The Vorn’Quai battle cruiser drifted gently through the
homeworld sector on Impulse power, quietly and stealthily making its passage towards the planetoid beyond. On board, an
assembled delegation from the High Council discussed matters of the future of the Empire, matters of unprecedented necessity
regarding not only the military and its collapsable fleet but also the government as a whole.
In an uncomfortably small conference room aboard the make-shift flagship, the assembled heads of state and leaders of
the military forces endlessly tossed items of debate and argument back from one end of the tiny table to the other. In an
unfortunate circumstance, as was necessitated by the lack of room, the Vice-Chancellor Luch-Nihai and the Intendant Ru-Liovar
were seated next to each other, crammed up so it became a leg to leg, arm to arm, and head to head dilemma. Neither were in the
mood for common pleasantries.
“ There is no way I will regard any matters of the empire so long as I am seated beside this foul beast!” proclaimed the
vocally charged Intendant. He simply hated the Vice-Chancellor with a passion. “ As far as I’m concerned, the
empire can wait! Build a bigger conference hall!”
“ Your typical whining just hit the spot, Liovar.” grunted Luch-Nihai. “ Perhaps you’d rather find us all some fine
Tivorgian Ale for once instead of sputtering your endless prattle of useless nonsensical farciful mis-attempts at a
promotion. Face it, you were meant to be the Intendant!” and with that the old Vice-Chancellor let out a bellowing laugh that
threw the entire conference into an uproar.
“ ENOUGH!” exclaimed Chancellor Dy’Vorlud. “ You would not all behave this way if the Emperor was here. I expect no less
from all of you than that which you would offer him, even in his absense.”
The room filtered itself clean of the rumble and roar that had momentarily clogged it. A silence overcame the assembly.
The Chancellor cleared the wave of quiet with abruptness.
“ The Emperor expected us to achieve a new plan for the empire during this gathering. He set only vague goals, therefore
much of the decision making lies in our hands. We have no time for bickering, no time for humour, no time for conversation.
It is time for us to lay the foundation of the future - which as it stands is very weak. We are, as Emperor Dy’Nyqord said, at
a time of crisis. Decisions must be made, and they will be made here.”
“ What of the Emperor, Chancellor?” inquired Ty’Loma Krynova. “ Surely he will recover.”
“ We are not here to discuss the Emperor, Krynova. Perhaps you should bring us all up to date instead on the fleet.
I can’t be too mistaken if I take a wild estimate and say the fleet is overwhelmingly outnumbered by just about even the
smallest Spacecom outpost. Surely otherwise you could have mustered a better ship for us to meet on.”
“ A far cry from the Kuur’ta.” noted Tysollus’Quo GrugchVus-Nor.
“ Those days are behind us, GrugchVus-Nor. The flagship no longer is with us. Do not dwell in the past.” returned the
Chancellor.
“ Quite obviously, a full offensive is out of the question.” remarked Tysollus’Quo Nar-Vei.
“ Yes, quite obviously.” replied GrugchVus-Nor. “ We can barely defend ourselves. An outright attack would be suicide.
Surely we have more options than that. If all we can decide on is a kamikaze mission into the Confederacy stronghold than I
say it is time for peace.”
“ There will be no talk of peace at this conference.” reminded the Chancellor.
“ The reconstruction of the primary war-fleet should take less than a year, Dy’Vorlud.” added Krynova. “ The secondary
fleet could conceivably be returned to its former state in less than two. All this assuming a healthy investment from the
Central government. As it is, the A.U.I.F. can not afford such expenses.”
“ Yes, surely a year will give us the time we need to regain some of our lost strength.” concluded an ambitious younger
officer, Tysollus Sul’Kopar.
“ Assuming the Confederacy decides to give us a year in which to recuperate. From a military standpoint that would be
most unwise of them.” said Krynova.
“ True enough. However, I need not remind any of you here that the Confederacy is a peace minded government. They will not
force themselves upon us. That is not their way.” said the Chancellor. “ As history will tell, the Confederacy will end up
giving us all the time we need to make a comeback. But, quite frankly, as also in the past, they will repel our attempts.”
“ We have come so close to destroying the Confederacy, Chancellor. Surely there are ways of succeeding.” put in Tysollus
Sul’Kopar.
“ Indeed. If it weren’t for the weak-mindedness of the Manojarrans to go and join the Confederacy, we would have
conquered as we are destined to do.” replied GrugchVus-Nor.
“ Were destined to do.” the Chancellor added in return, bringing the hot headed ex-warship commander back to the
realities of the present. “ If we do not succeed at this conference, our destiny will never be met. Perhaps it never will.
Fate and destiny are those which guide us. No one really knows for certain that we were meant to do one thing over
another, take one step this way instead of that, or launch our last torpedoes when we should have ducked for cover. Our
future is what we make it, not what others define it as. That future must be made - here... tonight.”
Once again, the unnerving silence returned. Never before had any of them been faced with such a grave and dangerously
consequential dilemma that demanded resolution. Certainly, the heads of state and the leaders of the military such as those
assembled had before faced challenges and problems of their own kind, but never a dilemma that would forever affect the
entire empire. Its people. Its history. Its future.
The ship superstrucure began to shake violently. The Chancellor and several of his aides were thrown visciously from
their chairs and on to the floor. Conference members grabbed the edge of the table and the armrests of their chairs in vain
attempts to remain in place.
The Red Alert sirens screamed on and the lights dimmed to a war-ready blood red.
“ Get to the bridge! Immediately!” yelled Krynova. “ We are under attack!”
Officers, VIP’s, government leaders and assistants scrambled in chaos trying desperately to make their individual
ways towards the conference room door. Krynova crawled out, soon headed for the bridge.
“ Status report!” he blasted on entering the compact bridge deck. Krynova strode up to the lone helmsman, and repeated
himself. “ What the hell is going on out there?!”
He grabbed the helmsman. “ Look, Mister, I SAID...” And the only bridge officer fell out of his chair and on to the
floor. Dead.
Krynova went immediately to the sensor analysis console opposite the helm and fixed the sensor bearings on to the ship’s
surroundings. GrugchVus-Nor dashed on to the bridge soon after.
“ Who’s attacking us?” he demanded, only then realizing the only remaining officer on the bridge was Krynova. “ My
apologies.”
“ None needed. Now you come over here and analyze this damn sensor machine. Been too long since I last used one. You’ve
got ten minutes for a full analysis.”
Another brutal shock struck the ship and threw those on board into another tantrum.
“ Analysis complete.”
“ Already?”
“ Indeed.”
“ Good thing you can read all those flashing lights. Well, what is it, TysollusQuo’?”
He paused, then exhaled in almost a frightened manner. “ It - it.”
But he could not speak of what he saw. The true magnitude of what it was in his eyes intensified his fear to the point he
could no longer function.
“ Speak up, dammit!”
“ TyLoma’,” he replied, swallowing hard and not daring to meet his superior’s fiery gaze. “ It looks like alas the
Gyrovsiq’on have come. They have arrived!”
“ The Gyrovsiq’on?” repeated Krynova in disbelief. “ That’s impossible. They are nothing more than mythical
fear-bringers. You don’t actually believe in such nonsense do you, TysollusQuo’?”
He waited. “ You can’t possibly think that what we are in is the Gyrovsiq’on! How ludicrous!”
“ It is as the tales said it to be, TyLoma’! There is no question - this is the Gyrovsiq’on!”
On the outside the ship trembled and shook. Violent shockwaves smacked themselves repetitively against the meager
hull, buckling the outer layers and snapping the interior braces and mainframe supports. And in the midst of the tormenting
sea of decayed dimensional fabric, a growing surge of energy and collosal forces emerged from what became a core. It swirled
madly, twisting and expanding as it edged outward into the realm where the infinitesmally small ship sat in fear. Fear of
what was known as the Gyrovsiq’on - the age old Akotarsan myth that spoke of gaping wounds of the sky that would open up
and swallow the empire for it had met its end. For TyLoma’ Krynova and TysollusQuo’ GrugchVus-Nor, the end had come.
The swirling maelstrom expanded uncontrollably until the last hope of the Akotarsan Empire was swallowed up.

Indeed, the end was near. But it would not come in the form of a myth or legend or ancient tale passed on through the
generations.
It would come. It was their destiny.