Why do the Hakes and Sheeks war? It cannot be for lack of space, for during the first wars, there were still vast tracts of unexplored land free for the taking. It cannot be for lack of resources, for during the second wars, they fought even while trade routes and commerce were maintained. If a reason must be presented, it is for lack of intelligence. Even the savage rabadons of the wild do not prey upon their own kind.

  Unknown Author,

  The Scroll of the Past

  Hans hurried across the plaza with his shoulders hunched, moving unnoticed through the crowd of Sheeple.

  The Central Plaza of Talmyn was known throughout Shamonj. A myriad of shops lined all four sides of the plaza, creating a perpetual marketplace where one could purchase almost anything. Yet, these shops were not particularly noteworthy, and it was not because of them that the plaza was so famous. Rather, the Central Plaza's renown was due to its claim, and rightly so, that it was located in the most beautiful place on the planet. The city of Talmyn stretched to the north and south of the plaza, rows of fine buildings and tiled streets, home to a mixture of Hakes and Sheeks. But to the west, the plaza ended abruptly at the foot of the Etani Cliffs, towering behemoths of mottled orange rock stretching into the very heavens. The cliffs rose almost as steps, ever higher as they receded into the distance. It was said that from their top one could view the entire Region of Talgar, and even make out the stormy seas on the planet Condar, millions of miles overhead. This was thoroughly disputed by those who'd either flown to their top or had an elementary background in physics, but the tales persisted, primarily out of the Sheeples' desire to imagine such an expanse of water. Shamonj had six seas but no oceans, birthing volumes of lore about what life might be like on the neighboring planet, a world covered by a global ocean.

  To the east of the plaza flowed the River Swift, racing from the Sea of Mercury in the south to the Three Seas in the north, an indispensable trade route connecting a great part of Shamonj. Beyond the sparkling river was an endless scene of rolling hills and farmlands, sparsely populated and rich in beauty.

  “Come and get 'yur fresh veg-edibles!” called a street merchant from a stand that was indistinguishable from the hundred others lining the plaza. “Prepare for the worst! Don’t get caught without 'yur veg-edibles when the Hakes come!”

  Hans hurried past, keeping his head turned away from the direction of the voice. When he reached the southern end of the plaza he stopped and looked about, scanning the scores of vendors who were selling their goods, in search of a familiar face. At last, he spotted it.

  “Zak!” he called, hurrying to greet a lively merchant situated behind a flimsy stand coated with tennis racquets. “How’s business on this fine Ninthday?”

  Zak looked over his display. “Oh, it's okay. Although, there’s a bit of a rush towards more necessary goods like food and weapons. My racquets aren’t selling very quickly.”

  “That’s odd. I’d always thought racquets made just fine weapons.” Beneath the racquet display, he noticed an odd shaped canister filled with green balls and picked it up. “What are these for? I haven't seen anything like 'em.”

  “Those,” said Zak proudly, “are tennis balls. In an effort to keep up with my competition, I’ve decided to increase the diversity of my goods. Unfortunately, I can’t find anyone who knows what they’re used for. All I know is that when you hit them with my racquets, they go a long way and don’t come back. I sent a few into the River Swift before I gave up and decided to mark 'em half off. I was told by my wholesaler that I couldn't sell tennis racquets without tennis balls, but as far as I can figure, the two shouldn't be kept near each other.”

  “Strange.” Hans picked one up and inspected it. “That racquet you sold me is amazing–I use it for everything–frying hotcakes, fluffing pillows, trekking through snow... but I'm not sure what I'd do with these.” He put the fuzz-covered ball down. “Sorry, Zak, I'd get a few, but I'm short on money right now. I'll have to pass until this blasted war is over. Ever since the factory stopped hiring Hakes, it's been a struggle to find something else. You don't need an extra hand, do you?”

  Hans grimaced as Zak’s eyes unconsciously glanced at the symbol on his shirt. “No Hans, I'm afraid it's not much better for us Sheeks. The war is pushing the price of everything up; no one's doing well any more. No one but the Sheek Authority, that is.” Zak frowned angrily. “There's our tax yars at work.”

  “Have you heard anything new?”

  Zak paused, then began uneasily, “Yes, actually. They say Emperor Gaelen’s received seven new war-flyrs.”

  “Zanthas?”

  “All Class A, too. I dare say there's going to be a bit of a ruckus over in The Zone. Even as we speak, perhaps.”

  Hans glanced at the personal-information-center on his wrist. “As long as it stays in The Zone, that suits me just fine. I'm so sick of this war–I hope their armies destroy each other so the rest of us can get back to our normal lives.”

  It was at just that moment that a tomato stand on the other end of the plaza blew up. Hans swirled around to see a cloud of red smoke drifting lazily towards the Etani Cliffs. Sheeple were running in all directions, their wispy white hair flailing behind them.

  “What was that?” he asked in shock, turning to Zak.

  A guilty look crossed Zak’s face. “Well, it’s over in the Hakes’ Section, so my guess is some Sheek decided to cause a little havoc. There’s nothing we can do. The same thing happened two days ago, and when some others–both Hake and Sheek–tried to go after the bomber, the police arrested them.”

  “Arrested them? What ever for?”

  “For trying to help? I don't know. Who knows why the police do what they do. They work for the Authority, not the city. Talmyn isn't the diverse tourist Mecca it used to be.”

  Hans turned back towards the chaotic scene. “Maybe I’d better be moving on.”

  “Wait. Before you go, I want to ask you a question.” Zak motioned Hans closer. He whispered, “This may seem out of place, but, uh, have you heard the rumors about Quinn?”

  “Quinn?” asked Hans sharply, but quietly. “What about him?” What do you care about Quinn? was left unsaid.

  Zak glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “It’s been floating through the stands the last few days. Sheeple are saying that Quinn is promising the Hakes can win. Have you heard this?”

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  Hans had heard this, but considered it nothing more than a vain boast of the latest Hake Leader. “The Hakes can win? How? Can you not see how preposterous that is? Even you and me–we are best friends, but can scarcely talk to one another. The Sheeks have separated even us. Look at the symbol on my shirt. Yes, we Hakes can always survive. Through it all, we will scratch out an existence on this beautiful, terrible planet. But win? Alas–the Sheeks would never accept even a truce. Quinn and his army will be driven into the ground like all those before. Kaspari will fall and the dream will be over. I only hope their end is swift so that the Sheeks' thirst for glory is satisfied and the rest of us forgotten.”

  “No!” whispered Zak urgently. “Do not allow your mind to entreat such ideas. We are not truly separated! Our friendship remains, even through the war. And Quinn... he is a powerful Hake. He has never been wrong. Was it not he who liberated Kaspari and the Hakes’ Area? If he said the Hakes could win, I'd put all my money on it. As a Hake, you may find out before me if he really said such a thing. If you do, please tell me.”

  “Why? So you can gamble? The rumors aren’t true–give up your vain hope.” Hans looked out over the frenzied marketplace. “You know how easy it is to start a rumor on Central Plaza.”

  “No my friend, I would not gamble over the lives of Sheeple. But never have the Hakes had a commander of such strength and will as Quinn, and if he stands in hope, then I too am able to stand in hope and not despair, for another Sheek victory is no victory–we have had too many of them in the last circle.”

  “He may stand in hope, but I hope he restricts his stand to The Zone. At least the Region of Dorthar is no longer habitable... another battle can do no further damage. But, I'd better be off. Take care, Zak.”

  As Hans walked past the remains of the Hake tomato stand, he rolled Zak’s words about his mind. There may be uncertainty towards the ability of the Hakes and the hope of Quinn, but there was no uncertainty of one thing: The war was escalating. He wandered the Plaza in search of some good deals on food. The fact that only Hakes were permitted to sell to him made his choices even fewer.

  By the time he'd purchased some potatoes, corn, and canned goods, the orange sun was already setting. He left the plaza behind, walking towards his vehicraft parked a few blocks away. Gazing at the tall buildings of Selfarian Marble that lined the wide street and the green trees with small white blossoms dotting their tops, he could scarcely believe Talmyn might be the site of a war. Yet, the experts on the media insisted that Talmyn was a likely target of both the Hakes and the Sheeks. At one point, the city housed nearly equal amounts of Hakes and Sheeks. But that was before the Separatist movement. As thousands of Hakes migrated east, in the general direction of the Hakes’ Area, the situation only worsened as the Sheeks discriminated against an ever shrinking Hake population. Yet, Hans knew he would never leave the city of his birth. The Hakes who remained hoped to demonstrate that Hakes and Sheeks could live peaceably side by side... even if it meant putting up with the threat of war.

  “You there!” An aged Hake sitting on a doorstep interrupted Hans’ thoughts. The Hake’s face was cracked and frail, his hair a dusty gray. He rose slowly, stooped and bent. His eyes were yellow and dim, but he spoke with an urgent harshness. “Why are you here? You must flee the city at once! Young’un, the Sheeks are coming I tell you! They’re coming to hunt and kill every remaining Hake in Talmyn. You must head east–yes, east–past the Site of the Seven Scrolls–beyond the Tablelands. Over the River Yellow and into the sanctuary of the Hakes’ Area. Only there will you be safe.”

  Hans cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but you are misinformed. The Sheeks fight the Hake Forces, not simple civilians.” He turned and hurried on down the street, even as the Separatist continued raving... “Hear the words of the Mighty Quinn: Do not remain in the Sheek cities! Arise, Hakes, and return to your homeland, for first will come war, but then victory!”

  “This is my homeland,” thought Hans angrily.

  * * * * * * * *

  Why the Hakes rally around their so-called ‘Leaders’ when a proper representational government exists here in Seoltin is a mystery. This Quinn is the worst of them yet, but he shall be destroyed like all those before him. This Hake must pay for what he has done to Kaspari and the surrounding lands.

  Governmental Archives of the Sheek Authority

  “Than, what’s happened? Give me a visual!” The metal floor rang as Quinn’s thick boots strode across the deck, even as the war-flyr rocked unevenly under the sudden onslaught of enemy lasers.

  “Look Sir,” blurted Than. “One of the Sheeks’ flyrs has been destroyed!”

  Quinn scanned the screen and spun around glaring at Than. “I gave strict orders not to fire upon the Sheeks. Are you certain it was a flyr that just went up in flames? One of theirs?”

  Than furiously punched buttons on a computer, bringing up a recording of the last minute's events. “Confirmed, Sir. It’s a Zantha–Zantha 12-B has been utterly destroyed. That’s one of their new ships; they just got Twelve A through F last week. Someone must have fired without permission. But I can't say who; laser fire isn’t showing up in our 2D imagery.”

  Quinn's radio crackled to life as the other officers tried to page him. A voice came over the airwaves: Prepare for battle! The Sheeks are on the offensive. All flyrs take evasive action until Quinn gives an order.

  “Blast,” muttered Quinn, staring at the visual as he punched the silence button on his radio. “It’s too soon... it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Than, take charge of the battle. Have the fleet take evasive action and only return fire if under direct attack. Try to hold the Sheeks back for a bit, I need to think about this. Where's Seekall?” The famous leader tapped his long fingers nervously as he stared at the screen.

  “Right here, Sir.”

  “Ah, Nyck. Find out who shot that Zantha. When I said we could win this thing, I was not counting on trigger happy pilots.” Quinn stared at the thin data provider. “You can figure that out, right?”

  “Yes Sir, but it'll take about an hour to run a full weapons check. All of the captains are reporting that their ship didn't fire on the 12-B so I'll have to search every ship’s log file.”

  “Double blast.”

  Nyck Seekall had never before seen Quinn as panicked as he now appeared. Quinn had been a dream worker for the Hakes, leading them to safety in many tough battles. Now however, he appeared like any other helpless Hake amidst a sea of Sheeks. A missile sheared the side of their war-flyr as the battle raged on.

  * * * * * * * *

  Every useful invention seems to have come out of Filstar… and every horrific one as well.

  Shebarr Pullonium, Lab Technician

  At the southernmost point of the Sheeks’ Land, where the River Swift branched to meet the Three Seas, the Mintorn Mountains ended abruptly in a wall of cliffs. Nestled among their peaks, Filstar Laboratories had been built in the hope that the wisdom of the mountains would be transferred to the minds of the scientists working there. But perhaps the Mountain Effect was simply too great, for reams of reports were churned out containing nothing but meaningless mumbo jumbo intermixed with references to the number forty-two.

  But then again, the mountains did have some positive impact, for the scientists at Filstar had made great leaps in science, discovering new theorems and improving technology. Recent breakthroughs included the sending of a satellite to Condar and advanced lasers and shields for the Sheek war-flyrs.

  Thus the scientists were divided as to whether their latest project was a major breakthrough in science or another freak accident caused by multiplying too many numbers by forty-two. It was first discovered by a group of interns on the seventh floor who were mixing random chemicals for the same reason that interns anywhere do anything–because they can. At first, they tried to keep their discovery a secret, but when they could no longer hide the fact that one of the laboratory’s interns was missing, the truth came out: mixing hykalondicate with hykalondicore and applying it to an object (or person) caused the object (or person) to disappear. As physicists and chemists duplicated the experiment, oboes and flutes became standard items to practice on, as no one seemed to mind their disappearance. When it became apparent that hundreds of instruments were disappearing with no results, it was decided the experiment should be tried on another Sheepel–one who, presumably, would be better equipped to find a way to reappear. Interestingly, it was mostly flutists and oboists who volunteered for the paid experiment.

  It was at three o'clock on a foggy Ninthday that the experiment was tried. A group of musicians had been gathered from major orchestras across Shamonj. They were given a variety of elixirs and tools to carry in hope that after they disappeared, they might be able to work together and find a way to return to the laboratory and tell of their adventure.

  Three hours later, funeral notices were sent out, and a lab report was written up:

  At 3:00 we treated six Sheeple with a concoction of seven mL Hykalondicate and forty-two–er, three mL Hykalondicore. They vanished without a trace. We then mixed some acid and base in a test tube, evaporated it, and were left with forty-two test tubes of acetylsalicylic acid.