Yzarc fed the dying fire a chunk of knotted driftwood, then looked up and stared at the shrouded alien in wonder. His comrades had fallen asleep on the African beach, forming a ring of limp bodies around the glowing embers. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the sound of waves.

  The alien clasped his charcoal robe to ward off a chilly breeze racing inland from the Atlantic Ocean and sighed. “You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you?”

  “We believe you,” replied Yzarc. “My crew, they’re just tired. We chased your ship all morning and six hours of storytelling is a bit much for them.”

  “You need sleep as well. I should stop, then.”

  “No, please go on! I can’t bear the thought of sleep with your story only half told.”

  The alien glanced at his damaged x-craft, which had plunged nose-first into a bank of sand after colliding with Yzarc’s not-plane, the Nottingham 23. “My situation is hopeless. I’ll never get my x-craft running again… not on this planet. I came as a last resort, convinced that here I might find the solution to my troubles. But I now see how hopeless my situation truly is. I should never have come.”

  Yzarc rose in protest, then sat back down on a half-rotten stump. “Do not give up so easily! I promise my team will assist you in any way we can. Our lab back at Sector 23 is top notch. We’ll get you back running.”

  “It will take more than a working x-craft to stop this war from wiping out your planet.”

  “You keep saying that. Surely you are exaggerating.”

  “I mean every word. The Xenonites are on their way, and the Vorians are close behind. Earth is doomed, and I as well. My life’s work has been for naught.”

  “Tell me more about the Xenonites and the Vorians. Why is there such enmity between them?”

  “I already told you of the Dictator, and his wars against the inner planets.”

  “But where did these races come from? How did they first meet, and what set off all these wars?”

  “I can only give you my best understanding of this ancient history, for this is one of the great secrets kept from even the Ciri. But I have learned much in my travels, so I will explain it as concise as I can. Should we wake the others?”

  “No, let them rest.”

  “Very well, then.” The alien stared into the sky, his eyes focusing on a certain star that burned a bit brighter and redder than those around it, and resumed his tale:

  “You must first understand that this galaxy does not belong to one kind of people. On worlds uncountable, life rose and began to create order in their own image. Your kind raised cities from the dust of Mesopotamia. On Casura, the Rimilthia cast mighty monuments into the marble cliffs. On Shamonj, the Sheeple drew roads and borders upon their planet.

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  “But the Xenonites and the Vorians were different. While humanity still hewed wood and chipped stone, they were traversing the galaxy. They were the first to discover that great fact: they were not alone.

  “At first, there was wonder. Trade. Shared discoveries. Two brilliant civilizations meeting at the dawn of interstellar travel.

  “But among the Vorians arose a ruthless Dictator named Yural,” he said with a shiver. “He dreamed of a galaxy controlled by the Vorians alone. When Narsath and the other Vorian scientists invented the space-time engine, enabling their ships to cross vast stretches of space without the passing of time, he seized the opportunity.

  “The invasion came without warning. Vorian fleets tore through the outer systems, their space-time ships slipping across distance as though it were nothing. Those they encountered had never fought such a war. One by one, planets fell to Vorian control until their fleet was nearly upon Xenon itself.

  “What saved them,” the alien continued, “was betrayal. And love also, though few know that part of the tale. Narsath and the other scientists were horrified when they learned their technology was being used for war and not peace. With the aid of Alexander, they defected to the Xenonites, bringing with them a host of the fastest ships.

  “Armed with those vessels, the Xenonites drove the Vorians back. The First Great War ended not in annihilation, but in a bargain. The Dictator surrendered his fleet. The Vorians were left to rule their own space. The defecting scientists would remain on Xenon, building ships for their new allies, but they kept the secret of their technology to themselves.

  “For a time,” the alien said, “peace held. Uneasy, watchful peace.

  “But no one anticipated what happened next. Though the signs were there, none realized until too late that the Vorian scientists were going insane. One by one, they lost all knowledge of science, useless to the Xenonites and abandoning their work on the ships, some even disappearing altogether. The Xenonites, fearing the loss of their advantage, pressed them for answers. Before any truth could be forced from them, the scientists vanished entirely.

  “The great space-time ships fell into disrepair. Some were lost in battle. Others simply failed. Alexander disappeared. The last functioning ship was lost searching for him.

  “And with that,” he finished, “the Xenonites lost the means to effectively reach Vorian space. As for the Vorians, also without space-time ships, their conquests were limited to distant worlds, those beyond the protection of Xenon.”

  Yzarc considered this. “Planets like Earth, then.”

  “Oh no, Earth is nowhere near Vorian Space. Much has changed. Things are very bad.”

  “Then the Xenonites will stop the Vorians? There will be a Second Great War, and again the Vorians will be pushed back?”

  The alien shook his head. “It is much worse… I have not finished my story! There already was a Second Great War.”

  “And what? The Xenonites lost?”

  “No, no, they won.”

  “So what are the Vorians doing here? Will there be a Third Great War?”

  “Not between the Vorians and the Xenonites.”

  Yzarc stared at the alien in confusion. “Why ever not? They’re mortal enemies!”

  “It’s not quite that simple.” The alien poked nervously at the campfire with the toe of his boot. “This time they’re allied.”

  Yzarc nearly fell off his stump. “Um, you’d better tell me about the Second Great War.”

  “Do you remember the Sheek Wanderer I told you about, who after becoming a Ciri decided to fly a ship to the End of the Galaxy?”

  “Daved Breggs?”

  “Yes, he is important to my tale. The Second Great War begins with him.”

  The alien continued his story, but there was much he left out or did not know. Furthermore, the alien had no idea that during the Second Great War, events were taking place on the planet Earth of great significance. Therefore, since the alien’s story was both incomplete and partially inaccurate, here follows a more complete version of his tale, which must begin, as the alien noted, with the Sheek Ciri Daved Breggs who in the year 684 A.D. has reached the planet Gabbledom.