Dara came over and stood beside Dante. "I'v got some...'freinds' from before i joined the Army that might help us; but what we're doing is suicide. I should never have suggested such a thing to the Captain." he muttered sadly.

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Made by Lembas

It wasn't long before the group made it to the rebel controled planet.

Cyril knew that, just he did, the others would have doupts about what they were doing.

"How far will we go?" he wondered. "To save a single life... but a special life."


He headed into the medical bay. They needed to get Natia transported safely to more sufficient facilities.

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Dante grunted and shrugged his shoulders, "Meh. We all die someday. All that matters in life is that we make our death count for something. Make it count for ourselves at least, and let ourselves die on our own terms, not at the whim of a general sitting far above the battle." He turned and looked at the planet fast approaching below, "We have to make our deaths count or what is the purpose of life?"

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Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

The ship landed and Cyril was in the medical bay.

"How long to get her to the medical facilities?" he asked Dara.

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