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his senses as he marched past the politicians and the media. He couldn’t reconcile himself to what was happening. Karver didn't even acknowledge him as he stormed past.
    The media pressed around him as he climbed into the back of his vehicle. He was driven away with his coup in tatters. He rubbed his temples as he tried to excoriate reality.
    Success had been within his grasp but he’d been let down. Karver’s betrayal was not the honorable sacrifice of men on the battlefield, it was craven cowardice and Forge despised him for it. His resentment spiraled like a tornado in formation. Of course, he had a contingency plan. An escape route. He would cover his tracks.
    Soon, it would happen. Soon.
    ~    ~    ~
     
    Forge moved through the forest three hours later, his augmented eyes penetrating the darkness. The outline of the shuttle came into view. It was time. Time for him to lift off. Time for him to reward the efforts of the craven scum who'd betrayed him. Everyone thought he was hiding back in the city because that's what he’d told them. The loyal soldier who was impersonating him thought he would simply surrender, in time, after Forge had escaped. But Forge couldn’t afford to be pursued through the system – he needed better cover than that. His impersonator's end would be far more glorious. He thought it was best to create all the disruption before they were airborne. He sent the signal as he entered the shuttle. Amazing what a little radio signal could do – like a butterfly’s wings triggering a hurricane.
    On the horizon, the skyline erupted.
    A huge mushroom cloud dominated the landscape as the shuttle lifted off. He wasn’t sorry. They deserved it. His people deserved it for not being strong enough. Democratic scum.
    He would plan and return. He had friends in the Orion Republics’ Confederation. His ORC friends understood the value of strength. In time, he would slip back into the Alliance and the Tyurin Republic. The transformation of his bodily appearance was already scheduled for when he reached orbit. He triggered the coding that would inhibit his characteristic gestures and expressions.
    He was a ghost, already translucent, fading from view.
    His success was inevitable. He wouldn't rely on politicians this time. He would come from a position of overwhelming strength. He knew an opportunity would appear sooner or later.
    And, after thirty five years, he would take back his true name.
    Claudius Forge was dead. He would revert to his real name.
    Tyburn. Jack Tyburn.
     

 
     
     
     
    Resurrection
     

 6. 
     
     
     
     
    Havoc screamed as he writhed in pain. More pain? Wasn't he dead? A pleasant surprise, if only someone would unplug him from the mains.
    He floated in darkness, a droplet distilled in a pool of light.
    “Ah, John, good to see you again.”
    He glanced sideways. He vaguely recognized the face smiling down at him.
    “Our friends were delighted to hear you’d dropped in. No time to do everything, I'm afraid. But I think you'll be pleased.”
    Havoc stared with bulging eyes. Both eyes. A voice spoke in the background.
    “Is this part a fit or a regrow?”
    The face leaned down toward him.
    “Some of this will have to grow in. Anyway, John, must go; didn't want you to pass through without saying hello.”
    The man patted him, somewhere.
    “Put him back out.”

 7. 
     
     
     
     
    Space is silent. Any aural ambience is provided by your own breathing. The view, however, more than compensates.
    The chosen location was an empty region of virtually flat space in the Telson Nebula. It was flat in the sense that there was no mass nearby to tug at the fabric of spacetime and pull it out of shape. Instead it bubbled gently with quantum foam. The chosen location had some special characteristics that went beyond the mere absence of baryonic matter, but those properties were entirely beyond human ken.
    The Telson nebula drifted through the Shield arm of the Orion deep field at a