"No more than twelve hundred", thought Seldor. That was all, per ship, and there would be a total of seven hundred ships. Eighty four thousand out of three billion. There wasn't a hope of them all making it, but some just might. If only there were eighty four thousand chances of success. Most likely there was just one, if any really, and the rest would be lost.        

As Seldor studied the plan before him on the screen, he knew that this was the most important mission his planet had ever contemplated. The last chance for all those left behind. There had to be one ship that could not only succeed one way, but also safely make its way back. The only consolation was that there was time. If the journey could be completed both ways in a reasonable time, say twenty years, then there was hope.

"Seven hundred ships, each heading out at just over half degree variations in their course. Three hundred and sixty degrees. Not bad!" he thought, but as they fanned out and their distance from Karonia increased, they would each quickly become more isolated, separated forever in a vast void of empty space, which could only increase until reunion was virtually impossible. The chance of ever meeting again would be infinitely remote, more remote than two corks set floating upon different oceans of the earth bumping into each other. "God help us", Seldor thought, as he pondered the possibilities.

Seldor commanded a team which comprised of over two thousand management personnel. They were all engaged in the development, construction, testing and final launching the seven hundred spacecraft that would catapult Karonians towards the heavens. It was a massive endeavor, so far taking twelve years, with still much to be done.

These craft, enormous in size, would be launched in groups of four. Vertical launches were a thing of the distant past. Even single launches were now angled and as many as four vessels could be loaded aboard huge rotating launchers. Each could be maneuvered independently, so that their take off direction both laterally and longitudinally could be easily controlled.

To send each of these craft out individually, assuming one launch per day, would take the better part of two years. Four a day would mean all would be gone in six months, and the eighteen month's saving was vital. Each year there was an eight month reprieve from the vast numbers of comets hurtling down towards the planet, so there was a good six month window of increased safety for any space craft, coming or going.

As Seldor looked down on the huge workshop below, he could see one vessel already in place, and another being towed to the launch area, where it would soon be lifted into position. There was a lot of activity. A sense of excitement filled the air and many Kelens in protective suits were moving quickly about the floor area, clearing the way for the new ship's arrival.

When the time finally came to launch these amazing ships, which made the tiny Serindals and other commuter craft seem so primitive, the roof of the hanger would be opened, and the walls of the entire enclosure would then be lowered into the ground. Weather was unlikely to play a part, because the administration had carefully selected this area as the most weather-stable location on the planet. It was almost always cool, dry and calm. It couldn't change now.

The night light show always began just before dusk, which of course followed the second sunset. Up in the sky, flashes of comets soaring towards Karonia became increasingly frequent as the light faded. These were the shooting stars of impending doom, and they had appeared soon after a gigantic space explosion that had lit up the entire northern hemisphere of Karonia at precisely 7:14 afs (after first sunset), KMT (Karonian Middle Time) on Narhj 20th, in the year 7340.

Months later, scientists from the Department of Extraterrestrial Physics determined that the force of that blast was the equivalent to fifty octillion (1027(shortscale)) megatons of TNT, which is about twenty five times the energy given off in an average supernova explosion. Such smaller supernova explosions are fairly common. They are extremely luminous and cause an enormous burst of radiation that can briefly outshine an entire galaxy. They sometimes take several weeks or even months to fade from view. But this one was no supernova. This was a massive gamma-ray blast, some ten times the size of an average supernova blast, and it emanated from a dying star a mere 15.3 million light years away. While this might sound like an extreme distance, by astrophysical standards, it is very, very close indeed. There had been many larger gamma-ray blasts, some exceeding thousands of ordinary supernovae, but because of their great distances, often many billions of light years away, they were non-consequential to Karonia.

In the case of this particular event, nothing was actually felt on the planet's surface, other than an extended northern hemisphere heat-wave which lasted for twenty one days, sending average temperatures for that period to an almost unbearable 56 degrees celsius during the day. The lowest night-time temperature in the same period was 38 degrees celsius.

After that, it seemed, things returned to normal. It had been a unique event in the history of Karonia. It was subsequently named "The Northern Event", and it was one which could never occur again, since the nearest star was now well out of range, and relatively newborn.

In the years that followed though, it became increasingly apparent that something was going drastically wrong within the salleem population. The number of births began to quickly diminish planet-wide. The number of salleems unable to conceive increased dramatically, and continued to increase with time. Speculation that the Northern Event was the cause of this brought about huge investments in research, which ultimately would be wasted. Attempts to artificially inseminate failed completely in every case. Newborn females were devoid of eggs, and so would never be able to bear children. Even existing stockpiles of eggs had been affected, and were now useless. No amount of scientific intervention was able to reverse this catastrophic phenomenon. It was inexplicable, incurable and permanent. It was as if some sinister virus had targeted female salleems, but no virus was ever able to be detected.

Curiously though, only salleems were affected. Other female animals remained perfectly healthy and normal, and so were able to reproduce. Plants also were unaffected. Karonia was a perfect setting for a future planet occupied only by animals, with no higher order of being to have dominion over them. This would surely be a recipe for ultimate disaster, or would it? Could lower order animals establish their own natural hierarchy and have sustainability? Was this arrangement working successfully on other planets? No one really knew, and not many, except for a few thousand scientists, really cared, for Karonians had themselves to worry about, and if they didn't solve this problem quickly, then the surviving animals could do whatever they pleased.

Right now though, in this year 7387, forty seven years after the Northern Event, scientists knew that time was running out for a barren planet not even able to reproduce its own inhabitants. Neither could it initiate a successful hybrid breeding program. Everything failed. Without some sort of new intervention, or a truly miraculous mega-event, Karonians were indeed doomed.

For Seldor, the outcome of the years' long enquiry into finding a solution to all this was nothing more than legal procedure for the sake of itself. On Karonia, everything was systematic, and when it came to matters of planetary security, the system had always worked. No decision was taken without having all the facts, and these would be picked to pieces by experts until a unified solution was found. There was always time, for any threat affecting Karonia would only come from distant space, and the satellites kept a vigilant watch.

At least, this fact finding procedure was a general perception. In reality, the Supreme Council of Karonia knew what it had to do and had been working on doing it for over twelve years. The orders were clear: "Get the inhabitants to safety. Take what it is possible to take. Take animals, insects, plants. Find a way to do it, and do it!"

Each ship would therefore be capable of supporting Karonian life in its many forms for many years. The ships would each have botanic gardens, animal enclosures, and a multitude, indeed many millions of "deactivated" live insects. These would be packed into cold containers and stored so that they could be easily 'reactivated" if the need arose. Every plant known would have its seeds on board every ship. Sperm and eggs from all large animals, and even from those smaller animals that would make the journey in their adult form, would also be carried aboard, so that each ship had the potential to instigate new life on new, yet unfound planets.   

Seldor, along with thousands of others across Karonia, had been preparing the way for this massive exodus. He knew that once the enquiry ended there would be mechanisms put into place to maintain order on Karonia. Those left behind would be assured that any explorers would return for them, so that they had some hope. This was a place you would not want to be if no ship had returned within  two generations. It was Seldor's job to make sure the ships departed, and that they did so safely. It was not his job to ensure their safe return.

How could it be possible to keep such a massive undertaking a secret from the general population?  Surely a venture so huge would be common knowledge, especially since so many Karonians had experienced first hand the female desolation of the Northern Event.

For all intents and purposes, there were no evacuation plans. No mass exodus via giant space craft to unknown worlds. These projects were all undertaken under the guise of space or biological research, technology, defense preparation, communication, and any other guise the Supreme Council could think up. Although rumors and speculation were rife, as far as the average Karonian was concerned, life went on as usual.  Everyone knew, or at least hoped that soon, scientists would make a breakthrough and resolve the problems created by the Northern Event.

Only a relatively small number of Karonians actually knew the full extent of the damage done and the proposed solution. Seldor and Zoron were two such Karonians.