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The land before him was the Sul valley; a barren place of orange rock and sickly yellow moss. No light ever reached the floor of the valley even in the height of summer, rendering it permanently cold and gloomy. There were no ore veins, no precious gems or metals and no ground suitable for farming or grazing. Sul would have been ignored altogether where it not the only easy path through the mountains that separated the central Dawn Kingdom from the southern provinces. It was not the valley he remembered. He had gone there once as a child and been left uninspired - it was a place where events had happened long ago, and that was all there was to say. This valley was the valley during those events; the valley of the Battle of Sul. T'Rol stood at the top of the eastern cliff and stared down at the bloody road sixty feet below. Half a million men had come to the battle that day, and nearly a fifth had perished. Most of the dead were the enemy, but thousands of Yvenik soldiers were amongst the Oraahnaj dead. At the choke, the corpses were four or five deep, and as he watched men were struggling to drag the bodies away to the great pyres that had been erected to the north. They would burn for days, and T'Rol could smell them even from half a mile away. He stood beside T'Rol and watched the grim work in silence. He wasn't sure what to say; how exactly does one strike up a conversation with a ghost? The answer, it turned out, was to let the ghost speak first. "Which one are you?" T'Rol asked. "I am Vaahn, son of Brahlt, son of Garo." T'Rol nodded. "I thought so. I remember Brahlt. I remember them all. They all come to me in the end. Damned if I know why; it's not like I ever invite you." Vaahn and T'Rol watched as a second T'Rol, bloodied and weary from the day's slaughter, began to tour the lines of surviving soldiers. "Is this a dream or a memory?" Vaahn asked. "Neither and both," came the cryptic reply. "This is my day of glory, my one perfect victory. All others were rendered hollow by stupid, weaker men. Every fortress I took, they lost. Every time I pushed back our borders, they retreated from the others. As I marched to bring the Day to its knees my king saw fit to betray us all and surrendered - to Niirgol no less! The worthless bastard!" T'Rol let out a long sigh that washed away the rage as quickly as it had come. "What do you want, Vaahn? What do you think to gain from coming here? What do any of you hope to gain?" "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Well nor do it. You and your kind are descended from my youngest - a son who turned on me in the end and helped send me to my grave." The warlord gave a humourless smile. "You know that pain all too well, I think. So tell me, why should I care about someone whose only link to me is that your ancestor betrayed and murdered me?" "Because sometimes we have to do such things in the name of duty," Vaahn replied, and he was almost surprised at how convincing he sounded.

Another pause followed as T'Rol watched the scene before him fade, replaced with a bloodless, bodiless valley. To the north were two armies - the invincible legion of Oraahnaj, and the pitiful Yvenik free-companies rallied to oppose them. In the valley itself and along its cliffs rank upon rank of soldiers emerged, forming out of nothingness. Many were archers, and Vaahn knew from history lessons that they would reap a bloody toll when the enemy was lured into the bottleneck. "It's time for you to go," the ghost of T'Rol said coldly. "The Shepherd has come." "No, I can't go yet; I have too much left to do." A cruel scoff cut him short. "That's called 'living', Vaahn. We all had things left undone. I had a world left to conquer, but I was denied my chance." He turned to look at something behind Vaahn's back, and Vaahn turned with him. A skeletal Kyyreni, clad in the course furs of a mountain herder was marching toward them. His crook glowed faintly, causing the spectral valley to ripple and distort around it, as though the landscape was being slowly unravelled by the artefact's power. "I won't go with you," Vaahn told the apparition. Another scoff from T'Rol answered him. "You don't get a choice; you can't run from him. You are dead, Vaahn. You don't get to finish your great works, or see how the story ends. You are dead, and all that's left of you are memories. In time, even those will fade away. All you have now is what he has come for - the spirit of the man you once were." The Shepherd was within arm's reach now. His arm stretched out and the sleeve slid away, revealing not cold bones but the warm, weather-beaten hands of someone who had toiled every day of a long, hard life. They were the hands of a caring father and a dutiful husband. Moreover, they were welcoming. Vaahn looked into the hollow skull of the Shepherd and saw nothing to fear there; he was a guide and protector, come to show his charge the way home. Two shimmering lines of silver appeared between Vaahn and the Shepherd, who drew back his arm in surprise. Vaahn reached out and gripped the eldritch lines as they took solid form, becoming a pair of flawless, razor-edged swords. "What in Kalkar's name have you done!?" T'Rol cried aloud, watching in awe as Vaahn took up a fighting pose. "You are right, T'Rol," he growled. "I cannot run from the Shepherd, no-one can... but nowhere does it say you cannot fight him!" The swords sliced down together, and the Shepherd was quartered by them. He came apart and dissolved into nothingness, leaving no sign he had ever existed at all.

A sudden, violent pain surged through Vaahn's head. He dropped his swords and screamed, throwing his hands up to his head. It felt as though molten lead was being poured over his left eye, and he could feel a distressing amount of blood pulsing through a deep gash wound across his skull. "Gods no... not again..." he sagged to his knees and vomited, swaying back and forth as the ground began to shift beneath him. "You are not welcome here anymore," T'Rol growled. "You are disturbing my rest. Leave, son of Brahlt, and do not return." "How... where..." "Where you came from!" the warlord roared. "Go back to your damn corpse!" A fresh surge of pain washed over Vaahn as he tried to rise. He lost his sense of balance and stumbled sideways off the cliff. He felt thirty feet before a fresh agony struck - a thousand volts straight through his heart.

* * *

For the longest time, all he knew was pain. It hurt to breathe, to think, to exist; endless waves of pain that the hastily applied sedatives had yet to fight against. "He's alive! We've got him back!" A wash of medical jargon went on around him - meaningless, unintelligible gibberish interspaced with words he could vaguely understand. It was all about his brain activity, basic functions and the state of his ruined skull. "I died," he said. The words came out so weak and faint nobody could hear them. "I saw my ancestor..." A voice of clarity cut through the confusion. Vaahn let his head roll to the left and the heat-haze of Hakrim came into view. "How long was he dead?" "I don't know," the paramedic replied. "Well I need to know!" "He was dead for about five minutes." Niel's voice cut through the fog of Vaahn's mind, though he couldn't see where from. "Medically speaking, it would be improper to declare him legally dead until at least ten minutes have past." A yelp of pain from Vaahn brought both men's attentions back to him. "I can't... my eye is gone isn't it?" "It is," Niel confirmed with a slight grimace. "I can arrange an artificial eye, but I can't perform that kind of surgery here." "So there was no point in your opinion that Vaahn was or could rightly have been considered legally dead?" "Why the hell does it matter?" the cyberneticist snapped. Rook, as he was want to do, stepped into the conversation seemingly out of nowhere. "Because, father, the instant Vaahn is declared legally dead he forfeits any claim he has to title or position. He would no-longer be the Noble Lord of House T'Rol." Hakrim confirmed Rook's explanation with a nod, and turned to the other medical staff. Whilst they assured him no-one had declared a time of death, Vaahn focussed on returning to the world of the living.

From his vantage point on the medical gurney, Vaahn watched the argument in the centre of the ring. It was quite a complicated argument, with Jasat acting as the focal point for various other participants. There were issues of honour, tradition, legality and diplomacy being considered, often quite loudly. He knew that, despite how it may look to an outsider, this riot was a victory for Vaahn. Jasat's actions would have voided the challenge, allowing Vaahn to retain rule over Icara. And yet, it did not feel like a victory. It was, at best, a postponement. Sooner or later, Jasat would try again. If he didn't, someone like him would. There had to be finality; the war had to end in the ring, there and then. "Hakrim!" the snapped word brought the Arbiter's attention back to his lord. "Would you please tell everyone over there I have a message for them?" "Of course, Noble," Hakrim answered, noting that some, who were either close enough to hear or cunning enough to lip read, had already fallen silent and were urging the rest to do the same. "What message should I convey?" "Please tell them to shut the fuck up!" He'd wanted to enjoy the reaction of the arguing political leaders, but the burning pain in his head denied that satisfaction. "Gentlemen, ladies, assembled... people. I have a splitting headache-" he grimaced in pain, and allowed them their chuckles, "-and so I need a few minutes to compose myself before I accept Jasat's challenge." "Challenge?" Jasat asked, all but drowned out by the people around him. He had to shout them down. "What challenge?" "You have violated High Law by attacking me, son; your guilt is beyond doubt, and as the victim I am entitled to be compensated. I may request the form your punishment takes, and I request the following: that you take Ank's place in our challenge." "He has that right!" Hakrim barked, pre-empting anyone who might argue otherwise. "Legally, the challenge was halted the instant Jasat entered the ring. It remains in hiatus until the overseer decrees otherwise. That would be me, in case you've forgotten." Jasat looked at the ruined form of his father and laughed. Half of Vaahn's head was covered in nano-compress and wound with bandages. His left eye was gone, and the medical tape deprived him of the heat patch next to it as well. He may have appeared physically fit beyond that, but as he pulled himself upright he swayed like a drunk. A moment later, he vomited like one. "This is a bad joke, father!" "In that case, Hakrim, what punishment would you recommend?" The Arbiter grinned as only a Daysider could. "Torture and execution would be the typical punishment for a crime as severe as attempted murder on a Noble of your stature, oh Duke of Icara City. I am afraid that rank is no protection, and I can cite precedent on that matter if required." "So there's your choice; a slow, painful death, or a quick death at my hands. Which will it be?" It was clear to all that Jasat dearly wanted to make a smart comeback, but there was something about Vaahn's defiance that rattled him. The Noble was broken, yet he spoke as though the Gods themselves were on his side. In the end, Jasat settled for a begrudging, "I accept your terms."

It was another two hours before the doctors could be shouted down and Vaahn was permitted to fight once more. The instant he stepped into the ring it was clear there could only be one outcome; his right arm hung limp at his side, barely able to grip the sword let alone raise it. He was also entirely blind on his left side, and his every step caused a fresh wave of pain to play over him. Hakrim took up his position in and asked the combatants if they were prepared. Vaahn claimed he was, though nobody believed him. "Then... then begin," the Arbiter's pained words were delayed by Vaahn falling to his knees. Even on the ground, too broken to fight, he insisted the fight go on. Jasat could have ended it there and then, but instead he waited. That was what the nobility recalled; he stood and watched as Vaahn staggered back to his feet, gasping from pain and exhaustion. A crude, telegraphed attack was launched at Jasat, who parried it easily with his right blade and swung with the left. Vaahn toppled, escaping the blow but putting himself prone again. He managed to get back to his knees, but any more than that was beyond his means. "Don't do this, father..." Jasat pleaded. "This is cruel to both of us." Through gritted teeth Vaahn spat, "You d-did this to me! You're to blame!" "You should have died a warrior, not like this. You deserved a better death." His left sword finally slipped from his grasp. It was a miracle he'd kept hold of it for so long. With another, pitiful gasp of pain Vaahn straightened up as best he could. "Then end this," he pleaded. "Just make it quick..." Jasat nodded, placing one sword on the ground so he could get a firm grip on the other. He took up position next to his father, who raised his head to expose his neck. "You died well," Jasat said, and brought the sword back for a killing stroke. As the blade came for his neck Vaahn threw himself to the side. He swung up with his own blade, inflicting a crippling leg wound that sent Jasat sprawling in the dirt. The wounded King swung out blindly and was blocked more by chance than anything. Before he could swing again Vaahn delivered a blow of his own, ramming the blade into Jasat's side. "I don't die at all!" Vaahn roared, hauling himself over his son and bringing the blade down time and again. He delivered three deep thrusts to the chest before relenting, satisfied that victory was his.

The crowd fell silent. The Icarans were unsure how to respond; did they cheer, or should they be appalled at the bloody deeds played out before them? The Kyyreni leaders were much more confident, and stepped into the arena to join the victor. "Is he dead?" Vaahn gasped, looking to the Arbiters. "Will you declare him dead?" One of the paramedics was summoned. He only needed the briefest of glances to know that Jasat's wounds were severe to the point of fatal. "We might be able to save him, but we need to act now." "Nobody saves him," one of the Kyyreni generals growled. He wore the colours of the Free Admiralty. "This was a challenge to the death." A trembling hand was run across Jasat's cheek. The king's eyes were wide open, his face frozen in an expression of mortal terror. Even after everything that had happened, it was heartbreaking for Vaahn to see his son that way. He clenched his one good eye shut tight and huffed out a series of ragged breaths that devolved into agony-laden sobs. A consolatory hand came to rest on Vaahn's shoulder." Jasat is legally dead, but that does not mean he is beyond saving. We could Rejuve him - he would abandon all claims to his old titles, but he would live." Fixing his one good eye on the Arbiter, Vaahn gave an urgent nod and allowed Jasat's body to be taken. "There is now the matter of the new King," the Admiralty officer slowly moved to bring himself into Vaahn's field of vision. "I have done some reading, and it seems that-" "I will not take up my son's throne." Vaahn snapped. "I want to, by the Gods I want to, but it is not my place. I was Lord of Tu'ri once, but that is behind me. My place is here now." "Then who would you suggest?" A wry smile played across Vaahn's lips. "I'd put Ank on the throne." Suddenly the centre of attention, Ank simply stood and gawped at Vaahn's words. "Me?" he managed. "I... I have never sought to be king." "I never sought to rule Icara, yet here we are," Vaahn answered with a wry grin. "You will do your people proud, Highness. You are a man of courage and integrity. You are everything a leader should be. Besides... if anyone objects, they can always duel you for the crown." Not a single Noble dared speak for a full minute after that. Eventually, out of pity for the disquieted rulers the assembled Arbiters decreed Ank's claim valid. "Ank T'Ouda, son of Dorth, son of Uikke, is hereby recognised as the Sovereign Lord of the Royal House of Tu'ri, and thereby King of the Dawn and its territories. All hail the king!" All hailed as instructed, and there was finally a sense that the storm had broken. Vaahn was helped to his feet and then very nearly fell to the ground once more as Jas cannoned into him. The Aspatrian seemed not to care about Vaahn's protests, and remained clamped to him like a limpet. "You are a bloody fool, you know that?" "I know... I'm sorry you had to see me like this." Jas forced a smile and answered, "I've seen you battered and bloody before. Come on; let's get you to that ambulance." They headed for the waiting medics, one walking and the other limping. It was a relatively short walk, but the path was quickly filled with people. Aki, Wodka and Davenport pushed into view, all shouting compliments or words of praise. Chloe and Matt, both strung out from stress and tearing up with relief, were eager to see their boy once more. Along with them came countless others, the ordinary men and women of Icara who understood, in some basic way, that Vaahn had saved them from annihilation. He was helped into the back of an ambulance laid down on a thin stretcher bed. Vaahn turned his eye to the Rejuvenator, now powering down after a successful cycle. A young Kyyreni boy of just six or seven was laid out on the gurney, dead to the world in a deep, though fitful sleep. "What happens now?" Jas asked, refusing to leave Vaahn's side as the doctors applied fresh compresses to his wounds and strapped him in for the journey. "The rest of our lives," Vaahn replied, and finally surrendered to unconsciousness.

Epilogue:

The Revelry was in full swing, and for the first time the people of Icara were seeing firsthand what the celebration was truly about. Men and women of the Kyyreni invasion fleet had besieged every bar, pub, club and purveyor of alcohol in the city and done their best to buy out all the stock. Police, forewarned of the coming storm, focused on keeping the debauchery contained to as little of the city as possible. What they had not counted on, however, was the opinions of the populace they sought to protect. Within twenty four hours the city centre was full of Icaran citizens of all races, many half naked or worse, drinking freely and losing themselves in the wild celebrations. Music boomed out from stages and sound systems all over the city, and with every hour the street parties grew in size. There was little trouble throughout the week-long celebrations, and later many noted that it had been exactly what everyone had needed - a mass blowing off of steam to finally purge the niggling fears of the uneasy ceasefire. Aki spent the last two days of the Revelry with Niel Silverman. It wasn't just for the sex - although there was plenty of it - but she also found she quite enjoyed his company. He seemed to enjoy listening to stories of her old life, and was only slightly troubled by some of the details. In return he told her stories of the things he'd done in his long, long life, and wasn't particularly offended when she got bored and wandered off halfway through. Then there was Rook. He spent the entire Revelry roaming the streets, returned once the cleanup had begun, smelling of sex and drink and looking quite pleased with himself. "I think I like being Kyyreni!" he chuckled, and retired to do whatever Androids did in private.

"So what will you do now?" Niel asked him the next morning over breakfast. Rook shrugged. "I might go to Urokon with the fleet when they depart. I'd quite like to see the planet and soak up its culture. Besides, if I ever did decide to become the master infiltrator Starfleet wanted me to be, it'd be useful to have that cultural data." "I would prefer you didn't become a tool of Starfleet," Niel answered firmly. "But, if you want to see other worlds, you have my blessing. Who knows, maybe I'll join you." The Android seemed rather pleased with that. He turned to Aki, who was making smiley faces out of sausage, bacon and egg and asked her, "what do you want to do now?" "I'm thinking... threesome." The three of them exchanged looks with one another, each sizing up how the others had taken the comment. All round, it seemed to have gone down well. "You know," Rook said carefully, "maybe staying here on Icara would be more fun after all..." "I knew you'd see things my way, Toaster boy!" Aki laughed. By the time she got around to eating her breakfast, it had long since gone cold. On balance, she considered it was worth it.

* * *

Vaahn had developed the habit of admiring the backs of his hands. For thirty years he'd lived with having letters there, usually the letter P. Now they were gone; his Penitatas status was erased and he was finally free of that life. He topped up his breakfast with a few grapes left over from his parent's last visit. He wasn't that keen on them, but since the nursing staff wouldn't bring him seconds he had to make do. Once given the green light by the doctors, he decided to take a stroll around the hospital. There was a well-kept garden near the centre of the complex where patients could relax and unwind, and he frequented it often. He didn't like staying in bed; in fact, he didn't like staying in the hospital at all. He'd been hoping to be discharged for well over a week, but the doctors wanted to be sure he was well enough. Today, his visit to the garden was made with company. Ank T'Ouda, King of the Dawn, was sat on a stone bench and watching goldfish swim around the garden pond. He seemed quite content, showing no signs of impatience or boredom, as though there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing. "Highness," Vaahn said as he approached. It was a safe opener to catch Ank's attention. The king smiled at him and waved away the formal opening. "Vaahn, please, if anyone can call me by my name, it's you." The Noble Lord settled on the bench and joined Ank in watching the fish. They all had names, and he'd been told them twice, but for the life of him he couldn't recall a single one. "Will you remain on Icara long?" "Long enough to see you settled in," Ank replied. "Goodman is furious at you, by the way; she thought you were going to back down and let things carry on as normal, not run the world yourself." "First thing I'm doing when I get out of here is exiling her," Vaahn answered firmly. "She'll be nothing but trouble if she stays. I don't care where she goes, just so long as she isn't here." "Maybe she'll go back through the Wormhole; there are thousands of people emigrating back to the Terran Confederation. I guess they find the idea of living under a Kyyreni unpalatable." The half-breed king paused the conversation to retrieve a bag of fish food from his pocket, which he began tossing into the pond in small handfuls. His face lit up in child-like delight as the gold and white fish began to feed. "Oh, before I forget, I need to discuss your House... It's a lovely gesture, reviving House T'Rol and all, but it's not really legal. The House was disbanded in disgrace, and it's actually written in law that it can never be revived." The revelation caught Vaahn off guard. "You... are you taking away my title?" "I am taking your House away," Ank corrected. "As to your title, you are free to remain the Duke of Icara, or even be King of Icara if you want - I'm informed that you are technically a Free Colonial Lord, and thus not a part of the Dawn Kingdom and unbound by our hierarchy. Still, you are bound by High Law, and High Law forbids the revival of the House of T'Rol." "Then what happens to me?" A playful smile, too long absent from its owner's face, spread across Ank's features. "Last week I consulted the Noble Council and discussed with them, along with representatives of the Arbiters and our allied nations, the idea of making you a Legend. They seemed rather taken by the idea I must say." "A Legend?" Vaahn echoed. "You mean... I would start my own bloodline?" "And your own House," Ank confirmed. "Yurgan would inherit the T'Rol line, and your sons - I'm assuming you will have some - will adopt your name as their lineage. This is a rare honour, Vaahn, but be under no allusions that you've earned it." The King of Icara was left momentarily dumbstruck by Ank's words. He gave another playful smile and rose from his seat. "Here; there's some food left for the fishes. Enjoy their company and leave all the stressful stuff to me. I wish you well, Vaahn." "Likewise," he replied. "I... I owe you for this, Ank." "You owe me nothing," and with that Vaahn was left to enjoy the sunshine.

* * *

Vaahn T'Rol, newly crowned King of Icara, marched into the Corrections Council chambers with two bodyguards in tow. Those members of the Council who had seen his son arrive in such a manner all those years before shrank down in their seats, fearful of what may follow. "You are all fired," Vaahn announced. "Fired?" Spoke one, a woman in her seventies. "What do you mean?" Vaahn gave the woman the briefest of glances before addressing the room as a whole. "I went through your records, back through hundreds of years of appointment histories and retirements. Do you know what I found? In all your history, less than three-dozen people have held a seat in this chamber, and the bulk of the 'new blood' seems to have come in purely because my son murdered or kidnapped several of your number before their usual replacements were old enough to inherit the seats!" The King's voice, though initially calm, was now boiling over in anger. "This cannot be allowed to continue! You've become corrupted by power, too obsessed with your station to ever dare let it go and don't you dare interrupt me!" his final roar was aimed squarely at one of the few non-Human members; a Drakonian male not long come of age. He promptly shut his mouth again. "Your personal clique is abolished. You have six weeks to find new blood, men and women who have never served on this council before. I have already found a man willing to take on the role of 'xenocultural integration' for you - a Nightsider named Frost. That leaves eleven more for you to find." He began to pace the hall, much as his son had done so long ago. "I don't enjoy making people suffer, but sometimes a little tough love is exactly what they need. Find your replacements and hand over your resignations; I will be more than happy to help you find something new to do with your lives. Fail to do as you are told, and I will make an example of you." "What kind of example?" the Drakonian asked, clearly slow on the uptake. Vaahn bared his teeth to the reptile. "The kind that swings from a giblet."

As he walked away from the Council office, a young man fell into step beside him; a man who Vaahn had met only briefly, but whose fate had been intertwined with his own for many years. "What is it you're really going to do to them?" Warren asked. "They'll be serving at least thirty years Hard Time, with parole optional after around twenty." "On what charge?" Vaahn smiled. "Whatever you think works best." Warren was dumbstruck for a moment. "Me?" he squeaked. "But... haven't you just damned the whole Council for being an old boys club? Have you forgotten I was one of them?" "I've not forgotten anything," Vaahn replied. "You are different to them, Warren. You pursued justice; when my son could not be touched by the law, you went beyond the law to bring him to account." There was a shift in tone as he added, "I don't like you for trying to kill my youngest son, but I do respect your motives. You are the sort of man I want to see on the Corrections Council; a man who believes in right and wrong, not simply upholding the law." Warren was about to reply, but thought better of it. He settled on, "So I'm not going to share their fate?" "Not if you don't want to... and not so long as you don't fall into old habits. I don't want the Council to stagnate under the rule of the same old faces." "If I may... I don't mean to offend, Highness, but who exactly is going to ensure you don't do the same thing?" That question stopped Vaahn dead in his tracks. Warren, perhaps unwisely, chose to press on. "How can we be sure Icara won't be ruled eternally by you and your son, alternating the throne between you?" Vaahn's gun left its holster and Warren's heart stopped beating. His eyes were locked upon it as Vaahn brought the gun up to head height... ...then he tossed the weapon up lightly, catching the barrel and offering it to the stunned young man. "Keep it," he said. "If I ever give you reason to doubt my integrity, feel free to shoot me." Gun in hand and head reeling, Warren watched his king walk away without another word.

Three years later...

Rebecca sat on the medical table in her birthday suit and focused on wriggling her fingers and toes. Her third cycle had come all too soon, but at least now she'd be serving it Soft Time. No more spankings (assuming she kept out of trouble!) and a new family who would focus on helping her look to the future and prepare her to return to society. A wayward thought danced across her mind; Soft Timers got more freedoms than Hard Timers did. If Simon made Soft Time as well, then that meant... The thought made her more acutely aware of being nude, and she was glad when the technician helped her into a little pink dress; the horribly tacky kind they seemed to force upon every girl upon Rejuvenation. "I hwope mommy an' daddy d'wan-" she stopped, giggling at her sudden inability to speak. The technician chuckled as well. "Is my new family here?" she asked, focusing hard on each word. "Just your father," the man answered. "He's right in here." Rebecca set eyes on her new parent, and gasped. "J-Jas?" "Hello Becci," Jas said with a smile. Eighteen years old, he was technically still a child under Icaran law, and still wore his V's on his hands. The little girl's mind raced, jumping to conclusions based on what little contact she'd had with her friend since he grew up and she was last Rejuved. "Are you... are you married to Vaahn? Is he going to be my dad?" Jas nodded. "I've actually got my parenting licence, but technically I'm your older brother until I turn twenty one. Then you'll have two daddies." He reached down and picked up the little girl, noting how unsteady on her feet she looked. "You're going to have royalty for a parent! How does that sound?" Becci gave a shy little giggle. "Sounds like I'm lucky to be Soft Time! I bet it'd really hurt if he spanked me!" "I bet you'll learn that first hand," Jas chuckled. "Your bottom just looks too cute when it's been spanked, so we'll have to find an excuse to warm it now and then!" "I really hope you're joking!" By then they had reached their hovercar. The Aspatrian strapped Rebecca into her child's seat. "Consider it payback for all those times you embarrassed me back when we were together." The man's tone had been light enough, but something clearly still bothered the girl. "You... you know that mean and Simon..." "I know you've 'played doctor' more than once, and that you've both had your bottoms warmed because of it. Is it true that your last mother walked in on you two 'examining' each other?" The girl's blush said it all. "You know, he'll be Rejuved soon," Jas said. "And a little birdie in the Council told me that you're going to be getting a second little brother." "Really?" Becci's eyes lit up. "He's going to live with us?" Jas nodded. "You two will have a room to share. Vaahn and I are fine with you two being boyfriend and girlfriend, so long as you behave yourselves and focus on your school work. You'll get the full speech when Simon joins us, but I think you know what to expect; you keep it entirely confined to the bedroom, and when we tell you to go to sleep, you sleep." The girl nodded eagerly, giddy at the knowledge she'd be living with her boyfriend. Of course, she was also living with an ex-boyfriend, who could drop her pants and spank her whenever he felt she'd done something wrong... maybe it wouldn't be quite as fun as she'd like to think. Something she'd missed popped into her head. "Wait, you said second brother! Who's the other one?"

When Jas got home with their new daughter, Vaahn was sat on a recliner in the garden watching Jasat. The Kyyreni boy was currently reaching up for a branch of one of the garden's trees, an act that exposed the back of his hand where the silver 'P' of a Hard Timer was clear to see. "Not that branch," Vaahn said with barely a glance. "Far too small; try the one to your right." Jasat scowled, reluctantly plucking the branch from the tree with a clipping tool and using a specially designed trimmer to clean off all the leaves and twiglets. Being switched was bad enough, but being forced to choose and prepare the switch first just drew it all out unbearably; the proud little boy already had tears forming in his eyes. As he padded back to his father, Jasat was greeted with an almost sympathetic tone. "Not easy being five again is it?" "How long is this going to last?" Jasat asked, offering the switch up. Vaahn took the implement. "As long as it needs to. Go inside and get undressed; when I come in I want to see you bare and in the corner." Sulking, Jasat obeyed. Vaahn gave the switch a few quick test swings against the empty air. It was light and whippy and would hurt like hell without causing any real harm - exactly what a Penitatas parent wanted, and a Penitatas dreaded. He left Jasat in the corner until Jas and Rebecca returned. "Ah, our new daughter!" "I really hope that's not for me!" Becci said. Her eyes were fixed on the switch. "No, this is for your brother. Jasat!" Sniffling, Jasat came out of the corner and allowed himself to be put over Vaahn's lap. Rebecca was sat out of the way to watch; something that Jasat clearly did not like. "She's your sister," Vaahn said. "She'll be seeing you with your pants around your ankles a lot in the years to come. If you don't like her watching your punishments, you'll just have to learn to behave!" "It's not fair!" Jasat whined. "You're due an unearned spanking anyway, and you didn't put your dirty clothes in the laundry as Jas asked! You need to remember to obey your parents, so I'm going to remind you the hard way!"

Whatever Jasat was about to say in reply was cut off by the switch connecting with his rear. Vaahn knew exactly how much padding the boy's rump fur offered, and so struck hard enough to overcome it and then some. Jasat's back arched and he let out a yelp of pain, which was soon joined by several others as his father brought the switch down time and again. "Ow! Owww! Owowow! Ple-e-ease sto-o-op!" Jasat wailed, kicking his little footpaws frantically as the switch set his backside on fire. Vaahn was putting the swats close together, forming an almost solid band of red across his son's bottom, with the worst of it right where Jasat's weight went when he sat down! Satisfied, Vaahn began to cross-hatch his previous work. Now the switch was cutting across five or six old swats each time it landed, and that made Jasat's agonised howling all the more urgent. In the end he relented, dropping his head low and focusing on crying out his pain instead of begging for mercy. His father saw this and, perhaps as an act of mercy, moved the switch down to the thighs, which were thus far untouched. In total, he put forty good hard swats into his son's rear; more than enough to turn a five year old into a helpless, mewling little thing.

While Jasat was taken upstairs and tucked into bed for a nap, Jas led Becci to her new room. There were two beds; one with pink sheets, one with blue. There was a dresser and a toy chest and two separate little desks. Above the bed was a long shelf where books, holotapes and anything else the Rejuves might want could be kept. And, of course, there were two punishment stools; something no Penny's bedroom could possibly be without. "Do they have to be here?" She asked, nodding to those accursed stools. Jas gave his new daughter a smirk-laden smile. "Think of it this way; when you're tempted to lift your skirt for Simon, first think about whether you'll be lifting it to sit on that stool afterward." The Penny girl turned the colour of beetroot at the comment. She wandered over to her bed and sat down on its corner, running her fingers across the wooden corner knob. "How come you wanted to be our parents anyway? Do you... you know..." "No, I don't have those kinds of feelings for you anymore," Jas answered, sitting on Simon's bed opposite her. "But I valued our friendship, and this way I know that you're safe and well and moving forward. Your relationship with Simon was an afterthought; Vaahn said that both of you would benefit from being able to grow closer without having to look over your shoulder all the time." With a shy giggle Becci replied, "He is a lot more confident these days..." "Just remember that Vaahn and I won't be doing you any favours," Jas said, adopting the fatherly tone that Rebecca had heard in two fathers before. "If you step out of line, you'll be right over our laps, and Vaahn said that since we've got three Penny's under one roof he won't cut any of you any slack. Just remember that if you want your bottom to stay safe, you need to be as good as gold at all times." Rebecca gave Jas a cheeky grin. "Maybe not all the time, right?" "Oh I just know I'm going to have you both on your stools within a fortnight of Simon showing up!" Jas chuckled. "Now, how about we find you something else to wear and start exploring that toy chest?"

Six months later...

The door to Simon and Becci's room was open. From his own bedroom opposite theirs Jasat could hear them both crying their eyes out. He slipped out of his room, eyes and heat-sense scanning for his father and Jas. Jas... Thinking on the Aspatrian made a little knot in his stomach. Vaahn wanted him to treat Jas as a parent, but it felt odd to do so. He didn't argue about it these days of course; it wasn't worth the sore backside. Neither was present, so he crept over to the doorway. Inside the lights were on and from his vantage point he could see Rebecca sat on her punishment stool. He had one just like it; a small, wooden stool with blunt triangular teeth on the seat, and straps to keep a Penny sat in place. A sudden shriek told Jasat that Simon had just been forced onto his own stool. "I told the both of you plenty of times that bedtime was time for sleeping!" Jas scolded. "I could hear you both giggling from the hall!" "Speaking of the hall," Vaahn turned his head and called out. "You'd better have a good reason for not being in bed!" "T-they woke me!" Jasat answered, slinking into the room now that there was nothing to be gained from hiding. "There, you see? Your crying woke your brother." Jas scolded the pair of them. "You know, back on Urokon they punish children who won't keep their hands to themselves with crocodile clips; metal ones, with sharp teeth. Why don't you to think on that for a while?" He rounded on his son, lifting him up and cradling him against his chest. "Come on; let's get you settled down again."

Jasat was taken downstairs and given a warm glass of milk to drink while Vaahn moved his favourite chair - an old fashioned rocker - closer to the fire. "It's quieter down here," he explained, placing Jasat in his lap and rocking him gently. After a few minutes in his father's arms, Jasat asked, seemingly out of nowhere, "Are you still mad at me?" "What for?" "For... for everything." Jasat looked up into his father's face. There was a prominent scar across his head, running across an eye that had been put out for the second time at Jasat's own hand. Vaahn had an artificial eye fitted, one that looked real unless you looked very closely. "I forgave you a long time ago," Vaahn said, never once pausing in his gentle rocking. "I'm not doing this to you because I hate you; I'm doing this because you have done wrong and must be punished. Why do you ask? Do you not want me raising you anymore?" Jasat shook his head. "If I've got to be a child again, then I wouldn't want anyone else." Vaahn cradled his son's head in his hand, stroking the boy's fur as he had when Jasat was just a baby. He sang to him softly, an old song he'd sung by a fireplace on a far off world so long ago. Jas came down when the other two children were finally settled back to sleep. He stood at the doorway of the living room and watched his lover for a long time. He waited until Jasat had drifted off to sleep. "Want me to tuck him in?" "I'll do it," Vaahn answered, carrying his son back to his bed. The two of them loitered in the hall, listening to the silence from the bedrooms either side of them. "Becci's more of a handful than I thought," Jas said. "So is Simon; that new confidence he's found just leads to trouble." He gave Jas a playful smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way, of course." "Of course," Jas echoed. "You know, maybe Becci isn't the only one who wants to get up to mischief tonight." "Is that an order or a request?" Vaahn asked. Jas ran a finger around the collar of his shirt and replied playfully,. "I don't think I can give you orders, can I master?" "You can order me all you want," Vaahn replied, kissing Jas tenderly on the lips. "I belong to you, Jas. I always have... and I always will."