on, you’ll get help. I hope you agree,” he mocked.
Yona nodded. Lunia was a puppet on a string as far as he—and the others—were concerned. Lunia would carry out orders, but
he was not strong enough to fight Coldor. In any case, most of the water had been pumped out long ago. Lunia wouldn’t lose
any water, but he was liable to lose the lives of his planet’s residents. He had no one to talk to, and it seemed that Coldor’s
nervousness—and the decisions that had already been made—wouldn’t change if he said anything now. The situation would only
get worse.
A few days later, the rest of the galactic armies—and especially from Brisker, who represented the majority of the planets
that preferred not to fight—began to move toward Saturn, determined to eliminate Lunia and Bergin and extract as much mineral
ore as possible.
A horrible stench of dried fish hung in the air as huge shuttles landed, depositing thousands of water sleds and hundreds
of thousands of galactic soldiers. After realizing the planet was half dried up, the equipment was unloaded from their vehicles.
At the base of each water sled was a hovercraft motor that moved in a circular direction, behind which were two holes for
turbines that pushed them in the water.
There were about 30 fighters in each water sled. They were on their way to Yona’s palace, having divided the sectors between
the armies. They wore waterproof underclothes, leaving the top layer with the diving cylinders and regulators by the vehicles. They marched onward on what
was left of the water planet, which now looked like a dried marsh filled with bodies of fish and larger aquatic animals, like
whales. There were celebrations on the communications network—each general reported a conquest using little violence, and Pandor conducted
the orchestra.
All the military leaders met at the palace entrance with hundreds of thousands of soldiers behind them. The leaders wanted
to show the common soldiers they hadn’t lost their combat capabilities over the years. They signaled to each other and broke
down the door of the palace.
Pandor wore a black rubber undergarment, a wool shirt, and furry black vest. On his head sat his famous battle helmet—round
with a backward-facing horn on each side, with ends like ice picks. He ran ahead like a man driven, followed by the generals
and the officers. The soldiers stayed outside to protect the leaders. The palace was star-shaped, like a small ball with a
hollow plate around it, and at the plate’s lowest point was the palace door, built of small glass squares.
The entrance looked new, with a white marble floor and round ceiling decorated with paintings of water and aquatic animals.
Quiet, relaxing music was heard. After rushing through several rooms, the band of leaders came into the main room, the conference
room, with a large oval table that could accommodate up to 30 people on each side. On the right side of the room was a giant
screen, displaying the planets of the galaxy, and at the center was a symbol of a wooden swordfish—Saturn’s symbol.
Yona sat lifeless in his black upholstered chair, his head turned backward. Lunia, the commander of Rosten—the man with the
mighty past in development and fighting—knelt next to him, crying. Pandor approached him slowly, removed his helmet, and put
it gently on the bloodstained table. Lunia raised his head and said, “What have we come to?”
Wearing the clothes he’d worn since his exile to Falcon, he cried, “He would have killed tula! He would have killed her. I’m
sorry, my friends. I should’ve known better.” Lunia pushed Pandor away with hands covered in Yona’s blood and, with a cry
of despair, pressed a black button on the square remote control he held.
The nitrogen bomb swallowed Saturn, along with all the residents and the armies on it. Within a few minutes, there was no
sign of the famous planet that had contributed
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