text: The bastards had hounded him to the end of the universe. He was trapped; and, for the first time, he felt fear. Their fleet blotted out the nightsky; it was vast, *terrifyingly* vast. There were thousands of stingray-shaped fighters, flanked by motherships, all armed with plasmas, gases, cutters, and every other method of slaughter. Then he heard the drones. They were converging on his position. They'd find him soon enough. He reflected on his situation: how had this happened? He had loved them, once, and they had loved him, once. He had been their king but, now, they lived as kings themselves. They were going to capture him, brand him, and put a price on him, just to prove that they could. Then they had him! Snared and caught up in a net. He roared, twisted, and kicked, but only got more and more tangled. He couldn't break his chains; they were made from an alien material, stronger than anything he had ever known. One of the men - a captain, evidently - walked up to him. He bowed before the prostrated king in a display of condescending servility. “All hail, great leader” the captain said. “You know I am no longer your leader. Why have you done this? Have I not given you everything?” “We’ll discuss the why’s and what-for’s back on Earth-12. But, for now, I’ll have to ask you to wear this” One of the soldiers stepped forward, holding a long stick with a collar attached. “But...