The men were dumped into the dust of a near-desert valley, and all around them, hunched, four armed figures were working. Some were creating mandalas, attempting to divine the future from the axiomatic patterns. Some were ritualistically posing, deep in meditation, their long arms artfully twisting in significant positions. Others were playing music, and the axiom thrummed and pulsed around them in response.

Jim was immediately entranced. Ever since the Dauntless had emerged from Cruel Space, ever since the axiom had caressed the brave men and women of Earth, Jim had been trying to combine what were, in his view, the two greatest forces in the universe, axiom and music. And these people had achieved it.

Unslinging his bass, he wandered closer to the musicians, and began to play. As his fingers caressed the strings, he began studying the axiom patterns, learning from them.

As he began to truly open himself to the music, and filled himself with the axiom, he began to uncover, slowly, the secret. If music was the language of the soul, and axiom was the physics of intent, then it was intent coupled with the truth of self that could make axiomatic music!

The other three began to follow Oorwah as she led them to the Mistress of the Mysticals.

“Fol…. low…… her….. oes…. The….. Miss…. tress…… awaits.”

Sam was very quickly losing his patience. In the past few days, he’d been unceremoniously yanked across space twice, he had no idea where he was, there was no contact with the Dauntless, no backup, no resupply. He had himself and three other soldiers. That was it. And they were supposed to defend three whole planets? Ridiculous.

Sure, that Jasper Blue character had conquered almost a whole planet, by himself. But even then, he had eventually received backup. Did the Dauntless even know where they had gone? Did the ship even know they were missing?

“So, Oorwah, was it? Why exactly do we need to speak to this ‘Mistress’? We were supposed to meet with the Allmagher of the Aeling, I’m sure we’re being expected.”

“All…. will… be…. re…. vealed…. in… time.”

“We don’t have time for this!”

Slowly, Oorwah’s face morphed into an expression of annoyance.

“FOL…. LOW…. ME…. Your quest…. ions will be…. answered!”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on here!”

“Sam, mate, maybe just hush and follow?”

Oorwahs skin melted and bubbled as her annoyance built. The placid and gentle voice began to raise in pitch, becoming more shrill as her stance became far less hunched. The long mane along her neck sucked back in as her skin became covered in scales. The soft, muzzled face grew a sharply hooked beak with protruding fangs.

She was still beautiful on the galactic scale of all alien women, but her beauty had become tinged with cruelty.

“I told you once before! Follow me and your impatient questions will be answered! Now follow!”

The now quicker and meaner woman turned sharply, her breasts and backside jiggling with the motion, and stalked towards a large, yet humble pavilion in the center of the valley. She glared at the men one last time, then ducked inside the tent.

Sam, Andy and Tom all looked at each other in stupefied silence for a few moments.

“Dude, did she just…”

“Andy. Don’t say it.”

“But seriously! She just…”

“Not another word!”

“Well I mean, it wasn’t fetish gear, but was that not…”

“I hate you.”

Centris

Ramona Stone stepped behind the podium. The small, red Ghob had filled the band almost since the dauntless had landed. Obsessed with the unique, provocative instruments and the gyrations of the lead singer, she, along with the other gathered women here, had been eagerly awaiting the first concert of their favorite musicians.

She cleared her throat, shuffled her notes, then turned to the crowd of women who had gathered here.

“I now call this meeting of the Heartbroken to order. As we all know, the Cruelspace Heartbreakers vanished into thin air a few days ago.” She paused to let the anguished cries and sobbing die down. “This, of course, cannot stand! We’ve waited a year for their first concert! I have here,” she waved a stack of papers, “a set of emails sent by Sam Glenn to a well-known talent agent by the name of Felicia Score! They were set to put on a concert on the peak of Terminus Spire next week!”

The reaction was loud and immediate. Excited murmuring interspersed with angry muttering.

“But since they’ve disappeared, the concert is on indefinite hold! Sisters, we must find those men!”

A single battle cry rattled the walls. Hundreds of rapid fangirls, chanting together, focused towards one singular purpose, one which they would go to any lengths to fulfill. “FIND THE HEARTBREAKERS!”

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Author’s Note: it has come to my attention that this story is very similar to an old OoCS fan story about a similar quartet of musicians. It was not my intention to plagiarize this work, and I can’t find it anywhere to read it to make sure I am not plagiarizing, so I leave an open statement to the author of that fic, and indeed the readers of this one. Should I continue this story? I do not wish to offend the author of that story by unintentionally ripping it off.