150

The mongols are clever hunters, used to the night and the smells of the wild. Before you realise it you are running into the midst of one of the groups tracking you, appearing like demons from the darkness. You are overwhelmed and carried helplessly to the ornamental pool. Laughing cruelly, they force your head beneath the water lilies until your lungs are bursting. You try to use your mental powers but realise, too late, that your helmet was knocked from your head in the struggle. Your whole life flashes before you in the slow seconds of your death. You have failed and the Space Federation will never be.