Episode One - 'As Above'

Everything comes down to probability, so in a sense everything comes down to numbers. Not a lot of people know this, but we died 17 years ago. I know, we're still moving and we don't seem to have noticed that we're dead, but believe me we are. Or at least in a parallel universe we are. Seventeen years ago a meteor should have hit the Earth, big enough to kill every living thing on the planet. It didn't, because Magistra intercepted it and smashed it to pieces. You didn't know that? Hey, it happens all the time. The Tabula Rasa isn't just here to fight bank robbers you know.

Let's get this in proportion. The last time a meteor of that size posed a serious risk to humanity, it collided with Jupiter. That was in July 1994. The impact crater on Jupiter was the size of Earth. It doesn't taker a genius to figure out what an impact crater the size of Earth would do to the planet Earth itself. The fact that we're still alive is down to Jupiter mostly. Not a lot of people know this, but Jupiter attracts most of the big rocks that would otherwise wipe us out. Its powerful gravity attracts meteors and comets that fly towards our planet. Without Jupiter we would never have got as far as inventing the wheel.

Space is dangerous. You wouldn't believe how dangerous. The rocks out there travel at a speed of 40 km per second and one day one of them is going to hit us. Sometimes I lie awake at night and I worry about the chances of our survival as a species. And then I remember we've got super heroes to protect us. Just imagine how dangerous it would be if we didn't have the likes of super heroes to protect us?

The TR-5 Satellite, December 24th 1988

In space no one can hear you scream. Unless you have a Tabula Rasa comms-link.

"And your father says hello, Jonathan. He's very proud of you - we're all very proud of you. I know what you're doing up there is very important, but we're all going to miss you on Christmas Day. It won't be the same opening our presents without you there. Now, I've baked you a big cake, just like the one we're going to have, and I'm having it shipped to you with your presents in time for the 25th."

"Thanks Mom," Jonathan Reich sat in a small chair beside the comms console. A flickering screen displayed a grainy picture of his family back home in Los Angeles. Sarah LaSalle leaned against the back of Jon's chair, drinking a cup of freshly hydrated coffee.

"Now is there anything you want? I know the UN can't think of everything, and there could be some things you can't get hold of in space. Do you have enough toilet paper? Toothpaste? Soap?"

"We've got plenty Mom." Jack leaned back in his chair, tipping the back slightly as he placed one foot on the comms console. He was wearing a faded T-shirt and fatigue pants and his favourite trainers. Sarah wore more or less the same, except hers had been ironed.

"Your sister is here, Jonathan. Would you like to have a few words with your sister?"

"Sure - put her on." Jon's mum moved out of shot to be replaced by a beaming six year old girl. Her little fingers gripped the microphone stand and caused some static to crackle through the comms link.

"Leave the microphone alone honey," said Jon's mum out of shot.

"Hello Jonathan," said Cassie shyly. "I've been looking in the sky for you."

"Have you now?" Jon grinned and leaned in to the view screen. "Did you see me?"

"Mommy showed me where you are in the sky. She showed me through the telescope. I waved to you, but you probably didn't see me." She pouted and fidgeted.

"Oh I saw you all right," lied Jonathan. "I waved back but you wouldn't have seen that."

"Mommy says you're coming home soon."

"In three months. And when I get back I'll take you to Disney Land." The picture flickered and the sound began to break up. "What's that Cassie? I didn't hear you sweetie?"

"Mommy was wondering yesterday whether you've got a girlfriend yet."

"Was she now."

"Mommy says there's probably lots of nice girls in space. She saw some of them on TV."

"Well, it's not like it is on TV. There's not much room for starters." Jon rotated the camera to show the cramped confines and low ceiling of the comms room, "and we don't get a lot of privacy." The signal was breaking up again. "Listen Cassie, I think we're losing the signal. Tell Mom I'll be thinking about you on Christmas Day. We're going down to the Moon's surface to play golf near the ruins of the old Alliance base. It's a sort of tradition up here. But I'll try and call after we've had Christmas dinner. I can't say when - the comms board is going to be busy that day."

The screen suddenly went dark.

"Signal's gone again," said Sarah. "If we had a decent comms link we wouldn't be having these problems. The damn hardware is nearly ten years old, and the software must have been written by a monkey."

Jon turned his swivel chair round and grinned. "I know. Sometimes it feels like we're working in an antique shop instead of a UN satellite. Any coffee for me?"

"Yeah, by your right arm." Sarah sipped her coffee. "Your mom's hassling you about girlfriends again?"

Jon shrugged his shoulders. "Don't all moms."

"Not mine. Mine's... you know..."

"Oh yeah. You said. I guess that makes things a bit... um..."

"It makes things a bit different, that's what it does, but she's still my mom and I still love her."

"Yeah, must be a bit weird though."

"Like you wouldn't believe." Sarah yawned and stretched her arms. The room was so cramped, and packed full of bleak looking machines, that she was able to touch either side of the room without too much difficulty. She noticed Jon was staring off into space again.

"Hey, zombie boy, what's up? You've got that thousand-yard stare again. What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing." Jon rotated a pencil between his fingers.

"Something must be up. You've been looking like that quite a lot lately. Am I, what, boring you or something?" Sarah sat down on the arm of his chair.

"It's just - all this." Jon waved his hands in the air as if that would explain everything.

"All this? You're in space. You're Jonathan Reich, the Grandson of James Reich; you're working in space and it's your lifetime dream. So what's the problem? Your Dad's proud of you. I'm sure all your famous ancestors would be proud of you as well."

"Yeah but we didn't make it under our own terms."

"We? Like, I'm something to do with Mr Grumpy's moods?"

"I can't help thinking that neither of us would be here if it wasn't for the positive discrimination thing. It just... feels like I cheated."

"O-kay. Well I for one love the positive discrimination thing. Because frankly, a high paid job here beats asking whether you want fries with your burger down there." Sarah indicated the Earth with her finger.

"Don't put yourself down - you've got a degree. You wouldn't be working at Burger Ranch."

"No, but I wouldn't be working in space either, and c'mon, it's great isn't it?"

But Jon was right. He knew deep down that he wasn't working on the UN space station because he was the best - he was here because his surname was Reich, and deep down this tore at his dignity and self-esteem in a way that Sarah LaSalle could never understand. True, she was descended from a line of super people too, but her lineage dated back to the Leopardess, a super villain whose daughter restored honour to the name in the seventies when she served as a member of the supergroup, the Alliance. Jon on the other hand was living with the pressure of being descended from one of the most highly respected meta human families of all time. Every Reich before him had achieved greatness, either in the field of crime fighting, or astronomical science, or sometimes both. Jon was 21, with his whole life ahead of him, but unlike his friends he was expected to reach for the very stars themselves. Nothing less would do.

The satellite he was working on was part of the ambitious Solar Shield programme conceived by the Grey Man – the mysterious super being who had inspired the Tabula Rasa to take control of the UN in May last year. For too long humanity had been the subject of attacks from the stars. In the sixties it seemed that Earth was under attack virtually every month. Aliens used Earth as a punch bag and The Grey Man was determined that this kind of abuse was going to stop. With a little coercion, the UN was compelled to vote massive subsidies to build a series of satellite watchtowers in space to act as the frontier wall between Earth and the vastness beyond. Each station was charged with probing deep into the void, to spot potential trouble early enough to prepare and launch a Tabula Rasa pre-emptive counter offensive. Earth would never be taken unawares again. But as with all such things the Solar Shield project was behind schedule and over budget already. Barely half of the satellites were functional at a level that could support human life, and of those only two were fulfilling their role as watchtowers. Contract cuts had meant some of the equipment on board was hardly state of the art. Whatever happened to the grand dream, thought Jon every morning as he queued to use one of the only two coffee machines on board TR-5. The station boasted a skeleton crew of 6 men and 3 women, although it had originally been budgeted for 29 crew. Despite all the original promises a teleportation receiver unit had never been installed, and the recreation room was still nothing more than a hollow shell with one wall still open to space. Jonathan lived in a small ten foot by six cubicle and ate where he worked in a similarly cramped workspace. There were compensations though - Sarah LaSalle couldn't avoid pressing up close to him when she had to navigate past.

Jon knew by now what monks felt like. Surrounded by five other men with bad hygiene and not enough room to swing a cat, Jon was feeling uptight, territorial and in need of female company. Of the three women who worked on TR-5 he could immediately discount Professor Cord, as she was old enough to be his mother. Leslie didn't do anything for him, as she was a little too plain for his tastes, which left Sarah LaSalle as the custodian of his sexual fantasies. In the context of Earth where beautiful women were ten a penny, Sarah would rate as a 6 out of 10, maybe a 7 if she was wearing a dress and high heels, but here in this submarine like coffin, she might as well have been Persephone herself. Sarah LaSalle had never been the Leopardess, had never worn her mother's skin tight animal pelt, had never prowled the rooftops of Chicago, but her lineage had been good enough for her to benefit from the Tabula Rasa's positive discrimination system. Basically, if you were part of the 'club' and you had the right connections, you were guaranteed a plum job somewhere in the support lines. There were many sons and daughters of famous super beings who had been rewarded for the exploits of their parents. The Tabula Rasa felt it owed a duty of care to the families of its peers, and with a near limitless budget it could always create another dream job as required. When Jon had been asked what he wanted to do, and he had replied working in space, the Tabula Rasa quickly found him a suitable posting. No interview necessary, just sign here and collect a cool $60,000 per year. The Tabula Rasa always looked after its own. It was unfair - there were many people better qualified, smarter, more deserving, but none of them shared his blood. The Reich name was all that mattered when it came to the top jobs in space. A Reich would never be passed over in favour of anyone else. Jon knew enough to realise this was unfair, but he was too weak to turn down the privileges of birth. Offering him preferential treatment was a way of honouring his grandfather, the original Aquarius. And no one else thought that was wrong.

"Enjoy it while you can," said Sarah one day over lunch. "Believe me, you'll have enough heartache later on in life to make up for it."

"Like what?"

"Like, kids. They'll grow up and hate you. Kids always do."

"You don't hate your mother."

"Only because she weirds me out. It's difficult to hate someone you don't understand. It's dad I feel sorry for. Poor bastard."

Jon had a picture he'd mocked up on his computer. He'd merged Sarah's figure and face with the Leopardess costume he'd taken from an old Tabula Rasa file. It looked a good fit. He'd passed the picture around to a few of the men on board and it had become something of a secret joke between them all. Harmless boy stuff really.

Every week his parents phoned through to the satellite, and every week his mom asked him whether he'd met any girls. He couldn't mention Sarah - she was usually hanging around behind his chair waiting to make the next call. She had a boyfriend in Chicago - an upwardly mobile executive type working his way to a healthy and wealthy partnership in some legal firm. Money and suits - there was something about that combination that made Jon mildly jealous.

Jon tapped his pencil against the screen of his workstation and watched as the antique sprang into life. He tapped a couple more options on screen and scanned through a sub directory of astronomical data. Nothing. Every day nothing. He was beginning to believe that The Grey Man's Solar Shield programme had been devised simply as a way of creating plush jobs for the sons and daughters of retired superheroes. What was he doing here, breathing stale sweaty air, eating micro waved pre-prepared meals, living in a box like room, thinking dirty thoughts about Sarah LaSalle in a skin tight cat suit that she'd never worn nor was likely ever to wear. This wasn't the glamorous life in space that he'd dreamt of as a kid - this was a waste of his time and skills. Every day the same - deep space probe reports that detected nothing more menacing than asteroids. Another three months of this before he was due for a month 'on-shore'. Another three months of filing reports and queuing to use the cupboard like shower - so small Jon had to crouch under the water spray.

Christmas Eve

"Two lovers kissing amongst the scream of midnight, two lovers missing the tranquillity of solitude. Getting in a cab and travelling on buses, read the graffiti about slashed seat affairs..."

What to do with yourself during the 16 hours of down time every day when you're trapped in a claustrophobic metal box orbiting the moon, that's the question. Some men turned to poetry, some men turned to the bottle, but Jonathan had decided to learn to play the guitar. He sat on the edge of his bed, fully immersed in the chord structure laid out in the guitar tuition book he'd brought along in his luggage quota. His fingers were still clumsy, but the tune was beginning to sound recognisable.

"Hey you," said Sarah as she knocked once and opened the door into Jon's private hole. The room was cramped and untidy with Jon's possessions fighting for space in between the bed, the locker and the single table and chair bolted to the floor and wall.

"Hey you, too. What gives? Come to see how the other half live?" Jon paused strumming and singing and carefully placed the base of the guitar on the floor.

"Mmm, yes, like I just love reminding myself of the squalor that young single men sink into when left to their own devices. It must be that fragrant smell of stale socks, dirty plates, cheap cologne and too much frustrated testosterone that keeps drawing me back for more. Lovely."

"Yeah? And what does your room smell like, Miss Penelope?"

"Honey suckle and rose water, not that you'll ever find out. I just wanted to say Merry Christmas, and give you your present."

"That's tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I've got the early shift - I won't see you until dinner. Are you playing golf on the moon?"

"Apparently so. It's kind of a tradition here." Jon picked up the smartly wrapped package and ripped open the paper quickly. Inside was a book: 'Be what you want to be: 25 steps to everyday living'.

"Oh great. A self-help book. Now I know I'm losing it."

Sarah sat down on the edge of the bed and nudged Jon with her shoulder to make some room. "Open the cover dummy." He did so and found the pages had been hollowed out. Inside the compartment was a small bottle of bourbon.

"Wow, you smuggled whiskey on board? You're taking after your super villain ancestor."

"Enjoy it. It's Christmas after all."

"I haven't had any leave yet so I haven't been able to get you anything."

"No sweat. You can owe me." Sarah got up and headed towards the door. "Do you actually know how to play that thing?" She nodded her head in the direction of the guitar.

"A bit. I'm using the time up here to learn. Want me to play you something?"

"Okay." Sarah hovered by the door.

"You'll have to join in with some percussion." Jon picked up his guitar again and slung the shoulder strap over his head.

"I can't play percussion." Sarah smiled in an apologetic kind of way.

"You know how to clap though, don't you?" Jon bit his plectrum between his teeth as he quickly tuned up the strings. He began strumming hard, building up a regular funky rhythm. "Start clapping in time to the guitar - it's easy. Just follow my lead." Jon grinned as an embarrassed looking Sarah LaSalle started to keep time with her hands. "Yeah that's it," he said as he carried on strumming the intro chords, "and a one and a two and a three..."

Sarah was shaking her head, trying not to laugh as Jon bobbed up and down pretending to be a rock star.

"... all babies together, everyone I see, half of us are satisfied, half of us in need... and something, something, something, don't know this bit, joined us by our creed... oh, when will there be a harvest, for the world... yeah, yeah... yeah, yeah... oh yeah... A nation of plenty, so concerned with gain, as the seasons come and go, greater grows the pain, and far-ar-ar too many, fee-ee-eeling the strain, oh when will there be a harvest... for the wur-ur-urld... yeah, yeah..."

Christmas Day

Low gravity golf on the surface of the moon was a long standing tradition amongst the bureaucratic echelons of the Tabula Rasa support staff unfortunate enough to spend the Holiday in space. Christmas Day was the high point of the calendar when everyone not stuck on essential monitor duty made it down to the ruins of the old Alliance watchtower and teed off on the two mile wide golf course carved out by Magistra three years ago. A relative newcomer to life in space, this was Jon's first experience of weightless sports. Any experience he had on Earth counted for little in this alien landscape. His first few shots rocketed off into the distance, to the amusement of his fellow golfers.

"Takes some getting used to, doesn't it," said Eric as he patted Jon's shoulder. Jon grunted something by way of reply and bounded across the flattened craters towards the dust bunker that his ball had landed in.

It felt strange being able to leap so far through the air. Jon enjoyed landing with a thump of his heavy boots, scattering moon dust in great clouds. He watched the dust rise slowly into the air, and just as slowly settle again. And then he heard it for the first time.

Ping-ping-ping-ping.

It was steady clear signal and it had to be coming through the radio transmitter of his suit.

Ping-ping-ping-ping.

It had to be some form of interference or solar noise. Jon waved to Eric to attract his attention and tapped the comm link of his suit to indicate that something funny was going on. Eric tapped his own comm link and gave a thumbs up, OK sign.

"I'm getting some sort of signal through my suit comm," said Jon.

"Well I can hear you OK," replied Eric as he leapt a distance of fifteen feet towards his colTabula Rasa.

"And I can hear you too, but I'm also picking up some sort of signal. It's like a pinging sound."

Eric landed next to the young Reich and fiddled with his own comm link. "Well I'm not getting anything except your broadcasts, and I'm standing right next to you."

Ping-ping-ping-ping. The signal was as steady as a pulsar.

"I don't understand this. We're using the same equipment; we're open to the same wave band."

"Get your suit checked out when we get back." Eric took a long leap back towards the main course.

Jon watched the team leader land, scattering moon dust in his wake. He glanced around and stared at the ruins of the once proud Alliance watchtower. During the late seventies and early eighties this had been the home to a premier team that had boasted Magistra, Persephone, Magus, Rhiannon and Isa amongst its membership. Long since destroyed and abandoned after some epic conflict, it was in the process of being superseded by a new moon base. The Grey Man had decreed that a new complex would be erected on the site of the old. Bulldozer buggies had begun to clear away some of the rubble to prepare for the laying of new foundations. The construction was scheduled to take years, and cost billions of UN dollars, but what The Grey Man wanted he got now that the Tabula Rasa ruled the world.

The pinging sound was getting worse. Jon tapped his comm link hard, hoping to somehow jolt the receiver back to normal. Frustrated with the distraction he flicked a switch to turn it off. Radio silence would be preferable to that distracting sound.

Ping-ping-ping-ping.

It was still there. So it wasn't the radio... Jon suddenly realised the sound was inside his head - he had only thought it was the comm link. He concentrated and sensed a direction. Whatever was making the sound seemed to be calling out to him - it wanted to be discovered. The signal seemed to be emanating from the physical ruins of the Alliance watchtower towards the east of the golf site. Confused, Jon took several giant steps and reached the rubble within minutes. Eric was gesticulating towards him, concerned that Jon had turned off his comm link and was bouncing towards the wreckage. The closer Jon got, the more urgent the signal sounded. He found himself drawn inexorably towards a single spot. Kneeling down, using the low gravity to his advantage, Jon began to clear away the rocks and rubble. He scooped away handfuls of moon dust until the corner of a small box appeared in the sand. Working quickly now, Jon unearthed a large cube made from a burnished metal that felt light in his hand. The surface of the cube glistened in the intense light of his suit's spot lamp. What was it? Jon turned the cube around and found a number of strange markings on its surface. As he held it in his hand, the incessant pinging subsided to a low comfortable purr. Whatever it was, it had seemed to pick Jon out for special treatment.

Jon stood up as Eric bounced into view. Eric was tapping his suits comm link and pointing towards Jon's. Jon flicked an OK sign and switched his own radio back on.

"...going on? Why did you run off like that? Why did you switch your radio off?"

"I'm OK."

"Never mind that - we have safety rules, and you've just gone and broken two of them. What the hell's wrong with you Jon?"

"I found something. Look." Jon held the cube in the palm of his gloved hand. "I don't know what it is, but it called out to me."

The two men stared at the alien looking cube in silence.

The TR-5 Satellite

Everyone had crowded into the cramped briefing room. Jon was squeezed in between Sarah and Mike. Eric sat on the edge of the table as Ralph and Molly scratched their heads and stared blankly at the cube, now housed in a perspex lab box. Sarah flicked through a concertina like run of computer prints and chewed thoughtfully on her pencil. Finally Eric spoke.

"Come on, I feel like the Captain of the Nostromo after his science officer has dissected the face hugger. What is it, and why is it glowing?"

"Beats me," said Molly. "It's not from Earth, that's for certain."

Mike nodded in agreement. "I haven't been able to scratch the surface, much less cut it. That thing is made to last."

Eric turned his attention to Sarah as she poured through the computer analysis. "Sarah? You're our alien studies expert. Tell me something I want to hear."

"I've been checking Tabula Rasa archive records, cross referencing old files since Jon found it in the remains of the watch tower."

"Good thinking. What did you find?"

"Not much that's immediately useful, but I think I might know where it came from."

"And that is?"

"The planet Oroboros. I think it's a Palantir."

"A Palantir? You're sure about that?" Eric suddenly had the look of a young boy who had been offered the run of a large toyshop for the day.

"Uh, what's a Palantir?" asked Jon.

Sarah lifted her glasses from her nose and placed them in her jacket pocket. "Well Jon, you could say it's the find of the century. Perhaps even the millennium."

"Huh?"

"Or to put it in simpler terms, what you've found is probably as important a discovery as man inventing the wheel." She tapped the perspex box with her pencil. "This is alien technology, so far beyond anything we've got that it makes us look like cavemen in comparison."

Eric picked up the box and held it up level with his face. "If this is a Palantir, we've just paid for the entire Solar Shield space programme ten times over."

"Hey, hey!" Jon rose to his feet. "Can someone start from the beginning, for the sake of the stupid people here? Namely me?"

Sarah smiled and looked towards Eric who nodded approval. "Ok, then listen up for some superhero history. Back in the late 1970s Earth was briefly used as a battleground by several alien races. The supergroup, the Alliance – they were a forerunner of the Tabula Rasa remember - crossed paths with these aliens several times, and for a while two immortal beings from the planet Oroboros were temporary members for the duration of the war. Check the files from that time and you'll see there was a narrowly avoided apocalypse that culminated in a war on the moon’s surface. The heralds from Oroboros both carried Palantirs, and it's just possible that one could have been lost in the fight."

"Fine, but what is it? What does it do?"

"What doesn't it do? The people of Oroboros seemed to be able to rely on these boxes for everything."

"I was asking for specifics."

"The properties of a box aren't listed. Even Persephone’s files don't hold much that's of use. She never got to take one apart it seems."

"But it's powerful?"

"Oh yes. Oroboros was the race that developed teleportation and gave it to the Alliance."

"Right. Last question: Is it dangerous? To use I mean?"

"No, I don't think so. It's not really a weapon. It doesn't work like that."

"It's not going to leak cosmic radiation or anything like that and mutate us in to space wombats?"

"No." Sarah smiled. "I don't think so."

Eric motioned to speak. "Obviously we're going to have to report this to Tabula Rasa central. I'll put a coded message through now. Well done, people. We've struck gold today."

"Pompous asshole," said Sarah as Eric left the room.

I can still hear the pinging sound, thought Jon as he stared at the cube. Why can't anyone else hear it too?

Tabula Rasa Central

"Urgent communication, coded A+, just come through Sir." The communications officer handed the disc to Preying Mantis as he stood beside the comms system. Preying Mantis was working through his slot as duty officer on board the Tabula Rasa satellite. It had been a dull day that was only just beginning to look better.

"A+? Are you sure? That's reserved for news of invading star fleets, or a warning that The Grey Man's cave full of pet Yetis have broken out. If someone has been abusing the priority code sequence I'm going to be very pissed off."

"It's an A+ code, Sir, I don't know anything else. It just came in like that."

"Hmm. We'll see." Preying Mantis had never received an A+ coded communication before. Come to think of it, he didn't know of anyone else who had either. He walked to a secure terminal, separate from the Tabula Rasa mainframe, and slid the disc into the slot. He logged on and typed in the required passwords to open up the encryption software. "Let's see what's so urgent then," he said, sliding his feet up onto the desk. The PC screen displayed a page full of gibberish and then just as quickly translated it all. Mantis scanned the contents and raised an eyebrow in surprise. A Palantir. A backwater, soon to be de-commissioned Tabula Rasa satellite had discovered a Palantir on the surface of the moon. This was unbelievable. This was almost too good to be true. And best of all - they hadn't told anyone but him. Mantis hit the delete key and then threw the disc into a waste incinerator. A Palantir. Perfect. The Tempel of Psychic Youth would be pleased, he thought to himself.

The TR-5 Satellite - late evening

"Hey Spaceboy, you're up late." Sarah was selecting a cup of Columbian coffee from the station's only working vending machine as Jonathan Reich came strolling past.

"I can't sleep. What's your excuse?"

"Monitor duty." Sarah yawned and stretched her arms. "Christmas Day and I get monitor duty twice. Eric must hate me."

"You think?"

"I know. I think Eric hates women." Sarah dialled up for a chocolate bar as well and picked up the confectionary as it dropped down into the slot. "Two hours to go and then sleep, beautiful sleep."

Jon strolled past Sarah and headed on towards the meeting room.

"Hey, feel free to express sympathy or something that could pass for human emotions?"

But Jon wasn't listening. The pinging in his head was growing evermore urgent. He had lain awake all night until he could resist the call no more. Now, clad in a pair of unwashed tracksuit bottoms and a plain grey t-shirt, he focussed on the only thing that was important - being with the Palantir again. He knew he would feel better if he could only hold it in his hands again.

Sarah shrugged her shoulders and ambled back to the cramped monitor room. If Jon wanted to play Zombie boy in his own time that was up to him. She took a seat and flicked through the crowded menus on her terminal. Behind the scenes, complex programmes were analysing every piece of static and every stray radio signal. Pale blue wave forms flickered across the screen, evaluating everything the stations receivers could pick up. All clear - it was always all clear. If aliens were planning on mounting an attack on Earth they certainly weren't talking about it. Sarah yawned again and glanced at the clock. 3.35 am. Oh boy. What a life.

Jon made his way through the meeting room, towards the recessed door panel that led to the secure area. Behind that door lay the pressurised safe where Eric had stored the Palantir. Its monotone cry grew fiercer as Jon approached. He opened the door with a wave of his palm and switched on the internal lights. Neon cells sprang into life, flickering once or twice before coming on line. The safe could only be opened by a keypad. Luckily everyone on the station knew the code. Security wasn't so much lax as non-existent at times. Jon tapped in the seven-digit sequence and waited as the steel door sprang open. There it was: the Palantir, sitting serenely beside two service firearms, a box of bullets, some personal valuables belonging to the crew members, and the ship's restricted medical drugs. Jon picked up the box and sighed as the warm tingling sensation flowed through his entire body. It felt so good to hold the box - like being warm and snug inside his Mother's womb. Now he could sleep. Now he could dream.

Sarah watched Jon shamble past the open doorway to the monitor room. He seemed to be holding something close to his chest.

"Hello Spaceboy," she said again, and frowned as he blatantly ignored her.

Jonathan Reich lay curled into a foetal ball on his bed, the Palantir cupped in both hands against his belly as it whispered soothing words of comfort to rock him to sleep. The bed sheets lay on the floor, crumpled in a heap where Jonathan had kicked them clear as he twisted and turned during the night. As long as he had the Palantir beside him everything in his world was fine. Oroboros biotechnology, tens of thousands of years ahead of anything humans could produce was working its wonders through his mind. Jon dreamt great dreams - swirling visions of bright sound and colour. He saw the legacy of his family - the great Aquarius fighting crime above the skies of Los Angeles. There was James Reich in his bright red and blue acrobats costume, battling the Silver Phantom in the 1940's, and young Simon Reich carrying on the family tradition in the sixties and seventies.

And then Jonathan woke up to the sound of insistent pounding on his door. Strangely he felt refreshed and healthy for the first time since arriving on board the cramped and suffocating satellite. The knocking continued, prompting Jonathan to swing his legs out of bed and slip into a pair of boxer shorts.

"Who is it? What do you want?" Jonathan slipped his arms through a crumpled khaki t-shirt that should have crawled into the wash basket three days ago. He walked towards the door and opened it. Standing on the other side of the inner hatch was Sarah, dressed in black tracksuit bottoms and an equally black vest.

"I think you'd better get up. We've got a visitor, and Eric is freaking out that we should all be standing to attention in the meeting room like good little troopers."

"A visitor?" Jonathan caught a glimpse of the Palantir lying on his bed. He casually picked up a military jacket and threw it over the artefact. Sarah's gaze flicked across the room but Jon reckoned he'd been quick enough to cover up his theft.

"Tabula Rasa big cheese. And yes we're talking super powers."

"Super powers? Here? What does he want?"

"Duh... the box, dummy." Saran squeezed past Jonathan into his bedroom. She picked up a framed picture of his Mum, Dad, and little sister, Cassie.

"The box!" Jonathan's face couldn't disguise the fact that he was suddenly alarmed. "What does he want with the box?"

"The Tabula Rasa wants to take a look at it. It is an important archaeological find after all. If that thing is still working, it's priceless."

Jonathan's mind was racing. The superhero would be in the meeting room by now, talking to Eric. Eric would be opening the safe and when he did he'd see the box was missing. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"I have to get to the meeting room." Jon sat down on the bed and quickly put on his shoes, lacing them as fast as he could.

"Yeah, that's what I said. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Well, you don't look it." Sarah replaced the photo on the bedside table.

Jon's mind was racing as he walked into the small meeting room. Eric was already in the process of buttering up the big name superhero, giving him a guided tour of the station and explaining how the monitoring equipment worked. The hero was putting up with this formal display of hospitality but he obviously wasn't really interested. He had a job to do and he probably wanted to get back home as quickly as possible.

"Ah, here's Jonathan," said Eric warmly. "Jonathan is descended from the James Reich Aquarius dynasty. He's been working with us on the Solar Shield programme..."

"Pleased to meet you," said the hero, though he gave no indication that he was.

"Hi." Jon stared down the small corridor towards the security safe. It hadn't been opened yet. The question was how could he slip the box back into the vault before anyone noticed it was missing. He'd need a distraction of some kind.

"This is Preying Mantis from Tabula Rasa Central. He's come to take the Palantir back to Earth."

"He must be hungry if he's come all this way. Perhaps we could rustle up some food for our guest?" suggested Jon in desperation.

"Of course." Eric turned to face the hero. "Would you like something to eat?"

"I haven't got time. If you could just give me the box I'll be on my way. We're really quite busy."

Jon had to do something. He couldn't let the safe door be opened until he had a chance to replace the Palantir. Why on Earth had he felt compelled to borrow it in the first place? His mind searched for a solution and suddenly found one. The Tabula Rasa book of Space Regulations stated...

"We can't do that straight away," said Jon. "We have to radio through to Tab Rass central to get confirmation first. Regulations you know." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. This was bureaucratic bullshit and he knew it. He was quoting regulations to impede an authorised Tabula Rasa superhero from doing his duty, but maybe, just maybe it would buy him enough time to replace the box before anyone noticed it was missing.

"No." Mantis's response was firm and final.

Eric stared at Jon as if he'd gone mad. "What the hell are you talking about, Jon? This is no time to quote the manual. This is Preying Mantis."

"We're supposed to get authorisation, Eric." Jon squirmed. He was playing the part of a jobs worth, and Eric was sure to know something was wrong.

"I'm sorry," said Eric, as he turned to Preying Mantis. "Jon is acting strange. I'll phone through for authorisation and then I'll throw the book at him afterwards for being awkward. It won't take more than ten minutes."

"No." Preying Mantis said it again. "Just give me the box."

Now the crewmembers were looking at Mantis curiously. Yes, Jonathan was being an ass demanding that regulations should be followed, but Mantis was acting peculiarly in refusing to allow them to contact Tab Rass Central.

"It will only take ten minutes," said Eric.

"No. I don't have time."

Eric stared at Mantis, doubt crossing his mind for the first time. Mantis recognised that look and knew the game of subterfuge was up. He lashed out and snap punched Eric in the face. As the station commander went down, Mantis swung around and kicked Molly in the face. Mike was the first to react and ran towards Mantis. Mantis met him easily enough with a series of quick parries and a rapid set of double punches to the man's gut and face. Mike hit the floor instantly, no match for a highly trained superhero. Taking full advantage of the confusion that filled the room, Mantis picked up a glass ashtray and threw it into Jack's face. The heavy blunt object smashed his nose and put him out of action for a few minutes. Sarah jumped back, but not quick enough to avoid Mantis's grasp. He caught hold of her left arm, spun her round and drove two stiff fingers into her solar plexus. Now only Jon and Leslie remained standing. For Jon this was too much. He ran towards the door, hoping to put some distance between himself and this madman long enough to find a weapon of some kind. Leslie wasn't quite so fortunate. Mantis grabbed her long ponytail, took hold of her collarbone and quickly snapped her neck. He let the body drop to the floor.

Jon ran for his life, fleeing down the corridor towards the medical lab, but Mantis was close behind him. The hero raised his arm and fired a weighted microwire that span around Jon's legs and dropped him to the floor. Off balance he hit the ground face first. Mantis picked Jon up by his hair and dragged him back into the meeting room.

"Stupid. You're all very stupid. You should have just given me what I came for."

Sarah was groaning on the floor, covered in spilt coffee. She looked up in time to see the sole of a boot kick her in the face. "You've brought this on yourselves." Mantis dumped Jon's stunned body next to Sarah's. Dimly, through the pain she took hold of his hand and clenched it tightly.

"Even super villains know better than to get in the way of the Tabula Rasa. What makes you people think you can do any better?" Mantis walked towards the security door and tried to open it. Without the correct palm print it refused to open. Mantis's solution was simple enough. He smashed the glass panel that held an emergency fire axe. Picking it up in both hands he walked towards Molly's prone body and chopped her hand off at the wrist. Picking up the bleeding appendage, he slapped it against the smeared light panel. Now the door sprang open.

Mantis stared at the combination keypad and smiled. "I'm rather hoping one of you will be sensible enough to give me the combination code." No one in the outer room said anything. "You can consider it an order if you think it'll keep your conscience clear." He smiled. "I do outrank you after all."

Jon squeezed Sarah's fingers from where he lay. "You all right?" he whispered to the best of his ability. Sarah tried to nod. There was blood on the floor from the stump of Molly's hand. Sarah tried not to look at it.

Mantis walked back into the main room with slow careful steps. He leaned against the door jam and regarded the few men and women who were in a fit enough state to get up off the floor.

"No volunteers?" Preying Mantis strolled around the room, kicking aside a fallen chair and stamping hard on Eric's left hand. A couple of bones cracked underfoot. "Well, let's try this another way then." Mantis grabbed Sarah and lifted her up onto her feet, "You have a friendly looking face."

Sarah hung in his grip, not wishing to antagonise the hero further.

"Now then, listen very carefully." Mantis pressed his stubbed nose close to Sarah's. "Whatever you do, don't think about the keypad combination number." Mantis scanned her mind with his telepathic powers. "Thank you very much." Mantis dropped Sarah to the ground. "Now we're getting somewhere." He walked back towards the electronic safe and tapped in the number sequence he'd stolen from Sarah's head. The safe door swung open, but of the Palantir there was no sign.

Jon lay on the floor, aware of the familiar calming sensation emanating through his body from where the Box lay nestled under his sweatshirt.

"It's not there..." snarled Mantis as he returned, looking exceptionally pissed off. "I'm not renowned for being a patient man. Someone knows where it is. That someone had better tell me NOW!"

Jon remained where he was. The box soothed his nerves and reassured him that everything would be OK.

"It was in the safe," pleaded Eric. "We put it in the safe." He stared at his broken wrist.

"Well it's not there now, is it?" Mantis kicked him in the teeth. "Let's pay attention, people. Let's get with the programme here! Where's the fucking box?"

"Eric's right... we put it in the..." Mike didn't get to finish her sentence. Mantis grabbed him by the hair and smacked him face first into the steel inner wall.

"That's not what I want to hear. One of you knows where the box is, and whether you want to tell me or not, you'll be thinking of its location right now." Mantis amplified his telepathic range and forced his way into each mind in turn. In each mind he found the same thought - the Box should be in the safe. Even Jon's mind read the same story. As powerful as he was, Mantis was no match for the telepathic properties of the Palantir.

Mantis sighed. "Well let's try this the old fashioned way. Everyone up. Come on! Get up!" Mantis kicked the crewmembers onto their feet and pushed them outside into the service corridor. "Walk straight ahead, come on, you all know the way." He began to shepherd them towards the main airlock.

"What are you doing?" asked Eric.

"Less talking, more walking." Said Mantis as he kicked Eric forward.

The crewmembers were pushed reluctantly towards the main air lock. Mantis opened the inner door and forced them inside. Then, with a tap of the keypad, he closed the inner door. The confused men and women stared back at him through the thick plexi-glass observation panel.

"Last chance people," said Preying Mantis. "Where's the Palantir?"

Realisation began to dawn on the crewmembers. Only an exterior bulkhead door stood between them and the cold vacuum of space. One by one they began pleading with the super hero, trying to make him understand that they didn't know where the Palantir was. It was supposed to be in the safe! Only Jonathan Reich remained silent. He gripped Sarah LaSalle's hand and basked in the warm, soothing glow of the Palantir. Deep down he was aware of his inner voice screaming at him: "give Preying Mantis the Palantir - he's going to kill everyone!" But the voice was drowned out by the voice of the Palantir itself. The Palantir whispered into his ear: "He's going to kill you all anyway. You know too much - he can't let you live, and anyway, you won't die. This is just the beginning. We're together now, just the way it was meant to be."

Slow motion, freeze frame replay. Mantis's hand moves towards the control panel and everyone realises they're going to die. You're in a box and in ten seconds a door is going to be opened to the vacuum of space and there's nothing you can do to save yourself. You scream; you plead; you beg; and all that does is use up your last minute of life.

"Tah-tah," said Mantis. "Bye-bye."

Jonathan turned to face Sarah LaSalle. Her eyes were wide with fright. She was in shock, and a small trace of saliva was dribbling down past her lower lip as the airlock mechanisms clicked into place.

"Sarah - this is very important." She turned round to face him, still staring blankly as the men around her screamed and banged their fists against the inner airlock door. "I love you, or else I think I do." She stared at him blankly as he spoke. "We're going to survive this, but you mustn't let go of my hand, understand?" Jonathan didn't understand why he was saying any of this. It was the Palantir speaking through his mind.

And then the outer air lock door opened. Air rushed out into vacuum with the kinetic force of an explosion. The men and women were thrown into space instantly, their bodies kicking and struggling futilely against the inevitable. In space you have two problems. Firstly you can't breathe, but even more worrying is the pressure differential. Your body is pressurised, but the vacuum of space isn't. If you're lucky - if you're very, very lucky, your body may survive twenty to thirty seconds of intense exposure to vacuum. That's twenty to thirty seconds for your life to flash past your eyes, and for you to realise there's absolutely nothing you can do. This time you're really going to die.

Jonathan felt the Palantir dissolve. As he held his breath, an inner calm engulfed his body. The liquid form of the Oroboros technology ran down his arm, across his shoulder and onto his face. From there it entered his mouth and nose, running down his throat and into his body. Jon gasped, choked, and suddenly found he could breathe vacuum. Space was no longer cold. Space was no longer painful. Space was home.

He turned and looked at Sarah LaSalle, her hand clenched firmly in his as he rocketed through space at the speed of the explosive decompression. She was dying, kicking and struggling like the other bodies hurtling through space alongside him. Jon pulled her body into his arms and kissed her like he'd never kissed her before. The Liquid Palantir split in two and part of its form left Jon's body and flowed up through his throat and through his mouth into Sarah's. The Palantir was responding to a subliminal command almost as desperate as Jon's need to survive.

Jon watched the dying struggles of his colleagues as Sarah LaSalle coughed twice and opened her eyes. She was alive, like him, breathing vacuum.

In the deep, cold depths of space, they embraced and span helplessly into the dark void beyond.