RedEye, you reposition our main troops. I still want forward scouts and mercenaries to maintain their positions. We don’t want to give Kentro the idea that we’re withdrawing. TugMug, start diverting ships and see to the organization of large transport caravans. Luna, go through the databanks and print out lists of Lunatacs we can evacuate now. Starn, make sure word of this is not leaked to the Thundercats, the wolves, or any Lunatac not directly affected. Lock our communications and make certain we can control exactly what is sent in or out. Hypnon…" Glacion trailed off and looked apologetically at the hypnotist.

"I’m as against this as you are," Hypnon stated.

"I know. But will you talk to the Lunatacs that become scheduled for evacuation?"

"Exile by hypnosis?"

"Something like that," the ice Lunatac murmured.

Hypnon leaned back in his seat and studied Glacion for a minute. "I will. What are you going to do?"

Glacion sighed and rubbed his brow. "I guess I’m going to begin the search for a new home. May the Moons have mercy on us."

Snarfer busied himself in the control room while Snoedaro and Cheetara watched off to the side. "What time is it?" Cheetara whispered.

Snoedaro paused and thought for a minute. "When I woke up it was about four, and I haven’t been awake for more than half an hour. It’s still very early in the morning."

The cheetah nodded absently. Her eyes took on a blank expression for a moment, but then she blinked and it was gone. "So how did Snarfer get you up?"

"He was sleeping outside Lion-O’s room and his tail kept hitting the wall," Snoedaro laughed quietly. "It woke me up, but everyone else is still sound asleep. Of course, everyone else has good reason to be sound asleep," he added on a more sober note.

Cheetara frowned and sighed. "You were able to get some rest aboard the ocelot’s ship, weren’t you?" Snoedaro nodded. "I don’t think Panthro ever slept during our stay on Alphon’s ship. And I doubt Lynx-O and Cougrois have gotten much rest with all that’s happened on Thundera. And then Lion-O…" Cheetara trailed off and looked away.

"Maybe Panthro can get through to him when they wake," Snoedaro offered. "Lion-O might want to hear about Leonari’s last moments."

"Do you really think that?"

Snoedaro paused and then lowered his head. "No, I don’t. You should have seen Lion-O last night when Panthro informed him that we had to share rooms. He just stared at us, rolled over, and went to sleep. I don’t think he even recognized who we were."

"You guys ready for this?" Snarfer suddenly asked.

"We’re ready," Cheetara responded, wondering exactly what the little snarf had in store for them.

"Okay then. I’m about to show you the codes that Wiley Kat was working on before…before…" Snarfer stumbled slightly and shook his head. "These are the codes off the Kentro static buoys," he finally finished, his voice lower by a few notches. "Have you seen them yet?"

"I haven’t," Cheetara confessed. "I was going to look at them, but there was never enough time."

"Same here," Snoedaro echoed.

"Then you’re in for a shock," Snarfer said, turning to the controls for the main screen. "Because here they are."

The large monitor at the front of the control room filled itself with codes Wiley Kat had managed to collect. Snoedaro stared in amazement, and beside him, Cheetara stiffened. "Are you sure that’s the code?" the snow leopard asked.

"That’s it, alright. So is that what I think it is, snarfer? I’ve seen this before, haven’t I?"

"You have," Snoedaro answered. "Those are all codes for different positions in a Katak game. We taught you most of them when you and Cheetara were playing in the control room the night that Pride was attacked."

"They’re more than just that," Cheetara whispered, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Snarfer, can you get me—"

"Already done," Snarfer answered, activating a 3-dimensional holographic projector. A few commands later and the computer had constructed a multi-level Katak board and placed the pieces on the board according to the code.

"So that’s what the board looks like," Snoedaro mused. "You know, I’ve seen that setup before, but I can’t seem to place it."

"I can," Cheetara said. Something in her voice commanded the attention of both Snoedaro and Snarfer, but she herself was lost in a different world. Her eyes glittered as they raced over each and every playing piece on the boards. All captured pieces and exiled pieces were taken into account and every nuance of every position was examined. "I know this game," the cheetah murmured. "It’s almost an exact duplicate."

"A duplicate of what?" Snarfer wondered.

"There is a Katak game set up in my room," Cheetara answered quietly. "It was a game I was playing with Tygra over the com-links before he disappeared. In almost every way, this is that game. There’s just one exception. Two of my pieces, a Wind Scout and the Restorer, are now behind enemy lines on one of the exile platforms. They used to be on one of my sublevels. Other than that, this game is an exact copy of the one I have in my room."

Snarfer and Snoedaro stared. "Cheetara, if you’re right—"

"I AM RIGHT!" Cheetara yelled, startling Snoedaro into tripping over Snarfer.

"Okay, I believe you," the snow leopard said hastily, catching himself on the back of a chair. "But you know what this means, don’t you?"

"I knew it before," the cheetah said coldly. "But now I have proof. Proof that even Panthro can’t deny." Cheetara turned her burning eyes back to the Katak board. "Hang on, Tygra," she hissed, hoping that somehow he would hear her. "We’ll find you!"

Panthro was awakened by the sound of his shoulder popping as someone stumbled over it. Startled out of a relatively deep sleep, the warrior acted on his first instinct and seized a leg, ripped it out from under the person’s center of balance, and was rewarded by a hiss of pain as the offending soul hit the floor. About this time, Panthro realized who had tripped over him.

"Lion-O?"

The lion lay completely still for a moment and then slowly got to his feet. "I’m sorry, Panthro," the Lord of the Thundercats whispered. "I didn’t mean to wake you. I just need…just needed…"

Panthro blinked and quickly stood, wobbling slightly on his injured leg. "It’s okay, don’t worry about it. I should get up anyway. Are you…are you okay, Lion-O?"

"Was I ever?"

Looking the lion straight in the eyes, Panthro was shocked by what he saw. There was no life. It was like looking into a vacant room haunted by shadows of the past. It was like looking into a void. "Lion-O?"

Lion-O looked away. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while."

He turned to leave, but Panthro seized his shoulder. "What’s wrong with you?" the panther asked. "What happened?"

"What should have happened a long time ago," Lion-O answered in a voice that chilled even Panthro’s blood. "I found out what I really am. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going." Shrugging off Panthro’s hand, the lion wandered down the hallway and vanished around a corner. Panthro watched him go, unable to think of anything to say, and then started toward sickbay. Maybe someone there could tell him more about Lion-O’s condition.

Locked away in the darkened Sword Chamber, the Eye of Thundera growled a somber warning.

When Tygra was awakened in the early morning, he was certain that life could not become more of a misery. Every conceivable muscle ached, and a weariness he’d once exclusively associated with Thundranium filled his body. His shrunken stomach growled, and the tiger put a hand on his gut, feeling the pull of scar tissue against his shoulder.

"Get up," a slave driver ordered. The sound of a whip broke the early morning silence, and with a grimace of pain, Tygra tried to get to his feet.

"Are we having any problems over here?"

That was Greeb’s voice and Tygra’s heart quickened in fear. He redoubled his efforts to stand, but he could not muster the strength. With a groan and a knowledge of what was about to happen to him, Tygra collapsed back onto the straw floor where he and the other slaves of SPT made their beds. Maybe one day he should just set fire to the place and let the flames take him into the sky.

"These slaves are refusing to rise," the original slave driver told Greeb.

The use of the plural grabbed Tygra’s attention and he glanced around curiously. He soon caught sight of Pumyra, Lucaina, Slithe, Chilla, and Alluro. None of them were up, though all seemed to be awake. Slithe’s eyes opened a bit and caught Tygra looking around. There was a hopeless shrug and an almost sympathetic blink. Tygra decided he’d imagined it and focused his attention on Pumyra. She was starting to move again, but her efforts were weak and tired. She did not have the strength to rise.

"The doctor said they would be able to work this morning," Greeb mused. "I have never known the doctor to be wrong. Apply the whip and see if you can shake that laziness out of them."

Tygra squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the whip to strike. The whip really didn’t hurt much anymore. He’d gotten used to it. Maybe the pain from the whip would clear his mind and maybe then he could stand.

The heavy cord snapped against his back and Tygra silently laughed at himself for even considering such a thing. In his weakened condition, the whip was depleting his strength exponentially. It wouldn’t be long before he faded into a coma. He’d grown to enjoy waking comas. They were the only times he could call himself truly asleep. There was nothing manual or imposed about the waking coma. It was simply a time when his mind ceased to function under the stress and shut itself down.

A hard kick landed on his stomach and Tygra groaned in surprise and pain. His fatty tissues had all been burned away and his internal organs had little cushioning. Clutching his abdomen, Tygra could feel throbbing pain spreading across his body and up into his ribcage. "We can’t get up," the tiger hissed in protest. "We’re not strong enough."

The whipping stopped and Tygra realized what had just happened. Wincing and furiously reproaching himself, the tiger waited for the repercussions. He heard Greeb’s foot hit the floor next to his head and Tygra dimly wondered if he would still feel pain in the event of brain damage.

"What did you say, slave?"

"I’m not worthy of my life as a slave, forgive me for my stupidity," Tygra moaned, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for what was about to happen. With enough trying, he might have been able to get up before. He knew he’d have no chance in a few minutes. Talking back to slave drivers and refusing orders were among the most serious crimes at SPT.

Greeb reached down with a practiced hand and seized Tygra’s slave collar. A quick snap of the wrist and fire shot through the tiger’s nervous system, eliciting a stricken scream from the slave. "You may require some special breaking," Greeb whispered as the slave hissed and gasped with each new twist of the collar. "Sources tell us much about you. It seems you have an uncanny fear of…water."

Pumyra opened her eyes for the first time that morning. She’d more or less ignored Tygra’s anguished cries, taking them as part and parcel of the day, but this was something different. Though Tygra’s fear of the water was no secret to anyone who’d known him, very few knew how deep it actually went. Or how damaging that fear could be in the wrong hands. The knowledge that she might completely lose the only friend she had in her dismal nightmare drove Pumyra to renewed efforts. From somewhere deep inside her broken body, the puma found the energy needed and with many a shuddering wheeze and whimper, Pumyra got to her feet. "I’ll cover for him," the puma whispered, hoping desperately that she wasn’t bringing punishment upon herself with her actions. "I don’t think he can rise. I’ll do his work if you let him rest."

Greeb watched the puma with a look of cunning and triumph. "So he does fear water," the head slave driver concluded. "And judging from your reaction, he fears it quite a bit."

Pumyra felt her chest constrict with the knowledge that she had just confirmed their suspicions. "I don’t know about that," she stammered, knowing that the fear in her face belied her words. "But you won’t lose work if you let him rest today. I will try and cover for him. I’ll even work into the night if you wish it."

"Of course you’ll work into the night if we wish it. Denying punishment to this undisciplined slave would not change that." Greeb watched a parade of emotions fly across Pumyra’s face and the human eventually smiled. "Very well, slave. You may cover for him." The puma closed her eyes in relief, but Greeb wasn’t finished. "While you do his work, we will test his fear of water. And get these other slaves up," Greeb told the original slave driver. "If she can rise, so can they."

Pumyra cast vainly about for something to say that wouldn’t get them into further trouble, but her mind was a blank. She looked to Tygra and almost choked when she saw the fear and terror that sent tremors rippling across his shoulders. Sensing her gaze, the tiger shoved down his panic and glanced her way. For a mere second, their eyes met, but in that second, an eternity passed. For the last time, Pumyra saw Tygra the Thundercat. She saw the gentleness and intelligence that were his trademarks. She saw the quiet stubbornness that had forever frustrated his friends. She saw the fierce loyalty and honor that had enabled the Thundercats to rise from the ashes of Third Earth and return once again to Thundera. She saw his strength and courage that he now offered her, trying to tell her that he would be fine and that he was grateful for her efforts to spare him. Then he blinked and it was all gone, hidden in the glazed look of fear and pain she knew all too well.

Greeb still had Tygra by the slave collar, and by the slave collar, he began dragging him away. Pumyra trembled where she stood, unable to stand by and do nothing but frozen by the knowledge of what the slave drivers would do should she interfere. Greeb gave Tygra’s collar a painful twist and the tiger couldn’t prevent the scream that swept through his lungs and burst into the predawn darkness.

That scream was all Pumyra needed. With a feral roar that startled slaves and humans alike, she launched herself at Greeb, claws spread and teeth bared. She hungered to rend the pale flesh that had inflicted so much pain and her mind was consumed with thoughts of vengeance and retribution. She was so close to her prey. She watched his black eyes blink in astonishment. She watched his face draw itself into a look of fear. She watched his mouth open in a soundless scream. She pulled her arm back for that first strike that would rake down his chest and across his stomach, spilling his entrails onto the dirtied straw that served as both bed and bath for the slaves. Tygra cried out in pain again as Greeb flung him aside and—

Sparks flashed before Pumyra’s eyes as Greeb’s swinging fist caught her full in the face. She hit the ground hard, but Greeb’s booted foot hit her even harder. She was flying backwards, and when her head struck a cement wall, it was all she could do to keep from lapsing into a waking coma. She heard the human’s breathing return to normal, and she heard instructions that she was to be denied food and sleep for two days after which she was to endure a rigorous beating at the hands of three slave drivers.

"Isn’t that too easy a punishment?" the first slave driver asked.

"Normally, yes," Greeb answered as he glared at the crumpled form of Pumyra. "But she has already punished herself far more than we ever could. When I bring her friend back tonight and she sees what her actions have done to him, then you will witness what happens when a slave truly and completely breaks. We will be lucky if we are able to salvage anything from the shell that will be left."

Having said this, Greeb turned again to Tygra and dragged the shocked tiger away. The other slave driver went back to his task of trying to rouse the slaves. Slithe closed his eyes and groaned as the lash once again bit into his scarred back. He listened as Greeb’s footsteps faded away into the distance, and he listened to Pumyra’s strangled sobs. Something inside the reptile broke, and he felt fragile hope shatter like fine glass. With the loss of the two Thundercats, what chance did the rest of them have?

The last strands of resistance snapped within the mutant. The humans were stronger. The humans had won. Beaten and defeated, Slithe struggled to his feet and silently left to begin his lonely day as a slave.

Sound was the first sensation she was aware of. It was hard to pick out initially, but as the minutes passed, she could discern more and more sound. It wasn’t long before she could even identify the sounds and determine their location relative to her position.

This was also how she learned where she was. Sickbay. She was definitely in sickbay. She’d worked there too long and too often not to recognize its trademark sounds. There were the wheels of the medicine cart that squeaked no matter how thoroughly or how often they were oiled. There were the beeps and clicks of various monitors that she’d learned to tune out as background noise until there was an abrupt change. There was the low murmur of voices, and the tone of those voices was another familiar but unfortunate sound common in sickbay. There was concern, fear, frustration, and despair.

Having discerned all she could from sound, Servalla tried to access her other senses. She laughed silently at the thought of accessing her senses like one would access a computer. Panthro would often say things like that as though the feline body was nothing more than an assortment of carbon-based molecules and charged particles. As a healer, Servalla had tried to explain to the panther just how intricate the body was and how it represented an engineering and architectural marvel. But Panthro would always laugh it off with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and demand to know if it was as durable as one of his machines or as easily repaired as one of Tygra’s fortresses.

Servalla abruptly gave herself a mental shake and tried to get back on track. Reminiscing would do nothing for her. She tried to ascertain the status of her own health but found she was curiously detached from her body. Fragmented pieces of a blurry past began to drift together and the serval started reconstructing what had happened in her last few moments of consciousness. Lion-O had been injured; she was certain of that much. Cougrois had been there. She’d released a smoke arrow, and together the three of them had tried to escape the red tigers and the panthers. But she couldn’t get beyond that. After the smoke arrow, her memory drew a blank. But from what little she could gather of her surroundings, something rather serious had happened. Something that had put her in sickbay.

Without warning, pain blasted through her skull like a hot needle. Servalla cried out and realized she was going into convulsions. Her head snapped back and forth and with each jerk she felt her headache go up one more notch. Her movements had attracted someone’s attention and she could feel hands holding her down, trying to restrain the serval for the duration of the seizure. Full consciousness was very close now and Servalla tried to pull herself out of her coma. She’d almost regained control of her limbs. Now if she could only open her eyes…

"Servalla?"

Blinking against a sudden onslaught of light, Servalla tried to identify the speaker. "Tahee?" she asked hesitantly.

The shadow above her nodded. "How do you feel, healer?"

"Like someone took a Thundranium mallet to my head," the Thundercat groaned. "What happened? How did I end up in sickbay?"

"Cougrois could probably tell you better than I could," the cheetah answered. "You’ve been unconscious for two days. We were worried, healer. And we needed your help."

"Two days?" Servalla closed her eyes and once again tried to remember what had happened. "What’s my condition?"

"I’m not a doctor," Tahee warned. "I have training, but I’m afraid it hasn’t been enough. I believe you have a concussion, but I can’t tell you any more than that."

"A concussion…feels like it," the serval murmured. She opened her eyes again and began to pull herself into a sitting position. She waved off Tahee’s offer to help and looked around sickbay. A gasp caught in her throat as she surveyed the normally empty room now filled with patients in varying conditions. "What happened here?"

"A costly victory," a new voice answered. "We have needed your services, healer."

Servalla cast her eyes around the room until they fell on a large gray form watching her from the doorway. "Panthro? Panthro, you’re back from the Fire Zone?"

The warrior narrowed his eyes and turned away. "Let’s discuss the Fire Zone another time."

Confused and concerned, Servalla eased herself off her medical bed. She started to move toward the panther, but Panthro abruptly turned and left sickbay. "Leader Tahee, what has happened?" the serval whispered.

"I have asked Panthro to call a council meeting in an hour. By then, the sun will be up, and perhaps a new day will help our perspective. Your questions will be answered there. Until then, I hesitate to tell you what has befallen Thundera."

The finality in his voice told Servalla she would get no answers. With a frustrated sigh, the healer fell back on the only thing she could. Steadying herself as much as she was able, she stumbled toward the closest patient. As soon as she reached him, she had trouble keeping back a gasp. "Wiley Kat?" Servalla checked his monitors and bit her lip. "What happened to him? How long has he been like this?"

"Two days," Tahee replied. "Two days, just like you."

"I’m amazed he’s still alive," the healer whispered. Her trained hand took his wrist and she searched for a pulse. "So weak," she murmured. "Blood pressure is far too low. Why hasn’t he been given a transfusion?" she demanded, wheeling on the leader of the cheetah clans and steadying herself as a wave of vertigo swept over her.

"He has been given a transfusion," Tahee said quietly. "Several when we first brought him in, and several more pints since then. We were out of his blood type by the first hour, and Mantyro and Serbino were too weak to give him anymore after the first day. In fact, Mantyro is…" Tahee trailed off and nodded toward a corner of sickbay.

Servalla followed his gaze and froze. "What’s going on?" she asked coldly, her eyes taking in the tiger who was clearly healthy aside from the fact that he was sedated and tied to a medical bed. "Sickbay is not a prison, no matter what the reason may be."

"I told you that there will be a council in—"

"This is MY sickbay, Tahee," Servalla growled. "You will answer my question or I will release Mantyro."

"It’s a long story," the leader of the cheetah clans said quietly in his best soothing voice. "It’s difficult to explain and I don’t think you should—"

"Blast it, cheetah, I demand answers!" the serval snarled, bracing herself as her headache began to soar into new regions of pain.

Tahee had been raised in a noble family and taught the fine art of diplomatic half-truths and lies from a very early age. He was a master at political maneuvering and a speech from his carefully pitched voice was usually enough to calm any situation to the point where he could sway the important votes. But now, confronted with an angry, injured Thundercat, for the first time in his life, Tahee had no idea what to do next. His finely honed voice and honey-coated words fled and he found himself stammering like a commoner. "Servalla, I—"

Tahee was spared further embarrassment when an alarm began to blare from Wiley Kat’s bedside. Servalla was there with a speed that amazed even the leader of the cheetah clans. "Do we have any plasma on hand?" she demanded.

"We used that up on the last of the refugees," Tahee said. "But we could get some Thunderians in here and start—"

"It’s too late for that," Servalla growled. "If we wait that long, it’d better be blood we give him. Blast you, Kat, stay with us!" The serval straddled the young Thundercat and started chest compressions with a vengeance as though death was a tangible entity that she could stave off by force. She stopped momentarily, looked up at the cheetah, and glared. "Don’t just stand there; he needs a transfusion!"

"But we’re out of compatible blood!"

"Then you’d better find some compatible donors because he doesn’t have any other chance!" the serval snapped. "Go!"