AN: Wow, thank you all for the reviews. I just hope that the rest of the story can live up to the prologue . . .I was in the Zone when I wrote that.

Vampyric Saiyaness, you are officially the best reviewer of all time! **pins medal on chest** Gah, thank you so very much! Your reviews are something I look forward to when I post. I did a happy dance when I read your last one. The happy dance is a great and sacred thing. It involves lots of whooping and convulsing. . . .trust me . . .it’s a sight to behold. Anywise, thanks again!

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Chapter One: Station 112

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In space, there is no dawn. No picturesque lights blooming on the horizon, no beams to take away the night, just a buzzing alarm to tell all that the sleep cycle has ended. Zavier woke to one such alarm, as he had for every morning within his memory, stretched, and rose. 6:30:15 am.

Never in his existence had Zavier liked mornings. Mornings lead inevitably towards day, and day, similarly, brought the Institution. And the Institution was boring as all hell. He’d had complete comprehension of the subjects they covered for years. Top marks were his without effort. Admittedly, that fact hadn’t made him overly popular, but popularity was a gimmick, a game he deigned to play. And now that he’d passed his Standard Intelligence Assessments, better known as the SIAs, he was free of the Institution for life.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around. His room was nice, if utilitarian. One bed, one desk, one dresser, and one bathroom. No window broke the cold monotony of his walls, and the dim lighting only highlighted that fact. Personal possessions were to be kept to a minimum, and any effrontery items were prohibited. He could almost hear Korbenton rattling it off now, "There will be no Anti-Coalition sentiments, no pornography, no unauthorized technology, no unruly music, no illegal substances. . ." The list went on from there.

Zavier stripped, revealing carefully toned muscles devoid of tan, all the melanin in his system seemed to surface in freckles. He took a quick shower, barley taking the time to wash his auburn hair. Once suitably dried and shaved, he set about getting dressed. Looking in his drawer, he smiled deciding what to wear. Would it be the Station 112 Orphanage Uniform? Or maybe the Station 112 Orphanage Uniform? Feeling a bit on the wild side, he took the former.

Zavier looked in the standard mirror on his door, smoothing his hair nervously. The uniform was dull and gray - the only decoration a pin bearing the sigil of the orphanage. He had no colors on his sleeves to signify rank or achievement, he hadn’t a chance to earn them, not yet. But today was an important day. Today he was 20, now a legal adult, and now no longer in the care of the orphanage.

The thought was almost scary, though Zavier would deny the fact if asked. But denials or no, deep in his gut a slight flicker of fear arose, no more than a spark. But a spark was all that’s needed to set oil aflame. Staring at his reflection, he cursed himself for a coward. There was nothing to fear. The future lay in change, and fearing the mechanism of evolution would do him naught but harm. A small part of him still whispered, however, that the orphanage was all he’d known, he’d not survive elsewhere. Turning from the mirror with an angry curse, he gathered his things.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his back, Zavier set out from his room. The lights of the hallway were cruelly bright, and he, still only moments from sleep, winced at them. The hallways were much the same as his room; clean, austere, with an order that bordered on obsessive. He passed several other orphans, some a few years his minor, some a decade, delivering each a nod of recognition.

He checked his watch as he came up to a door in the hallway. He still had ten minutes before the meeting, and considered picking up a nutrient packet beforehand. At the thought, his stomach spazamed and he quickly decided against it. He was too nervous for food.

The door before him marked the end of the orphanage’s quadrant, beyond it was one of Station 112 Hubs. Though the door stopped any sounds from penetrating, Zavier knew that the other side held noise and bustle that never failed to give him a headache. Preparing for the din, he scanned his palm to open the door, and stepped out.

Despite the early hour, people of all types walked about. Humans, yes, but androids, AI units, and several Alien ambassadors as well. The Ambassadors stood out not only because of their vastly different physiologies, but because of the way they looked at humans as if they’d just stepped out of a refuse heap. In the great hierarchy of space, Earthlings barley ranked above non-sentient apes. One cruel list in particular had ranked them below the unusually intelligent wart hogs of Bakol Prime.

Zavier walked out into the Hub, trying to ignore the venomous glare he received from a Bakolian female. The Hub was a courtyards of sorts. All the many floors of Station 112 opened up to form an atrium, a quicksilver fountain spouting beauty on the bottom floor, nearly 200 feet below Zavier’s feet. Above, a great window showed through to space and the ever-present stars. From the edge of the railing, a woman was yelling in an unfamiliar tongue to a man several floors down on the right. A child was crying loudly, an AI unit was giving a tour to several new comers "To your left you will see the Sortian Memorial fountain, to your right is the holographic suite. Stay together now, we’ll go see the Med Lab next . . ." Zavier had long since learned to tune them out.

Doors lead off in regular intervals to organizations - like the orphanage - or private residences. People sped by, all moving as if they had to be somewhere ten minutes ago, and the fate of the galaxy rest on them getting there. With practiced ease, Zavier become one of them.

Moving to the nearest TransUnit, he waited in line with people headed all over the station. The smooth cylindrical terminal looked something like a picture he’d once seen in a history textbook. Teliphone booths, or something like that. But this was marginally different. It was rounded for one, the sleek shape fitting the current style that was all the rage on Garniko. The interior was bare except for a black palm box, like so many others that dotted the Station like pox. The man currently inside the booth gave a command, and abruptly snapped out of existence, speeding somewhere across Station.

Cringing, Zavier realized that a few tourists were in line ahead of him. Wonderful, he thought, it always took them an eternity to figure out the Trans Codes. After suffering through several inept idiots in front of him, Zavier finally got his turn. He stepped in, scanned his palm, and waited. After a moment, a hologram of a plain looking woman popped up.

"Hello, Zavier" It said mechanically, "Which quadrant of the Station is your destination?"

"Alpha-1, subroom D" He responded instantly

There was a pause, then "Thank you" and the hologram winked out. The TransUnuit went dark, and then, feeling as though static electricity jumped from every appendage, he moved clear across the station, speeding against light.

He was in another TransUnit, a mile or more from his origin. The door swung open, and he once again stepped into the cool lights. Compared with the relative disorder of the Hub, the Administrative Offices were silent as crypts. The room he stepped into had only one door, and the only other person sat at a fastidiously kept desk. The woman looked up with a stern face. Her hair was pulled back tightly and she wore the Station 112 Administration Assistant Uniform, with a bold stripe of yellow on her shoulder. She’d earned honors for her work. Zavier’s lip quirked. What honors could a secretary earn?

"Yes?" she questioned with a disinterested expression

Zavier cleared his throat, "Ma’am, I have a 7:00 appointment with the Senior Director, Ma’am" He stood with his back rigid and shoulders set, as he’d always been thought

The woman look down at a screen, and touched a few sensors. "Yes, yes, here you are" she said frowning at the schedule, "What business do you have with the Senior Director?" He noticed how her eyes flicked to, and recognized, his sigil. There was a hint of distaste in her tone, which Zavier took an immediate dislike to.

"Ma’am, I believe that is between me and the Senior Director, Ma’am" That was as much disobedience as he dared. She sneered, and made a call to the Director announcing him.

"You may go in" She said, the distaste now apparent. He nodded and gave her his thanks, striding towards the door.

Zavier had rarely laid eyes on the Senior Director - as Korbenton said, the man had an entire Station to see to and had little, if any, time to worry over the affairs of orphans. So when he saw the whizened old man behind the desk, he was surprised. He’d expected someone that carried a presence, that demanded authority. The little man before him had liver spots on his bald head, and gnarled knuckles. But the Senior Director looked up when Zavier entered, and then he saw where the old man’s authority lay. The Director had a piercing eyes, like he could weigh and measure a man in an instant, and see any lie, disrespect, or shirt stain that one tried to conceal. The sleeves of his jacket help a hundred different hues, each one signifying an impressive accomplishment. This was not a man to be trifled with

Zavier shifted his weight before he could stop himself, and cursed himself for it. Now was not a time to act like a skittish child.

"Sit" The Senior Director directed. Zavier complied without comment, "So, Zavier" he said, getting the name from a sheet before him. "What is it I can do for you?"

"Sir, today marks my twentieth year, sir, and it is time I picked my Trade School"

"Yes, indeed it is, and again I ask again, what is it I can do for you?" he said, giving Zavier a disinterested look.

He flushed, the old man knew exactly what he needed, but wished him to say it outright. It was embarrassing, but Zavier was forced to comply, "Sir, I am an orphan, sir, and in the absence of parents, the Station Director must approve of, and sign the transcripts for my desired Trade School, sir"

"Oh, yes, you’re one of Korbenton’s brood, aren’t you?" he said, his eyebrows raising slightly.

"Yes sir, Maestro Korbenton is the head of the Orphanage" he said grudgingly. But no matter what Korbenton had done for him, Zavier did not think of himself in anyway as belonging to the man’s brood.

"Yes, yes, I remember now" The Director was saying, "He’s a good man" Zavier nodded his agreement, "Anyway boy, lets get down to business. Where is it you wish to be schooled? The Military perhaps? Maybe the Scientific Guild? Why not Engineering, you’ve the grades for it" he stated, looking again to a sheet in front of him

Zavier gathered his courage, he wasn’t sure how the Station Director would respond to his request, but it was worth asking, "Sir, I wish to join the Rangers"

There was silence, and for a moment he thought the old man hadn’t heard him. "I’m sorry boy," the Director said looking up, "I thought you said you want to join the Rangers"

"Sir, yes Sir" Zavier responded, trying to hide any trepidation his voice might betray.

"Boy" The director said, starring at Zavier, "I am 143 years old. For forty of those years, I’ve been Senior Director here. Never in that time, not once, have I heard someone request to be a Ranger" He stopped, evidently expecting Zavier to have something to say to that.

"You must know" he continued after a time, "That the Rangers are composed mostly of retired Military men and slackers that succeeded no where else?"

"Yes Sir" There was another pause

"Then why, boy, would you request to be sent down to that hell hole of a planet?" He asked, gesturing to the dead gray globe outside his window.

Zavier swallowed. He cared little for the Rangers, their work was hardly appealing. Their only responsibilities were to keep the Mole revolutions down and run the mines and water purification plants. But that was unimportant. What was important, however, was that the Rangers were the only Coalition force kept on Earth.

Earth, that dead globe which had entranced him in morbid fascination since birth. Ever since he was a child, he’d been obsessed with it. He’d consumed every volume he could find, and looked for hours out windows, longing to be there. If he became a Ranger, then he’d be on Earth. And on some unshakable, primal level, that was all that mattered.

He must have been silent for too long, for the Director asked, "Well?"

Gathering himself, Zavier said "Sir, I’m indebted to you and the Coalition. I’ve been raised here since I was an infant, and in all that time I’ve never been asked to repay all the funds that were spent on my clothing and education and everything else. If I put in hard work at a job that few desire, I’d feel that my duty to this great organization would be fulfilled" It was an excuse he’d concocted earlier. It was complete bullshit, of course. The Coalition barely gave the orphans enough to scrape by on. He didn’t own them a damn thing.

The Director was silent for a long time, and Zavier was starting to worry that maybe he’d deny his request.

Finally, The Director spoke, "The Coalition has always taught that we must do ourselves what is best for the whole, sacrificing what is necessary for the peace and longevity of our fellows. What you are doing is a noble thing, Zavier. I will grant your request. The next Earth bound shuttle leaves in a day. You’ll be on it"

"Yes sir, thank you sir!" Zavier said, smiling his first real smile in what seemed like ages. He was dismissed, though he barely paid attention to the formal good-byes they exchanged. His heart was thumping with excitement. This was his last night here, in a mere twenty-four hours, he’d be on Earth!

In his jubilation, however, he never gave thought to his odd and lasting obsession with the planet his peers gave little thought and less respect. He’d never see his longing for what it was until much later, when the revelation was long past its usefulness.

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soooo . . .whacha think? This is only the start . .MWHAHAHAHAHAHA!! **ahem** sorry, I’m not sure where that came from. Anyway, if you like, you review, comprenden ese?

Oh yeah, btw, if I don’t update this (Or my other story) for a while, it’s not cause I’m giving up on them (perish the thought!), I’m just going on vaca (vaca as in vacation, not like a cow . . .cause vaca is cow in Spanish . . .it was a joke, laugh damn you!). I’ll be back on Aug15th, but I may update b4 then . . . or I may not . . .I’ll just try 2 keep you on your toes. Mwahahahaahah!!!

REVIEW!!!

click da button . . .it’s right there . . .you know you want to . . .