Daved Breggs stepped into the spacious laboratory room just as a digital hourglass on the otherwise bare wall slipped to three. In the center of the room was a silver flyr, sleek and poised as if ready to lurch through the wall and soar above the majestic peaks of the Mintorn. A scrawny scientist named Ralf rose at his arrival.

  “Ah, Daved, here you are. Everything is ready.”

  Daved sized up the craft. “You're certain it'll stay with me?”

  “Yes, you'll be safe inside when it disappears. It is a completely sealed, self-supporting system, as we discussed.”

  “It is stocked with my supplies?”

  “Yes, the, er, weapons and tools are packed.”

  “Good. I'll need 'em if I'm going to survive wherever I end up.”

  “Survival is your number one goal. After that, you must find a way to report back to us. We cannot overemphasize how imperative it is that you return to at least give us a report on the mission's success. This flyr cost us a small fortune and we would appreciate it if you did not squander it. We can always send you back later if you so desire.”

  “Of course.” Daved climbed into the flyr and poked around. As Ralf said, his supplies were all there. There was a two week supply of food and water, an extra tank of air, a stack of choppers, several sheets of Alltarp, and about a quarter mile of tallgrass twine. You could never have too much twine. At first the scientists had insisted he take only their own approved (and much less useful) items, but Daved had insisted he would not travel without his supplies. As a free Sheek and the only pilot the scientists could find willing to go peacefully, they eventually gave in.

  A large head poked into the room. “Is this it?” asked Barth DeManth. He spotted Daved and stepped in. “Yes, of course it is. I'm here to see you off… I wish you the best on your journey, and hope you return safely.”

  Daved smiled. He still wasn't exactly sure why the Sheek Detective wanted two Hake prisoners and a V’hogel, but was proud of himself for rescuing them. He planned to be long gone before anyone discovered the prisoners–and his own flyr–were missing. “Thank you. And I wish you an… entertaining evening.” He couldn’t help a quick grin.

  Ralf ushered Barth into an adjoining room separated from the main area by a thick pane of glass. “Not that there is any danger, of course, but it never hurts to be safe,” he explained. They watched as Daved boarded the silver flyr. Technicians sealed its door shut with an airtight adhesive. No one knew where Daved's journey would take him, but they wanted him to stay alive… too much money had been spent building a flyr that could withstand even the most extreme of environments.

  Barth took this all in and turned to Ralf. “One thing I do not understand. Could not the ship be programmed to report on its own? Why must a Sheepel be sent? Wouldn’t cameras or radios be sufficient?”

  “We have sent small robots, but all have disappeared without a trace. You are witnessing our last hope, the final coins of our budget. If a Sheepel cannot find a way to return, then nothing can.”

  “But he is not trained. Surely a scientist or a soldier would have better luck.”

  Ralf looked embarrassed. “To be honest, none will volunteer. Our own scientists believe the odds of surviving this are zero. The volunteer seems to be literally taken apart atom by atom and well… you will see. To be honest, Sir, we were hoping you might put in a good word for us in Seoltin and get us some more funding and prisoners to work out the kinks, if the show pleases you. But until then, we are stuck with civilian volunteers, few as they are.”

  “If the display is as enjoyable as you claim, I will see what I can do.”

  By this time a small crowd had assembled in the viewing room, eager to witness the experiment.

  A minute later, the flyr was sprayed with a mist of Hykalondicore. The spectators and scientists watched with anticipation as the cloudy fog drifted over the craft. A tiny, nearly imperceptible moment passed, but much can happen in such an instant. Ulduk Penney bit into an apple in a dark cart. Bimi's house collapsed into the Waters of Trent. The Vorian Dictator signed an order of war against the inhabitants of Wanaqua. And the silver flyr disappeared in a flash of color and sound. The room was suddenly bare, the flyr gone. Only the dying echo of some discordant notes remained, until they too faded.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Excellent!” praised Barth, rising from his seat as the plates on his forearms rippled in pleasure. “Most touching. I commend the scientists here for their work.”

  “You liked the colors?” asked Ralf, beaming. “All was satisfactory?”

  “Well, your Wall of Fame could use some updating. I found it disturbing to see Hakes honored on the same wall as Sheeks. However, this entertaining display has made up for that error.”

  “Er, with all respect, we prefer not to subject our subjects to discrimination…”

  Barth smiled. “To each their own, I guess. In any case, I see great uses for this technology. Yes, I will ask the Authority for more funding on your behalf. Imagine, all of our trash–vanished, never to be seen again. And, better yet–oh, much, much, better… we can send thousands of Hakes on a mission in the pursuit of science! Why, if we get the public relations sector on it, they might even pay for a 'Journey to the Endless Utopia; Free Yourself from Shamonj!' But tell me, what’s the deal here? Spontaneous combustion?”

  Ralf scratched his ear. “I suppose anything’s possible. But some of our best think–what’s going on?” Everyone turned to see a panicked Sheek pounding on the glass door. A scientist swiftly opened it, and the Sheepel ran straight to Barth.

  “Barth, we’ve been looking for you! The three prisoners, the ones who came in with the green chair, have escaped! They took off in Daved’s flyr; he was in on it! Two of our scientists were injured in the attempt. When we figured out what had happened, we tried to follow them, but our flyrs had been sabotaged. We found Alltarp stuffed in the engines, and by the time we sorted it out, the flyr was well beyond range of our building’s radar. We're sorry Sir, but if you want those prisoners, we’ll need to send the Sheek Authority after them. They're far beyond our jurisdiction, in the direction of Selfar.”

  Barth frowned. “Is the green chair safe?”

  “Yes, it is still locked in your flyr.”

  “Excellent. Have it brought to me at once.”

  “But what about the escapees? Should we contact the Authorities?”

  “They escaped together?”

  “Yeah, two Hakes and a V’hogel.”

  “Let them be; they are not your concern. Right now, we must pry secrets out of the chair.”

  Barth turned his thoughts to the chair. Why was it left in The Zone, atop the wreckage of the Gaelen? If it was left by Quinn, why does it appear in the surveillance fotos, but not Quinn? And if it was not left by Quinn, then who put it there and for what purpose? Or if it was thrown from a flyr, how did it land without a single scratch? Who took it out of The Zone, and why do they not show up on the fotos? There were so many questions. Barth hoped there would be just as many answers. Well, worst case scenario… at least I'll have a new chair for my office.

  * * * * * * * *

  The silver flyr was filled with an eerie yellow glow. Daved Breggs waited in anticipation as the seconds ticked away.

  I’ve been waiting all my life for this. A golden haze enveloped the flyr, and Daved’s leathery skin tingled as the temperature crept higher. I wonder what the others are seeing. They think I'm going to die. I probably will. But at last I’ll be free; free from this blasted planet and its wars. Even death must be followed by something. Now I will find out what. The craft shuddered. It was four minutes after three, according to his personal-information-center. So this is what it’s like to make the evening news. I just hope it's painless…

  Daved’s thoughts were interrupted by a sinking sensation, like one walking over a bridge and suddenly noticing the bridge is absent. His eyes locked on the small window in the front of the flyr. Outside, the sterile room at Filstar began to vanish. A shrill whine rose, then dropped in pitch, falling lower and lower, louder and louder. Outside was blackness: no lab, no scientists. The lights on the dashboard were dead, but Daved still felt a sensation of motion, especially downward. Movement at the window caught his attention.

  The Wanderer couldn’t identify the quivering shapes rushing past. Specks of light wobbled furiously back and forth. Brilliant objects crashed across the view like yellow and orange lanterns in a raging, pitch black river of oil. Minutes passed and nothing changed; there were more lights in ever brightening shades. The view outside the window was astoundingly beautiful, but Daved felt sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes for a minute, then looked again. The raging sights still clashed cataclysmically past, but their speed was lessening. In time they came into focus, tiny spots of color on a black pane, moving from left to right, like meteors streaking through the heavens. He recognized the same ones several times in a row, and realized the flyr was spinning. They are stars. I’m stuck spinning in outer space, seeing the same stars over and over. How he’d come to that conclusion, he wasn’t certain, but he knew it had to be correct.

  Three prominent stars (or were they planets?) stood out. One was a fiery ball of orange, much like Myria, but dimmer and more focused. Another, far dimmer and smaller, was bright white. The third was massive, dwarfing the others. It was dark blue with gray bands and seemed to expand with each revolution. Daved tried contacting the scientists on the flyr’s radio, but there was only static. He wanted to fly away from the ominous blue sphere, but his controls were dead, the engine silent. Even the air seemed thinner, and he realized the high-pitched hissing sound he heard was Not a Good Thing. He hadn’t paid much attention in science class years ago, but one thing he remembered: There is no air in space. No wonder the previous lab subjects had not been heard from again. The generator would replenish the air for a while, but then it would all be over. He gripped the side of the flyr for reassurance, his heart racing. He felt both claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time.

  In the front window, the blue orb passed by again. It was alarmingly large, dominating the window. I am falling… towards that thing. Is it a planet? A star? Probably doesn’t matter since I’ll die either way. I didn’t think dying would be like this. Somehow, it seems more real than being 'vanished'. And much more terrifying. He hoped his flyr had been a help to Nyck and Hans. He hoped he would pass out before the asphyxiation set in. The blue sphere grew larger as the flyr fell towards it. Daved closed his eyes.