Ledo was hard at work with a sonic screwdriver, since he wasn’t allowed to use his new workshop for the creation of weapons. He hunched over a portable heater with a frown on his face, clearly discovering that this device operated on a distinctly different level than a blaster. Sparks flew from the heater, which groaned under the pressure like it couldn’t believe that it was being subjected to this treatment. Without even looking up, he muttered, "Good timing, boy. The portable heater is on the blink, but there’s firewood behind the house that needs a good talking to with an axe."

Denor’s blood was boiling hotter than Ledo’s old workshop, which now had the misfortune of existing as pieces of the Andronian outpost. "Firewood is unimportant!" he erupted, every inch the picture of a young man on the verge of doing something spectacularly unwise. "We should be out there destroying every Trunian who dares set foot on our land!” He continued to impotently rage. “And severely… wounding… the defenceless settlers," he added, because he wasn’t good at winning people to his cause yet.

Ledo didn’t blink, didn’t even pause in his work. He looked around as if he couldn’t believe Denor had been stupid enough to choose him as the target of his anger. "The day will come, my son, one day we will slaughter them all," he said, placing the cover on the indignant heater and letting it cool. "What’s happened this time with the Trunians that’s annoyed you? Steal a good goat you were hunting?”

Denor’s eyes blazed. "Did you not see him, Ledo?" His voice cracked, taking great pleasure in failing him repeatedly. "General Stantych Drenda sauntered past our very door!"

Now Ledo did look up, eyes sharp and suddenly alert. "Aye, I saw him," he said slowly, as if testing the weight of each word. "You didn’t headbutt him in the nose too, did you?"

Denor shook his head with the ferocity of someone who felt the world was one unjust thought away from bursting into flames, which would have been quite the feat given the climate of Andron VII. “I didn’t, but I spoke with him and followed him."

There was a flicker of concern in Ledo’s eyes now, not fear, definitely not fear. He was merely concerned, that was all. "You didn’t go and do something foolish involving the General, did you?"

"He knows I have a translator," Denor admitted, "but I didn’t do anything."

Ledo gave a non-committal grunt, he would have to check the veracity of those words soon. Just because Denor claimed not to have done something meant very little when stacked up against reality. "Well, that’s something. I don’t think that old goat Tycho considered his giving you that translator might mean you’d speak with Stantych himself."

But Denor wasn’t about to let things rest. His fists clenched, his brow darkening like a thunderstorm on the horizon. Thankfully this was an apt metaphor, as passing dark thunderstorms queued en masse in the Andronian climate. "He’s up to something, Ledo. He speaks our language for some reason. We have to stop him before he hurts anyone else!"

Now Ledo’s expression shifted into full-blown suspicion. "Our language? Up to something?" he queried. "What sort of something is he up to, Detective Denor?"

Denor hesitated for a moment, either because he was searching for a pipe or knew what he was about to say might summon lightning to strike them both down. Possibly from one of the many passing thunderstorms. Nevertheless, the words tumbled out anyway, awkward and sour at having been stored in Denor’s mouth for too long. "He spoke to Gella."

There was a pause, a long, pregnant pause. Ledo blinked once, twice, then he said, "By Tamet, this is not good news." Then, in a tone that suggested the worst had only just begun, "Gella’s next then, eh?"

Denor nodded, and without another word, the message passed between father and son. The kind of message that doesn’t need sentences, only grim expressions and the silent understanding that someone, somewhere, is about to have a very bad day. "Charan will need to hear of this," Ledo said after a moment, his voice low and dangerous. "I'd hoped he wouldn't try his luck a second time. But once you’re down in the mud, it’s hard to say how far you’ll sink, especially given that we’re not people to him."

Denor was still chewing on the enormity of it all, his youthful mind struggling with the concepts which, for him, were about as foreign a notion as Trunian cuisine. But what he did know was this: the way Stantych Drenda had looked at Gella was not the sort of thing any self-respecting Andronian would let slide. Girls might be loud and annoying, but they were still people.

"Charan knows already. Do you really think he will keep her away from him?" Denor growled, his fists still clenched, as though imagining how very satisfying it would be to drive them into the General’s smirking face.

Ledo glanced at his son, then at the sky, as if searching for answers or possibly divine patience. "I reckon we’ll find out," he said finally. "But I wouldn’t hold your breath, lad. This might end poorly for the village if anyone were to intrude, even Charan."

“It won’t be Charan intruding on this,” Denor said very quietly to himself.

"Careful, son," said Ledo, trying to calm the boy while simultaneously reprimanding him, a veritable tightrope act. "If she were my daughter, I’d make damned sure he’d stay away. But she is betrothed to Charan, not you and not me. He’ll have to make his own choices, and so will she. And for that, well, they need the truth, don’t they?" With a shrug that said more than words ever could, he straightened up and set off for the boy’s house, leaving Denor to simmer in his thoughts. The scent of oil and malfunctioning heating systems hung in the air like a particularly brooding cloud. Probably from one of the aforementioned thunderstorms, which decided to simultaneously gang up on Denor at this point and drench him. As a solitary sad soul brooding over matters, he was legally obligated to have a bout of pouring rain attack him just before the end of the scene.

***

Funny thing about waiting—it stretches time like a particularly old and suspicious elastic band that’s just on the brink of giving up. The moment Ledo strode through the door, Denor practically launched himself at him, words spilling out faster than ale at a tavern on payday.

“Well?” Denor demanded, his eyes wide and eager, desperate to find out what had happened between his friends and his father.

"I was right in keeping you here. He’ll do what he can," Ledo replied, sounding like a man who had run out of options. "Charan can’t keep her locked away forever, the General will just pay them another visit if he does. That girl is too foolish to understand what’s happening, no wonder you pal around with her. She insists that the man wishes her no ill, and is actually looking forward to seeing him again."

Of course, Denor had no understanding of the effect that large and powerful men had on women suffering from certain deleterious psychological effects brought about through occupation. In Andron VII, a land that specialized in mist and melancholy, losing sight of Gella was rather like the sun vanishing behind a permanent wall of clouds. Not that the sun made much of an appearance to begin with, mind you.

Ledo’s hand landed on Denor’s shoulder. "Maybe we’re worrying over nothing," he said, the voice of reason in a landscape otherwise dominated by paranoia and testosterone. "Stantych Drenda might find some other girl tomorrow. Maybe even some Trunian lass who’ll catch his fancy. Trouble might just pass us by."

"If he brings trouble to Gella I’ll kill him myself," Denor said, continuing where he left off in a manner that would make even the most reckless idiot pause and say ‘that’s too much, man!’,

"I don’t care how many attempts it takes me," he added, surely sealing his fate. You couldn’t be the hero of the story and say things like that without repercussions.

Ledo scowled with all the warmth of a cold wind whistling through a graveyard. "If you so much as look at the General the wrong way, every man in this village will be slaughtered. Mark my words, if it comes to that, you’ll be at the front of a very long line, and you don’t want the Trunians to find out they can keep killing you for sport."

“If he dares touch her,” Denor said, with the indignant finality only the young and particularly stubborn can muster, “he’s mine.”

“I forbid you from fighting the General, it’s not time!” Ledo roared at his son.

It didn’t seem to make any difference, and Denor left the house with his father shouting his name after him.

***

He took to the woods again, blaster in hand, his thoughts grim and single-minded. Every bolt he loosed in practice sailed through the air straight toward an imaginary target—the infuriatingly smug face of General ‘I quite like the ladies’ Stantych Drenda. The idea of hitting that precise spot between the Trunian’s dark eyes made his aim truer and his hand steadier. If there was ever a time for accuracy, it was now.

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Our hero moved through the woods like a whisper, if shadows were sentient, they'd take notes from him. But then a twig, that traitorous piece of wood, snapped behind him. Faster than you could say "uh-oh," Denor stumbled behind a fir tree, his blaster at the ready. Mountain goats didn’t make that kind of noise, the Trunians though? Well, they were the kind who were covered head to foot in armour that made stealth impossible.

This was neither wildlife or a native, not even a Gurruk or an Aurox. A grin crept across his face, and it wasn’t a friendly one. Some would claim it had no business being plastered over the face of a boy so young, but they obviously hadn’t realised what absolute terrors teenagers can be. The idea of a Trunian in the woods made him giddy, and catching one? That was just the kind of thing that could make up for not being able to attack the General. Yet, there was his father’s voice in his head, like an inconvenient conscience: Don’t start trouble you can't finish, especially the kind that attracts angry Trunians to attack the village in retribution.

Scanning the trees, Denor spotted the source of the clamor—Jallo, a particularly cruel bully with the subtlety of a sledgehammer in a fine china shop. Denor's lip curled. He was known for his temper and for swatting kids out of the way with his large hands like they were particularly annoying insects. Following Jallo? Now, that was a sport worth playing.

The round Trunian soldier blundered through the forest like he was impersonating Denor in the early chapters of this tale. If his goal was to alert every living thing to his presence, he couldn't have done better if he had a space trumpet attached to both feet. Denor, in contrast, had finally learned some semblance of stealth. More than enough to track this beast.

For almost an hour, Denor trailed him, biting back laughter at Jallo's bumbling attempts to conquer the forest. He could have put a bolt through him a dozen times over, and Jallo wouldn’t have known what hit him—if, that is, he noticed anything at all. His shielding was down, his armor looked penetrable, but Denor had a village full of people who would most likely perish with the sudden demise of the bumbling brute, as unlike many of the troops he had made go missing, this one had been given an enforcer role and regularly visited the place for ‘compensation’.

Gurruks could have nabbed some of them, a particularly angry bit of wildlife might have claimed others, but if Jallo went missing? All bets would be off, the Trunians would attack.

The corpulent curses grew more colorful as the man’s frustration mounted, each new expletive a masterpiece of self-pity and confusion. The possibility that he might be his own worst enemy never seemed to cross his mind. Finally, Denor, bored of this one-man comedy act, decided to make an appearance. He wondered how long it would take Jallo to realize he wasn’t alone. The answer, unsurprisingly, was “longer than you'd think.”

At last, Jallo's eyes widened in realization. "Who goes there?" he bellowed, trying to sound menacing but failing to keep the quiver out of his voice. "Show yourself, or you'll regret it!"

Denor stepped out, chuckling. "Are you lost, Jallo?" he teased, his Trunian impeccable as always thanks to the translator.

"Me? Lost? By Martos! I am not lost in the slightest!" Jallo trumpeted, stomping toward Denor like a bewildered Aurox. "What are you doing out here, boy?"

Denor's laughter only grew. "I thought I felt an earthquake, turns out it was just you."

Okay, so Denor was still learning witty comebacks. Give him some time.

"Liar!" Jallo roared, swinging a hand that would’ve been more appropriate for swatting flies than dealing with Denor.

But this wasn’t the village square, and Denor, despite his youth, wasn’t a mere boy. The slap's sting quickly morphed into a hot, fierce anger demanding action. Denor swung back, his fist meeting Jallo's nose with a satisfying crunch, sending the larger man reeling, blinking in surprise before his lips curled into a nasty grin.

"You'll pay for that, boy," sneered Jallo, lunging at Denor with all the elegance of a boulder dislodging itself from a mountain and setting off on a downhill mission of destruction. “Time someone taught you some manners!”

Denor grasped that this was less a lesson and more an impromptu execution. The man didn’t need a weapon, as his huge gauntleted hands made a grab for Denor's throat. The boy slipped, and his knee ended up planted into Jallo's gut, somehow eliciting a grunt of disbelief. “That’s impossible, I’m wearing armour!”

Denor stared down at his knee, which was glowing in a manner he had very little conscious control over. In that as soon as he paid more than a second’s attention to it, it vanished.

Alas, that second was all the Trunian needed. Jallo was no stranger to combat and was built like an ox, and when his fist connected, Denor's world took an alarming tilt to the left. The weight of the man bore down like an avalanche, not even bothering with his shield, and leaving Denor scrambling not to be buried alive.

In a desperate move, Denor disentangled himself and rolled in the snow, hearing the thud of the man’s giant fist as it impacted with the ground beside his head.

Denor rose, and found himself face to face with one of the most nefarious Trunian invaders in the Outer Rim territories, but he wasn’t aware of the man’s reputation in the slightest. The snow suddenly began to swirl around them, like it knew a dramatic moment when it saw one, each flake sharp and cold.

Jallo, whose idea of a good time involved subjugating planets, grinned with a malevolence that bore ill tidings. You see fair reader, he was the wrecking ball that had decimated Ledo’s forces in the battle from earlier in the tale. Remember him? It wasn’t a Kilru invader after all, it was totally Jallo who did that.

"You think you can stop me, boy?" the Trunian sneered, his voice a dark rumble that seemed to make the very mountains shiver. Gone was his consternation, and he seemed to be enjoying the prospect of having a very good excuse to kill someone.

Denor stood firm, his blaster discarded and training sword unsheathed. "I don't think," he retorted. "I know."

It sounded good, like something a hero would say. Granted, a hero would probably have some imbued energy in the weapon he was holding. As it stood, he had as much chance as the snowflakes at winning this fight.

The battle commenced with a roar as the Trunian started to glow and came seething forward in a roll that sent snow tumbling from the peaks above as he turned into a whirling boulder of energy. Denor was swift, darting around like a big screen archaelogist, while Jallo’s targeted attacks were all in straight lines. Blow after blow, Denor dodged, and slipped, and slid his way into increasingly improbable dodging combinations. Tamet be praised! It was clear Jallo's strength was wearing him down though and this was a foregone conclusion.

The beast’s laughter echoed through the mountains. "Your efforts are in vain, boy! Soon the last of the Andronians will fall, but not before you do!"

Denor's grip tightened on his sword. "Not as long as I'm breathing! Otherwise they would end up falling before I do!" He gave this statement some further thought. “What I’m trying to say is none of them will fall!”

It was then, in a move that would have impressed even the most hardened of warriors, that Denor slipped on an unexpected patch of ice, his sword flying from his grasp and embedding itself in a nearby snowdrift. Jallo loomed over him, ready to crush him into a fine paste.

Denor closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable and hoping that his secret wouldn’t be revealed. He was beginning to understand why his friend Charan wanted to avoid this whole death thing.

A different sound filled the air: the distinct discharge of a blaster. Jallo's gloating grin turned into a grimace of pain as a bolt embedded itself squarely in his unshielded back. He ceased moving like a rotiserrie chicken in a tumble dryer and turned with disbelief. The man's eyes bulged with shock, his body shuddered, and the energies empowering him guttered. His reward for turning so was to have several more bolts in quick succession tear through the hole that Denor’s knee had made in his armor.

The collapsing noise felt like it made the earth shake, but really it was the finality of what had happened. Jallo was dead, and Denor was still alive. Our hero had been saved, but by who?

Gella, it was Gella who saved him.

***

The girl stepped out from behind the toppling body, Denor’s blaster in her hand and still smoking from the discharge. "You always seem to get yourself in trouble, Denor," she called out, a wry smile on her mousey face.

Denor's eyes flew open in surprise and relief. "Gella! I thought you were still in the village!"

"I saw you leave, and after what your father said to me..." Gella said, leaving the sentence trailing about the scene with Ledo and Gella that the narrator didn’t cover earlier in the chapter. She wandered over, giving the fallen Trunian corpse a good kick on the way. "...well I think I deserve a bit of fun too, okay?"

Denor scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword from its snowy sheath. He turned to the girl, his face a mix of gratitude and exasperation. "Fun? You don’t have the same curse as me and Charan! What if he had hurt you? You could have died!"

Gella shrugged, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Had to make sure I didn't miss, didn't I? You’re not the only one who is sick of these invaders."

Breathing hard, Denor’s brain finally kicked in after surveying their handiwork. Should word reach the village, bad things would happen. But if Jallo were to vanish like the rest? Well, who could say what fate had befallen him? The forest, after all, was an expert in keeping secrets.

“Gella, we need to get rid...” he started to inform her, then noticed that she had got tired of waiting for Denor to think things through and was tugging at the man’s boots, as if she could drag the giant Trunian all the way into seclusion by herself.

“A little help?” she called.

Together they managed to haul the body into a plot-convenient nearby stream, and the man’s armor, which seemed glued to him, made it feel like they were shifting a particularly stubborn piece of furniture rather than a corpse. Gella covered their tracks after trying to explain to Denor several times why it was important before finally giving up. She banked on the invader’s dangerous mix of overconfidence and incompetence to keep their secret safe. As the stream swept Jallo’s remains away, they both looked on.

“A job well done!” Denor proclaimed.

“Er… Denor, that river isn’t flowing anywhere near New Titania, is it?”

Our hero rubbed his chin in serious consideration. “I have no idea, why do you ask?”

***

“You look like you’ve had a fight with a river,” Ledo stated, after Denor had dripped home.

“And lost,” added Tycho, swaying as he held his flask and keen to get in on the proceedings. “Come by the portable heater, it’s working again.”

“I... I was clumsy and totally fell into a stream,” Denor replied, attempting casualness with all the usual success as he slowly began to feel his extremities again.

Ledo’s eyes narrowed, it certainly sounded like something Denor would do, but the tone was off. He set down his own flask with the deliberate care of a man who wasn’t at all sober yet knew that trouble was in the air. “Out with it then, the truth this time.”

Denor, for his part, didn’t flinch. He looked briefly to Tycho, who motioned him to speak with a vague wave of his hand, then back at Ledo. “I killed a man in the woods.”

The two men stared at each other and burst into laughter.

“Oh boy, you’re going to have to do better than that!” Ledo exclaimed. “What next? Are you going to claim that all the missing soldiers are your work too?”

Denor blinked. “Yes? Where did you think I was going out to all this time?”

The laughter came to a screeching halt.