Private Mara ibn Durassi couldn't see the flames. He couldn't see anything, at all, but he could hear the frantic sounds of his fellow soldiers as they dashed back and forth, attempting to douse the inferno with ridiculously small buckets of water and cans of pressurized foam. He could also hear the rapid succession of lesser explosions, as the fire gorged itself on the rest of the watchstation's munitions. And he could hear the sirens, screaming in his ears like the tormented souls of hell.

What had happened? Mara ibn Durassi tried to remember, and his head hurt in the attempt. He had been on his way to his post at the thermal scan tower when it came. A crack, like the sound of the world being ripped apart, and a blinding shower of pure white light. Then came the force. He felt an entire universe strike him face on, taking away his breath and knocking him to the ground with such power that his body sank several inches into the soft sand.

His assaulted ears could not discern the crash of the four scan towers against unyielding ground, heard only the tremulous echoes of the blasts and sirens screaming out into the expanse of shadowed desert. His heart hammered against his breast, his temples, as he fought to recover from the fall, regain some of his vision.

He felt himself moving upward, and thought, sweet Far'hahten, am I dying? He imagined himself leaving his body, floating gently toward heaven, and relaxed at the thought. His body felt distant, insensate.

Then he felt something gripping his arms, and realized he was not dying. Something--someone--was pulling him up. He was faintly aware of the inadequacy of his legs; he stumbled against his rescuer, but was not alarmed by it. He believed he was safe, and would be duly taken care of.

The thought persisted, even when he felt his sand-colored overcoat sliding abruptly off his body, and the chain of his identification tag catching in his long black hair as it was pulled over his head. He offered up no resistance, was perfectly docile...until the metal cuffs bit into his wrists.

Then relief turned into fear, and the fear revived him, somewhat. Mara suddenly found his strength and jerked loose, staggering backward and into the arms of a second assailant. He tried to shout for help, but the sound was choked by a thick wad of fabric that somehow made its way into his mouth. Two pairs of hands gripped him, now, shoved him forward into the darkness.

The terror was such that it clouded Mara's mind. Unable to see his attackers, he struggled, jerking and kicking with wild abandon in a futile attempt to break free. His mind cried out to his goddess, but to no avail. The men dragged him on toward an unknown destination.

Mara ibn Durassi tried to calm himself. He knew his fear would disable him more readily than the restraints his captors had already applied. He took a deep breath, held it, found a glimpse of control and used it. He imagined the man to his right, tried to calculate the approximate location of the man's groin, then moved. His booted left foot flew upward with enormous force, stopped against soft flesh.

The injured man groaned and made a choking sound, and Mara felt his right arm suddenly become free. He used the shock time of the situation to attack the man to his left, but was unprepared for the quick response to his kick.

Something hard and painful made contact with the inside of Mara's unprotected knee, and fire shot up into his hip. His body slumped toward his useless leg, but he continued to fight. He jerked up his fists, striking his more aware captor beneath the chin. Shoved himself backward, found himself momentarily free of restraint.

He began falling as his momentum combined with his injured leg and thrust him back faster than he could recover. The sense of falling into darkness terrified him; he reached out for some kind of hold, found nothing, just kept reeling backward.

His descent stopped when his head slammed into the edge of some metal object. Splinters of agony shot through his brain, his eyes, the right side of his face, and he felt dizzy and nauseated by the blow. Strong hands grabbed him, once more, thrust his body in the direction he had been falling. His head hit the doorframe of the hovercraft, again, and a warm stream rolled down his right cheek. He felt as though his head was about to explode.

Mother of heaven, don't let me die like this!

He was falling, again. Endlessly, it seemed to him, and the sense of falling kept bringing back traces of the terror that had earlier overcome him. It seemed like an eternity before his body impacted with the soft leather seat and rebounded, ever so slightly. Then there was silence. Terrible silence. The chaotic noise of the station ceased, abruptly, as the door closed on the soundproofed car.

Mara ibn Durassi strained to hear the whispery, shadow voices settling into the front seat, but they were drowned out by the crashing thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears. What little he managed to hear was unintelligible, but did not sound promising. He couldn't recognize the harsh, choppy language his kidnapers were using. It certainly wasn't Standard language, or his own tongue, Lemani. It was no language he had ever heard, before.

He gave up trying to decipher the men's muttering, felt the vibration of the fans beneath him, as the hovercraft lifted itself above the sand. He heard the jets engage in a high-pitched whine, then felt a jolt as the car shot out toward the open desert. Dear Mother, what is going to happen to me? he thought, not really wanting to know. His future was beginning to look very dismal.

He took several deep breaths, trying to relax, to think clearly, and failed. His body was awash with sweat, and a sticky substance he identified as blood was congealing on the right side of his face. The darkness in his aching brain was lightening, slowly, changing from black to dark grey to peppered white. He was beginning to see outlines and shadows, squinted his burning eyes in an attempt to see his kidnapers.

He saw a shadow turning toward him, perhaps having sensed Mara's attempt to see him. Next came a small but bright flash, and Mara felt a twinge of pain in his right shoulder when the tranquilizer blast pierced his skin. "Oh, my Lady of Heaven!" he whispered, nausea welling up in his belly. Colors swirled in a frenzied dance in his head, melting together into a bottomless black void. The world pulsated in a sickening, frantic rhythm, then began a vertiginous descent into absolute oblivion.