The old galaxy was a hearth, he decided. Once, it had blazed with brilliant, glorious life, but only dying embers remained now. It was time to leave. There were flames to kindle elsewhere.

A colossal ring floated in the lovely void before the warship, constructed of eight heavy segments, each of a different elemental metal. Some of the older ones were built out of stone, but only these were of sufficient power to move entire starships. The sections of the Waygate were scribed with runes that began to glow as the VSS Pioneer closed. A hemispherical station floated nearby, etched all across the flat surface with similar symbols.

The marks themselves held no power, the captain knew. They were no different than the graphs and readouts displayed all over the bridge of the Pioneer, just as illegible to his eyes but informative to one who knew the language. The runes glowed red, faded to green, then a soft, permissive blue.

“They’re ready for us, sir.”

“What sector have the Guides selected?” he asked, turning to face the woman standing behind him.

“One nineteen by two eighty-eight,” she answered, reading the number from a nearby display. “Probability is thirty-nine, sir.”

“Thirty-nine?” the captain said.

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re getting closer, then,” he gloated. “Are the ground reinforcements ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This place is useless to us now,” he said, turning back to the viewport and gesturing to the stars. He smiled, displaying sharp, predator’s teeth. “Those worlds are just shells, broken bones hollow of marrow. This galaxy is a graveyard and we cannot survive on dust alone,” the captain said, and gestured to the helmsman.

The VSS Pioneer vanished through the Waygate, leaving the old worlds behind, discarded and forgotten.