Root of Evil

Thick flakes of down tumbled in the sky’s torrents. At moments, they were caught by uplifting air and thrown in every direction. The white, feather-length webs of ice settled in huge heaps of blanch-blue and piled headstone height against the walls of a small cabin.

Hioni spent nearly its entire year cycle well away from the single star of the like-named system. Three frozen through spheres dwarfed the small planet, each more inhospitable than the last.

A warm, heavy, orange glow radiated from frosted windows. Rock hard logs formed the sturdy walls of the well-worn shelter—it had seen worse winters. Steady puffs of gray-black smoke circled from a baked-clay chimney in the center of the octagonal cabin. The home smelled inviting—the scent of fresh bread and ginger lingered in the otherwise smell-less wind.

Huddled next to the building, a bank of high snow covered a battered shuttle bruised and scored nearly all over. Its metallic surface was covered in delicate crystals that, in turn, were sheathed in a blanket of white. It appeared as if a giant feline crouched underneath, waiting for unsuspecting prey to wander by.

The atmosphere within the nearly buried house would have been cheerful if it weren’t for the dark cloud that raged, blotting out the sun. A voice, a tempest in a land of meditation, spat scorn. It was slick with fresh rage and full of bite.

“How dare you keep this from me!” Bitterness seethed from every syllable.

“I, I wanted to surprise you, Antiquo. I thought, I thought you’d be—“

“Be what! Happy?!”

“Yes,” the female voice sounded dejected, distraught, and completely lost. “I thought you would be,” a weakness threatened to destroy the last word, “happy.” She whispered, for fear of being heard, “I thought you would be happy.”

“Sandra, you fool! You fool! How could you let this happen! I want you to get rid of him!”

“Him?”

“Yes, of him. If you don’t, I’ll leave and never come back! You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

The answer was weak and distant, “No.”

“Good. Then it’s settled, tomorrow you’ll see a doctor—“

“No. I won’t kill my baby!” There was strength in that last statement. Power beyond the simple words used. Sandra wouldn’t concede this argument. It would be the only one against Antiquo that she ever won—If she could’ve seen how events turned out, maybe she would’ve given in to the man's insistence.

Khendon coughed with vigor, his breaths came in deep wheezes. The boy shook his head clear and narrowed his eyes. At 30,000 feet oxygen deprivation would soon cause anyone not acclimated to the planet’s high elevation to become disoriented, their peripheral vision would become a blur, and their body, unable to burn carbohydrates without oxygen, would be on the verge of death.

Not so for the native climber. The young Sevon crimped a hold at head level with his bare hand. The exposed rock was as cold as the sheer ice band that he had just finished ascending with the aid of his crampons and hammer. Now, with the stone exposed and no need for the sharp protrusions on his boots, the blades had receded into housings specially integrated into the lower waterproofing.

The boy of seventeen scrutinized the face above him and near his feet—no holds were visible. He ran his free hand over the rough, cold surface and found it nearly smooth. A technical move was required. Khendon tested his handhold and footing, it was just good enough for what he had in mind.

The dyno would be risky, but something in the young man’s mind told him he had nothing to fear. There was a peace at this height. His climbing gear was thin—millennia of technical innovation had minimized his protective clothing and equipment.

The silver-eyed youth leaned back slightly, shifting most of his weight to his leg, and clamped his free hand onto the small indent his other clung to. His finger tips began to rebel, pain grew in the cold, sore joints. He only had a few seconds left before his muscles would begin to shake and eventually buckle.

Khendon’s legs, like tight coils, released and shot him into the air. Power flowed from his body in one mighty surge of athleticism. He stretched full length and his arms pounded in one clean stroke forward, palms exposed, fingers reaching.

Behind the boy the sun was just beginning to rise. Pink streaks blushed the white-azure horizon. Fog, clouds drifting by the mountainside, moved and revealed the Sevon cabin only a few thousand feet below. Everywhere the eye fell, white greedily clung to the sharp curves of titan peaks. Green interrupted the pearly painting lower down on the mountains. Trees waited for the winter’s final stroke to end and summer’s warm tendrils to thaw and bring about budding.

The summer was near, as the peach in the sky attested. Soon there would be mass melting and the valleys, thousands of feet below any inhabited region, would fill with the deluge of crisp mountain runoff. Hioni would approach dangerously close to the system’s bright burning star and become a scorching series of desolate islands.

As the summer continued the great seas would evaporate, those regions locked on all sides by mountains would become desert wastelands. Animals would move out of the region and into the more humid high-plains. After three months of constant bombardment, the snow would begin again. It was a vicious cycle, but one that the inhabitants were well accustomed to.

Khendon’s body soared free through the air without a rope or emergency repulsor to arrest a miscalculation’s disaster. His back arched as he overshot his hold and brought his arms down, muscles rippling with concentrated power. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of free flight, both hands grasped the solid jug hold and he continued on to the summit of the mighty mountain.

Khendon brought his leg up and, gasping for air, set himself down on the top of the world. His eyes surveyed the brilliance of the rising sun. As the ball of flame grew in the sky it sent streaks of radiant colors across the otherwise bare expanses. The clouds were nearly all gone.

“Summer will be here soon,” said a deep voice laced with power.

The boy stood and tried to take a deep breath, his lungs, although extremely strong and adapted for the high altitude, still burned with rage. Coldness seeped into every joint in his body. He knew there was only a limited amount of time he could spend so far up on mount Psophose without a mask.

“I, I,” he tried to compose himself, arms pressed against his legs as he gasped, “tried to, to get here faster.”

“What if someone was relying on you? You were reckless, I was watching.”

“I was just having some, some fun.”

“And while you were having fun your mark could’ve gotten away. You’d be a failure. Your master would kill you.”

“I am not a failure!” The young man coughed uncontrollably for a moment.

“Then prove it! Do you have the energy left to kill me!?” Antiquo threw a katana in the air over Khendon’s head. The boy fumbled and nearly lost his balance before catching the blade’s hilt.

The young Sevon didn't even have time to ready himself, his father drove forward with the business end of his weapon. In a flash of steel and a shower of sparks, the two blades collided. The heel of Khendon’s boot was already several centimeters over the edge of the cliff and his father was pushing with all of his force—trying to throw his son from the mountain.

“Father! I, I—“

“I will kill you, Khendon. Do something about it.”

“But—“

“DO IT!” The man’s voice was dark and coated in a thick, rancid layer of persuasion.

Khendon rotated his blade, shifted his weight to his right foot, and brought the pummel of his weapon into his father’s face. A spatter of blood stained the fresh snow. In a smooth transition the youngster bolted away from the edge and brought himself into a defensive stance—he was now prepared for another one of his father’s bloody beatings. Maybe this time the young Sevon would only require a week to get over his wounds.

As the sun’s chariot blazed a path through the crisp morning sky fire of equal intensity splashed the freshly fallen snow. The clatter of steel on steel resonated with ever increasing volume. Even here, on this clean, pure mountain, dark energies collected. A shadow, without clouds to explain it, seemed to stretch its mighty veil across the summit.

Khendon’s face suddenly exploded in pain as a blade swipe made contact. Warmth flooded from his visage and trickled down his cheek in a torrent of excruciating throbbing—he could sense his life energy ebbing with every forced breath. The attack was followed by a stiff kick to the youth’s knee that buckled his legs. The boy fell into the pillows of snow with a soft thud.

Tiny crystals that once possessed a blue hue quickly turned crimson. Like a poison in water, the stream of bodily fluid spread in deeply colored tendrils. Khendon lay on his back, body covered in snow, eyes fixated on the burning heaven.

“Not good enough, get up.”

Tears welled up in the young Sevon’s eyes and finally broke free. With effort the boy sat up and threw aside his katana. “No.”

“GET UP!”

“No!” Defiance radiated from silver eyes. Antiquo sheathed his weapon and snarled. His dark features spat venom in his son’s direction.

“You spoiled brat! You’ll gain respect for me yet!” The muscular man sent an aimed kick to Khendon’s stomach. A full breath fled large, muscular lungs. The beaten boy clasped his body and curled into a ball to protect his vital organs from the looming onslaught.

Antiquo broke a sweat, and for that he spent twenty minutes “straightening out” young Khendon.

The warming rays of the sun melted away behind a collection of gray clouds thick as winter blankets. Temperatures plummeted and the wind kicked up. The world fell into darkness and the summit became draped in lulling, deep fog. A tempest began fatal brewing from the north pass. Its sweet fermentation of destruction would wash the peak in weather beyond man’s coping.

Broken, Khendon’s body remained a pile of damaged, motionless flesh. A fresh sprinkling of snow covered the destroyed boy. The young Sevon had remained at high elevation for a duration beyond possible survivability. There was no hope left.

Hope. Hope was not what that poor boy needed. Something else pulsed through his veins, its venomous intent took control of his muscles and nerves one by fatal one. On the brink of death, with only a single breath left in his lungs, a voice whispered to the smashed youth.

“Rise, Son of Antiquo! Rise, Follower of the True Path! You are not yet defeated!” An electricity radiated from the ancient tongue that spoke. Each syllable fed an unseen furnace within Khendon’s breast. The fire was fanned until it was capable of melting the very ice of Hioni.

Blue lips found no moisture. A face, bloated and frozen, flexed ever so slightly. Muscles, that had moments before been cells of ice ready to explode, thawed. Although the boy’s arm still faced the wrong way and deep crimson-black marred the snow beneath, life returned to the lifeless.

Eyes, blinded from hours of exposure to high intensity UV light reflecting off white, blinked and cleared. Young Sevon’s wounds were healed.

“Good! Gooood! Now, Stand.”

Khendon placed a hand into the blood stained ice crystals and propped himself up. A knee found purchase and, trembling, propelled him to his nearly crippled feet. Legs shook under the strain of being weighted. A strong breeze nearly blew Antiquo’s son off the nearby ledge.

“Arise, Son! Behold your Greatest of Great Grandfathers! Starter of the line of Heladune, first to embrace the Shadow’s secret!”

A patch of black clouds vibrated violently as crackling energy touched the peak of mount Psophose. The blue streak danced from one end of the level ground to the next. Electricity sparked in the cold air and ignited particles in excitement.

In that fracture of an instant an explosion riveted the lulling air. An eruption of contained power broke its seal and flooded in one continuous stream towards the young Sevon with the full force of a thousand brutal rancors.

Azure fire unfolded from nothing and followed an unseen path of combustion. It burned bright blue-white and was fanned by an invisible force that stroked the flames to arm height.

Faster than light the damned energies steamrolled the battered boy. A sudden uplifting signaled that the body had been conveyed into the air by the collision. The sensation was quickly followed by an immense and ever increasing sense of falling—for that is what happens when something is thrown from a cliff and gravity is present.

“ONE CHANCE. PROVE YOUR WORTH.” The words were burned into the youth’s brain, each letter freshly smoldering from its invisible author’s painful pen.

“How,” Khendon couldn’t even hear his own voice over the deafening sound of air surging past him, let alone think.

“Find me.”

Find you? How! A knot of confusion and frustration tightened deep in the hollow of Khendon’s chest as his body fell like a stone from heaven. His brow folded in concentration as he though for the answer. Mind working like lighting, he searched for the answer in the recesses of his memory.

Something clicked in the back of the youth’s conscious thought—a bred-in understand. The young Sevon closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. His muscles relaxed. He became one with the storm raging around the dark, desolate mountain.

Khendon knew the rocks; but, not because he recalled every handhold or buttress. There was an understanding as if his mind were reading a map of the current expanses of stone. A tingling worked its way up his spine and reached the back of his neck. The world opened its secret door and revealed every contour of the rock wall.

Arresting several hundred feet of freefall without the proper gear is nearly impossible. The young boy shot out a hand and nimbly brought his body around and onto a handhold. With a huff he smacked into the wall—face and all. The impact wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. His hands weren’t even cut from the sudden shock of gripping rock.

New confusion filled Khendon’s mind. What was happening? How could this be real? Had the voice of his Grandfather—or whoever or whatever that was—helped him?

Finally, the young Sevon opened his eyes. It was as if he had suddenly been removed from sensory deprivation, he could make out the intricate curves of the gray stone, smell fresh mountain flowers in the nearby crack, taste the moisture in the air, and hear the whispers of the wind.

Everything was coming into sharper focus. Like a vice, Khendon’s mind clasped the task at hand. “You said ‘find me,’ that’s just what I’ll do,” he mumbled under his no longer labored breath and began down climbing the route.

Khendon stepped onto the ice shelf and pressed his body close to the cold, frozen stone. He could feel cool wind tickle his exposed flesh. The boy’s face had already started to heal itself. The insuperable spirit of the young Sevon had manifested and initiated the long recuperation from overexposure to the deadly elements of the mountain.

Nimble, warm fingers found purchase on a difficult hold and held fast as the youth threw himself into a small opening in the side of the mountain. The wind whistled past the mouth and blew with it fragments of ice and fresh snow. Darkness fell and clasped Hioni in a black blanket.

Antiquo’s son fell on his hands and knees and moved through the constricting ice tunnel. His fingers felt along the smooth walls and guided him without sight. Occasionally he would have to dig out collapsed sections of the small crawl space. Yet, his body remained a flame of warmth in the void. His physical self was responding to a situation it had evolved to cope with—the unique climate of the virtually wasteland planet.

Khendon cupped his hand and pulled a great handful of loose snow from an obstruction. As he threw the cold dust aside, a crimson light filtered through the newly formed hole. Excitement welled up like a great geyser and spilled over any containing brim.

“I’ve found it,” his voice was hoarse and dry. Chapped lips, nearly blue and with blisters forming, broke into a menacing grin.

The young Sevon dove through the blockage and into the glow.

The room was a straight up shaft rising several hundred meters vertically. Every few body lengths, a slight ledge formed by the melting and freezing cycle could barely be made out. A hollow, dripping whistling swam through the air in an unattached moan.

Scarlet filtered from the highest visible tier, a beam of energy radiating down to where Khendon now stood. The youth’s heart skipped a beat. There was something familiar and correct about this place. The grandeur seemed perfect for its purpose. It’s purpose? The young Sevon knew the room’s reason for being. It was a crypt.

Hioni had only a few places of rest that possessed such titanic proportions. Generally they were reserved for the richer classes. The entrance tunnel was cut with plasma tipped drills until an ice pocket was hit. The cool stone of the mountain acted as a buffer and prevented the melting of the frozen water.

A series of plasma cutters were used to finally shape the mausoleum. One of this size could house upwards of one hundred corpses. However, as far as Khendon could see all of the tears, save one, had never had shelves cut into them.

Silver eyes danced around the beautiful cavern. The young Sevon ran a hand over the cool, smooth ice and excitement perked up in his chest. “You’re here.” His words echoed upward and away.

“I am.” Spoke the voice of Khendon’s heritage. “Now, climb. Then your lessons will begin… and I will end.”

Something in the boy told him not to ask questions. Instead, he unfolded his pick and slammed it into the ice wall. Climbing this would be difficult in perfect health. Although Khendon had healed substantially, he still was not at his best.

A succession of difficult handholds and painful acrobatic moves found the youth pulling his weight onto a shelf a full hundred meters above the floor. The crimson flame had become a towering pillar of smoldering, semi-transparent ash looming at a tall, rectangular entrance leading into the side of the ledge.

In an instant the bright blaze died down and took the form of a red tinted old man. The bent and decrepit figure wore robes covered in runes and markings. Something, an odd sense of understanding, brought Khendon to his knees in a bow.

The hologram-like face of the man smiled menacingly, “Rise, my final apprentice. You soon shall be too great to bow to any.”

The young Sevon stood up tall and cast his silver eyes onto the shadow figure’s face. “You are no man, what are you?”

“Bold, bold. Brash, too. You remind me of my son and former apprentice, Darth Valhadoom. Let me paint a picture for you, young Heladune:

“There was a time when the skills of an individual made a difference. I was a great Jedi killer. They fouled the waters of the galaxy with their religious fervor and foolish ideals. All the Sith ever wanted was peace and cooperation. We saw that men and women possessed skills! So, they were placed accordingly.

“If a man was born to rule, he should RULE! That was our belief. But the Jedi were naïve. A war started, a great war. Hioni was my home. From here I ruled all of the house Heladune—our blood runs through your veins, my son.

“Alas, the Jedi saw to the end of my days. In this very place I was cornered by ten mighty warriors! Ten! The Jedi couldn’t even face me one on one. Each was a master in his own right. I slew the first, then the next!

“Soon, the walls were stained with blood and there were only two left! Years of training in high atmosphere—like you have done—made me strong. Inside,” the figure pointed to the rectangular entrance, “we battled! Those deceivers! They brought down the mountain on my head and RAN!

“Cowards. All Jedi are cowards. They hide behind ideals and philosophy! They are just as human and just as flawed as we! Ha!” A wicked, tortured laugh escaped tormented lips. “I will have the last laugh! You see, I never left this place. Yes! Yes!” Khendon’s eyes went wide with astonishment, his mouth nearly dropped open.

“I have been here in spirit for thousands of years! I have waited for a time when one of my own blood, worthy of training, would arrive! That time, young Khendon, is at hand!”

The word “training” had always been painful for Khendon; it usually resulted in bruised and flayed flesh. A cringe nearly formed on smooth flesh. “Master? What training?”

The apparition smiled with intimate knowledge. “None the likes of your father would ever be able to comprehend. Never the less, the skills I will impart you with must never, NEVER be exposed to anyone… unless you are planning on killing them. And kill them you must!

“My Apprentice, you will destroy the blight of the Jedi. I foresee this.” Khendon’s silver eyes studied the figure and, after a moment, he nodded in acceptance.

“Good,” the hologram-like figure seemed as if it was fading in intensity, “our time grows short. Quickly, you will find something instrumental in clearing the debris at the mouth of my,” he chuckled the next word, “crypt.”

The boy stood and walked over to the entrance. He examined the smooth ice floor for a moment before spotting a cylindrical device similar in scope and proportions to a sword hilt. The youth picked up the cold, metallic object and turned it over in his hand.

“A lightsaber. From a more terrible era. Vicious and very, very deadly in the hands of the trained. Less cumbersome than a blaster, more precise and surgical. You’ll enjoy it. Now, switch it on.”

A snap-hiss reverberated followed by a radiating, eerie, blue glow.

The sharp features of the young Sevon changed as the steady, azure glow washed over his visage. He seemed to mature with the crackling to life of the energy weapon. Silver eyes took on an almost knowing, understanding appearance.

Clearing the fallen ice was made easy. Although the surfaces had hardened and solidified, the cobalt blade readily sliced through even the toughest facets. After only an hour of work, Khendon reached the resting place of the Sith.

“Good, Young One. You’ve learned quickly and adapted to the ways of the lightsaber! Even now your powers grow. I sense in you a greatness that will shake the foundations of this galaxy! You will become the most renowned of our line, Young Heladune.”

“Yes, Master. I will become powerful. More than you know.” Each swing of the weightless weapon had taken the boy a step closer to a dark evolution. Even now his eyes seemed weighted and resolve painted its uncanny look on his cold face.

An odd expression touched the old Sith’s face for a moment. Fear. It was fear, and Khendon realized it. “Son, look upon my broken body. Search through my pack, you will find the contents most interesting.”

Even now Khendon’s mind was being shaped into his future self. Elements were aligning that would dictate how he acted and carried out his thought process. The youth threw aside the Jedi weapon that had thawed the preserved body. He didn’t need such relics forged by fouled masters.

The lighting in the small cavern room faded, the saber’s glow gone. Nimble hands turned back the soaked flaps of the old mesh satchel and groped inside for hidden secrets. Khendon felt the hard edges of a cube and the soft turning of a cylindrical shape.

The boy revealed the second item first. It was an ancient weapon covered in mystic runes and shapes—a long dead language of damned men. Khendon thumbed the activation switch and the two-handed lightsaber hummed to life, vibrating gently as its internals woke up for the first time in thousands of years. A red glow bathed the entire chamber in crimson tidings.

“It still works,” Khendon’s voice had lost its emotion.

“Of course it does, Son! That weapon is made from some of the finest materials in the galaxy! I spent years searching for the components. But, now, now, Young One, there’s something else in that pouch.”

“This?” The boy held up the cube device.

“No. Not that, there should be something else!” Khendon turned off the weapon and clipped it onto his belt. His hand now free, he searched through the contents of the bag again.

“Yes, yes, that’s it!” The youth had held up a canister. “Open it! Open it!” Powerful fingers worked the frozen cap off the container with a loud pop.

“What’s this? Parchment?”

“Yes! Now, you will read the words with intent and focus on my image! You will gain strength and knowledge beyond your comprehension!”

The youth shot a glance at the old man and then at the parchment. “What tongue is this? I cannot read it.”

“It’s a Sith script. Focus! Relax your muscles, separate your mind from body and you will understand.”

The pulsating glow of Khendon’s master seemed to intensify with anticipation. The youth’s silver eyes studied the ancient face of the Sith with a stone-like look. “What’re you waiting for! Read it now!”

There was urgency in the old man’s voice. Something at the edge of Khendon’s consciousness sounded—a lone claxon guarding the boarder of his mind. An enemy was nearby.

“I’m going to wait a while. There’s so much to think about.”

“What is there to think about! The power I now posses can be yours! All yours! All you have to do is read! READ!”

Khendon took a breath and did as his master had told him—separated mind from body. He meditated on the growing chasm in his chest. It seemed to eat the good feelings his heart had once housed. The years of youth were stripped from the boy and he was left with malice and contempt.

Upon opening his eyes again, the young Sevon looked with understanding at the parchment. He reached out with his mind and touched the ink of the symbols and they changed into characters he understood.

“Master, what exactly will this do?”

“Give you untold power! You will be able to avenge our house. Jedi will grovel at your feet and beg for mercy! Then you will curse their names and sever their heads! You will make them bleed for what they've done!”

“Old Sith, I will give you what you ask for.”

“Good. Now, read.”

Khendon called upon the betrayal he felt in his breast and the confusion in his heart. He picked the flow of the Force out from the other currents in his mind and snapped it like a musician plucking a string. The twang reverberated through his voice and words that he had never before heard left his lips.

“What?!” Fear had returned to the Sith’s face. “WHAT! You! You bastard! What’ve you done!”

“Old Sith, I told you I’d give you what you asked for.” Khendon stood tall and a wicked smile broke out on his face. “You wanted to make me powerful, did you not?”

“No! NO! That’s not—what is happening!” The aura of energy around the founder of the line of Heladune began to swirl and pull away in great wisps. These clouds of red light lulled for a moment then pulled and bent towards Khendon.

The youth was raised from the floor, back arched, by and invisible, uplifting force. The red lines of light and energy wrapped themselves around his body in a swirling tempest and tore his shirt from his body. He screamed in pain.

Every nerve overloaded with anguish as energy broke through the young Sevon’s skin and passed through his flesh. The image of the old man began to fade as the process sped up.

“What have you done!” The weak voice of the tormented Sith was filled with untold torture.

“I’ve out smarted you, Old Man. You’re powers are mine.” The dark child sneered and laughed menacingly. His great chortle echoed throughout the tomb like a demon's rejoice.

The image of the Sith vanished as the final lashings of energy cut deep gouges into Khendon’s arms. Blood flowed from the wounds as lines disappeared from the parchment. The Sith tongue painted its rancid language on the boy’s deltoids down to his triceps and biceps, leaving his forearms unmarred.

The deed was done, the Sith dead, the energy absorbed. The youth fell to the ground unconscious.

“Mask on, now!” Shouted the twenty-one year old as his face turned into an inferno of anger.

“Yessir! Wow, relax, Sevon.” The climber set his protection firmly in the wall and leaned back. With his hands free, he opened a small satchel and retrieved his breathing fixture. The device clamped into his shutter-covered goggles and, upon contact, an airtight seal formed.

“Good?” The voice was muffled by the safety gear.

“Perfect, now, let’s make it before sundown. Otherwise, I’m charging extra to haul you off this crag.”

“Hey,” huffed the man as he followed Khendon up the climb, “how do you do it?”

The young man looked down from his position twelve feet above the other climber and frowned, “What?”

“Climb without a mask… hell, how do you climb without any gear?”

“Jivers, you talk too much.”

“Well,” he took a deep breath that wheezed through his mask’s systems, “I’m paying your guide fees, might as well learn something.”

“I was born here, I’ve… adapted.”

“Heh, wish I could buy that.”

“Let’s go, my mom’ll get worried if we don’t make it back to the cabin before sundown.”

“You should get off this rock, man. You could come with me! The galactic climbing community could use someone with your skills. You’d be a media bonanza! Think of the publicity!”

“Just shut up and climb, Jivers.” Something in the youth’s voice forced the older man to focus more on his footwork and less on his mile-a-minute mouth.

The mechanical wheezing of Jivers’ mask created a rhythm for the two-climber team. Khendon, garbed in a black, lightweight chillsuit, nimbly picked out a safe path up the high, overhung route. It was all Jivers could do to keep up with the athletic youth. He repeatedly found himself calling up to the young climber and telling him to hold up for a break.

Nevertheless, after nearly five more hours of steady climbing, the two men found their destination, nestled away and reflective in the ever-decreasing sunlight. The wind ripped chunks of rock from the wall and scattered them over the sweeping expanses of the jetty-like level-landed area.

“We’re hear,” spoke Khendon steadily over the wind. His voice managed to carry though the chaos ensued around the men.

“Nice place,” Jivers nodded toward the reinforced cabin, “you have a compressor?”

“’Course we do, just for special people like yourself. Let’s go, our food is probably getting cold.”

The pair entered the outer airlock and sealed the door with a barely audible hiss. After a few moments of proper compression, the inner seal opened and allowed the pair entrance into the small building.

Khendon’s mother smiled with a fresh pan of fried diendlers. “Khendon,” she looked semi-stern and her deep blue eyes narrowed noticeably, “You shouldn’t have cut your climb so close! You know how the wind picks up towards the latter parts of the day! And what if you had been forced to bivy on the mountain? With the ice melting at this time of year, you could’ve fallen to your death!”

“Mom, I know what I’m doing. Just shut up! Okay? I’ve had enough lectures for a lifetime. Please! I’m an experienced climber!” Khendon went to roll up his sleeves, then thought better and clenched his hands into fists at his side.

Jivers spoke up then, “Misses Sevon, your son is one of the best climbers I have ever see—“

“What do you know!” Hmphed the lady as she turned and took a roast out of the oven.

“Great, another day at the damned Sevon house. They should make a reality holo out of this bull.”

The older man frowned and spoke softly, “Where can I stow my gear?”

“Over there,” young Sevon indicated the place with a nod of his head, “and don’t forget to take off your mask. The oxygen in here is of equivalent density to your average, off the shelf world.”