It's been one year, three months, twelve days, and fourteen hours since I last saw my aniki, waving goodbye as he boarded his ship to Kerberos. Nine months, seven days, and six hours since my world stuttered to a crashing halt. I've been out here in the desert all that time. Out where people can't promise they'll come back but never do. Where I don't have to hear that Shiro screwed up, that he's a disgrace to the Garrison. When I know—I know—he did everything right. A couple of my Academy—buddies, I guess; I really didn't have friends—tried to keep in touch with me; I never answered them. Romelle came out here three times before she shipped out, trying to talk to me; I ignored her too.

My damned training, every bit of logic and reason I've ever had, tells me Shiro's dead. Even if he survived whatever happened at first, there's no way he could've lived this long out in space. I know all of this. I know every stupid detail of how much oxygen his ship had, his space suit had. My nightmares show me in gleeful detail how aniki would have slowly died as he ran out of oxygen, fighting to breathe. I know way too damned much to believe he's alive. Thing is, that's exactly what I do. Believe he's alive. I have to. Because the universe can't possibly be screwed up enough to take him and my parents.

I couldn't tell you the last time I slept the whole night. I've had nightmares for as long as I can remember, either of my parents dying or some of the crap I saw on the streets when I was a kid. I used to go to Shiro with them; he'd tuck me into his bed and sleep next to me. And I could sleep then; he'd make the nightmares go away somehow. But now. . . now he's gone. And worse yet, he's part of my nightmares now. So I don't sleep more than 10-12 hours a week. I just can't.

So I try to stay busy. I probably know the Kerberos telemetry better than anyone in Garrison now. And I explore the desert around the cabin. To the north, about a fifteen minute ride away, are some ancient ruins; I nearly broke my neck falling into them, and try to stay away now. South is the Academy; I never go that way for obvious reasons. East is some kind of scientific station; I haven't figured out what they're doing, and stay out of their way. But west . . . is weird. Some sort of energy that always knocks my com and nav systems offline, and the cave with its odd markings, where the energy feels stronger. I've mapped out the cave, the extent of the energy, but . . . there's no reason for it. No explanation I can find anywhere.

Last night was one of the bad ones, with Shiro playing a starring role. But this time was different; instead of seeing him suffocate and die on Kerberos, he was alive, beaten and begging for my help. Just as I reached for him, I woke up in a cold sweat. Still trying to shake it off, I wandered outside, looking up at the stars like I always do . . . which is when I saw the meteor crash. Best I could tell, it landed near the science station; people could be hurt, there could be loose gear to appropriate. . . . off I went on the bike.

The station was lit up like pictures I've seen of old New York's Times Square; it was pretty obvious that it wasn't hit. It was crawling with people, more than I've ever seen, all in Garrison uniforms, and I got curious. The dynamite meant for the boulder threatening the cabin made a much better distraction, pulling enough people away from the station to let me slip in unnoticed.

I heard the voice first; hoarse, exhausted, babbling something about aliens coming, and Voltron—whatever that meant. A quieter murmur, and the voice changed, getting more frantic as it begged not to be restrained. And I couldn't take that begging.

The Garrison scientists weren't expecting any trouble; I had them out cold almost before they knew I was there. Then I turned my attention to their victim . . . and very nearly hit the floor myself. "Shiro?" I gasped, even though he had passed out and couldn't answer. He looked so much older, his hair gone to grey and white, and kami help me, his right arm was gone, replaced by something robotic, but. . . . no question, it was my aniki.

I managed to get him off the table, out of the station and away from the Garrison pursuit, despite the idiot that thinks I'm some rival of his and his tagalongs, safely back to the cabin. I had his things stored, so he could get cleaned up; now he's standing beside me as we watch the sunrise. There's so much to talk about—where's he been, what happened to his crew, what was he talking about earlier—plus we have to deal with the tagalongs on my couch. But right now, all of that can wait. I have my aniki returned to me from the dead, and there is nothing in this world we cannot face and defeat together.