The ship was a full two hundred metres wide, and stretched half that again in length. It was a deep red, the red of coagulated blood, and was orbiting very slowly around Earth, masked by a cloaking device that humans had only ever dreamt of, only ever seen in television shows which made aliens out to be humanoids of a friendly nature. But those who had built this craft were not particularly friendly, and only defined as humanoid in the broadest sense possible. They had arrived out of nowhere, from a swirling rip in the fabric of time and space, and now hovered, like a bird of prey over a cowering rabbit.

There were many portholes along the side, but the largest window was a screen shaped slightly like wrap-around sunglasses on a bulge at the front of the ship. It reflected no light, and shadows could be seen through into the dark interior of the ships control room. Moving closer you would be able to make out the shapes of the figures as predominantly reptilian.

“Stats of the planet, Connac?”

Inside the control room, the shadows moved among blinking lights. One sat on a throne, leaning his head on his right hand while drumming the lefts fingers on the metal of the chairarm. It was he who had spoken, with a voice that belied his young age; one of the three figures nearest to the screen looked around.

“Stats, sir?”

“That’s what I said.”

The screen changed from a direct window to a dark blue-green background while words in a strange language like bad handwriting flowed down, including pictures similar in style to those taken by enthusiastic Japanese tourists. He managed to catch a glimpse of some names before they flew past the screen.

“The planet is Tarriuan, sir, the resident sentients are humans. They have colonised the entire planet, and have a rapid industrial and technological growth which may result in space travel within another few hundred years.” The voice was filled with wry amusement as it added, “They call their planet Earth, Loke!”

“Earth? Earth?” said the Saurian on the throne. “Gee, you’d think those with such a quickly growing technological knowledge would think of something more original to call their planet.”

Then again, he thought, We called our home-planet Rhatarl, and that means swampy world...

“Loki, when should we begin the attack?” At this question, every single head in the control room turned to look around with expectant faces.

Loki Hashu Nakara sighed, slumping visibly in his chair. That was the question everyone wanted to know the answer to, when did they attack? It seemed something that all Saurians should plan; after all, they were a warlord race, and he was a descendant of the Nakara bloodline, the greatest Overlords of the Saurian Empire the universe had ever known. He was also the runt of the family, the one who hated the sight of blood; the only reason he was captaining this ship at all was because of his ancestry and chance, not his personality. And for the fact that without him, they would all still be in Limbo. For some reason, he really wanted to return.

“Loki?” Connac asked. “Do we attack or not?”

Biting his tongue, Loki looked out at the planet known by them as Tarriuan; most of it was made of water, it had every climate possible and the only thing it seemed lacking in was an inhabiting race with imagination. But there was a race; a simple race, and that made his decision even harder.

Before the Saurians has discovered space flight, they too had been a simple, peaceful race. Space flight had made them soldiers and warlords; and then they’d taken on a planet with much advanced technology to the others they had conquered... Puckworld. The name was still met with revulsion and hatred when it was spoken, but he was a throwback, too young to have had that deep-seated loathing of ducks ingrained in his mind. He didn’t see a reason for hatred...

Connac once more interrupted his thoughts, this time his voice held tones of impatience. “Loki, do we or do we not attack? It is your choice.”

His choice. Attack, and his name would join the famous of the Nakara bloodline; but many would die. Many innocent people. Do not attack, and his name would be worth mud, he had been ridiculed his whole life, it would not stop there. He looked up.

“Hranthir Connac, please connect to one of the satellite frequencies showing the city known as New-York.”

Apparently thinking it might be the first target, the Hranthir did so. The screen came up with a television broadcast that decided for Loki. It showed a parade; the language was unintelligible, but there were children, barely older than hatchling age, running through the streets, laughing, parents trying to catch them. He watched it for a long while, and then motioned that Connac should cut the link. Then he sat in silence, and no one made any comments, no urging’s on a decision this time; they all knew what it would be and kept their thoughts on it to themselves.

“No, Connac, we don’t attack. The plan was to give aid to my brother, and we shall do that. What he does with this army is his business afterwards.” And not mine, he finished in his mind. Not mine, after I hand over the army I can take a pod and leave the planet, I don’t have to stay and watch.

But it would happen in his mind; there he would see the death and devastation; for the first time since the project began, a year ago, after his brother nearly succeeded in getting the fleet out of Limbo, Loki was having doubts. It had begun then, with just a fervent wish to escape the confines of Dimensional Limbo, just like the dreams of any other Saurian still trapped within.

Loki Hashu Nakara had been living for what felt like sixteen years, but what outside was probably over a century. The unbalance had always unnerved him but he’d grown to live with it, as had the other Saurians trapped in the Hell side of Limbo. In Hell there was fire; the area looked like a volcanic eruption of its own, spouting geysers over an ever-changing surface. Everything was covered in a darkness, like a wet blanket draped over your eyes, and at ‘night’ it was barely see through until a spew of molten rock shot out from near your feet, lighting the immediate surroundings.

They lived in the Cells; caves which did not change shape, guarded by B.R.A.W.N. robots and a few living aliens of various races. There was intense boredom, but hard work always seemed to be created out of nowhere for a discontent prisoner to do. It was gruelling, as he well knew, and sometimes they died from injuries sustained or small accidents that became fatal.

It was no life, yet he’d been born into it, his mother taken from him when he was only three, left to the mercy of his older siblings. Once he had endured the abuse of five, but then the oldest, Lilith Nakara-Ra, was killed by Diablo, easily the most powerful of the six. Then Set, next oldest after Diablo, was killed by the youngest female sibling Tyrana, who, in turn, was challenged to fight by Dragaunus. She may or may not have been killed, because the B.R.A.W.N. separated the two when she had sustained injuries to her throat and stomach. She was taken away, and what had become of her no one knew. Diablo and Dragaunus then only had Loki and themselves to destroy, but this fighting had alerted the B.R.A.W.N. who placed all three of them in separate Cells. Loki had grown up alone, but had often watched his siblings.

While Diablo was the brawn, Dragaunus was the brains, yet with those terms they equalled one another; despite Diablo’s overpowering presence. Neither of them had liked Loki much but while Dragaunus had merely hated him Diablo loathed his very life, often making gruesome threats, whispering them when Loki was trying to sleep. He had put up with this for eight years. Eight years of mental torture; it ended with what had come to be known as the Great Escape.

A gang of Saurians broke out of their Cells, shutting off the powergrid and setting everyone free. Most were too shocked to move but Loki thought on his feet and he was quickly running with the great surge that stampeded out of the cells across the landscape of Limbo’s Hell. The B.R.A.W.N.’s caught many, killed others, but what was left of the mass that made it out crossed the borders into what was known as Heaven. A land of quiet, of tropical jungles and lush savannas and swamps, hills and lakes, it had been like home in an elevated way. There were many crashed ships around, nosedived into the earth or just laying about in a wreck, and that was where they made their homes, in the cabins and quarters of the broken space craft.

Loki had made it. So had his brothers, although he often wished they’d been left behind or shot. But he had made it. Heaven was so totally the opposite of Hell and it was now home. Still, it was not their real home; it was not Rhatarl, though there were few who even remembered it save what was described in the old tales. One Saurian, an ancient wizard known only as Wraith, was the only one who had seen Rhatarl and still lived. A pessimistic loner, the sorcerer had moved to Dragaunus’ side, while Diablo seemed to gather those of a far more sinister nature. Loki had gained no followers, merely friends in the armies, the armies of both sides in what was looking to become a war between the brothers.

And then Dragaunus left, taking only a few of his followers he vanished to another part of Heaven, where he colonised a warship known as the Raptor. Diablo stayed with the larger ships, mainly ones that had once carried cargo but still had numerous weapons on them. Loki stayed between them, not getting in their way and not helping either. He had probably turned fourteen - no one was sure of their accurate birthdates, but inwardly celebrated themselves when another year seemed to have turned - when Dragaunus made his move. The middle sibling of the Nakara line had revamped the Raptor and many other warships; over the last four years he’d created an army of robots, nowhere near as powerful as the B.R.A.W.N. but able to build more of their own, deadly in that way.

Fearing an attack Diablo called his army together, but they were shocked when Dragaunus did not send his fleet on them, instead he vanished through a Dimensional Gateway and out of Limbo.

He had left behind a disbelieving race. They turned to Diablo and demanded that he get them out, but the oldest sibling had no idea how Dragaunus had managed it. Another few months passed slowly, and then a telecommunical link had come through from Dragaunus, telling them to be ready as the Gate would soon be opened.

Diablo had got the fleets together. The Gateway was opened but just as quickly slammed shut again in their faces. Most, including Diablo, felt it had all been planned, done on purpose to dash their hopes. And maybe it had. But Loki had seen the outside world for the first time, and his hopes had not been destroyed with the closing of the gateway. Perhaps, if he could get out, he would have a home, a real one, which did not leave you stunned at time’s inconsistent passage. He had seen it, and that was all the promise, all the hope he’d needed.

The bellow seemed to echo off the hills, and he jerked his head up in surprise, cringing as Diablo’s fury was unleashed on him.

“Loki you worm in Saurian guise, have you finalised the plans yet?”

“Not.. not yet, Diab... my liege,” Loki stammered, having never become used to calling his brother by anything but his name, even after these last years.

Diablo growled, his red eyes flaming hotter than the lava pits of Hell.

“I don’t tolerate slackness!” he roared, slamming a fist down on the desk and throwing papers up in a cloud. “If you do not bring those plans to me, finished, I’ll make sure you...! What’s this?!” In one giant hand he grabbed a sheet, eyes skimming over it. “A Dimensional... you pathetic little slug, you’ve been hiding this from me, haven’t you? You’ve been planning on making a Gateway Generator for yourself!”

“No sir, it’s just an idea, I don’t think it will even work. It needs a powerful source like bulyrium crystals to work and they’re scarce now, Dragaunus took most of it to power his fleet.”

Diablo growled, looking out through the broken window at the area of sky which once had been a rip in the fabric of time and space, ready to deliver them from Limbo. “Dragaunus will pay for leaving us to wither in Limbo!” he snarled. “I’ll rip his throat apart with my own claws and dine on his living flesh!” Stabbing a taloned finger at Loki he added. “I want the plans for my supership ready within the month.”

“Yes sir,” said Loki, shrinking away from the sickle-like claw. Diablo left like a thundercloud, and as his footsteps died away Loki sat up straighter, sneering. “I’d like to see you build a ship for a hundred, darthan-barglu!”

Hissing softly he picked up the various plans off the floor, piling them neatly on the desk. His workspace and a bed was all he had in his small room, and the room was the only place he could roam free in. It was cramped, about the size of a broom closet with one lone, broken window and a door that was jammed open; he had no privacy at all, but since few people came past this end of the ship - as ship stuck halfway into the hills - he did not really need it. Occasionally Diablo would drop by, however, and then Loki would wish that the door could have slammed shut on his tail.

“Mesa maseh mesa,” he muttered, taking out the latest plan of the ship. It was two hundred metres in width, a little more than that in length. If built, it would take about a year; it had everything Diablo wanted - weapons, quarters, engines powered by bulyrium crystals... if they could find any.

Bulyrium was rare enough in Limbo, and Dragaunus had all but cleared it out completely. Finding enough to power a ship this size might possibly be, well, impossible. He spread the sheet, and sat down, staring at it. He was the ideas reptile behind everything, or at least a lot of the things. Not having the strength or cunning of his older brothers he made himself useful by having an imagination which sailed the universe, bringing images which could be converted into reality. It would be death to admit it, but he was the one who had come up with the idea of Hunter Drones.

The Dimensional Gateway Generator was been entirely of Dragaunus’ creation from start to finish, yet Loki knew many of the components because his brother was not about to go trudging around getting them himself, was he? And who better to use as a fetcher than someone his brothers thought of as a Canis? Loki scratched a little picture on the desk with one claw, and the twisted, badly put together piece of furniture screeched as he did so. What he needed was an escape, and perhaps now he would get that. Of course, it was just as likely that Diablo would leave him behind to rot here in so-called Heaven.

Of course, if he tried hard, he could always take over the ship.

Yeah, suuure, the daemons of Doubt jeered at him, You’re young, stringy, you vomit at the sight of blood, how can you stand up to Diablo in battle when you can’t even stand straight in his presence?

Loki shook his head; it didn’t need to be in battle, there were other ways to discredit someone in the eyes of followers. In fact, the idea was taking a serious hold in his mind now. There was a way, surely, that he could make Diablo stumble, and keep the blame far away from him? He stared down at the plans. Then he sifted through the others and brought out a small piece of paper, with written details on bulyrium crystals. They were found only in one area of Limbo - the ice caves in Hell - were very unstable if not kept in a cold environment, and were explosive upon impact.

“What are you working on now?”

The voice was sudden and Loki, startled, sprang backwards and fell over his chair, lading badly on the floor where he stared up in surprise.

“Max, don’t do that to me!” he said, picking himself up and rubbing his bare, and now bruised, back. “You know it scares me silly.” His eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that was why you did it.”

Maxikirian Thocla laughed softly, his green eyes glowing. “Neither would I, my friend. But tell me, why are you still alive? Diablo was in such a rage I felt sure he’d have ripped your head off. He might yet.”

“Thank you for the optimistic assessment of my survival chances, Max,” Loki said glumly. “I mean, it’s really just made my day.”

“Bad time?”

“I have one month to get these plans finished and the ship ready to be tested out.” He looked down again at the notes on bulyrium crystals. “I wish you had completed your training with Wraith, then perhaps you could just conjure up some crystals for me.”

“Not even Wraith could create stable bulyrium crystals,” Maxikirian said.

Loki looked up at the sorcerer. Max was a very dramatic figure, not of build, because he was skinny as a dowelling rod, and very sly and snaky in looks, with dull dark blue scales. Admittedly the russet bodysuit and silver cape helped, but it was more the way he held himself: always drifting on the thin line of insubordination; never cringing when Diablo walked past. Loki admired him for that.

“Well, it means a trip to the ice caves.” He saw Max shudder. “It’s no use asking you to come, is it?”

“Don’t even try.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Maxikirian watched him for a moment, and then bent his long neck down to look over the plans laid out on his desk. “A mighty ship,” he commented. “How will it be built?”

“Well, this cargo ship is going to be the main body. We’ll have to dig it out of the hill somehow, we could use a few landslips if you don’t mind.” Loki grinned, cocking his head to one side. “And then there are the weapons, we can snatch them from other ships, your sister will be able to fix them up with some help.”

“Canth can fix anything,” Max said, some pride entering his normally dry, sardonic tones.

“I know, but the ship isn’t the problem! It’s the crystals, and there are very few here who can stand the cold, me and Diablo are an exception but...” It hit him like a boulder between the eyes. “That’s it!” he said, slamming a fist into one palm. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it I’ve got it! Hahaaah!”

Max looked puzzled. “What have you got?”

“Oh, nothing that directly concerns you, old friend, just perhaps clearing a little enmity between my brother and I.”

“You’re going to kill him?”

“No!” Loki shied from the thought. “I want to survive, I’m not suicidal. Just discredit him perhaps. I’ll need a few of his more disloyal followers to come along though.”

“Eyewitnesses?”

“You could say that.” Loki grinned, his golden yellow eyes flaming with the thought of at last getting his own back on his tormenter of so many years. “You could say that!”

But, despite Loki’s careful planning, the whole scheme seemed to fall apart once they left Heaven and re-entered the volcanic area of Hell.

It seethed as usual, and the border - a six metre high fence of powerfully electrified wires - sparked occasionally as rock blown from the ground touched its glowing aura and were immediately atomised. Loki watched it nervously, shifting from one foot to the other on Heaven’s grass; it was not an awe-inspiring barrier but still deadly, generating heat enviable by the most blistering lake of magma.

“Ridiculous!” Diablo snarled bad-temperedly, his tail lashing back and forth, nearly tripping Loki more than once. “This whole escapade was absurd! If we set one foot back on Hell the B.R.A.W.N. will be after us quicker than I can slit a throat.”

“Diablo... my liege,” Loki added quickly. “The ice caves are the only place left where we will be able to find the bulyrium crystals! We have to go there or the ship will never get off the ground.”

“What do you take me for?” his brother roared, eyes flaming a red as violent as the sudden miniature eruption of lava not two-hundred feet away. “I know where the bulyrium crystals are! If you dare to think...!”

“Sir!” Connac said loudly. “With all due respect we should get moving, or the B.R.A.W.N. will catch up with us as soon as they detect our presence.”

Diablo turned from him, growling deep in his throat. He did not say anything, at least nothing comprehensible, but walked up to the fence, pulled a large laser - salvaged from one of the warships - from his back and fiddled with the controls. Then he hefted it up and blew a hole through which the largest Saurian could have entered.

The fiery ball carried on until it struck a mountain and gouged out a scoop of rock in the explosion. Loki winced; he could imagine the turning of large, golden metallic heads...

Diablo was, of course, the first through, followed by Queller and Scun; Connac walked over to Loki and gave him an encouraging grin.

“Come on, Loke, it’s your mission. I can’t say I’m exactly grateful for being picked but hey, it beats sittin’ in the sun growing fat under my scales.”

“Loki, Connac, get your miserable tails out here and start walking!”

Loki moaned softly. “I don’t know, I could live with eternal sunbathing.”

It was hard to walk in a place where the earth continuously shifted under your feet; Loki and Queller - the smallest of the five - kept stumbling as hills rose slowly, but not slow enough, to make every step treacherous. There was also the danger of a sudden bursting forth of fire from the ground, but there were usually a few warning thumps before it happened, enabling them to get out of the way. All in all it was not a smooth journey; it was not a social journey either, barely a word passed between anyone save for the occasional swearing as the rock under their foot became a small valley instead. Loki hated every moment of it, and the relief was almost incapacitating when he finally spotted the ever-steady Sheol Mountains - the only area in Hell that kept to the same shape all the time - as a hill sank down to reveal them.

“Aalslith,” he gasped. “I thought we’d never get there!”

Diablo gave a disgusted snort and moved on. It was growing steadily cooler, and by the time the five reached the base of the mountains it was cold enough to have snow, and the white powdered ice made for thick, frozen barriers; Loki’s normally dark red scales were paling as they froze, and the heart-shaped pad on the end of his tail attracted annoying icicles. It was bad enough to be somewhere between warm and cold blooded, but when you didn’t wear any clothes save for a pair of loose summer shorts you began to realise that the cold was really much, much colder than you’d thought. Connac and the other two wore thick grey bodysuits, so were mostly unaffected. With his armour and dark blue robes Diablo remained untouched by the cold and was showing it by keeping to the fore, ploughing through the snowdrifts.

Loki was beginning to see the benefit of warm textiles; it was a pity that he couldn’t feel them too. The ground, now frozen solid, barely moved but now it wasn’t the motion but the smoothness that kept them skidding; ice formed in patches all over the solid ground, invisible until you stepped on it, whizzing forward before being dumped in a snowdrift to freeze. Loki had already done that twice by the time they reached the caves, and to find the floor of the cavern was entirely ice did not lift his spirits from their currently much-downtrodden position.

Darthan! he thought irritably. Darthan, darthan, and more bloody darthan; I bruise, I freeze, now I’ll break my neck and dear old big brother hasn’t got a single mark on his godsdamn hide!

“Oy,” Connac whispered, looking up with wide eyes. “Get a load of the sharp ends on those things!”

Loki followed his gaze. He saw waterfalls, frozen while plunging through the air, now just carved beauty scaling the walls. Above them hung millions of sharp stalactitical icicles, glittering in what very little light reached in through the mouth of the cave; an army of spears ready to drop on an unsuspecting invader.

His neck craned around, and then settled on the opposite wall. Gazing distortedly back at him, his mirror-image made faces. Loki walked across and ran a hand down the ice; it was incredibly smooth, save for the occasional rut, as though something had slashed a great claw across it. There was another one spaced a few centimetres away, and a third a little further up; standing back, it did look rather like a clawing mark.

“Stop day-dreaming you little maggot!”

Diablo grabbed him roughly by a shoulder and twisted Loki about to face him; losing his balance, Loki slipped on the ice, crashed down onto his back and shot off down the ice with a yell that echoed through the cavern. There was a low rumble from above, and he dug his claws into the ice, stopping with a grating screech as he carved out his own claw marks in the frozen lake. A crack from above; something glittery fell down, spearing the ice just in front of him, missing his tail by a fraction of an centimetre. Giggling nervously, but softly, Loki used it to pull himself upright, and, spreading his toes, pushed off, gliding across the slippery ice to the opposite bank.

Connac followed his lead, but the other three just walked, skidded or scampered respectively. With an almost inaudible sigh, Loki turned and walked into the darkness of the caves. The bulyrium crystals would be found in the deeper caves; he pulled a pair of rocks out of his pocket and struck them together; the bright sparking showed that the flints were in perfect working order.

“Scun, hand me that torch stick, would you?”

Scun loped over, reached back and tossed the stick at him, which he caught clumsily in his hands, dropping one of the flint stones. The crack that it made echoed noisily, but there were no icicles in this section of the cave; the roof was lower now, almost a tunnel. Picking up the flint again Loki struck a light, and the oil doused rags burst into flame, lighting up the tunnel and creating flickering shadows. He walked in the lead, a fact that quite clearly infuriated Diablo, but for some reason his older brother said nothing about it. On they walked, every step lighting another patch in front of them and plunging the area behind into shadow, so that soon they could no longer see the main cavern.