Tygra drummed his fingers absently against the communications panel. Scattered throughout the control room behind him were sensor logs to be analyzed, diagnostic reports to review, figures to be calculated, and energy emissions to be recorded. But the work lay neglected as Tygra kept his eyes focused on one small, seemingly insignificant light on a board full of LCD’s and diagnostic displays. In the midst of busy machinery and computers, it was this one light that commanded the tiger’s attention and had now commanded it for the duration of half an hour. "Come on," he urged the small light. After six years of outpost duty on Third Earth, Tygra had fallen into the habit of talking to himself. Pumyra wasn’t always around to talk to, and the tiger had discovered that his conversational skills deteriorated rapidly if not in use. "I don’t care what you tell me," he promised the light. "Just tell me something!"

A chorus of beeps suddenly erupted behind the tiger, signaling a sensor anomaly and a possible alert. Well, there was no ignoring that. With a frustrated sigh, Tygra pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching his legs slightly. He turned and walked over to where the deep space scanners interfaced with the monitors. Rapidly punching up a few commands, he waited for the results. When information began to scroll across the screen, Tygra froze in shock and surprise. "You have got to be kidding," he murmured. "That’s just not possible!" He quickly programmed the scanners to recheck their results.

A small burst of static caught the tiger’s attention, and he hurried back to the main control panel. Tygra immediately noticed that the light he’d been watching so intently before was now flashing. With feelings of both hope and dread, Tygra accessed communications. "Lair here, Tygra responding."

"It’s me," the voice on the other end informed him. "Sorry it took so long, but there was a blizzard in the main pass and the Thunderclaw didn’t like it. I had to take an alternative route up here and it’s snowing around the tower, too."

"Not a problem, Pumyra," Tygra answered. He could hear the thumps and squeaks of cold machinery in the background. Sounded like the Hook Mountain communication tower was due for a tune up. "So? What did you find?"

There was a pause on the other end and then the puma responded. "I can’t clear up the initial signal any more. The source is gone and it was a one-time transmission. What we got is what we’re stuck with. Control Headquarters isn’t sending out any more signals, and I can’t even establish contact with them."

"Well, I have some news on my end, but I’m afraid it’s not good, either." Tygra glanced over his shoulder at the scanners that were deep in their programming by now. "In a routine scan, the deep space scanners found something that was a bit—unusual. And it came from the area of Control Headquarters. I’m rechecking the results now."

"What did they find?"

Tygra grimaced. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" There was obvious confusion in the puma’s voice. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the scanners didn’t find anything. There was nothing there. It’s as if…it’s as if Control Headquarters doesn’t exist."

It took a while for the Pumyra to respond to that announcement. "You mean it’s gone?" she finally asked.

"Vanished." Tygra shook his head in dismay. "We get a garbled priority one distress call from Control Headquarters and now we can’t even find Control Headquarters."

"Have you contacted Lion-O?"

"Not yet," Tygra answered. "I wanted to have more information before calling Thundera and the scanners just barely picked this new information up."

"Then I think we have all the information we’re going to get, Tygra. If you ask me—" Pumyra suddenly broke off. "Wait a minute, new message coming in. It’s a Control frequency!"

"What’s the origin?" Tygra demanded

"Wait a second."

I’m always waiting, Tygra thought sourly. But he sat back in his chair and listened to the sound of Pumyra typing on the control boards of Hook Mountain, knowing that getting worked up would accomplish nothing.

"I’m piping this over to you so we’ll be listening to it at the same time," Pumyra announced. "The trace places it a few light years from here around the Leo Asteroid grouping. That’s Orbital Outpost 375A. Okay, here’s the message."

The communications channel was suddenly filled with static. Tygra listened closely and thought he could make out voices in the background, but it was difficult to tell. "Can you filter any of that out?"

"Trying," was the answer. There was a short break in the static and then a screeching wail that sent Tygra cringing and clutching at his ears.

"What was that?!"

"The end of the message," Pumyra answered. "Hang on, I’m trying to cut out the interference." There was more silence on the Hook Mountain end of communications. "Um, Tygra? The message is being broadcast again."

Tygra’s eyebrows went up. "They’re repeating their original transmission? Exactly the same?"

"According to the voice patterns, yes. It’s the exact same thing."

"It must be a recording," Tygra mused. "A communications probe, maybe. I’m setting the scanners to work on that sector."

"Good idea," Pumyra agreed. "And the second transmission isn’t any better than the first. I’m working on the filtering, but it might take a minute."

"So will the scanners," Tygra said.

The two Thundercats set to work on their self-appointed tasks. Tygra finished first, but the results made him wish otherwise. "Pumyra?"

"I’m here."

"Scans are completed."

"And?"

"Same as Control Headquarters," the tiger answered grimly. "They find nothing. The outpost isn’t there. However, there is something else. It’s too small for the scanners to be certain, but I think there’s a ring of static buoys around where the outpost used to be. I’m sending you the exact coordinates for everything the sensors find."

"That might explain the static in this transmission," Pumyra murmured. "Okay, I’ve filtered out as much as I could. I still can’t tell what they’re saying, but I do recognize two voices."

"Whose voices?"

"I’ll let you judge for yourself," was Pumyra’s ambiguous response.

Before Tygra could protest, a blast of static filled the communications channel again. While still indecipherable, Tygra could definitely hear voices in the message. Wait a minute! He knew those voices. That was Mandora and Parkay! But what were they saying? Something about attack? "Is there any way to improve the quality of that message?" Tygra asked.

"Not from here," the puma answered. "My guess is that the communications probe has just drifted beyond the static circle and we’re only now getting the messages. I can pick up a transmission log, and according to this, the probe has been broadcasting for over a week. But the static circle isn’t what’s causing the message to be so garbled right now. I just ran some more tests on it, and the static we’re hearing is being caused by the probe itself."

Tygra blinked. "The probe is messing up its own transmission?"

"According to these readouts. I’ve gotten a better fix on the transmission source, and it’s about 50 meters outside that static ring you found. That’s also the source of the interference. Tygra, if OO 375A was destroyed, the probe might have been damaged in the blast."

"That would account for the static," Tygra conceded. During that time, the deep space scanners had finished their verification process and the initial findings were correct. Control Headquarters wasn’t there anymore. "Pumyra, I think we have a problem."

"I’m inclined to agree with you."

"Okay, I’m contacting Thundera. You see if you can get a hold of any other Control outposts. We need more information."

"Right Tygra. Hook Mountain out."

"Lair out."

After he cut communications, Tygra sat back a minute to gather his thoughts. Thundera had to be contacted, but what did he tell them? Control Headquarters was gone. OO 375A was gone. Both stations had sent out distress calls, but both calls were indecipherable. They were unable to establish communications with any other Control outpost. And Parkay and Mandora were possibly…Clenching his teeth, Tygra hit the keys that would signal the Cat’s Lair on Thundera. Normally, he and Pumyra handled all the issues that involved Control. It looked like they’d need to pull in the rest of the Thundercats for this one.

"Asleep on the job again?"

Panthro’s booming voice startled Lion-O out of his light doze and almost out of his chair. Catching himself on a scanning panel, the lion glared at the panther. "Doesn’t anyone around here knock?"

"It’s the control room. It’s fair game." Panthro took a seat next to the lion. "I thought I’d trained you better than this, but I come in to find you fast asleep."

Lion-O growled softly until he caught the twinkle in Panthro’s eye. "Sorry," the lion muttered sheepishly.

"Cheetara filled me on the details from this morning’s clan meeting. Had that been me, I wouldn’t have even shown up for my watch. Don’t worry about it."

Lion-O grimaced and clutched his head at the reminder of the clan meeting. After more and more Thunderian refugees had begun to gather back to Thundera, the need arose for some type of formal government. Having nothing else to fall back on, Lion-O and the other Thundercats resurrected Thundera’s previous constitutional system. Among other things, the head of each cat clan now met in a weekly council to discuss state and civic matters. Every Thunderian had a vote and the Lord of the Thundercats, traditionally King of Thundera but Lion-O was uncomfortable with that title, also had one vote. A majority vote was enough to enact laws. It was an acceptable system, but Lion-O was woefully unprepared for the heavy politics that had suddenly arisen in the council and he viewed the matters currently under debate as trivial. "Panthro, is it too much to ask that every cat clan be given some kind of home territory? Some kind of base? And they can expand out of that if they want to?"

"Sounds fair to me," Panthro answered. "But I’m no more of a statesman than you are." Panthro was also finding the council meetings to be dull and boring. Traditionally, senior members of the Thundercat team were allowed to participate and debate in the council, though only the Lord could vote. But lately, Cheetara and Lynx-O were the only Thundercats besides Lion-O to regularly attend council meetings. The other Thundercats just didn’t have the stomach for it. They could handle an all-out confrontation with Lunatacs and mutants. The endless negotiations and backstabbing that came with politics were something else entirely. "Cheetara tried to explain the issues involved, but I just don’t get it," Panthro continued. "To me, it sounds like the tigers and the caracals should just fight each other for territory."

Lion-O smiled slightly. He’d almost suggested that out of desperation. The current issue in the council was whether or not the territory of the tigers should extend beyond the northern mountain range and into the deserts. The caracals claimed the desert was their territory even though the servals had offered to share the middle plains with them. In Lion-O’s mind, it was obvious what should happen. The caracals had a historical claim to the northern deserts and the tigers already had an entire mountain range to themselves. But the tigers argued that because more of them had survived the destruction of Thundera, their territory should be enlarged and the caracals should move in with the servals. Sybar, head of the tiger clans, had almost come to physical blows with Caratino, head of the caracals. Thankfully, Cheetara and Tahee, head of the cheetah clans, had intervened quickly enough to prevent violence. But as Lion-O thought more about it, he would actually have enjoyed watching a fight. At least it would have been a diversion. "I wish it were that simple," Lion-O told Panthro.

"Life is never simple," Panthro grumbled.

"It used to be," the lion disagreed. "When we were on Third Earth, life was very simple. Fight Mumm-Ra. Fight the mutants. After a few years, fight the Lunatacs. Protect the Warrior Maidens. Protect the Bolkins. Protect the Wollows. Protect the Tuskas. Protect the Berbils. Even after Thundera reformed, it was pretty much the same. And then all the Thunderians came back. And we made this poor excuse for a government."

"If we hadn’t made this ‘poor excuse for a government,’ the tiger and panther clans would have coerced the cougar and puma clans into joining them on the warpath for domination of Thundera and you would be dead," Panthro answered quietly. "You know how ambitious Sybar is. And historically, there have always been conflicts between the panthers, tigers, and lions for leadership of Thundera. That’s nothing new."

"I guess." Lion-O shook his head in frustration. "But Panthro, I’m not cut out for this. I grew up with six other Thundercats, ten if you count Bengali, Lynx-O, Pumyra, and Snarfer. I grew up with battles. I was trained to fight, not talk. I didn’t need to worry about what territorial additions the tigers wanted and what the primary export of the margays was. I didn’t need to worry about disputes between bobcats and lynxes or whether or not the clouded leopards were harassing the jaguarundies and whose side the jaguars were on."

"The problems with ruling a planet," Panthro said with a smile.

"I’m serious, Panthro! I have no experience with diplomatic leadership. I’ve never had any training. I don’t remember Thundera before the wars. I’m told that my father was an adept politician, but by Jaga, I AM NOT CLAUDUS!" Lion-O caught Panthro’s expression and tried to calm down. "Sorry."

Panthro shook his head. "Don’t worry about it. Cheetara told me that came up in the council, too. Like I said, had that been me, I’d have taken the rest of the day off."

Lion-O ran his hands through his unruly mane. "The problem is, Sybar is so underhanded that I can’t directly confront him. But I swear by all the Lords of Thundera that if that snake of a tiger makes one more snide reference to my father’s ability and my lack thereof…" Lion-O trailed off into low snarls.

"Talk to Tygra about it," Panthro suggested. "Before he became a Thundercat, he had quite a bit of diplomatic training from both Jaga and Claudus."

"I have," Lion-O growled. "According to Tygra, there are ways to fight back but he needs to see the actual situation before advising me of anything."

"Have you asked Bengali to approach Sybar? Sybar might be willing to listen to another tiger."

Lion-O gave a short laugh. "I asked Bengali once, but apparently that’s out of the question. I had no idea the tiger clans were so hierarchical. Bengali informed me that he can’t approach Sybar about anything for two simple reasons. One: Bengali is a white tiger and Sybar is a red tiger. And two: Bengali is a common tiger and Sybar is a noble."

"What about Mantyro?" Mantyro was one of several newly initiated Thundercats. The previous year, the tiger Mantyro, the leopard Lepora, the serval Servalla, the snow leopard Snoedaro, the lioness Leonari, and the cougar Cougrois had been sent to Third Earth for training under the supervision of Tygra and Pumyra. Upon their return, they were anointed Thundercats. The six new members had been instrumental in supervising the settlement of returning Thunderians as well as the colonization of the planet Pride. "He’s a noble red tiger," Panthro continued. "If you trace his lineage back far enough, he’s distantly related to the same clan that Tygra and Sybar belong to. Sybar should listen to him."

"Tygra suggested that idea," Lion-O responded glumly. "And Mantyro tried to speak to Sybar, but apparently there’s some kind of inner turmoil within the tiger clans and Mantyro’s clan is in danger of losing its standing as nobility. As a result, Sybar refused to speak with Mantyro. Mantyro did get to speak with Serbino, though."

"Serbino—I’ve heard the name but I can’t place him," Panthro confessed. "Who is he?"

"He’s a white tiger noble and kind of like the unofficial spokesman for all the white tigers. He’s one of the few whites with whom Sybar will hold discourse. But Serbino won’t approach Sybar on the matter because it would jeopardize the white tiger clans’ only tie with the red tiger nobility. And the red tigers control all the tiger clans."

"Tygra once tried to explain just how complicated the tiger clans were," Panthro murmured. "But I had no idea they were that—petty."

"Live and learn," Lion-O grumped.

Panthro was about to say something else when the communications console started to flash. "You want to get that or do you want me to?"

"If it’s Sybar or Caratino, I’m not here," Lion-O answered.

Panthro smiled and turned to the control panel. "Well, speak of the devil. Your answer to political dilemmas might be calling you."

"Who is it?"

"Transmission coming in from Third Earth. Cat’s Lair, to be specific."

"Great!" Lion-O exclaimed, feeling real enthusiasm for the first time that week. He reached over to his control board and initiated contact. Within seconds, Tygra’s face filled the main viewing screen. "Tygra! Long time, no see!"

Tygra smiled slightly at Lion-O’s excitement. "Good to see you, too, Lion-O. How are you doing, Panthro?"

"Not bad. Can’t say the same for the Lord of the Thundercats over there, though. He’s a little stressed out."

"A little?!" Lion-O demanded. "You try sorting out all the civil disputes in the clan meetings while fielding subtle insults from half a dozen sources."

"Not to mention an upcoming wedding," Panthro added with a snide grin.

Lion-O blushed a furious red. "That’s still a few months away."

On the screen, Tygra’s smile widened. "Ah yes, Leonari. She looked good in training. Skillful with the twin daggers. Almost as acrobatic as Pumyra. Very fast. Intelligent, even if she is a lion. Lots of long red hair. Nice build. She’ll bear many fine cubs."

"TYGRA!"

Panthro laughed at Lion-O’s outburst. "Come on, Lion-O, we’re just giving you a hard time. She’ll make a fine mate and a good Lady of the Thundercats. Whether or not you plan on breeding is really not any of our business and we—"

"Okay, Panthro, that’s enough!" Lion-O commanded. The color of his face now matched the color of his hair.

Tygra made a noble attempt to stifle his laughing on the other end. "Sorry Lion-O. I approve of your choice of mate, and I’m glad she finds you equally attractive. I have no idea what she sees in you, but—"

"Tygra, why are you contacting us? I know it wasn’t to talk about Leonari," Lion-O broke in, thoroughly embarrassed by now.

The tiger instantly sobered, putting both Panthro and Lion-O on their guard. "We may have a problem," Tygra began.

"What kind of problem?"

Tygra’s jaw stiffened and he seemed to be searching for words. Panthro recognized this immediately as sign that Tygra had bad news but didn’t know how to break it to them. "Does this have anything to do with the mutants and their sudden arms build up?"

"No, I don’t think so," Tygra answered. "But I can’t rule out the possibility."

"What’s wrong?" Lion-O asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Have you received any transmissions from Control in the past week?"

Lion-O sent Panthro a questioning gaze. The panther shook his head. "Not that I’m aware of. You and Pumyra are the Thundercat liaisons with Control, and we don’t have any communication receivers with Control bandwidth. Why do you ask?"

Tygra took a deep breath and shook his head. "Our communications tower on Hook Mountain recorded a priority one distress call from Control Headquarters last week."

"From Headquarters?!" Lion-O exclaimed.

"What happened?" Panthro demanded.

"We don’t know. That’s part of the problem. And here’s another problem. Deep space scanners claim that Headquarters doesn’t exist anymore."

Lion-O’s jaw went slack. Panthro’s eyes bulged. "You’re certain?" the panther asked.

"Unfortunately, I am," Tygra responded. "And there’s more. The distress call was so garbled that we couldn’t make out anything other than that Headquarters was under some kind of attack. Pumyra went up to Hook Mountain to see if she could boost the signal manually and while she was there, a second distress call came in. This call was pre-recorded and had been sent about the same time as Headquarters’ signal, but it was recorded on a communication probe that happened to be stuck in a ring of static buoys. Today it drifted far enough away to finally transmit a message. It came from Orbital Outpost 375A." Tygra paused, squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, and then continued. "That outpost has also been destroyed. One of the voices on the message was Mandora’s."

"Are you serious?" Lion-O managed to ask.

"Would I joke about something like this?" Tygra returned.

"But that could mean that Mandora’s…" Panthro trailed off and looked at Tygra.

Tygra nodded. "It could easily mean that. But if that’s true, there’s nothing we can do about it. We need to focus on what we can tackle. Which isn’t much, actually, considering that we have no idea how, who, or why."

"Mutants?" Panthro wondered.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tygra replied. "But, I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem right. Why would the mutants attack Control? It doesn’t make sense. I can see it as a possibility, but not a very plausible one."

Lion-O rubbed his temples as he turned several ideas over in his mind. "You said the transmission from 375A originated from a communications probe. That means the message should be continually broadcast, right?"

"Right. We’re still receiving it, but we think the probe was damaged in the blast that destroyed the outpost. We’re unable to get most of the message."

"If we were able to retrieve that probe for you, could you extract the message from the probe’s data banks?"

Tygra considered the idea for a moment. "It depends on how the probe was damaged. If the message is muddled because of transmission equipment damage, yes. We should be able to extract the message from the memory banks. If the memory banks were damaged and that’s why the message is scratchy, then we won’t be able to get anything out of it."

"Sounds like it’s at least worth a try," Panthro commented.

Lion-O nodded in agreement. "Okay. Panthro, get Wiley Kat and Cougrois to go with you in one of the Feliners. Have Wiley Kit and Bengali escort you with two Thunder Daggers. Go after the probe and maintain hourly check-ins with either Thundera or Third Earth. We don’t know who or what destroyed Control and it’s best not to take chances."

"Right, Lion-O. When do we leave?"

"This afternoon if possible. Tygra, is Pumyra still at Hook Mountain?"

"Yeah. She’s working on contacting other Control outposts."

Lion-O nodded. "Keep working on that, then, and stay on your guard. Let’s try and establish communications between the two Lairs at least once a day."

"Sounds good," Tygra said. "We’ll let you know if we find anything new on our end."

"Same here," Panthro promised. "Do you have the coordinates for that communication probe?"

"I’m sending them to you now."

"Okay, then we should see you in a day or two."

Tygra nodded. "Oh, and one more thing. If you’re sending Cougrois, I don’t think you should send Bengali."

Panthro and Lion-O looked at each other in confusion. "Why not?" Lion-O asked.

"Long story," Tygra answered. "Let’s just say it has something to do with the training period that happened a year ago."

Lion-O shrugged. "We should be able to manage that."

"Great. We’ll keep working over here, then," Tygra said. "Third Earth Lair out."

Lion-O nodded. "Thundera Lair out."

After Tygra’s face disappeared from the screen, Lion-O leaned back and gave Panthro a questioning look. "What do you make of it?"

Panthro took a moment before answering. "I’m not sure. Like Tygra, I want some more information."

"We always seem to be short on information," Lion-O commented. He reached for the intercom. "Hanger, this is the control room. Anyone down there?"

A few seconds passed and then a familiar raspy baritone answered. "Bengali here. What’s up Lion-O?"

"We have something of a situation. Can we send out a Feliner and two Daggers without breaking the defense circle around Thundera?"

"Actually, you’re in luck. Remember that skirmish we had with a Lunatac freighter escort last week? Well, of the ships damaged, Snoedaro, Snarfer, and I just completed repairs on two Feliners, four Daggers, and one Wraith. As far as I know, they’re not scheduled for defense patrols in the near future, so they’re all yours."

"Perfect. Get two Daggers and one Feliner ready for space flight."

"Will do. Hanger out."

"Control room out." Lion-O turned back to Panthro after cutting the communications channel. "So based on the information we do have, what do think?"

"I think we should be cautious," Panthro answered. "Especially given the state of Plun-Darr. The mutants have enough weapons to take on half the galaxy without trying."

"Then why haven’t they?" Lion-O asked. "I don’t like it, Panthro. It’s not like them. They’ve been far too quiet the past two months. Something’s up and I smell a rat."

"Could this rat’s name be Rataro?"

"I think it could be."

Panthro growled deep within his barrel chest. "We should have taken care of that vermin long ago. If I had a chance to go back and—" Panthro was unable to finish as communications and defense scanners started flashing at the same time.

"Three large cruisers just dropped out of hyper-space," Lion-O reported.

"And they’re contacting us," Panthro finished. "Orders?"

"Let’s hear what they have to say."

The communications screen fizzled, hummed, and finally resolved itself into a picture. A human’s face appeared on the monitor. Hard, blue eyes glared out from beneath bushy eyebrows and a high forehead. Black hair was slicked back and emphasized the narrow face and high, shaven cheekbones. For a moment, nothing happened. Lion-O and Panthro sized up the man on the screen while the man did likewise. Finally, Lion-O decided to break the silence.

"Welcome to Thundera."

There was no response.

Lion-O frowned and decided to try again. "I am Lion-O, Lord of the—"

"We know who you are, inferior one," the man on the screen sneered.

"Friendly fellow," Panthro muttered to Lion-O.

Lion-O ignored Panthro’s comment and tried to think of a suitable answer to that. "I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Your name is…?"

"I am General Jordash. You would do well to remember my name. You will hear it often."

Panthro and Lion-O exchanged confused glances. "And why is that?" Lion-O ventured.

"Because I command the armies of the Kentro Empire. We are destined to rule the stars. We are destined to spread our purity to the far reaches of space and envelope or destroy the lesser species that cannot receive us. We are the essence and the perfection of life. We have survived to bring order to the chaos of the cosmos."

"Now there’s a canned speech if I ever heard one," Panthro whispered.

"Quiet!" Lion-O hissed. He turned his attention back to General Jordash. "That’s a very nice goal, but what are you doing in Thunderan space?"

"You are our next conquest. I have come to offer you two choices, inferiors. You may surrender your sovereignty to us and be relocated as a people but receive citizenship in our empire for your children who will then become property of the state and trained in the ways and traditions of Kentro."

Lion-O stared at the man in disbelief. "And our other option?" he managed.

"We will declare war on your puny civilization and enslave or destroy it."

Lion-O blinked. "Oh. I see."

"Your answer is?"

"You want an answer now?"

"I am authorized to give you five of your minutes."

"Okay, let me get back to you." He made a cutting motion with his hand and Panthro disengaged the communications link. "Panthro?"

"Don’t look at me. You’re Lord of the Thundercats."

At that point, Snarf wandered into the room. "What’s going on in here? I thought I heard something about war."

"You did," Lion-O answered heavily. "We’ve just been given an ultimatum. We can either peacefully become part of an empire or we can be enslaved."

"Don’t forget the part about relocation and brainwashing," Panthro added.

"Right," Lion-O nodded. "If we peacefully surrender, we stay a free people but we move away and all our children are taken from us and raised by the state."

"What state?" Snarf asked.

"The Kentro Empire," Panthro supplied.

"And who are they?"

Lion-O shrugged. "Never heard of them before."

"Well, we’re not going go along with them, are we?"

"Of course not," Panthro answered.

"No," Lion-O agreed slowly. "But we don’t know anything about them and that concerns me. Where did they come from? Are they bluffing about war or are they serious? If there is a war, what is this war going to entail? Are we even ready for a war? We haven’t fought any serious battles in over three months."

"A little too late for that now," Panthro commented.

"I guess." Lion-O turned to the screen. "Contact those warships. Let’s give them our answer."

It wasn’t long before the face of General Jordash once again filled the view screen. "Not a very pleasant looking person," Snarf whispered to Panthro. The panther grinned tightly and shook his head.

"We have an answer for you, General Jordash." Lion-O paused for dramatic emphasis but it didn’t seem to have an effect. Jordash looked as though he’d witnessed such defiance before. The thought didn’t help Lion-O’s confidence. "We decline your offer to join the Kentro Empire. We will fight for our sovereignty and if it comes down to it, we’ll die trying."

"I expected such an answer from an inferior species," Jordash responded quietly. "Be prepared then." And the screen went blank.

"Great," Panthro mumbled.

Lion-O swung on him. "What did you want me to do?"

"Just what you did. But I was kind of getting used to this whole idea of peace."

Lion-O grimaced. "I think I was, too. Contact the clan leaders and schedule an emergency meeting tonight. I’m going to round up the rest of the Thundercats."

"What about me, Lion-O?" Snarf asked. "What can I do?"

Lion-O glanced down at the aging snarf, as if reminded of the fact that he was still there. "Oh, uh, help Panthro. There are lots of clan leaders to contact. Work out a time they can all gather."

"I’m also putting our space fighters on alert," Panthro informed him. "If we’ve really been given a declaration of war, we should be on our guard."

Lion-O nodded in agreement. "Good thinking. When you’re finished, come down to the conference room. We’re going to go over battle strategies and military preparedness."

"Can’t wait," Snarf mumbled.

Lion-O smiled. Snarf had never been one for planning sessions or strategy games. "It will be a short one," he promised.

"Let’s hope this war is as short," Snarf mumbled ominously as Lion-O left the room.

Buried deep in the machinery that operated the deep space scanners at Cat’s Lair, Tygra concentrated on welding the final two wires together. After breaking contact with the Lair on Thundera, the Thundercat had decided to see if he could get more resolution in deep space by diverting power from the main sensor grid to the long-range scanners. This would sacrifice the ability to scan surrounding terrain, but Cat’s Lair really didn’t need that ability. The Tower of Omens did that, and Pumyra was in charge of monitoring planetary activities anyway. With a grunt of satisfaction, Tygra finished and slowly bellied out of the chaos of wires and energy transfer tubes. The tiger slithered out into a main hallway through an access panel and then turned around and stuck his head back in to reactivate the grid. Tygra reached for the switch that would bring the new scanners to life and hit it.

Blaring alarms came to life all over the Lair.

Surprised and startled, Tygra surged upward and slammed his head on the sharp opening of the access panel. Cursing fiercely and rubbing his skull, Tygra got to his feet and quickly accessed the sensor arrays from a remote station in the hall, wondering what he could have possibly done to make the alarms go off and just how long it would take to correct the problem. But what he saw didn’t look like a mistake. During the time he’d deactivated the sensors, five large ships had taken up orbit around Third Earth. Smaller ships were emerging from the carriers and at least twelve had already entered the atmosphere and were on a course for Cat’s Lair and the Tower of Omens. "If that’s a sensor glitch, it’s an impressive one," Tygra murmured to himself. Leaving a large mess in the hallway leftover from his scanner fiddling, the tiger took off for the control room.

After rechecking the sensors one more time from the main controls, Tygra wasted no time in moving to communications and hailing the incoming ships. "Attention unidentified aircraft. You are in violation of Thunderan air space. Please reverse course and identify yourselves." Tygra waited patiently but there was no change, and the planes were getting too close for the Lair’s long-range scanners to track them. Instinctively, Tygra reached to activate the short-range scanners and then remembered they’d been deactivated. "Should have waited to make those adjustments," Tygra muttered angrily. Establishing a link with the vacant Tower of Omens, the tiger patched through to the powerful Tower scanners and continued to track the incoming ships. "Attention incoming vessels," Tygra tried again. "You have violated Thunderan air space. Reverse course and establish communications, or you will be fired upon." There was still no response and the ships were closing fast. With a growl of frustration, Tygra switched communication frequencies and tried to send a distress call to Thundera.

"Third Earth to Thundera. Third Earth to Thundera." His answer was a blast of static. Tygra immediately recognized it as the work of static buoys. Changing frequencies yet again, Tygra attempted to contact Hook Mountain. "Pumyra, this is Tygra. Come in! Urgent!" There was no response. "Pumyra, I know you’re there somewhere. Pick up! Come on, girl, answer me!" The communications channel remained dead. Tygra glanced back at the main monitor where he was tracking the progress of the atmospheric fighters. Nine planes had converged around the Tower of Omens and were proceeding to fire on it. Fourteen planes were almost within firing range of the Lair. Tygra felt adrenaline kick in, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He turned back to communications. "Pumyra, I don’t know if you can hear me, but we’re under attack. I don’t know who or what they are, but we’ve got a serious situation on our—"

The Lair suddenly shook under a barrage of firepower and the communications panel shorted out. Jumping back from arcing electrical current, Tygra turned to fire controls only to discover that one of the ships had scored a direct hit on the Lair’s head and destroyed the main guns. Tygra stared in horror as the ships on the screen gracefully broke formation and dove toward the Lair for a second pass. On a second screen, he could see similar actions taken against the Tower of Omens. And then the screen went blank. The Tower of Omens had lost sensor capability.

"Oh, this is not good," Tygra muttered. He backed slowly away from the control panels as the Lair shook again. Wiring and support beams came tumbling down from the ceiling, forcing Tygra to jump into a doorway. "This is really not good," the tiger decided. He started to race down the hallway, dodging falling pipes. He had to make it to the hanger. There was no way he could fight back; numbers were against him. But he could get away and warn Pumyra.

The floor lurched beneath his feet and Tygra went tumbling. Before he could get up, a large steel support beam came crashing down toward him. Rolling away just in time, Tygra watched in horror as the broken beam tore through the floor and crashed through the level below him. But wait! That beam just might have given him a ticket out of the Lair.

Tygra crawled to the hole in the floor, ignoring the crystallite computer chips now raining down on his head from the main computer on the floor above. He was in luck. The beam had crashed through to the hanger deck. Without hesitation, Tygra jumped through the hole and landed in the Lair’s first sublevel.

And froze. The claw door had been partially blown away and subsequent weapon blasts had demolished the hanger. The spare Thunderclaw lay in a smoldering heap next to Tygra’s half-assembled Feliner. The Hover Cat had been completely vaporized and Third Earth’s only Thunder Dagger, a sleek new fighter capable of both atmospheric and deep space battles, looked like a pile of scrap metal.

"Great. Plan A and Plan B are no longer options. I wonder what Plan C is." Tygra looked around for something he could use as transportation, but it was useless. At that point, the tiger would have settled for the Thundertwins’ old space boards, but they were on Thundera.

The scream of hyper engines as they dove toward the Lair caught Tygra’s attention and he turned to the outside world. Through the broken paw-door, Tygra could see five ships making another run on the Lair. And they were coming straight for the hanger!

Tygra tried to react, but the unknown ships were faster than Tygra anticipated. It was only a few seconds later that laser blasts and liquid fireballs slammed into the remainder of the hanger. Though it had been designed and built by the best of Thundera, the hanger was just not meant to take stress like that. After a cry and a shudder of protest, the heavy ceiling collapsed with Tygra still inside.

Pumyra shivered violently as she forced her way through a partly frozen door. The blizzard was finally over, but the Thunderclaw had been partially buried. With the help of Snowman and Snowmeow, Pumyra had just finished digging it out and she was more than ready for a bowl of hot soup. She shrugged off her heavy coat and shook the snow from her boots as she made her way down the narrow entrance hallway. The communications tower had been constructed two years before with the aid of Control and was intended to facilitate contact between herself and Tygra and the interplanetary police. It was not built to provide living quarters or luxury for anyone and insulation was minimal, making it a chilly place to work. But at that point, Pumyra didn’t care. It was much warmer inside than it was outside.

As she was passing the main communications room, her sharp ears caught the sound of Tygra’s voice over the speakers. Curious, she stopped and poked her head in, but by this time, Tygra was no longer communicating. Rubbing her hands together vigorously, Pumyra winced and started to manipulate the cold controls. "Pumyra to Cat’s Lair." There was no response. "Pumyra to Cat’s Lair. Tygra, did you try to contact me? If you can hear me, I was outside digging out the Thunderclaw." Pumyra waited again, but there was still no response. "Tygra?"

For some reason, Pumyra was growing concerned. She might have imagined Tygra’s voice, but she didn’t believe that. She had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, and she’d learned to trust her instincts. She thought for a moment and then tried to contact the Tower of Omens, thinking that maybe Tygra had called from there. "Pumyra to Tower, come in. Pumyra to Tower of Omens, please answer."

But again there was no response. Her anxiety growing with each passing second, Pumyra tried to access the scanners at the Tower of Omens. With those, she could search Third Earth and pinpoint Tygra’s whereabouts. But to her surprise, she couldn’t get a link with the Tower. Puzzled, she repeated the procedure with the same results. Completely unnerved by now, Pumyra tried to link with the computers at Cat’s Lair. Once again, she couldn’t establish a contact of any kind.

Acting on a growing suspicion, Pumyra tried to establish a link with Thundera and was greeted with nothing but crackles on the frequency. "Static buoys," she murmured. "And in orbit, judging from the interference. But why?" Pumyra pondered this turn in events and made her decision. Pulling her coat back on, she left the communications tower running, warmed up the newly unburied Thunderclaw, and took off for Cat’s Lair.

It was vague and foggy at first, but as minutes ticked away, it became clearer. There were sounds. Noises. Voices. From a distance, there were voices. No, they weren’t from a distance. They were close by. But something was muffling the sound. Something big. Whatever was muffling the sound was also causing a slight echo. But whose voices? They weren’t familiar.

Very disoriented, Tygra opened his eyes slowly. He was alive! That first realization was a very comforting one. When Tygra had seen the ceiling caving in, he was sure his time had come. In what he viewed as a futile attempt to cheat death, the tiger had made a dive for the remnants of the Feliner he’d been working on. Apparently, his efforts were successful. Falling ceiling had made it through parts of the Feliner and knocked him out, but the Feliner had managed to hold most of the ceiling back. He was still alive.

Tygra sat up slowly, pushing plate metal off his torso and doing a quick inventory of his health. Everything seemed to be okay. Some bumps, some cuts, and some bruises, but other than that, he was in working order. He looked around and discovered the Feliner had become a small cave buried under pipes, supports, ceiling, rock, and whatever else had been on the hanger when it collapsed. But it was a cave with an opening. Tygra crawled quietly to the opening, trying to pinpoint the location of the voices he was still hearing. Sneaking a peak outside, the Thundercat was barely able to keep back a gasp. From what little he could see, the Lair was in ruins.

Tygra had seen the Lair’s head pulled off. He’d seen it torn apart from mutant blasts. He’d seen it burning and smoking from Lunatac fire. He’d seen the Lair, the Lair he himself had designed, in all kinds of conditions. But never like this. Before, there was always something left. There was always something still intact. Looking at the Lair now, Tygra couldn’t see a single wall left standing.

And then he saw the source of his voices. Two figures in black flight uniforms and blast helmets were searching in the rubble. Tygra pulled back into his hiding place and reached for his bolo whip. Plan after plan raced through his mind, but Tygra couldn’t find a good one. It would be foolish to try and take on the soldiers. There had to be more out there. But it would also be foolish to stay hidden. They were sure to find him and then he’d lose the advantage of surprise. Eventually, Tygra chose a plan that few of the other Thundercats would have chosen, as few of the other Thundercats had his patience. He decided to wait out the enemy.

Tygra wrapped his whip around himself and disappeared. Having done that, he eased out of the small opening, careful not to disturb anything, and slipped quietly away. He almost ran into a third soldier, who was picking her way through the rubble, but he saw her in time. Tygra waited for her to pass and then continued on. He didn’t have a clear idea of where he was going, but he wanted to get away from the Lair. Or what remains of the Lair, he thought grimly. Making his way toward the jungle, he formed a vague idea of alerting the Warrior Maidens and enlisting their aid. But what chance did they stand against high-speed warships equipped with advanced weapons? No, it was probably best to just make it to the trees and then watch. He needed more information.

By now, Tygra had climbed over enough rubble to have a good view of the clearing just in front of Cat’s Lair. There were at least twenty of the small fighters that had destroyed the Lair and one larger transport ship. Tygra frowned. This attack had been highly coordinated. Who could be behind it? Not mutants. Mutants would have established a communication link before attacking so they could prematurely gloat about the whole thing. And not Lunatacs. Lunatac ships weren’t built like this. Their ships were bulkier and designed to accommodate the different needs of their varied species. They didn’t have sleek ships like this.

Tygra picked up the sounds of more soldiers and flattened himself against a protruding chunk of metal. Even though he was invisible, he didn’t want to take the slightest chance of somehow getting in their way.

He could now see the soldiers coming toward him. Tygra narrowed his eyes and watched closely. These soldiers were spraying some kind of gas into the air. It couldn’t be toxic because the guards themselves didn’t seem to be worried about it. What was it? Tygra waited while the guards passed by and took an experimental sniff.

It was a big mistake. He instantly gagged on the gas as it scorched its way down his windpipe. He felt more than saw the soldiers turn at the sound, but there was nothing Tygra could do about it. The gas had gotten into his lungs and was literally burning up his respiratory system. Hunched over, he tried to discreetly expel the fumes he’d inhaled, but there was nothing discreet about the hacking cough that resulted from his efforts. He could hear more soldiers on their way. And they were spraying more of that gas around! Blast them! But it didn’t affect the soldiers. Why should it affect him?

A wave of weakness washed over Tygra and he found himself on his knees and clutching at his throat. He could hear gasps around him and knew that he was turning visible. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t concentrate his mental energies while his lungs were screaming in pain. And he was growing weaker by the second! Wait a minute. He knew that gas! He’d thought it looked vaguely familiar, but he hadn’t been able to place it. Until now. Now he knew. Thundranium. That was Thundranium gas.

The tiger fell over and clutched his aching sides, wheezing and coughing. He didn’t even try to maintain his field of invisibility anymore. If they still couldn’t see him, they could certainly hear him. Tygra was aware of commotion around him, but his growing weakness and gagging coughs kept him from doing anything. Something cold and metal was shoved against the side of his face. Probably a firearm of some type. He felt another firearm pushed into his back and he was shoved forward on to his stomach. But these events were minor details to Tygra as he tried desperately to breathe and the Thundranium continued to weaken his efforts. Someone said something about oxygen and then Tygra felt someone else seize the back of his neck in a paralyzing grip.

"Don’t move, tiger, or we’ll turn you into a rug."

Tygra found this a hard order to obey, as he was now in the throes of yet another convulsing cough. But he could compromise and minimize his hostile movements. So he didn’t resist the hard hand on his neck, he didn’t resist when he felt his arms wrenched behind his back, and he didn’t resist when his wrists were shackled together with cold metal. Cold Thundranium metal, he realized as he felt more strength drain away. Then something was pulled over his face and shoved into his mouth. His lungs suddenly expanded with pressurized air. Tygra’s eyes bulged open in shock, but there was nothing he could do. At least four soldiers held him completely motionless and he was in no condition to resist. Whatever was in his mouth was extracted and breath exploded out of him. His lungs felt like they’d been blown apart! Heaving for air, Tygra could still feel a burning Thundranium residue and a growing weakness as Thundranium began to circulate further through his body. But he was no longer coughing! Whatever they did, it had gotten most of the dangerous metal out of his lungs. Tygra’s eyes closed briefly in relief and he began to formulate more plans and strategies within his mind. With the Thundranium out of the way, it was time to worry about resisting.

Tygra glanced around quickly, sizing up the force that held him. He quickly noted that they’d taken his whip from him. So much for a fair fight. He’d lost the use of his arms, but they hadn’t manacled his feet. And Tygra was fast. He’d never compare with Cheetara, but he could easily outrun these…humans? Wait a minute! These were humans? Tygra had failed to notice before, but the observation quickly put him on his guard. He knew humans to be a fickle species, quick to support any notion they happened to agree with and capable of almost anything on the emotional scale. And while he had great respect for some humans, Willa and the late Mandora to name a few, many of his experiences with humans had been quite negative. Safari Joe, for example.

Someone who appeared to be in charge was now giving orders. Tygra found himself hauled to his feet and had to fight down a rising feeling of nausea. It had been a while since he’d felt the full effects of Thundranium. He would have to take that into account when he was escaping. With soldiers on either side, the tiger was marched away from the wreckage of Cat’s Lair and into the main clearing.

The soldiers stopped and seemed to be waiting for something. After a discreet look around, Tygra decided that he was probably as close to the trees as he needed to get. The guards around him seemed distracted and preoccupied. The tiger hadn’t put up much of a fight, so they probably weren’t focusing their complete attention on him. There. He felt a grip on one arm shift slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was all he needed. It was now or never.

Mustering what strength the Thundranium hadn’t stolen, Tygra wrenched his arm free from one guard, spun out and around another guard, flipped over a third guard while tearing his other arm free, dropped a fourth guard with a spinning kick, and then made a mad dash for the trees. He’d reached the shade when something slammed into his back and he was sent tumbling to the ground. With his arms chained behind his back, his chest was forced to absorb the ground’s impact and the air was again forced from his lungs. Not my day for breathing, the tiger decided. Rolling onto his back, Tygra looked back and saw what had flattened him. A heavy stun gun was tracking his movements. Guards quickly surrounded him again, and this time there were more of them.

"No more of that, kitty," one sneered.

"Hold him," another instructed. "We’ll show this cat that he can’t fight back without punishment."

Tygra struggled, not liking the sound of that, but it was in vain. There were too many soldiers. Someone seized his head and shoved his face into the ground while three more grabbed his torso. His felt his ankles chained tightly together and knew another escape attempt was futile. And then something heavy was carefully maneuvered around his neck. A large manacle, he decided. He felt grips tighten and wondered what was next. He found out as soon as they closed and locked the neck clamp.

Thousands of pointed, barbed hooks dug their way into his skin, and the manacle itself was too tight! He couldn’t breathe! Not only that, but it was made of Thundranium. He felt strength leave him like water in a sieve. Struggling against his bonds, Tygra strained to get something near his neck and get that painful thing off. Someone gave the neck manacle a vicious yank and he felt the sharp hooks tear their way through his skin as the clamp was forced to turn. He almost cried out in pain, but he didn’t have enough air in his lungs. He could hear soldiers around him laughing, but it wasn’t long before he forgot about the guards. All he cared about was the viselike hold that was putting painful pressure on his trachea and tearing his tissue apart.

For what seemed like eternity, Tygra heaved and fought vainly for air, aware all the time of the tiny pins and the drain of the Thundranium. The clamp was tight enough to induce gagging, but the tiger slowly began to realize that it didn’t completely cut off all airflow. Just most of it. Relaxing his breathing slightly, Tygra discovered that he wasn’t going to suffocate. But it sure felt like it. Slowly, he told himself. Get your breathing back under control. Breathe slowly. Concentrating, Tygra was able to control his frenzied gasps and bring the inhalation process back down to a manageable level. Good, he approved. Now to see what the current situation is.

He opened his eyes and discovered that during his struggles, a few things had changed. Attached to the clamp on his neck was a large, heavy chain, also made of Thundranium. This chain had been wrapped and looped tightly around his body and wound its way down from his chest and ended at his knees. When was that done? he wondered. His wrists and ankles were still separately chained and he was lying next to the large cargo ship he’d seen earlier. But there were no guards near him. In fact, he couldn’t see any soldiers around at all. What was going on?

And then it hit him. Putting all the facts together, Tygra came to a sickening realization. These soldiers had known exactly how to hit Third Earth and where to hit Third Earth. They’d gone straight for the Tower of Omens and Cat’s Lair. They’d known enough of Thunderian physiology to spray fumes taken from Thundranium. And while they’d been rather surprised at Tygra’s invisibility, at the same time, they seemed to expect it. And now Tygra was lying out as bait for the only other Thundercat on the planet. It all fit together too nicely. These attackers knew far too much about their quarry.

Tygra shifted in his bonds a bit, but they held strong and the Thundranium was sapping any semblance of remaining strength. His lungs still ached from their contact with Thundranium, and the hooks in the neck manacle were still digging painfully into his skin. Consciousness was fleeing his weakened shell of a body, but why fight it? He couldn’t breathe deeply enough to keep himself awake, anyway. Finally giving in, Tygra allowed himself to fall into a dreamless sleep where the terrors of the day could not follow and the fears of tomorrow could be ignored a while longer.