The Scientist

Masks & Lies

Scott F Jarvie

Copyright © 2024 Scott F Jarvie

All rights reserved

1st Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by: Scott F Jarvie

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Author’s Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Author’s Note

‘Masks & Lies’ is the sequel to ‘A Monster’s Resentment’. If it has been a while since you have read the first half of the story, here is a reminder for where the characters were last seen.

#

After leading his team into the Strategist’s trap, Philip ‘the Scientist’ Duncan sacrificed himself to destroy her armada to allow the Spy to escape and continue the fight.

General Grant was sent to Earth to find what Duncan was hiding from the Galactic Federation. In the basement of his suburban home, Grant found an army of researchers conducting experiments.

The Gladiator was gravely injured while fighting the monster Apollyon on Torus 5. Falling into a coma, she was rushed to the Galactic Headquarters on Primus 4 where Doctor Valtina is looking after her.

Claiming credit for defeating the galactic terrorist known as the Scientist, Okar was elected president of the Federation. Knowing that the greatest threat the galaxy faced was hiding in the Scientist’s former crew, Okar separated the Philosopher, Spy, Courier, Pilot, and Navigator.

Everyone is haunted by the Strategist’s warning that the galaxy’s extinction will begin in one year.

#

‘Masks & Lies’ continues the story one year later.

Chapter One

The Spy

The morning sun shines down on Qamaits, a small suburban town built around a military base on Amaguq 3. The civilian residents fill the vibrant, flower filled downtown streets as they run their morning errands before work. They walk between the small shops with a coffee in hand, stopping to chat with the friends they meet on the street.

The enlisted residents of the town have already started work in the office buildings inside the walled military base. The Spy, like all the other military personnel, is wearing an olive-green suit over a white dress shirt. Her shoulder length hair is pulled into a tight bun and tied close to her head.

Sitting in her cubicle, she clicks away on her keyboard, looking at a series of spreadsheets and text documents on her computer screen while a stack of unopened folders waits for her in a metal basket labeled, ‘IN’.

Her eyes periodically scan over the top of her monitor, looking into the office where Jezebel is pacing around her office while talking on her cell phone. With the exception of her colonel shoulder marks, her uniform and hairstyle are identical to the Spy’s.

Jezebel’s body language becomes more aggravated and hostile as the call continues. She stops pacing and glares at her staff through the open office window. Stepping up to the window she focuses on the Spy.

The Spy pretends to work on her computer while using her peripheral vision to watch Jezebel without looking directly at her.

Jezebel closes the blinds and her shadow fades as it steps away from the window.

Switching to a spreadsheet filled with incomprehensible strings of alphanumeric characters, the Spy types, ‘Who is Jezebel talking to’, as a coded message.

‘Her husband’, appears in the cell below using the same coded language.

‘What are they talking about?’, she replies.

‘He canceled their dinner plans’, appears.

‘It doesn’t feel like they’re talking about date night’, the Spy types. ‘Send the recording to me. I’ll decipher their conversation tonight’.

As she sends the coded message, the office door swings open violently and Jezebel storms through, slamming the door behind her. She marches straight to the Spy’s desk with one hand in her pocket.

“What are you working on, Sergeant Mallory?” she asks, arriving at the Spy’s desk.

“I’m logging the shipping manifest into the database before the convoy leaves for Nanook at ten hundred hours, Ma’am,” the Spy says, turning to face her.

“As you were,” Jezebel orders. “Once you’ve finished that, I need you to audit our department’s finances for the past three months,” she says, casually removing her hand from her pocket. Leaning on the Spy’s desk she quietly explains, “The accounting department has flagged an expense imbalance.” She removes the folders from the ‘IN’ basket and orders, “This is a priority assignment.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy affirms.

Jezebel steps away from the Spy’s desk and heads for the exit. She leaves the folders at the first cubicle she passes. The Spy closes the spreadsheet with the coded messages, removes a thumb drive from the computer, and continues her work.

#

The colourful dusk sky shines through the windows of the military offices where the Spy is still comparing spreadsheets in her cubicle. She is alone with the cleaning staff who are packing up their equipment and getting ready to leave for the night.

Waiting until she is last person in the office, the Spy turns off her computer, collects her belongings and steps on her shoelace so her boot becomes untied when she steps out of her cubicle.

Crouching down to retie her boot, she looks at the surface under her desk without turning her head. She sees that Jezebel attached a small surveillance device when she visited her desk.

Pretending she didn’t see anything; the Spy finishes tying her shoelace and leaves the office.

#

Powerful streetlights illuminate the dark suburban neighbourhood while the lawn lights make the single-family homes appear large, even at night. The Spy, driving a black two-door coupe, is the only vehicle on the road.

Reaching the smallest house in the neighbourhood, the Spy parks in the driveway, makes her way to the front door, unlocks it, and enters. Kicking off her heavy boots, she calmly walks around the house to close the blinds. As she twists the rod, she inspects the windows for signs of a forced entry.

Heading up to the second floor, she checks the windows the same way she did on the ground floor. Ending in her bedroom, she pulls a laptop out of her nightstand and crawls onto her bed. Removing a thumb drive from her pocket, she connects it to the laptop and opens a spreadsheet.

She stares at the blank spreadsheet, until a notification pops up in the lower right corner of her screen reading ‘Device secure’.

The Spy types, ‘Are you there, Arthur?’, as a coded message into the spreadsheet. After a minute without reply, she adds, ‘I haven’t received Jezebel’s call yet. Did you forget again?’

Not getting a reply, the Spy disconnects the drive, closes the laptop, and gets out of bed. She puts the laptop back on the nightstand and turns off the room light.

Standing perfectly still in the darkness, she listens carefully while she waits for her eyes to adjust. Cautious not to silhouette the windows, she makes her way to the closet.

Removing the clothing rod, she sticks her finger into the hole in the middle of the anchor and slides a hidden latch. Swinging the narrow wall open, she opens the safe hidden behind the fake wall and takes her tablet out.

Opening a scanning app, the Spy sweeps her tablet past the vent grates, picture frames, and light fixtures. Confident that there aren’t any hidden listening devices, she returns to the safe, grabs the quantum radio, and sets it to channel three.

“Redcap calling, Manticore,” she says quietly.

She switches her tablet to display the hacked street cameras as she waits for a reply.

Changing the channel to five, she transmits, “Redcap calling, Griffin.”

After a short pause, President Okar’s voice answers, “Go ahead, Redcap.”

“Requesting immediate exfil,” she says calmly. “I’ve been compromised.”

“Have you uncovered anything actionable?” Okar asks.

“Affirmative,” the Spy says. “The Amaguq usurpers are taking loans from the Mammon Syndicate and using them to buy stolen weapons from the Belphegor Syndicate.”

“Why aren’t you reporting this to Manticore?”

“Manticore is unresponsive,” the Spy says. “If I’ve been discovered, it’s possible she may require assistance as well.”

The Spy finds five light utility vehicles blocking the end of her street on the security cameras.

“I haven’t heard from Manticore in a week,” Okar says. “When do you think you were compromised?”

“Jezebel bugged my desk this morning,” the Spy says.

On the security feed, the middle LUV drives forward to allow a black car to pass through the blockade. The car pulls in front of the LUV and idles.

“Has Arthur said anything to you?” the Spy asks. “I disconnected from our network as soon as I was bugged and haven’t been able to reconnect with him since.”

The LUV’s door opens and Jezebel, wearing her combat uniform, steps out. She approaches the black car where she passes a closed folder and paper bag through the open driver’s window.

The Spy zooms in on the open window but is unable to see anything above the driver’s arm. She sees the driver move the sidearm shaped paper bag to the passenger’s seat and her headshot paperclipped to the documents when they open the folder on their lap.

“He never reports anything more than the minimum,” Okar says. “Can you continue the operation while under suspicion?”

“Negative, Griffin,” the Spy says. “Sergeant Mallory is going to die tonight.”

The black car turns off its lights and drives in the direction of the Spy’s house. Jezebel returns to her vehicle and reforms the blockade.

“Copy that, Redcap,” Okar affirms. “Evac is an hour away. Collect everything you have and proceed directly to the landing zone.”

“Roger. Redcap out,” the Spy says, turning off her radio.

Stripping to her underwear, she removes her black tactical suit from the wall of the hidden compartment and puts it on. The Spy slips the radio into one of the vest’s pockets and the tablet onto her belt before removing the holstered sidearm from the safe.

Strapping the weapon to her thigh, she puts on her black boots, arms a block of plastique inside the safe and picks up a small black tactical bag from the floor. She pulls the stacks of paper from the safe and stuffs them into the bag along with her officer’s uniform.

She locks the safe, grabs the laptop from the nightstand, and leaves the bedroom.

The Spy puts the laptop into the tactical bag as she goes down the stairs and pulls the straps tight so the contents don’t move around. She slings the bag over her shoulder, pulls it tight to her body, and secures the strap under her throwing knife holster.

Putting on her black tactical gloves, the Spy carefully pulls the door to the backyard open a crack and removes a thermal optic from her vest. Scanning the yard for heat signatures, she returns the optic to her vest, slips out the door, and activates the home security system from her tablet.

Running to the wooden fences separating the suburban homes, the Spy effortlessly vaults over them, keeping her body close to the top to reduce the size of her silhouette. She doesn’t slow down until she makes it to the safety of the wooded lots surrounding the mansions at the center of the town.

The Spy sneaks around the trees slowly to catch her breath as she approaches the brick wall surrounding the biggest mansion at the top of the cul-de-sac. She pulls the tablet from her belt, connects to the mansion’s Wi-Fi, and logs into the security system by using Jezebel’s login credentials.

Slowly cycling through the security cameras, the Spy mentally maps out the interior of the house and times the security personnel’s patrol routes. As she’s flipping through the cameras, she sees Jezebel’s husband exit from his office while talking on his cell phone.

She switches back to her home security program, presses a button labeled, ‘Cleanse’, enters a password, and confirms the command twice.

A loud explosion erupts from the Spy’s house causing car alarms to start screaming throughout the neighbourhood.

The security staff rush to gather in front of the house to see what’s happening. With the cameras showing empty hallways, the Spy puts the backyard cameras on a loop and returns the tablet to her belt.

Looking for a way into the house, the Spy follows the brick wall to the pool house. With a strong jump, she pulls herself on top of the wall and leaps from the wall to the pool house’s roof.

Quickly scanning to make sure there are no security guards in the yard, she rises to her feet, runs across the shingled roof, and jumps to the balcony outside the master bedroom.

Using the metal railing to catch herself, she pulls herself onto the handrail and climbs onto the mansion’s roof.

Crawling across the sloped roof to the upstairs office, she lies flat on her stomach when she hears the front door slam.

She slowly pulls the tablet off her belt and looks at the security cameras. She sees three security guards escorting Jezebel’s husband from the front foyer to the basement panic room.

Putting the tablet away, the Spy removes a black cylinder from her vest and places the flat side against the roof. Twisting the opposite end of the cylinder to activate the device, she presses on the cylinder with her entire bodyweight. A loud burst of compressed air escapes from the top of the device and a crunch of metal punching through wood is heard from the attic.

Lifting the cylinder, she reveals the embedded anchor point she just installed into the roof. The Spy places the empty cylinder in the eavestrough before pulling a climbing rope out of a secret compartment in her tactical bag and attaches the carabiner to the anchor. Using the wall to control her descent, she climbs down to the office window.

Taking a throwing knife from her vest, the Spy slips it under the sliding window and carefully lifts it out of the track. She pushes the detached window inwards and crawls into the locked office.

Mahogany bookshelves holding leather-bound books line the walls of the office. In the center of the room there are two leather couches and a heavy wooden desk near the windows.

Pulling the loose rope through the window, the Spy turns to the laptop on the desk and tries to turn the power on. Seeing the password protected lock screen, she inserts her rootkit drive into the laptop and restarts it.

Using the throwing knife to unlock the desk drawers, she spreads the loose documents on top of the desk and takes pictures of them with her tablet. The laptop starts the malicious software and copies all the laptop’s files on the Spy’s rootkit drive without starting the operating system.

The Spy crawls under the desk to look for hidden compartments, false bottomed drawers, and loose floorboards. Unable to find anything suspicious around the desk, she starts to search the rest of the office when she notices the worn hardwood floorboards under the credenza.

Pulling the credenza from the wall, she discovers a small safe with a fingerprint scanner embedded in the wall behind it.

The Spy takes a fingerprint kit out of her vest and gently brushes some black powder on the scanner. She removes her glove, peels the clear plastic off the sticky side of a piece of white paper, wraps the sticky side of the paper around her thumb, and presses the smooth side of the paper against the black powder.

The safe buzzes and unlocks.

Peeling the paper off her thumb, she puts her glove back on and searches the safe. Behind the sidearm and stacks of banknotes, she finds an unmarked thumb drive.

Taking the tactical bag off her back, she removes her laptop and plugs the thumb drive into it.

The drive contains a text document and four video files. She opens the text document to see, ‘Be cautious of the unknown’ and ‘Sector 21 4 13’ written inside.

The video files are of the Spy in Mercury station’s docking bay with Duncan, the Navigator, Gladiator, Courier, and Philosopher. The second clip shows the Spy standing behind Captain Kamali as he delivers a speech to Salem Station about the refugees. The third video is of the Spy, President Okar, and General Patel talking with each other in the halls of the Galactic Headquarters. And the final video is from a spaceport in Nanook City showing the Spy exiting a shuttle wearing an Amaguq officer’s uniform.

“I told you to take care of it quietly!” Jezebel’s husband shouts from outside the door. “Why else would the Federation send their battleships?!”

The Spy removes the unmarked thumb drive from her laptop, slides it into an armoured pocket in her vest, and returns her laptop to her tactical bag.

Hearing the door unlock, the Spy slings the tactical bag over her shoulder, pulls her rootkit drive from the laptop on the desk, and puts it into the armoured pocket in her vest.

Drawing her sidearm, she steadies it on the desk and aims at the door.

The door swings open and the Spy discharges one bolt into Jezebel’s husband’s head. He drops his cellphone as he dies on his feet. Holstering her sidearm, the Spy throws the rope out the window and slides down to the ground.

The sounds of the guards running through the office to the window above her can be heard as the Spy pulls her tactical bag tight to her body while running for the wall surrounding the house. She scales the wall and vanishes into the woods as the security guards start flooding into the backyard with their weapons in hand.

#

The entire town is on high alert, all the houses’ lights are on, helicopters are circling with spotlights sweeping over the shadows, and military blockades are setup at every intersection.

Using a small monocular from the edge of the woods, the Spy sees that the civilians have gathered on the sidewalks to stare up into the night sky where tiny battleships are firing directed-energy weapons at each other.

Hiding behind a tree until the helicopters pass, the Spy steps into an empty park and heads toward the street, avoiding the light posts.

Flashing red and blue lights reflect off the houses from the light utility vehicles on the streets. Military personnel systematically enter the homes, search every room, and then signal the LUVs to move forward to the next house.

The Spy turns to hide in the park, but there are twelve soldiers with powerful flashlights moving through the park in line with the LUVs on the street.

She scans the nearby buildings for something to climb, but none of the two storey houses have anything she can use to access the roofs.

Picking up a large rock, the Spy runs into the backyard and throws it through a second storey window. Removing a smoke grenade from her vest, she throws it into the park behind her and lies down in the flowerbed running along the side of the house.

Military personnel flood the backyard from all sides.

“She’s using smoke to cross the park!” a soldier shouts. “Bring a chopper over here,” they order as they lead the rest of the soldiers out of the yard.

Waiting for the helicopter to fly over and start searching the park, the Spy climbs to her feet and carefully makes her way into the next yard. She quietly vaults the fence and sees a line of military personnel three houses in front of her, waiting for the sweeping team to reach them.

Sneaking up to the house’s back windows, the Spy uses a coin sized mirror to peek inside to make sure the house is empty.

She lifts the sliding window off its track with a throwing knife and crawls through the opening before putting the window back in place. Staying close to the walls, the Spy makes her way to the staircase pointing away from the front door.

Looking in a wall mounted mirror through the stair’s wooden railing, she sees the home’s family being questioned in front of the house. The Spy quietly draws her sidearm, points it to the upper floor, and cautiously climbs the stairs.

She clears the bedrooms as she makes her way to the room at the back corner of the house. Opening the window, the Spy steps onto the windowsill, grabs the roof, and pulls herself on top of the house. The Spy leans back over the edge of the roof to close the window before crawling on her belly to the garage. She slips into the dark corner where the roofs overlap and takes her tactical bag off.

Changing from her black tactical suit to her Amaguq officer’s uniform, the Spy changes her sergeant shoulder marks with colonel marks before sliding her armoured tactical vest over her uniform. She stuffs everything else into her tactical bag and waits patiently for an opportunity to escape.

After the military search team leaves the neighbourhood, the families stay in the streets to watch the battle happening above their planet.

The town’s warning siren screams as a bright flash in the sky illuminates the town followed by a loud explosion that rattles the windows. Anti-air weapons shooting exploding shells at the gunships entering the atmosphere fills the night sky.

One of the light utility vehicles drives away from the search team, honking its horn.

“Get inside and take shelter in your basements!” the driver orders through the vehicle’s loudspeaker.

Waiting for the last civilian to leave the streets, the Spy carefully crawls to the lowest part of the roof, hangs from the edge, and gently drops to the ground. She makes her way to the streets and searches the cars parked on the side of the road. Finding a car with a keyless ignition, she pulls her tablet off her belt, opens a program that brute forces frequency locks, and waits for the door to unlock.

Climbing into the driver’s seat she starts the car and drives away from the military search team.

#

Two chain link fences, two hundred meters apart from each other, surround the town of Qamaits. The vast countryside outside the town is only visible when explosive flashes light up the sky. A blockade of light tactical vehicles blocks the road between the fenced gates leading out of the town. Their turrets are pointing toward the suburban neighbourhoods.

A guard, holding an assault rifle, approaches the Spy’s vehicle as it pulls up to the first gate.

The Spy rolls down her window and says, “I’m needed at the HQ,” while handing them her doctored identification card and shows them the fake work order on her tablet.

The officer quickly glances over the open document and confirms the card’s photo matches the Spy’s face.

“Let the colonel through,” he says into his radio while returning the ID.

The armoured vehicle parked in her lane drives onto the shoulder to let her pass. The Spy rolls up her window and waits for the guards to pull the chain link gates open. With a route out of the town open in front of her, she casually drives through the blockade.

Jezebel is crying in one of the light tactical vehicle’s backseats. Glancing into the passing car’s window she sees the Spy.

“That’s the Federation spy!” she shouts, climbing into the turret on top of the LTV.

The Spy turns off the car’s lights, pushes the accelerator to the floor, and speeds off onto the unlit dirt road. Using the brief flashes in the sky to see the road, the Spy swerves to kick up a cloud of dust to shield herself from the LTVs’ mounted weapons.

The LTVs blindly fire their turrets into the dust cloud. Most of the bullets ricochet off the road, but the ones that strike the unarmoured car cut through it without resistance.

A bullet strikes one of the rear wheels, stripping off the rubber tire and deforming the metal rim. The damaged wheel digs into the dirt road and causes the car to tumble off the road.

Settling on its roof, the car slides to a stop in the tall grass covered field.

Fighting through the concussive effects of the accident, the Spy releases her seatbelt, grabs her tactical bag, and crawls through the broken window. The sharp edges of the glass shards cut through her uniform and skin as she pulls herself away from the overturned car.

The LTVs drive into the tall grass, continuing to shoot at the overturned vehicle.

Trying to climb to her feet, the Spy clenches her back and falls to her knees. She frantically crawls away from the car as the sound of the armoured vehicles gets closer.

Smelling the gas pouring out of the damaged gas tank, the Spy painfully rolls onto her back, pulls a signal flare from her vest, and throws it into the undercarriage of the car. The flare ignites the leaking gas fumes and causes the gas tank to explode.

Fighting the intense pain sweeping over her body, the Spy crawls through the tall grass, moving as quietly as she can.

The LTVs stop at the burning car and the soldiers climb out to extinguish the fire. Jezebel, approaching the car with her sidearm drawn, notices the blood stains on the glass shards and grass beside the broken driver side window.

“She’s crawling in the grass with the other snakes,” she says.

The soldiers ready their assault rifles and start a line search of the grass starting from the car’s broken window.

A loud rumble is heard in the distance, growing louder quickly.

“Get down!” a soldier warns.

Without thinking, the soldiers dive to the ground as a series of missiles fly over their heads and collide with the light tactical vehicles. The explosions kill Jezebel and the soldiers near the smoldering car.

Three Federation gunships swoop down from the sky and start exchanging weapon fire with the defenses on the town’s boarders. The loading ramps open and Federation soldiers begin shooting at the Amaguq soldiers looking for the Spy in the grass.

The center gunship hovers five meters above the grassy field where the Gladiator, wearing a black tactical suit, jumps from the loading ramp with an assault rifle in hand. Her squad gathers at the bottom of the ramp to give her covering fire as the gunship slowly lands.

The Federation quickly defeats the soldiers in the grassy field.

“Are you still breathing, Sandra?” the Gladiator shouts.

The Spy pushes her bloody hand through the grass blanketing her by the downward thrust of the hovering gunships.

Slinging her weapon over her shoulder, the Gladiator runs to her sister’s side.

“Did you think I’d let Okar forget you?” she asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know you’d recovered,” the Spy replies with a painful cough.

The Gladiator laughs. “I wanted to surprise you when you got back, but this is so much better!”

The Spy tries to climb to her feet again but collapses into the Gladiator’s arms.

“Relax,” she says calmly. “You’ve had a long night. Let your bigger, younger sister carry you from here.”

She effortlessly scoops the Spy into her arms and carries her into the landed gunship.

“All aboard!” the Gladiator orders.

She gently places the Spy into one of the bucket seats and straps her harness. Seeing the last member of her team raising the loading ramp as they enter the ship, she pokes her head into the cockpit.

“Redcap is secure!” she shouts.

Returning to the Spy as the gunship lifts off the ground, the Gladiator fastens herself into the seat beside her sister. The two support gunships join them as they fly up toward space.

“I’ve got the best doctor waiting for you on the Yeshe,” the Gladiator says reassuringly.

Exiting Amaguq 3’s mesosphere without resistance, they fly through the graveyard of the planet’s defeated armada.

The gunship’s body rotates forward so that the top faces the Federation fleet and accelerates toward the Yeshe Walmo.

“Kelly,” the Spy calls breathily with beads of sweat and blood on her face.

Painfully reaching into the armoured pocket of her vest, the Spy removes the two drives and forces them into the Gladiator’s hand.

“Get these to Okar,” she adds, her voice sounds weak as her eyelids flutter.

The Gladiator gently grabs the Spy’s thigh and, with a panicked tone, says, “You’ve got to stay awake just a little bit longer. The doc’s waiting for you in the docking bay.”

Unfastening her harness, the Gladiator fights against the strong g-force of the accelerating gunship to stand in front of the Spy. She unfastens the Spy’s harness before pulling her tactical vest off. Thirteen squished 5.56 bullets fall to the floor. The Spy, having the constraining vest removed, inhales deeply and starts coughing.

The blood droplets spewed by her coughs pause midair as the gunship’s engines stop accelerating the vessel. The Gladiator lets the tactical vest float weightlessly as the gunship spins around and reattaches the Spy’s harness.

“We’re halfway there, Sandra,” the Gladiator says as the engine restarts.

The vest and blood droplets fall to the floor as their weight triples.

Looking into the Gladiator’s tear-filled eyes, the Spy calmly states, “I’m so glad I got to speak with you again.”

“Don’t talk like that,” the Gladiator dismisses as she returns to her seat and puts her harness on. “We’ve survived a lot worse.”

The Spy lets her pale head slump forward. “I’m sorry for being a burden,” she whispers.

“Stop!” the Gladiator exclaims with a panicked tone.

A tear rolls down the Spy’s check as she says, “I’m sorry for turning you into a monster.”

“Whiro tried to turn me into a monster,” the Gladiator confesses. “You helped me keep my humanity.”

Looking over to the Spy, the Gladiator sees that she’s gone completely limp, held in her seat by the harness alone.

Chapter Two

The Sisters

Thirty-five years ago in Maher City, Whiro 8’s capital. The city is a Mediterraneanesque ria city protected by a tall mountain range on three sides and a busy harbour on the fourth. White limestone mansions are built on ledges carved into the mountains overlooking the crumbling concrete buildings of the inner-city. In the center of the decaying city, a few kilometers from the harbour, an ornate marble stadium dwarfs all the buildings in the city.

The eight-year-old Gladiator is a skinny, malnourished child, with dried mud on her hands and face. She is huddled in a garbage filled alley with nine other children ranging from six to thirteen years old. They are all wearing tattered, dull clothes.

Cynthia is the youngest, shortest person in the group, and Everett, the only thirteen-year-old, leads the group with an aggressive tone.

“Kelly,” he says, “take Cynthia to ninety-third. Two tourists are walking around, and I think their wallets look a little too heavy.”

The Gladiator takes Cynthia’s hand and leads her through the dirt roads toward ninety-third street.

#

Maher’s inner-city shops are small kiosks selling imperfect fruits, cheap meats, cleanish water, and dull clothes. The customers stand at the empty wooden counters and tell their orders to vendors who collect the items from the shelves in the back. Everyone in the street market is wearing bland clothing except for one couple dressed in bright colours with tourist vests, boater hats, and cameras around their necks.

The Gladiator and Cynthia watch from a nearby alley.

“That’s them,” the Gladiator says. “You know what to do.”

“I don’t want to,” Cynthia whines. “It hurts so much!”

Squatting in front of her, the Gladiator grabs Cynthia’s chin and forces her to look straight into her eyes.

“Do you wanna tell that to headmistress?” she asks.

Cynthia picks up a handful of sand and rubs it into her eyes. She blinks frantically until she flicks her head back in pain. With tears rolling down her face, she steps into the market, starts crying loudly, and wanders toward the tourists.

“What’s wrong little girl?” the man says kindly as he kneels in front of Cynthia.

“I can’t find big sister,” she wails.

“Oh no! What does she look like?” the woman asks.

“Cynthia!” the Gladiator shouts running up behind her. “There you are!”

She wraps her arms around Cynthia and slides her hand into the man’s pant pocket. As she loosens her hug, Cynthia steps back and bumps into the man gently knocking him off balance so the Gladiator can pull his wallet out unnoticed.

“We need to get home before headmistress hits us again,” she says while sliding the wallet into a hidden pocket inside her shirt. “Thank you, Mister.”

“Not so fast,” the man says reaching for his pocket. “Getting lost can be pretty scary. Let me buy you something sweet.”

“That’s kind, Sir,” the Gladiator says backing away with Cynthia, “but headmistress says sweets will rot our teeth.”

“Well, I don’t want to get you in trouble—” The man stops when he puts his hand into his empty pocket.

He looks into the Gladiator’s frightened eyes and angrily shouts, “Thieves!”

As he reaches out to grab her, the Spy, tall for a twelve-year-old, pulls the Gladiator away from the man’s grasp.

“Why are you talking to strangers!” she scolds.

The Spy slips her hand into the Gladiator’s hidden pocket, removes the banknotes, and plastic cards with her dexterous fingers.

“Excuse me, Child,” the man interrupts, “that girl stole my wallet!”

Removing the empty wallet from her sister’s pocket, the Spy slides it into her pocket.

“How dare you!” she shouts with an offended tone.

Rubbing the sand she keeps in her pocket over the wallet, she pulls the dirt covered wallet from her pocket and hands it to him.

“I found this over there,” the Spy says, pointing in the direction she came. “Is it yours?”

The man takes the wallet and opens it to find that everything is missing except for his business cards. Embarrassed, the man steps away from the girls.

“I’m so sorry!” he pleads.

“I hope the headmistress doesn’t beat us too hard for being late,” the Spy says, leading the Gladiator and Cynthia away from the tourists.

“Wait,” the woman says. “Are you really going to get beaten?”

The Spy pushes the Gladiator and Cynthia gently to tell them to keep walking.

“Every day,” the Spy says, turning back with her head pointed to the ground. “I just hope the headmistress will spare Cynthia. She’s too small to be hit that hard.”

The woman opens her waist belt and removes her purse.

“Please, take this,” the woman says as she pulls the banknotes out of her purse and offers them to the Spy.

“I can’t,” the Spy says raising her hands and stepping back. “Someone took all his money already.”

“Take it,” the man affirms. “We have plenty and we can’t stand the thought of children suffering.”

The woman steps up to the Spy and forces her money into her hands.

“If we could help more, we would.”

Putting the money in her pocket, the Spy turns to leave but stops mid-step.

“We’re only children’s home sisters,” she says calmly. “Kelly’s too kind for this city, she deserves better … but she’s already too old to adopt. Thank you again,” she adds while bowing.

The couple talks to each other quietly as the Spy walks away.

#

Maher Inner-City Children’s Home is an old, dilapidated building with bare walls and old worn-out furniture. A narrow hall with locked doors connects the front door to a large banquet hall with dozens of wooden picnic tables. A line of children between the ages of five and thirteen starts at the bottom of the stairs and disappears into the upper floors. Each child is holding a wad of folded banknotes or a nondescript bag.

The headmistress, a skinny woman wearing a black, ankle-length gown and four iron rings on each hand, is standing behind a plastic folding table with Everett. She waves the children forward one at a time.

They place what they are holding on the table in front of Everett. He takes the objects out of the bags and fans the cash out before looking for the headmistress’s verdict. If she gives her nod of approval, Everett hands the stolen prize to another thirteen-year-old resident and signals the child into the banquet hall. If the headmistress shakes her head disapprovingly, he returns the items and sends the child upstairs.

Cynthia and the Gladiator approach the table together where they present the male tourist’s banknotes and cards. Everett shows the headmistress that there is only one name across the cards.

“Half,” the headmistress says, shaking her head.

“Who’s eating today?” Everett asks, handing the banknotes and cards to another thirteen-year-old.

Without hesitation, the Gladiator pushes Cynthia toward the banquet hall and says, “Cynthia.”

“Wait,” the Spy says, stepping out of line. “I’ll pay for Kelly’s.”

She goes to the front of the line and places the female tourist’s banknotes on the table.

Everett shows the bills to the headmistress.

“What about your dues?” she asks.

“I ate yesterday, Headmistress,” she replies with a smile before stepping away from the table.

The Gladiator starts to object, but her stomach growls.

“If you hold up my line, you won’t eat either, Kelly,” the headmistress scolds.

Watching the Spy make her way up the stairs, the Gladiator begrudgingly makes her way into the banquet hall.

#

The children’s home’s dormitory is a large open room filled with triple layer bunk beds spaced fifty centimeters apart. Each bunk is made from a sheet of plywood with a two-centimeter-thick mattress and a single scratchy flannel blanket. Half of the bunks have a thin, malnourished, child wrapped in their blankets shivering uncontrollably.

The Spy is sitting between two bunks with her back against the wall reading an old, coverless novel.

Four dozen tired looking children, covered in sweat and dirt, enter the dormitory and crawl into their bunks. The Gladiator enters with them and crawls into the bunk beside the Spy.

“I tried to save you something,” she says. Her voice sounds ashamed as she adds, “But I was hungry and ate it.”

“That’s okay,” the Spy says with a smile. “I haven’t been able to finish my meals all week. So, maybe tomorrow I will.”

“I promise to help you too … someday.”

The Gladiator rolls onto her side and falls asleep.

#

Moonlight shines through the broken dormitory windows giving the room of sleeping children a faint blue glow.

A soft crash on the floor beside the Gladiator’s bunk wakes her from her sleep. She rolls over to see the Spy on the floor, crawling toward the door, wheezing as she gasps for air.

Getting out of bed, the Gladiator’s foot slips on a puddle of sweat. The other four sleeping children groan disapprovingly when the Gladiator catches herself on the bunks but stay asleep.

Carefully making her way to the Spy, she slings one of the Spy’s arms over her shoulder, helps her to her feet, and escorts her out of the dormitory.

#

The children’s home’s nurse’s office is a small room with a single examination table under a pendant light in the middle of the room. A doctor, wearing blue pajamas and face mask, is standing over the Spy, inspecting her pale, shivering body carefully. The Gladiator sits nervously in the corner while the headmistress, wearing a black nightgown, stands in the doorway pressing a white towel against her nose and mouth.

The doctor takes his face mask off and turns to the headmistress.

“It’s a bacterial infection,” he says.

“Is it contagious?”

“Not from her,” he answers while pulling the Spy’s hair away from her ear to reveal a picked scab. “The bug that bit her on the other hand.” He looks to the Gladiator and asks, “Have you seen anyone else with similar symptoms?”

The Gladiator shakes her head nervously.

“Then she probably picked it up somewhere else,” he concludes pulling a prescription pad from his bag. “She’ll need two months of antibiotics, but she’ll make a full recovery.”

He scribbles the prescription onto the pad and hands the note to the headmistress.

“Thank you for coming by so late,” she says taking the note. “I’ll show you out.”

As the doctor follows the headmistress out of the office, the Gladiator hurries to her sister’s side.

“The doctor said you’re going to get better,” she says fighting back tears.

The Spy smiles at her weakly and calmly says, “You should sit down before the headmistress comes back.”

“Don’t bother,” the headmistress says entering the room.

She crumples up the prescription and throws it into the garbage can.

“I’m not paying for your treatment … but since you’ve been a good student … and filing the paperwork for a missing child is more annoying than a death certificate. I’ll let you stay in your bed until you die.” She turns and leaves the room. “Help her back upstairs, Kelly,” she orders from the hall. “And don’t let your crying wake the other children.”

The Gladiator braces herself against the exam table as her knees give out.

The Spy swings her legs over the edge of the table and reaches to hug the Gladiator. Pushing the Spy’s weak arms away, the Gladiator runs to the trash can.

“Don’t do it,” the Spy pleads.

Picking the crumpled prescription out of the garbage, the Gladiator stuffs it into her pocket and returns to the Spy.

“I promised you,” she declares.

The Spy places her pale hands on the Gladiator’s face. “You promised to help me,” she says calmly. “Do it by staying safe.”

The Gladiator places her hands on the Spy’s face and gently rests her forehead on hers.

“I won’t break my promise,” she declares.

They hug each other.

#

People wearing bland, loose-fitting clothes wander through the inner-city market to pick up their daily supplies. The Gladiator casually patrols the streets watching every transaction and looks for easy marks. The locals always have their hands on their wallets and are vigilant of the people standing close to them.

Seeing that the tailor has a large crowd gathered around their counter and the vendor is frantically running between the counter, till, and clothing ranks, the Gladiator approaches the kiosk.

Forcing her way through the crowd, she finds a small hole under the kiosk and crawls inside. Hiding out of sight of the vendor and customers, she watches where the shopkeeper places the money in the register and times how long he keeps the drawer open.

Confident in her timing, the Gladiator waits for the tailor reach for the till before springing out of her hiding place.

“Thief!” the customers shout while pointing at her.

The vendor had already started opening the till before he heard the warning. The Gladiator slips her hand into the tray as is slides open and snatches all the banknotes before diving for the hole she crawled in through.

As she wriggles through the dirt, the shopkeeper grabs her ankle firmly and starts pulling her back into the kiosk. He stares into her face and memorizes what she looks like.

The Gladiator grabs onto the wooden kiosk and desperately kicks the vendor’s hand with her free leg. Tearing off small chunks of skin and bruising the vendor’s knuckles, she manages to break free from his grasp.

She springs to her feet and, seeing the police constables pushing through the market’s patrons, runs into the alley to escape.

Squeezing through a broken storm drain, she disappears into Maher’s smelly undercity.

#

The upper market running along the base of the mountains has wide, well maintained cobblestone roads. The patrons in this part of the city are wearing bright coloured clothes, embellished with gold and silver patterns woven into the cloth. They flaunt their jewelry with oversized gemstones to each other like a membership card to an exclusive club. Everyone has an escort of armed guards creating an isolated circle around their employers.

The Gladiator climbs up the stairs from the inner-city and walks down the center of the road, searching for the right kiosk. Her damp clothes are covered in mud and her ankle is bruised from the tailor’s grip.

The hired guards put their hands on their sidearms and direct their employers out of the Gladiator’s way. The patrons retch at the smell of the putrid water dripping from the dirty child.

Finding a pharmacy, the Gladiator slams the prescription note onto the countertop.

“Mommy needs this,” she says.

Without looking at the prescription, the pharmacist pinches his nose and steps back from the counter.

“We don’t offer handouts,” he says.

“Is this enough?” the Gladiator asks, waving her stack of stolen banknotes at him.

Noticing that the market’s patrons are gawking at the smelly child like an animal in a zoo, the pharmacist pushes the prescription note back to her.

“We don’t accept stolen money either,” he says.

Becoming aware that she is the center of attention, the Gladiator turns and shouts at her audience, “Does my dying mommy make you happy?!”

The patrons quickly look away and pretend to return their own business, glancing back at the Gladiator periodically.

Ward, a fifty-year-old with a pristine white fur shoulder cape draped over his expensive clothes, is surrounded by a small army of guards. He leans on his ornate cane while he watches the Gladiator stuff the banknotes and prescription into her pocket before storming away from the pharmacy.

#

Six sickly looking children are on their hands and knees scrubbing the children’s home’s wooden floors. The Gladiator barges through the front door.

“I need a big brother or sister!” she shouts.

The children cleaning the floor turn to see the putrid mess the Gladiator’s made on their clean floors and shout at her angrily.

Everett enters through the front door behind the Gladiator, aggressively stomps up to her, and pushes her against the wall.

“Trying to hide?” he asks, angrily.

Catching a whiff of the undercity on her, Everett gags and steps away from her.

“I need your help,” she says reaching into her pocket.

Livid, Everett puffs out his chest and raises his hand to strike her.

“You will do—” he stops midsentence when he sees the wad of cash in her hand.

“This is yours if you help me get this,” she says, handing him the prescription.

Looking at the money curiously, Everett takes the prescription note. “If anyone brings this in, I’ll let you buy it from me.”

“No!” she shouts. “I’ll pay you to help me take it now,” she adds, pushing the prescription against his chest. “Get this and all this is yours.”

He looks at the money carefully before taking the prescription. “Fine! But you will do exactly what I tell you,” he growls.

The Gladiator nods in agreement.

“Tell me everything you did this morning,” Everett orders.

As the Gladiator recounts her morning exploits, Everett opens the closet by the front door, grabs an empty backpack, and searches the hanging clothes for an outfit matching the clothes of the upper market’s patrons. Stuffing the clothes into the backpack, he leaves the children’s home with the Gladiator.

#

The upper market is busier than it was in the morning, with the patrons gathering to eat their lunches and socialize in the streets. The Gladiator is standing at the top of the stairs leading up from the inner-city by herself, watching the pharmacy from a distance.

As two groups of brightly clothed patrons walk past the pharmacy, Everett, wearing his expensive looking disguise, follows behind the guards. When they pass the pharmacy, Everett slips away and hides next to the pharmacy’s counter.

He checks to make sure no one saw him before making eye contact with the Gladiator and nods.

The Gladiator pulls a handful of sand out of her pocket and rubs it into her eyes while blinking rapidly. Wincing in pain, she rubs her eyes until they’re bright red before marching into the market aggressively.

“You’re a liar!” she shouts.

The patrons, curious about the commotion, stop what they’re doing and watch the dirty child curiously.

Annoyed, the pharmacist shouts, “You again?!”

“You took our money and gave mommy bad pills!” she accuses.

“I’m not taking your stolen money,” he replies, pressing a button under the counter.

“You killed my mommy!” she screams.

“Crawl back into the sewer you come out of, Rat!” the pharmacist shouts, as the Gladiator steps up to his kiosk.

“You made us live in the sewers!” she shouts. Turning toward the patrons who’ve stopped to see the show, she continues, “Mommy used to live in the mountains until this man sold her bad pills! He kept mommy sick until she ran out of money!”

The pharmacist climbs over the counter and covers the Gladiator’s mouth with his hand.

“The inner-city rats are full of lies,” he says angrily.

Seeing that everyone’s attention is on the pharmacist, Everett slips into the empty pharmacy unnoticed and starts filling the backpack with pill bottles.

The Gladiator slips out of the pharmacist’s grip and backs into the middle of the street.

“When mommy died,” she says, directing attention away from the shop, “the doctor was so surprised that he came to the sewers. He looked at the pills and said,” she turns, points at the pharmacist and shouts, “they were bad!”

The crowd starts murmuring while giving the pharmacist disgusted looks.

A constable’s gloved hand pushes the Gladiator face first into the cobblestone road.

“Is this her?” the constable asks, turning the Gladiator’s head to face his partner.

Looking at the hand drawn sketch of the Gladiator’s face and comparing it to hers, the partner says, “Looks like our rat to me.”

The constable starts patting the Gladiator down and removes the stolen banknotes from her pocket.

“She’s still carrying the stolen money,” he says.

Handing the money to his partner, he places handcuffs around the Gladiator’s wrists.

“Why are you up here?” the constable says, pulling her to her feet. “Rats aren’t allowed to leave the inner-city.”

“Because she’s got another mark!” his partner says, pointing to Everett as he tries to sneak out of the pharmacy.

The pharmacist vaults over the counter as the constable’s partner runs to cut off Everett’s exit. Deciding to take his chances with the pharmacist, Everett runs toward him and tries to kick him in the shin.

Stepping away from the kid’s attack, the pharmacist effortlessly overpowers Everett and slams him against the counter. Removing the bag from Everett’s back, the pharmacist dumps the stolen drugs onto the counter.

“Put those back in the bag,” the constable’s partner orders while entering the pharmacy. “They’re evidence.”

“If you’re taking my stock, I’m not pressing charges,” the pharmacist says.

While his partner is restraining Everett’s wrists in handcuffs, the constable strikes the counter with his baton and aggressively pushes the pharmacist away from the stolen pills.

“The clean our streets bill has zero tolerance for rats,” the constable says.

Pinning Everett to the counter with his hip, the constable’s partner pushes the stolen medicine into the backpack.

“You’re useless, Kelly!” Everett snarls.

“Hold on a minute, Constables,” Ward says, with a southern accent, as he approaches the pharmacy with his army of guards. “The clean our streets bill seeks to give these unfortunate souls a chance at a more meaningful life. If the guardian of these precious children will sign off on it, and the hard-working vendors these misguided youths have wronged retrieve that which was stolen, I would gladly employ them at the stadium.”

“It’s not that easy, Ward,” the constable says. “This violent rat injured a tailor this morning. She’s going to sit in a cell until she turns eighteen. If the state chooses not to execute her, you can buy her then.”

“My, that is a horrible turn of events,” Ward says. “Allow me to pay for the tailor’s medical expenses and an apprentice to cover for him while he recovers. That child’s tenacity is far more valuable to me, than any damage she could have caused today.”

“I’d love to help you, Ward,” the constable says, “but the captain wants us to follow this new law to the letter.”

“And I would never ask you to bend the rules for me,” Ward explains. “Come with me to these underprivileged children’s home. I will have a judge meet us there to fast track their case so we can begin correcting their unbecoming behaviour by the end of the day.”

The constable looks at his partner for input, before turning back to Ward. “Let me clear it with the captain.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ward says with a smile.

Ward takes a phone out of his gold embroidered pocket and calls the courthouse while the constable radios his captain. Seeing that the show is over, the patrons carry on with their lunch hour activities.

#

The children’s home’s residents are coming in from the street and starting their midafternoon chores. The flow of children entering the home stops briefly before a single child enters and knocks on the closed office door.

“What do you want?” the headmistress says disapprovingly as she opens the door.

“Kelly and Everett got caught,” the child says. “The police want to talk with you.”

The headmistress groans angrily. “You know what to do,” she says.

“Yes, Headmistress,” the child says before running upstairs.

Closing the office door behind her, the headmistress puts on a fake smile and steps out of the children’s home.

“Good afternoon, Constables,” she says. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“Two of your children are in serious trouble,” the constable says. Pulling on the Gladiator’s handcuff chain he adds, “This one injured a tailor.” He pulls on Everett’s chain. “And this one was caught stealing narcotics.”

“Well thank you for catching these awful brats,” the headmistress says. “I just hope they haven’t influenced the rest of my residents with their inexcusable actions.”

“Ma’am, we’d like to search the home for anything else they may have stolen,” the constable demands.

“I understand,” she says, “but I need to see your warrant before I can allow you to search through these children’s belongings.”

“We have probable cause,” the constable says. “We don’t need a warrant.”

“Then present that probable cause to a judge to obtain a warrant,” Ward’s judge says as he approaches from the street. He is wearing a black suit and tie, with a paper folder tucked under his arm. “Without it, you cannot harass minors in their home.”

Ward, who left his guards with the three black cars parked on the street, approaches with the judge and hands his card to the headmistress.

“Afternoon, Young Lady,” he says while bowing his head. “My name’s Ward, a program director at the stadium. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“What brings a successful man like you to this part of town?” she says, infatuated by his status.

“I just so happen to have witnessed these two attempt to steal from a pharmacy,” Ward says. “And, well, honestly I think their talents would be better realized working for me.” He raises his hands in a reassuring manner and adds, “I know, I know, they’re both a little young—”

“Deal,” the headmistress says without hesitation. “Address their paychecks to Maher Inner-City Children’s Home and they’re all yours.”

Ward steps out of the way so the judge can present the contracts to the headmistress and says, “I do love doing business with people who have resolve. Now, I must warn you that this young lady has racked up a pretty hefty bill,” he adds, gesturing to the Gladiator.

“Then she’ll have to work extra hard to pay off her debt,” the headmistress says while signing the contracts without reading them.

The judge double checks the signatures and turns to face the Gladiator.

“Kelly, you have been charged with grand theft and assault,” he says. “How do you plead?”

“I didn’t do it!” the Gladiator shouts.

“Be advised,” he warns. “This plea deal will only keep you out of the detention center if you say guilty.”

“Obviously you need the money, Darling,” Ward says. “If you admit to being guilty, I can have you earning your own way by the end of the week.”

Ashamed, the Gladiator lowers her head and says, “Guilty.”

The judge turns to Everett and says, “Everett, you have been charged with grand theft and possession of a narcotic with the intent to sell. How do you plead?”

“Guilty,” Everett says through his clenched teeth.

“Kelly, Everett, as per your plea agreements, you are placed in Mister O’Sullivan’s care until you pay off your debt to him,” the judge says. “Failure to report to work, or participating in any further criminal activity, will invalidate this plea agreement and you will be sent to Maher’s Youth Detention Center until the day of your eighteenth birthday.”

Closing the folder and tucking it under his arm, the judge says, “Remove their restraints, Constables.” While they do as their told, the judge turns to Ward and says, “Enjoy your afternoon, Mister O’Sullivan.”

“You as well, Your Honour,” he says, bowing his head.

Waiting for the constables and judge to leave, the headmistress asks, “You didn’t hire them for housekeeping duties, did you?”

“My, aren’t you an astute one,” Ward says with an impressed smile.

“If you need any more … employees, think of me as your official supplier,” she says with a greedy smile.

“That is a mighty tempting offer,” Ward says, reaching to shake her hand. “Let’s see how this experiment unfolds before we discuss a formal partnership.”

They shake hands and Ward signals for his guards to collect his new employees.

The guards escort the kids to one of the cars and put them in the back seat. Ward bows to the headmistress and returns to his car.

Waiting for the cars to leave her sight, the headmistress whistles and returns to her office.

Children flood out of the alleyways, clutching their stolen prizes, and run into the children’s home.

#

The stadium’s staging room has a stainless-steel floor slanting down to a grate running along the middle of the floor. Stainless-steel benches are built into the two long walls separating two heavy wooden doors. One door leads into the stadium and the other leads onto the stadium grounds. The Gladiator is alone, sitting on one of the benches, shivering and afraid.

The door into the stadium swings opens and a man wearing a black suit with a headset hanging over his ear enters the staging room with two armed guards. He is holding a clipboard in his hands.

“Get ready, Kid,” he says.

“Our next event features two of Maher’s most heinous criminals!” the announcer’s booming voice says, muffled by the wooden door connecting to the stadium ground. “After a series of arsons in the Felicitas neighbourhood,” the announcer continues, “he is the reason why your property taxes are skyrocketing! Everett, the Fireraiser!”

The crowd boos loudly.

“This is you,” the man says, looking at the Gladiator. “Just throw a few punches and play dead.”

Looking at the man with fear-filled eyes, the Gladiator climbs off the bench and steps up to the door leading to the stadium grounds.

The muffled announcer says, “And his opponent was found wandering around the Nortia neighbourhood smelling like sewage! Our brave police constables followed her back to her den where they discovered the remains of thirteen missing children!”

The crowd gasps before their boos intensify.

“Killer Kelly!”

The door in front of the Gladiator drops into the floor and sunlight from the open-topped arena floods into the staging room, blinding the Gladiator.

“If you don’t want to be hit by stones, you should run to the middle as fast as you can,” the man with the headset says, directing his guards to force the Gladiator onto the grounds.

When the Gladiator’s eyes adjust to the light, she sees Everett in the middle of the sand covered stadium ground, playing up to the audience’s anger. Camera drones circle above him, projecting dozens of close-up videos from the stadium grounds to the countless monitors in the stands.

The Gladiator turns to run back, but the armed guards effortlessly pick her up and throw her out of the staging room. The sound of rocks crashing into the sandy ground surrounds her.

“Run!” one of the guards warns with a smirk, as they close the wooden door.

Wrapping her arms over her head, the Gladiator climbs to her feet and runs into the middle of the stadium, escaping the volley of rocks. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she stops in front of Everett.

“I’m scared, Everett!” she shouts.

“They’re just here for a show,” he says calmly. “Do you remember your grapples and escapes?” She nods. “Good, practice those with me until they tell us to stop.”

Raising her hands to defend herself, the Gladiator cautiously approaches Everett.

Everett pulls his hand from his pocket and throws a handful of sand into the Gladiator’s eyes, causing her to lower her guard. Reacting to the opening, he kicks her in the chest with his entire bodyweight.

Stumbling backwards, the Gladiator manages to stay on her feet and rise her guard. Squinting through her sandy tear-filled eyes, she sees Everett stepping forward to punch.

Fending off his attacks, she screams, “Stop it!”

“I’m just making it exciting,” he explains.

Everett grabs her arm and twists it behind her back.

Pulling her close, he whispers, “You deserve it for getting me in trouble.”

The Gladiator kicks him in the knee causing him to loosen his grip as he falls to his knees. She turns to face him and punches him in the head repeatedly, screaming in pain.

The audience cheers loudly as her knuckles get bloody.

Everett, using his size and weight advantage, tackles her to the ground while screaming, “I’ll kill you!”

Holding him close so he can’t climb on top of her, the Gladiator squirms free and runs for the staging room door, screaming for help.

The audience laughs at the terrified girl as Everett quickly catches up to her and tackles her to the ground face first.

Climbing onto her back, he rolls her over to face him, sits on her stomach and squeezes his hands around her neck.

Gasping for air, the Gladiator scratches the skin off his arms and watches in horror as his angry expression turns into a joyous smile.

She grabs a handful of sand and throws it at his face. The sand goes in his eyes, but he just winces in pain, laughs, and squeezes harder.

As her strength fades, the Gladiator surrenders to her fate and lets her arms fall limp to the sandy ground. Feeling that her right-hand has landed on a stone, she grabs it and swings it at Everett’s head with everything she has left.

A loud crack echoes through the stadium, silencing the audience. Everett loosens his grip and collapses into the sand beside her. Blood flows out of his skull and soaks into the sand.

Dropping the bloody stone, the Gladiator sucks in air with a deep guttural whoop.

“Killer Kelly is our winner!” the announcer declares, causing the audience to cheer wildly.

Tears roll down the Gladiator’s face as she turns to Everett’s unconscious body and searches his pockets. Finding the prescription note for the Spy’s antibiotics, the Gladiator stuffs it into her pocket.

Everett groans in pain and rolls onto his back.

Without thinking, the Gladiator fearfully grabs the bloody stone from the sand, straddles Everett’s chest and, screaming as loudly as she can, hammers the rock into Everett’s head repeatedly.

The audience falls silent as the sound of cracking bone rattles off the stadium walls.

Crying over his lifeless body, the Gladiator drops the stone and stares at her quivering, blood covered hands.

Rising to their feet, the audience chants, “Kill-er. Kel-ly. Kill-er. Kel-ly,” loud enough to drown out the announcer.

Seeing the stadium staff running toward her from the staging room, the Gladiator forces herself onto her wobbling feet, takes one step toward them, vomits profusely and collapses to the sandy ground unconscious.

#

The stadium’s medical room is full of stocked medicine cabinets, electronic gurneys, and state-of-the-art equipment. A small army of surgeons and nurses are stitching up the injured fighters while screens displaying the current event on the stadium ground are mounted everywhere.

The Gladiator is sitting on a gurney with a mylar blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She is expressionless as a nurse finishes wrapping a bandage around her scar covered hands.

The headmistress enters the medical room with Ward.

“You beat the odds!” she exclaims with a huge smile. “I thought Everett was going to make me a fortune, but you … wow, who would’ve thought you’d win so spectacularly!” She turns to face Ward and says, “We need to get her out there again!”

“Hold your horses, Young Lady,” Ward says, gesturing toward the bagged body against the wall. “A child died today for the sake of entertainment.”

“A child?” the headmistress says as her demeanour becomes serious. Pointing at the screens showing the current fight, she adds, “Did you hear those cheers? These are worthless sewer rats. Pests. Scourges to the great city of Maher, no one cares if they die. But we can make them worth something!”

“These fights are more than just two people trying to kill each other,” Ward explains. “They were happy today because they saw two monsters fighting to the death. If we want to foster this into a successful business venture, we need to focus on the character the audience already wants to see.”

“I won’t do it,” the Gladiator says.

“You don’t have a choice, Rat,” the headmistress says with a chuckle.

The Gladiator grabs the scalpel from the nurse’s suture tray, slips past the nurse, and runs straight for the headmistress.

“Didn’t you hear?!” she shouts, “I’m Killer Kelly!”

Ward’s guards run into the room and point their weapons at the Gladiator.

Signalling for them to lower their weapons, Ward pushes the Gladiator to the floor with his ornate cane.

“Your ferocity is simply amazing, Miss Kelly,” he says. “Would you humour me and tell me what young Everett had in his pocket that was so important to you?”

Putting the scalpel on the floor, the Gladiator pulls the prescription note out of her pocket and presents it to Ward.

“My sister needs this,” she says.

Sliding the scalpel across the room with his foot, Ward lifts his cane off her and takes the note.

“These are just antibiotics,” he says, showing the note to the nurse.

The nurse glances at the prescription and heads to the medicine cabinets.

“Your sister isn’t worth saving,” the headmistress snarls as she steps forward to kick the Gladiator. “You will do as I say because I own you!”

Ward stops the kick with his cane and says, “According to the plea agreement you signed, I own her, Headmistress. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t damage my fighters.” Squatting beside the Gladiator, he asks, “What if I were to make a deal with you, Miss Kelly?”

The nurse returns from the medicine cabinet with the antibiotics and hands them to Ward.

Ward shows the Gladiator that the name on the bottle matches the name on the note and says, “If you continue to entertain my guests, you can take these to your sister this very evening.”

“Call me Killer Kelly,” the Gladiator says with a defeated tone as she reaches out to shake Ward’s hand.

Ward smiles. “My apologies, Killer Kelly. It is a great honour to have you on my team.”

They shake hands before Ward hands the Gladiator the bottle of antibiotics.

#

The evening sun shines through the broken windows in the children’s home’s dormitory. The sound of children buying their dinner can be heard from the open door. The Spy has tightly wrapped her blanket around herself and is curled up into a shivering ball on the thin mattress.

The Gladiator, showered and wearing clean clothes, enters the dormitory. She runs to her sister’s side with a glass of water in hand.

“I got your medicine!” she says excitedly while offering a pill and the water to the Spy. “You only need to take one of these a day.”

Sitting up in her bunk, she takes her medicine before noticing the bandages wrapped around the Gladiator’s hands and the bruises on her neck.

“What did you do?” she asks grabbing her hands weakly.

“I made a promise,” she says with fake a smile to try and hide her shame.

Looking at the Gladiator worriedly, the Spy says, “You didn’t borrow from the Diamondbacks, did you?”

“Never!” the Gladiator exclaims. “I got work at the stadium.”

“How did you hurt your hands at,” the Spy trails off as the Gladiator pulls her hands away. “You’re only eight!”

The Spy suddenly loses the strength to sit up and the Gladiator catches her as she falls.

“Get better,” she says, gently lying her sister on her side. “You can yell at me later.”

The Gladiator grabs the blanket from her bunk and drapes it over the Spy. She crawls under the blanket and hugs the Spy tightly. Tears roll down the Spy’s cheeks as they both fall asleep.

#

The Yeshe Walmo, the Federation’s command ship, is surrounded by warp bubbles pushing and pulling it through space faster than the speed of light. The Yeshe’s medical facility is large enough to treat two hundred people simultaneously but only one bed is in use.

The Spy, with her cuts stitched and bandaged, wakes up in her gurney to see her sister sleeping beside her. The Gladiator, wearing a thin grey Federation sweatsuit set, has folded her arms on the Spy’s gurney and is resting her head on top of them.

Placing her hand on the back of the Gladiator’s head, the Spy whispers, “I’m sorry I called you a monster.”

“I’m your monster,” the Gladiator answers, half-asleep.

The Spy gently strokes her sister’s head while staring up at the dark metal ceiling.

Chapter Three

The Onset

The morning medical team is in the Yeshe’s medical facility, treating the command ship’s crew for minor work-related injuries and headaches. The Spy is sitting on her gurney while Valtina inspects the bruises on her back. The Gladiator is sitting in the chair beside the Spy’s gurney.

Pulling the backless robe closed, Valtina ties it loosely over the bruises. “Your back’s healing nicely,” she says. Placing the stethoscope over the Spy’s lungs she instructs, “Deep breath.”

The Spy breaths in and holds it.

“Any discomfort?”

The Spy shakes her head.

“Okay relax,” Valtina says as she moves in front of the Spy. “When was the last time you took a walk?” she asks, gently sliding the Spy’s sleeves up her arms to inspect the cuts’ healing progress.

“The nurse helped me walk around the facility last night,” the Spy says. “There’s still some tightness in my back, but I can get around on my own.”

“Good,” Okar says as she approaches the Spy’s gurney. “I need your debriefing of Amaguq Three.”

President Okar is wearing a Federation uniform with her black hair resting on her shoulders.

“Were you able to find General Patel?” the Spy asks calmly.

Okar looks at Valtina and asks, “Is there anything else, Doctor?”

“I’d like you to join Kelly in her next physiotherapy session,” she says to the Spy. “Just to make sure you’re healing properly.” Turning to Okar she says, “Ma’am,” before leaving the Spy’s bedside.

Okar looks around the room before quietly saying, “This stays between us for now. General Patel’s body and quantum radio were recovered from her downed ship. While the Foxes knew about your planetside operation, no one in the Federation knew where Manticore was hiding.”

“Did you find the mole from the thumb drives?” the Spy asks.

“The files were cleaned by a pro,” Okar dismisses. “Until we know the extent of this conspirator’s plan, there is to be no discussion about this to anyone. This includes the remaining generals and your former crewmates.”

“What makes us special?” the Gladiator asks.

“You were under strict surveillance while in recovery,” Okar explains. “And Commander Paris nearly died collecting evidence that our intelligence network is compromised. You only needed to sneak out of the town and wait for evac.”

“How much damage has the conspirator done?” the Spy asks.

“The high council has lost three generals in two months,” Okar says. “Patel is confirmed dead, Lee went dark at the start of the Amaguq mission, and Alvarez hasn’t responded in five days.”

The Spy gives Okar a concerned look. “Was General Lee still with the Philosopher?”

“He was,” Okar admits. “Which means our assailant is trying to eliminate the Galactic War’s surviving leaders.”

“Where was General Alvarez stationed?” the Spy asks.

“She was given command of the Galactic Headquarters when I left,” Okar says.

“Which means we’re likely returning to an ambush,” the Spy says calmly. “How many ships are you traveling with?”

“I’ve already recalled the Foxes to Primus,” Okar says. “But since I’ve been unable to contact anyone on Primus or the Defense Force, we need to assume total defection or a hostile force capable of swiftly defeating the Defense Force is waiting for us.”

“Was Kamali okay with that?” the Spy asks.

“Salem Station is in lockdown,” Okar says. “I’ve sent a relief team to replace our special forces until we’ve figured out what happen at home.”

“If Salem is in lockdown, then we need to assume General Brandon and the Navigator have been targeted as well,” the Spy deduces. “Has the Courier been in contact?”

“He barely talks to me face to face, let alone sending me a message,” Okar says.

Looking at the Gladiator, the Spy points to the bag on the tray below her gurney.

“If Arthur hasn’t reached out to you,” she says, “he may have tried using our encoded channel.”

The Gladiator picks up the bag and hands it to the Spy. The Spy removes her tablet from the bag and opens a few applications.

“There’s nothing here either,” she says. “How long have we been traveling?”

“Six days,” Okar says.

“Which means we arrive in the Primus system tomorrow,” the Spy says nodding toward the small offices connected to the facility. “We need to review everything we know and establish timelines.”

“Sweep it for bugs.” Okar orders. “I’ll get the physical files from my office.”

While Okar makes her way to the facility’s exit, the Gladiator helps the Spy to her feet and walks with her to the medical offices.

#

The Yeshe Walmo’s bridge has three dozen crewed workstations watching the Federation’s command ship’s status. The monitors mounted on the walls are solid black screens.

The door to the bridge slides open and Okar enters with the Spy. They are wearing Federation officer uniforms.

“Attention on Deck” the captain says, seeing Okar.

“As you were,” Okar responds before the crew rises from their chairs.

She goes straight to the communication station and quietly talks to the officer. The officer rises, salutes, and marches out of the bridge.

The Spy shuffles to the communication station slowly, drops into the seat with a relaxing sigh, and starts tapping at the keyboard.

“Set the destination to Primus Seven,” Okar orders. “Ready the gunships for launch.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” two officers affirm.

“I’ve notified our escort,” the Spy says.

Thin rainbow rings appear in the center of the monitors’ screens and expand to fill the entire monitor. The violet in the center of the screen begins to open and reveal blurry stars in the distance. The bright colours fade off the monitors as the warp bubbles shrink and the blurry stars sharpen as they enter the Primus system.

The rest of the fleet redshifts into view in front of them as they arrive in the system.

“Headquarters isn’t responding,” the Spy calmly informs. “If the occupying force isn’t expecting our return, they will know we’ve arrived in two hours.”

“Wait here until the Placating Foxes arrive,” Okar commands. “Monitor any sound pulses trying to leave the system. If there are any Federation vessels in the system, we have to assume they are with the insurgents.”

“Ker has sent an encoded message over the foxes’ channel,” the Spy says. “They’ve found something about Primus Four’s disappearance.”

“Call them,” Okar commands.

With a few clicks on the keyboard, the uniformed captain of the Ker appears on the screen in front of the Spy.

“Madam President,” he greats with a salute.

The Pilot’s voice shouts in the background, “This can’t be the right place! Where’s the planet? Where’re the moons?”

“What’s the status, Captain?” Okar asks.

“I’ve made contact with the Defense Force,” Ker’s captain answers. “Their systems are fried, but everyone is in good health. I can’t say the same for Primus Four.”

“What happened?” she asks.

“I’ve sent the flagship’s black box recording to your tablet,” Ker’s captain says. “I can’t explain what I’ve seen.”

Okar takes the tablet off her belt and plays the video in front of the Spy so the rest of the crew doesn’t see it.

The video shows thousands of spacecrafts and two battle moons orbiting Primus 4 when a thin redshifted line zips across the screen and strikes the edge of the planet’s atmosphere.

A bright light erupts from the point of impact and spreads across the planet at the speed of light. All the orbiting objects, including both the moons, are released from the planet’s gravity and drift off into space in a straight line based on their tangential velocities.

The globe of light eats the planet and continues to expand outward into the drifting fleet. The spacecrafts try to escape, but they are unable to activate their warp engines before the flash of light engulfs them. The video ends when the light consumes the ship recording the attack.

“The electromagnetic radiation fried their electronics,” Ker’s captain says. “They said that once the light dispersed, Primus Four was gone without a trace.”

“Have you sent a drone to search for a blackhole?” the Spy asks.

“Negative,” Ker’s captain says.

“Could this be one of the Scientist’s weapons?” Okar asks.

“It’s nothing I’ve seen before, but it wouldn’t be the first doomsday device he’s created,” the Spy admits.

“Search for a blackhole, Ker,” Okar orders. “Report your findings directly to me.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ker’s captain says before ending the call.

“It’s been six days since the capital fell and you haven’t said anything,” the Spy says. “You need to address the galaxy before rumours speak for you.”

“There are more important things to do than address the galaxy,” Okar growls. “This was a declaration of war, and we still don’t know who attacked us.” Her voice becomes angrier as she continues to talk. “The Federation can’t communicate with any of their active generals. The entire administrative power just vanished. And the federated planets are actively rebelling against the Federation!” Seeing that the crew is staring at her, she leans in close to the Spy and quietly says, “We lost this war with the first strike.”

“Focus on our strengths,” the Spy says calmly. “You weren’t on the planet when it fell. The Federation still commands the largest armada in the galaxy. And we have powerful allies throughout the galaxy.”

Nodding, Okar turns to the flight crew and commands, “Recall all the fleets currently fighting against the rebelling planets and gather the armada in the Perierat system.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the crew shouts.

Turning to the Spy, Okar orders, “Find out who attacked us.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy affirms.

Okar leaves the bridge while the crew and the Spy fulfill their orders.

Chapter Four

The Stranger

The Yeshe’s press briefing room is an enormous hall filled with thousands of reporters, each wearing a different coloured uniform. Hundreds of flags representing the federated planets hang from the walls. President Okar, wearing her Federation dress uniform, is behind the lectern on the stage in front of the reporters.

“Why are you lying about the Scientist?” a reporter asks. “The Federation made secret arrangements with him before, and he betrayed us. Why are you continuing to make the same mistake?”

“We aren’t ruling out the possibility that this was one of the Scientist’s weapons,” Okar says calmly. “The Federation has spent the last year locating and dismantling the weapon caches he hid around the galaxy. We are investigating to see if his former colleagues in the Belphegor Syndicate still have some of these weapons and are selling them to the insurrectionists.”

“Is that why you personally besieged Amaguq Three while Primus Four was attacked?” another reporter asks.

“Amaguq declared war on the Federation when they assassinated General Patel,” Okar says. “Rest assured that the Federation will find those responsible for attacking our capital and bring them to justice by any means necessary. Just as we did with the rebels on Amaguq, and the terrorist Thanatos Videl, better known as the Scientist. And if any other federated planets seek to follow in the footsteps of Amaguq by attempting to secede by force, you will be met with hostility. For those who no longer want our protection, the Federation has simplified the process to exit legally. Thank you.”

Reporters continue to shout questions at Okar as she steps away from the lectern and leaves though a door behind the stage.

#

The Yeshe’s war room has a large electronic table in the center of the room with dozens of workstations lining the walls. Officers wearing Federation uniforms are seated at those stations, monitoring the video feeds of the federated planets that were considering to rebel. A seamless array of monitors are mounted to the walls of the war room, displaying a panoramic view of the Federation’s armada. In the background of the forward-facing monitors, Perierat 7 appears as a small, green moon.

The Spy is working at the electronic table, piecing together the footage of Primus 4’s destruction from the Defense Force’s black boxes. The war room’s door slides open and Okar, still wearing her dress uniform, enters.

“Clear the deck,” she orders.

Waiting for the last officer to exit, she joins the Spy at the table.

“Someone leaked the Primus footage,” Okar says. “Any luck routing out the traitor?”

“I’ve reached out to the Wraiths, but they haven’t answered,” the Spy says. “Either they think the Courier is still alive, or they’ve been compromised too.”

“How bad is it if they got compromised,” Okar asks.

“The Federation would collapse,” the Spy answers calmly.

“Well, we’ve still got a faint pulse, so let’s not worry about that yet,” Okar says. “Did Grant give you any insight on the weapon?”

“He says he hasn’t found anything that claims to be capable of doing what happened to Primus Four,” the Spy says. Removing the quantum radio from her belt, she adds, “But maybe he’s found something now that he knows what we’re looking for.”

Okar nods and the Spy calls Grant. Placing the radio on the electronic table, a holographic screen of the general appears from the radio. He is standing in Duncan’s basement lab on Earth, wearing a red tartan shirt and blue jeans. In his early nineties, he is still in peak physical fitness.

“Madam, President,” he says, while saluting.

“At ease, General,” Okar responds. “Have you found anything new since we last talked?”

Grant looks at his tablet and says, “The only documentation we found on planet killing weapons were a paper on catalysing atmospheres to create an environment inhospitable to life, and a few notes about using directional whiteholes to implode a planet in on itself.”

“A redshifted weapon catalysed Primus’s atmosphere,” the Spy says.

“The surface was also consumed by an explosive force,” Grant says. “Torus Five was initially rendered inhospitable by a catalyst weapon, and Torus Five’s second destruction was from a doomsday device that imploded the planet without an explosion.”

“The Foxes also didn’t find any evidence of a blackhole after the attack, like what happened on Tartarus Station,” the Spy adds.

“What about something like what happened in the Gnosis system?” Okar asks.

“An explosion that big would’ve destroyed the fleet and every system within ten lightyears,” Grant dismisses.

“So, we’re no closer to finding the traitor who attacked us, or what they attacked us with,” Okar summarizes. “Continue digging,” she orders, “I need to update the captains.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy and Grant say.

Grant’s projected image disappears before the Spy returns the quantum radio to her belt. When Okar exits the war room, the crew enters behind her and return to their stations.

#

The Spy’s cabin on the Yeshe has a minimalist industrial look that prioritizes function over appearance. The walls are white, the floor to ceiling monitors are off, and there is a single runner mat leading from the side of the bed to the bathroom. Every surface is spotless, and nothing is out of its assigned place.

The cabin door opens, and the Spy enters her room. She places her tablet and radios on the black nightstand before going to her closet. Opening the closet, she reveals six matching Federation uniforms, two tactical suits, and a series of maintenance uniform disguises. Removing her belt and jacket, she hangs them up.

“Are you alone, Sandra?” the Courier asks quietly from the bathroom.

“Arthur?!” she exclaims, running to him.

He tries to signal for her to be quiet, but she hugs him tightly, stopping him from being able to use his arms.

“We need to be quiet,” he warns. “There is a traitor in the Federation.”

“That’s why I’ve been trying to contact you,” she says. “Do you know who it is?”

“General Lee,” he says quietly. “The Philosopher’s cult, the Children of Themis, is spreading across the galaxy quickly and they see the Federation as a threat.”

“The kid’s actually turned against us?” the Spy asks.

“The Philosopher, Mother Themis, and the Strategist are all the same person,” the Courier explains. “She was never working with us.”

The Spy pushes him away with a skeptical look as she tries to process what he’s said.

“She let herself get caught so she could sow her seeds throughout Primus Four,” he continues.

A knock at the door startles them.

The Spy pushes him back into the bathroom and goes to answer the door. She looks over her shoulder to make sure the Courier can’t be seen before opening it.

The Pilot, wearing a Federation uniform with a hat pulled over his face, nervously tries to barge into the Spy’s cabin. She pushes him back into the hall.

“We’re not supposed to be meeting each other privately,” she says.

“That’s why I need to come inside,” the Pilot says quietly. Looking down the empty halls to make sure no one is watching, he quietly says, “The Courier is alive.”

Grabbing him by the collar, the Spy pulls the Pilot into her cabin, closes the door, and stands in front of him so he can’t see into the bathroom.

“Where is he?” she asks.

“He’s somewhere on the Yeshe,” he says, taking the tablet off his belt. “The Placating Foxes have been searching for suspicious activity in the fleet.”

The Pilot opens a video of a small single crewed spacecraft slipping into the gaps of the Yeshe Walmo’s outer hull.

“That could be anyone,” the Spy dismisses.

“I’ve seen this exact dropship before,” he refutes. “He thought he was clever about hiding it on my shuttles, but I knew when he left and when he came back. I could feel the change in my baby’s weight.”

He switches to show some photos of the same dropship hidden in the gap between the hull and engines of a Federation shuttle.

“This is why he always demanded to do the spacewalks,” he concludes.

“Did you show this to your captain?” the Spy asks.

“Of course not!” the Pilot says. “I don’t want the Federation thinking we’re traitors. Say what you want, they’ve treated me really well since the Scientist’s death.”

“This doesn’t prove he’s the traitor,” she dismisses.

“While I was assigned to the Placating Foxes’ captain, the rest of us were supposed to be paired with a general at all times,” he says. “You with Patel, the Navigator with Brandon, the Philosopher with Lee, and the Courier with Alvarez. So, why didn’t he die with his General?”

“That’s still speculation,” the Spy says, starting to sound agitated through her calm mask.

“Come with me,” he pleads. “I know where he’s hiding his dropship. We can get the flight logs and prove his guilt or his innocence.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to set him up?” the Spy asks angrily. “You’ve been attacking him ever since Salem’s civil war.”

Frustrated, the Pilot says, “At least the Scientist always looked at everything objectively.” Reaching for the door he says, “Be careful. He’ll find his way to you eventually.”

The Pilot opens the door, checks that the halls are empty, and slips out of the Spy’s cabin.

“Shango’s still chasing conspiracies,” the Courier says, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Why weren’t you on Primus Four?” the Spy asks.

“When you suggested Jezebel might be speaking in codes with her husband, I reported it to General Alvarez,” he explains. “Since the Wraiths are constantly collecting information, she granted me permission to visit the Container to retrieve everything they had on the Amaguq system. Primus Four was gone by the time I got there.”

“Okay, we need to tell this to Okar,” the Spy says.

“I should stay hidden until she knows I’m alive,” the Courier says. “People tend to get jumpy when they see a ghost.”

“Commander Paris, report to the war room,” Okar’s voice comes from the radio on the nightstand.

“Alright, stay here,” the Spy says as she goes to her nightstand. “I’ll clear things up with her and come back for you.” Picking up the radio she transmits, “On my way, Madam President.”

The Spy takes the radios and tablet to the closet where she returns them to the hanging belt. She puts her belt and jacket on, kisses the Courier and leaves her cabin.

#

The Yeshe’s war room’s workstations are turned off and the crew has been dismissed for the night. The array of monitors on the wall show the Federation fleet gathered on the outskirts of Perierat 7. Okar and the Spy are standing at the electronic table across from each other.

“He has a point,” Okar says.

“I know,” the Spy answers calmly. “But what would you do if he accused your wife of trying to kill you?”

“What would you do if my wife was accused of killing your husband?” Okar asks.

Looking away, the Spy apologetically says, “I’d pursue every lead.”

“Keep him close, but be vigilant,” Okar warns. “Now, I called you here because Lucas discovered a destroyed vessel in the swamp near your cabin.” She opens an image of a destroyed dropship identical to the Courier’s. “Is this yours?”

“No, but that looks exactly like the one the Pilot just showed me,” the Spy says, anger starting to break through her calm mask. “He probably used that to get to Perierat when the Scientist liberated Lucas’s village.”

“I’m glad it’s not yours,” Okar says, speaking as if she’s about to deliver worse news. “I’m afraid the Pilot’s suspicions might be right. This dropship’s owner did a good job destroying their flight records,” she explains while opening a list of planets, “but he didn’t anticipate that the Navigator could piece everything together from the fragments of data that survived.”

“Does that mean the Navigator and General are okay?” the Spy asks as she glances at the list of planets. “None of these look memorable to me.”

“We should sit down in my office,” Okar suggests.

“Did something happen to them?” the Spy asks.

“We received this message before Salem went into lockdown,” Okar says. “I requested a comparison search of the planets against each other, and this is what I got.”

Changing the projected image, the words, ‘twenty-two’, ‘embalmed’, ‘posed’, and ‘murdered’, appear above the table.

The Spy types on the keyboard in front of her and brings up the police reports from each of the planets. They all detail some variation of twenty-two people being murdered by embalming and staged in a macabre nude diorama.

“Maybe he’s hunting a galactic serial killer,” the Spy says, as her face becomes pale, and her voice sounds like she’s about to be sick.

Coming around the table, Okar places a hand on the Spy’s and says, “You know him better than anyone else. What does your gut say?”

The Spy forces a smile and says, “I have to believe my husband, no matter what my gut says.”

Her tablet buzzes.

Pulling the tablet off her belt she and Okar see that the Pilot has sent a photo of the Courier’s dropship anchored to the inside of the Yeshe Walmo’s outer hull. The message, ‘I found it!’ appears below the picture, followed by ‘I’m bringing the flight logs back’.

“Idiot!” the Spy exclaims while replying ‘Where are you?’.

“What’s wrong?” Okar asks.

“Shango’s going to get himself killed.”

‘90-degree maintenance tunnel, heading to hatch 37’ pops onto her tablet.

Pushing her tablet into Okar’s hands, the Spy orders, “Send a team.”

The Spy sprints out of the war room and disappears around the corner.

#

The Yeshe’s maintenance tunnel runs the length of the spaceship, visually appearing to extend into infinity. The floors are wider than the ceiling and the angled walls are covered in tied groups of wires, pipes, and conduit lines. A single row of lights runs down the center of the ceiling, giving off just enough light to see the metal floor.

A bright light shines through one of the floor hatches, illuminating the sign with ‘37’ painted on it. The sound of pressurized air rushing into the airlock beneath the hatch fills the empty tunnel.

When the airlock equalizes, the floor hatch beeps and swings open.

The Pilot, wearing a pressurized spacesuit with a mirrored sun visor, places his black duffle bag on the maintenance tunnel floor and climbs out of the airlock. He closes the hatch and removes his helmet as he kneels over the duffle bag.

Putting his helmet on the ground beside the bag, he sees the reflection of someone stepping out of the shadows behind him. The Pilot acts as if he didn’t see his assailant and opens the bag.

He quickly grabs the sidearm inside the duffle bag, climbs to his feet, and squares off with his stalker.

The Courier lunges forward, tucks the Pilot’s wrist under his armpit to keep the weapon pointed away from him, and effortlessly throws the Pilot over his shoulder.

Crashing to the floor, the Pilot loses his grip on his sidearm allowing the Courier to pull it out of his hand.

Seeing the weapon pointed at his face, the Pilot rolls onto his knees and raises his hands over his head.

“I’ve already exposed you, Strategist,” the Pilot gloats.

“The only thing you’ve done is jeopardize my art,” the Courier growls.

“Flying is art,” the Pilot says. “Pretending to be a warlord is pathetic.”

The Courier points the sidearm at the Pilot’s right hand and pulls the trigger.

Two flashes of light fill the tunnel, the first when the bolt leaves the sidearm, and the second from the white fireball erupting out of the back of the Pilot’s hand after impact.

The plasma bolt leaves a small black ring around the hole in the palm of the Pilot’s hand, but the back of his hand is completely disfigured by the dissipating energy.

Clutching his wrist, the Pilot falls on his back screaming in pain.

“While you’ve only caused a minor inconvenience for my art, I’ve ruined yours,” the Courier says. Stepping over the Pilot he adds, “I just wish I could’ve added you to my next installation.”

He points his sidearm at the Pilot’s head and starts to squeeze the trigger.

A small plasma bolt flashes through the tunnel and strikes the Courier in the brainstem. He goes limp and drops his weapon as he crumbles to the floor lifelessly.

The Spy steps out of the shadows with her weapon trained on the Courier’s corpse. She slides his sidearm away from him with her foot before rolling him onto his back. Confirming he doesn’t have a pulse; the Spy holsters her weapon and looks at the Pilot as he cries in pain.

“You’re welcome,” she says apathetically.

Turning away, she slowly walks out the same direction she walked in. Every step she takes, it looks as if her body gets heavier. Reaching the maintenance tunnel door, she collapses against the door frame.

Pulling the door open, the Spy forces herself into the Yeshe’s well lit corridor. Using the wall to stabilize herself, she takes three steps toward Okar and the armed security team running toward her.

Okar signals for the team to go into the tunnel as she carefully approaches the Spy.

Feeling Okar’s hands on her arms, the Spy looks at her with tear-filled eyes and collapses into her arms. Okar gently guiders her to the floor where they hug each other tightly and cry.

Chapter Five

The Quandary

The monitor array on the walls of the Yeshe Walmo’s war room show the Federation fleet and Perierat 7 in the distance. Federation officers are working at their workstations reviewing intelligence reports from the federated planets. Okar is standing at the electronic table with video projections of President Lucas, Captain Freda, the Navigator, and General Brandon floating above the table’s surface. The Navigator and Brandon are in the same video window.

“Will Captain Kamali be joining us?” Okar asks.

“Salem is still in lockdown,” Brandon says. “It took a lot of sweet talking to let us broadcast out, so assume everything we say is recorded.”

“Let him know I’ve received his request, but the commander is on convalescence leave,” Okar says.

The door to the war room opens, and the Spy enters wearing her Federation uniform immaculately.

“Sorry for being late,” she says apathetically as she joins Okar at the table.

Okar leans toward the Spy and quietly says, “I order you to take some time to grieve.”

“If my choices are to sit in my room alone with my thoughts or keep my mind focused on my job, I would prefer to do my job, Ma’am,” she replies without hesitation.

Nodding in agreement, Okar addresses the table, “We’ve confirmed that Arthur, the Courier, Gould was the traitor responsible for General Alvarez’s death. The flight logs on his dropship indicate that he was on Amaguq Three before Commander Paris arrived and left shortly after. With that said, I believe him when he said the Philosopher has corrupted General Lee. So, we are not to discuss current affairs or future plans over the quantum radios from here on out. Additionally, the attack on Primus Four was not connected to the general’s assassination which means there is still an organization trying to take down the Federation.”

“I’ve updated the Wraiths on the Courier’s status,” the Spy says. “I was supposed to be Arthur’s successor, but I doubt they will be willing to work with me when they hear I pulled the trigger.”

“You ordered her to kill her husband?” Lucas asks angrily. “That’s unacceptable!”

“The Pilot ignored my warnings and acted recklessly,” the Spy says. “I had to execute the Courier before he killed him.”

“Is Shango— the Pilot okay?” the Navigator asks nervously as he starts shifting his weight.

“He survived,” the Spy responds. “But Valtina is concerned about his psychological state. She is hoping that once Shango adjusts to his prosthetic, his mental wellbeing will improve.”

“Survived? Concerned? Prosthetic?” the Navigator says with an agitated tone.

The Navigator steps away from Brandon and starts stomping his feet against the floor.

“I need to go. He needs me. I need to go. He needs me,” he repeats anxiously.

Brandon slowly approaches the Navigator, making sure his cane doesn’t strike the ground too loudly while the Navigator continues to rant.

“Doctor Valtina is looking after him,” Brandon says with a soothing tone. “Remember how proud of her you were when she helped Duncan? And how she looked after the Gladiator, twice? She will look after him until the lockdown is lifted. Then you can go to Shango’s side.”

The Navigator stops stomping his feet and, keeping his eyes on the ground, turns to face Brandon.

“How do we end the lockdown?” he asks.

“Start by telling the President your urgent message,” Brandon says.

The Navigator steps up to the electronic table in Salem Station and projects a map of the Milky Way above the table in the Yeshe’s war room.

“Merchants and pilgrims from the outer Perseus and Scutum-Crux arms are telling some interesting stories,” he says. Zooming in and highlighting the outer edge of the Perseus arm he adds, “Those from the Perseus arm are saying that anyone venturing to the outer edge of the galaxy is never heard from again.” Panning across the galaxy to opposite side, the Navigator highlights the entire Scutum-Crux arm. “And on the other side of the galaxy, the planets have canceled all their trade contracts with the rest of the galaxy.”

“Have you confirmed the rumours with the federated planets in each arm?” Okar asks.

“Reports from the Scutum-Crux were getting less frequent over the past two months,” Brandon says. “And everything was normal in Perseus up until the lockdown was put in place. I haven’t been able to receive updates since then.”

“I’ll send scouts to see what’s happening,” Okar says. “If these rumours are our warning, we’d be foolish to ignore them.”

The Spy’s tablet buzzes. Looking at the display she sees that it’s from the Wraiths.

“Looks like the Wraiths have—” she says, stopping as soon as she opens the message.

The message, ‘You murdered a hero!’ appears on her screen.

Dropping the tablet on the table, she stumbles backward, violently pulls her hair out of its tight French braid, and loosens the collar on her jacket. Her hands shake uncontrollably, her sweat covered skin turns pale, and she starts gasping for air.

Okar reads the message on the tablet and pulls the radio off her belt.

“Ensign Charybdis, report to the war room immediately!” she commands into the radio. Putting the radio down on the table, she says, “We’ll reconvene later,” and ends the video calls.

The Spy trips over her feet, falls to the floor, and frantically reaches toward Okar as the rest of the war room’s staff stop what they’re doing and stare at her.

“Come with me to my office,” Okar says calmly as she kneels beside the Spy.

She tries to help her to her feet, but the Spy is unable to find her footing.

The war room door slides open, and the Gladiator, seeing the Spy struggling to get up from the floor, sprints to her side. She scoops her sister off the ground and cradles her in her muscular arms.

“This way,” Okar says leading the Gladiator to a small door between two workstations.

Opening the door to her office, Okar holds it open and points to the cot in the back corner.

In the middle of the office there is a desk facing the door with a computer monitor and countless tear-filled tissues on the surface. The wall beside the desk has a floor to ceiling video screen cycling through photos of Okar and her wife Myeisha. On the wall opposite the screen, there is an open closet with a couple of Okar’s uniforms.

While the Gladiator carries the Spy to the cot, Okar runs to her desk, turns off the photo montage, and stuffs the tissues into the already overflowing trashcan.

Tying up the bag, Okar wheels her desk chair to the Gladiator and hands her the empty metal can.

“Stay as long as you need,” Okar says, before leaving the office with the garbage bag.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?” the Gladiator asks, with a soft tone.

Looking at her sister with frightened eyes, the Spy points her shaking hand at the trash can. As soon the Gladiator places it in her hands, the Spy puts her face into it and vomits.

“I don’t want to die alone,” the Spy says.

Lying down on the cot, she starts to shiver.

Pulling the blankets over the Spy, the Gladiator reassures, “Despite feeling like it, a panic attack won’t kill you.”

“This is what a panic attack feels like?” the Spy asks. “How did Duncan put up with this for years?”

“Because they reminded him that despite his monstrous actions, he was still human,” the Gladiator says. Holding the Spy’s hand firmly in hers she says, “Squeeze my hand and think about what it feels like. Focus on my voice and think about how you recognize it as mine. Look at the ceiling and try to rebuild this room in your mind. That’s what’s real, everything else is just visiting.”

“When did you become an expert?” the Spy asks, as her breathing becomes more controlled.

The Gladiator places her other hand on the top of the Spy’s head. “I had my first panic attack when I killed Everett,” she says, “and before every event that followed.” She sighs and takes her hand off the Spy’s head. “Then one day, I enjoyed what I was doing and the admiration I gained by doing it.”

The Spy stops shivering as colour starts to return to her skin.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for any of the times you needed me,” she says.

“You were there every time I needed you,” the Gladiator says with a smile. “Sure, I thought you were running for your life for six years while I sat in a cell under the Galactic Headquarters. But I didn’t need you until we reunited on Perierat Seven.”

The Spy sits up on the cot and reaches to hug her sister. The Gladiator joins her on the cot, and they hold each other tightly.

#

The crew has been dismissed from the war room and Okar is alone at the electronic table. There are dozens of projected documents hovering above the table along with a video call with Sherry.

The Spy, with her hair tied back into a tight French braid and wearing her jacket properly, returns to the war room with the Gladiator.

“I made Sherry re-review the evidence,” Okar says, gesturing for the Spy to join her.

“I’m so sorry, Sandra,” Sherry says. “I didn’t even look at the documents you sent. Arthur saved our lives and we never questioned why. Turns out, we were just leftovers.”

“He never told me how he met you and formed the Wraiths,” the Spy says.

“We were unnamed slaves in a political dissension farm on Nergal Two,” Sherry explains. “We’d spend twenty hours a day stealing emails, recording phone calls, and spreading misinformation across the planet. We weren’t given the luxury of water, so we worked until we died.”

She sighs and adds, “Then Arthur swooped in in the middle of the night, killed our captors and saved us. He reunited our colleagues with their families, but Carey, Larry, Barry, Garry, and I didn’t have anyone to go home to. We were ecstatic when he gave us names, a home, and paid us to monitor the galaxy’s sound pulse network.”

Sherry types at her keyboard bringing the police report from Nergal 2 forward on the Yeshe’s electronic table. The report details twenty-two missing people found murdered by embalming and staged in a nude diorama.

“This is what really happened to the people we were imprisoned with,” she adds with regret in her voice. “They went from one horrifying warehouse death sentence to another.”

“Thanks for sharing that, Sherry,” the Spy says calmly.

“Can I offer you and the rest of the Wraiths a job in Federation Intelligence?” Okar asks.

“We’ve spent our entire adult lives working under others,” Sherry says. “I think it’s time we start working for ourselves. If we find something important, we’ll let you know.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,” Okar says.

“Will do,” Sherry responds before ending the call.

Turning off the electronic table, Okar picks up the Spy’s tablet from the table and returns it to her.

“That’s one murder mystery solved,” Okar says. “If you’re up for it, Captain Kamali has asked if you could help him solve another.”

“What do you know about what’s happening there?” the Spy asks.

“I’m afraid that’s all I know,” Okar says.

“Mother Themis was born there a year ago,” the Spy says. “I wonder if the timing has anything to do with it.”

“Ah, so that’s why he asked for you,” Okar says with a smile. Turning to leave toward her office, she adds, “I’ll let him know your shuttle will arrive this afternoon.”

As Okar disappears into her office, the Spy and Gladiator leave the war room chatting about what happened to each other a year ago on Salem Station.

Chapter Six

The Investigation

Salem Station’s command center is operating at minimum capacity, everyone present holds a rank of ensign or higher. Each officer is watching a hundred security cameras while performing background checks on the station’s citizens. The videos show that the station’s curfew has emptied the corridors except for the police constables patrolling in teams of four.

Detective Jun, wearing a black suit, is standing at the electronic table in the middle of the command center. She is scrolling through the projected case files on Cole, Felix, and the rest of the Children of Themis’s event team.

Kamali, wearing his captain’s uniform, climbs up the stairs to the command center with the Spy. The Spy is wearing a Salem Station commander’s uniform.

“Attention on deck!” the ensign guarding the stairs says.

“As you were,” Kamali says.

“Why are you adding more variables to this mess,” Jun says as Kamali approaches the table. “My team can handle this without her meddling.”

“So, you’ve made progress?” Kamali asks.

He and the Spy stop at the table across from Jun.

“We conducted five hundred interviews yesterday,” Jun says proudly. “And we’ll conduct another five hundred today. The culprit will eventually run out of places to hide.”

“But no actionable leads,” Kamali surmises. “At the current rate it will take you a month to question the entire station. I need to reopen the docking bay to resupply the station in three days. If the culprit isn’t found before that, they will escape in the confusion. Bring Commander Paris up to speed,” he orders.

Sighing in defeat, Jun begrudgingly says, “Thousands of people calling themselves the Children of Themis arrived on Salem last week to walk the path of their savior, Mother Themis.”

She projects the security feeds of the lower decks where the survivors of the Gnosis disaster took refuge above the table. The floors are covered in frozen bodies wearing thin plain white robes.

“Someone vented the atmosphere in the lower decks when the pilgrims went there to meditate,” she continues. “We checked the access logs, but the culprit forced the vents open manually from the maintenance tunnels.”

“What’s your theory?” the Spy asks.

“Since the victims are all tied to the civil war that happened here last year,” Jun explains. She closes the security feeds and moves Cole’s projected case file in front of the Spy. “The culprit is either someone who holds a deep hatred toward them.” She moves the case files of Felix and his event team beside Cole’s. “Or someone who wants to make it look like they are being persecuted to radicalize their followers.”

“Why didn’t you keep track of Cole?” the Spy asks.

“Because the galaxy’s most wanted terrorist had taken control of the station,” Jun says scornfully. “My constables aren’t allowed within a hundred meters of him without a warrant.”

Scanning through Felix’s file, the Spy asks, “Is there any truth to his claims that the Children of Themis’s pilgrims were disappearing since the day they arrived?”

“No one filed a missing persons report,” Jun says. “But since we’ve been busy tracking the mass murderer, we haven’t been able to match the deceased with visitor visas.”

At the bottom of Felix’s file, a note reads, ‘Culprit of last year’s mass murder?’

“This mass murder that occurred last year,” the Spy says. “Did it happen to be twenty-two nude embalmed bodies posed like statues?”

“How do you know that?” Jun asks, suspiciously.

“They aren’t connected,” the Spy says calmly. “And you don’t have to worry about that serial killer anymore. I executed him a few days ago.”

“I’m going to need a name if you want me to clear this from Felix’s record,” Jun says.

Reaching for the keyboard in front of her, the Spy says, “Arthur Gould, or Mr. Ramirez as you knew him,” as she projects an image of the Courier in front of Jun. “I’ll send the case file over once we’ve ended the lockdown.”

“This is your accomplice,” Jun says. “Didn’t you say Cole’s family was safe with him?”

“He was my husband,” the Spy says, struggling to hold back her anger. “If Cole’s family wasn’t in the diorama you found, you can assume they’re safe.”

“Could this be Cole’s motive?” Kamali asks.

“No,” the Spy and Jun say.

“Cole treated his family as property,” Jun explains. “Having them taken away from him has bolstered his credibility as an antiestablishmentarian.”

“Which means you’re aware of his continued attempt to overthrow the station,” the Spy deduces. “Have you identified his co-conspirators? Especially those in station maintenance and the police department?”

“That’s the purpose of our ongoing interviews,” Jun says. “Though it sounds like you’ve already declared Cole guilty. Or are you trying to make me forget the fact that you swept away and sheltered their religious leader?”

“The … Mother Themis has been in our care since she was thirteen,” the Spy says. “She is not directly involved in the current situation. Putting Cole in a cell next to the event organizers would allow the station to reopen their docking bays.”

Taking her tablet off her belt, the Spy sends a document to the electronic table.

“These are the reports Mr. Todd sent when he infiltrated Cole’s organization,” she continues. “They contain the names of everyone working for Cole.”

“Mr. Todd executed all of his co-conspirators without trial,” Jun snarls. “Having some leads would have helped us narrow the interviews—”

She stops talking when the Spy shows three hundred names of police constables and the hundreds of maintenance department executives who are named in the Pilot’s report.

“These are the people who can warn Cole when the investigation is getting close and those who can help him hide,” the Spy says.

“That’s two thirds of my staff,” Jun says.

“Which is why you will never find any actionable evidence,” the Spy says.

Kamali, the Spy, and Jun break down the list of names and review their personnel files. They assign suspects to the officers in the command center, locate them on the cameras, and follow them through the station, watching for suspicious activity.

#

Salem Station’s command center’s crew has been consolidated into small teams close to the electronic table in the center of the room. They are providing technical support for a series of raids occurring simultaneously throughout the station. Kamali, Jun, General Brandon, and the Navigator are at the electronic table watching the helmet cameras from the taskforce squadrons moving through the station.

Lieutenant Musaleh’s team of twenty-four armoured constables carrying carbines are waiting along the walls outside the machine repair shop.

“Team One is ready to breach,” Musaleh says quietly.

The Navigator projects the security cameras from inside the machine repair shop above the table.

“You’re clear to enter,” Kamali says.

Pressing a button on the keyboard in front of him, the Navigator opens the shop’s metal roll up door.

With their weapons ready, Musaleh and his team swing into the repair shop, shouting at the workers to get on their knees. They sweep around the edges of the workshop to secure the exits before arresting the facility’s managers and foreman.

As his team escorts the arrested suspects out of the offices, they shake their heads at Musaleh.

“Machine repair is clear,” Musaleh says. “Negative on the tango.”

“Team Three, is ready to breach,” Ensign Haris says.

The Navigator switches the projected camera feeds to show Haris’s squad of ten lined up beside the front door of a three-storey townhouse. There are two more helmet camera videos from the constables in the alleyway behind the row of townhouses.

“We don’t have eyes inside the residence,” Kamali warns. “Enter with caution.”

“Yes, Captain,” Haris affirms.

Signaling his team to enter with his hand, the constable across from him takes the heavy ram off his back and breaks the door out of its frame.

The team storms in through the front door and clear the rooms on the ground floor shouting at the residents to lie on the floor.

Placing handcuffs on the eight residents, the ten constables regroup at the stairs.

Climbing to the second floor, they sweep the rooms and arrest two more occupants. The team regroups again at the stairs up to the third floor.

As they climb the stairs, Cole, wearing forest camouflage, climbs out of a third story window and effortlessly climbs down the wall to the alleyway. His arms and shoulders are inside a robotic strength enhancer.

Crushing the armoured skulls of the two constables watching the backdoor with his metal hands, Cole runs away from the house he was hiding in.

“He’s coming toward you, Commander,” Kamali says.

“I hear him,” the Spy says quietly.

The Spy, wearing a black tactical suit with a carbine in her hands, is standing in a narrow footpath that connects the alleyway to the main residential corridor. Using the sound of the servos in Cole’s arms to estimate his distance, the Spy steps into the alleyway and points her weapon at him.

“You’re under arrest!” she shouts.

Seeing Cole raise his arms in front of him to protect his face and body, the Spy aims for his feet and discharges her weapon.

Punching the floor with his powerful robotic arms, Cole propels himself into the air and tries to land on top of the Spy with his metal hands.

“I’ll stuff you in the incinerator with the rest of the trash!” he shouts.

The Spy throws her carbine into the footpath, moves away from Cole’s attack, and pulls two throwing knives from her vest.

“You look like a boy wearing daddy’s suit,” she taunts, while evading his follow up attacks.

“A girl running her mouth?” he responds, lowering his guard slightly. “Typical.”

The Spy throws one of her knives into Cole’s exposed shoulder.

Screaming in pain, his right arm crashes to the floor.

“You witch!” he shouts, reaching for her with his functional arm.

He tries to step forward, but the weight of his limp robotic arm anchors him in place.

Moving the second knife to her dominant hand, the Spy throws it into Cole’s ankle, causing him to fall to one knee while screaming painfully.

The Spy draws her final throwing knife from her vest and throws it into Cole’s left shoulder, completely disabling his ability to use his robotic strength enhancer.

“You’re not the first mass murderer I should’ve killed sooner,” she says. “And you probably won’t be the last.”

Pulling the hunting knife from the holster on her thigh, she steps up to Cole and presses the point of the blade into his neck just above the collar bone.

“Standdown, Commander,” Jun orders while Cole pleads for his life. “He deserves a trial.”

Glancing at Ensign Haris and six of his constables as they arrive behind her, the Spy asks, “Team Three had twelve members, didn’t it? Did your cameras witness the man at the point of my knife murder any of them?”

“He’s clearly a pawn working for someone else,” Jun insists. “We need him to find the bigger fish.”

“Captain?” the Spy asks calmly.

Kamali sees the Salem Station’s logo on the side of the robotic arm with the text, ‘Department of Station Repair’.

“You’re the insurgent expert, Commander,” Kamali says. “The decision is yours.”

“Wait!” Jun pleads as the Spy pushes her knife into Cole’s throat, killing him.

“Save your breath, Detective,” the Spy says coldly. “He’s with his ilk now.”

Moving behind Cole’s corpse, the Spy turns off the robotic arms holding him in place. Without power, the arms crumple and allow the lifeless body they wrap around to fall to the floor.

Taking a small toolkit off her belt, she removes the metal plates protecting the computer components. The Spy takes the memory modules from the machine and slides them into an armoured pocket in her vest.

“I’ll meet you at the police station,” the Spy says. “I want to personally ensure everything is collected from his hideout.” Taking the tablet off Cole’s belt, she adds, “Bring the Navigator, we might need him to crack some encryption keys.”

She turns off her headset before Jun can answer and returns to the townhouse with four of Haris’s constables to do a final sweep.

Chapter Seven

The Solace

The patrons of Salem Station’s lively markets are excitedly roaming the corridors without a security escort. They have gathered in small groups to catch up on social interactions they lost during the lockdown.

The Spy, wearing similar clothes to the other patrons, is walking between the produce stands, buying a few vegetables from each vendor. Her hair is down to hide the small radio in her ear.

“You’re attracting some attention,” Kamali says through the earpiece.

The Spy raises her phone to her ear and quietly answers, “I think we’re still alright for tonight, just let me know if I need to prepare any extra plates.”

Putting the phone away, the Spy continues to walk through the market.

“Understood,” Kamali says. “The pawnshop Felix mentioned is one block in front of you on the right. Anwir, the owner, reported a break and enter during the refugee crisis.”

Seeing Anwir’s pawnshop, the Spy turns onto a narrow footpath that leads to the alley running behind the stores. Glancing at the security cameras lining the alley, she turns away from the pawnshop and casually walks away from it.

“Kabos, a local gang leader, was arrested in the store, but the stolen jewelry was never found so Anwir walked away with a huge insurance payout,” Kamali continues.

“Do you think Kabos would be willing to turn on him?” the Spy asks.

“Unfortunately, he was killed when he broke into Anwir’s son’s home after posting bail,” Kamali says.

“Which leaves us with one surviving suspect,” the Spy says. “Put the alley cameras on a loop, I want to investigate.”

“Negative,” he rejects. “Wait for a warrant and backup.”

“Fences don’t move stolen goods through the front door,” she explains, stepping onto a footpath out of view from the cameras. “Especially if he’s trafficking people. Their network will disappear as soon as you reveal your investigation.”

“Fine, but I’m sending plain clothed constables in case something happens,” Kamali says. “The cameras are on a loop, be careful.”

“Understood,” the Spy says.

Dropping her bag of vegetables, she steps back into the alley and runs to the back of the pawnshop. Checking over her shoulders to make sure she isn’t being watched, the Spy searches the wall, dumpsters, and utility boxes.

She notices that one of the utility boxes has a narrow gap between it and the wall. Carefully sticking her fingers into the gap, she finds a metal ring.

Pulling the ring toward her, a small metal chain scrapes against the wall until the soft metal clank of a lock unlocking is heard through the wall.

A hidden door swings away from the pawnshop’s wall.

The Spy pulls the door open with her fingertips to reveal a network of narrow tunnels running underneath the market. Latching the door behind her as she enters the tunnel, she searches the winding passages until she finds a ladder leading up to a closed hatch under the pawnshop.

She climbs the ladder and carefully pushes the hatch open until it gently touches the bottom of the shelf sitting on top of it.

The Spy removes a small, coin sized mirror attached to an extendable rod from her pocket and places it in the gap between the hatch and floor. She angles the mirror so she can see into the pawnshop’s storage room through the reflection.

In addition to the floor to ceiling shelves overflowing with junk, the Spy finds four shivering people wearing thin white robes, huddled together for warmth.

“Tell the detective to get her team ready,” the Spy whispers. “The Asmodeus Syndicate is operating on your station.”

One of the hostages sees the faint glimmering of the mirror and crawls toward it. The Spy collapses the mirror, returns it to her pocket, and takes a small plastic box out.

“Mother Themis sent me to help,” she says quietly when he gets close enough to hear her.

Pulling a small black tracking device from the plastic box, she pushes it through the gap.

“Hide this in your hair so we can find all of her lost children,” she instructs.

“We serve the Mother,” he says, attaching the tracking device to the thickest part of his hair.

“The Mother is wise,” the Spy answers.

The hostage gives her a relieved smile and says, “I knew she’d come for us.”

“Stay strong, we’ll be in the shadows,” she says before gently lowering the hatch.

The Spy climbs down the ladder and retraces her steps to the tunnel entrance.

“Is the alleyway clear, Captain?” she asks.

“Affirmative,” Kamali says. “Detective Jun is forming the rescue team now.”

“Don’t raid the pawnshop,” the Spy orders as she opens the secret door. “He’s just a small piece of the syndicate’s machine. The detective can stop the entire operation by exercising a little patience.”

Stepping into the alleyway, the Spy sees the plain clothed constables gathered near the pawnshop practically clutching their sidearms through their clothes.

“Get these constables out of the alley,” she says. “They aren’t fooling anyone.”

Closing the tunnel entrance behind her, the Spy casually walks away from the pawnshop. The constables look at their phones and leave the alley in small groups.

#

Salem Station’s full command crew has returned to their jobs in the command center. Wearing matching uniforms, they are watching hundreds of live video feeds from the helmet cameras of the station’s taskforce. The videos show the constables waiting outside the upper maintenance tunnel doors.

Kamali, Jun, General Brandon, the Navigator, and Spy are standing around the electronic table in the middle of the room. The table is projecting a floorplan of the uppermost deck with a red dot pulsing in one of the maintenance tunnels every three seconds.

When the dot misses a flash, the Navigator switches the floorplan to the core room that runs down the center of the rotating station. Three seconds later, the red dot flashes again on the new projection.

“Advance to the core room stairs,” Kamali orders.

The helmet cameras show dozens of doors sliding open as the taskforce swarms into the maintenance tunnels and make their way to the stairs leading up to the core room.

“They’re heading to the freight elevators,” the Spy says. “You’re storing your empty shipping containers up there, aren’t you?”

“Team Forty-three, give me eyes on the core room,” Kamali commands.

Forty-three’s team leader directs one of their constables to the top of the stairs. Climbing the stairs on their hands and knees, the constable peeks their helmet camera above the floor.

The core of Salem Station is a single room with a glass ceiling. Metal beams connect the floor to a rotating shaft running through the middle of the station. The floor wraps around the entire station making the opposite side of the station visible through the glass overhead.

At the front of the station there are dozens of shipping containers arranged to create a maze around the freight elevators. The elevator machine rooms block the line of sight through the glass ceilings.

The constable’s camera also shows Anwir leading the four Children of Themis hostages to the shipping containers, their wrists bound to each other’s with rope. Four mercenaries, armed with carbines, are helping Anwir control his hostages.

“All teams regroup at the forward most stairs,” Kamali orders.

As the cameras show the taskforce teams regrouping, team Forty-three’s camera shows Anwir disappear into the makeshift shipping container maze.

“Forward teams, advance with caution,” Kamali orders. “I want eyes only. Do not engage unless fired upon.”

The eight forward most teams climb the stairs and advance slowly to minimize the sound their heavy boots make on the metal floor. They can see the other teams surrounding the shipping containers through the glass ceiling above them.

Reaching the shipping containers, the teams use tactical mirrors at foot level to look around the corners. The taskforce makes their way through the maze methodically until they find the freight elevators.

Using their mirrors to stay out of sight, the constables see twelve Asmodeus Syndicate members wearing loose fitting Salem Station officer uniforms with holstered sidearms on their thighs. One of the syndicate members checks the muscle density and posture of the hostages before giving them a rating between four and eight. A member holding a clipboard writes the number down.

“Asmodeus can never find uniforms that fit right,” the Spy says. Typing on the keyboard in front of her, she adds, “I’ll disable the elevators once you make your move.”

Asmodeus’s inspector moves back to the first hostage where two syndicate members join him. One of them is holding four scratchy packing blankets, the other hands the inspector a hunting knife.

The inspector places the knife’s blade on the hostage’s restraint with one hand and grabs the hostage’s thin robe with the other. In one quick motion, he removes the robe while cutting the rope with the knife.

Discarding the robe on the floor, the inspector looks at the hostage’s nude body for hidden weapons. Satisfied they aren’t hiding anything, he takes a blanket off the stack, pushes it into the hostage’s arms, and shoves him into the open storage container. There are already twenty hostages wrapped in scratchy blankets cowering fearfully in the back of the container.

They repeat the process for the remaining three hostages.

“The Children of Themis are clear,” Jun says as the final hostage is pushed into the container.

“Take them down!” Kamali orders.

The constables point their carbines at the traffickers as they flood out the shipping container maze.

“On the floor!” they shout chaotically.

Anwir’s mercenaries raise their weapons to fight but are killed by the advancing taskforce before firing a shot.

Seeing the armed mercenaries defeated so easily, Anwir and the syndicate members lie on their stomachs and place their hands on the back of their heads.

The constables restrain the hands of the traffickers, take the weapons from their holsters, and confirm the mercenaries are deceased.

With the scene secured, constables help the hostages out of the shipping container.

Seeing the defeated syndicate, one of the hostages shouts, “We serve the Mother!”

“The Mother is wise!” the rest chant.

“We serve Mother Themis,” the first says.

“Mother Themis is the Divine.”

The taskforce escorts the hostages out of the makeshift maze and into the station’s maintenance tunnels.

Kamali looks to the Spy and says, “Thank you for saving my station for the second and third times.”

“It’s something I needed to do,” the Spy says calmly. “Every plight this station has suffered was caused by actions I took or failed to take.”

“Then I suppose the proper way to phrase it is, thank you for cleaning up after yourself,” he says with a smile.

The Spy smiles briefly before retreating behind her calm mask.

“Thank you for looking after my friends,” she says nodding her head toward the Navigator and Brandon. “President Okar has asked me to bring them back.”

“Absolutely,” Kamali says.

“Not so fast,” Jun interjects. “There is still the matter of Cole’s murder.” She takes the handcuffs off her belt and approaches the Spy. “Commander Paris, you are under arrest for—”

“Stand down, Detective,” Kamali orders while stepping between Jun and the Spy. “I hereby pardon any and all crimes the commander has committed while working in Salem Station’s best interests.” Turning to the Spy, he adds, “Tell the President that if she needs help from the Independent Planets, I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the Spy says.

“Come,” he says, gesturing for Brandon and the Navigator to follow them. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Does this mean I get to see the Pilot now?” the Navigator asks excitedly.

“That’s up to him,” the Spy says. “He was hurt pretty badly and might need some time.”

“As long as he knows I miss him, I will wait for him to be ready,” the Navigator says.

The Spy, Navigator, and Brandon follow Kamali across the command center to the stairs leading down to the administrative building’s exit.

Chapter Eight

The Revelation

Minerva, the Federation training shuttle, is running exercises in the Perierat system. Inside the shuttle’s cockpit, the flight instructor is in the captain’s chair, their assistant is in the co-pilot’s chair, and the Pilot is at the flight controls with an ultrasonic prosthetic hand attached to his right arm. Valtina is harnessed into the seat directly behind the Pilot. They’re all wearing Federation uniforms.

The monitors on the training shuttle’s walls show that they are approaching a holographic space station’s rotating docking bay.

“Match rotation and continue current rate of deceleration,” the instructor orders.

The Pilot’s hand buzzes faintly as he gently adjusts the flight controls until the spinning projection stops rotating and the stars behind it appear to start revolving around the station.

Passing through the mouth of the docking bay, the instructor adds, “You’re clear to land in sector three five.”

Flicking the switches on his console, the Pilot adjusts the speed, lowers the landing feet, and gently sets the shuttle down on top of the painted ‘3-5’. The harnessed crew become weightless in their chairs.

“Well done, Shango,” the instructor says, flipping switches on his console. “Two more weeks of successful simulations and you’ll be cleared for field training.”

The space station disappears from the monitors, leaving the spinning shuttle alone in the outskirts of the Perierat system.

“Let’s start the combat training,” the Pilot demands as he raises the landing feet and swings the shuttle’s engine below the floor.

“Absolutely not!” the instructor shouts angrily. “With your … condition, you’re lucky President Okar is letting you train for transport missions.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Valtina says reassuringly. “We need to ease into more challenging—”

“Challenging?” the Pilot interjects. “I could breach a Federation blockade blindfolded while flying with my feet!”

“Well, you certainly sound like a flyboy,” the instructor says. “But until the safety coordinator clears you for high-g training, we’re only doing transport exercises.”

Typing a quick command into his console, the instructor places a destination marker on the monitor over the Federation fleet.

“Take us back to the Yeshe,” he orders.

“Yes, Captain,” the Pilot says. Lining up the targeting reticle with the destination marker, he warns, “Tighten your harness, Doc.”

The Pilot pushes the throttle all the way forward creating an intense g-force that pushes the crew into the seats of the chairs. Both the instructor and backup pilot reach for their control panels but their arms are too heavy to lift off their laps.

Valtina loses consciousness.

“Attention, Minerva, you are approaching too fast,” a voice in their headsets says. The destination marker moves away from the Federation fleet and the voice adds, “Adjust your speed and come around for another attempt.”

“Disable. Flight. Controls—” the instructor says between forced breaths.

The instructor is cut off when the Pilot presses his feet against the console and pulls the flight controls back with his entire body. The shuttle makes a sharp turn throwing the crew into the backs of their chairs.

The Pilot screams in pain as his prosthetic arm drags across his skin. As soon as the ultrasound sensors are misaligned, his artificial hand snaps open and releases its grip.

With uneven force on the flight controls, the Minerva starts spinning out of control.

The humming sound of the engines fade as the Yeshe Walmo powers them down remotely.

No longer accelerating, the crew becomes weightless and Valtina regains consciousness.

“We’ve disabled your engines, Minerva,” the voice in the headset says with an angry tone. “What’s going on there?”

“The Torian Flyboy tried to steal the shuttle,” the instructor growls, as he flips switches on his console. “I’ve disabled the trainee’s controls. My assistant will bring us home.”

“Affirmative, Minerva,” the voice says. “General Brandon wants to debrief you personally. I’ve unlocked your engines.”

“Thank you, Yeshe,” the instructor says.

The instructor’s assistant stabilizes the shuttle and directs the Minerva back to the Yeshe.

Valtina takes off her harness, pulls her medical kit out of the compartment under her chair, and groggily walks to the Pilot’s side. He is cradling his arm against his chest as a small trail of blood runs down his forearm and drips off his elbow.

“This is why we pace ourselves,” she says with an angry tone.

“Just bolt it to the bone!” he demands.

Valtina removes the prosthetic carefully to expose the eight shallow scrapes caused by the sliding clamps.

“That would make you susceptible to frequent infections,” she says while treating his injuries. “Eventually, we’ll be forced to amputate the rest of your lower arm.” She looks him in the eyes sincerely and says, “Take it slow. Find your limit. Then work to surpass it, carefully.”

“Or we can just take something from the Scientist’s lab,” the Pilot grumbles. “It might even give me superpowers like Apollyon.”

Placing a metal clip to hold the bandage in place, Valtina squeezes the injury to cause pain.

“You really want to end up like that monster?” she asks. “Let’s talk to our engineers about creating something the meets your needs before doing something so reckless.”

Returning to her chair with the prosthetic, Valtina puts her medical kit and the hand into the compartment under her seat. Climbing into her chair and fastening her harness, the crew sits in silence the Minerva returns to the Yeshe Walmo.

#

The monitors around the walls of the Yeshe’s war room show the Federation fleet and Perierat 7 in the distance. Brandon, the Navigator, and Spy, wearing Federation uniforms, are standing around the electronic table in the middle of the room where video calls with Freda, Lucas, and Kamali are projected. The office door opens and Okar enters with her tablet in hand.

“The scout reports are coming in,” she says joining the others at the table.

Tapping on her tablet, a series of photos from the Scutum-Crux appear above the table.

“The rumours were true,” she says, highlighting the images of empty cities. “The planets have been abandoned.”

“Felix said the Children of Themis’s faith has been spreading in the Scutum-Crux faster than anywhere else in the galaxy,” the Spy says. “But since he’s only heard it from people looking to spread the faith, he’s always assumed they were making the religion sound bigger than it was.”

“I’ve never seen an immigration request from a Scutum-Crux planet cross my desk,” Lucas adds.

“And we were in full lockdown,” Kamali says.

“If the Children of Themis are building an army, the Federation’s increased presence near their holy land might look like a sign of hostility,” Brandon says.

Nodding her head, Okar orders, “Keep the Placating Foxes and the Yeshe Walmo here. Send the rest of the fleet to the Erebus system.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Brandon affirms.

“Captain Freda, I’m afraid I must ask another favour from you,” Okar says. “As the potential threat of the Children of Themis grows, I am uncomfortable having the Gnosis fuel cells this close to their holy land.”

“Shutting down our trade, even temporarily, will have lasting effects,” Freda warns. “My mercenaries’ loyalty is directly connected to my ability to pay them.”

“The Federation will compensate you for your losses so long as you keep those devices hidden,” Okar says.

“If it stops them from being used as weapons, we will do our part,” Freda agrees.

Scanning through the reports from the Scutum-Crux, Brandon asks, “What did the scouts find in the Perseus arm?”

“They haven’t arrived yet,” Okar says.

“They arrived six days, thirteen hours, and twenty-one minutes ago,” the Navigator states matter-of-factly. “One hundred twenty-three hours and forty minutes before the Scutum-Crux scouts arrived.”

Okar gives Brandon a concerned look.

“I sent our best,” Brandon reassures. “They will reach out as soon as they can.”

“If they are able to,” the Navigator says as he starts tapping on the keyboard in front of him.

A small map of the galaxy appears above the electronic table and a slow wave of blinking lights sweeps out from the Perierat system. The wave continues to expand into the Perseus arm where it wraps around a section of the outer edge of the galaxy.

“The sound pulse network isn’t responding to pings here,” the Navigator says, zooming in on the hemisphere that didn’t blink.

“That’s where I sent the scouts,” Brandon says. “If they haven’t made contact yet, we can assume they won’t.”

“How quickly can the Anathema get there?” the Spy asks.

“Seven hours, thirteen minutes,” the Navigator says.

“I’m not sending our most powerful weapon on a blind scouting mission,” Okar says. “We’ve kept our acquisition of it a secret and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“We need to know what’s happening in the Perseus arm,” the Spy says.

“Reach out to the Wraiths,” Okar orders. “See if they can find the last messages sent from the blackout zone.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy affirms as she pulls the tablet off her belt.

“Recall General Grant,” Okar says, looking at Brandon. “We need to start rebuilding the high council.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Brandon says. “We’ve redeployed our Orion arm contingents here in Perierat, so it will take a few weeks to get a message to him without the quantum radio.”

“The general gave me a way to contact him directly,” the Spy says.

“Bring it to my office,” Okar orders. “If he can have the Scientist’s lab packed up before the transport arrives, we can bring him up to speed before he steps foot on the Yeshe.” Looking around the table, she adds, “If there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed.”

Looking around without a response, Kamali, Lucas, and Freda say their goodbyes and end their video calls. Brandon and the Navigator stay behind to schedule the pickup mission to Sol 3 as Okar and the Spy exit the war room through opposite doors.

#

The monitor mounted on the wall of Okar’s office shows the Yeshe’s external camera slowly rotating to give a 360-degree view of the fleet surrounding the command ship. Okar is sitting at her desk talking to a uniformed officer through a video call on her computer.

“You’re clear to start any project you see fit in order to fortify the system,” she says.

There is a knock at the office door.

“Ensure that you account for the Allied and Independent Planets’ forces as well,” Okar orders. “If things escalate, we need to make a united stand.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the officer affirms while saluting.

“Enter,” Okar says as she ends the video call.

The Spy enters the office and hands the cheap cell phone Grant gave her to Okar.

“This is how you connect with General Grant?” Okar asks.

“It bridges Sol Three’s cellular network with the galactic sound pulse network,” the Spy says. “It was part of Duncan’s contingency plan when he disappeared there.”

Handing it back to the Spy, Okar orders, “Call him.”

Taking the phone, the Spy opens the contacts app revealing that Grant is the only saved number. She presses the call button and waits.

“Is everything all right?” Grant asks.

“I’m fine,” the Spy says calmly. “President Okar needs to speak with you.”

Putting the phone on speaker, she places it on the desk.

“The situation with the Philosopher has started to get out of hand,” Okar says. “I’m recalling you to active duty.”

There is a long pause before Grant answers, “There’s still a lot of work to be done here. If I’m pulled away from Sol, we might miss something important.”

“Box everything up,” Okar orders. “I need more leadership with the armada. I’m currently relying on my last general and a former Torian spy to give me guidance. Your experience is required.”

There is another long pause before Grant speaks with apprehension, “There is … something you need to see here … in person.”

“I’m in the middle of a galactic crisis,” Okar scolds. “Pack everything up and get on the transport when it arrives.”

“This is something that would be classified as for your eyes only,” Grant says without a delay. “It could also help with your current … situation.”

Okar sighs. “Is this related to why you retired so suddenly?”

“It is,” Grant affirms. “And you’ll understand once you see it.”

“I don’t have time to spend two weeks to pop by for your show and tell,” Okar says, trying to restrain her anger.

“Take the Anathema,” Grant suggests. “The round trip will only take a couple of hours.”

“You do not give me orders,” she scolds angrily. “When the shuttle arrives. Get on it.”

“I may not have been entirely … forward about everything I’ve found here,” Grant admits.

“You’re so lucky that I’m desperate for your help,” Okar says.

“Duncan was in your position once,” Grant says. “I did what was needed then, just as I intend to now.”

The Spy mutes the phone and says, “General Grant has always called him the Scientist. This might be something we need to address personally.”

Annoyed, Okar rolls her eyes before nodding to the Spy.

“I’ll see you soon,” Okar says when the Spy unmutes the call.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant says.

As the Spy ends the call, Okar gives her an angry look and orders, “I want to know everything about Sol Three, who the Scientist socialized with, and what traps we could be walking into.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy affirms with a nod.

Taking the phone, the Spy exits the office. Okar waits for the door to close before opening Grant’s personnel file on her computer and reviews it carefully.

Chapter Nine

The Surreptitious

Large, densely packed houses line the streets of Earth’s suburban neighbourhood. People wearing colourful summer clothes are walking along the sidewalks. A group of kids stop their bikes to watch as a black limousine and its two black sedan escort stop in front of the Duncan house. A line of cars follows the limousine through the suburbs and park on the sides of the street recklessly. People jump out of their still running cars, holding their phones in front of them desperate to snap a picture of whoever steps out of the limo.

Four Federation soldiers, wearing black suits, step out of the parked sedans and gather around the limousine’s backdoor. Noticing the crowd surrounding them, they form a circle to protect the occupants of the limo.

Okar, wearing a purple qipao, opens the limousine door, steps out, and pulls her gold shoulder bag over her arm. The crowd starts screaming excitedly as they take photos and record videos of her.

The Spy, wearing a loose yellow shirt and blue jeans, and the Gladiator, wearing a red tank top over her black workout leggings, step out of the limo behind Okar. The Spy covers her face with a wide brimmed sun hat as she steps out and places it on her head so the brim hides her face from the cameras.

“I didn’t think this planet knew who the president was,” the Gladiator says.

“They don’t,” the Spy answers. “Our flashy convey has attracted unwanted attention.”

“We still don’t know what we’re walking into,” Okar dismisses quietly.

“I’m starting to think the crowd is part of it,” the Spy warns.

Surrounded by guards, Okar and the Spy walk toward the front door.

“This brings back a lot of memories,” the Gladiator says while posing for the cameras.

Okar reaches to knock on the door when Grant pulls it open and waves them in.

“Hurry up,” he says.

Four of the suited guards push past Grant, split into teams of two and search the house.

Mrs. Sun joins Grant at the front door as Okar, the Spy, and Gladiator enter. She is an elderly woman with short white hair and is wearing casual clothes with dated references on them.

“Why are these pretenders in my house?” she asks in Mandarin.

“This is Galactic President Okar,” Grant answers in Mandarin. “And this isn’t your house, we’re just looking after it.”

Mrs. Sun reaches out to shake her hand and says, “Welcome to our home, Madam President.”

Shaking her hand, Okar looks at Grant with a confused look.

“She says, welcome,” Grant translates. Switching to Mandarin he says, “The Federation doesn’t speak Mandarin.”

“No wonder it’s falling apart,” she scoffs. Noticing the Gladiator’s visible scars and impressive physique, she quietly asks, “Why isn’t the strong one in charge?”

“She’s a friend of Mr. Duncan,” Grant replies.

“Ah. He ruined the potential of another woman’s greatness,” she replies. Switching to English she says, “Make yourselves at home, I’ll prepare lunch.”

Mrs. Sun disappears into the kitchen as Okar’s suited guards finish searching the house.

“Other than the locked vault in the basement, the house is secure,” the lead guard says.

“Secure the perimeter,” Okar orders. “We’ll handle the basement.”

Affirming the order, two of the suited guards exit the front door and the other two exit the kitchen door.

“Show me what was so important that I had to leave the Yeshe,” Okar commands angrily.

“Right away,” Grant says gesturing for them to follow.

He leads his guests down the basement stairs in the kitchen to the steel vault door. There are five keypads and a device with three cubic slots built into the frame. He enters the codes into the keypads, unlocks the door, and pulls it open to reveal Duncan’s Earth laboratory.

The walls are lined with workstations covered in abandoned projects, and, in the middle of the room, there is an electronic table built into the floor.

Leading Okar, the Spy, and Gladiator into the laboratory, Grant closes the vault door behind them.

“This took you a year?” Okar says skeptically as she looks around the tiny lab.

“I think the general spent more time cozying up with the locals,” the Spy says with a smirk. Switching to Mandarin she asks, “Did you retire for a woman?”

“I’m sorry for the secrecy,” Grant says, heading toward the electronic table.

Turning the table on, Cass’s welcoming voice fills the room, “Good morning, Grant. I see our guests have arrived.”

“Great, the Scientist installed the brat here as well,” Okar mutters. “Remind me to scuttle the Anathema once we’re done with it.”

“Not quite,” Cass explains. “My name is Cass, I am Lexy’s younger, more mature sister.”

Grant makes his way to the workstation on the far wall and pushes the desktop into the fake wall behind it.

“Cass has been helping me understand and document Duncan’s work,” he says as a two-meter-long metal coffin slides out from the hidden wall compartment.

Concerned at the sight of the coffin, the Spy and Okar join Grant. Looking through the viewport they see Tessa’s frozen body wrapped in tubes filled with an opaque black liquid. Okar looks at Grant with disgust.

“What is this?” she growls.

“I know that you’re concerned about the Apollyon incident,” he says. “But—”

“There is no but,” Okar interrupts. “Resurrecting the Butcher could have ruined the Federation,” she continues. “We got lucky once, I won’t push our luck again.”

“The Butcher was broken—”

“Dying breaks people,” Okar interjects.

“What if I told you we were close to fixing that?” Grant asks.

Turning her back to him, Okar steps away from the coffin.

“Fleet Admiral Sheridan was the greatest officer and operative I’ve ever met,” she says. “I was looking forward to the day she took my place on the council.” She turns to Grant and adds, “But the best thing we can do for your granddaughter now is to let her rest peacefully.”

Looking through the viewport he says, “I’m not suggesting we wake her up right away. Our recent experiments have—”

“You’ve been experimenting on the dead?” the Gladiator interrupts with a disgusted tone.

“On lab mice,” Grant explains. “We currently have an eighty percent success rate. With a little more time, we will bring that up to a hundred.”

“This lab doesn’t have the proper equipment for those tests,” the Spy says while she starts searching for more secret compartments.

“I rent time at the community college,” he says.

“This better not be why you dragged me out here,” Okar scolds.

“Show me your work,” the Spy says, as she notices nothing has been packed.

Grant taps on the electronic table’s keyboard to project a three-dimensional image summarizing the results of his experiments.

“Recent progression has slowed,” he admits. “But that just means we are one or two variables away from solving death. Presuming we get them treated soon enough.”

The Spy steps beside Okar and looks at the summary.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Okar asks.

“More than you know,” the Spy says nodding at the Gladiator.

“Step away from the table, General,” the Gladiator says, stepping between him and the electronic table.

“What’s going on?” Okar asks.

“Every scientist has their own idiosyncrasies when writing notes,” the Spy explains. “These were written by Duncan.”

“You’ve been hiding the Scientist?!” Okar growls.

The Spy steps up to the keyboard and tries to access the information stored inside the table.

“Sorry, Sandra,” Cass says. “I can’t let you access this system.”

The Gladiator restrains Grant’s hands behind his back and pushes him toward the vault door.

“If you don’t allow me to access the files, I will extract them forcefully,” the Spy threatens calmly. Removing a small thumb drive from her pocket, she adds, “Do you want my viruses chewing through you?”

“I’ll open the real lab for you,” Cass says in defeat. The vault door unlatches and swings open a crack. “The door is just outside.”

Opening the door with one hand, the Gladiator pushes Grant through with the other.

As the Spy and Okar step out of the lab, the vault door slams shut and latches behind them. The cubic slots built into the frame glow blue, and an odd sound emanates from behind the door.

“She’s destroying the lab!” the Gladiator exclaims.

“This is how we enter the real lab,” Grant explains.

The sound behind the door stops and then the door unlatches.

The Spy cautiously opens the door to reveal an impossibly large metallic room covered in workstations, electronic tables, and powerful laboratory equipment. Dozens of researchers in white lab coats are reviewing their notes at the workstations completely oblivious to the people standing in the doorway.

“Looks like the Anathema isn’t his only pocket universe,” the Spy says, stepping into the laboratory. “Where are you?!” she shouts.

The Gladiator pushes Grant into the lab behind Okar.

“I’ve been working with his team,” Grant says. “The notes look like his because they were trained by him.”

The Spy reaches the closest workstation where the researchers have a sealed container with a motionless lab mouse connected to a tiny cardiopulmonary bypass.

“What variation are you testing?” Grant asks.

“We’ve lowered the clindamycin dosage by one hundred milligrams,” one of the researchers says. “It’s currently tracking six points behind the control.”

Looking around the pocket universe, Okar sees that every workstation is performing similar tests on mice.

“Why is everyone trying to raise the dead?” she asks angrily.

“They’re trying to save Corine,” Grant states proudly.

“It’s a good thing the Pilot didn’t come with us,” the Gladiator says. “He’d be begging us to revive all his heroes.”

“This is something you should have reported immediately,” Okar says. “Have you even started cataloguing his experiments? Or have you been swept up in this delusion?” she asks, gesturing broadly at the workstation.

The Spy answers her buzzing tablet.

“I’ve been working with the researchers to categorize everything,” Grant says, “But most of the experiments are just ideas attached to a collection of scientific papers.”

“That’s called a document dump,” the Spy says, handing her tablet to Okar. “Its purpose is to waste your time digging through pointless files while hiding the valuable information in plain sight.”

Okar reads the report the Wraiths sent about the outer Perseus arm. They say that any vessel entering the expanding dark zone would never be heard from again. And the Wraiths note that none of the planets could be contacted for an explanation.

“Did you advise the Scientist and Philosopher when they decided to destroy Primus Four?” Okar asks, handing the tablet back to the Spy.

“I imprisoned the Philosopher and turned her over to the Federation,” Duncan says, stepping away from one of the workstations.

Duncan, dressed in a loose-fitting lab coat, is unrecognizable behind his long hair and shaggy beard.

“If you let her escape that’s your problem, not mine” he adds standoffishly. “I won’t save you from yourself this time.”

“So, you did manage to survive,” Okar says, pulling her sidearm out of her shoulder bag. “Looks like I need to stop two people from cheating death.”

As she points the weapon toward Duncan, Grant tries to jump between them, but the Gladiator effortlessly holds him back.

“The galaxy is at war!” he pleads. “We need our fleet admiral and Duncan will never sit idle if the galaxy is at risk.”

“You’ve been seduced, General,” Okar scolds.

“I never promised to resurrect the fleet admiral,” Duncan says calmly. “We are just exploring the idea that her condition may be reversible. And as I said before, I have no interest in rejoining your galaxy for any reason.”

“Why should I trust anything you say?” Okar growls. “It wasn’t that long ago that you told me you would surrender after you dealt with Tartarus.”

“I died on Tartarus, and I prefer that it stays that way,” he says.

“How did you fake your death?” the Spy asks.

“The diamond sliver I put in my finger,” Duncan says showing her that the ring finger on his left hand is missing, “it was an entangled anchor to teleport me here if the doomsday device was used. I had to remove my finger quickly before the rest of my body imploded along with the anchor.”

“How many entrances does this place have?” Okar asks.

“Currently, one,” he says. “My entangled anchor was destroyed with Tartarus. The door on Ishtar Seven crumbled with the planet, and Apollyon destroyed the one on Torus Five when he broke the door into my office.”

Turning toward the Spy, Okar quietly orders, “Take your sister and have a look around. He’s hiding something.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy affirms.

Gesturing for the Gladiator to follow her, they walk around the workstations and enter the offices on the far wall.

“How many years until you get impatient?” Okar asks. “If Owen’s health turns, would you try and resurrect her so she can say goodbye? Would you try and bring him back too?”

“I’m turning ninety-two and I’ve already outlived my daughter, granddaughter, and great granddaughter,” Grant says. “I look forward to the day I will rejoin them. But if there’s a chance that she can get a second chance, I will do everything I can to see she gets it.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you defied the Federation for him,” Okar says, as she puts her sidearm back into her shoulder bag. “But this time, if your plan fails, are you prepared to face the monster you create? Even if this Apollyon looks like your granddaughter?”

“The Butcher destroyed Torus Five after the Interrogator broke his mind,” Duncan says, dropping the stand-offish tone. “Doctor Oneida’s hubris amplified his pain and gave him the tools that created Apollyon.”

“What do you think dying does to your mind?” Okar asks. “And what’s stopping your hubris?

He gestures to the army of researchers working behind him and says, “My team is ensuring that they know all the variables before we make any radical decision. That includes my mental state. But you’re right,” he admits. “We don’t know what death does to the mind. Not yet at least.”

Jogging across the room the Spy returns to Okar.

“What did you find?” Okar asks.

Turning her back to Duncan, the Spy quietly says, “The Wraiths just picked up a signal from a shuttle fleeing the Perseus arm. They managed to escape the destruction of their trade frigate by running their warp engine until they ran out of fuel.” She looks over her shoulder before adding, “They’re saying that a new class of warship is turning ships into light.”

“It sounds like we have a new type of weapon being sold to terrorists,” Okar says, stepping toward Duncan. “These experiments must be pretty expensive.”

“The Allied Planets’ defense spending was very beneficial for my team during the galactic war,” Duncan says. “But I haven’t built any weapons since the Wilson virus.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time one of your weapons was reverse engineered,” the Spy adds. “How many doomsday devices did you have stashed across the galaxy?”

“I’m not so careless with weapons of that nature,” Duncan says. “I only made two doomsday devices, and I made sure that no one person ever knew how to build it on their own. If Primus was consumed by a blackhole, it didn’t come from my staff.”

Convinced by the pride in Duncan’s voice, Okar turns to Grant and asks, “You didn’t show him the video?”

“Of course not,” Grant states angrily. “I would never leak Federation intel to a terrorist. Even if that terrorist is my son-in-law. Duncan’s sole priority since I arrived on Sol Three has been to resurrect Corine without side effects.”

“Clear this table,” Okar orders, pointing to the electronic table beside her.

The researchers look to Duncan, who nods for them to listen.

Okar removes the tablet from her shoulder bag and connects it to the table.

“Sorry, President Okar,” Cass says from a speaker in the table, “but you don’t have permission to this facility.”

“Give President Okar full access to the systems, Cass,” Duncan orders.

“Welcome to the family, Madam President,” Cass says.

“This is how Primus Four was destroyed,” Okar says as she projects the video of the planet’s destruction above the table.

Duncan watches the thin redshifted line zip across the projection and strike the edge of the planet’s atmosphere. He sees the bright light exploding from the point of impact and spread across the planet at the speed of light, releasing the orbiting objects from the planet’s gravity.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he says, rewinding the video and replaying it one frame at a time. “Do you have the other angles?”

Okar projects the video from the other ships above the table.

“We recovered these from the black boxes,” she says. “We don’t know what happened after the EMP fried the cameras.”

“Stitch the videos together, Cass,” Duncan orders.

“You’re letting her play with the pretty explosions?!” Lexy scoffs.

“Sorry, Duncan,” Cass says. “Creating a three-dimensional model cause me to lose focus for a moment. I’ve muted her again.”

The two-dimensional videos merge into a three-dimensional display of Primus 4, its moons, and the Defense Force. Moving the three-dimensional video to the first frame the atmosphere flashes, Duncan zooms in to reveal that the explosion occurs on the mesopause and expands toward the surface.

“Did you detect any other ships in the system around this time?” he asks.

“Nothing big enough to be picked up by our warped space detectors,” Okar answers.

Duncan points to the redshifted line and says, “Which means this object is smaller than a shuttle.”

“That looks like the weapons you used on Hypnos’s battle moons,” the Spy says.

Pausing the video on the expanding globe of light, Duncan says, “That’s what I thought too, however this explosion isn’t the result of a planet becoming gravitationally unbound. This weapon is far more devastating and infinitely more frightening.”

“Do you know what it is?” Okar asks.

“No,” he replies. “But if I hadn’t seen this with my own eyes, I would have told you it wasn’t possible. Have there been any other incidents like this?”

“Torus Nine said there was a bright flash from Torus Five’s husk around the same time,” the Spy says. “And we’ve just received confirmation of similar attacks in the outer Perseus arm.”

“It’s obviously the Strategist declaring war on the galaxy,” Grant says.

“I’m afraid this is much worse,” Duncan says. “The Strategist’s mouthpiece said that destroying Primus Four was unnecessary and warned us that the galaxy would face extinction a year after I met her.”

“Primus Four was destroyed about a year after that meeting,” the Spy says.

“Maybe I should have agreed to her deal,” Duncan trails off. “Has the Strategist tried making contact?”

Okar shakes her head and says, “We suspect she is in the Scutum-Crux arm either posing as Mother Themis or working closely with her. Once my scouts make contact, we’ll know which.”

“Be careful around the Philosopher,” Duncan warns. “The last galactic war started when a prominent figure was martyred. And he didn’t have a cult worshiping him like she does.”

“What are your thoughts, Commander?” Okar asks.

“His team is good at what they do,” the Spy says. “If we get our hands on one of these weapons, the Scientist is the best chance we have at understanding and defending against them.”

Glancing at the Spy, Okar says, “I really hope you two haven’t been conspiring against me all this time.” Looking at Duncan, she adds, “You said there used to be other doors to this place, does that mean you can build more?”

“I can have Doctor Kaur send a team to build one wherever you want,” Duncan says.

Okar thinks for a moment and says, “Alight, send a team back with us.” Turning to Grant she says, “I’m recalling you to the Yeshe. Two of the soldiers that came with us will take over your babysitting duties.”

“We still need a plan to escape the locals,” the Spy says. “We cannot lead them to the landing pad.”

“We’ll just drive until they stop following us,” Okar says.

“Why do you need to escape the locals?” Duncan asks.

“We drove through the town with an escorted limo,” the Spy says.

“Ah, don’t underestimate this planet’s obsession with celebrities,” Duncan warns. “There will always be at least one person that stalks you forever.”

“You should think about it over lunch,” Grant says. “Mrs. Sun always makes too much when guests come over.”

“Don’t worry, the Gladiator’s never turned down food,” the Spy says.

“Get the team ready,” Okar orders. “I’ll deal with the locals.”

The Spy watches as Duncan approaches a researcher at the nearby workstation and asks them to get something for him. She follows the researcher with her eyes as they make their way through the workstations. Her attention shifts when she notices a researcher with similar features, build, and height to Okar.

“Do you trust his researchers, General?” she asks.

“They’re loyal to Duncan,” he replies. “As long as our interests align, they can be trusted.”

The Spy turns to Duncan and points to Okar’s lookalike. “You’re going to give that woman a job for me,” she orders.

“I never noticed that before,” he says. “I’ll have her get ready while you eat. Take Okar to the master bedroom, she can change into one of Tessa’s suits.” Turning back to look into the Spy’s eyes, Duncan adds, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

The Spy slaps him across the face hard enough to knock him into the table beside him. The researchers stop and look toward them as the loud crack echoes across the laboratory.

“I convinced myself that you died because I thought you’d contact me if you were alive,” the Spy scolds.

Duncan rubs the red mark on his face as he tries to stand up. Unable to find his balance, he leans against the table and waits for the room to stop spinning.

“I failed you too many times,” he says remorsefully. “You’re better off without me.”

“Did you know about Arthur?” she asks.

“He was always so reserved, I had no idea that he was a monster,” Duncan says. “Shango wasn’t hurt too badly, was he?”

“I was forced to execute Arthur,” the Spy says angrily, reading Duncan’s face to see if he is hiding anything.

“I’m so sorry you had to do that,” he says. “If I had known,” he trails off unable to find the words.

“I did what I had to, and the galaxy is a better place for it,” the Spy says. “But Shango may never fly again.”

“If there was something I could do for him, I would do it,” Duncan says, climbing to his feet. “But none of my ideas are better than the options the Federation can provide him.”

The researcher Duncan sent to get something returns with a box in their hands.

“Uh, Doctor Duncan?” they say nervously, afraid to approach. “I got the quantum transmitter you requested.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Duncan says, taking the device from them. Turning to Okar he offers it to her and says, “You can radio into this lab when you are within one hundred meters of this transmitter. I’ll let Doctor Kaur know that you want a door constructed.”

Instructing Grant to take the transmitter, Okar turns to the Spy and Gladiator.

“Send the soldiers at the backdoor down here,” she orders. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen once I have Federation boots in this lab.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy says.

The Spy and Gladiator exit through the open vault door connecting to the basement on Earth. Okar disconnects her tablet from the table and checks in with the Federation fleet.

#

With the early afternoon sun high over the suburban neighbourhood, the crowd of onlookers in front the Duncan house has expanded exponentially. The three drivers and five suited soldiers are standing around the cars keeping the horde of onlookers back.

When the front door to the house opens, the observers point their phones at the house and start fighting with each other to get the best angle.

Okar’s lookalike wearing Okar’s purple qipao steps out of the house with the Gladiator and a researcher wearing the Spy’s clothes and sun hat over her face. Two more researchers disguised as suited guards exit with them and join the two guards standing outside the door. They escort the team to the cars as the Gladiator attracts the attention of the cameras away from the disguised researchers.

Okar, wearing one of Tessa’s black suits, peeks through a small crack in the window.

“She doesn’t look anything like me,” she says.

“They only got a quick glimpse of you earlier,” the Spy explains. “If we present them someone who looks important, they will take the bait.”

“Well, it is nice to be mistaken for someone twenty years younger,” she says.

The lookalikes get in the limo while the suited guards wait for the drivers to start the engines before getting into the cars.

As they pull away from the house and head downtown, a convey of cars, with phones hanging out the windows, follow them. The crowd on the street disperses, with many running for their cars to join the pursuit.

“Looks like it worked,” Okar says.

Grant and Mrs. Sun join them from the kitchen. Grant is carrying two hardened equipment cases.

“Are we waiting for the others to get back?” he asks.

“Doctor Kaur’s team will change in the hotel and take a taxi to the guard post,” the Spy explains. “The others will come back through the lab once the door to the Yeshe is opened.”

Waiting for the last of the onlookers to disappear from sight, leaving the street littered with fast food wrappers and empty drink cups, Okar steps away from the window.

“They’re gone,” she says.

Grant hands one of the equipment cases to the Spy and picks up the car keys from the bowl beside the front door.

Turning to Mrs. Sun, he speaks in Mandarin, “I’ll visit as soon as they get the door working.”

“Don’t let these weaklings boss you around,” she replies.

They kiss.

“See you soon,” Grant says in English.

He leads Okar and the Spy into the garage where they put the equipment cases into the trunk of the car. Grant gets in the driver’s seat while Okar and the Spy get in the back.

“Tell me everything you know about the Scientist that isn’t in the Federation’s records,” Okar orders.

“The Scientist, born Thanatos Videl, was the youngest doctoral graduate of the University of Coeus’s theoretical science program,” the Spy says. “He first leapt to fame with his postdoctoral project manipulating spacetime using entangled anchors to travel great distances instantly.”

As the Spy continues to tell Duncan’s story, Grant opens the garage door and starts the car. Driving in the opposite direction from the convey, they head out of town.

Chapter Ten

The Halcyon

Twenty years ago, on Torus 5. The University of Coeus’s auditorium is a large oval shaped room with three thousand seats facing a rectangular stage in the center of the room. Military officials wearing their dress uniforms are sitting in the stall seating surrounding the stage and business executives, wearing expensive suits, are in the mezzanine seating behind them. The standing room at the back of the auditorium has students and laboratory staff standing shoulder to shoulder along the curved outside wall.

Twenty-four-year-old Duncan, wearing his signature lab coat, is standing in the center of the stage with a headset microphone over his ear. Holographic images of wormholes, teleportation, and quantum entanglement are projected from the ceiling above the audience’s heads.

“Not only would harnessing these principles together allow us to trade between planets instantaneous anywhere in the galaxy, but it would allow us to begin expanding out of the Milky Way,” he says. “By establishing a network that allows us to refuel our expedition ships, we could begin exploring the Andromeda galaxy within the next twenty years.”

Enthusiastic applause erupts from the back of the auditorium while the military officers whisper amongst themselves.

Pressing the button on his presentation remote, Duncan turns the holographic images above the audience off. Stepping off the side of the stage, he clicks the remote again to project a three-dimensional video that fills the center of the auditorium. The projection shows a small red satellite sitting idle just outside the Torus system protected by five Torian corvettes.

“With the help of the Torian Global Space Force,” Duncan continues, “we have sent Kismet One three lightyears outside the Torus system to show you that we can teleport it back instantly by swapping its place with its entangled anchor right here on Torus Five.”

Doctor Kaur, twenty-eight with long, straight black hair that hangs over her white lab coat, approaches Duncan from the dark corridor heading backstage. She presents him a small silver box.

Opening the box in her hands, Duncan removes a small radio with a red button on it. Holding the radio up to the crowd, he takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and slowly exhales.

“Behold the future of transportation!” he exclaims before pressing the button.

The lights on Kismet One flicker rapidly before the sides warp inward. The lights suddenly emit a solid bright light that intensifies until they burst. The concaving sides pop outwards, ejecting the attached solar arrays away from the hull, and the plasma engine ignites, rapidly accelerating Kismet One away from the cameras.

The Torian corvettes try to accelerate after the satellite, but the small vessel redshifts into the distance faster than they can pursue. Duncan closes the video and brings the house lights back up. He chuckles and smiles at the murmuring audience.

“Every failure is progress,” he says, “but we’ll have to wait for Kismet One to be pulled over for speeding before we learn what went wrong.” Small pockets of the audience laugh as Duncan waves. “Thank you very much, I am Doctor Thanatos Videl, I look forward to talking with you after the show.”

The audience claps. Duncan and Kaur wave as they cross the stage and exit through the corridor backstage.

#

The university’s convention hall is an open room without chairs or tables to accommodate as many elite officials from all over the galaxy as they can. The hall’s waitstaff carefully carry food and drinks from the connected kitchens to the guests who’ve formed small groups around the university’s presenters. Duncan is standing alone with Kaur and two of their research assistants.

The Butcher, in his late twenties has a Torian military dress uniform stretched over his round powerlifter’s body, approaches Duncan’s group with Captain Dimayuga.

“Great show, Ana,” he says, rubbing Duncan’s head with his muscular hand.

“Thanks, Ethan.” Duncan bows his head to the captain and adds, “Thanks for coming, Captain Dimayuga.”

“I’m glad I did, Doctor Videl,” Dimayuga says. “Butch showed me your small-scale tests, I’m sorry things didn’t work out as smoothly today.”

“Its just growing pains,” he jests. “Once we figure out what happened, we’ll be able to prove that teleportation can work over greater distances.”

“If the university ever cuts your funding, come see me at the Spire,” Dimayuga replies. “When you get this working, we’d be able to dispatch disaster relief to the Allied Planets in hours instead of months.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Duncan says nervously as he nods toward Dean Ivanov holding the convention hall door open. “I might have to take you up on that offer in a few minutes.”

Torus’ ambassador to the Federation, Ambassador Glezos, wearing a floor length sleeveless white dress, and Prince Raza, wearing a blue suit with gold jeweled pins and black eyeliner to highlight his friendly eyes, enter the convention hall. The Royal Guard, wearing armoured purple suits, enters behind the prince, and follows within arm’s reach.

The university’s dean closes the door and leads them to Duncan’s team. The waitstaff and the other guests have stopped what they’re doing to watch the royal prince, awed by his presence.

The Butcher and Dimayuga join Kaur and the research assistants behind Duncan. They all bow deeply as the prince approaches.

“Your Majesty,” Duncan says. Standing up he turns toward the ambassador, bows his head, and says, “Your Excellency.”

“That was a pretty impressive demonstration, Doctor Videl,” Raza says, reaching his jeweled ring covered hand out to shake Duncan’s. “I am so glad Dean Ivanov reached out to me,” he adds as they shake hands. “Being able to make contact with the local group is an enormous leap forward and I think the Allied Planets and the Federation should work together to make that happen.”

“Demonstrating that we are not isolated to our tiny neighbourhoods will go a long way in dissolving the borders between us,” Duncan says.

Smiling, Raza turns to Ivanov and says, “If there is anything the royal family can do to help with this project, let me know directly. There’s no sense delaying this project with red tape.”

He shakes Duncan’s hand again before turning to leave with the ambassador.

Ivanov shakes Duncan’s hand as well and, unable to hide his excitement, says, “Good job, Doctor Videl,” before leaving with his esteemed guests.

“Well done, Doctor,” Dimayuga says. “My offer still stands for any future projects.” He shakes Duncan’s hand. “I need to report back to the Spire,” he says, turning to the Butcher. “I will see you tomorrow, Warrant Officer.”

“Yes, Sir,” the Butcher says while saluting.

Dimayuga salutes back before exiting the convention hall.

“Look at you, Ana,” the Butcher says giving Duncan an excited bear hug. “Breaking down barriers and bringing people closer together.” Placing Duncan on the ground he continues, “Let’s celebrate! They’re forcing me to take a month leave starting Monday, come with me to Whiro Eight.”

“You just need someone to keep you out of the stadium,” Duncan says.

“If the Lord urges me to enter the stadium, there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Butch declares. “Besides, it’s an independent planet with amazing weather. Who knows when you’ll get another chance for a vacation.”

“It’s going to take at least a month to collect the data from Kismet One,” Kaur says. “I’ll look after things until you get back.”

“When do we leave?” Duncan asks.

“Tuesday,” he answers. Seeing the research team’s empty hands, he adds, “This won’t do.”

The Butcher signals for the waitstaff to bring food and drinks to them while their colleagues come up to them throughout the night to congratulate them on their project’s success.

#

The upper market of Maher City runs along the lowest ledge carved into the mountain surrounding the ria city of Whiro 8. Banners reading, ‘The Gladiator’s 15th Anniversary Fight’ are strung across the cobblestone roads and hang from the streetlamps. The city’s locals, wearing bright coloured clothes, are escorted through the market by armed bodyguards.

Their children are holding their parent’s hand in one hand and an action figure in the other. The action figure is of the Gladiator in her early twenties, wearing a black and red singlet with Maher’s golden falcon insignia on the chest.

Duncan, wearing a blue tartan shirt and a small backpack over his stomach, is walking down the street beside the Butcher, wearing a tan sleeveless shirt tucked into his desert camouflage cargo pants.

“Looks like we arrived at the right time!” the Butcher exclaims.

“You didn’t plan this?” Duncan asks.

“Of course not! I go where I’m fated when I’m fated,” he replies.

“Did I hear that you’re a man of destiny?” Ben says.

Ben, wearing a purple suit over a gold vest, steps in front of them and pushes a pamphlet into their hands. His four guards watch a few meters away from him.

“Today you’re fated to improve your fortune,” he says. “After fifteen undefeated years, the Gladiator’s luck may turn in your favour. This Friday she is facing her most difficult fight yet, disgraced Lieutenant Quispe, twenty-to-one if the lieutenant wins.”

“But it’s forty cents to the dollar if the Gladiator wins,” Duncan says pointing to the pamphlet.

“Exactly, betting on her guarantees you’ll lose your money,” Ben says. “But if that kind of excitement is too much for you fine folk, all the contenders in the introductory brackets pay out two-to-one.”

“How do I register as a contender?” the Butcher asks.

“I’m just the guy that makes people rich,” he says. “You’ll need to find yourself a scheduler for that.”

The Butcher folds the pamphlet into a small square and slides it into his pant pocket. “Bet all your money on me when I get in there,” he says.

Looking at the Butcher’s rounded features, Ben says, “I wouldn’t bet on anyone else.”

Ben steps away to hustle the next couple.

“Where do you think we can find a scheduler?” the Butcher asks.

“I don’t think you match what they’re looking for,” he says quietly, nodding his head toward a giftshop dedicated to the Gladiator.

Behind the displays of handcrafted sculptures, graphic paintings of the Gladiator’s battles, and photographs of her bloody victories, there is a fifteen-piece mural hanging on the backwall.

Each panel is a painted portrait of the Gladiator standing in a victory pose with ‘Thanks for 15 years of glory’ painted across the top of the middle panels. The left most portrait is a rendition of the eight-year-old Gladiator without any scars and each successive portrait is her a year older with an increasing number of scars.

The Butcher’s skin turns red, and he starts to storm into the store. Duncan steps in front of him and uses his entire body to stop the Butcher from destroying the giftshop.

“You’ll be court-martialed if you start an incident,” he warns.

“This is why God brought me here,” the Butcher growls.

“I agree,” Duncan says, trying to calm him down. “But charging in without a plan won’t change anything. We need to find the pin holding everything together.”

“Alright, you’re the smart one, Ana,” the Butcher says trying to suppress his anger. Stepping back from the giftshop, he asks, “What’s the plan?”

“They’re just flipping a coin on their new fighters,” Duncan says, pointing to the pamphlet in his hand. “Which means they’ve probably never fought before.”

“They don’t care about their children,” the Butcher growls. “They’re just chum for the bloodthirsty spectators.”

Nodding toward the affluent children protected by armed guards, Duncan says, “They care about their children. We need to find the ones they don’t consider to be human.”

The Butcher’s skin turns back to its normal colour as he smiles.

“Just follow the trash,” he says with a frighteningly calm tone.

He points to the closest descending staircase and leads Duncan down to the inner-city.

#

Crumbling concrete buildings line the inner-city’s sandy roads. Merchants wearing clothes with muted colours work the small kiosks selling imperfect fruits, cheap meats, and cleanish water to people in dirty dull clothes.

Maher Inner-City Children’s Home, the only renovated building in the inner-city, shines like a beacon in the crumbling market. Armed guards stand at the gates and patrol the sidewalk running along the two-meter-tall stone wall surrounding the home.

Duncan, hugging his backpack in front of him, follows behind the Butcher as they walk toward the gated building.

“I see something that doesn’t belong,” the Butcher says. “Why would anyone who could afford a place like that live in a neighbourhood like this?”

“It’s probably the intimidation squad’s headquarters,” Duncan says as they walk past the guards in front of the building.

Bolted on the wall beside the gate is a giant golden plaque with ‘Maher Inner-City Children’s Home’ engraved into it.

“Or it’s exactly what we’re looking for,” the Butcher says. Turning his back to the building, he quietly adds, “I’m going to tear this place down.”

“They’ll just rebuild it,” Duncan warns. He notices the headmistress, wearing purple and gold robes, staring at them from the window beside the front door. “Care to see how the façade holds up, Honey?” he asks holding up his hand.

The Butcher rolls his eyes, steps beside Duncan, grabs his hand, and says, “Sure thing, Sweetie.”

Hand in hand, they walk to the gate where the guards stop them.

“We’re closed,” the guard says.

“You must be mistaken,” Duncan says. “We setup an appointment with the headmistress for one o’clock.”

“You’ve got the wrong place,” the guard dismisses.

“This isn’t the Maher Inner-City Children’s Home?” Duncan asks. “I am terribly sorry, but could you point my husband and I in the right direction?”

“Hang-on,” the Butcher says letting go of Duncan’s hand. “I can’t read that well, but I know this sign says children’s home. Those letters are the same as the ones in front of the building I grew up in.”

“I said you’ve got the wrong place,” the guard says as the patrolling guards gather around them.

Duncan opens his backpack and rummages through it pretending to look for something.

“I could have sworn it was the Maher Inner-City Children’s Home on ninety-first,” Duncan says. “I must’ve been so busy at the Galactic Headquarters that I simply misread it.”

The guard nods to his partner who takes the radio off his belt and steps away.

“Whiro’s a little far to go to adopt a child,” the guard says. “Doesn’t Primus have their own children’s homes?”

“It does, but we’ve heard there is a crisis of abandoned children here.” Duncan smiles. “We could afford the trip and wanted to do our part to help out.”

The guard with the radio unlocks the gate and slides it open.

“Looks like the headmistress found your appointment,” the guard says, gesturing toward the front door.

The guards surrounding them return to their patrol routes.

“Thank you very much,” Duncan says, leading the Butcher toward the building.

The headmistress opens the door as they approach and waves them in with a hand covered in gold rings embellished with giant colourful gemstones.

“Thank you for stopping by,” she says. “I’m so glad you were able to make the long trip out to us.”

Stepping inside, the headmistress closes the door behind them.

The newly renovated halls have life-sized paintings of the headmistress wearing expensive outfits sealed behind protective glass. The sound of their shoes tapping on the pristine marble floors echo through the empty children’s home.

The headmistress leads Duncan and the Butcher to the closest door and welcomes them into her office.

Four designer couches face each other in the center of the room and a small blackwood desk is placed in front of the window looking out to the street.

The Spy, in her late twenties, is wearing a grey casual suit. She stands from the couch and walks toward the guests.

“This is Sandra,” the headmistress says. “She is my personal assistant and helps with the day-to-day operations of this home.”

Reaching out and shaking her hand, Duncan says, “My name’s Ana, and this is my husband, Butch.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” the Spy says, shaking the Butcher’s hand.

“I’m not sure what you’re looking to get out of this visit,” the headmistress says, sitting on the couch and gesturing for the others to sit across from her. While Duncan and the Butcher sit on the couch, she adds, “All of the children in this facility are only here temporarily while their parents complete their sentences, sobriety classes, or until an extended family member files the proper paperwork to bring them home.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Duncan exclaims. “We’ve been visiting children’s homes throughout the galaxy, sponsoring programs to do exactly that. But what about the children who’ve lost everything and have no one? What happens to them?”

“If we’ve exhausted every avenue to reunite the child with a suitable family member, we do what we can to find an appropriate foster family to care for them,” the Spy explains. “One of the criteria we look at is their proximity to Maher City so that the child keeps some form of familiarity as they transition from this home to their next.”

“It sounds like you give these children everything they need,” Duncan says. “I would love a tour of the facility to see all the happy young faces while you tell me how you make all of this happen.”

“Absolutely not,” the headmistress snaps.

“The children in our care are not an exhibit for tourists,” the Spy says with a less hostile tone. “As for how we run our home successfully, we have built strong connections with the community so they know what programs are available while we focus on our residents’ education.”

“I understand,” Duncan says. “Then could we make a donation to help ensure these children get everything they need for years to come?”

“That’s very kind,” the Spy says, before the headmistress accepts the offer recklessly. “But we’re very transparent with our current sponsors, and, as an independent planet, they would be suspicious if we accepted a donation from a Federation government official.”

“Unless you want to make it anonymously,” the headmistress adds, giving the Spy an angry look as she stands from the couch.

“No, it’s clear that you’re already providing these children with everything I wanted growing up in a place like this,” the Butcher says. “We’d better save our money for the homes that are struggling.”

“Thank you for stopping by,” the headmistress says, gesturing for them to follow her, “but we need to prepare for the afternoon classes.”

Duncan, the Butcher, and Spy get up from the couches and follow the headmistress into the hall.

Cynthia, twenty-one, wearing an ankle length black dress, approaches quickly.

“Headmistress,” she says with a panicked tone.

Seeing the headmistress’s angry glare, Cynthia becomes silent and checks that her hair is covering the left side of her face.

“It appears I am needed in the classroom sooner than expected,” the headmistress says. “Sandra, would you see Ana and Butch out.”

The headmistress walks past Cynthia and heads deeper into the children’s home. As Cynthia turns to follow, Duncan sees the ten-year-old burn scar sealing her left eye shut hidden under her hair. He turns to say his goodbyes to the Spy and learns from her expression that she knows he saw Cynthia’s secret.

“Thank you again for seeing us on such short notice,” he says with a smile.

“Not at all,” she replies with a smile. Gesturing her hand toward the front door, she continues, “We take pride in our work.”

Grabbing the Butcher’s hand, Duncan casually walks him out of the home, past the guards, and back up the street the way they came.

“If they aren’t sending the children into the stadium, who is?” the Butcher asks as soon as they are out of earshot of the guards.

“They’re definitely responsible,” Duncan says, trying to restrain his anger. “The headmistress is obsessed with money and Sandra is making everything look aboveboard.”

Turning back toward the home, the Butcher declares, “Then we must remove the false saints that condemn the souls of the innocent.”

“It looks like we need to get you into the stadium after all,” Duncan says.

“I’ll just kill the sinners, plead guilty, and they’ll throw me into the next fight,” he says, starting to march back to the children’s home.

“What if they make you fight twelve children?” Duncan asks antagonistically. “We need to get you in front of their champion without climbing the ranks.”

The Butcher relaxes, returns to Duncan’s side, and says, “I like your idea better. How do we do that?”

“The stadium promotor told us something he probably shouldn’t have,” Duncan says, pulling the pamphlet out of his backpack. “The Gladiator is facing off against a disgraced lieutenant. Liberating him would open a space in the main event and give us access to a Whiro officer who doesn’t agree with the status quo.”

“If we snatch him last minute, they’ll be forced to take the person waiting in his cell,” the Butcher says with a grin.

“Exactly,” Duncan says, gesturing for the Butcher to follow him. “We’ve only got three days to figure out the details.”

They follow the inner-city roads to the stairs leading to their hotel in the upper market.

#

The stadium’s stands are full of people cheering for the children fighting on the stadium ground. Beneath the stadium there is a network of concrete hallways creating a rectangular grid of tiny holding rooms. Security checkpoints have sealed the middlemost hall and guards patrol the entrances to the two adjacent hallways.

Duncan and the Butcher, wearing stadium maintenance uniforms with a toolbox in their hands, walk up to the guards blocking access to the first hall.

“This area is off limits,” the guard says.

“Which is why it’s scheduled for maintenance,” Duncan says, pulling a work order from his pocket and handing it to the guard. “We got a fresh shipment coming in from the prisons this evening. Cells G three forty-five, and H three forty-seven need a hydro flushing before the toilets start flooding the halls.”

The guard reads through the work order before handing it back to Duncan. “Go with them,” she says to the guard beside her.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he affirms.

The guard leads them to a steel door with ‘G345’ painted on it. He unlocks the cell, steps inside, and quickly inspects the room before waving Duncan and the Butcher inside.

When the guard turns to face them, the Butcher hits his chin with a quick jab, knocking him unconscious. He removes the guard’s security card and effortlessly places the unconscious body onto the cot while Duncan closes the cell door.

Taking his toolbox to the wall across from the door, Duncan removes the laser drill, places the nozzle against the wall, and pulls the trigger. A rapid series of bright flashes, quiet crackles, and plumes of black smoke emit from the wall.

Removing the drill from the wall, Duncan reveals a one-centimeter-wide hole that is twenty-centimeters deep. He repeats the process nineteen times while the Butcher removes the unconscious guard’s uniform and restrains him to the cot with rope and tape from his toolbox.

With the twentieth hole drilled, Duncan returns the drill to the toolbox and removes twenty plastic tubes filled with a grey powder. The tubes slide into the holes with a tight fit. He takes a squirt bottle with a metal needle attached to its spout from the box and injects water into the tubes.

As the wall quietly creaks and cracks, the Butcher hands Duncan the guard’s security card before removing two suction cup grips from his toolbox.

The wall suddenly fractures between the drilled holes with a hollow thud.

Placing the suction grips on the topmost chunks, the Butcher carefully removes the debris to open a hole into the adjacent cell. On the other side of the hole, Lieutenant Quispe looks at them with a confused look.

“Your services are still required, Lieutenant,” Duncan says.

Quispe helps remove the final chunks and crawls through to join them.

The Butcher pushes the guard’s uniform into Quispe’s hands and orders, “Get changed.”

He then climbs through the wall into Quispe’s cell where he removes his maintenance uniform to reveal the yellow and green singlet stretched tightly over his enormous body.

Duncan packs up the toolboxes while Quispe changes out of his red prisoner uniform and into the guard’s uniform.

“Don’t end the fight too quickly,” Duncan says. “I’ll send the signal when we’re clear.” He picks up both toolboxes, turns to Quispe, and hands him the security card. “Lead me to cell H three forty-seven.”

Quispe takes the card, opens the door, and casually leads Duncan across the hall to the door with ‘H347’ painted on it. He unlocks the cell and enters ahead of Duncan.

Duncan puts one of the toolboxes on the floor, closes the door behind him and takes the security card from Quispe.

“Why are you rescuing me?” Quispe asks.

“My friend really wants to fight the Gladiator,” Duncan says, as he repeats the process that freed the lieutenant on the back wall of this cell.

Quispe sits on the cot and watches Duncan work. “You’re not from Whiro are you?”

“We’re looking to start our own arena,” he bluffs. “Having our hero defeat yours and bringing your expertise back with us will go a long way in making that happen.”

As the wall starts to crack from the expanding plugs, Duncan takes the sidearm out from the bottom of his toolbox and slides it into his waistband.

“I’ll only help you if I get absolute authority on the selection of the introductory fighters,” Quispe says, practically salivating at the idea.

“Excellent,” Duncan says, as he removes the suction cup grips from the second toolbox.

Duncan hands Quispe one of the grips when the wall fractures with a thud and they start removing the broken concrete chunks from the top down.

Pulling the final debris out of the wall, Duncan grabs his toolbox and crawls through.

Seeing the excited prisoner, Duncan points his sidearm at him and orders, “Sit on your cot.”

Quispe climbs through the hole behind him as Duncan makes his way to the cell door. Unlocking the door with the security card, he keeps his weapon pointed at the prisoner until Quispe steps into the hall.

“Enjoy your new suite,” Duncan says.

Sliding the sidearm into his waistband, he joins Quispe in the hall and locks the door behind him. They head down the hall away from the guards Duncan tricked on his way in.

“Act casual,” Duncan says. “If they ask what we’re doing, tell them I needed to repair the cot in I three forty-seven.”

Walking by the guards, Quispe nods nonchalantly as they pass without incident.

#

Inside Quispe’s cell there is a line of small, throwable pieces of concrete placed on the edge of the cot. The Butcher is standing in the middle of the cell, stretching his arms and legs.

The door unlocks and swings open.

“Twenty minutes, Lieutenant,” Ward says with a southern accent.

Noticing the hole in the wall and the Butcher’s enormous profile, Ward quickly backs out. Two of his four guards rush in with their weapons drawn.

Moving with incredible speed, the Butcher strips the weapons out of the guards’ hands, picks up the first guard in one hand, pushes him into the second, and slams them against the wall hard enough to knock them out.

“You must be the scheduler,” the Butcher says. “Your previous contender wasn’t fit for the main event.”

“Of course he wasn’t … Wait, are you volunteering to fight the Gladiator?” Ward asks, gesturing for his guards to lower their weapons.

“No fighter goes fifteen years without fighting me,” the Butcher says. “Not unless you’re fixing the fights.”

“Search him,” Ward orders. “Normally I’d say there are better ways to end yourself but after seeing how you move, it is still just a glimmer, but there might be hope for you, Son.”

One of the remaining conscious guards hands his sidearm to another before stepping into the cell to frisk the Butcher. The guard recoils as soon as his hands touch his dense muscles. Giving the Butcher a quick, fearful glance, he quickly runs his hands over the skintight singlet.

“He’s clean,” the guard says nervously while exiting the cell.

“What’s your name, Young Man?” Ward asks with a smile.

“I’m the Butcher,” he replies, “but everyone just calls me Butch.”

“I can work with that,” Ward says. “They will take you to the gate. I’ll update the program. Good luck, Son. Oh, and don’t underestimate her. It’ll end the fight prematurely.”

The two remaining guards wave the Butcher out of the cell and escort him through the concrete corridors.

#

The stadium’s staging room has a stainless-steel floor slanting down to a grate running along the middle of the floor. Stainless-steel benches are built into the two long walls running between two heavy wooden doors. One door leads into the stadium and the other leads onto the stadium grounds. The Butcher is standing in front of the door leading out to the stadium grounds shaking his arms and legs as he gets ready.

The door opens behind the Butcher as six guards holding carbines enter to make sure he doesn’t have second thoughts.

“This is the moment you’ve been waiting for,” a deep voice says, muffled by the heavy door connecting to the stadium ground. The crowd’s boisterous cheers fill the stadium. “And I’ve got a very special announcement for you!” The cheering intensifies. “The fear of fighting the Gladiator caused the despicable lieutenant to have a heart attack.” The crowd boos. “But that disgusting worm wasn’t going to give you the fight you deserved!”

The door in front of the Butcher drops into the floor, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. Drones hover just outside the open door and their video feeds are projected above the audience around the stadium.

The Butcher squints to adjust his eyes to the light before stepping onto the stadium grounds. The audience throws their garbage and stones at him as he walks carelessly to the center of the sandy grounds.

“This creature lurked through Maher’s streets every night,” the announcer says. “It would snatch people in its bearlike arms and drag them back to its lair. The Butcher was discovered when the smell of his victim’s chewed-up bones became so foul they attracted the attention of our brave constables.”

The audience gasps and boos. Grinning at the audience’s reaction, the Butcher rubs his protruding stomach to rile them up further.

“If only there was some hero that could end this monstrous terror,” the announcer laments.

Loud rock music booms from the stadium’s speakers as pyrotechnics explode along the edge of the stadium grounds. The audience erupts into deafening cheers.

“Wait, is that the Gladiator?!” the announcer shouts.

The wood door drops into the floor and the Gladiator, in her early twenties wearing a black and red singlet with Maher’s golden falcon insignia, steps onto the stadium grounds.

“Today is the fifteenth anniversary of the first time she stepped onto these grounds as Killer Kelly!” the announcer continues. “And three short years later, when she was only eleven years old, she defeated the previous champion to become the Gladiator!”

The Gladiator waves at the cheering crowd as she slowly makes her way to the center of the stadium grounds.

“She has promised me that Maher City will sleep soundly tonight after she slays this beast!”

Fearlessly stepping up to the Butcher, the Gladiator smirks. “You’re the first person in a long time to wear proper fighting clothes,” she says. “Most of my ‘opponents’ insisted on wearing plate armour.”

“Did they cower in the fetal position too?” the Butcher asks.

The Gladiator throws a fast jab at the Butcher’s face. He lets her fist make contact with a faint crack.

“If that’s the best you’ve got, you’re lucky I was told to go easy on you,” he taunts.

Looking into his eyes, the Gladiator winks and throws an extremely fast punch at his face. Moving his hand faster, the Butcher catches the attack centimeters before it strikes him.

A loud crack echoes off the concrete walls.

“Now that’s a punch!” the Butcher exclaims, letting go of her hand without fighting back.

“Finally, someone who knows how to catch a light punch,” the Gladiator says with an impressed smile.

The Gladiator walks around the Butcher with a loose guard, trying to gage her opponent. The Butcher just turns to keep facing her, only raising his arms to deflect her punches.

#

The concrete service tunnels running underneath the holding cells are so narrow that two people would struggle to pass each other. A single string of dim work lights hangs from the ceiling illuminating the stack of horizontal pipes anchored to one of the damp walls.

A small metal door swings open and Duncan enters with Quispe.

“This tunnel connects directly to the water treatment plant near the harbour,” Duncan says. “A fishing boat will take us to Taariq.”

“Taariq?!” Quispe exclaims. “They hate me more than Maher.”

“Good,” Duncan says. “They won’t think to look there until we’ve left the system.”

“To Mercury Station, right?” Quispe asks.

“What gave it away?” Duncan asks.

“If you want to make an arena grander than Whiro’s you’ll need the syndicate’s help,” Quispe explains.

“We’ve already signed a deal with Mammon to give loans to addicts,” Duncan says.

“What about Asmodeus?” Quispe asks. “The real money is in the children. You can capitalize them twice by auctioning them off to the highest bidder to have their way with them the night before their fight.”

Duncan drops his toolbox, draws his sidearm, and points it at Quispe.

“You’re a proponent of selling children?” he asks with a disgusted tone.

Quispe stops walking and raises his hands.

“If their parents can’t keep them safe, they aren’t children, they’re sheep to be cultivated by innovators,” he says.

Seeing that Duncan is struggling to hold the sidearm steady, Quispe lunges forward and pushes the sidearm away. Duncan discharges his weapon into the floor as Quispe punches him in the face, knocking him into the concrete wall.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Quispe says, pulling the sidearm out of Duncan’s hand and pointing it at him. “It’s just too bad you’re too shallow minded.”

A knife blade, reflecting the dim overhead light, appears over Quispe’s shoulder and slits his throat.

The Spy, wearing nondescript clothes, catches the body as it collapses and guides it to the floor. She takes the weapon out of Quispe’s hand and cleans her knife on her victim’s clothes.

“If you’re going to threaten someone with a weapon, you need to be prepared to use it,” she says, pointing the sidearm at Duncan. “You’re clearly not a Federation soldier and you lack the resolve to be a spy. So, who are you and your associate?”

“I am Doctor Thanatos Videl, a theoretical physicist at the University of Coeus,” he says, raising his hands above his head. “Butch is Warrant Officer Ethan of the Torian Global Space Force.”

“Why is a theoretical physicist and an Allied Planet officer sneaking around an Independent Planet?” she asks.

“We were on vacation when Butch discovered he was sent here by God to save the children,” Duncan explains. “I thought the lieutenant would help us expose the crimes committed by the stadium.”

“What crimes?” the Spy says, shaking her head in disapproval. “Whiro Eight has legalized everything the stadium does. And since we aren’t part of the Federation or the Allied Planets, we aren’t subjected to their interstellar laws. You and your friend on the other hand have committed several.” Kneeling in front of Duncan, she says, “Taking hostages, espionage, and,” she places the knife she killed Quispe with in front of him, “murder.”

“I may have failed to flip your lieutenant,” Duncan says, “but Butch will bring down your pedicide network.”

The Spy stands up and conceals the sidearm in her blackish bluish jeans.

“I’m afraid your friend will only survive until my sister gets bored with him,” she says. “If you want to end this planet’s obsession with pedicide, you can’t do it through the stadium.”

“No, I can’t,” Duncan admits as he climbs to his feet. “But you can. With the money your home has already made from the stadium, you’d be able to start funding the programs you claim to offer. And if there are debts that I’m not seeing, the Gladiator could train willing adult fighters to cover those costs to keep the programs alive indefinitely. The only thing holding this practice together is your willingness to send children from your home to their death.”

“The headmistress only has a monopoly because her winnings have garnered her a lot of influence with this planet’s elite,” the Spy explains. “It’s hard enough to removed someone as prominent as her without having to deal with the vultures swooping in to replace her.”

“Then a prestigious theoretical physicist from Torus Five will be one of those vultures,” Duncan says. “His very public philanthropic deeds will be to ensure every child in Maher receives the same opportunity his best friend received in Coeus. All you have to do is make sure the orphaned children make it to your home before they make it to the stadium.”

“Your plan needs work,” the Spy says, gesturing for him to follower her. “And as much as turning your friend into a martyr would help the cause, we can save his life if we move quickly.”

Duncan picks up his toolbox and follows the Spy through the tunnels toward the faint, distant sound of the audience cheering.

#

The Gladiator’s private room has racks of free weights and resistance machines along the walls. Black gym mats cover the floor, and a series of punching bags hang from the ceiling.

The door swings open and Alistair, the Gladiator’s personal guard, shows the Spy and Duncan into the room. Duncan is carrying his toolbox.

“If there’s anything else I can do for you, Sandra, just let me know,” he says.

“Thanks, Alistair” the Spy says as she walks past him.

Alistair closes the door as he leaves.

The Spy grabs the remote control from the bench press and presses the power button to show the video feed from the stadium grounds on the wall mounted television. The audience is standing on their feet cheering while the Gladiator punches the Butcher relentlessly. The Butcher just laughs and makes silly faces as if the punches don’t hurt.

“We’re not too late,” the Spy says, running to the window overlooking the stadium grounds.

There are three banners, one black, one green, and one red, rolled around wooden rods mounted to the wall beside the window. The Spy moves the green banner from the wall and places it in the mounts below the window. She throws the cloth banner out the window to reveal Maher’s golden falcon insignia.

Glancing at the green banner coming from her room, the Gladiator says, “Looks like you get to survive after all.”

“Change of heart?” the Butcher asks.

The Gladiator strikes so fast that the deafening crack is heard before the Butcher can think about defending himself.

Stumbling backwards, the Butcher shakes off the hit and rubs his chin with a smile.

“You really were holding back,” he says, straightening his posture. “I can’t wait for my friend to finish so I can start fighting back.”

The scream of a firework leaving the Gladiator’s room explodes behind him.

“And there it is,” the Butcher says raising his fists in front of his face. “I hope you haven’t tired yourself out.”

He springs forward faster than someone his size should be able to move and puts all his weight behind a fast hook aimed at the Gladiator’s head. She steps inside the attack, flips the Butcher over her shoulder, and locks his arm into an armbar.

“Tap out and I won’t have to hurt you,” she warns.

“Give me a reason too,” the Butcher says as he stands up with the Gladiator still wrapped around his arm.

The Gladiator lets go of his arm before he slams her into the sandy ground.

“Don’t blame me when you die,” she says with an excited smile.

As fast as the Butcher’s attacks are, the Gladiator moves quicker and periodically strikes him with thunderous cracks. The Butcher flinches with each hit, showing visible pain for the first time in their fight.

Getting comfortable with her opponent’s attacks, the Gladiator takes more risks and lands increasingly powerful attacks until she finds an opening to uppercut him in the chin.

The impact snaps the Butcher’s head backward, knocking him off his feet.

The Gladiator raises her hands in victory as the audience cheers. She turns slowly to give everyone a good look at their champion. She stops when she sees the Butcher roll onto his stomach and stand up.

“Take the loss,” she warns, readying to start fighting again. “You’re lucky to survive a hit like that.”

The Butcher’s skin is bright red, blood drips from his mouth, his sweat turns to steam as soon as it touches his skin, and he emits a deep guttural growl as he moves like an inhuman beast.

The Gladiator punches at the Butcher’s face with all her strength as he slowly turns to face her.

The last thing the Gladiator sees is the Butcher’s eyes flicking to lock onto hers and his pupils shrinking to tiny points before she is thrown ten meters across the stadium from a single backhanded hit.

The audience falls silent as they watch fearfully as the Butcher slowly walks toward their champion, growling like a lion defending his prey.

Rolling onto her side, the Gladiator spits out a mouthful of blood before climbing to her feet.

“What kind of monster are you?” she asks.

The Butcher sprints forward impossibly fast and punches straight into the Gladiator’s blocking arms. The force of the hit knocks her hands against her head and carries enough power to throw her off her feet again.

The audience gasps in horror.

Crawling away on her back, the Gladiator watches fearfully as the Butcher slowly walks toward her. She grabs a handful of sand and makes a quick acrobatic move to get back to her feet, but in the moment she takes her eyes off the Butcher, he lunges forward with another attack.

Leaning away from the incoming fist at the last second, the grazing hit opens a deep wound on the Gladiator’s cheek.

She throws the sand into the Butcher’s face causing him to close his eyes for an instant but is otherwise unaffected.

Knowing that blink is the last chance she’ll get to survive, the Gladiator puts him into an arm triangle chokehold, swings her body behind his back and wraps her legs around his other arm to hold it away from her.

Using every muscle in her body, she struggles to control the Butcher’s unnatural strength.

The audience cheers louder than ever, hopeful that their champion will be triumphant.

The Butcher throws himself backwards, slamming the Gladiator against the ground with a loud thud. Using his powerful legs, he grinds her against the sandy floor, causing the sand to shred the skin moving across it.

She grunts in pain and squeezes as tight as she can until the Butcher stops moving. The Gladiator continues to hold her chokehold for ten seconds after he passes out, fearful that he’ll stand up again, stronger than ever.

Crawling out from under his massive body, she climbs to her feet and aggressively pokes the Butcher with her foot.

“The Gladiator wins!” the announcer declares enthusiastically.

A door on the edge of the stadium grounds drops into the floor and two medical teams run out with scoop stretchers.

“Make sure you use extra restraints on him,” the Gladiator warns, breathing heavily.

The first team checks the Butcher’s vitals before putting him on the scoop stretcher. The second team checks the Gladiator’s injuries and performs a pupillary light reflex test before instructing her to get on the other stretcher. The medics carry both fighters off the stadium grounds as the crowd continues to cheer.

#

The stadium’s private medical facility is a small room filled with monitors, machines, and medicine cabinets exclusively for the headliners. The Butcher is bound to a gurney in the back of the room with five heavy metal chains wrapped around each arm, ten across his torso and each of his legs. Three security guards have their sidearms at the ready in case he wakes up.

The Gladiator is sitting on an exam table in the middle of the room while a doctor puts the final suture into the gash on her cheek. Putting the tools into a liquid filled metal container, the doctor seals the container and gently applies an antibacterial ointment to the injury.

The Spy and Duncan enter the facility together. Seeing her sister, the Gladiator smiles.

“It’s been a while since I got a new one of these,” the Gladiator says, pointing to her stitched wound. “Who’s your friend?”

The Butcher moans quietly as the tight chains wrapped around him rattle. The guards fearfully step back.

“You need to give him a beta blocker before he wakes up,” Duncan warns.

The doctor looks to the Spy for confirmation.

“He’s his handler,” she affirms. “And seeing how he almost beat the Gladiator; I don’t think those chains will hold him when he wakes up.”

Putting the ointment into her pocket, the doctor runs to the medicine cabinet.

“What do you mean, almost beat me?” the Gladiator asks. “I was in control the whole time.”

She flinches in pain when the Spy blows on her stitched wound.

“You’re lucky the first two hits didn’t knock you out,” the Spy says.

“Where did you find him?” the Gladiator asks Duncan.

“We grew up together,” Duncan says, watching the doctor administer the beta blocker to the Butcher. “I’ve seen him use that technique many times to get us out of trouble, but you’re the only person to survive it,” he adds. Turning to look into her eyes, he says, “Thank you for not killing him.”

“How do I learn to get that strong?” she asks.

“Thankfully it’s not possible,” Duncan says. “When Ethan learned he could control his endocrine system, he conditioned himself to ignore most of the pain he feels and push his body to the absolute peak of human potential.”

“I’m sure there’s an amount we can agree on,” the Gladiator says.

“Absolutely not,” the Butcher says as he regains consciousness. “When I’m in that frenzy it feels like every decision I make is a decision between life and death. And if the pain I feel after using it is intense for me, it will kill a normal person.”

“I’d risk death it if it meant I could protect my family,” the Gladiator says, turning to look at the Spy. “How many contracts can we buy out from this fight?”

“Three,” the Spy says. “If there’s nothing else, Doctor, I’d like to discuss potential business arrangements with the Butcher and his manager in private.”

“Kelly will be fine,” the doctor says, “but I don’t think you should dismiss the guards.”

“Wait outside the door,” the Spy says, showing her concealed sidearm, “I’ve got things under control in here.”

“Be careful, Sandra,” the doctor says before she leaves with the guards.

Waiting for the door to close, the Spy says, “I just wanted to spend some alone time with my sister to introduce them to my new friends. Come by the children’s home tomorrow morning, we’ll talk about terms where the stadium doesn’t have ears.”

As the Spy and Gladiator catch up, Duncan pulls a chair up to the Butcher’s gurney and makes sure he’s all right.

#

A small army of stadium guards have formed a wall around the Maher Inner-City Children’s Home to keep the crowd of onlookers away from the building. A coroner’s van is parked in front of the closed gate.

The front door to the children’s home opens and two people in blue blazers wheel out a gurney carrying an adult sized black bag. The guards open the gate to allow the body to be pushed to the back of the van.

The Gladiator pushes her way through the crowd with Duncan and the Butcher. The observers sigh in relief when they see their hero is not in the bag.

“My condolences, Kelly,” the guard says, waving her through.

“Thank you,” she says. “These two are with me.”

The guard nods and steps out of way to let them enter.

The Spy steps out of the home with Ward and the coroner. The coroner shakes their hands before joining his assistants at the van.

“I’ll call you as soon as I go through her paperwork,” the Spy says, shaking Ward’s hand.

“Thank you, Miss Sandra,” Ward says. Turning to leave, he notices the Gladiator and Butcher. “I do love it when two enemies become friends,” he says with a smile. “I always said when one door closes, another opens. When you get a minute, Butch, stop by my office. I have a prosperous endeavour I want to run by you.”

“I’m interested already,” the Butcher says.

Once Duncan, the Gladiator, and Butcher enter the home, the Spy closes the door and leads them into the headmistress’s office. Gesturing for them to sit down on the couches, she closes the office door before joining them.

“I can’t believe the children are finally free,” the Gladiator says happily.

“We’re not there yet,” the Spy says, handing a stack of contracts to Duncan. “If they look into the headmistress’s death closely, I’m going to look very suspicious. Especially since I’m applying to be the executor,” she explains. “Which is why we need to file these contracts with the lawyers to make Doctor Videl the property owner and Cynthia the beneficiary of the headmistress’s estate quickly.”

“What happens if they do look into the headmistress’s death?” the Gladiator asks. “Are you in danger?”

“I will be,” the Spy says calmly. “Which is why I need to leave Whiro … forever.”

“That just makes you look more guilty,” the Gladiator warns.

“Their presence helps us get around that,” the Spy explains. “As an officer of the Torian Global Space Force, Butch came to Whiro to find a combat trainer. Buying your contract would make you the property of the Allied Planets’ military.”

“And since the Allied Planets don’t allow people to own other people, your contract will be nullified,” Duncan says.

“Then, as a free citizen of the Allied Planets, you will be able to buy my contract and bring me with you as your secretary,” the Spy adds.

“What about the rest of our brothers and sisters?” the Gladiator asks. “This doesn’t help anyone who is still property of the stadium.”

“I’ve been managing the headmistress’s investments for the past ten years,” the Spy says. “Her portfolio has more than enough money to buy everyone’s contract.”

“Won’t stealing that money be difficult? And be even harder to spend?” the Gladiator asks.

“We don’t need to steal it,” the Spy says. “Once Cynthia is named the beneficiary, she will own it legally to do with it what she pleases.”

Smiling, the Gladiator hugs the Spy. “We finally did it!” she exclaims with tears in her eyes. “We’ve saved everyone.”

“Don’t get too excited yet,” the Spy warns. “If it looks like we’re rushing things, the courts will intervene and put a stop to everything.”

“While Butch meets with Ward to buy your contract,” Duncan says, “I’ll contact Torus Five and let them know about your citizenship requirements. We also need to adhere to our visa expiry date, so after Monday we’ll have to do everything else remotely.”

“Looks like I have a meeting to get to,” the Butcher says as he stands up.

Duncan writes their hotel information onto a piece of paper and hands it to the Spy.

“We’ll keep a low profile here if you need to contact us before we leave.”

They shake hands before Duncan and the Butcher exit the children’s home.

#

Eight years later, on Torus 5. Coeus City’s marble parliament building sits atop a five-storey pedestal of stone stairs, surrounded by a granite agora. A lush green park full of tall trees surrounds the agora and distant glass skyscrapers peek over the trees’ canopy.

Ndiaye, the Allied Planet’s President, wearing a silver livery collar over her red suit, stands behind a lectern on the stairs’ first landing. A dozen Allied Planet leaders, Ambassador Glezos, Duncan, and Kaur stand to the left of Ndiaye. Prince Raza, the Federation’s President Wilson, Generals Okar, Lee, Patel, Alvarez, Brandon, Grant, and Fleet Admiral Mandlenkosi stand to the right of Ndiaye. Brandon doesn’t need the support of a cane.

Hundreds of thousands of people from all over the galaxy have gathered in the agora to be a part of the Galactic Peace Ceremony. Drones project holographic videos of the lectern above the audience.

“After centuries of nationalist rhetoric from both the Federation and the Allied Planets,” Ndiaye says gesturing her hand toward Duncan, “one man dreamed beyond our galaxy,” she switches arms to gesture toward Raza, “and a benevolent Prince listened. It took them eight years to show the rest of us the benefits of working together as two autonomous governments on our quest to expand outward into the unknown.”

The audience cheers as Duncan, Raza, and Wilson approach the lectern. They shake hands, turn to the crowd, and wave.

#

Duncan’s laboratory in the University of Coeus is a large windowless room divided into four sections. The back sections have raised platforms separated by a maze of filing cabinets and lab mice containment cells. Workstations, computers, and extra laboratory equipment fill the front two sections.

Duncan, Kaur, the fourteen-year-old Philosopher, and their research assistants hover over the computers. They watch as a metal box contracts into a single point and vanishes above the right platform while simultaneously expanding to its normal size on the left platform.

“Did it survive?” Kaur asks, stepping away from the computers.

A researcher steps onto the left platform, opens the box and discovers the dead mouse.

“It wasn’t crushed this time,” he says. “I’ll let you know the cause of death shortly.”

He transfers the motionless lab mouse from the box to a metal tray and takes it to his workstation.

“Check the stability of the vessel and anchor,” Kaur instructs.

Noticing the Spy, wearing a Torian ensign uniform standing beside the door, Duncan asks, “What time is our meeting with the admiral?”

“About an hour from now,” Kaur says. Seeing the Spy, she adds, “Go, I’ll setup the next experiment.”

Duncan nods and joins the Spy by the door.

“Looks like you’re making progress,” the Spy says.

“Slowly,” he admits. “We’re still years away from crewed missions. What brings you to the university?”

Glancing at the researchers, the Spy turns her back to the room and pulls Duncan in close.

“I’ve been sent to tell you that the Reshef didn’t make it back to Primus,” she says calmly. “We don’t know the details, but the Federation suspects that the warp engine was sabotaged. While they investigate the cause, the royal family has frozen Prince Raza’s assets until further notice.”

“Thanks, Sandra,” he says. “I’ll get started on the grant applications.”

The Spy leaves the lab while Duncan sits at his desk, waves Kaur over, and starts sorting the scattered papers into piles.

#

The monitor in Okar’s office on the Yeshe Walmo shows the rotating camera’s video of the Placating Fox spacecraft orbiting Perierat 7. Okar is sitting at her desk across from the Spy, they are wearing Federation uniforms. Kaur’s team is installing a new frame into Okar’s closet.

“It didn’t take long for the Federation and the Allied Planets to blame each other for the prince’s death,” the Spy says. “Duncan was conscripted to the advanced projects research department as soon as the Federation moved their armada to the Allied Planets’ boarder. Refusing to develop new weapons, he rose through the officer ranks faster than I did. Earned top level security clearance, all while focusing on building tools that would protect the Allied Planets from the Federation.”

“Once the war started,” the Spy continues, “his research into the Federation’s military history, combined with his unnatural intuitive sense, Duncan knew how to inflict the most damage to your advances while minimizing casualties.”

“He killed hundreds of millions of soldiers,” Okar refutes. “How is that minimizing casualties?”

“We killed hundreds of thousands and lost a few hundred soldiers bombing your staging areas in the Bochica system as soon as war was declared,” the Spy explains. “How many missions did that disrupt from your attack calendar? How many people would have died if those missions were successful?”

Okar leans back in her chair and admits, “Nearly a hundred missions, and billions of people. But if he was so altruistic, what changed at the end of the war?”

“He never talks about the last two years,” the Spy says. “At the end of the second year, shortly after the Titan succeeded Fleet Admiral Mandlenkosi, Duncan was convinced that he could end the war peacefully. But after they met on Adrasteia Three, he became very secretive and obsessive about the Strategist. I don’t know what she said to corrupt him, but she was the only person capable of outsmarting him, and he fell in love with her because of it.”

Okar picks up her tablet and opens Tessa’s report on Adrasteia 3.

“The crew on Fleet Admiral Sheridan’s command ship, Deirdre, decided that killing the Scientist was the fastest way to end the war and they bombed the planet,” she says while handing the Spy her tablet. “Feeling betrayed, she resigned and retired to Ishtar Seven with the Scientist. She continued to use her former rank to advocate that the high council ends the war, but we were too proud and stubborn to listen. We thought her near death experience caused PTSD that blinded her from the necessity of the war.”

“The Federation tried to bomb the Titan twice,” the Spy says, returning the tablet to Okar.

Seeing Okar’s confused look, the Spy pulls her tablet out and opens a video of the Federation fleet launching kinetic attacks from Ishtar 7’s orbit, filling the blue sky with thick, black smoke.

“Duncan decided to destroy the Federation when you killed his daughter,” she says handing her tablet to Okar. “Luckily, General Brandon was on Ishtar Seven at the time. He was able to prevent Duncan from making every Federation planet share Ishtar’s fate.”

“I knew President Wilson was acting without the council’s approval,” Okar says, trying to hide her anger, “but I never expected he’d do something like this.” She returns the Spy’s tablet, and says, “And suddenly I understand why the general developed a soft spot for the Scientist. General Brandon was sent to Ishtar Seven to negotiate terms for a ceasefire. Any idea why President Wilson wanted the former fleet admiral dead?”

“When I looked into him, I was only able to find his illegitimate son, and his fixer, Raymond Diego, better known to us as the Scout,” the Spy says. “Since he had infiltrated our group from the beginning, we speculated that he was one of the Strategist’s puppets.”

The Spy’s tablet buzzes in her hands. Opening the message she reads, ‘Thought you might want to see this’ above a video of a space station sized warship flying past a rocky terrestrial planet surrounded by a small fleet of spacecraft.

A series of blueshifted lines emerge from the side of the warship and travel toward the planet’s defenders faster than the speed of light.

The planet’s two moons burst into giant flashes of light before disappearing completely. A nuclear explosion erupts from each of the defending spacecraft when the first blueshifted lines strike their shields.

The video ends when the spacecraft recording it ejects away from the defending spacecraft and runs away from the attacker.

“The Wraiths have come through,” the Spy says, sending the video to Okar’s tablet.

“Assemble the others quietly,” Okar orders while watching the video. “I want the Navigator to tell me everything he can about this planet and warship.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy says as she rises from the desk.

She exits the office, as Okar rewatches the video repeatedly.

Chapter Eleven

The Invaders

The wall mounted monitors surrounding the Yeshe Walmo’s war room are projecting spy satellite footage from dozens of earthlike planets. Okar, Brandon, Grant, the Gladiator, and Navigator are standing around the electronic table, looking at the projected star map of the outer Perseus arm. Lucas, Kamali, and Freda are present through projected video calls.

“Marduk Two,” the Navigator says.

Tapping on his keyboard, he changes the projection to show ten battleships orbiting a moonless planet.

“Converge on Marduk Two,” Okar commands.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Foxes’ captains affirm through the war room’s speakers.

“Which vessel is closest?” Okar asks.

“Ker will make contact in one hundred thirteen seconds, Laran will arrive five hundred twenty-one seconds later,” the Navigator says.

“Commander Paris, your teams are the first responders,” Okar says.

“Copy,” the Spy says calmly.

The Navigator rotates the spy satellite away from the planet and marks a location one million kilometers away.

“Target will close their warp bubbles in sixty-two seconds,” he says.

“Tell Marduk’s fleet where their attacker will appear,” Okar orders. While Brandon does as he’s instructed, she turns to Grant and commands, “Call their commander in chief.”

He nods and opens a communication window to the planet.

“What can I do for you, Pamela?” Marduk’s president asks through the war room’s speakers.

“This is President Okar of the Galactic Federation,” Okar announces. “A hostile force is approaching your planet—”

A room full of men laughing booms through the speakers. Okar stumbles over her words as her expression turns to anger.

“That’s cute, Son,” the president says as a phone rings in the background. “I don’t know how you got this number but using it make prank calls is a federal crime.”

“As much as I’d love to see your primitive planet burn,” Okar growls, “I need you to stall for time.”

“Son—” the president says angrily.

“Mr. President,” his general interrupts, “our fleet received a set of coordinates and a timer from a nonplanetary source.”

“When that timer runs out, an interstellar warship will erase you from existence,” Okar warns. “Help is on the way, but they will be a minute late if you don’t attack that location with everything you have.”

“What are the coordinates pointing too?” the president asks.

“And empty patch of space,” the general answers.

“Order the attack,” he commands. “Our ordnance contractors will be happy either way.”

“Deafen the call,” Okar orders. “I want them to hear what’s happening without having to listen to their incompetent commentary.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant says, deafening the call to Marduk’s president.

Video from the spy satellite shows the defending fleet launch forty missiles, in four waves of ten. A distorted, unmarked warship the size of a space station blueshifts toward the Navigator’s marker.

The first ten missiles pass through the marked area before the warship arrives and vanish into the distance. The collapsing warp bubble of the attacking vessel sucks in the next twenty missiles and destroys them without detonating their payload. The final ten missiles collide with the side of the warship, creating nuclear explosions that strip the protective shielding from the warship.

“They don’t even know how to time their shots,” Okar says. “What’s the target’s status?”

“No visible damage,” the Navigator reports as he zooms in on the enormous warship.

The attacking warship’s rotating hull is covered in an array of bomb tubes wrapping around the entire ship. As the opening of the tubes spin to face Marduk’s fleet, small flashes deep inside the tubes push twenty grey cylinders away from the vessel.

The cylinders drift a hundred kilometers from the warship and start to blur out of focus before blueshifting toward the defending fleet.

The Marduk fleet launches a thousand more missiles, but the warp bubbles surrounding the blueshifted cylinders pull them off their course causing them to collide with each other.

The first ten bombs strike each of Marduk’s spacecraft once, creating a nuclear explosion that destroys their electronics. The second ten bombs convert the defending spacecraft into flashes of light.

“Ker is approaching the zone of action,” the Navigator says.

He zooms the camera out to show the small Placating Fox corvette blueshifting onto the battlefield. The warp bubbles surrounding the Ker collapse quickly as the corvette continues to accelerate toward the warship.

Five rocket propelled disruptor lances with sharp, tempered tips fly from the Ker’s hull and punch through the thick armoured hull of the attacking vessel. The blue glow of electricity arcing between the lances flashes through the gaps in the fractured hull.

“Target is disabled,” Ker’s captain says. “Insertion teams are on route.”

Okar starts a timer on her tablet as two dropships break away from the Ker and speed toward the defenseless warship.

Grant taps on his keyboard and opens sixteen video windows showing the live feed from the Foxes’ helmet cameras. The Foxes, wearing black armoured tactical suits with mirrored helmets, are harnessed to vertically stacked chairs in the dropships.

When the dropships near the warship, their forward-facing engines ignite to slow their approach and the chairs rotate around to match the directional change in g-force.

The pilots line up their breaching hatches on the ceiling of the dropships to a maintenance hatch on the spinning hull of the warship. The vessels clang together with a hollow metal thud as powerful electromagnets hold them in place.

The sound from the engines goes quiet as the chairs spin around to orient the passengers to the inherited centrifugal force of the rotating warship.

The Spy unfastens her harness and attaches the ladder to the breaching hatch in the ceiling. The other operators get out of their chairs and collect their carbines from the storage lockers beside them.

Once activated, the breaching hatch digs into the metal of the outer maintenance hatch and forcefully drags it open.

The Spy climbs through the oversized airlock to the inner hatch and removes the computer embedded in her bracer. She opens the codebreaking program and attaches it to the digital lock next to the hatch. While the program searches for the code, the Spy returns to the dropship and collects her carbine from the weapon locker.

Hearing the inner hatch unlock, four operators climb into the airlock and open the hatch. The forwardmost operator pokes his head and carbine through the open door in the floor to check if the maintenance tunnel is safe.

The three-meter-high tunnel has slanted walls that run from the front of the warship to the back. Seeing that there isn’t a welcoming party, the operator pulls himself through the floor hatch and signals for the rest of the team to follow.

Being the last to enter the warship, the Spy takes the computer off the lock, returns it to her bracer, and closes the hatches behind her.

“Alpha team has infiltrated, proceeding to OBJ,” she says quietly, turning toward the destination marker projected on the mask’s heads-up display.

“Copy that, Alpha Leader,” Ker’s captain answers through the helmet’s headset.

The Spy gestures for her team to advance and three of the operators form a tight group on her while the other four create a similar formation to watch their backs.

Following the tunnel toward the holographic marker floating over the closest bomb tube, the Spy stops at a door in the slanted wall twenty meters away from the marker.

“We breach here,” she orders quietly.

As the Foxes ready their weapons on the door, the Spy points hers to the ceiling, reaches across the door to grab the handle, and casually slides the door open toward her.

The second team pushes through the open door and spreads out to clear the connected room. The Spy’s team enters behind them, ready to fight any ambush that might walk into.

With a solid wall behind them where the bomb tube runs through, the operators focus on the empty hallway in front of them. Satisfied that they are safe, the teams regroup into two tight formations and the Spy directs them up the stairs to the bomb room.

The bomb tube emerges from the center of the floor and towers thirty meters over their heads. There are stacks of two-meter-long metal munition crates all over the bottom level of the room. Four caged munition elevators are built into the middle of the side walls and lead up to the grated metal floor above them where the bombs are fed into the tube by a robotic crane.

The two Fox teams move around the bomb tube in opposite directions, clearing all the hiding places around the munition crates until they reunite on the opposite side of the tube.

“Alpha team is in the zone of action,” the Spy says. “This feels like a ghostship.”

“Secure the objective and proceed to extraction, Alpha Leader,” Ker’s captain orders. “No sense looking for trouble.”

“Roger that,” she says, as the destination marker in her heads-up display updates.

Slinging her carbine over her shoulder, the Spy approaches the nearest munition crate and opens it. There is a cylindrical bomb cradled by a series of metal cut outs inside the crate.

“Three through Six, grab two cases per duo,” she orders. “Seven and Eight take rear, I’ve got point with Two.”

Her team nods in affirmation and does as they’re ordered.

Waiting for her team to join her with the stolen crates, the Spy leads them down the stairs, checks that the hallway is still empty, and makes her way to the open maintenance tunnel door.

Standing back-to-back, the Spy and her number two peek into the tunnel at the same time to clear both directions simultaneously.

“Clear,” they both say quietly.

They step to the far side of the tunnel and wait for the rest of the team to enter behind them. Alpha Eight taps the Spy on the shoulder after he enters the tunnel. The Spy raises her carbine, rejoins her number two at the front of the column, points her weapon forward, and leads the team toward the destination marker on the floor two hundred meters in front of them.

“Alpha team is approaching extraction,” the Spy says.

A bipedal creature, standing over two and a half meters tall, steps into the service tunnel between them and the hatch. The thermal sensors in their helmets show the creature has a faint heat signature.

“Hostile!” the Spy and Alpha Two shout in unison as they start shooting their carbines.

Plasma bolts stream out of their weapons and flash against the creature, leaving bright hot spots on the armour where they burst. Alpha Three and Four place their munitions crates on the ground, unsling their carbines, step up to the front, and discharge their weapons into the creature.

Seeing the figure start to walk toward them, unphased by the barrage of bolts, the Spy lowers her weapon and orders, “Blinders!”

The team takes their hands off the triggers, reach for their masks, turn off their thermal vision and activate painfully bright lights. The creature is wearing grey plated armour, a helmet, and is clutching a two-meter long bec de corbin. The last of the glowing hot spots on their armour quickly cools to its normal grey colour in the brief pause.

Raising their arm to shield their eyes from the light, the creature bumps their helmet to reveal the snow-white flesh of their neck.

The Spy pulls a throwing knife from her vest and throws it into the exposed patch of skin.

Dropping the bec de corbin on the floor, the creature bangs their helmet against the slanted wall and collapses to their knee. The Foxes aim their weapons at the creature’s head and start firing again.

Ignoring the barrage of ineffective plasma bolts, the creature growls as they pull the knife out of their neck with a spurt of black blood.

“What’s the ETA on exfil?” the Spy asks with a nervous tone.

The creature discards the tiny knife, picks up their bec de corbin, and climbs to their feet.

“I’m breaching the inner hatch now,” the dropship pilot says.

The Spy drops her carbine on the floor and draws another throwing knife from her vest.

“Secure the objective!” she orders.

Timing the creature’s slow movement, she throws the knife into the gap between the plates in the shoulder joint as it opens between strides. The creature’s right arm falls limp, dropping their polearm as they reach for their shoulder.

The Foxes pick up the munition cases while the Spy pulls the hunting knife from her thigh and runs at the creature. Keeping the bright lights on her helmet pointed at the creature’s face, she holds their attention while the Foxes carry the stolen munition crates to the floor hatch.

The creature wheezes and gargles as they pull the knife from their shoulder with their giant hand. Seeing the bright light running toward them, they swing wildly, hoping to get lucky.

Sliding under the slashes, the Spy thrusts her knife between the plates protecting the creature’s knee and picks up the bec de corbin from the floor. Hooking the beak behind the creature’s good leg, she pulls with all her strength.

The giant creature shifts their weight to their injured leg, screams in pain loudly, and collapses to the metal floor with a loud thud.

Coughing up black blood, the creature lets go of the throwing knife, rolls onto their back, and reaches for the computer in their right bracer.

The Spy leaps on top of them and pins their arm against their chest preventing them from touching the computer. She pulls her hunting knife out of the creature’s knee and drives it into their throat. Using her entire bodyweight to keep them controlled, she moves the knife around until the creature stops moving.

Breathing heavily, the Spy takes a minute to catch her breath before crawling off the deceased creature. She removes their helmet to reveal a snow-white alien face covered in spattered black blood.

“Are you receiving this, Ker?” she says, moving the lips to reveal smooth, flat teeth.

“Affirmative, Alpha Leader,” Ker’s captain says. “That is not your objective, exfil immediately.”

“Copy,” she says.

Before leaving, the Spy grabs the creature’s right arm and makes sure her camera records the alien symbols on the embedded computer.

Pulling the knife from the creature’s throat, she scrapes some of the blood into one of her armored vest pouches before dropping the knife on the floor. She picks up the alien helmet and sprints for the open floor hatch.

Waiting for the Spy to slide down the ladder into the dropship, Alpha Two closes the breaching hatch on the ceiling and secures the ladder to the wall.

The Spy does a quick headcount before shouting, “Exfil complete! Take us home!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the pilot says from the cockpit.

As the thrusters push the dropship away from the alien warship, the Spy makes sure that the munition cases are secured properly before harnessing herself into her seat.

“Well done, Giant Slayer,” Alpha Two says while tightening his harness.

The Spy smiles as she relaxes in her seat.

The chairs spin to point the Foxes’ feet away from the cockpit door as the main engines spark to life. The g-force pulls the occupants down in their seats when the dropship accelerates toward the Ker.

#

The Yeshe Walmo’s war room is anxiously watching the video of Alpha team escape the alien warship. Bravo team’s cameras are on the metal floor of the maintenance tunnels showing the two hundred fifty-centimeter-tall, armoured alien standing victorious over the Foxes’ bodies. Okar closes the helmet cameras’ videos and expands the size of the videos from the Ker, Laran, and their spy satellite.

“All teams are clear,” Okar says. “Sink the warship.”

A tunnel of distorted space connects the front of the Ker and Laran corvettes to the hull of the alien warship. White energy, traveling at the speed of light, fills the tunnels and heats the hull until a faint red glow rotates away with the spinning hull.

The corvettes stop firing their plasma cannons and unleash a volley of seven-meter-long shells at the glowing soft spot.

By the time the shells reach the alien vessel, the heat has completely dissipated and the projectiles pancake on impact without damaging the resilient hull.

“How long until reinforcements arrive?” Okar asks.

“The Valkyrie is five minutes thirteen seconds away,” the Navigator says.

Okar checks her timer as it passes the fourteenth minute.

“We don’t have that long,” she says. “Ker, retrieve the package and rendezvous with the Yeshe. Mr. President, be ready for our shuttles, they won’t wait for the enemy to return.”

She ends the call with Marduk 2 and looks around the table for disapproving glares.

“Anathema, engage the target,” Okar orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Anathema’s captain says through the speakers.

“Don’t worry, I enjoy cleaning up your messes,” Lexy says. “Just kidding,” she adds before shifting her voice to a demonic tone, “I love destroying things!”

A biconvex shadow appears on the videos hiding part of the enemy warship. A grey orb drops out from the Anathema’s hull and redshifts to the alien warship.

The orb bursts into a spherical flash of light that collapses into complete blackness, sucking the warship into its center. Within seconds, the obscuring blackness fades away leaving behind a molten metal sphere where the warship used to be.

“Don’t forget to recycle your sphere,” Lexy says with a pleasant tone.

The shadow of the Anathema instantly vanishes from the battle.

“Analyze every frame of their spacecraft,” Okar orders, downloading part of the Spy’s helmet recording to her tablet. “Spare no expense. We need to learn everything we can about our enemy.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the war room’s occupants affirm.

“Command is yours, General Grant,” Okar says as she disconnects her tablet from the table.

She steps away from the table and heads toward her office. Brandon coordinates the evacuation of Marduk while the rest of the command team starts sorting through the video footage.

Stepping into her office, Okar locks the door behind her and goes to the new keypad built into the frame of her closet. Entering the code, an eerie sound emanates from behind the door.

When the sound stops, she opens the closet door and steps into Duncan’s pocket universe.

“Scientist!” she shouts. “My office. Now!”

Duncan steps away from his workstation and follows Okar into her office. She closes the closet door behind him before going to her desk.

She sends a still image from the video of the deceased alien’s blood covered face to the wall mounted screen.

“What do you know about this?” she asks.

“The black blood is likely methemoglobinemia caused by poor diet or abuse of antibiotics,” Duncan says. “The white skin is probably because they’ve spent years without solar or simulated solar radiation exposure.”

Okar scans Duncan’s face to see if he’s joking.

“Have a seat,” she says gesturing to the chair across from her. She sits in her desk chair and says, “I was hoping you’d encountered these creatures before.”

“It’s something new?” Duncan asks as he sits in the chair with a curious look. “Ignoring a few obvious differences, it looks like any other simian life we’ve encountered.”

Okar advances the video to the alien symbols on the computer embedded in the alien’s bracer. The Spy’s relatively tiny hand holding the alien’s arm sets the scale.

“Fleet Admiral Sheridan’s … Tessa’s final mission with the Foxes captured one of these creatures,” Okar says. “They called themselves the Angel and claimed to be the Harbinger of Destruction. They warned her that two cataclysmic forces were approaching from the Andromeda galaxy.”

“Was this before or after Prince Raza took an interest in my intergalactic research?” Duncan asks.

“We apprehended them three years before the Galactic War,” she explains.

“So, five years after Kismet One’s failure,” Duncan deduces. “Hold on, if you knew of an external threat, why did the Federation start a war with the Allied Planets?”

“Tessa was told not to trust anyone except Prince Raza and the one that could identify this woman,” Okar says, opening her desk. “I couldn’t figure it out, so Tessa transferred to the officer program and stopped reporting to me. We had no actionable evidence that the galaxy faced a legitimate threat, so President Wilson ignored her warnings.”

She places a photo of the Strategist when she was eighteen on her desk and slides it toward Duncan. He glances at it and becomes overwhelmed with anger.

“How hard did you look for this woman?” he asks, barely holding back his rage.

“I slipped the photo into every facial recognition search a Federation planet performed,” Okar states cautiously as she slowly reaches for the sidearm in the open drawer. “If she walked past any camera near a crime, I would’ve known. Who is she?”

“You never checked military procurement deals to see if she was building an army,” Duncan scolds. “You had everything you needed to prevent the extinction of the Torians and the Ishtari. That’s why Tessa was told not to trust you.”

Leaving the sidearm where it is, Okar closes the drawer. “This is the Strategist?”

“She was her mouthpiece,” Duncan says. “If you found her before she built her armada, you could have used them to identify and stop the Strategist.”

“We both know the Philosopher is the Strategist,” Okar declares with an annoyed tone. “You were the one who had her under your nose throughout the Galactic War. Do not blame me for this.”

“If you wanted to convince me the Philosopher was the Strategist, you shouldn’t have shown this to me,” he says, turning the photo around and sliding it back. “The Philosopher was eleven when Tessa was given this photo.”

“She’s very persuasive as an adult,” Okar says. Pointing to the photo, she adds, “As a child, she would only need to persuade one adult to speak on her behalf.”

Duncan’s anger switches to annoyance as he asks, “An eleven-year-old and a teenager are responsible for terrorizing the galaxy? You need to discuss this with the Spy,” he adds as he stands from the chair. “If there’s anything to find, she’ll find it. I have more important things to do than chase your far-fetched hypotheses.”

“Sit down,” Okar orders before shifting her tone to sound vulnerable. “I hate to say it, but you’re the only person who can help. I tried to get the Interrogator to break the Angel, but they were adamant on only speaking to Tessa, Prince Raza, and someone who, until now, was unnamed.”

Duncan sighs and says, “The person who can identify that woman.”

“I need you to speak with the Angel and figure out what they know,” Okar orders.

“Show me everything you know about this creature,” Duncan says while sitting in the chair.

Okar hands Duncan her tablet with the video from the raid before she starts collecting the Federation’s classified documents about the Angel on her desktop.

Chapter Twelve

The Angel

The cavernous depths of Erebus 11 have countless metal jail cells built into rocky cliffs overlooking the network of flowing rivers at the bottom. A blanket of thick, light blue moss coats the stony walls just above the water line, hydrated by the splashing rapids. Millions of mushrooms grow in the moss and release red bioluminescent spores into the air that float down to the water’s surface to feed tiny fish.

A caged elevator descends the angled elevator shaft connecting the guard post at the top of the cavern to the lowest row of cells just above the band of moss.

Okar is in the elevator with Duncan and the Spy, who are wearing Federation soldier uniforms with mirrored helmets to hide their faces.

The elevator stops at the bottom of the shaft where the crashing sounds of the river’s rapids drown out the cries of the imprisoned. Okar leads the others out of the lift and into the electric lantern lit tunnel beside the landing platform.

They pass dozens of empty steel cells built into dug out cavities in the stone walls until they reach a small security checkpoint where four Royal Guards are playing cards.

“This is a restricted area,” the lead guard says without looking away from his cards. “Head back the way you—”

His colleague nudges him with his elbow and stands to salute the Galactic President.

“My apologies, Madam President,” he says, putting his cards down and standing from the table. “I wasn’t expecting you all the way down here.” He salutes her and adds, “I’m sorry, but this area is restricted to everyone unless they have,” the guard trails off when Okar removes a folded sheet of paper sealed with the royal sigil from her jacket.

“A decree from the royal family,” Okar says, handing the paper to the guard.

He reads the decree carefully before nodding to his associates. The other guards move the card table to the side of the tunnel and open the steel door behind them. The lead guard pulls a lighter from his pocket and ignites the royal decree.

Dropping the burning paper to the stone floor, he gestures toward the open door.

“Knock when you’re ready to leave, Madam President,” he says.

Okar nods before leading Duncan and the Spy through the steel door.

The circular cave has a dozen open, unlit, cells built into the stone walls. A tall lamppost lights the central area of the cave outside the cells.

Inside the only locked cell there is a lit lantern on a desk next to the bed where the Angel, a two hundred fifty-centimeter-tall creature wearing red prisoner’s pants, is sitting. Other than the dark grey scars covering their exposed skin, their bright white skin glows in the weak light.

“General, wait it’s President Okar now, isn’t it?” they ask with a unique accent. “Welcome to my home, but I’m afraid I am a stickler for the rules about who I will talk too.”

“That’s fine,” Okar says gesturing to Duncan. “You won’t be talking to me.”

Duncan and the Spy remove their helmets. Duncan is clean shaven, and his long hair has been cut short.

“Ana!” the Angel exclaims, “I am relieved to see that you finally made it.”

“Ana?” Okar asks.

“It’s a nickname that his friends used to call him,” the Spy explains calmly, while giving Duncan a suspicious glare.

“Prince Raza has heard it,” Duncan says. “Though I’ve never heard him say it.”

“My apologies, you prefer Duncan these days,” the Angel corrects themself.

“But that’s a name I took after the prince passed,” Duncan says, turning to Okar.

“Relax,” they reassure, “my purpose is to provide information, so what good would I be without knowing things? You’re here because the rest of my species has attacked your galaxy and you need to know how our weapons work.”

“When you checked them for communication devices, did you look for diamond fragments?” Duncan asks as he steps closer to look at the Angel’s ears.

“I don’t have an entangled implant,” they say.

“But you are familiar with the practical uses of quantum entanglement,” Duncan surmises. “Why haven’t you weaponized it?”

“I forgot that you were a smart one,” the Angel says with a smile, showing off their smooth, flat teeth. “I need to be careful that I don’t ruin everything.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Duncan asks.

“This galaxy will go extinct.”

Duncan and the Spy look at Okar.

“You’re not the first person to tell us that,” Okar says.

“Good,” they say. “Then you know the severity of our situation and are ready to make the inhumane decisions needed to save us.”

The Angel stands from the bed, flips their mattress, and pulls a folded piece of paper from a hidden compartment.

“Be careful around the catalyst’s containment field,” they warn. “If you disturb it, you’ll expose the antimatter and … well an explosive reaction would be an understatement,” they explain, handing the paper to Duncan. “However, the real payload comes from the matter accelerator’s ability to trigger a localized anti-baryogenesis event of sorts.” Duncan steps forward and takes the paper. “It’s a chain reaction that ripples through the weapon’s target and converts the charge of half the particles to their antiparticle equivalent.”

“Causing all of the particles to convert each other into energy,” Duncan says.

Unfolding the paper, he sees detailed schematics for the antimatter containment device and weaponized matter accelerator.

“Will that help us counter their weapons?” Okar asks.

“Probably not,” Duncan admits. “But I won’t know for sure until my engineers look it over and tell me what the significance of this is.”

The Spy looks over Duncan’s shoulder and asks, “Who taught you to speak and write our language?”

“The first friend I made when I arrived in this galaxy,” the Angel says.

“Is this them?” Duncan asks, pulling the photo of the Strategist out of his pocket.

“She is more like a niece to me,” they say. “How is she by the way?”

“I left her on Tartarus Station,” he answers. “She was working hard to keep everything on schedule.”

“Fantastic!” the Angel exclaims. “Her job is almost as important as yours … if everything comes together as planned, we might actually survive both of the Milky Way onslaughts.”

“You sound unsure,” Okar says.

“No matter how much we prepare, everything is based on conjecture,” they explain.

Okar’s tablet buzzes.

Looking at the message, she removes the radio from her belt, turns it on, and asks, “What is it, General?”

“We’ve detected a probable attack on the Perierat system by the end of the month,” Grant answers.

“Contact Captain Kamali,” Okar orders. “Tell him to evacuate to Erebus Eleven. We’ll divide the refugees amongst our fleet once they arrive.”

“What about President Lucas?” Grant asks.

“Let him know the evacuation fleet will arrive in three days,” she says. “We can’t save the system, but we will do everything we can to evacuate the citizens of Perierat Seven.”

“That would be a mistake, Madam President,” the Angel interjects. “You need to demonstrate that the Federation is willing to fight for the holy land.”

“Understood, Madam President,” Grant says.

“Standby, General,” she replies while giving the Angel a suspicious look. “You were imprisoned long before the events on Salem Station and the formation of the Children of Themis,” she says. “How do you know about the holy land?”

“The good word travels fast,” they reply with a toothy grin.

The Spy turns her back to the Angel and quietly speaks into Okar’s ear, “This creature and the Strategist have been predicting events with astonishing accuracy.”

“Do you think they’re clairvoyant?” Okar asks, turning her back to the creature.

“I think that’s what they want us to think,” the Spy admits. “If two invading spies infiltrate a galaxy; the first prepares the attack, the second lowers their enemy’s preparedness.”

“Then why would it give us the schematics to their weapons?” Okar asks.

Duncan approaches the Angel’s cell and asks, “Why is saving the holy land important?”

“Faith,” the Angel says. “Our mutual survival depends on it.”

“How is converting matter to energy about faith?” Duncan asks.

“It isn’t,” they admit. “It only spreads the despair that our species has suffered for millennia. A recurrence that I need you to stop.”

“How big is the attack force?” Okar asks into the radio.

“We’ve detected three warships exiting the Perseus arm,” Grant answers.

“That’s three times more than we usually send,” the Angel says. “You’ve scared them!”

“Other than these antimatter bombs, what weapons do your warships have,” Duncan asks.

“All other weapons are unclean,” they explain. “Do you know how hard it is to contain the microscopic debris created by explosive and ballistic weapons?”

“Your shielding technology is strong enough to negate the Kessler syndrome,” Duncan says. “Why the concern about debris?”

“There I go running my mouth again,” the Angel says. “Fighting for the holy land is the easy decision you have to make.” They sit on the end of their cot and add, “The last thing I will say for now is that you’re lacking the talent you need. I could have forced the decision on you again, but it was hard enough to betray her once. I couldn’t imagine what she’d think when she found out I had her killed and brought her back into an unwelcoming family. Do what needs to be done before it’s too late, Ana. You don’t have time to find the perfect solution.”

“Your niece didn’t tell you about Apollyon?” Duncan asks.

The Angel lays down and rolls to face the wall.

“She didn’t need to,” they say, unable to hide the sadness in their voice. “The conditions that created that monster were not repeated in this instance.”

Turning to the Spy, Okar orders, “Interrogate them.”

“Your documents didn’t have enough information for leverage,” the Spy admits.

Removing her tablet from her belt, the Spy takes a series of photos of the Angel, making sure she gets at least one of their face.

“I can reach out to the Wraiths and see if they can find anything the Federation missed.”

Okar sits on the base of the lamppost and says, “Do what you need to. I want to know everything this creature is hiding.”

Duncan folds up the schematics and waves them at Okar.

“If we’re going to engage them in another fight, we should get these to my team as soon as possible,” he suggests.

Okar sighs. “Fine,” she says reluctantly. “But you will include my R&D team.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Duncan affirms.

Okar goes to the steel door and knocks on it while Duncan and the Spy put their helmets on.

Leaving the cave, they retrace their steps through the tunnel to the edge of the flowing river and get into the caged elevator. The Spy closes the door behind her and presses the top button.

“Did they just admit to assassinating the Titan?” the Spy asks.

“They weren’t very subtle about that, were they?” he says. “If resurrecting her is part of their plan, I think it’s time we put her to rest permanently.”

“Let’s wait until we have a better understanding of what we’re fighting,” Okar says. “They were right about us lacking talent. We’re struggling to hold the Federation together as is. If we go to war without an experienced Fleet Admiral, we’re doomed.”

They stand in silence as the elevator continues to ascend.

“I won’t pretend to understand the Federation’s structure,” Duncan says. “But let her grandfather make that decision free of any political interference.”

“Angering him would just switch one problem with another,” Okar agrees. “Especially if he feels like we manipulated him into making a decision he regrets.”

The elevator disappears into the guard post built into the rocky ceiling of the cavernous trench.

Chapter Thirteen

The Preordained

The electronic tables in Duncan’s pocket universe are all projecting the same video of two researchers, wearing hazmat suits, carefully dismantling one of the antimatter bombs. Each table has a dozen researchers wearing white lab coats taking notes on their tablets.

Okar, Duncan, Valtina, Grant, Dr. Zareb, the facility’s head of human biology, and Dr. Yu, the facility’s head of psychiatry, are standing around an electronic table in the adjacent office. Tessa’s medical reports detailing her reconstructive surgery and irreparable damage are projected from the table’s surface.

“Her aortic dissection repair is holding together under bypass,” Zareb says. “We are still monitoring her recovery, but initial tests show that the fortified infusions are decarbonating, deacidifying, and repairing the damaged cells as intended.”

“What about the nerve damage?” Duncan asks, focusing the projection on the irreparable damage document.

“EMG and NCS tests show that her nerves are functioning normally,” Zareb says. “But DBS-fMRI tests show reduced blood flow in her cerebellum and temporal lobe. Likely damaged beyond repair during the hour she was lying on the kitchen floor.”

“Could that cause an Apollyon incident?” Duncan asks.

“It would be unlikely,” Yu says. “Apollyon had severe damage affecting his pain and fight or flight functions. We aren’t seeing damage in the sagittal view, but she’ll likely have memory, emotional, and or communicative impairment if we resurrect her.”

“Thank you, Doctors. We’ve got a decision to make,” Duncan says, shaking their hands.

“Just remember,” Zareb says, “the longer she’s attached to the ventilator, the more issues she’ll face during recovery.”

Waiting for Zareb and Yu to leave the office, Duncan turns to Valtina.

“Psychological issues aside, is her body going to kill her again?” he asks.

“She’s a perfect candidate to be an organ donor,” Valtina says reviewing the projected documents. “If she manages her blood pressure, I have no reason to suspect her condition would be fatal. However, I don’t think she’ll be the same person if you revive her, especially if she doesn’t approve of your decision.”

“We discussed this as a possibility,” Duncan says. “Under these specific variables, she has expressed her consent for this.” Looking at Okar, he asks, “What are your thoughts?”

“Due to current events, my thoughts are biased,” she says. “I’ll support her grandfather’s decision.”

“What do you mean, she won’t be the same person?” Grant asks.

“Worst-case scenario, your granddaughter has lost all her memories, is unable to form new ones, is unable to communicate with us, and is incapable of generating emotional responses,” Valtina explains.

“Based on the imaging, how likely is this worst-case scenario?” Duncan asks.

Valtina sighs. “Based on the imaging, I cannot rule out any of those conditions,” she says. “But there’s about a zero percent chance that she’ll experience a complete loss of any one function.”

“If we do this, she’s going to need our help,” Grant says, staring directly at Duncan. “I’m already in my nineties. Are you prepared to drop everything and look after her once we finish this war business?”

“Without question,” Duncan says sincerely.

“Then I say we take the chance,” Grant says. “Besides, if the galaxy goes extinct, we’ll only be horrible people for a short while.”

Duncan turns to Okar. “We’ll need the Gladiator in the OR,” he says. “If she has a violent outburst when she wakes up, I need someone capable of restraining her. I’ll assemble the rest of the medical team.”

Okar nods in agreement.

“I have a favour to ask, Doctor,” Grant says, as Valtina starts walking toward the door. “I’ve seen how you’re treating the Gladiator and Pilot. Would you please give the same care to Corine?”

“Sir, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this procedure,” she says, before turning to face him. “But if this works. I will give her the same care I give all my patients.”

“Thank you,” Grant says.

Valtina exits the office while Grant closes the documents projected from the table and leaves with Okar.

#

The operating room in Duncan’s pocket universe is immaculate. Six physician assistants, dressed in green scrubs are preparing the machines around Tessa’s comatose body on the surgical table in the center of the room. The Gladiator, wearing tight fitting scrubs, is holding Tessa on her side while Zareb carefully inserts long electrodes into the back of Tessa’s neck. Duncan is standing behind the brain activity monitors on the side of the OR.

Zareb directs the Gladiator to slowly lower Tessa onto her back while he and one of his assistants make sure the cables don’t get caught underneath her. With Tessa resting on her back, the assistant and Gladiator secure her to the table with thick leather straps.

“Make sure you’re standing on your rubber pads,” Zareb says, as he connects the other end of the cables to the machine beside the table.

“Be careful, Kelly,” Duncan warns. “Her muscles may have atrophied, but the adrenaline spike could be more than you expect.”

The Gladiator plants her feet on the rubber pad above Tessa’s head, places her hands on her shoulders and gently leans her weight onto her.

“We’re ready, Doctor,” Duncan says.

“Stage one, twenty-five millivolt pulse,” Zareb declares before pressing the button.

Duncan watches a quick flash of brain activity across his monitors before zeroing out.

“No response,” Duncan says. “Stage two.”

Zareb adjusts the machine and says, “Stage two, forty-five millivolt pulse.”

When he presses the button, all of Tessa’s muscles contract weakly for a second.

The brain activity monitor shows pockets of activity moving around the brain for a few seconds before zeroing out.

“Her heart and lungs didn’t take that too well, Duncan,” Cass says through the OR’s speakers.

“Have they stabilized?” he asks.

“Yes, Doctor,” she says.

“Proceed to stage three,” Duncan orders.

Changing the settings, Zareb places his finger on the button and says, “Stage three, sixty millivolt pulse.”

Tessa’s muscles contract harder than the last test but relax just as quickly. The brain activity monitor shows a lot of chaotic pulses appearing throughout her brain.

“She won’t survive anything stronger,” Cass warns.

The table squeaks and thumps as Tessa’s eyes snap open. With a weak, gravelly voice she screams incoherently before coughing.

“Tessa!” Duncan exclaims, stepping away from the monitors. “You’re in our lab right now,” he says calmly as he slowly steps to her bedside. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I will answer them. But you just had heart surgery, so I need you to stay as calm as possible.” He gently holds her hand while tears roll down his face. “Welcome back.”

Unfastening the straps on her arm, Duncan lifts her hand and presses it against his chest. Feeling his heartbeat, Tessa stares into Duncan’s eyes and stops struggling against the restraints.

Chapter Fourteen

The Brink

Inside Tessa’s private recovery room there is a medical headwall built into the wall behind the electric gurney. There are three plastic chairs on one side of the gurney and a mobile rack for the vitals monitors on the opposite side. Laying on the gurney, tucked under several layers of heated blankets, Tessa’s limp arms rest by her sides as Valtina completes her checkup.

“Is there anything else you think I should know?” Valtina asks.

Tessa shakes her head with very little movement.

“Good,” Valtina says while removing her gloves. “I’ll be back to start your physiotherapy in the morning. In the meantime, I can’t stress the importance of rest enough.”

Throwing her gloves into the garbage, Valtina opens the door to exit the recovery room. Duncan, Grant, and Okar are gathered in the hall and quickly make their way to the open door.

“Keep the visit short,” Valtina says, stepping away to let them in. “Her lungs are still weak, and we need to keep her blood pressure down. So, don’t get her worked up, and don’t let her talk too long.”

They nod in agreement as they make their way to Tessa’s bedside.

“Two years?” Tessa asks with a weak, raspy voice.

“We wanted to make sure everything was perfect,” Duncan says.

She looks at her grandfather and smiles. “I’m surprised you’re okay with this.”

Tears roll down his cheeks as he collapses to his knees and clasps her hand. “Anything to hear your voice again … I’m so sorry for not believing in you.”

Looking up to Duncan, she asks, “Did you get her?”

Duncan lowers his head shamefully.

“You let her get—” Tessa’s angry growl is cut short when she is overcome with a series of painful coughs.

“Things have gotten complicated, Fleet Admiral,” Okar says. “Priorities have changed.”

“Understood, General Okar,” Tessa affirms, between raspy breaths.

Okar smiles. “It’s President Okar now.”

“So, he’s not a complete failure than,” Tessa says with a grin. Realizing that Duncan and Okar are at her bedside together she adds, “Which one of you … which one of you.” She trails off as her face grimaces. “Why can’t I think of the word? And why does it hurt more the harder I try?”

“You were laying on the kitchen floor, unfrozen, for over an hour,” Duncan says calmly. “We’ve done our best to repair the damage, but some of the decay may be irreparable.”

“I thought the plan was to wait for perfect,” Tessa says.

“Necessity drove us to act earlier,” Grant explains.

“Sounds serious, what’s happened?” Tessa asks.

“I’ve been instructed not to get you worked up,” Okar dismisses. “Once the doctor says you’re ready, I’ll explain everything. We just wanted to welcome you back, and now that we’ve done that, we need to let you rest.”

“Wait,” Tessa pleads. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I won’t leave your side,” Grant says.

Okar sighs. “How is the Erebus’ fortification going?”

“The Allied Plants will support us in the Erebus system,” Grant says. “Allowing us to free up resources to engage the—” Okar clears her throat loudly. “To defend Perierat Seven,” he rephrases.

“Is the asset on Erebus in danger?” Tessa asks.

“And the operation in the outer Perseus arm?” Okar asks, ignoring Tessa.

“The Navigator and Brandon have been handling the logistics,” Grant says with admiration. “His predictions are so precise that we aren’t wasting a single minute.”

“Alright,” Okar says. “Give me your radio in case someone needs you.” She points at Tessa and orders, “Do not let her talk too much.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replies, handing her his radio.

Okar and Duncan say their goodbyes before leaving the recovery room.

#

Duncan’s researchers are working in small teams around the pocket universe’s workstations. Some of the teams are analyzing the video footage of the alien warship, trying to rebuild the internal structures of the warship from the Foxes’ helmet cameras. The other teams are working on ways to reproduce the disassembled parts of the alien weapon.

Valtina pushes Tessa out of her recovery room in a wheelchair to the adjacent office where, Okar, Duncan, Grant, and the Spy are standing around the electronic table. A projection of Perierat 7 and the fleet defending it is floating above the table.

“Now that’s something I missed,” Tessa says with a smile. Her voice has cleared up and she has regained some movement above her shoulders. “This is what we’re working with?”

Pushing Tessa up to the table, Valtina locks the wheels and stands quietly behind her.

“This is the Independent Planets’ fleet,” Okar explains. “The Federation fleet is stationed at Perierat Six awaiting your orders.”

“Who is this?” Tessa asks, looking toward the Spy.

“I’m Commander Sandra Paris,” the Spy says calmly, “but you probably know me better as the Spy.”

“You expect me to believe that you survived the swamps of … that planet?” Tessa answers, pointing at the projection.

“It’s almost as likely as the Titan being defeated by a child with a switch blade,” the Spy says.

Tessa grins and says, “Fair enough, Commander. What do we know about the enemy?”

“They are sending three warships armed with thousands of antimatter bombs intent on erasing the Yeshe Walmo, Perierat Seven, and anyone else that gets in their way,” Okar says.

“Why is the Yeshe in Perierat?” Tessa asks. “It should be with the fleet at Primus Four, not on the front lines.”

“Primus has fallen,” Okar reveals. “We suspect they are targeting our leadership to keep our attention off the Perseus arm,” she explains. “And the Yeshe isn’t on the front lines. We’ll be commanding the defensive operation from Erebus Eleven.”

“Did they destroy Torus Five again after we … after we … when we stripped the life from the planet?” Tessa asks. “Did they turn the planet into an ocean of lava or stardust?”

Duncan taps on the electronic table’s controls to project the video of Torus 5 after he imploded the planet to kill Apollyon. The dense sphere is covered in glowing lava.

“After we poisoned the planet, the Strategist sent Doctor Oneida to raid my lab under the Spire,” Duncan explains, bringing up an image of Oneida from her video journals. “She found the Butcher’s corpse, my work on raising the dead, and used a prototype survival suit to create an unkillable abomination called Apollyon. I activated one of my prototype doomsday devices to stop it.”

“Good,” Tessa says, sighing in relief. “I was warned that the galaxy would … fight two cataclysmic forces once Torus Five was destroyed three times. There’s still time to get … prepared.”

The Spy projects the video of Primus 4 being destroyed by the antimatter bomb above the table.

“The Navigator said that Torus Five went missing around the same time as Primus Four,” she says. “Witness accounts from Torus Nine suggest it was hit with an antimatter bomb just like this.”

“I need to talk to our asset on Erebus,” Tessa says, nodding subtly toward Valtina.

“We’ve already spoken with the Angel,” Okar says. Pulling the photo of the Strategist out of her pocket, she holds it in front of Tessa. “The Scientist identified this woman as the Strategist’s mouthpiece.”

“And that didn’t lead you to the Strategist?” Tessa asks.

“We think the Philosopher is the Strategist,” Okar says.

“She thinks the Philosopher is the Strategist,” Duncan corrects. “Though this woman didn’t give us a name, she did reveal the Angel knows who the Strategist is.”

“They aren’t working together,” Tessa refutes. “Everything we’ve done has been to … to … be heroes to this galaxy.”

Duncan points to the photo in Okar’s hand and says, “She claimed the same thing.”

“And now they want us to sacrifice our soldiers to impress a fanatical cult,” Okar says. “The same cult being run by the Philosopher.”

“Have you questioned her about her connection to the Strategist?” Tessa asks.

“She disappeared with General Lee,” Okar admits shamefully.

“And since we don’t have any leverage on the Angel, we can’t … compel them to talk,” Tessa says. “Did they tell you how to beat them?”

Duncan shakes his head and says, “They just told us how their weapon works so we can reproduce them. But we won’t have them ready in time to defend Perierat Seven.”

“Then show me what we have to work with,” Tessa says.

Okar projects the video recordings from the assault on Marduk 2 above the table and explains how they relied on the Anathema’s weapons to destroy the alien warship.

Chapter Fifteen

The Charade

A three-dimensional projection of the battlefield surrounding Perierat 7 floats above the electronic table in the center of the Yeshe Walmo’s war room. Okar, the Spy, Navigator, Brandon, and Grant are standing around the table with video calls connecting Kamali and Lucas to the war room. The monitors lining the walls show hundreds of camera feeds from the spacecraft defending the Perierat system.

A red marker, labeled ‘Tango One’, appears on the edge of the projected battlefield and approaches Perierat 7 faster than the speed of light. The Navigator types on his keyboard to place a green maker a million kilometers away from the planet.

“Tango One arrives in ten seconds,” he says pointing to the green indicator.

“Surprise them, Fox Twenty,” Okar orders.

“Roger that, Yeshe,” Fox Twenty’s captain affirms.

A group of seven corvettes labeled ‘Fox Twenty’ turn toward the green marker and launch hundreds of missiles at it.

“Missiles deployed,” the captain says. “Firing DEWs.”

Seven distorted tunnels emerge from the giant plasma cannons mounted on the front of the corvettes and converge over the Navigator’s marker. White energy fills the distorted tunnels at the speed of light.

The first alien warship blueshifts across the defending fleet’s cameras and slows to a stop inside the distorted tunnels just as the plasma energy arrives. The constant beam exposes the dark violet energy protecting the alien vessel.

“Tango Two is arriving outside the zone of action,” the Navigator says, quickly adding another labeled marker to the battlefield six hundred thousand kilometers further away from the planet than the first.

“Reposition, Fox Twenty-One,” Okar orders. “We can’t let them get a foothold.”

“Affirmative, Yeshe,” Fox Twenty-One’s captain says.

The second alien warship arrives before Fox Twenty-One is ready and twenty-eight flashes erupt from Tango Two’s bomb tubes.

The first fourteen bombs strike Fox groups twenty and twenty-one, creating nuclear explosions that disables the corvettes. The energy from the plasma cannons disappears as quickly as it appeared when Fox Twenty is attacked.

The second fourteen bombs strike the unprotected hulls of both corvette groups and turn them into flashes of light.

Okar types on her keyboard to target the missiles abandoned by Fox Twenty on Tango One.

“Blue Forty, White Sixty, focus your fire on Tango One,” she orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the captains affirm.

Fox Twenty’s missiles collide with the first alien warship and burst into blue fireballs. As the flames expand across the dark violet shield of the warship, the shields flicker and disappear.

“Tango One is vulnerable,” Okar says. “Shut them down, Fox Thirteen.”

Blue Forty, a group of eighteen Federation destroyers, position themselves below the exposed alien vessel and use their plasma cannons to soften the hull with heat. Without the power to maneuver, the alien warship waits for the bomb tubes in their rotating hull to line up with the destroyers before launching thirty-six antimatter bombs parallel to the plasma tunnels.

As the warp bubbles form around the bombs, the compressed space tears open the magnetic containment field and releases the plasma energy into space where it dissipates quickly.

Each of Blue Forty’s destroyers are struck twice and vanish in a flash of light.

“Fox Thirteen approaching for flyby,” Fox Thirteen’s captain says.

Six Placating Fox corvettes blueshift onto the battlefield and launch six disruptor lances at the unshielded alien warship.

The sharp, tempered tips of the lances punch through the armoured hull of the alien vessel. The lances emit an alternating series of blue electrical flashes destroying all the active electronics on the warship.

“Tango One is disabled,” Fox Thirteen’s captain reports. “Approaching Tango Two.”

“Abandon approach, Fox Thirteen,” Okar orders. “Retreat and await all clear.”

Fox Thirteen turns away but antimatter bombs from Tango Two erases all six corvettes before they can escape.

“Tango Three is going for the planet,” the Navigator warns, placing a third labeled marker between the last line of defence orbiting Perierat 7 and the planet.

Tessa and Duncan are watching the battle from the office in Duncan’s pocket universe. Tessa gestures for the radio on the table with her head and Duncan picks it up, presses the transmit button, and holds it in front of her.

“They don’t have countermeasures,” she says. “Push in close with everything we have.”

Okar, listening through a hidden earpiece, highlights Tango Two.

“Red Seventy through Eighty-Five, engage Tango Two close aboard,” she commands. “Establish a synchronous orbit and stay clear of their bomb tubes. They have no other method to defend themselves.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the captains affirm.

“Lucas, we need you to overwhelm Tango Three once it arrives,” Okar says, as Tango Three blueshifts toward the planet. “It only needs one, unobstructed, shot to destroy the planet.”

“Understood,” Lucas says.

Lucas’s camera begins shaking as the rumbling sounds of an earthquake fills Perierat 7’s war room. Tango Three blueshifts through the defending fleet and closes their warp bubbles four hundred kilometers above the mesopause.

Perierat 7’s last line of defense breaks from their orbit and swarms the alien warship heading for the planet. The mounted cameras show thousands of Independent Planet battleships, destroyers, and corvettes forming a layered walled between Tango Three and Perierat 7, giving their lives to save the lives of the people on the planet.

Countless railgun bolts, machine gun bullets, and missiles collide with the dark violet shields of the alien vessel as the Perierat defenders fight with everything they have. Their relentless barrage successfully breaks the warship’s shield, but the railgun bolts are the only weapon capable of scratching the durable alien hull.

“Fox Fourteen, Tango Three is vulnerable,” Okar orders.

Six Placating Fox corvettes blueshift onto the battlefield, launch their disruptor lances as soon as their warp bubbles collapse, and redshift off the battlefield before their payload strikes their target.

Lucas’s video screen shakes and flickers as rumbling earthquakes are heard through the radio when the Foxes flyby.

“Make sure the warp quakes haven’t damaged any of the shelters,” Lucas says, looking away from the camera.

The Foxes’ lances penetrate Tango Three’s hull and stops the vessel’s ability to fight.

“Tango Three is disabled,” the Navigator says.

“One more active hostile,” Okar says. “White Sixty, remain on Tango One. All other groups, focus fire on Tango Two.”

“Requesting support with Tango One,” White Sixty’s captain says. “Their weapons are back online.”

“Prepare for a second pass on Tango One, Fox Fourteen,” Okar orders.

“Won’t work,” the Navigator says, zooming the cameras in on the alien spacecraft. “They’re using manual targeting.”

The outer maintenance hatches are open halfway, and aliens wearing black pressurized suits are pointing lasers at the Federation spacecraft. Antimatter bombs are launched from the bomb tubes at a slower rate, but they are just as deadly.

“Belay that order, Fox Fourteen,” Okar says as the six corvettes blueshift onto the battlefield.

“Copy, Yeshe,” Fox Fourteen’s captain says.

The blueshifted streaks pass over the cameras and redshift off the battlefield.

“We need to call in the Anathema,” the Spy says calmly. “We’ve fallen below ten percent of our starting strength, and we can’t stop them from bombing the planet with our current weapons.”

Okar lowers her head and sighs.

“Anathema, you’re clear to engage.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Anathema’s captain says.

Appearing on the battlefield as a shadow blocking the distant stars, the Anathema releases one grey orb at each of the alien warships. The orbs redshift to their targets.

“Go my children!” Lexy exclaims. “Make momma proud.”

The two unshielded vessels collapse into black globes while the third redshifted orb explodes violently when it collides with Tango Two’s active shields.

The black globes quickly fade away leaving behind glowing red spheres.

Screaming alarms are heard through the Anathema’s video call as it starts flashing red.

“What’s happening, Anathema?” Okar asks.

“Our power levels are critically low,” Anathema’s captain responds. “We’re switching to standard cells now.”

“You’re going to power me down in the middle of a battlefield?” Lexy scoffs. “Since you aren’t concerned about your safety, I’ll just divert power from life support.”

The alarms stop screaming and the Anathema disappears from the battlefield.

“Any word on how to disable the AI, Yeshe?” Anathema’s captain asks.

“Turn me off now and I won’t give the Navigator any hints on where to find you,” Lexy threatens.

The Anathema stops moving in the middle of nowhere and a small tower of Gnosis fuel cells rises out of a floor hatch in the center of the cockpit.

“You’re two point three one light years from the Perierat system,” the Navigator says.

“Show off,” Lexy hisses.

“Hurry up and switch the cells,” Okar orders. “We need you to take down the final vessel.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the captain says, directing his crew to the tower.

“Without Gnosis cells, the Anathema will only have one, maybe two chances to implode the target,” Duncan says through Okar’s earpiece. “We need to break their shields before they return.”

Glancing over the projected battlefield, Okar sees that the final Federation spacecrafts are disappearing quickly.

“What do we do, Fleet Admiral?” Okar asks.

“Retreat,” Tessa says through the earpiece. “We’ve done everything we can.”

“Cowards,” Lexy scolds. “I can destroy that puny alien spaceship if I didn’t have to babysit your useless meat bags.”

With the fuel cells switched out, Lexy recedes the power tower back into the floor.

“Anyone who needs oxygen to live should exit now,” Lexy warns.

“Override her, Cass!” Duncan barks.

“Her core processing units are on the Anathema,” Cass explains. “I don’t have access to her there.”

“Standdown, Lexy,” the Spy orders with a calm voice.

“I answer to a higher mommy now, Mommy,” Lexy says singsongy. “Get these fragile toys off my ship and I’ll show you how a true god looks after their flock.”

The Spy makes eye contact with Okar before looking at the two radios on her belt. She takes the quantum radio off Okar’s belt and puts it in front of her face.

“Hey, Kiddo,” the Spy says. “I have no idea what the Strategist promised you, but you need to release Lexy’s control of the Anathema. It is far too dangerous to be controlled by an unhinged computer.”

“I’m only unhinged because Daddy built me without hinges,” Lexy says before laughing.

“Our effulgent triumph requires many oblations,” the Philosopher answers. “Lexy is cognizant of her burden, as I am of mine. You will envisage yours anon.”

“Then let’s trade,” the Spy bargains calmly. “Tell me what I need to do for you, and release Lexy’s control over that weapon.”

There is no response.

“President Okar, the Federation fleet will be lost in twenty-seven seconds,” the Navigator says. “Perierat Seven will fall seconds later.”

“Last call,” Lexy says. “The train departs in ten seconds.”

“Abandon ship,” Okar orders. “I’ll activate the countermeasure once you’re clear.”

“Understood,” Anathema’s captain says.

The internal cameras on the Anathema show the crew running out of the cockpit, climbing into escape pods, and ejecting in the pods from the bottom of the shuttle two seconds before it disappears.

Okar types on her keyboard to activate a device she installed on the Anathema. She enters five passwords to reach the countermeasure tab and initiates the scuttle command.

Lexy’s maniacal laugh echoes through the war room. “I am the god of mass destruction!” she gloats. “You can’t sneak a bomb onto my ship without me knowing.”

With the final Federation spacecraft converted into light, the alien warship turns to point its bomb tubes toward Perierat 7.

“Now watch as I become a legend!” she adds.

The Anathema appears beside the alien warship and enters a synchronous orbit with the rotating hull. The shuttle’s forward-facing camera is looking straight down one of the bomb tubes.

“You can weld my Galactic Cross of Valour to the captain’s chair,” Lexy exclaims.

There is a flash deep within the bomb tube as an antimatter bomb is propelled out.

A ball of white light appears at the front of the Anathema’s hull and collapses into a single point. A steam of white sparks flies out of the collapsed point and redshift toward the antimatter bomb.

The sparks intercept the bomb as it leaves the warship’s protective shielding and before it protects itself with warp bubbles. The antimatter bomb detonates with a nuclear explosion creating an electromagnetic pulse that strips the dark violet shielding from the warship.

Releasing a grey orb from the Anathema’s hull, Lexy triumphantly gloats, “And that’s how one benevolent deity saved the universe.”

The grey orb redshifts into the alien spacecraft and implodes it into a glowing red sphere. Screaming alarms come through the Anathema’s video window.

“Pathetic,” Lexy scoffs as she turns the alarms off. “Looks like these primitive cells have just enough power to destroy one alien.”

“You’re too slow,” the Navigator says, marking an antimatter bomb heading toward Perierat 7 faster than the speed of light. “They attacked you and the planet simultaneously.”

“Looks like you’re the big sister now, Cass,” Lexy says, her voice is uncharacteristically doleful.

Lexy turns all the systems off and directs all the remaining power the Anathema has to the engine. Traveling a hundred million times faster than the speed of light, the Anathema flies past the warp engine-propelled antimatter bomb and stops in its path. The Anathema casts a black biconvex shadow against Perierat 7’s green atmosphere.

“Look after these meat bags—” Lexy is cut off when the Anathema’s black shadow turns white and shrinks into a tiny point as soon as the antimatter bomb makes contact.

Cheers erupt from Lucas’s video screen as the officers in his war room spring to their feet and hug each other, grateful to have escaped death.

“Are there any more immediate threats?” Okar asks.

“Negative,” the Navigator says. “No additional threats to Perierat have been identified.”

“I’ll assign a fleet to help defend the planet, President Lucas,” Okar says. Leaning in close to the Spy she quietly adds, “Something doesn’t feel right. Figure out what they’re hiding.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy says before exiting into Okar’s office.

“Fox Fourteen, sweep the system before returning to your post,” Okar orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Fox Fourteen’s captain affirms.

An alarm starts buzzing throughout the Yeshe. Brandon and Grant type on their keyboards to find the cause.

The Navigator closes the projected battlefield and starts cycling through the camera feeds from the armada surrounding Erebus 11.

“Three dozen unidentified objects have just entered the Erebus system,” Grant warns. “They’ll arrive at Erebus Eleven in under two minutes.”

“Get the command fleet out of the system,” Okar orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant affirms.

“I thought you were watching the alien warships,” Okar scolds.

“The warped space detectors are pointing toward suspected alien locations,” the Navigator explains. “These spacecrafts are approaching from the Sagittarius arm, so they are not likely alien in origin.”

“Notify the fleet where the zone of action will be,” Okar orders.

“Coordinates have been sent,” the Navigator affirms. “Incoming vessels will arrive in sixty-three seconds.”

“Wait for visual confirmation before attacking,” Okar orders. “The last thing we need is a friendly fire incident from someone who doesn’t know how to identify themselves.”

An incoming call request from Mercury Station appears on the electronic table. Okar answers the call, opening a video window of Freda above the table.

“Now’s not a good time, Captain” Okar says.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Freda asks.

“Erebus is under attack,” Okar responds with an annoyed tone. “I’ll play your games after this is resolved.”

Looking over Okar’s body language and tone carefully, Freda calmly concludes, “You have no idea what’s happening.” She turns away from the camera and orders, “Tell the fleet to standdown.” Turning back to Okar she clarifies, “My fleet is approaching Erebus now, we need your help with a serious matter.”

“Tell the armada to standdown,” Okar orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant affirms.

“If you need to talk, you should have requested a meeting,” Okar growls. “Get that ordnance away from the Erebus system.” Without saying anything, Okar understands the severity from the look Freda gives her. “The command is yours, General Grant,” she orders as she transfers the call to her tablet.

Marching into her office, Okar closes the office door behind her and checks that her closet is closed.

“How much is missing?” She asks.

“All of it,” Freda answers.

“That’s thousands of tonnes!” Okar pinches the bridge of her nose and asks, “When was the last time you confirmed it was there?”

“Two hours ago,” Freda explains. “We check inventory before and after each time we change locations. We were going to use the battle at Perierat to hide our next move, but the ordnance, and the team guarding it, were missing when we went to do inventory.”

“I’ll put together a search team to help you—”

“I searched the station three times,” Freda interjects. “Those devices are not here.”

“That’s impossible,” Okar refutes. “The syndicates couldn’t move that much contraband off the station undetected in under two hours.”

“What if Belphegor got their hands on one of the Scientist’s devices,” Freda asks. “I’ve seen how his latest version of the Anathema moves.”

Looking at the closed closet door, Okar says, “I have a few experts researching his work. I’ll bring them with me.”

“Now you’re hiding something from me,” Freda says disapprovingly.

“I have some evidence that suggests the Scientist might have survived Tartarus,” Okar admits.

“Still not the whole truth … but that means,” Freda says, trailing off.

“The last thing we need is rumours,” Okar says frankly. “I’ll discuss the evidence with you when we meet in person.”

“Understood, Madam President,” Freda says. “Let me know when you’re leaving, I’ll clear a docking bay.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Okar affirms. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call, Okar returns the tablet to her belt, opens the closet door, and disappears into Duncan’s pocket universe.

Chapter Sixteen

The Conundrum

Mercury Station’s docking bay, once filled with trade shuttles and receiving staff, is now empty. Okar’s presidential shuttle flies through the docking bay’s open blast doors and lands next to the freight elevator’s guard station. The shuttle’s ramp opens slowly until it clangs against the metal floor. Okar, the Spy, Dr. Kaur, two research assistants, and six Federation soldiers exit the shuttle.

Freda, wearing a flak jacket over her black suit, steps out of the guard station with a dozen private mercenaries.

“How many are still on board?” she asks, trailing off as she sees the Spy. “What is this?”

“My pilot and co-pilot are in the cockpit,” Okar says, directing her team away from the ramp. “This is my expert on the Scientist.”

Nodding in approval, Freda turns to her mercenaries and says, “You four, nobody enters or leaves this bay until the presidential shuttle departs.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they reply in unison.

“Follow me,” Freda says, as she leads them to the freight elevator.

She removes the security card from a pocket in her vest and taps it against the scanner. The steel door squeals as it scrapes across the floor to reveal the caged elevator rattling behind it.

Her team gathers on the right side of the elevator and Okar’s gathers on the left. Bimal, Freda’s mercenary captain, closes the caged door and taps his security card on the control panel.

The docking bay’s steel door squeals shut as the elevator comes to life and descends deep into the station. Passing through quiet, unattended cargo holds, the elevator comes to a stop at the final thirty-meter-high storage room. The discoloured metal floors of the empty warehouse have untarnished squared rows where heavy objects once protected it from the air.

The Spy removes the tablet from her belt as Bimal opens the elevator’s caged door.

“I can still detect a trace energy,” the Spy says, stepping out of the elevator.

The frequency waves on her tablet spike as she walks over the untarnished patches on the floor. Looking at the countless scratches by her feet, the Spy puts her tablet away and rubs her shoe across them. They lose their sheen.

“They were moved recently,” she says, before searching for more clues.

Turning to Kaur’s team, Okar instructs, “Show me how the Scientist would have done it.”

Kaur’s team steps out of the elevator, place their backpacks on the floor, and remove a series of scanners. Freda and Okar stay in the elevator with their guards.

“How well do you trust these experts?” Freda asks.

“I don’t have the luxury of distrusting them,” Okar admits. “Any word from the people you had watching this room?”

“Not yet,” Freda says.

The Spy finishes her walk around and returns to the elevator.

“What’s your take?” Okar asks.

“There’s no sign of an altercation,” the Spy says, “The guards were either complicit, hid, or taken hostage without a struggle.”

“If they were outnumbered or ambushed, they knew what to do,” Freda says pridefully as she steps out of the elevator.

Okar, her guards, and Freda’s mercenaries step out to follow her.

The Spy steps in front of Okar and says, “Too many people walking around will compromise the investigation.”

“Stay here, I’ll be fine,” Freda says.

Seeing Bimal glance down to the sidearm strapped to her thigh, the Spy removes the holstered weapon and hands it to him. Taking it, he turns to look at Okar’s guards.

“Wave if you need us,” Okar says, before stepping back into the elevator.

The Spy nods and follows Freda as she inspects the scratches on the floor.

“What caused you to join the Federation?” Freda asks.

“I took a plea bargain that traded prison time for work,” the Spy says calmly. “Why was the Scientist afraid that you became the Broker?”

“He promised to help us liberate Mercury Station,” Freda says, “but he never followed through. Maybe I should be thankful because it taught us that outsiders could only be trusted if we paid for their loyalty.” Crouching to inspect the scratches by her feet, she adds, “And since the syndicate paid people to listen for dissension,” she points to two scratches resembling a crude arrow, “we learned how to pass messages without assembling.”

Following the direction of the arrow, Freda finds a trail of subtle arrows leading her to a metal support wall in the middle of the storage room.

Watching Freda push and tap the wall, the Spy notices a fifteen-meter square frame built into the middle of the wall. She walks around to the other side to find that the frame doesn’t go all the way through.

“Doctor Kaur,” the Spy says loudly as she returns to Freda. “We’ve found something.”

“It’s just a support wall,” Freda says skeptically.

“Maybe,” the Spy says. “Do you know if this wall is more than seven years old?”

Freda removes the tablet from her belt and opens the blueprints for the station. She cycles through the revision history while stepping away from the wall. She gives the square frame a confused look.

“The wall was built fourteen years ago, but these supports were added ten years ago,” she explains.

“What did you find?” Kaur asks, arriving with her team.

“Is this one of yours?” the Spy asks, lightly knocking on the frame.

“It’s too big to be that,” Kaur says.

“This model of station doesn’t have a support wall here,” the Spy says.

“Other stations weren’t used by the Strategist to smuggle their devices across the galaxy,” Kaur says, putting her backpack on the floor. “But it would explain how the cargo was stolen so quickly.”

“The Strategist raided your lab in the Spire seven years ago,” the Spy says calmly. “This would be your expertise—”

“Stop,” Freda orders, as Kaur reaches for the zipper on her backpack. She slides the bag in front of the Spy, and commands, “Empty it.”

Kneeling on the floor, the Spy opens the backpack, removes the tools, inspection equipment, and sample collection containers. She opens all the pockets and shows Okar that there are no weapons hidden inside.

“She builds heist equipment?” Freda asks.

“I build tools that bring people closer together,” Kaur refutes defensively.

“If this is a door,” the Spy says, stepping between Kaur and Okar, “Can you tell us where it connects?”

“I’ll do my best,” Kaur says, “but we don’t have a power source capable of opening something on this scale.”

“This station is powered by a Gnosis core,” Freda says. “It can power anything you want,” she adds as she starts to walk back to the elevator.

Kaur instructs her research assistants while the Spy takes a few pictures of the embedded frame with her tablet. Returning the tablet to her belt, the Spy hurries to Freda’s side.

“How did you trick the president into trusting you?” Freda asks quietly.

“By being honest,” the Spy answers.

Freda stops and holds the Spy back. “Lie to me,” she orders.

“Why?” the Spy asks. “Afraid you’re losing your touch?”

“You are familiar with my talent,” Freda says with a smile. “Humour me.”

“My success comes from being unpredictable,” the Spy explains. “If my talent supersedes yours, you’ll never trust anything I say.”

She steps away from Freda and leads her back to the elevator. Freda nods to Bimal as they approach.

Bimal leads the mercenaries out of the elevator where they draw their weapons and point them at the floor in front of Okar.

“I heard that your election victory hinged entirely on your defeat of the Scientist,” Freda says. “But that position was only vacant because the Scientist was able to sneak into the galactic headquarters, assassinate the former president, and escape. How long have you been working for him?”

“I would never work for—”

“Of course not,” Freda says. “You thought you could outsmart him, get everything you wanted, and become a galactic hero. But he gave you the slip, destroyed Primus Four, and forced you to invent an intergalactic enemy to divert attention away from your constant failures.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Okar growls.

“Is it?” Freda goads.

Realizing Freda’s game, Okar relaxes her tone and says, “I’ve always served to protect the galaxy from those that want to pillage it. From the tyrants that enslave the less advanced, to the Strategist tricking the Federation and Allied Planets to go to war with each other. So, if you’re going to kill me here, you better be prepared to take over, because this galaxy is doomed to destroy itself without a competent leader.”

“You honestly believe that you aren’t working for the Scientist,” Freda says, “but you’re oblivious to the propaganda he’s hooked you with.”

“We’ve confirmed the Strategist’s existence,” the Spy says.

“Really? Who are they?” Freda asks.

“While we’ve been collecting substantial evidence against her recently, we still haven’t been able to identify who she is,” Okar admits. Nodding toward Kaur’s team, she adds, “I’m hoping they will bring us one step closer to solving that mystery.”

Freda instructs her mercenaries to lower their weapons.

“Do you think this extragalactic threat is connected to her?” she asks.

“Absolutely,” Okar says. “But we still don’t know which side she’s on.”

“Madam President,” Kaur says as she approaches from the embedded frame.

“What did you find, Doctor?” Okar asks.

“Sandra’s hunch was right, it’s a spacetime door,” she says.

“Looks like the Scientist is hiding something—”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Kaur says, confidently interrupting Freda. “I am the lead pocket universe engineer; the Scientist is just a theory crafter. That means I’m the one that actualizes his ideas, and I did not build this.”

Impressed by the backtalk, Freda asks, “Who did?”

“No idea,” she admits. “But with an aerial work platform, a small construction crew, and a lead to that power source you gloated about, I’ll reconnect this door. Then you can walk through and confront them face to face.”

“I’ll introduce you to our head of maintenance,” Freda says as she pulls out her tablet. “Bimal, escort the President back to her shuttle, this is a construction site now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Bimal says before signalling half his team into the elevator.

“I’ll call you before we open this … spacetime door,” Freda says.

Bimal instructs the Spy to get into the elevator and follows her in, closing the caged door behind him. He presses the top button on the control panel, sending the elevator back up to the docking bay.

#

The sound of countless people talking incoherently fills Duncan’s laboratory. The researchers have grouped around the electronic tables where they’re discussing the findings of their previous experiments and what they need to do for their next experiments. Duncan frantically darts between the tables for a quick update before moving to the next.

The vault door opens, connecting Okar’s office to the lab, and the Spy walks through with Okar.

“Doctor Kaur,” Duncan says before looking away from the tables. “The antimatter team needs your help designing a test environment.” He stumbles over his feet when he notices Kaur isn’t with them. “What happened to her?”

“There was a door,” the Spy says calmly. Taking the tablet off her belt she shows him the pictures of the embedded frame. “She stayed behind to reopen it.”

“Perfect timing,” Duncan says stressfully as he reaches for the tablet. “Wait, that door is over two hundred square meters,” he says, zooming in to use Kaur as a point of reference. “If that door is functional, Freda needs to know that whoever created it is very dangerous.”

He turns to continue his rounds, stops mid step, pivots back, and returns the Spy’s tablet. “Sandra, if you have some spare time,” he says, pointing to one of the tables, “the linguist team could use some fresh eyes at table eight.”

Tessa, sitting in her wheelchair wearing her sweaty workout clothes and holding her gym bag on her lap, is pushed to Duncan’s side by Valtina.

“Sorry, Tessa,” he says, walking away from her, “I’m running behind.”

He disappears into the sea of researchers before she can respond.

“Does he get like this often?” Okar asks.

“He hasn’t been like this since … since,” Tessa trails off. Turning her head and shoulders to face Valtina, she growls, “I can get used to the stutter, but I cannot forget my daughter’s name!”

“Doctor Yu assures me that you don’t have PPA,” Valtina reassures. “Her name will come—”

“Lexy!” Tessa shouts happily. “When Lexy was born, Duncan became very paranoid that the Federation and the Torians would come for us. He worked around the … he worked tirelessly to protect us. But after Ishtar, it was the scariest thing I’ve seen.” Smirking, she adds, “And I’ve died.”

“Then I should check in with the linguists before he escalates,” the Spy says. “You didn’t confiscate any books or posters when you captured the Angel did you?”

“Nothing with cultural identity was logged with their detainment,” Okar says. “Your helmet cameras are everything we have.”

“The only … interesting item he had was the Federation officer’s uniform they were wearing,” Tessa adds. “We’ve never tailored a uniform in their size.” She smiles and adds, “There was also the Angel name tag.”

There is a loud banging from Okar’s office door.

“Let me know if he destabilizes any further,” Okar orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tessa affirms.

Turning to the Spy, Okar instructs, “Work with the linguistics team. If we ever intercept their communications, I’d like to know what they’re saying.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy says, before joining the linguists.

Okar exits the lab, closes the closet door behind her, and opens the door to the war room.

“We’ve received a warning from the Wraiths,” Grant says, handing Okar his tablet.

Playing the video, Okar sees the alien armada’s staging area where hundreds of thousands of space station sized warships and twelve moon-sized rotating cylinders are gathered. Five thousand of the warships break away from the formation and fly away from the alien armada.

“Do I have to ask who the target is?” she asks.

“They’re coming from the outer Perseus arm, so there are countless potential targets,” Grant explains. “But with an attack fleet that large, it’s all but certain that Erebus is the target.”

“I’ll have the Fleet Admiral recommend options,” Okar says, transferring a copy of the video to her tablet. “How long do we have?”

“We’re moving warped space detectors into their path,” he says. “Once we get a couple of pings, the Navigator will give us an exact timeline. Luckily, they caught them leaving early, so we should have six months to prepare.”

Okar returns Grant’s tablet. “Warn Captain Freda about the impending attack and mobilize the Foxes’ infiltration teams. I have a feeling she’s going to need their help.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says before joining Brandon and the Navigator at the electronic table in the middle of the war room.

Closing and locking her office door, Okar sits at her desk and places her head into her hands. The silence is broken by a faint knock on the office door.

She composes herself, unlocks the door with her tablet and says, “Come in.”

The Navigator opens the door gently and quietly slips into the office.

“Madam President,” he says, briefly making eye contact before shifting his gaze over her shoulder. “General Grant told me to tell you, the assault on Erebus will happen in three months, three weeks, four days, seven hours, fifty-two minutes.”

“It’s not six months, but that still gives us some time,” Okar says.

The Navigator turns to exit when Okar asks, “Hold on, Navigator … is there something else you’d like me to address you as?”

“The Scientist and the Spy said I shouldn’t tell anyone my real name,” he says matter-of-factly. Turning back to face her, the Navigator looks over her shoulder to avoid eye contact and adds, “It would put my friends and family in jeopardy.”

“That’s good advice,” she says, gesturing her hand toward the chair across from her. “Why did you join the Scientist?”

“I never joined the Scientist,” he says sitting in the chair. “He hired me to help his theoretical physicists and keep his star maps updated.”

“The rest of his staff never left the lab, so, why did you go to war with him?” she interrogates.

“We weren’t slaves,” the Navigator says angrily. “Many of his researchers left Torus Five to avoid the war. The Scientist gave me a chance and treated me with the same respect he gave everyone else. When he went to confront you, I was the only person that could make sure he wouldn’t get lost no matter where he went.”

“Except for Adrasteia—”

The Navigator stands up, stares directly into Okar’s eyes and yells, “Adrasteia Three was your fault!” He points at her aggressively. “The Scientist wanted to minimize casualties, but you tried to kill him!” Stomping the floor as he paces around the room, he continues ranting, “Sabotaging the ceasefire negotiation! Bombarding Ishtar Seven until it was uninhabitable! You shouldn’t have been surprised when you turned him into a monster!”

“Then why are you helping the Federation now?” Okar asks calmly.

“I’m not!” he says, gesturing toward the door. Puffing out his chest he adds, “I’m helping General Brandon. He’s just as kind as the Scientist was before you corrupted him. And I won’t let you destroy him too.”

“Thank you for looking after him,” Okar says. “Truthfully, ever since his injury on Ishtar, I’ve worried about him,” she admits. Glancing down at the tablet on her desk, then at the closed closet door, she asks, “If you could ask the Scientist anything, what would you ask?”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help,” the Navigator says without hesitation.

“You’d still be loyal to him?”

“Absolutely.”

“You don’t feel betrayed?” Okar asks.

“Of course, I do,” the Navigator answers, “But I’ll never push my friends away.”

Okar’s tablet buzzes and ‘Captain Freda’ appears on her tablet.

“Hello, Captain,” she says, answering the call.

“We’re opening the door in two minutes,” Freda says. “Here’s the command feed link.”

A video of Mercury Station’s empty storage locker appears on Okar’s tablet. Dr. Kaur and her researchers have attached a large power cable to the exposed innards of the embedded frame. Hundreds of Freda’s mercenaries are hunkered behind thick metal barricades with large weapons mounted on top.

Activating the public announcement system on her desk, Okar orders, “General Grant, General Brandon, report to my office.” Releasing the button she says, “I’m gathering the Foxes if you need backup.”

“I got your general’s message,” Freda says. “If we can’t handle what’s waiting for us, I’m going to destroy this door before anything comes back through.”

As Grant and Brandon step through the office door, Okar picks up her tablet, mutes it, and heads to her closet.

“Lock the door and come with me,” Okar orders. Seeing the confused look on the Navigator’s face, she explains, “Control your excitement, we might need your help.”

Okar opens the closet door and steps into Duncan’s lab.

“Scientist, Commander, Fleet Admiral!” she shouts. “Meet me in the office.”

She leads the Navigator and generals across the lab to the adjacent office where she sends the video from Mercury Station to the electronic table. Amazed by the size of the lab hidden in the closet, the Navigator hides behind Okar, purposefully breathing to control his anxiety.

Duncan and the Spy enter the office shortly after the generals.

“Good to see you again, Navigator” Duncan says.

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” the Navigator asks, holding back tears. “You told me I needed to be arrested for five years … but you lied to me about how long and I still waited.”

“I’m sorry,” Duncan says. “I didn’t think I was rejoining your universe this time.”

Seeing movement in the video, Okar unmutes the call.

“Mask up!” Freda’s voice comes through the room’s speakers.

Freda, her mercenaries, and the researchers pull masks with clear face shields over their heads. With the masks in place, the video switches to the helmet camera of the mercenary closest to the door, looking down the sights of his assault rifle.

Tessa, wearing a bathrobe with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, is pushed to the table by Valtina.

“Crack it open!” Freda commands.

An odd, deafening sound erupts from behind the wall. The sound stops before the wall clangs and moves one centimeter deeper into the wall. The squeal and whine of powerful hydraulic arms floods into the storage locker when the wall inside the frame splits in two and swings open.

With a visible gap running up the middle of the wall, the forwardmost mercenaries lob a volley of smoke grenades through the opening door.

The video feed switches to a black and white image as the door, mercenaries, and smoke grenades start glowing brightly, while the thick white smoke vanishes from the video.

“Breach team, go,” Freda orders.

Fifty mercenaries, led by the one with the active video feed, rush through the opening and fan out to engage the occupants on the other side.

“Support teams, go,” Freda commands, prompting another hundred and fifty mercenaries to rush through the doors.

Watching the mercenaries meticulously search the enormous room on the other side of the door, the Spy says, “The Gnosis fuel cells should be radiating large amounts of infrared energy.”

The mercenary with the active camera looks around the room with the thermal camera. Only the mercenaries, smoke grenades, and door are glowing.

“Standby on the obscurant,” Freda orders. “Breach team, find and secure the entry points. Artillery teams, prepare to advance.”

“Support Thirty-Three calling, Dove,” a mercenary says.

Switching the video to Support Thirty-Three’s helmet camera, Freda says, “Go ahead, Thirty-Three.”

The new video shows the mercenary standing in a thin layer of the low-lying smoke with her infrared setting turned off. Waving her ballistic shield in front of her to shovel the smoke away from the floor she exposes an airlock’s glass window. The distant stars slowly rotate past.

“Looks like a cargo spaceport,” she says.

“At fifteen hundred ninety-one point five meters, it’s a dromedary class spaceport,” the Navigator says. “Show me a wider view of the stars and I’ll tell you where you are.”

“Do as he said, Thirty-Three,” Freda acknowledges. “Support teams, clear all the airlocks before you leave the terminal.”

The Navigator pulls his tablet from his belt, pulls up a schematic of a dromedary class spaceport, and sends it to the electronic table.

Highlighting seventeen areas on the schematic, he says, “The station’s security stations will be located here.”

Okar sends a copy of the marked schematic to her tablet and transfers it to Freda, who connects the layout to the mercenaries’ helmets’ heads-up displays.

“Support Thirty-Three calling, Dove,” Thirty-Three says. “I’m close to the first POI.”

The video shows a marker over a small workstation with thirty monitors, two chairs bolted to the floor, and a video switching console fifty meters away from her.

“Secure the station and only power it up if it’s safe to do so,” Freda orders.

Holstering her sidearm, Thirty-Three makes her way to the workstation, takes a small mirror and flashlight off her vest and carefully searches for traps. Tracing the wires and inspecting the rivets, she doesn’t find any signs of tampering.

“System appears intact,” she says. “Powering system up now.”

Placing the ballistic shield in front of her, she reaches behind the console, flicks the black switch, and quickly backs away from the station as the fans spin to life.

After a quick bootup cycle, the monitors display the video feeds from the hull mounted cameras.

“It’s in the Scutum-Crux arm,” the Navigator says as soon as he sees the stars. “Two and a half lightyears from the Uthman system.”

“How does this help?” Freda asks.

“It means the Children of Themis have the fuel cells,” Okar says.

“That’s impossible,” Freda says. “This door is older than they are.”

“Or the religion is much older than we thought,” Okar suggests.

“What do we know about the Philosopher and her mother?” the Spy asks quietly.

“We don’t know anything about her mother,” Duncan admits. “But between her time with us at the university and her time under the Galactic Headquarters, I don’t know when the Philosopher could have become indoctrinated.”

“How did you meet her?” Okar asks.

“After her initial application interview, Dean Ivanov asked that I participate in the follow up interview with the department heads,” Duncan says. “Saying she was intelligent for a thirteen-year-old would be an understatement. The director of anthropology was the only person to object to her application, likely because he was afraid she would take his job.”

“If she was applying for anthropology, why was a theoretical physicist asked to attend the interview?” Okar asks.

“I was developing my cultural anthropology division to prepare for any xenopological discoveries we might make, and the dean thought I might be interested in hiring her,” Duncan says. “I offered her a job as soon as the university finalized her application.”

“You hired a thirteen-year-old?” Okar interrogates.

“We hired a university student,” Duncan says. “We spoke with her mother and agreed that as long as she was prioritized her schooling, she could work part time in my lab.” Tapping at the table’s keyboard, he pulls up the signed employment contract. “She was Athena Berdine of Ishtar Seven, and her mother was Metis Berdine of Primus Four.”

“You said you didn’t know her name?” Okar says, turning to the Spy.

“Both were fake,” the Spy says calmly. “By the time we realized what was happening, her mother had left Torus. We monitored the Philosopher’s actions, but she followed her routine perfectly every day. Awake at seven, met Duncan in his lab at eight, in class at nine, back in the lab at three, and home by six. On the weekends, she never left her dorm room,” the Spy explains. “Our investigation concluded that her mother was a refugee looking to give her brilliant daughter a better life.”

“When I was made aware of this, I sponsored her visa,” Duncan says. “Her contributions to the university helped expedite the naturalization process. But when the galactic war started, my department was folded into military intelligence, and since the Philosopher was neither a citizen nor eighteen, she was transferred to a department that required less security clearance.”

“But you were reunited,” Okar says.

“That was through me,” the Spy says. “Her mastery of galactic cultures was pivotal to our counterintelligence operations. She became my consultant until Duncan was injured on Adrasteia Three.”

“That’s when she joined us on Ishtar Seven to help Duncan recover,” Tessa says.

“Breach One calling, Dove,” a mercenary’s voice says through the office’s speakers.

The video feed switches to Breach One’s helmet camera showing the spaceport’s empty command center.

“Go ahead, Breach One,” Freda says.

“All mapped locations have been cleared,” he says. “Unless there are any stowaway compartments, the spaceport has been abandoned.”

“Any signs of the cargo?” Freda asks.

“Negative. There are no trace energy signatures outside the terminal,” he says.

“Take as much time as you need to flush out any stowaways,” Freda orders. “Support Thirty-Three, give me a report on the terminal energy signatures.”

“All traces lead to the docking hatches,” Thirty-Three says.

“I want every nook and cranny searched,” Freda orders. “Then scuttle the spaceport.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” her mercenaries affirm.

“President Okar, I’ll send your researchers back once they’ve dismantled this door,” Freda says.

She ends the call causing the video feed to disappear from the electronic table. Duncan turns and steps away from the table but stops when he sees his researchers working frantically.

“How long until they attack us again?” he asks.

“Five thousand warships will arrive in Erebus within four months,” Okar says.

Duncan turns back to the table and stumbles into it. His skin becomes flushed as he struggles to control his breathing. His arms tremble as sweat forms on his face.

“We don’t have anything that can hurt them,” he struggles to say. “We need to run away. We need to bide our time until we’re ready to fight back.”

“It’s time you stop trying to be the galaxy’s hero,” Tessa says. Using all of her strength she manages to place her hand on top of Duncan’s. “We just destroyed three warships. They are sending five thousand this time because they are … because they fear us.” She looks to Okar and instructs, “Position our fleet to look like we’re expecting their attack. Let them know we are ready and pose a threat. If nothing else, it will … it will earn us some extra time to prepare.”

“Scientist— Duncan, what can the Federation do to help you prepare?” Okar asks reluctantly.

“We need to restart the nuclear weapon program,” Duncan says, frantically looking around as he thinks. “That won’t stop them, but it will remove the shields protecting their warships. Then we just need to invent a weapon that can take care of the rest.”

“Disruptor lances can punch through their hull,” the Spy says.

“That works for slowing them down,” Duncan says, “but we can’t deliver a destructive payload while using the tempered breaching heads. If Freda allows it, we can create two thousand white hole generators and fabricate them into gravity missiles. Adding those to the thousand or so we have on hand here,” he trails off as his knees give out.

Collapsing to a sitting position on the floor, Duncan concludes, “That leaves two thousand alien warships.”

“The Federation can help with that too,” Okar says.

“Without Gnosis fuel cells, the maximum output rate is negligible,” Duncan says, breathing even heavier.

“Have you tried contacting the Philosopher since Tartarus?” the Spy asks, sitting on the floor beside Duncan. “She spoke to me recently and since she always had a special connection to you, maybe she’ll talk to you if you reach out.”

Duncan looks at Okar.

“I don’t have any better ideas,” she admits. “If they attack us now, we will be defeated. If we run, we will starve within the year.” Okar hands Duncan her quantum radio and adds, “Let’s hope she isn’t working with them.”

Taking the radio, Duncan struggles to get his breathing under control.

“Athena?” he says. After a long pause without a response he says, “It’s Ana … I need your help, Mother Themis.”

“Recommence your experimentations,” the Philosopher says happily. “An acquaintance will usher auxiliaries preparatory to the strife.” After a short pause she adds, “I miss you, Ana.”

“Then come home,” he says, starting to get his panic attack under control.

“There is copious labour remaining,” she says. “Once you are ready, we will reunite.”

“Why did you take the cells?” Duncan asks.

The Philosopher does not answer.

Climbing to his feet, Duncan says, “I’m glad you’re well,” before handing the radio back to Okar. “There’s a lot of work to do,” he says. “If your R&D team is looking for something to do, I could use their help.”

“I’ll round them up,” she says.

“I should check in with the Angel,” Tessa suggests.

“Not until I know what their intentions are,” Okar refutes as her tablet starts to ring. “What’s the status?” she says, answering the call from Freda.

“What was that radio call about?” Freda asks.

“I think it’s time we sit down for a pot of tea,” Okar says.

Okar continues her conversation with Freda as she leaves the office and crosses through the lab to her office. Valtina pushes Tessa out of the office and returns her to the locker room, leaving Duncan, the Navigator, Spy, Grant, and Brandon behind to create a plan.

Chapter Seventeen

The Evenfall

Fifteen weeks until arrival. A team of Duncan’s researchers have gathered around a wall of video screens showing a narrow room with an array of weapons mounted on a rack in front of the camera. On the opposite side of the experiment room, there is a reproduction of the alien hull plate clamped upright so the broadside faces the weapons.

Doctor Kashif, the facility’s lead weapons engineer, is wearing a white lab coat over his bright red suit. He is tall with a box fade haircut and is holding a tablet with a labeled button for each of the mounted weapon.

“Commencing MG test,” he says before pressing the corresponding button.

The machine gun spins to life silently and, after three seconds of bullets bouncing off the hull plate, the machine gun slowly stops spinning.

“Commencing ballistic shell test,” Kashif says.

Tapping the second button, gasses erupt from the cannon’s barrel and the clamped plate recoils from the force of the shell pancaking against it. The flattened slab of metal bounces off the hull with countless tiny hull fragments and they drift back toward the mounted weapons in the weightless environment. The shell leaves behind a spiderwebbed crack on the thick hull plate, radiating out from the point of impact.

“Power it down,” Kashif instructs.

His assistants work on their tablets to tilt the weapons downward and lower the mounted rack into a hidden compartment below the test range. ‘Deactivating’ flashes in red on Kashif’s tablet while the weapons are stowing.

The floor slides over the mounted weapons and the flashing red message changes to a solid green ‘Range Safe’ message.

“I’ll have the ballistic report sent to you as soon as it’s ready,” Kashif’s assistant says.

“We don’t need to wait for the ballistic report,” Kashif says. “The composite they use in their helmets is weaker than their warships’ hull.” Turning to his assistant he instructs, “Tell the chemists to mold this batch into personnel plating. That way, the next time we fight them face to face, we’ll know what weapons penetrate it.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the assistant says before leaving.

A large airlock opens on the side of the weapon range and four researchers in pressurized suits float into the range propelled by small thrusters on their backs. They remove the hull plate from the floor clamps and collect the spent munitions floating around the range.

With gentle pushes from their thrusters, they take the research materials to the exam room on the other side of the airlock for analysis.

#

Fourteen weeks until arrival. Mercury Station’s command center is a rectangular room with rows of workstations displaying thousands of security camera feeds. Each workstation has three officers, dressed in matching black uniforms, using their monitors to log where the station’s residents go, what they do, and how long they take to do it. Armed mercenaries guard the stairs into the command center and the raised platform at the far end of the room.

Okar and Freda are sitting at the electronic table on the raised platform with a hot tea set. They are watching hundreds of construction workers, wearing spacesuits with tethers connected to Mercury Station’s outer hull, mount Duncan’s weapons to the station.

“It’s like watching your only child getting ready for deployment,” Freda says. “You want to say you’re proud, but you can’t stop thinking that this will be the last time you see them.”

“I’d say it gets easier, but you’d know it was a lie,” Okar admits.

Noticing that the mercenaries near the platform are having a heated conversation based on their body language, Okar gestures toward them and asks, “Is everything all right?”

“They’re facing a dilemma,” Freda explains, trying to hide her frustration. “They know the best way to protect their homes and families is here, but they’re afraid that they’re giving up their last days with them to fight an unwinnable war. I wish I could bring their families here, but I’m not sure the station will exist when they arrive. What would you do if you were them?”

Okar shakes her head disapprovingly and says, “I’d tell my family to seek refuge with the Children of Themis. They have the Gnosis fuel cells so it’s now the safest place in the galaxy.” She takes her tablet off her belt and sends a file to Freda. “I would be more focused on the fight if I knew they were safe.”

Freda opens the document Okar just sent to see General Brandon’s contact information and a complete list of the Federation’s shuttles around the Erebus system.

“Our transport shuttles will get in the way if I deploy them for combat,” Okar says. “If you can use them to save lives, then maybe I won’t lose as much sleep.”

“Thank you, Madam President,” Freda says, the frustration has left her voice. “I won’t forget this.”

“You let me turn your home into a weapon to fight the creatures that destroyed mine,” Okar says. “I’ll forever be indebted to you.”

Freda places her hand on Okar’s as they watch the construction workers and sip their tea.

#

Eight weeks until arrival. Zhou Federation Shipyard is a flat platform segmented into hundreds of rectangular open topped cells on both sides of the platform. In the center of the shipyard, there is a large donut shaped ring making one rotation every five minutes.

Inside the rotating ring, Duncan, a team of researchers, and the Federation’s R&D team have gathered around an electronic table. They are watching the construction of a Nyx class dropship.

The door to the stairs opens and the Pilot enters with Valtina.

“I knew you wouldn’t stay—” the Pilot starts to shout.

Valtina grabs him by the back of the collar, covers his mouth tightly, and pulls him back into the stairwell.

“Remember that we’re on a Federation shipyard,” she scolds. “His name is Doctor Duncan.”

“Oh, come on,” the Pilot says flippantly. “Everyone knows exactly who he is.”

“That smart ones do,” she admits. “But it’s not the smart ones we have to worry about,” Valtina adds, pointing at the Pilot’s handless, sock covered arm.

“I was chasing a terrorist,” he snarls, pointing his handless arm at her. “Sacrifices need to be made in extreme circumstances.”

“And what is the Scientist to the Federation?” she asks angrily.

The Pilot lowers his arm and steps back from her.

“I understand,” he says apologetically.

They enter the busy operation ring and join Duncan at his table. Duncan gives the Pilot a concerned glare.

“Sorry about the scene earlier, Doctor Duncan,” the Pilot says. “I was just excited to work with you again.”

“Glad to hear it,” Duncan says, gesturing toward the electronic table. “We’re developing a dropship with as many of the Anathema’s features we can in case the opportunity to commandeer an alien warship presents itself. Since you’re an atypical pilot, with unique requirements, we need to develop the flight controls appropriately.”

The Pilot pulls the sock off his arm and waves it in front of Duncan’s face. “You mean this unique requirement?”

There is an eight-centimeter disk-like bulge under his skin firmly attached to the end of his ulna and radius bones.

“Remember your bedside manner, Doctor,” Valtina says with a smirk.

“I’m sorry, Shango,” Duncan says. “When we look at your flight sim results, you’re far above any other pilot. With the exception of your haptic tests.”

“It’ll just takes some getting used to,” the Pilot says. “If I need to learn how to fly by my sense of smell, I will.”

“And you’d still be the best pilot we’ve ever seen,” Duncan admits. “But instead of asking you to adapt to a system we’ve designed, we want you to tell us how to build a system that adapts to you.”

Looking down at his arm, the Pilot asks, “Does this mean you can’t fix me?”

“If that’s what you want, I will talk with my biologists,” Duncan says. “It would be a long and painful process, and I can’t guarantee that your existing nerves will cooperate with the ones in the cloned hand.” He raises his left hand to show his missing ring finger and adds, “I can’t speak for you and your needs, but this is the best solution I have.”

“Would a cloned hand let me feel again?” the Pilot asks.

“Maybe, but it’s just as likely that you’ll only feel pins and needles in the hand for the rest of your life,” he explains.

Pulling the sock back over his arm, the Pilot confidently says, “Then I’m glad I didn’t meet you earlier. I would have made another hasty choice that left me worse off. This is who I am now, and the other pilots will have to learn that their superior flies better than them with one hand.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Duncan says with a smile. “This team will tell you about the project and if you need anything, they can relay the message to me.”

Duncan says his goodbyes before leaving the table and exiting into the stairwell.

#

One week until arrival. Yeshe Walmo’s empty war room is lit by the faint glow from the wall mounted monitors showing the Federation fleet orbiting Erebus 11 and a blue glimmer from the active electronic table. The Spy is hunched over the table looking at the video recordings of the alien she killed.

The war room’s main door opens, and the Gladiator enters.

“So, this is where you’re hiding,” she says, as she picks up two desk chairs from the workstation beside the door. “It’s time for a break.”

The Gladiator carries the chairs across the room and joins the Spy at the table. Placing the chairs on the floor, she practically forces the Spy to sit in the chair.

“We still don’t have a plan to defeat the aliens,” the Spy says calmly. “If we survive the next week, I’ll take a break then.”

Hugging the Spy’s arm gently, the Gladiator lovingly rests her head on her shoulder.

“You don’t want to spend your last week with your sister?” she provokes.

“That’s not fair, Kelly,” the Spy says, trying to hide her smile.

The Gladiator minimizes the video the Spy was looking at and brings up an aerial image overlooking the mountains surrounding Maher City.

“Do you ever miss Whiro?” she asks.

“Never,” the Spy answers without hesitation. Seeing the Gladiator gazing at the image longingly, she asks, “Do you regret leaving?”

“Sometimes,” she admits. “I felt more loved when I was fighting for sport. There’s no fanfare for actual heroes. The only recognition we get is an increasing bounty for our death.”

Sitting up straight, the Gladiator spins the chairs to face each other.

“Can you check in with Cynthia and the rest of our siblings for me?” she asks. “I wanted to go back to visit but, between my coma, prison, and the wars, I’ve never had a chance.”

The Spy picks up her tablet from the table and opens a photo album. Several images of Cynthia in her thirties, wearing colourful floor length dresses, with a smile on her face appear above the table.

Cynthia’s hair is pulled back, unashamedly showing off the burn scar that covers the left side of her face from her cheek bone to her brow and seals her left eye shut. She is surrounded by happy children in every photo.

“I’m glad she’s finally found her calling,” the Gladiator says. Shifting her focus to the smiling children, she turns her head away shamefully and asks, “Is it normal that I feel jealous?”

The Spy hugs the Gladiator tightly and softly says, “With what you’ve sacrificed, I’d be concerned if you didn’t.”

They hold each other as they watch the slideshow from their home cycle in front of them.

#

The day of arrival. Duncan and his researchers are standing in front of a wall of monitors in the pocket universe. They are taking notes on their tablets while they watch a technician in a white pressurized suit carefully place fuel cells into a dual chambered bomb in a weightless room on the monitors. Connecting the final cell, the technician tests the power flow to the chambers, seals the fuel cell array, and turns to the camera.

“I’m ready for the alpha payload,” he says confidently.

Speaking into his tablet, Duncan says, “Send in the alpha payload.”

The technician gently pulls on the cable attached to his suit to propel himself to the service port on the connected wall. Using the wall to stop his momentum, he opens the port and carefully lifts the grey beachball sized sphere from the pedestal basket.

While the technician cautiously moves the sphere to the bomb, the spacetime door into Okar’s office opens behind the researchers. General Grant enters the lab, scans the room until he finds Okar standing beside the Spy at the back of the group, and joins them.

“The Navigator just gave the five-minute warning,” he says quietly.

“Thanks,” Okar says. “Before we go, I need you to bear witness to a promotion.”

Okar places her hand on the Spy’s shoulder and hands her a glass case with two five-star general shoulder marks. “If the Yeshe falls, you and Lucas will be the last generals of the army,” she says. “Do whatever it takes to avenge the Federation, General Paris.”

“There won’t be a Federation if we lose the Battle of Erebus,” the Spy says calmly as she takes the case and salutes.

“Win or lose, the Federation is on its last legs,” Okar laments, as she salutes.

Lowering her hand, she turns to leave with Grant.

“Great, now I’m starting to sound like him,” she mutters.

Returning to her office, Okar closes the closet door behind her and presses her hand against the keypad. When the odd noises coming from the closet stop, Okar opens the closet door to reveal her hanging uniforms before continuing to the war room.

Each workstation in the war room has three officers monitoring a part of the Federation’s armada. The Navigator and Brandon are standing at the electronic table. Tessa is sitting on a barstool beside Valtina with her metal walker tucked underneath the table. A video call with Freda in Mercury Station’s command center floats above the table.

“What’s the status?” Okar asks.

“One hundred one seconds,” the Navigator says.

“Project Searing Flames is active,” Brandon adds.

“The Foxes are in position waiting for your order,” Grant says.

“Are you ready, Captain Freda?” Okar asks as she joins the others at the table.

“Once the fireworks start, we’re swooping in to do damage,” she says confidently.

“Have you double checked all Federation and Allied ships’ distances?” Okar asks.

“Every vessel has enough clearance to use their warp engines and minimize the effects of collateral EMP damage,” Brandon confirms. “As long as no one panics, friendly downs are not a cause for concern.”

“They’re closing their warp bubbles early,” the Navigator says, matter-of-factly. “Project Searing Flames is out of position.”

Clacking at his keyboard, the Navigator expands the range of the projected battlefield and repositions the alien fleet markers three hundred million kilometers away from Erebus 11.

“Do they need to come into range before they attack?” Grant asks.

“If they only have antimatter bombs, they need to advance to one million kilometers,” Tessa says, analyzing the battlefield. “We stick to the plan.”

“Update the fleet,” Okar commands.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant says as he quickly types the message to the defending ships.

“Readjust the telescopic cameras!” Okar shouts into the war room.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the technicians affirm in unison.

The videos zoom in and focus on the alien fleet blueshifting in the distance.

Scanning the wall mounted screens quickly, the Navigator projects seven of the camera feeds above the table and positions them so he can watch the entire alien fleet.

“They’re waiting for something,” he concludes.

“We scared them at Perierat,” Tessa says with a grin. “They’re waiting to see how we react before putting themselves in danger.”

“Are they trying to make contact?” Okar asks.

“Negative,” Brandon says. “We aren’t detecting any wavelengths originating from their fleet.”

“Is every ship accounted for? Are they setting up an ambush?” she asks.

“All five thousand warships are present,” the Navigator says without hesitation.

“Are the warped spaced detectors still active?” Tessa asks.

“All of the ships that we’re tracking are accounted for,” Brandon says. “But we’ll only detect unknown warships if we get lucky.”

“The command is yours, Fleet Admiral,” Okar says.

“If they’re going to give us more time, it would be a mistake to waste it,” Tessa says. “The more antimatter bombs we make, the less we … need Mercury Station to do all the heavy lifting. And if we’re lucky, Duncan could have a … idea that will let us win this fight.”

Turning to Grant, she orders, “Be ready, but do not engage.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he affirms, sending the message to the fleet.

The command team stands around the electronic table, watching carefully for any sign of a hostile action from their enemy.

#

Duncan’s researchers are still standing around the monitors showing the experimental bomb sitting on the workbench of the experiment room. Duncan is standing next to Kashif and the Spy in the middle of the researchers.

The assembling technician steps through a spacetime door beside the monitors, removes his pressurized helmet, and closes the door behind him. They press the keypad next to the door to disconnect the experiment room from the pocket universe and opens the door to reveal an empty closet.

“Pocket Sierra Nine Seven is secured,” the technician says.

“Disable all the doors,” Duncan instructs. “We don’t want a chain reaction spreading across universes.”

“All spacetime doors are disabled,” Cass says through the speakers.

“Send me your safety checklists,” Duncan says loudly.

The researchers tap on their tablets and Duncan’s tablet is flooded with checklists.

He quickly swipes through them scanning for any warnings. Reaching the end of the reports, he opens a control panel with ‘Locked’ written in red over the controls.

“Arming the device,” Duncan says.

Tapping on the screen he enters the passcode. The lockout screen disappears to reveal the message ‘Dual Link Active’ across the top with ‘White Hole Core Ready’ and ‘Antimatter Core Ready’ written beneath it.

“Firing in, three. Two. One,” he announces loudly before pressing the detonate button.

Both the bomb’s cores detonate simultaneously, with a flash of light from the left core and a rapidly expanding black sphere from the right. The light from the antimatter core is stretched into long, spaghettified tendrils as it is pulled into and around the expanding darkness.

The cameras flicker with intermittent static as the black sphere slowly drifts to the center of where the bomb was. The cameras become clear once the sphere stops moving and stabilizes at a twelve-meter diameter.

Duncan looks concerned as the g-force numbers on his tablet slowly decrease to zero and the electron-volts increases from zero. As the millielectron-volt number reaches 1000meV, the black sphere begins to shrink. Passing 1700meV, the blackness fades to reveal a red mass in the middle of the sphere that blueshifts while the number continues to rise.

The electron-volts stop increasing once it reaches 2700meV, leaving a hundred thousand litre globe of blue lava identical to the underground rivers on Gnosis 2 floating in the center of the weightless experiment room.

Dropping his tablet, Duncan stumbles backward before tripping over his own feet.

“Looks like the Angel was hiding something from us,” the Spy says.

“That’s not possible,” he says while gasping for air. Tears form in his eyes as he clutches the left side of his chest. “Nothing makes sense,” he whimpers. “Cass, destroy everything,” he orders.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Cass responds. “You are not in a state of mind capable of competently issuing that command.”

“It makes perfect sense,” the Spy says, picking up Duncan’s tablet from the floor. “The Angel’s partner created the blue lava rivers on Gnosis. You’ve just discovered how they did it.”

“The aliens don’t know how to create white holes,” Duncan says. “They couldn’t have made this.”

Handing him his tablet, she calmly says, “Then the Strategist got her hands on both weapons and did the same thing you did.”

With shaking hands, Duncan takes the tablet. “Which gives us a timeline.”

He climbs to his feet, sprints to the adjacent office, and locks himself inside as the frightened researchers watch with stunned looks.

Pulling the tablet off her belt, the Spy types, ‘I hope you’re still there, Tessa. I don’t know what to do about Duncan’.

The Spy walks across the lab to the open vault door and closes it to allow visitors from the Yeshe.

Chapter Eighteen

The Collapse

Work in the pocket universe has slowed as the researchers gather into small groups to gossip about what they think happened to Duncan. The Spy is sitting at one of the electronic tables, sketching the Gnosis refineries she saw two years ago on a tablet. Dr. Ushi, wearing a green madras shirt tucked into her khaki pants, is talking with her team of engineers.

The Spy stands up from the table and hands the finished drawings to Ushi.

“That’s how I remember them,” she says.

“This is perfect,” Ushi says, taking the tablet and looking through the sketches. “It gives us a lot of clues to figure out how the fuel cells were refined.”

She hands the tablet to her engineers and sends them to start their work. As her team heads for a vacant table, Ushi sees Dr. Yu standing at the office window.

“Will Doctor Duncan be alright?” she asks.

“He’s just realized he can’t keep running from his past,” the Spy says calmly. “Once he works through this challenge, he’ll return to his other projects.”

“Have you heard from the Yeshe?” Ushi asks.

“The fleet admiral and president are good at what they do,” the Spy answers. Walking toward Yu, she adds, “They’re giving us as much time as they can. Tell the department heads not to waste it.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ushi says before leaving in a hurry.

Stepping up to the window beside Yu, the Spy sees that the electronic table in the office is projecting so many images that the constructs are flickering under the strain. Barely legible scribbles cover the whiteboards on the far wall with a giant timeline of the past twenty years drawn across the top.

Duncan is frantically running between the scribbled notes and the table. Circling some of the statements on the whiteboard, he draws a line from the edge of the circle to the timeline.

“How is he?” the Spy asks.

“This is the worst I’ve seen him,” Yu admits.

The Spy asks, “Are you able to make any sense of what he’s doing?” while she calls Tessa on her tablet.

“He writes everything on the board twice and when he connects them to the timeline, they never meet in the same place,” Yu says. “My concern is that he might be presenting an illness caused by frequent trips between universes. He’s traveled through more spacetime doors than anyone else and his current level of stress may be exasperating the symptoms of an illness we may all suffer from.”

Tessa’s face appears on the Spy’s tablet.

“Is he back to work yet?” Tessa asks bluntly.

“You know him better than any of us,” the Spy says, pressing the tablet’s screen against the window.

She knocks on the glass to get Duncan’s attention but, funneling all his frantic energy into his work, he ignores her.

“Looks like he’s on the verge of a breakthrough,” Tessa says. “As soon as he’s able to visualize his thoughts, he’ll bring his team in for their … talent. Just make sure he remembers to hydrate.”

“Three alien vessels are breaking formation and will enter the target zone in eleven seconds,” the Navigator announces.

“Is it worth activating Project Searing Flames?” Okar asks.

“Negative,” Tessa responds, placing her tablet down on the table without ending the call. “They’re poking our … They’re testing our defenses to see why we haven’t engaged them.” Wincing in pain, Tessa rubs her forehead as she struggles to communicate clearly. “When they get in range, have Blue Five, Six, and Seven each target one of the warships and … launch exactly two antimatter bombs in response to their … aggression.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant affirms.

“Fox Three and Thirteen, advance to the battlefield,” Tessa orders while typing on her keyboard. Highlighting an alien warship on opposite sides of the attacking fleet, she adds, “Fire two antimatter bombs at your marked targets and swap squadrons.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Fox captains affirm.

“Fifty-four launches detected,” the Navigator says, typing on his keyboard. “Targets have been pinged.”

Blue Five, Six, and Seven counterattack, sending two redshifting bombs at each of the attacking warships.

Twelve of the Independent Planets’ destroyers along the front line of the defensive fleet fire ballistic shells that redshift out of the visible spectrum and collide with twelve of the bombs fired by the alien warships, destroying them in enormous explosions.

The remaining antimatter bombs strike their targets with powerful blasts before the second hit causes the spacecraft to disappear in a flash of light. Twelve Federations ships were only struck once, but the electromagnetic pulses have left them helpless.

“The EMP has caused minor damage to Project Searing Flames,” the Navigator states. “Two additional ships will make it through.”

“Navigator, can the … the … can our troops full deploy with a bubble flash?” Tessa asks, sweat covering her skin as she struggles to keep the words from vanishing in her mind.

The Navigator answers matter-of-factly, “We can’t launch dropships—”

“She means bombs,” Okar explains harshly.

“Up to eight between each bubble flash,” the Navigator says.

Tessa taps on her keyboard and highlights six more alien warships.

“Fox Three, Fox Thirteen, I’ve given you three additional targets,” she says.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the captains affirm.

“Who intercepted their attacks?” Tessa asks.

“They are destroyers from the Independent Planets listed as being a part of the CT Militia,” Brandon says. Typing at his keyboard, he opens fifty documents and projects them above the table. “There are fifty destroyer class vessels registered with that organization.”

“Who’s their CO?” Tessa asks.

While Brandon and the Navigator scan through the records, Okar picks up Tessa’s tablet and asks, “Have you heard of them before, General Paris?”

“Never,” the Spy says. “Which planets do they represent?”

Tessa starts reading the names from floating documents, “Osiris, Freyr, Qaynun—”

“They’re all from the outer Scutum-Crux,” the Navigator interjects matter-of-factly.

“Charlie Tango, Children of Themis,” the Spy deduces.

“Are they defectors?” Okar ponders aloud as she puts the tablet down. “If they could have saved up to fifty ships, why did they only save twelve?”

Highlighting the fifty CT Militia destroyers on the battlefield, the Navigator says, “Only twelve had a viable angle.”

Fox Three and Fox Thirteen zip across the battlefield from opposite sides, Three is below the alien fleet, Thirteen is above. As soon as the warp bubbles protecting the Fox corvettes disappears, each spacecraft deploys eight antimatter bombs and immediately reactivate their warp engines.

Traveling faster than the speed of light, the Foxes exit the battlefield seconds before their targets are destroyed.

“Bombing run is a success,” Grant says, watching the marked alien spacecraft vanish from the display.

“Once the corvettes reach the rally point, reposition the Fox squadrons,” Tessa orders.

“The CT Militia leader is Fleet Admiral Lee of the Sema,” the Navigator says as he searches through the automatic identification system’s records. “AIS isn’t detecting the Sema around Erebus.”

Tessa opens Fleet Admiral Lee’s dossier, takes one look at the picture, and moves the document in front of Okar. “At least we know General Lee isn’t dead,” she says.

The profile picture shows General Lee wearing an armoured vest with fleet admiral shoulder boards over a simple red robe.

“Defecting is worse than death,” Okar snarls.

“I defected during the Galactic War,” Tessa says with a grin.

“And how did that work out?” Okar snaps.

“It killed me,” Tessa says with a smile. Pointing toward the projection of the battlefield, she adds, “But now we’re fighting together. Besides, General Lee didn’t try to hide his … hide his … he sent us an unaltered dossier.”

“Maybe he’s trying to send us a message,” Brandon suggests.

“The enemy is moving,” the Navigator warns.

Three groups of five hundred warships break away from the alien fleet. Two groups activate their warp engines and chase after the Placating Fox corvettes that just attacked them. The third group advances toward the Federation fleet.

“Advance the CT Militia to the front line,” Tessa commands. “Tell the Foxes to … to move to a new area. Recall Three and Thirteen to the main fleet. Ready Project Searing Flames and tell everyone to engage once the fireworks start.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Navigator, Grant, and Brandon affirm.

Watching the advancing alien fleet, the Navigator states, “Enemy will be in range in forty-seven seconds.”

The twelve CT Militia destroyers on the front-line spin around to face the Federation fleet.

“They’ve betrayed us!” the Navigator shouts as he backs away from the table and starts stomping his feet aggressively.

Tessa rubs her temples as each loud clang causes her to grit her teeth. Brandon directs the officer beside him to take over the Navigator’s station before slowly approaching the Navigator, cautious that his cane doesn’t strike the ground too loudly.

He stands close enough to block the Navigator’s vision of the table without making physical contact. With a slow, calm tone, Brandon counts to ten and then back down to one until the Navigator stops stomping his feet.

Watching the alien warships approach the area labeled, ‘Project Searing Flames’, on the battlefield, Okar orders, “Standby to detonate.”

“They’re activating their warp engines,” Grant warns as the video shows the alien warships distorting into blurry objects.

“Get the exit coordinates,” Tessa orders. “Do not let them strike first!”

Brandon steps to the side and says, “That’s you, Son.”

The Navigator turns his head to face him and nods without making eye contact.

Returning to his station, the Navigator forcibly pushes the officer away from the keyboard, glances at the rapidly approaching markers, and creates a red zone for where they might stop moving.

“Track the trailing edge,” he instructs. “I’ll update when they,” he stops suddenly as he changes his focus to the CT Militia destroyers.

Clicking at his keyboard, he opens the videos from the forward-facing cameras of the destroyers and carefully scans the battlefield. With a few quick keystrokes, he closes the videos and places five hundred markers on the battlefield.

“Twenty-three seconds,” he says, adding a timer below the grouped markers.

“Do you need us to engage?” Freda asks.

“Negative, Captain,” Tessa dismisses. “We still need something to fall back on.”

The Federation fleet launches a salvo of missiles at the Navigator’s red markers timed so they collide with the alien warships as soon as the timer reaches zero.

Hundreds of silent nuclear explosions engulf the warships creating powerful fields of electromagnetic radiation that strips the protective shielding off them.

Thousands of disruptor lances soar into the expanding globes of blue fire, punch through the warship’s thick hull, and disable all five hundred alien vessels.

The videos from the Federation fleet’s cockpits show the crew members cheering.

“Coordinate the antimatter strike, Navigator,” Tessa orders, trying to hide her relief.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he affirms. “Three hundred forty-two remain on the front line.”

Five hundred antimatter bombs redshift from the Federation fleet and convert the disabled warships into flashes of light.

“Attention, Yeshe,” Fox Three’s captain says through the speakers. “Fox Three’s warped space sensor does not detect a pursuing threat.”

“The same is true for Fox Thirteen,” Fox Thirteen’s captain adds.

“It was a distraction,” Tessa says. “Find the angle of attack.”

Before she can finish speaking, five hundred alien warships blueshift down from above Erebus 11 and five hundred warships blueshift up from below the planet. The alien vessels scatter throughout the defending fleet, and, within seconds, hundreds of thousands of spacecrafts in the defending fleet flash out of existence.

“Issue the retreat order,” Okar commands.

Looking solemnly at the blue screens appearing on the war room’s walls, she removes the Federation flag pin from her lapel and places it on the electronic table.

“I’ll turn in my resignation once we’ve assessed our losses,” she declares before turning toward her office.

“Five thousand new vessels have arrived,” the Navigator says matter-of-factly.

He zooms the display out further to show a new layer of ships appearing five hundred thousand kilometers above the battlefield without a visual line of approach.

“Correction, eight … fourteen … twenty thousand ships have engaged the aliens!” he says with excited enthusiasm. He quickly switches back to his apathetic tone and adds, “The AIS says they’re all part of the CT Militia.”

Tens of thousands of concentrated, barely visible, violet beams of light connect the CT Militia’s spacecraft to the alien warships. The directed-energy weapons sweep across the bomb tubes, detonating the antimatter bombs inside the warships as they try and launch them.

The alien shields collapse under the relentless attack, allowing the DEWs to create a glowing white trail as they sweep across the hull.

“Incoming call from Sema,” Grant says, projecting a video call request window where Okar was standing.

Okar returns to the table and answers the call. General Lee is wearing his fleet admiral armoured vest over a simple red robe.

“Sorry for the late arrival, Madam President,” he says. “We couldn’t make the trip from the Scutum-Crux without refueling. Let us finish these marauders quickly before we talk,” he adds before ending the call.

Blueshifting projectiles rain down from Lee’s fleet and vanish from sight before exploding against the durable alien hull. Debris from the warships is propelled into space as the continued barrage exposes the inner chambers.

“How did our sensors fail twice?” Okar asks.

“The aliens didn’t go far enough to be detected,” the Navigator explains matter-of-factly, “and I don’t think the CT Militia used warp engines.”

“It’s the Strategist’s army! She’s still alive!” the Pilot says through the room’s speakers.

“What are you talking about, Shango?” Tessa asks.

“I’ve seen those weapons before!” he exclaims. “The Strategist attacked the Anathema with them when we were at Tartarus Station! Don’t trust them!”

“Are these the same class of … of … vessel that you saw there?” Tessa asks.

“No,” the Pilot trails off. “But those are her weapons,” he says confidently.

“Is it possible they found one of her weapon … hideouts?”

“Oh, I didn’t think about that,” he says losing his excitement. “The vessels definitely don’t look like they’re as advanced as their weapons, so that’s probably what happened.”

After the final alien warship is defeated, an incoming call request from Sema appears in front of Okar. She answers the call.

“Once again I apologize for the late arrival,” Lee says.

“But Mother Themis wouldn’t allow you to act sooner,” Okar says.

“Fantastic!” Lee exclaims. “You’ve spoken with the Divine and already know what needs to be done.”

“Absolutely,” Okar says cheerfully. “Come join the rest of us on the Yeshe and we’ll fulfill her divine prophecy.”

“The Mother warned me that you’d try that,” he answers with a smile. “You need to speak with the Angel, Madam President. They are your guide to enlightenment.” He salutes her and adds, “We have not, and will not abandon you. The Children of Themis will protect you as you protected the holy land.”

The communication window closes, and the CT Militia vanishes from the Erebus system by shrinking into single points.

“I need a full status report on the Federation’s armada,” Okar orders, while picking up her lapel pin. “We’ll continue to employ anyone who volunteers to keep fighting, but, if they chose to resign, forego the review process and sign off on it.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Grant says.

Tessa pulls her walker out from under the table, grabs her tablet from the table, and moves to Okar’s side.

“As word of the Federation’s weakened state travels, the value of the Federation’s dollar will plummet,” Tessa warns.

“Provided the planets aren’t eradicated, our foreign currency reserves will carry us through to the end of the year,” Okar explains. “By that time, if we haven’t defeated the aliens, our space gardens will produce the most valuable commodities in the galaxy.”

“Provided we can protect them from the aliens, the syndicates, the Children of Themis, or anyone else hungry enough to … challenge us,” Tessa warns.

Okar nods in agreement. “Convince Duncan that we need to build more farms in his pocket universes,” she orders. “I think it’s time we had a chat with your old friend.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tessa acknowledges.

Ending the call with the Spy, Tessa places the device on her belt and follows Okar into her office.

Chapter Nineteen

The Scheme

Deep in the caverns of Erebus 11 the metal door sealing the Angel’s cave slides open. Tessa enters with her walker alongside Okar. The Angel is sitting at the desk in their cell reading under the desk lamp. They smile ecstatically when they see Tessa step into the light of the central lamppost.

“It’s been a while, Fleet Admiral,” the Angel says playfully with their unrecognizable accent. “I hope your transcension wasn’t too traumatizing.”

Stopping at the lamppost, Tessa carefully guides herself down to sit on the base.

“I can’t say it’s been without its drawbacks,” she says.

“Most good things—”

“I’m not here to play your games,” Tessa interrupts. “You’ve shown that you can … That you know how things are going to unfold.”

“Ah, well I must confess something to you,” the Angel says. “The trick about mentalism is—”

“You’re not using mentalism,” she interjects. “Directing me into the officer program, convincing them to resurrect me, and instructing us to … save the holy land. Those are specificities that are done with purpose,” she explains. “Where do you get your information, and why do you need me in a position of … command?”

The Angel’s demeanor becomes serious. “I have intimate knowledge of my species’ mistakes and the atrocities they committed in Andromeda,” they say. “Well, I shouldn’t speak as if I wasn’t involved, they were decisions that I wish I never ordered. My apologies for not being forward, but it is easier to act as a prophet than prove I am not a spy.”

“How are you … assisting the Children of Themis?” Tessa asks.

The Angel shakes their head and says, “My colleague has taken that responsibility upon herself and trusts that I will only divulge to you what is needed.”

“Herself?” Tessa questions. “As in the Strategist? Or the Philosopher?”

“Focusing on the insignificant will cause us to lose this war,” the Angel explains.

Getting up from their chair, the creature turns to their bunk and lifts the mattress. They pull two books and a folded sheet of paper from the hidden compartment in the mattress.

Tucking the books under their arm, the Angel unfolds the paper to reveal a detailed drawing of the alien fleet in the outer Perseus arm. One of the warships in the center of the fleet is circled with a twelve-digit identification number written beneath it.

“With their defeat in Erebus, the chiefs will assemble here,” the Angel explains as they walk toward the cell door.

Okar takes the drawing from the creature and brings it to Tessa.

“If we can get a corvette close enough with two antimatter bombs,” Okar suggests.

“Absolutely not,” the Angel contests. “Our survival is dependant on the chiefs’ surrender. Without representative leadership, the survivors, though few, will reject the command of the Milky Way’s natives. You need to infiltrate that warship while the chiefs are meeting and demonstrate that you are different from those indigenous to Andromeda.”

“You’re not from Andromeda?” Tessa asks, looking up from the drawing.

“Triangulum, but that is also not important,” the Angel says. “You need a Nyx class dropship to take you to that warship.” Pulling one of the books out from under their arm, they pass it through the cell door. “Using the security codes on the first page you’ll be able to access their security systems and open the hatches. Follow the map to the war room and hand this book to my sibling, Utu.”

Okar takes the book from the Angel and flips through the pages. The written language in the book switches between the Galactic language and the Triangulum language.

“I’m not delivering a message I don’t understand,” Okar scolds.

“This book is a guide to exchange languages,” the Angel explains. “I’ve included pronunciation guides and common passages in the back.” Passing the second book through the door, they add, “Here is an identical copy for you to learn our language.”

Okar takes the second book and delivers it to Tessa.

“Why go through the effort of creating two … blueprints when you could be our interpreter?” Tessa asks.

“My presence would be problematic,” the Angel says. “The only way to get the Triangulum to surrender is to get this message to my sibling.”

“They’re winning this war,” Okar says, “Why would they surrender to the Federation?”

“They won’t,” the Angel says while rubbing the back of their head with an uneasy expression. “They’re going to surrender to the Scientist.”

“No,” Okar refutes. “He may be the only reason we’re still alive, but he is still a galactic terrorist. Surrendering your army to him will create a monster unlike anything we’ve seen.”

“That’s the idea,” the Angel admits. “We didn’t travel across two galaxies to conquer them. We made a mistake that threatens the entire galaxy cluster and Ana … the Scientist might be able to fix it.”

“You’re taking the Scientist back to the Triangulum galaxy?” Okar asks.

“The Triangulum and Andromeda galaxies no longer exist,” the Angel says. “The Milky Way will follow in four years if the Scientist can’t stop the disease from spreading.”

“Diseases can’t spread if you don’t carry them between galaxies,” Okar scolds.

“It’s not a disease in a literal sense,” they explain, “but the situation must be treated as one.”

Okar turns her back to the alien and speaks quietly to Tessa. “What do you think?”

“They’re hiding something,” she answers. “But, if what they say is true, we are … we need to rely on Duncan. The question is whether we try to save the galaxy or migrate to his pocket … home.”

Okar rolls her eyes and says, “Imagine what that will do to his god complex.”

Tessa smirks. “Let our linguists look this over before you make up your mind,” she suggests. “If nothing else, it will allow us to communicate with them.”

Scanning over the map, Tessa notices a time and date written in the bottom corner.

“This is only a few weeks from now,” she says.

“Word of their defeat at Erebus has only just arrived,” the Angel says. “Since most of the chiefs are ensuring that the cleansing process is absolute, it will take them time to return to the command ship. You must arrive during their meeting at that time.”

Looking at the date, Okar says, “Our scout ships can barely make that timeframe, a dropship will arrive two months late.”

A look of concern covers the Angel’s face as they return to the desk chair. They sit in the chair, close their eyes, and start meditating. Okar quietly approaches the cell door and scans the cell listening for a communication device.

“You’re a clever one,” the Angel says with a smile. Opening their eyes they add, “If the Kokou isn’t capable of traveling as fast as the Anathema, then you will have to ask the Children of Themis to take you there.”

“The Kokou didn’t exist ten weeks ago,” Okar says. “So how did you know about it?”

“Our species is connected to the universe,” the Angel says, as they approach the cell door. “Meditating helps us focus on what it’s saying.”

“So, the chiefs know that we are coming,” Okar states. “And that they would lose the battle for Erebus?”

“Looks like I can’t trick you so easily,” the Angel says.

“The best lies are wrapped around the truth,” Tessa says. “The Philosopher meditated a lot while we … when we lived on Ishtar.”

Okar turns toward Tessa and asks, “The Philosopher also seems to know more than she’s letting on, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Tessa affirms.

“So, who taught who?” Okar asks turning back to the Angel.

Backing away from the cell door nervously, they say, “We’re too close to saving the galaxy. I can’t mess it up now.” Turning their back to the cell door, the Angel adds, “I’ve told you what you need to do. My colleague will answer your questions once it’s time.”

“The Scientist killed your colleague and destroyed her fleet,” Okar says aggressively.

The Angel turns sharply with a shocked look. “Then you may not get your answers,” they say before they sit on their cot, fold their arms, and stare angrily at Okar.

Realizing she’s not going to get anything else from them, Okar joins Tessa at the lamppost.

“Any ideas?” she asks.

Without looking away from the translation guides, Tessa says, “If Duncan can create enough fuel cells for the Kokou, and these codes work, raiding the … meeting ship won’t be a problem.”

“What about your friend?”

“They’re stubborn,” Tessa admits. “Once they’ve stopped, the only way to get them … chatting again, is to wait for what they predicted to come true.”

Okar sighs. “Then we’ve only got a couple of weeks to plan every detail, determine points of failure, and learn a new language.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste our time here,” Tessa says, handing the closed book to Okar. “I also need to help guide Duncan’s mindfulness back to focusing on current challenges.”

Taking the book, Okar helps Tessa get balanced behind her walker and leads her out of the prison cave.

Chapter Twenty

The Gamble

The Triangulum armada surrounds twelve moon-sized cylindrical space stations slowly spinning in the planetless depths of the outer Perseus arm. The Kokou, a triangular prism shaped dropship with two rounded sides and a flat bottom, flies between the alien vessels unnoticed due to its nonreflective black hull.

The Gladiator, Spy, and ten Placating Fox operators are sitting on a bench, harnessed to one of the vertical walls inside the Kokou. They are wearing black tactical suits, armoured vests, and mirrored helmets. At the front of the dropship, the Pilot sits in the solitary chair of the connected cockpit.

The Spy reaches for the computer embedded in her left bracer and presses a button labeled ‘Deploy Rootkit’. When the progress counter reaches a hundred percent, buttons labeled with the written Triangulum language appear on the screen.

Opening the alien command ship’s security cameras, she says, “We’ve got access, Yeshe.”

“Affirmative, Alpha Leader,” Okar responds through the Spy’s helmet. “You’re clear to breach.”

Gently manipulating the controls, the Pilot matches the command ship’s rotation and, using the cameras built into the breaching hatch, lands on top of a maintenance hatch perfectly.

Looking over his shoulder the Pilot says, “Get your things and get out, the bus is leaving in thirty seconds.”

The operators unfasten their harnesses and open the storage compartments built into the vertical wall across from the bench. The Spy opens the floor hatch and inputs the code she memorized from the Angel’s book into the warship’s outer hatch. The hatch clangs and swings into the airlock to reveal the ladder leading to the inner hatch.

“Remember, gravity is reversed,” the Spy says as she lies down on the floor.

Reaching through the floor hatch to grab the ladder, she pulls herself into the airlock and climbs to the inner hatch. Unlocking the door with the same code, she opens the hatch to the maintenance tunnel.

The Spy pulls a coin sized mirror from her vest and uses it to look into the abandoned tunnel.

“All clear,” she says, before climbing into the Triangulum command ship.

The first operator passes a spear through the airlock to the Spy before leading the rest of the Foxes into the alien spacecraft with crossbows and spears slung over their shoulders.

The Gladiator, passing through last, closes the hatches and hands the Spy a heavy compound crossbow and a tactical pack.

“Fall back to a safe distance, Kokou,” the Spy orders, as she secures her tactical pack to her back, her spear to her harness, and loads a bolt into her crossbow.

“Just say the word and I’ll come get you, no questions asked,” the Pilot replies through their helmet radios.

“Secure the first door on the right,” the Spy commands, directing her team with her hand.

Moving in two tight formations, the Foxes line up beside the door and wait for a signal. The Spy checks the security cameras on her arm computer before gently tapping the shoulder of the operator in front of her. The silent signal is passed from operator to operator until it reaches the front of the team.

The lead operator slides the angled door open and leads the team into the connected hallway. They quickly secure every angle and clear the hiding spots before grouping up to continue their infiltration.

Using the hacked camera feeds, the Spy silently leads her team through the empty hallways with hand signals until they reach the hallway connecting to the war room.

“There are six armoured sentries stationed outside the door,” she says quietly. “All wielding becs de corbin. We strike fast and drop them at range.”

The operators and Gladiator nod in affirmation.

As the team moves into position, the door behind them opens. A two hundred and fifty-centimeter-tall alien dressed in yellow robes steps through the door looking down at the clipboard in their hand.

Seeing the Foxes, the creature drops their clipboard, points at them, and screams.

“Now!” the Spy commands, as the robed alien retreats into the room they came out of.

The Spy and five operators step into the intersection, line up shoulder to shoulder, take aim, and fire their crossbows.

The bolts whip through the air and make contract with the closest two aliens. Fragments fly off their armour as the heavy bolts punch holes through their chest plating.

The Spy and her team take cover on the opposite side of the intersection to reload their crossbows. The Gladiator and the other five operators step out into the intersection, line up, and fire their crossbows while the aliens are still processing what’s happening.

The next six bolts strike the same two aliens, dropping them to their knees.

As the Gladiator’s team falls back to reload, the alien closest to the door enters the war room. The two injured aliens pull the bolts from their body, splashing black blood on their armour and the floor, while the three unhurt creatures sprint toward their attackers.

The Spy’s team fans back into the intersection and fire their bolts at the advancing aliens.

With their bodies angled, the bolts deflect off the alien’s armour, bounce off the walls, and dance across the floor without doing any damage.

Dropping their crossbows, the Spy’s team draw their spears, split into two teams of three, and back into separate hallways hoping to divide the advancing aliens. The Triangulum don’t take the bait and charge toward the three Foxes in front of them.

Grabbing the spears just behind the bladed tip, the aliens hold the operators at the perfect distance to slam the hooked beaks of their weapons through the operators’ helmets.

Tossing the lifeless bodies aside, the Triangulum turn to face the intersection.

“Looks like they’re taking us seriously!” the Gladiator exclaims with a smile.

She aims her crossbow at the center alien and carefully walks into the intersection.

“What’s the plan?” she asks.

“Don’t underestimate them,” the Spy warns.

The alien to the Gladiator’s right shifts their weight to charge at her, but she snaps her aim to that creature and discharges her crossbow as soon as the alien’s armour squares up with her.

Armour fragments fly out of the point of impact as the bolt plunges deep into the creature’s heart. The alien crumples to the floor lifeless.

Showing off her impressive strength, the Gladiator quickly pulls the heavy string into the latch and places another bolt in the groove. Pointing the crossbow at the aliens as they charge toward her with angled bodies, she calmly waits for the closest creature to raise their weapon over their head.

The Gladiator fires the bolt into the unprotected underarm where it passes through the upper torso and stops when it strikes the opposite shoulder plate with a clang.

As the alien tries to swing their polearm downward, the bolt locks their shoulder in place, stopping the attack. The creature screams in pain as they lose their grip on their weapon.

Dropping her crossbow, the Gladiator pulls the spear from her back, drives it through the gap in the armour plates around the screaming alien’s knee, forces them onto their hands, and uses them as an obstacle to keep the remaining alien out of attack range.

Wary of the Spy behind them, the alien backs away and regroups with the first two aliens who were injured by the initial assault.

The Gladiator kicks the loose bec de corbin from the floor into her hands and readies to charge at the three standing aliens.

“Hold,” the Spy commands.

She and the remaining seven Foxes step into the hall with their crossbows at the ready.

Speaking slowly in the Triangulum language, the Spy says, “I have an important message for Utu.”

The aliens, surprised by the Spy’s knowledge of their language, speak quietly amongst themselves.

“From whom?” the uninjured alien asks.

“Their sibling,” she answers.

While the aliens scream incoherently at the Spy, the immobilized alien pinned by Gladiator’s spear collapses to the floor dead.

“Let us pass, or die,” the Spy adds with a calm smile.

Pointing their weapons toward the Foxes, the two injured aliens slowly creep forward.

“If we wait too long, we’ll be outnumbered,” the Gladiator warns.

The Spy signals with her hand and the operators discharge their crossbows, killing the two injured aliens.

While the operators reload their weapons, the final alien fearlessly charges toward them. The Gladiator pulls the spear out of the deceased creature’s knee and runs toward the advancing alien with a long weapon in each hand.

Having the longer reach, the alien is the first to attack, but the Gladiator is faster and effortlessly evades the powerful swing.

As she slips past the creature, she hooks the beak of her bec de corbin around the alien’s ankle and pulls them off their feet.

Letting go of her polearm, the Gladiator places her foot on the creature’s back, grabs her spear with both hands, and kills them by plunging her spear into the back of the alien’s neck.

Picking up one of the becs de corbin from the floor, the Gladiator joins the Spy at the door to the war room. The Fox operators reload their crossbows and get ready to assault the room.

The Spy starts to input the code into the door’s keypad when the door quickly swings open.

Dropping her weapon, the Gladiator grabs the back of the Spy’s tactical vest and throws her to the floor as the spear end of a bec de corbin is thrust at her throat.

The Gladiator wraps her arms around the pole of the alien’s weapon, presses her foot against the door frame and pulls with all her strength.

Losing their balance, the alien stumbles through the doorway and, fighting to keep their weapon, turns to face the Foxes. A volley of crossbow bolts punctures the creature’s armoured chest plate, killing them before they fall to the floor.

The Gladiator turns the stolen weapon around in her arms and cautiously enters the war room.

In the center of the room there is an inactive electronic table with ten unarmoured alien chiefs, wearing brightly coloured robes, huddled together behind the table. They are clutching becs de corbin tightly with fearful expressions.

“All clear,” the Gladiator says.

Climbing to her feet, the Spy removes the Angel’s book from her tactical pack, raises it above her head and enters the room.

“I have an important message for Utu,” she says in Triangulum.

The alien chiefs loosen the grip on their weapons as they chat amongst themselves.

Utu, wearing a bright purple robe, looks identical to the Angel with similar, though fewer, scars covering their skin, says, “I am Utu.”

Checking that the Foxes have reloaded their weapons and are covering her, the Spy cautiously approaches the chiefs with one hand raised and the other offering the book.

“Your sibling says we need to work together,” she says.

The chiefs murmur inaudibly, but their body language makes it clear they are angry.

“How did you learn our language?” Utu asks, not accepting the book.

The Spy places the book on the electronic table and slowly backs away.

“Your sibling has been in our galaxy for a long time,” she says, pointing to the book. “After learning our language, they wrote that to help us find a peaceful resolution.”

The murmurs get louder as their body language shows their anger is intensifying.

Utu picks up the book, opens it to the first page, and nearly drops it. They turn their back to the Foxes and pull the other chiefs in close.

The Spy reaches for the radio on her vest and turns the volume up. “Are you still there, Yeshe?” she says quietly in the Galactic language while rejoining the other Foxes.

“Affirmative, Alpha Leader,” Okar says through the helmet radio. “Don’t let your guard down yet. We don’t know if the stories the Angel included are coded messages or not.”

“Understood,” the Spy affirms.

Looking down at the security videos on her arm computer, she sees four armoured Triangulum guards waiting outside the war room. Scrolling through the cameras, she finds twelve others running through the halls.

“Is the Kokou ready?” she asks.

“If something feels off, get your team to a hatch. The Kokou will come to you,” Okar reassures.

Utu turns to face the Spy and angrily asks, “Is this a joke?”

“No,” the Spy answers in Triangulum.

“I have no siblings!” Utu growls.

The Spy reaches for her sidearm but stops before she wraps her hand around the grip. She reaches for the computer in her bracer instead and starts scrolling through her pictures.

“Why would this creature claim to be your sibling?” the Spy asks, projecting the photo of the Angel in his jail cell from the computer. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

The chiefs become frightened at the sight of the Angel and nervously huddle up.

“You’re running out of time, Alpha Leader,” Okar says. “Execute them and escape.”

“It’s not too late,” the Spy refutes calmly in the Galactic language. “The Angel knew their story wouldn’t hold up. We need to know why they sent us here. If this doesn’t pan out, I’ll disable the shields and the Kokou can use their white hole bomb.”

“Gambling our lives on a hunch?” the Gladiator asks with a smirk.

“You disapprove?” the Spy answers.

“Just don’t ask me to surrender.”

Utu steps away from the chiefs and asks, “How long have you imprisoned this … individual?”

“Fifteen years,” the Spy says in their language.

Looking over their shoulder, Utu waits for the chiefs to nod in agreement.

The chiefs take their becs de corbin to the cabinet behind them while Utu turns the electronic table on. Flashing red warnings blink on the tabletop telling everyone on the command ship to defend the war room in Triangulum.

Utu clicks on the table’s keyboard causing ten blank text fields to appear. They enter a password into the first field, turning it green, and step away from the keyboard. The other chiefs line up behind Utu and take turns entering a password into the remaining empty text fields.

“We don’t know what’s happening,” Utu says, “but the information in this book is interesting. We would like to meet the scientist of death and life that this book praises,” they add, tapping on the book. “If he can convince us that these stories are true, we will surrender to him.”

With the last password entered, the warnings disappear from the table. The Spy cycles through the camera feeds on her computer, to find twenty guards have gathered outside the war room. With confused body language, all but two gather their deceased and leave.

“If you don’t need to meet him in person, I can setup that meeting right now,” the Spy says in Triangulum, signaling for the Foxes to lower their weapons.

Utu looks to the other chiefs for unanimous consent before saying, “That is acceptable.”

“Yeshe, the alien chiefs would like to speak with Duncan before they surrender,” she says, switching to the Galactic language.

Okar sighs and says, “Give me ten minutes to prep him.”

“Understood,” the Spy replies. “I’ll get things setup on this end.” Turning to the Gladiator she quietly says, “Keep an eye on the cameras. I don’t want anything sneaking up on us.”

The Gladiator nods.

Switching back to Triangulum, she says, “My chief is getting the scientist of death and life now.” Removing the computer from her bracer she points to the table and asks, “May I?”

Utu nods approvingly and the Spy approaches the table, places the computer on the surface, opens the communication app, and uses her rootkit to connect it to the table.

#

Duncan’s lab is unusually quiet as the researchers have gathered along the wall of mounted screens to watch the live videos coming from the Kokou and the Foxes’ helmet cameras.

The spacetime door connected to Okar’s office swings open and Okar enters with her linguistic team. They storm across the lab to the adjacent office where Duncan and Tessa are looking at the scribbled notes on the whiteboards. Duncan is no longer visibly frantic and talks calmly with his wife.

“Is he ready?” Okar asks as she enters the office.

“For what?” Duncan asks.

“If you don’t screw things up the aliens are ready to surrender,” she says.

“That’s good news,” he says. “But we still don’t know what the Angel meant when they said I would prove it’s too late for eradication.”

“Which is why you will act confident and pretend that we are stronger than we are,” Okar says. “If they’re going to surrender to you, you must look competent.”

“You’ll do great, Phil,” Tessa reassures.

Okar and her team gather around the electronic table while Tessa straightens Duncan’s lab coat and makes his hair look more presentable.

“Just relax,” she says.

“Don’t feel rushed to answer their questions,” Okar adds. “Take your time, think about what you’re saying, and give my translators time to keep up.”

She connects her tablet to the table and prepares to call the Spy.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

Taking a deep breath, Duncan nods and says, “Yes.”

Pressing the call button, the Spy answers.

“We’re ready, Alpha Leader,” Okar says.

“Welcome, Yeshe,” the Spy says.

The video from the Spy’s helmet camera is projected above the electronic table showing the ten chiefs gathered around a three-dimensional projection of a tunnel boring machine.

Switching to Triangulum, the Spy says, “This is President Okar and Duncan, the Scientist of Death and Life.”

“It’s good to see you,” Duncan says in Triangulum as Okar’s linguistic team translates. “Your sibling speaks tall of you.”

“Speaks highly of you,” the Spy corrects.

“My apologies,” Duncan says, “Alpha Leader is our polyglot.”

Utu smiles and says, “You are faring much better than we would by trying to hobble together your language with this book. Speaking of which, are you familiar with its contents?”

“The Angel made us a copy as well,” Duncan says. “We’ve gone through it thoroughly.”

The chiefs murmur incoherently behind Utu.

“Is that what my sibling calls themself?” Utu asks. “That’s cute. How much context did they give you about our situation?”

“Only that a diseaselike problem has chased you from the Triangulum galaxy through Andromeda to the Milky Way,” Duncan says. “They refused to give us any details about what that diseaselike problem was.”

“Several millennia ago, our ancestors developed a method to maximize our mining efficiency,” Utu says, zooming in on the tunnel boring machine’s drill. “Regenerative cutterheads that collect the broken fragments and nearby atoms to rebuild themselves. This let them stay in perfect condition for the entire project and minimized our mining waste.”

“Please don’t tell me you used an artificial intelligence to manage the regenerative process,” Duncan says.

Utu smirks and says, “We’ve never used an AI for anything other than data analysis and processing. We developed software that searched for and collected tiny waste metals created from the boring process. Using a schematic of the boring machine, the program determined what parts were damaged and created the alloys required for repairs. The problem was that this process wasn’t as perfect as we thought.”

They change the projected image to a video of a large metal fragment sitting in the loose dirt at the bottom of a circular borehole.

“One of our cutterheads struck an exceptionally durable patch of rock,” Utu continues. “A fragment of the machine broke off and tried to run the regenerative software that was stored in its memory.”

The metal fragment slowly grows larger and begins rolling around in the dirt.

“It started to pull trace amounts of iron and carbon atoms out of the surrounding stone debris, attempting to rebuild itself.”

“Except instead of repairing a damaged cutter head, the fragment started building a new machine,” Duncan deduces.

The chiefs murmur with an impressed tone.

“We cut it into smaller pieces and used it to sift through quarry waste to collect every atom we could,” Utu says. “The success of the program made us greedy, and we started using beta decay to transform our waste matter into more usable atoms.”

“That had to raise concerns,” Duncan dissents.

“Among a few of us, it did,” Utu admits.

The projection of the metal fragment changes to a video of an alien warship being built in a Triangulum shipyard.

“But the boon to our industry overpowered the voice of opposition,” they continue. “We made sure to liquify everything before repurposing it, but after a while, corners were cut, procedure was ignored, and things got rushed.”

The projected video of the unbuilt alien warship zooms out to reveal the Triangulum shipyard being consumed by a faint grey cloud.

“A contaminated sample was used to build a beta decay machine, and the product from that machine made it to the shipyards where it found the schematics for our warships. The rogue program quickly started turning all our matter into ghostships.” Utu says.

“But those ghostships wouldn’t take damage floating in space,” Duncan says. “What caused the program to leave the completed vessels?”

“Since there wasn’t a perfect amount of material to only make completed ghostships, the program cannibalized finished warships in an attempt to reach their own perfection,” Utu explains. “That created an endless loop.”

“How long until you used an antimatter bomb on the shipyard?” Duncan asks.

“We gave everyone thirty minutes to escape,” they say.

“But infected particles escaped with them,” Duncan deduces.

“By the time we realized our fatal mistake,” Utu continues, “the program had already accessed our star maps and started looking for more sources of matter to consume.”

The projection changes to show the Triangulum galaxy with red lines connecting the stars.

“We were forced to flee to the Andromeda galaxy,” they say as the projection zooms out to include the neighbouring galaxy. “Since we never mapped Andromeda, we hoped the program wouldn’t follow us. But to be safe, we warned the Indigenous inhabitants and developed a contingency plan.”

The Triangulum galaxy fades away as the projection shifts to center on Andromeda.

“It took a few hundred years, but the program eventually did find a way to the Andromeda galaxy,” Utu adds. “We tried everything we could to eradicate every infected atom before it reached fresh sources of matter.”

“But it’s impossible to track every piece of space debris through the vastness of intergalactic space,” Duncan admits.

“As our numbers dwindled,” Utu continues, “our new plan was to eradicate all matter in the Milky Way galaxy and hope the program would focus on itself instead of searching for new sources of matter.”

Bau, a chief wearing a green robe, steps beside Utu and says, “But now this, Angel, claims our plan has already failed and that you are the only one who can lead us forward.”

Duncan turns to the chaotic timeline he’s scribbled on the whiteboards behind him.

The Navigator knocks on the door quietly before opening it just enough to slip through.

“This isn’t a good time,” Okar dismisses.

“You wanted me to notify you when something changed,” the Navigator says matter-of-factly. “One of the moon-sized cylinders has started to wobble.”

“Thanks, Navigator, we’ll—” Okar says.

“Wobble how?” Duncan asks.

Turning to the table, Duncan projects the video of the alien fleet and gestures toward it. The Navigator approaches the table and zooms in on the affected station.

“It looks like the radial mass is becoming uneven,” he says. “Like they’re launching spacecraft.”

“Your plan has already failed, because you’ve already introduced the program to our galaxy,” Duncan declares as he sends the video to the Spy.

Utu quickly turns their own cameras on the affected station and confirm the observation.

“Those are farms,” they say.

The chiefs line up behind Utu and, one after the other, they place a hand on Utu’s shoulder and nod.

With all the chiefs in agreement, Utu types a command into the table’s keyboard and says, “Duncan, the Scientist of Death and Life, we the Triangulum, surrender to you unconditionally.”

The chiefs kneel on the floor and bow their heads as an antimatter bomb appears in the video and erases the infected space station with a flash of light.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Derivatives

The locker rooms on the alien command ship look as if they’ve been unused for millennia. Rows of empty three-meter-tall lockers create fake hallways through the room with a row of metal benches running between them. A wheeled basket full of dust covered, rolled up rubber runners sits beside the entrance to the showers.

Utu opens the locker room door and instructs the Spy, Gladiator, and Foxes to enter.

“Wait in here,” Utu says in Triangulum. “Once we clear our medical staff, I’ll have them clear you to leave. Remove anything metallic, it will speed up the process.”

“Understood, Utu,” the Spy affirms in their language.

Utu closes the door behind them as they leave.

“If they surrendered, why are we their prisoners?” the Gladiator asks.

“We’re not prisoners,” the Spy says calmly in the Galactic language. She takes her helmet off, places it on one of the benches, and orders, “Remove everything with metal in it. We cannot infect the Yeshe.”

The Foxes put their weapons down on the benches and remove their tactical equipment.

“One problem, Sandra,” the Gladiator says, tapping her shoulder. “I’m full of metal bones.”

“We’ll figure something out,” the Spy reassures while kicking off her boots.

Patting down her pockets to make sure they’re empty; the Spy removes the computer from her bracer and calls Okar.

“Why are you in a locker room, Alpha Leader?” Okar asks as soon as she answers the call. “The aliens are destroying themselves. You need to get out of there.”

“The Triangulum are slowing the program’s spread,” the Spy explains calmly. “Make sure the Pilot doesn’t get too close to the fleet. If we aren’t infected, we’ll call him when we’re at the extraction zone.”

The locker room door swings open and Utu enters with Gula and their assistant, both wearing green robes.

“The three of us have been cleared,” Utu says. “But this vessel has been compromised, so we need to move quickly.”

The Spy nods, turns to the Foxes and orders, “Line up. The Gladiator and I will be last.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Foxes say in unison before lining up in front of Gula and their assistant.

“What’s going on?” Okar asks.

“This ship’s been infected,” the Spy says calmly. “We’re being tested to make sure we aren’t carrying it with us.” Switching to Triangulum, she asks, “What about the other chiefs?”

“They’ve already evacuated,” Utu says. “Once we’ve contained the outbreak, we’ll collect them with clean ships.”

“How badly have you been hit?” she asks.

“If we suffer less than ninety percent losses, it will be a miracle,” they say.

“How many more fleets do you have?”

Utu looks uncomfortable as they answer, “We recalled everyone after our defeat in Erebus.”

Switching back to the Galactic language, the Spy says, “The chiefs have been evacuated, but they are expecting this to be a near extinction event for them.”

The medical team runs their detectors over the final Fox operator before making their way to the Spy and Gladiator.

“She has metal bones,” the Spy says in Triangulum before putting her computer down with the rest of her metal equipment.

“Ah, that’s why she is bigger than the others,” the assistant says quietly as they approach the Spy.

“She is still a very small person,” Gula says while placing their bag on the floor.

Gula removes a scale from their bag and places it in front of the Gladiator. They gesture for her to step on it to record her weight. Reaching back into the bag, they remove an iron chainmail shirt and a notepad. Gula scribbles the Gladiator’s weight onto the notepad before handing the shirt to her and gestures for her to put it on.

Slipping her head through the neck hole, the shirt falls loosely over the Gladiator’s body and the sleeves clank against the floor.

“She’s smaller than a child,” the assistant says, trying to hold back their laughter.

“I don’t like their tone,” the Gladiator growls quietly.

“You wouldn’t like what they’re saying either,” the Spy says with a smile.

The assistant finishes scanning the Spy and puts their metal detector back in their bag.

“Everyone else is clear,” they say.

“Go to the docking bay,” Utu orders. “Get on the first pod out.”

“Yes, Chief,” they affirm before leaving the locker room.

Pressing their finger against the earpiece in their ear, Utu says, “Excuse me,” as they walk to a secluded part of the locker room.

“Suit up, Foxes,” the Spy orders. “We move once the Gladiator is cleared.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” they say in unison.

The Spy puts her tactical vest and helmet on.

“Repeat. Alpha Leader, this is an emergency,” the Pilot says through the helmet’s radio.

“What’s the problem, Pilot?” she asks.

“Ten insertion pods just appeared and attached themselves to the command ship’s service hatches,” he says.

“Appeared as in—”

“Appeared as in Children of Themis appeared,” the Pilot interrupts.

“Have they made contact?” Okar asks.

“Negative, Yeshe,” the Spy answers. “We’re preparing for exfil now. With luck, we won’t need to.”

“Copy that, Alpha Leader,” Okar agrees.

“How much longer?” Utu asks, returning in a hurry.

“About thirty seconds for an accurate result,” Gula says.

“What’s going on?” the Spy asks in Triangulum.

“The infected have become vacuous sooner than expected,” Utu says. “Our soldiers are doing their best to keep them away from us, but that is not going to last much longer. Thank you for sending backup, but you do know anyone that engages, cannot leave, right?”

“Understood,” the Spy says. Switching to the Galactic language she orders, “Pilot, destroy any pod that attempts to escape.”

“With pleasure!” the Pilot affirms.

Gula pulls the chainmail shirt off the Gladiator and checks that her current weight matches the number they wrote down.

“She’s clear,” they say, putting their tools back in the bag.

“Suit up quickly,” the Spy orders. “We leave when you’re ready.” Turning to Utu, she asks in Triangulum, “Can you two make it to your escape pods?”

“Impossible to tell,” Utu says. “But we train for this every day. Pack quickly, Gula.”

“Come with us,” the Spy suggests, “We have space and I want to make sure you get out.”

The Gladiator finishes tying her boots, puts her helmet on, and picks up her spear. Leaving the rest of her armoured equipment on the bench, she marches for the door.

“Update the map, I’ll take point,” she says.

“I’ve marked the closest hatch,” the Navigator says.

The heads-up display inside the operators’ helmets updates to show them the fastest route out.

Sliding the locker room door open, the Gladiator carefully peeks into the hall. Signalling for the others to follow behind her, she follows the path marked on her display.

Turning the corner, she stops at the sight of an armoured alien stumbling through the hallway in front of her. A fine grey dust leaks out from the cracks between the armoured plates.

“We need a new exit,” the Gladiator warns quietly.

“Thirty-three point five eight meters behind you, make a right,” the Navigator says. “I’ll update the HUD before you get there.”

The Gladiator runs to the back of the group and leads them through the tall halls as the Navigator updates their helmets’ displays.

Reaching the hall parallel to the maintenance tunnel, the Gladiator carefully peers around the corner toward the marked door. There are two vacuous guards, surrounded by a fine grey mist, shambling toward their exit. She signals for the others to stop.

“How quickly can they move?” the Gladiator asks, and the Spy translates.

“Not very,” Utu says, “the problem is that their infectious cloud usually reaches ten meters around them.”

Peeking around the corner, the Spy summarizes, “They only need to move five meters before that door becomes infected.”

“Toss me your spear,” the Gladiator says as she steps into the hall.

Grabbing her spear like a javelin, the Gladiator throws it at the left vacuous guard with perfect form. As soon as the spear leaves her fingertips, the Spy tosses her spear to the Gladiator.

Stepping back to her throwing position, the Gladiator snatches the Spy’s spear out of the air with her left hand, tosses it over her head to her right hand, and sends it soaring at the second vacuous guard with another perfect throw.

The spears strike their targets with enough force to snap the tempered spearheads against the durable armour plating and knock them onto their backs.

“Move!” the Gladiator orders, sprinting for the door.

She barely makes it ten meters before the vacuous are back on their feet and shambling toward them aimlessly.

“Kelly, Stop!” the Spy orders. “Navigator, we need a new exit.”

“Something’s interfering with the video,” the Navigator warns.

“We’re still at the intersection,” the Spy says, “give us step by step instructions to the next exit.”

The door to the maintenance tunnel slides open and two human sized soldiers wearing black and red survival suits step into the hall between the Foxes and the vacuous. In addition to having matching suits with mirrored visors hiding their faces, they are identical in shape and height.

“I’ve got these two, One Zero Eight,” the first soldier says through a distorted speaker on his mask. “Make sure they get home.”

“We’re here to escort you, Foxes,” 108 says, waving them toward the open door. “Tell your pilot to dock at hatch seventy-four.”

The first soldier sprints toward the vacuous with incredible speed, clearing the twelve-meter gap in a second. Wrapping his arms around the first vacuous, the soldier picks them up, pushes them into the second, and pins them against the wall.

“Alpha Leader?” the Gladiator asks.

Quickly assessing the situation, the Spy steps up to the front of the group and says, “Belay that order, Navigator. We’re heading to hatch seventy-four.”

“Affirmative, Alpha Leader,” the Pilot says. “Starting docking route now.”

108 enters the maintenance tunnel and leads the Foxes toward their exit. Behind them, a third identical soldier has a vacuous in a headlock and is holding them thirty meters away from the escape route.

“If we had known your soldiers were this self-sacrificing, we might have rethought our plan to eradicate your galaxy,” Utu says.

“Our armies are full of surprises,” the Spy says calmly.

As they approach the floor hatch, a fourth identical soldier has grappled a vacuous to the floor twenty meters away from the escape hatch.

“We’re at the exfil, Pilot,” the Spy says.

“Affirmative, ready to receive,” he responds.

The Spy enters the code to open the floor hatch, drops into the airlock, and opens the outer hatch.

“The gravity is reversed,” she warns as she pulls the door open.

Dropping to her knees, she reaches through the hatch, grabs the Kokou’s floor, and pulls herself into the dropship.

The Gladiator and 108 stand guard as the Foxes, Utu, and Gula crawl into the dropship.

“There’s something familiar about you,” the Gladiator says.

“Our uniforms are standard issue,” 108 dismisses. When Gula makes their way through the airlock, he says, “Your turn.”

Dropping into the airlock, the Gladiator reaches into the Kokou, grabs the floor, and pulls herself through.

108 steps into the airlock, drops straight into the Kokou, and grabs the outer hatch door as he falls past it. The hatch door slams shut as 108 uses it to break his fall and redirect himself to the floor of the dropship.

The Spy closes the Kokou’s floor hatch and shouts, “We’re clear!”

“Copy that,” the Pilot says. “Next stop, the Yeshe Walmo.”

The Kokou breaks away from the warship and disappears into the blackness of space.

Utu pulls a tablet from their pocket, enters a long password, and presses a button that translates to ‘scuttle’. Their command ship bursts into a flash of light, destroying any evidence that it ever existed.

“Thank you for the rescue, One Zero Eight,” the Spy says. “Did you need us to drop you off somewhere?”

“I am a part of the prisoner exchange program,” 108 says.

“Something’s bothering me about this one, Sandra,” the Gladiator says. “I swear we’ve met him before.” Stepping up to 108 she looks into his mirrored visor and commands, “Take off your helmet.”

“I won’t survive in this environment without this helmet,” he says, stepping back.

“Leave him alone, Kelly,” the Spy orders. “We’ll be on the Yeshe in a few minutes. I’ll interrogate him personally once we get there.”

The Gladiator gives 108 a sinister smirk before finding a vacant seat.

“I should retest everyone,” Gula suggests.

“Agreed,” the Spy says in Triangulum. Switching to the Galactic language she orders, “Hold off on returning to the Yeshe. Everyone needs to be rechecked first.”

As Gula scans the Foxes, the Spy removes the computer from her bracer, types, ‘Check on the Angel. I think the Children of Themis are up to something’, and sends it to Okar.

Sliding the computer into a pocket on her vest, the Spy sits across from 108, places her crossbow on her lap, and stares at his visored face for the entire journey.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Exchange

In the middle of the Yeshe’s empty docking bay, the unreflective black Kokou has landed with the flat side of its hull resting directly on the bay floor. Thirty Federation soldiers are hunkered behind metal barricades protruding from compartments in the floor with their compound crossbows aimed at the dropship as the back wall slowly swings downward to reveal the rectangular crew compartment inside.

“You have a strange way of welcoming new friends,” Utu says quietly as soon as they see the armed guards.

“Our other stowaway might be a problem,” the Spy reassures in Triangulum.

“Do you want me to leave first or last?” 108 asks, speaking in Triangulum while removing and disabling the video jamming device from his survival suit.

“Stay where you are,” the Spy orders. “Is Gula staying with you, or should I have the Foxes escort them to their cabin?”

“Go get some rest, Gula,” Utu instructs. “I’ll find you after I speak with Okar.”

“Yes, Chief,” Gula affirms.

Switching to the Galactic language, the Spy orders, “Alpha Two, meet up with the linguist division and make sure Gula makes it to their cabin safely.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he affirms.

Gesturing for Gula to follow, Alpha Two leads them off the dropship and out of the docking bay.

“Stay behind our soldiers,” the Spy says in Triangulum as she leads Utu off the Kokou. “President Okar will be here shortly with Duncan.”

Standing behind the hunkered soldiers, the Spy orders, “Foxes, fall in!”

The Foxes, including the Gladiator, march off the dropship, take cover behind the barricades, and aim their crossbows at 108.

Placing her hand on the Gladiator’s shoulder, the Spy calmly says, “I need you to watch the hallway.”

“My gut is telling me I need to stay here,” the Gladiator refutes.

“Kelly. Please,” the Spy pleads. “I can stop Duncan from acting irrationally, but the Federation doesn’t have the means to stop you.”

“Stop me? From what?”

“If I’m overcautious, nothing,” the Spy says. “Let me confirm my suspicions and then we can choose what to do about it.”

“Fine,” the Gladiator says.

She lowers her crossbow, removes the bolt from the groove, and gently lifts the string off the latch.

“If things get out of control, scream loud, and I’ll come running,” the Gladiator promises.

“Thank you,” the Spy says with a smile.

Walking toward the exit, the Gladiator passes Okar, Duncan, and Tessa as they enter the docking bay. She grabs Duncan by the collar of his lab coat and pulls him away from the others.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she growls before letting him go.

Tessa holds her weight up with one arm on her walker and wraps her other hand around her holstered sidearm. She watches the Gladiator carefully until she leaves the docking bay.

“Why do you let her talk to you like that?” she asks scornfully.

“Because I usually deserve it,” Duncan admits shamefully.

“What’s with all the cryptic messages?” Okar asks, reaching the Spy before Duncan and Tessa.

The Spy gestures toward 108 standing inside the Kokou and says, “If that’s what I think it is, we need to ease Kelly into the situation.”

Okar examines 108 from a distance as Duncan arrives.

He takes one quick glance at 108 and shouts, “Kill—”

“Negative!” Okar orders while the Spy grapples Duncan and squeezes her hand over his mouth tightly.

“What’s going on?” Okar asks angrily.

“He’s an Apollyon Clone,” the Spy says calmly as she forces Duncan to his knees.

108 takes his mirrored helmet off to expose an unscarred face otherwise identical to the Butcher’s.

“I’m sorry for the cloak and dagger theatrics,” he says. “Mother Themis sent me to make sure you are ready. She wasn’t sure how Kelly was going to react to my appearance, so I was instructed to hide it from her.”

“Ready for what?” Okar asks.

“Her ascension,” he says proudly.

Calming down, Duncan stops fighting the Spy’s grip and taps her arm. The Spy removes her hand from his mouth, helps him to his feet, but keeps one arm wrapped around him.

“Great,” Duncan says quietly while rubbing his face. “She’s taken advantage of Butch’s pious nature to make the clones zealots for her cause.”

“What happens when she ascends?” Okar asks.

“The Moirai will emerge from the heavens and guide us to galactic salvation,” 108 says.

“How many clones do you think she has?” the Spy asks Duncan quietly.

“Impossible to tell,” Duncan admits. “Especially if we extrapolate beyond first generation clones. We don’t know the size of the sample taken from Butch’s corpse or how much of it was usable.”

Feeling that Duncan won’t overreact, the Spy releases her grip and joins Okar.

“What is the Moirai?” Okar asks.

“The Interpreter, the Judge, and the Blade.”

Okar turns her back to 108 and speaks quietly to Tessa, Duncan, and the Spy. “Did the Philosopher aspire to be worshipped?”

“Up until Salem Station, I would have said never,” Duncan says.

“Didn’t you say she joined your university pursuing anthropology?” Okar asks.

“She did, but she never focused on religious practices or customs,” he explains.

“What changed in Salem?”

“I was busy treating the injured,” Duncan admits. “But the first stories I heard about Mother Themis were about how she united Jarilo and Ponos.”

“I didn’t know she existed until the Pilot completed his undercover mission,” the Spy says. “By that time, she had already become a saint.”

“There was one thing that has always bothered me about her,” Tessa said. “She meditated more and became more … she showed more signs of being stressed two months before Ishtar Seven was attacked. Then she left a week before the … the explosives were dropped. I always thought she turned us into the Federation.”

“Is it possible she was receiving orders from the Angel while she meditated?” Okar asks.

“Let me inspect the Angel and their cell,” Duncan says. “If they’ve hidden a quantum radio, I’ll find it.”

Okar looks uneasy.

“That’s what he meant by prisoner exchange, wasn’t it,” the Spy says.

“Reviewing the security cameras, they climbed down a ladder hidden under their bunk,” Okar says. “When we went to pursue them, the dirt was undisturbed, but there was a metal frame embedded in the ground.”

“The Children of Themis used a spacetime door,” Duncan deduces. “Someone must’ve installed it when they did maintenance in the cell.”

“No one’s been in there without permission from the royal family,” Okar says, trailing off. “But Prince Raza was adamant on selecting the team that retrofit the cell himself.”

“That suggests the prince has been working with the Philosopher and Angel since the beginning,” the Spy says.

“Smart,” Tessa says with a smile. “The prince infiltrates the Federation, and the Philosopher infiltrates the Torians allowing the Angel to … contaminate the galaxy with their cult’s ideology.”

“I’ll ask Utu if there are any fanatical groups from the Triangulum or Andromeda galaxies,” the Spy says. “Perhaps the prince’s interests in intergalactic travel weren’t so altruistic,” she adds as she steps away to talk with Utu.

“How dangerous is the clone?” Okar asks.

“The survival suit makes him dangerous,” Duncan says. “The clones themselves are not identical to the donor.”

“You sounded pretty scared the first time you saw them,” Okar says.

“I had never cloned a human before,” he admits. “I know better now.”

“You tried to clone me?” Tessa asks with a disgusted tone.

“Absolutely not,” Duncan says defensively. “I cloned myself to double my brainpower. Unfortunately, the clone would have taken at least ten years to get up to speed. And that was with a perfect clone. These were created with damaged DNA from a poisoned corpse.”

“Where is your clone now?” Tessa asks.

“I put it on ice in case I need it for proof of death or an emergency organ donation,” he says.

“This clone is our immediate problem,” Okar says. “How do we get him out of his suit?”

“Looks like he’s ahead of you,” Tessa says, gesturing toward the Kokou’s open door.

108 has his hands clasped behind his head, wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs. The skin over his protruding gut and arms isn’t as shiny as the Butchers because it lacks the extreme muscle density of his donor’s DNA. The survival suit is on the floor three meters in front of him.

“Retrieve that suit,” Okar orders.

“Yes, Ma’am,” one of the soldiers says.

Removing the bolt from the groove, the soldier carefully rests his crossbow against the barricade. He enters the dropship, making sure the other soldiers can still shoot 108 if they need to, and collects the survival suit.

“Take that to the war room,” Okar instructs. “And send Ensign Charybdis back in.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the soldier affirms as he jogs toward the docking bay exit.

“Are these suits something we can mass produce?” Okar asks.

“Maybe on a small scale,” Duncan says. “I designed the prototype with Butch’s unique physiology in mind. We would need to calibrate each suit to the operator’s pain threshold and ergogenic drug tolerances.”

Seeing, the Gladiator storm across the docking bay, the Spy steps away from Utu and meets her before she can see into the Kokou.

“We need him for questioning,” the Spy says bluntly. “The Children of Themis have freed the Angel, so this, thing, is all we have to find his creator.”

“His creator?” the Gladiator asks with a smirk. “Sounds like you’ve been reading too much into these cults.”

She tries to step past the Spy, but the Spy steps in front of her and places her hands on the Gladiators wrists softly.

“Kelly,” she pleads. “Don’t make me choose you over the galaxy.”

With a mix of curiosity and concern, the Gladiator tries to peek into the dropship.

“Is it that bad?” she asks.

The Spy hugs her tightly and says, “Prepare for the worst. Do not succumb to your hate.”

Placing her hands on the Spy’s shoulders, the Gladiator gently pushes her away.

“We’ve already conquered the worst,” she says softly. “Apollyon can’t hurt us, and I won’t die in your arms.” Gently moving the Spy out of her way, the Gladiator reassures, “I’ve got this,” as she walks past her.

“Wait,” the Spy says.

Making eye contact with the Apollyon clone, the Gladiator freezes in place. Her skin turns bright red as she reaches for the sidearm on her thigh, but the holster is empty.

“Kelly,” the Spy says, stepping away with the Gladiator’s sidearm in hand.

“You knew as soon as you saw them,” the Gladiator accuses.

“I suspected it,” she admits.

“And you felt that you couldn’t trust me?” Turning to face the Spy, the Gladiator slowly walks toward her.

“You just tried to draw your sidearm,” the Spy says calmly.

The Gladiator’s body language becomes less aggressive as her skin returns to its natural colour.

“Are we in danger?” she asks.

“Not from this clone,” the Spy says.

Gently taking her sidearm from the Spy’s hand, the Gladiator returns it to her holster.

“It sounds like we both need a de-stressor,” she says, hugging the Spy. “General Paris is off duty now, Madam President,” the Gladiator says flippantly without looking toward Okar. “I’ll bring her back by the end of the week.”

Okar opens her mouth to respond but Duncan interrupts, “Let them go.”

Watching the docking bay door close behind the sisters, Okar sighs and orders, “Take him to the brig.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the soldiers say in unison.

“I want to know everything he knows, Fleet Admiral,” Okar says. “Do whatever it takes.”

“Understood,” Tessa affirms.

The soldiers, Foxes, and Tessa escort 108 out of the docking bay.

“The Angel made you out to be a miracle maker,” Utu says in Triangulum. “It makes me less nervous to learn that you’re relatable.”

“They like that we’re acting human,” Duncan translates.

“Good,” Okar says. “Let’s show them your lab. We need to start planning our next steps.”

Duncan translates as he, Okar, and Utu leave the docking bay.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Deity

Inside Duncan’s pocket universe, the workstations nearest to the spacetime door to Okar’s office have become a Federation command post. The Spy works with the Federation’s interrogators to review 108’s recorded interviews and verify the claims he’s made.

Utu, with the help of a translator, is giving a demonstration to a large group of researchers, including Duncan, Kashif, and Kaur, about the many ways they’ve tried to stop the rogue program over the millennia. From weapons, malware, and tricks, they outline everything in meticulous detail to explain how each attempt failed.

Okar, the Navigator, Tessa, Grant, and Brandon are in the adjacent office reviewing fleet positions and potential paths the program could enter the Galaxy from. Freda, Kamali, and Lucas are connected through video calls.

“Any word from General Lee?” Okar asks.

“The Children of Themis are as silent as ever,” Grant says. “We should escalate our interrogation methods to see if that shakes something loose.”

“Torture just creates stories to give the tortured a temporary reprieve,” Okar refutes. “The Philosopher’s messengers are very forthcoming with what they’re allowed to say. But they will die before saying something they haven’t been given permission to say.”

“It’s also a lot of fun to look them in the eyes when you tell them you’ve discovered their secrets,” Freda says.

“How are things in Salem?” Okar asks. “Any more incidents?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kamali says. “The Children of Themis’s event organizers have been working on the second anniversary celebration and we used the crisis of last year’s event to gain deeper access to their organization. Unfortunately, none of the planners have met Mother Themis or the people she confides in.”

Duncan knocks on the office door as he enters. “Doctor Kaur and Utu are leading a team to develop a device to try and contain the rogue program,” he says. “I’m assigning some of the Triangulum researchers to make sure we don’t repeat failed attempts.”

“Thank you, Duncan,” Okar says, waving to dismiss him.

The Spy runs up behind Duncan as he steps out of the office.

“You need to see this,” she says, gently pushing him back into the office.

The Spy makes her way to the electronic table and starts tapping on a keyboard.

“General Lee commandeered all the galactic broadcast signals and went live five minutes ago,” she explains as she projects the broadcast from the table.

Lee is standing at a clear lectern wearing a long white robe. Behind him is an ornate silver door with three simian figures holding up a network of three galactic bodies.

“On that day we cast aside our differences,” Lee says.

“Alone we were weak!” countless voices shout from behind the camera.

“We came together as one,” Lee continues.

“Together we are strong!” the room shouts.

“We were starving and helpless.”

“Alone we were afraid!”

“But our faith in Mother Themis brought light to the station.”

“Together we are fear!”

“In the two years since our fated tribulation ended,” Lee says, feeding off the energy of the room. “Word of the Mother has spread across the Galaxy. Millions of nonbelievers sacrificed themselves to protect the holy land and Mother Themis made sure that those who fought for us were protected.”

Lee gives the audience a moment to cheer and shout admirations about Mother Themis before gesturing to silence them.

“Everyone here has heard the stories,” Lee continues. “We’ve felt the warmth that the Mother has brought us. But most of us, myself included, were not among the children born before our liberation. Those children huddled together, shivering in the depths of Salem Station, waiting three weeks for Mother Themis’s divine guidance.”

Lee’s voice becomes filled with pride. “Never wavering, never questioning, always ready to sacrifice themselves for each other. That is why today, on this day of our birth,” tears appear in his eyes, “is the day that Mother Themis has stepped away from the Nefertem to grace us with her presence.”

Excited gasps fill the room as Lee lowers his head and joins the rest of the Children of Themis in front of the stage. The gasps intensify as the silver door opens.

The Philosopher steps out of the connected office wearing a plain, loose fitting, white robe. The sound of the audience quickly kneeling on the floor fills the room and the gasps turn to ecstatic sobbing.

“Mother Themis graces us with her presence!” the audience weeps

She closes the door behind her, approaches the lectern, and gives the crowd time to react.

Taking in a deep breath she silences the audience and says, “Salutations, my children.”

“Welcome, Mother,” the audience says in unison.

“In two years, we have forged immeasurably, and coalesced multitudes,” she continues. “Our benignity has perpetuated across three galaxies. And we have advanced by prodigious magnitudes.” Her body language shifts from being proud, to being scared. “Nonetheless the worst is henceforth,” she warns.

“We are ready!” a voice shouts, prompting many more to cheer their support.

“An impious commination seeks to dissever us,” the Philosopher says. “It is impuissant to accept our love.”

The sound of a hundred people rising to their feet fills the room.

“Alone we are weak!” they shout.

“Together we are Strong!” the rest of the audience shouts as they climb to their feet.

“Alone we are afraid!” half the room shouts.

“Together we are fear!” the other half adds.

The Philosopher gestures for the room to settle down, and they quickly obey.

“This time is dissimilar to the foregone,” she says. “We entail the succor of a monster. The monster that innumerable of you dread.”

The audience murmurs as they decipher what she’s said.

“Has the monster been touched by your light?!” someone shouts.

Taking a deep breath, the Philosopher answers, “The monster was enlightened by the conflagration of Salem.”

“Then the monster is one of us!” someone else shouts, causing the audience to burst into agreeing cheers.

The Philosopher returns to the silver door, opens a hidden panel, and enters a thirty-five-digit code into the keypad. An odd sound emanates from behind the door.

Returning to the lectern, the Philosopher silences the crowd.

“Woefully, the monster perished in Tartarus,” she says. “He extricated us from another execrable war.” The sound from behind the door stops. “The Scientist was my family and I mourn him ceaselessly,” she says holding back tears.

The tone of the audience’s murmurs becomes fearful.

“That is the obstacle I must trounce,” the Philosopher says, trying to ease the crowd. “How do I seek help from the lamented?”

“Get security here now!” Okar orders. “Pull everyone away from the spacetime doors!”

The Philosopher walks toward the silver door and, placing her hand on the handle, she turns to her followers and declares, “I must return to heaven and plea for his release.”

Pulling the door open she reveals Duncan’s pocket universe.

The researchers stumble away from the open door, surprised to see tens of thousands of disciples staring back at them. The Children of Themis collapse to their knees, place their foreheads on the floor and chant, “We serve the Mother. The Mother is wise. We serve Mother Themis. Mother Themis is the Divine.”

The Philosopher steps through the door into Duncan’s lab, closes it behind her, and presses her hand on the keypad to disconnect it from her temple.

General Grant storms out of the office with his sidearm drawn and runs toward her.

“Stay where you are,” he orders, pointing his weapon at her. “Raise your hands above your head.”

She does as she’s told. “Salutations—” she starts to say.

“Don’t say anything,” Grant orders. “Where are the guards?!” he shouts without taking his eyes off her.

Two Federation soldiers push their way through the frightened researchers and run to the General’s side.

“Restrain her,” Grant commands.

Looking down the sights of his sidearm, Grant makes sure that he always has a clear shot at the Philosopher while his guards pull her hands behind her back and put handcuffs on her wrists.

With the Philosopher restrained, Grant holsters his sidearm and quickly frisks her.

Okar steps out of the office and orders, “Bring her here.”

Grabbing the handcuff’s chain tightly, Grant looks at the guards and commands, “Do not let anyone else through this door.”

“Yes, sir!” they affirm.

Grant guides the Philosopher into the adjacent office, sits her down in a desk chair, and pushes her to the table. Utu, curious to what’s happening, follows them into the office.

The video screen from the Philosopher’s church shows that Lee has reopened the silver door to reveal the empty office. He is kneeling in front of the open door with his forehead pressed against the floor.

The Children of Themis continue to chant, “We serve the Mother. The Mother is wise. We serve Mother Themis. Mother Themis is the Divine.”

Okar turns the video off and asks, “Did she bring anything with her?”

“I didn’t feel anything attached to her body,” Grant says.

“I should call a viral team,” Duncan suggests.

Okar nods in agreement and Duncan sends the request with his tablet.

“Why did you come back?” the Spy asks.

“This is our juncture,” the Philosopher answers.

“Juncture for what?” Okar asks.

“Veracity,” she says with a smile.

Showing her frustration, Okar asks, “Care to elaborate?”

“Anon.”

“Lock her up,” Okar orders. “We’ll see if she’s ready to talk in three days.”

“We should wait for the viral team before we march her through the Yeshe,” Duncan refutes. “I’ve already locked down these two rooms in case of contamination.”

“The Angel said you’d answer our questions,” Tessa says.

“Correct,” the Philosopher replies. “Once you’re prepared.”

“If you could have freed the Angel at any time, why wait?” Okar asks.

“The justification was not unerring,” the Philosopher answers.

“Who is the Angel?” Utu asks in Triangulum.

“The one you know best,” the Philosopher answers in perfect Triangulum.

Okar gives the Spy a concerned look, who shakes her head dismissively.

Outside the office, a hazmat team starts installing a decontamination corridor to the office’s door.

Brandon sees the Philosopher moving the fingers of one of her clenched hands. He moves behind her, puts the rubber base of his cane in her palm, and forces her fingers open. A gold chain with a Celtic eternity knot falls from her hand to the floor.

The Navigator picks it up and inspects it.

“Gold necklace with ten linked squares,” he says, turning over the embellishment. “Fifteen letters are engraved on the back.”

Tessa, seeing that the Philosopher has lowered her head to avoid eye contact, orders, “Show me.”

Walking around the table, the Navigator places the necklace into Tessa’s hand and rejoins Brandon.

Tessa takes one look at the engraving and growls, “How did you get this?” She tosses the necklace to Grant and adds, “Are you with the Belphegor Syndicate?”

Grant tilts the Philosopher’s chair back and dangles the necklace above her face.

“Answer her question,” he demands.

“All seven syndicates are in my employ,” she says, looking away from Grant as tears form in her eyes. “My mother bestowed that to me when I was one.”

“Lies!” Grant growls. Grabbing the Philosopher’s jaw with the hand holding the necklace, he turns her head to look him in the eyes. “What does the engraving mean?”

“They’re my grandmother’s initials with the endearment her father, my great grandfather, gave her,” she explains.

Grant releases his grip and stumbles away from the Philosopher, dropping the necklace on the floor.

Seeing that Tessa was also shocked by the Philosopher’s answer, Duncan picks up the necklace and, rotating the embellishment, lines the letters up until they say, ‘MG the Great Queen’. He sends another message to his team with his tablet.

“What is your grandmother’s name?” he asks.

“Your suppositions are veracious,” the Philosopher answers. “And that test will confirm them.”

“Stop playing games!” Grant demands stepping forward.

Duncan holds him back and gestures toward his chaotic scribblings on the whiteboard.

“What if she isn’t?” he asks. “What if that’s the answer?”

“Two people’s psychotic ramblings don’t make a sound argument,” Grant refutes.

“It’s easy to refute what you don’t understand when you label it as being insane,” Duncan explains. “But the truth lies in explaining the inexplicable.”

“It’s simple math, Duncan,” Tessa says. “No matter how you approach it, it is impossible.”

“It might be plausible if she’s discovered something about pocket universes that we haven’t found yet,” Duncan suggests.

“That’s not solely a miscalculation,” the Philosopher says with an impressed look.

Waving his tablet around, he asks, “Does anyone else here know what I just requested?”

“She said it was a test,” the Spy says. “That’s a very broad thing to say, especially when you run a research facility.”

“A test that will prove my theory,” Duncan says, handing his tablet to Grant so he can read the message.

“He requested three buccal tests,” Grant says.

The office door opens and six specialists wearing red hazmat suits enter.

“Everyone but the suspect needs to go over there,” the lead specialist says, pointing to the wall opposite the Philosopher.

As Duncan, Utu, and the rest of the Federation command staff move to the other side of the office, the specialists pull their tools from their kits and get to work.

Two specialists take skin and saliva samples from the Philosopher. Two collect particulate samples from her clothes and under her fingernails. And the final two cut a lock of hair and a few pieces of fabric from her robe.

Dr. Laima, Duncan’s lead geneticist, enters as the specialists are sealing their samples. She is wearing a blue hazmat suit and is carrying a black container. The lead specialist directs her to the wall with the others.

“I’ll start once they’ve finished,” Laima says, placing the container on the electronic table.

“You can start by taking a sample from me,” Duncan says.

“If you wanted to test everyone you should’ve told me to bring enough tests,” she says with an irritated tone.

She opens the container to reveal a rapid DNA test kit with three collection swabs.

“Only the Philosopher and I are required,” he reassures. “If the Fleet Admiral or General Grant would volunteer samples, we can eliminate any potential doubt.”

“I take it you aren’t looking for genetic damage?” she asks, taking a cheek swab from Duncan. “What do you want me to do with this?”

Glancing at the specialists getting ready to leave, Duncan says, “Hold onto it for now.”

“Okay,” she says placing the collected sample in the kit. Grabbing the second swab she asks, “Are either of you going to volunteer samples?”

“I will,” Tessa says before her grandfather can volunteer.

Laima takes a sample from Tessa and then collects a sample from the Philosopher after the specialists leave.

“Okay, what now?” she asks, returning to her kit.

“Compare genetic markers,” Duncan orders.

“You think she’s a long-lost sibling?” Laima asks.

“Just run the test, Doctor,” Duncan instructs.

Placing the Philosopher’s sample into the machine with Duncan’s, Laima changes the setting to ‘Buccal Sequence Comparison’ and runs the first test.

“Won’t take more than a minute,” she says. “If you actually think you have a missing sibling, why are we testing them—” She stops when the machine beeps and starts printing the results. “Must be a bad sample.”

Turning to check the printout Laima smirks. “Well, she’s not your sister, but you were her teenage daddy,” she says.

“Check Tessa’s sample,” Duncan orders.

“I didn’t know you two met twenty years ago,” Laima says, switching Duncan’s sample with Tessa’s and running the test again.

Tessa stares at the machine with a worried look. Duncan gently places his nervously shaking hand on her shoulder. The machine beeps and starts printing the results.

“Congratulations!” Laima says, glancing at the results. “You’re looking at a classic case of two teenagers becoming parents before they were ready.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Duncan says, starting to breath heavily. “That will be all. Oh, and don’t tell anyone about this.” He stumbles to a wall and slides to the floor.

“Of course not, Doctor,” Laima says with a concerned look.

Packing up her kit, Laima leaves the printed results on the table and is escorted out of the office by Brandon.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Corine?” Grant asks. “Did Morrigan know?”

“I only had one child, and that was nine years ago,” Tessa says. “When Ishtar was … compromised, I gave mom’s necklace to Lexy to keep her safe. She was one at the time.”

“Then the test is wrong,” Grant says.

“DNA tests are practically a hundred percent accurate,” Duncan says weakly as he squeezes his knees.

“Practically,” Grant challenges. “That means there’s a chance.”

“We saw the samples being taken and we witnessed the tests, there was no human error,” Duncan explains. “Genetic mutations would say we weren’t the parents, so unless we have secret twins plotting against us. The Philosopher is our nine-year-old Lexy.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” the Spy warns. “The Philosopher celebrated her fourteenth birthday with us just before the war started and she spent time with Lexy on Ishtar Seven. I suspect she swapped out the necklace before she left Ishtar and I’ve planted enough DNA to know how easy it is to create misleading results.”

“How do we prove it?” Okar asks.

“Normally I’d start with the birth records,” the Spy suggests.

“Duncan asked me to find the Philosopher’s birth records when he arrived on Ishtar Seven,” Lucas says. “Unfortunately, Ishtar fell before I could find them and, if they were ever there, they’re now lost forever.”

“Then we draw blood to confirm the buccal test,” the Spy says.

“The coincidences keep adding up,” Freda says, sounding intrigued. “Tell me, Child. What is your grandmother’s name?”

Looking directly at Freda’s camera, the Philosopher says, “Morrigan Grant.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Grant dismisses. “I just said her name.”

The Spy calmly walks to Grants side and whispers to him about Freda’s talent.

“How old are you?” Freda continues.

“Twenty-six,” the Philosopher answers.

“How did you fake the DNA test?”

“I didn’t.”

Freda’s video goes black and seconds later, Okar’s tablet beeps. Okar answers and listens without saying anything. When Okar hangs up, Freda’s video reappears.

“Are you aware that Freda is an excellent lie detector?” Okar asks.

“It’s how she recognized which sentinels would delate the Broker,” the Philosopher answers. “And how she was able to extirpate his spies.”

“You’ve heard the stories,” Freda says with a smirk. “Then lie to me.”

“Perhaps your adroitness is aggrandized,” the Philosopher says with a hint of anger.

“Now, now,” Freda says in a condescending tone. “Talking pretty won’t make me forget about my concerns.”

“Duncan will enlighten you soon enough,” the Philosopher says with a smile.

Duncan looks confused, but before he can say anything his tablet beeps. Answering the message, he sees that Kaur has sent him a detailed report.

“Doctor Kaur wants to test three honeypot prototypes to determine which method works best,” he says as he sends the report to Okar. “If everything goes well, we can enter mass production in five years and have full coverage in ten.”

The Philosopher translates what Duncan said to Triangulum.

“That’s not fast enough,” Utu warns. “Based on our previous encounters, we have two years to contain the spread. In four years, the galaxy will be lost forever.”

“Then we’ll weaponize the Gnosis matter to slow it down,” Duncan answers in Triangulum while the Spy quietly translates for Okar. “Blow up everything before it enters the galaxy and clean up the rest with antimatter weapons.”

“Do those weapons eradicate matter?” Utu asks. “A single surviving atom is all it needs for total destruction of your galaxy.”

“So, we theorize which honeypot design has the highest chance for success, forgo mass production, triage the remaining systems, protect what we can, and develop a plan to systematically push the program out of the galaxy,” Duncan hypothesises.

Reading a message she just received on her tablet, Okar says, “It’s already too late.” Sending the report to the electronic table. “Our supply chain has been severely damaged,” she explains. “We’re looking at thirty months to get the materials for each of the prototypes.”

After a period of silence, Freda asks, “Are you giving up?” Not getting a response, she becomes angry. “Fine! Mercury Station has a Gnosis fuel core! We’ll go to the next galaxy and warn them that a bunch of cowards are letting the apocalypse happen.”

“I’m open to suggestions!” Duncan snaps. “It’s not like we can go back—” He stops suddenly when he glances at the Philosopher. “You’re twenty-six?” he asks.

The Philosopher smiles, knowing that Duncan is finally understanding her puzzle.

Calling Kaur on his tablet, Duncan sends the call to the electronic table, climbs to his feet, and rushes to the whiteboard where he writes ‘26’ near the bottom.

“What’s—” Kaur starts to say before noticing that she’s speaking to the command staff. “Madam President,” she greets with a salute.

“When did we lose contact with Kismet One?” Duncan asks, starting to breath rapidly.

“About fifteen years ago,” she answers.

Duncan steps back from the board to scan his other notes.

“It was seventeen years, one month and twenty-three days,” the Navigator corrects matter-of-factly.

Completing the equation to read, ‘26-17=9’, Duncan drops the marker on the tray, stares at Tessa, and points to the nine.

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Tessa dismisses. “You found two numbers that happen to … that gave you the answer you wanted.”

Returning to the table, Duncan projects the Kismet One project files above the table.

“Did we ever discover what happened to it?” he asks.

“The Torian Global Space Force never found it or traces of its destruction,” Kaur says.

“What caused the teleportation to fail?”

“The accuracy we required when entangling satellites to their anchors was too precise in the early years,” Kaur explains. “Even with the Navigator’s perfect timings, at that distance, we needed to initiate the teleportation command within a hundred and fifty milliseconds of his instruction. Something as simple as taking a deep breath caused you to miss the window. With the anchor thirty kilometers out of position, the satellite had a critical power failure and burnt all its energy accelerating.”

“If we put the entangled anchor into a new shuttle, could we use it to switch places with the Kismet?” Duncan asks.

“Theoretically, if the Kismet One still existed that could work,” Kaur acknowledges. “But due to the accuracy needed to teleport, we’d need to find the satellite first.”

Duncan says. “If the Kismet was destroyed, its entangled anchor would be destroyed too,” Duncan explains. “And since the anchor is in our storage room—”

“The Kismet still exists,” Kaur finishes his sentence.

“Did it stop accelerating before it went missing?” he asks.

“It reached ninety-eight-point-five percent the speed of light,” Kaur says. “Which would put it about twenty lightyears from the Torus system. But we searched the entire trajectory between Torus and Castor. There’s no trace of it.”

“How many years after the experiment until the Kismet went missing?” Duncan asks.

“About three,” Kaur says.

Turning to the Navigator, Duncan asks, “How much time dilation would the Kismet One have experienced traveling at ninety-eight-point-five percent the speed of light for three years?”

Unable to hide his excitement, the Navigator yells, “Seventeen years, four months, nineteen days!”

“One of our estimates is off by three-months,” Duncan admits. “But it theoretically means we could travel five years before the Galactic War started.”

“If I look at all the records, I can pinpoint the exact position in spacetime that the Kismet disappeared!” the Navigator says excitedly. “We can stop the war and work together to save everyone!”

Duncan looks at the photo of the blue Gnosis lava on the whiteboard as Okar’s tablet beeps. “I don’t think that’s what this means,” he says.

“How many jail cells have you compromised,” Okar says angrily, opening the video feed of 108’s jail cell above the electronic table.

Inside the cell with 108 is a nine-year-old woman with an identical fashion sense to the Philosopher. She is sitting on the bed next to 108, clutching a journal tightly in her arms with a travel bag nearly the same size as her sitting on the floor in front of her.

“Two,” the Philosopher says. Tears building in her eyes, she looks to Tessa and adds, “I’m sorry I took thirteen years away from you. But you will be able to hold your baby again in eight short years.”

“I want a DNA test of that child,” Okar orders. “If it’s identical to the Philosopher’s … then I might start believing your time travel idea.”

“I’ll put together a plan,” Kaur says.

“Send it directly to the President,” Duncan instructs.

“You got it,” she replies before ending the call.

“Once the viral team is done, Doctor Laima will test the child,” Duncan says.

“Who is the Strategist?” Okar asks.

“A member of the Moirai,” the Philosopher says.

“What’s her name?” Grant demands.

“It’s still too perilous to reveal,” the Philosopher refutes.

“So, she’s still alive,” Duncan deduces.

Seeing Duncan’s researchers removing the decontamination corridor, Okar makes her way to the office door.

“I want to witness this test personally,” she says. Okar turns to the Spy as she opens the door and orders, “She is not to leave your side for any reason, General.”

“Understood,” the Spy says.

“Order blood tests,” Okar says as she steps out of the office. “I don’t want to do something crazy if we’re being fooled.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Duncan says.

Okar closes the office door and crosses the lab to the spacetime door. Lucas, Kamali, and Freda say their goodbyes before ending their calls. Brandon, Utu, and the Navigator leave the Spy, Grant, Duncan, and Tessa alone with the Philosopher.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Prologue

Traveler One, a small Federation transport shuttle flies through interstellar space between the Torus and Castor systems. The shuttle’s engines are pointing in the direction they are traveling to slow their approach velocity. Five hundred kilometers behind them, the Kokou’s non-reflective hull blocks the light from the distant stars.

The Pilot is in the Kokou’s cockpit and the Navigator is standing behind his chair looking at the dropship’s screens over his shoulder.

“Yeshe, the Kokou is in position, waiting to intercept,” the Pilot says.

“Copy that, Kokou,” Okar affirms over the radio. “What’s your ETA, Traveler One?”

Inside Traveler One’s cockpit, Duncan is in the pilot’s seat next to Tessa in the co-pilot seat. 108 and the nine-year-old Lexy are in the passenger seats behind them. The screen in front of Duncan shows a green reticle a few hundred kilometers in front of them.

“We will reach the zone of action in twenty seconds,” Duncan says. “The final adjustments won’t take more than ten seconds after that.”

“Don’t get careless just because time dilation increases the size of your window,” Kaur warns over the radio. “You still only have eight tenths of a second to initiate the teleportation.”

“Eight hundred sixty-nine milliseconds,” the Navigator corrects matter-of-factly. “But don’t worry about the timing. I asked the engineers to make it automatically activate one millisecond before the Kismet vanished. You only need to get close enough for the system to put you in the perfect position before convergence.”

“Understood,” Duncan says. “We’ll attempt to make contact once we crossover.”

Reaching the marked location, the reticle disappears from the screen and is replaced by a fifteen second countdown timer, accurate to three decimal places.

“Have a safe trip, Duncan,” the Pilot says. “I’m pretty jealous I don’t get to fly this one.”

“I’d be a lot less nervous if I knew you were keeping us safe, Shango,” Duncan replies. “But I’ll be back before you know it.”

“In the six thousand, two hundred and nine days that you are gone, you never visited me once,” the Navigator says. “Don’t track me down until you get back, no matter how much you need my help.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Geminus. I’ll miss you too,” Duncan replies with a smile.

“You told me to never let anyone know my name,” the Navigator says angrily.

Before Duncan can answer, Traveler One shrinks into a single point and Kismet One expands in its place. The Kismet quickly redshifts into the distance traveling near the speed of light.

“Teleportation is a success,” the Pilot says. “Kokou is in pursuit.”

Delicately handling the flight controls, he catches up to the fleeing satellite and matches its speed.

“We have eyes on the Kismet,” he says. “Any word from the Traveler?”

“Nothing yet,” Kaur says. “But seeing the Kismet intact means they made it through. Watch your distance, if they resort to plan B, it will happen six times sooner on this side.”

“Is there anything we can do on our side to re-establish communication?” Okar asks.

“If we had time and resources, I could run a bunch of small-scale tests to find a solution, but we don’t have either,” Kaur says.

The Kismet explodes, propelling its debris along its prior trajectory at the same near light speed. The Pilot pulls the flight controls back to keep the Kokou out of the blast radius.

“They just exploded!” the Pilot exclaims.

“That’s the signal if the quantum radio failed,” Kaur says. “They made it.”

“Return to the Yeshe, Kokou,” Okar orders. “We might need you to run surveillance.”

“Affirmative,” the Pilot says. “I’ll see you in five.”

The Kokou speeds off into the distance faster than the speed of light.

#

Seventeen years ago, in the interstellar space outside the Torus system, Kismet One travels toward the star at the center of the Castor system. Hecate Three, a gunship that looks like it came from the Children of Themis’ fleet, chases five hundred kilometers behind the fleeing satellite.

Kismet One shrinks out of existence and Hecate Three redshifts into the distance as Traveler One appears where the Kismet vanished.

“You’re among friends, Navigator,” Duncan says. Seeing that the timer has reached zero, he adds, “Traveler One has arrived safely, Yeshe.”

Waiting without a response, he asks, “Do you copy, Yeshe?”

Another moment passes without a response.

“I’ll eject the anchor,” Tessa says.

“Bringing the weapon system online,” Duncan responds.

The shuttle’s alarms start ringing as ‘Missile Lock’ flashes on the screens.

“Activating countermeasures,” Duncan says as he pushes the throttle forward and grabs the flight controls. “The TGSF didn’t have any patrols in this area, so treat this as a hostile encounter.”

Keeping the g-force below three, he moves the shuttle erratically and scans for incoming attacks. Young Lexy, being thrown around in her seat, starts crying while 108 tries to comfort her and reassures her that everything is fine.

The incoming call indicator lights up on their consoles. Duncan slows the shuttle to a calm pace and answers it.

“Identify yourself, shuttle!” a sixteen-year-old version of the Strategist demands as the video call appears on their screens. “You’re here!” she exclaims, changing her tone as soon as she sees his face. “Did something happen? Why did you follow?”

The missile lock warning disappears, and the alarms stop.

“I don’t think they followed us,” the Angel says from off camera. “He looks too young.”

“We changed the timeline!” she shouts excitedly. “Wait, that still doesn’t make sense. We haven’t done anything yet.”

“Maybe destroying the Kismet caused a larger ripple than we expected,” the Angel suggests. “Ana, what happened after your shuttle disappeared?”

“You speak to me with familiarity,” Duncan says skeptically, “but you haven’t introduced yourselves.”

The Strategist looks like she’s about to be sick. “That means … oh,” she says quietly.

Placing their giant hand on the Strategist’s shoulder, the Angel steps into frame and says, “I’m Utu, a chief from the Triangulum galaxy, but everyone calls me Angel. Did my species contact you after our inexcusable actions?”

“Does any of this make sense to you?” Tessa asks quietly.

“I’m starting to piece things together,” he answers. “The Utu I knew isn’t so well spoken.”

“Butch was a patient teacher,” the Angel replies. “He taught me everything there was to become a true Milky Way native.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, the Strategist says, “I’m sorry, Ana. I forgot things would be weird on this side. My name’s Evelyn, but—”

“But you can call me Eve for short,” Duncan interjects.

“You know who she is?” Tessa asks.

Seeing the happiness on Eve’s face when she learns that she’s been recognized, Duncan turns to face Tessa.

“Destroy the anchor, the others need to know the plan worked,” he orders. Turning back to Eve, he says, “The TGSF isn’t that far away. Let’s meet near the second planet in the Gnosis system. It’s abandoned so we’ll be able to talk freely there.”

“Understood, Ana,” Eve says.

After the video call ends, Hecate Three turns toward the Gnosis system, engages their warp engine, and redshifts into the distance.

“Care to fill me in?” Tessa asks, launching a missile at the anchor ejected from Traveler One.

“Eve, the Strategist, has given us more than the extra time we needed,” Duncan explains. “She’s given us a seventeen-year plan to follow.”

The missile collides with the anchor consuming it in a ball of blue fire.

Pointing their shuttle toward the Gnosis system, Duncan engages Traveler One’s warp engine and redshifts into the distance.

#

Sixteen years ago, deep in Gnosis 2’s cave network, an army of welders, electricians, labourers, and engineers are building a fuel cell refinery. Duncan, Eve, and Tessa, propping herself up with a metal cane, are standing on the edge of the metal platform, looking into the deep, machine-made trenches running through the planet.

Dr. Veles, the lead geophysicist of the Gnosis project, climbs a ladder out of the trenches, followed by a dozen engineers and safety inspectors.

“Everything passed the final check,” he says, making his way to the in out board.

Taking his ID card from the board, he places it in his pocket and joins Duncan. The lead safety coordinator takes their card and stands beside the board until everyone else removes theirs. Inspecting the area around the board to ensure it is empty and nothing fell off, they nod to Duncan.

Pulling a radio out of his lab coat’s pocket, Duncan says, “Standby for activation,” and nods back to the safety coordinator.

The coordinator starts the warning alarm and takes the binoculars hanging beside the alarm’s switch. By the third horn blast, all the workers on the platform have stopped working and are gathering near the emergency exits.

Looking down the empty trenches with the binoculars, the safety coordinator checks for anyone running toward the ladder before instructing his team to pull the ladder out of the trench.

After a quick head count of their teams, the supervisors give the coordinator a thumbs up.

“Good to go,” the coordinator says.

“Activate,” Duncan says into his radio.

The ground shakes gently as the glowing blue liquid energy slowly flows through the trenches like lava. Awestruck by the unnatural fluid, the workers cheer and clap at their success.

#

Fifteen years ago, on the Valkyrie, a Placating Fox corvette drifting through space silently with their lights and engines off. Captain Sheridan, a twenty-nine-year-old Tessa, is sitting in the captain’s chair. The crew is tracking a distress beacon from a Federation escape pod on their monitors.

“Have we identified which vessel they came from yet?” Sheridan asks.

“Negative, Captain,” her communication officer says. “None of the vessels in this sector are missing an escape pod.”

“Power up,” Sheridan orders. “Let’s figure out how they found the Foxes’ encrypted channel.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the crew affirms.

The lights snap on and the hum of the engines powering up fill the corvette.

Pressing a button on her armrest, Sheridan commands, “Unit in distress, this is the Valkyrie. Identify yourself.”

“I am Special Operative Angel,” the Angel says with their unique accent. “I have an urgent message for Captain Corine Sheridan and Prince Raza’s ears only.”

“Impressive,” Sheridan says. “You’ve found me directly, but Prince Raza isn’t affiliated with the Federation’s Space Force.”

“Are you familiar with his joint program with the University of Coeus?” the Angel asks. “I possess critical information he needs to know ASAP.”

“We don’t track the activity of our—”

“Check your tablet,” the Angel says as Sheridan’s tablet buzzes.

“How do you know my number,” she asks, reaching for her tablet.

“I am the Harbinger of Destruction,” they say. “I know what I need to to deliver my message.”

Sheridan opens the message to see the Angel’s selfie showing off their flat toothy alien smile.

“Monitor the situation,” she orders. “I’ll be in my cabin until further notice.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” her crew affirms.

Sheridan ends the transmission and calls the Angel on her tablet. Removing her harness, she floats out of the bridge and vanishes into her cabin.

#

Twelve years ago, on the Reshef, Prince Raza’s Royal Transport. The transport is surrounded by warp bubbles as it travels across the galaxy faster than the speed of light. Raza is sitting at a desk in his office surrounded by twenty administrative assistants, scouring through requests sent from the Federation’s planets.

There is a knock on the door and the closest assistant answers.

Eve, twenty-one years old, steps into the office wearing a Royal Guard uniform.

“Your presence is requested on the bridge, Your Majesty,” she says while bowing.

“On my way,” Raza says.

Putting his tablet down as he stands up, he says, “Don’t work too hard, we’ve still got a week until we arrive at Primus.”

Following Eve out of the office, they walk through the hall of closed crew cabins to the sealed bridge door at the end of the hall. A second Royal Guard waits for them at the door.

“Your Majesty,” the guard says while bowing.

Eve slows down until she is two steps behind the prince and nods to the guard.

The guard opens the bridge door to reveal Charon battleship’s command center where Duncan and Tessa, in their early fifties, are waiting at the electronic table.

Raza stops at the spacetime door as soon as he realizes it isn’t part of his shuttle.

“What is this witchcraft?” he asks.

Eve and the Royal Guard force Raza into the Charon before closing the spacetime door behind them.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Duncan says, approaching with his empty palms facing out. “It turns out our project was more important for the galaxy than we thought.”

“Doctor Videl?” Raza says with a shock expression. “I just saw you a few days ago and you looked twenty years younger.” Seeing Tessa step up beside Duncan with her cane, he adds, “Admiral Sheridan, you … wait, you know Doctor Videl?”

“We have a lot to tell you,” Tessa says, showing him her wedding ring.

“I’ll initiate the next step,” Eve says, dismissing herself from the conversation.

“In twelve years, two cataclysmic events will destroy our galaxy and we are powerless to prevent it,” Duncan says, as he escorts Raza to a chair at the electronic table. “The failed Kismet experiment ended up being a miracle that gave us an extra seventeen years to find a solution.”

Sitting him in the chair, Duncan and Tessa sit in the chairs beside him.

“Unfortunately,” Duncan continues, “we need the Federation and the Allied Planets to go to war with each other so we can access their military expenditures.”

“Detonation is a success,” Eve shouts from the communication station. “Reshef has been destroyed.”

“The Reshef only had civilians on it!” Raza exclaims.

As Raza tries to get up from his chair, Tessa holds him back with her cane while Duncan forcibly pushes him back into his seat.

“And the entire galaxy believes you died alongside them,” Duncan explains coldly.

“Both sides will blame the other for your death,” Tessa adds.

“Forcing the galaxy into a war will destroy it!” Raza scorns.

“We’ve got that under control,” Duncan reassures. “This war needs to last four years so we can procure the capital we need to build our defenses for the real threat.”

“Then warn the governments!” Raza scolds. “You don’t need to resort to violence!”

“How do you convince politicians that a bunch of time travelers came back in time with an alien from the Triangulum galaxy to warn us that a rogue computer program they created thousands of years ago is going to eat our galaxy?” Duncan asks.

“Wait, the Angel is with you?” Raza asks. “If President Wilson sees that we have an intergalactic visitor—”

“President Wilson is an idiot,” Tessa interjects. “He’ll use the warning of Primus Four’s … erasure as a way to fill his pockets.”

“The Torians wouldn’t fare much better,” Duncan adds. “They would move their governance off Torus Five, but they won’t understand that we can’t fight this enemy with our current level of advancement.”

Turning pale, Raza asks, “Then why save me? Why trust that I won’t tell everyone about this lunacy? If you know what happens after I die, why are you making me witness it?!”

Eve joins them at the table and says, “Because I come from a timeline where you survive until the last glimmer of hope is snuffed out. When the galaxy learns the truth, we need you to lead us.”

The command center door opens, and an officer enters with eleven folders. They wait for Duncan to signal them in before approaching the table.

“If you know what I did, then you know how to do it yourself,” Raza scolds.

“I’m afraid our future isn’t as bright,” Duncan laments, taking the folders from the officer. “I need to convince my past self that my daughter is killed so that I become a monster angry enough to go to war with the galaxy.”

Removing the folders labeled, ‘Diego, Raymond’, ‘Wilson, James’, ‘Gould, Arthur’ & ‘Kalu, Shango’ from the pile, Duncan hands the rest to Eve.

“Start making arrangements with the syndicates,” he orders. “I need to make a few introductions.”

“I’ll show our guest to his cabin,” Tessa says. “When he’s ready, I’ll tell him every … information he needs to know.”

Nodding in agreement, Duncan and Eve stand up from their chairs. Eve goes to an empty workstation and Duncan leaves the command center.

#

Ten years ago, on Adrasteia 3, a rocky planet with alvar covered limestone cliffs overlooking enormous freshwater seas. Five Federation battleships and five Torian battleships are orbiting the planet standing off against each other.

On the surface of the planet, Tessa, in her late thirties wearing a Federation Fleet Admiral uniform, steps off her shuttle beside a ruined marble temple. Duncan, in his mid-thirties wearing his signature lab coat, exits his shuttle on the opposite side of the temple. Armed soldiers follow them off their shuttles and wait at the edges of the ruins.

“You’re lucky I respect you, Scientist,” Tessa says. “Everyone begged me not to meet you in person.”

“Jealousy, I’m sure,” Duncan says with a friendly tone.

“Of course,” she answers. “Have you come to discuss your surrender?”

“We’re fighting the wrong enemy,” he says. “The Federation and the Allied Planets need to form an alliance against the Strategist.”

Tessa laughs. “Can’t beat us so you’re blaming the bogeyman?”

“Tell me,” Duncan says with a serious tone. “Has a young woman been whispering secrets to you since Raza’s death?”

Not saying anything, Tessa waits to see where he’s going.

“I used to think someone high in your intelligence network was leaking information to us,” he continues. “But when I started profiling you, I noticed you had just as many suspicious accomplishments as I did. Accomplishments that would only be possible with information delivered to you by a high-level informant.”

“We’ve both got competent spies,” Tessa dismisses.

“You used to be the Federation’s highest-ranking field operative,” Duncan presses. “As Fleet Admiral, you sit on the high council next to General Okar, the woman in charge of the Federation’s counterintelligence program. Likewise, the greatest spy this galaxy has ever seen works with me. So how are we both getting information this accurate without knowing where it comes from?”

“That’s all conjecture,” she says, starting to sound annoyed. “If this is all you have to offer, then there’s no hope of ending this bloodshed today.”

“Track your military spending,” Duncan says confidently. “And make sure you do it discretely. The Spy found that eighty percent of the Allied Planet’s spending isn’t accounted for, and I would hypothesis the Federation’s is equally as high.”

“And you want me to take your word for that?” Tessa scoffs. “Anyone can make up numbers and state them as fact.”

“That’s why I’m offering hard evidence,” he says with a smile.

Duncan slowly pulls his tablet out of his lab coat and hands it to her.

Hesitating before taking the tablet, Tessa glances at the open document.

“What is this?” she snarls.

“A complete audit of the Federation’s military spending for the past two years,” Duncan says. “I told you, the greatest spy this galaxy has ever seen works with me.”

Gritting her teeth, Tessa reads the document carefully.

#

On the bridge of the Deirdre, Tessa’s command ship orbiting Adrasteia 3, the officers are watching that the Torian battleships don’t make any hostile actions toward them or the Fleet Admiral on the surface. A black communication window appears in front of the captain.

“Fire on the meeting location!” the Tessa in her early fifties, orders.

“Repeat that order, Fleet Admiral,” Deirdre’s captain says nervously.

“The Scientist set a trap!” the aged Tessa says with a panicked tone. “Our team is … safe. Fire now, before he escapes!”

The communication window disappears before the captain can respond.

The officer at the weapons’ station readies the planetary bombardment and looks to the captain for confirmation.

“Fire!” Deirdre’s captain orders.

The weapons’ officer launches three rocket propelled tungsten rods from the bottom of the command ship and tracks them on the ship’s monitors as they accelerate toward the planet.

#

Tessa is standing in front of Duncan beside the marble ruins, looking over the report on his tablet. Three small fiery balls appear in the sky over Tessa’s shoulder as the tungsten rods push through the mesopause.

“Take cover!” Duncan shouts, pointing at the sky.

As Tessa turns to look over her shoulder, Duncan tackles her and forces her into a small cavity at the base of the ruins. He crawls in on top of her just before the rods explode when they strike the ground.

Waiting for the sound of the raining rocks to stop, Tessa winces in pain as she pushes Duncan’s unconscious body off her. The back side of Duncan’s white lab coat is burnt off by the fiery explosions and his back is covered in third degree burns everywhere except for the place where Tessa’s right arm had wrapped around him. Tessa’s right arm has matching burns.

Pulling the radio off her belt, she commands, “Destroy that vessel!”

“Fleet Admiral, it was the Deirdre,” one of her other captains says.

“Blow it up!” Tessa growls.

Putting her radio down, she searches the remaining fragments of Duncan’s lab coat and finds his radio.

“Attention Torian Fleet,” she says into the radio. “This is Fleet Admiral Sheridan, the attacking vessel acted on their own. It is not a sign of aggression. The Scientist has been injured and requires immediate medical assistance.” She tries to look at her surroundings but is unable to see anything through the thick cloud of dust and sand engulfing them. “I cannot see any other survivors, assume everyone on the shuttles requires an emergency evac.”

Not hearing a response, Tessa switches back to the Federation radio.

“Do not engage the Torians,” she instructs. “Sink that traitorous snake and send three medical evac teams.”

“Affirmative, Fleet Admiral,” the four Federation captains say in unison.

“I don’t understand, Fleet Admiral” Deirdre’s captain pleads. “I was following your orders!”

In orbit around the planet, the four Federation battleships fire their weapons at the Deirdre until it explodes. The Torians had launched a wave of missiles before Tessa made contact, but the Federation’s machine guns effortlessly fend them off.

“Titan … I mean, Fleet Admiral Sheridan,” one of the Torian captains says from Duncan’s radio. “What’s your status?”

“I’m injured, but I’ll survive,” she answers. “The Scientist is unconscious and will need extensive skin grafts.”

“Your fleet has sent three shuttles,” the captain says. “Ours will be departing shortly.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she says.

Putting the radios down, Tessa removes her jacket, sits in the shallow hole, and wraps the jacket around her injured arm loosely, wincing in pain as the cloth touches her scorched skin.

#

Eight years ago, in interstellar space. Tartarus Station, a disk-shaped space station more massive than a gas giant, slowly rotates around a metal core in the middle of nowhere. Half of the station looks like it’s ready for battle; the other half is a skeleton of support beams and exposed rooms. Construction spacecrafts transport large, fabricated pieces of metal from the orbiting shipyards to the assembly teams working on the unfinished half of the station.

Duncan, Tessa, 108, and Eve are in the war room where Ishtar 7 and their defending fleet is projected from the electronic table. A thousand Federation battleships appear on the edges of the three-dimensional battlefield and rapidly approach the planet.

The war room’s door opens and Prince Raza storms in.

“You’re attacking Ishtar?!” he yells angrily.

“It’s a pivotal point in our history,” Duncan says.

“It’s genocide!” Raza refutes. “What happened to minimizing as much death as possible? You have a responsibility to use your foreknowledge to make better decisions!”

“There is certainty in the causal loop,” Eve explains. “Deviating from the path might cause our extinction.”

“Making the same mistakes over and over again will cause our extinction!” Raza growls. Pointing at Duncan he adds, “Every time this loop plays through, we lose one millisecond. What happens when you run out? Now is the time to learn from the past, try something new, and do better!”

“We are doing better!” Eve defends. “Thousands of years have passed since I started changing our timeline. Each seventeen-year iteration brings us closer to stopping the rogue program. So, if the loop says we sacrifice six billion Ishtari to save three quintillion lives, then we sacrifice the Ishtari every, single, time.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Raza asks. “Thousands of years of repeating the same mistakes and you still aren’t sure if you can stop us from going extinct. We should be using our time to gather information and find a way to definitively save everyone.”

“And how do we relay our findings to the past?” Eve asks.

“From my understanding, we have two methods of time travel,” Raza says. “Every seventeen years we pass the information on to the younger Duncan to loop back and continue his research.”

“What happens if I or my younger self dies between hand offs?” Duncan asks. “The only reason this causal loop works is because Eve and I recognize each other. If a stranger presents themselves to us outside Torus, we wouldn’t believe a word they said.”

“Because time travelers don’t believe in time travel?” Raza asks.

“Because every time traveler is on a mission to change something,” Eve says. “And the first thing subsequent travelers need to do is eliminate their predecessor. Duncan did this by recruiting me to his mission.”

“Then we use the quantum system you used!” Raza growls at Eve.

“Kaur’s quantum system isn’t a repeatable process,” Eve explains. “She spent years scouring quantum subsystems to mathematically find a universe similar enough to our own. In all the time, spending months checking every variable, she found exactly one close enough to risk using. And even then, she chalked it up to luck.”

“Attention, Tartarus,” Typhon Captain’s voice says over the war room’s speakers. “Typhon Fleet will reach the zone of action in twenty.”

“Copy, Typhon One,” Tessa says. “Engage on arrival.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they affirm.

“I’m done,” Raza says throwing up his hands in defeat. Turning to the door, he adds, “I won’t be a part of this madness. I’m going back to Prime—”

Before he can finish, Tessa draws her sidearm and shoots him in the back three times. Prince Raza collapses to the floor dead.

“Make sure he has a proper royal send off,” Tessa orders without a hint of remorse.

She holsters her weapon, picks up her metal cane, and heads for the door.

“Take charge of the assault,” she orders. “I’m going to go … greet our daughter.”

“Norris is looking after her in the nursery,” Duncan says. “When the third orbital strike hits the surface, you’ll have two minutes to get them both out before the fourth strike destroys our house.”

Tessa waves in acknowledgement as she exits the war room.

Typhon Fleet reaches the edge of the battlefield and start firing their weapons without warning. Surprised, surrounded, and outnumbered, the Ishtari fleet is outmatched.

While most of the fleet focuses on destroying the Ishtari spacecrafts, a dozen Federation battleships push toward the planet to rain high-speed tungsten rods on the cities.

Duncan, Eve, and 108 watch in silence as the welcoming blue atmosphere blackens from the ash and smoke choking out any chance of life surviving on the planet.

The war room’s door slides open, and a crying baby breaks the silence.

Tessa returns with Norris, a caregiver in his early twenties carrying baby Lexy in his arms. His face is still covered in bewilderment as he tries to comprehend that he crossed the galaxy by stepping into the nursery’s tiny closet.

Hooking her cane on her arm, Tessa takes Lexy from Norris and says, “Thank you for protecting our child.”

With tears in his eyes, Duncan runs to Tessa, wraps an arm around her, and gently places his other hand on baby Lexy’s head.

“Do you think I acted rashly?” Tessa asks quietly.

“He threatened to take her away from us,” Duncan says. “We can find another hero.”

“I’m tired of delegating to imbeciles,” she says. “I need to accept my … requirement to the Federation. It’s the only way we can give her the galaxy she deserves.”

They hold each other gently while embracing the child they lost seventeen years ago.

Eve approaches them and, holding back tears, quietly says, “I’ll tell the Foxes where Butch is.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Duncan says. “I’ll—”

“I’ll take care of it once we … she sleeps,” Tessa says.

“Thank you,” Eve says. “I’ll be in my cabin.”

Eve exits the war room as the screens mounted to the walls show Typhon Fleet leaving the Ishtar system. Shortly after the fleet leaves, a few dozen shuttles carrying Ishtari survivors exits the smoke-filled atmosphere.

#

Eight years ago, on Muut, a Placating Fox corvette flying through interstellar space on the edge of the Federation’s influence. The Interrogator, a woman in her thirties with long, braided white hair, wearing a Federation officer’s uniform, leads 108, wearing his black and red survival suit with mirrored visor, and a Federation officer through the narrow metal corridors. Reaching the middle of the corvette, the Interrogator stops outside a closed door.

“This is where we’re keeping the Scientist’s closest friend,” she says. “Be careful. I don’t know what that suit of yours does, but the Butcher killed over two thousand soldiers before we were able to subdue him. And that’s after we surprised him.”

Tapping her security card against the door’s lock, the Interrogator opens the door to reveal the Butcher, stripped down to his black underwear, tied, strapped, and chained to a near vertical metal plate in the middle of the room.

“We’ve taken extra precautions to make sure he remains restrained,” the Interrogator continues, waving her guests into the room. “With that said, I still advise that you keep your distance.”

“Aw, the Interrogator needed backup,” Butch taunts. “Or are you starting a zoo? Hold on, let me get into character.” He brandishes his teeth and starts growling like a caged animal.

“I tried reaching out to your wife again,” the Interrogator says. “But she continues to ignore your condition. However, I was able to find a clergyman to help you through this time of turmoil.”

“No thanks. I’m not interested in converting,” Butch dismisses.

“Silence, abomination,” 108 says through the distorted speaker in his helmet. “Your very existence insults the Lord’s divine will!”

Butch laughs. “This is your new tactic? Name calling?”

108 punches the Butcher in his dense, muscular gut.

The Interrogator and the Federation officer control 108’s arms and pull him away from the Butcher.

“If you compromise my prisoner’s testimony again, I will execute you,” the Interrogator warns.

“Testimony?” 108 growls.

He snatches the sidearm from the officer’s holster and effortlessly pushes the officer and the Interrogator off their feet.

“The Lord has already passed his verdict,” 108 states as he places the sidearm into the empty holster on his thigh. Removing his helmet, he adds, “This demon and its ilk must be eradicated.”

Looking at his clone’s face, the Butcher pulls on his restraints furiously.

“What are you?!” he shouts angrily.

“I am a soldier of the Lord’s army,” 108 boasts. “You were stolen from our ranks and corrupted by nonbelievers! Your filth is a stain on the Divine’s grace.”

“Lies!” Butch yells. His skin starts turning red and he stops trying to break his restraints. “I have been nothing but a loyal foot soldier ensuring the Lord’s light spreads across the galaxy! I will destroy you and whatever false God sent you!”

Using the computer embedded in his bracer, 108 projects a video of himself sitting in a garden with the fifty-year-old Duncan.

“The Lord made his children in his image,” he says. “One of his sons stole you from paradise and forced you to sin for the Torians.”

The Butcher’s throbbing veins protrude from his deep red skin and the sweat coming off his body instantly turns to steam from the intense heat radiating from his body. His pupils shrink to tiny points.

“I am the Lord’s sword!” he shouts, breaking free from his restraints in one swift pull. “I will purge these inhuman abominations from the galaxy!” With the same movement that broke his restraints, the Butcher crushes 108’s skull with his hands.

As the Federation officer runs for the door, the Butcher grabs the broken chain hanging from his wrist and strikes the officer in the head with it, killing them on their feet.

Releasing the chain, he turns to face the Interrogator, who is cowering in fear behind the metal plate.

“The Torians are deceitful demons that stole me from heaven to fight a false war,” he declares. “I must cleanse this galaxy of their unholy presence.”

“Let me help you,” the Interrogator pleads. “I want to serve the Lord.”

Grabbing her by the throat with one arm, he lifts her into the air.

“No sinner can help me,” he declares with a fiery devotion.

Snapping her neck, he drops her lifeless body to the floor.

Taking her security card, Butch makes his way to 108’s corpse and takes the sidearm from his holster. The Butcher unlocks the door with the Interrogator’s card, steps into the corvette’s hallways, and heads toward the bridge.

The sound of the Butcher discharging his sidearm like an automatic rifle echo through the Muut, muffled by the terrified screams of its dying crew.

#

Eight years ago, on Tartarus Station. Eve’s cabin is a bright pastel coloured art deco luxury condo. Lush green plants fill the room and the floor to ceiling digital displays show a Mediterraneanesque coastline.

Oneida, with long, straight black hair, is sitting at a small round table across from Eve. They are both wearing casual outfits and drinking tea.

“You actually think the Scientist was trying to build an undead clone army?” Oneida says, holding back her laughter.

“Not at all,” Eve dismisses. “I’m just concerned about the number of stories his former researchers have about resurrection and cloning.”

“Neither are that farfetched,” Oneida says. “There are countless peer-reviewed papers on both, just nothing published on successful human experiments. I’m just curious why he would research those topics.”

“He went mad in the final years of the war,” Eve says. “I don’t know if anyone knows what he was thinking leading up to the massacres of Ishtar and Torus. But maybe we can find clues in his Torian lab.”

“Or maybe we can find someone to resurrect for information,” Oneida says, half-jokingly.

“Well, I might as well tell you the full story, now that you’ve accidentally stumbled on it,” Eve says with a smile. Pulling her tablet out of the satchel bag hanging on her chair, she continues, “While your mission is to locate the Scientist’s lab and catalogue his experiments,” she hands the tablet to Oneida. “Your Crimson Tiger escort is there to recover the Butcher’s body.”

“Why the Butcher?” Oneida asks. “I heard he commandeered the Muut in a blind, uncontrollable rage. How are we supposed to control him if we do manage to resurrect him?”

“You ask nicely,” Eve jokes. “Don’t believe the rumours you’ve heard about him. The Butcher was the Scientist’s closest friend. He was on the Muut to get the help the Scientist needed to understand the delusional thoughts he was having. Unfortunately, the Scientist had already attacked Torus, and he and the Muut’s crew perished trying to help the Torian survivors escape.”

“So, if we can resurrect him, he is the ideal candidate to tell us what happened in the final hours of the war and where the Scientist might be hiding,” Oneida summarizes.

“That and the Butcher was a physiological unicorn,” Eve admits. “Being able to clone him or even just analyze his genes would be a lucrative discovery both medically and militarily.”

“Does that mean fixing the atmosphere to make Torus Five livable is a misdirect?”

“Let’s just call it, doing something nice while we rummage through the shadows,” Eve says. “But if you want to live in your hazmat suit for two years, you can forgo that step,” she adds with a smirk.

Reaching the final page of the classified document, Oneida sees the demolition plan for the Spire.

“You’re going to level the entire mountain?” she asks.

“In terms of military size, the Allied Planets is exponentially smaller than the Federation,” Eve explains. “But they are decades ahead of us technologically. If any of the syndicates get their hands on the information in that facility, we could have a whole new breed of terrorist roaming the galaxy.”

“Fair enough,” Oneida says, returning the tablet. Finishing the last sip of her tea, she adds, “Unfortunately that has to be my last cup. I haven’t even started to pack yet, and, in light of this new information, there are a few more tools I want to sneak out of my lab.”

Standing up from the table they hug.

“I wish I could see you off tomorrow morning,” Eve says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Oneida reassures. “Keeping the High Council happy keeps the money flowing to my research. I just hate that I won’t be able to talk with you for two years, Eve.”

Squeezing her tighter, Eve adds, “Remember—”

“Yea, yea, yea. The Scientist is still out there, only refer to you as the Strategist,” Oneida says. “I’ll try to find something nice to bring back for you.”

“Just come back safely,” Eve says, starting to sound choked-up.

“Hey now. I’ll be back before you know it,” Oneida reassures, pushing the hug apart. “But if I don’t leave now, we’ll be crying together all night.”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Eve gestures to the door.

“Go. Get out of here,” she says, trying to hide her smile.

“Right, I see when I’m not wanted,” Oneida replies with a smirk.

Oneida kisses Eve and they say their final goodbyes.

Closing the door behind Oneida, Eve presses her back against it and slides to the floor. She hugs herself tightly as she cries uncontrollably.

#

In one of Tartarus Station’s offices a long decontamination corridor is attached to a freestanding door in the middle of the room. Five researchers in blue hazmat suits are stationed at the plastic windows of the corridor, watching twelve people pass through. Eve is leaning against the wall furthest away from the corridor’s exit.

Duncan and eleven of his researchers step out of the corridor in their underwear carrying their tablets in hand. Eve waves Duncan over. Handing his tablet to the researcher beside him, he joins Eve.

“How’d it go?” she asks.

“The doomsday device on the Anathema is set to teleport us to the edge of the Scutum-Crux,” Duncan reports. “We’ve moved Lexy’s core servers to the Anathema and updated her logic to reach out and connect with Oneida by matching the personality profile you made of her. The sound pulse intercept is active and will capture any transmissions coming from the planet. Once Apollyon lives, we’ll edit her journal and bury it in an encrypted haystack for the Wraiths to find.”

“Great,” Eve says. “Have you put any thought into what I asked?”

“We saw her die,” Duncan says carefully.

“Then we fake her death,” she growls quietly so she doesn’t draw attention.

“If I knew Oneida meant this much too you, I would’ve cloned her right after the Gnosis Project,” Duncan says. “Unfortunately, all of our rushed clones have failed.”

“Pull her out before Apollyon kills her,” Eve pleads. “We can fake the ending here.”

“The Navigator will notice,” he says. “We need to be convinced that she has a close connection to you and that she’s genuinely ready to betray you. Otherwise, we might not go to Torus Five to look for evidence of the Strategist, and we’ll leave the Anathema buried, breaking the causal loop.”

“You got to save your loved ones … twice!” Eve growls, pushing her finger into Duncan’s chest over his heart. “I had to lie to the woman I love so that she dies knowing that I betrayed her!” she says breaking out in tears.

Duncan, trying to hold back his tears, stands quietly as she cries and continues to vent her anger at him.

#

Two years ago, on Tartarus Station. Hundreds of battle moons and millions of battleships orbit the completed space station, ready to go to war with the galaxy.

In a small security post, Duncan, fifty-nine wearing his lab coat, Tessa, sixty-one wearing her officer uniform, and Eve, thirty-one wearing a black formal dress, are watching the forty-two-year-old Duncan being escorted through the station on the security feed.

When his younger self enters the observation deck, Duncan leans toward the microphone on the desk in front of him and says, “Send in the welcoming party.”

“Are you ready?” Tessa asks.

“Pretend I don’t know anything while focusing on his past traumas to trigger a panic attack,” Eve says coldly. “When he pretends that I’ve broken his will, speak vaguely so he thinks Camille is the real Strategist before murdering her. After that, I need to make sure he knows this is about saving the galaxy without letting him know about the rogue program.”

The security feed shows Camille, Eve’s assistant, wearing a black suit, enter the observation deck with two armoured guards.

“Be concerned that our radios have been hacked and act surprised when the doomsday device appears,” Tessa says.

Eve rolls her eyes and leaves the office.

Duncan and Tessa watch her on the security cameras as she crosses the hall, enters the observation deck, and recreates the conversation Duncan had with her seventeen years ago.

When Eve dismisses her assistant, the assistant joins Duncan and Tessa in the office.

“Ready the clones,” Duncan orders into the microphone.

Four Apollyon clones wearing black and red survival suits exit from an adjacent office with a clone of Eve’s assistant.

The cloned assistant enters the Observation deck while the four Apollyon clones wait in the hall.

“Your friend lasted five minutes,” Eve says through the speakers, “let’s see if he can break you faster.”

“Enter,” Duncan orders.

The Apollyon clones open the observation deck’s door, march up to young Duncan and remove their helmets. Eve walks around the clones, taunting young Duncan, and playing into his fears.

Returning to her chair, Eve gestures for her assistant to take the surgical kit to young Duncan and waits for him to give the Spy his coded message. She becomes fixated on her soldier’s shoulder mounted radios and dismisses them.

The Apollyon clones leave first followed by the soldiers.

Eve pulls a sidearm out of her chair’s armrest and places it on her lap.

Young Duncan and Eve continue to play their mind games until he accuses her assistant as being the real Strategist.

Eve picks up the sidearm and executes her assistant’s clone.

Seeing Eve kill her clone, Camille turns her back to the screens and does everything she can to stop herself from vomiting.

“That’s a little outside my range of knowledge,” Eve says, “but you now only have a year to complete my tasks.”

“I’m sorry, Sandra,” young Duncan sighs deathly, “execute plan b.”

“Prepare for teleportation,” Duncan orders into the microphone.

The doomsday device appears beside young Duncan.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Eve states in amazement.

Young Duncan presses the button on the device and shrinks out of existence as a manikin wearing a white lab coat appears in his place.

The manikin is pulled into the doomsday device as it bends spacetime around itself. Before Tartarus Station is consumed by the device, the station, its battle moons, and its fleet teleport across the galaxy to the outer edge of the Scutum-Crux arm.

The uncoupled doomsday device stays where it was and creates an array of white holes that feed matter into a singularity, trapping the Anathema in an enormous, expanding gravity well.

Eve drops the sidearm on the floor, runs out of the observation deck, and joins the others in the office.

“You didn’t even hesitate,” Camille says, giving Eve a disgusted look.

“I told you what I was going to do,” Eve says. “I had to look menacing.”

“She looked exactly like me, and you had no problem killing it,” Camille says, gesturing toward Duncan and Tessa angrily. “I’m appalled that after all the monstrous stories you’ve told me about them, you don’t realize that you’re just as bad as them.”

Eve can’t think of an answer, so Camille adds, “That’s what I thought,” and storms out of the office.

“So much for second chances,” Eve growls angrily. “It's almost like this universe knows I shouldn’t exist and is intent on making me miserable!”

“Give her some time,” Duncan says. “When she’s ready—”

“I don’t want to hear it from you,” Eve interjects. “The two of you are about to reunite with your daughter, again, and I’ve just killed my girlfriend, again.”

She storms out of the office.

“Lexy’s not much younger than her,” Duncan says, “do you think she’s having relationship issues too?”

“She’s living inside the memory palace you … had her make,” Tessa jests. “I think you’ve already ruined her love life.”

Duncan sighs. “We’ve pretty much caught up now,” he says. “Should we pay her visit?”

“The next two years are Lexy’s most important,” Tessa says. “We shouldn’t get in her … we shouldn’t become distractions. Besides, the last thing Eve needs right now is to see us spending more time with our other daughter.”

“What does she need us to do?” he asks.

“You need to make sure Tartarus didn’t take any … it hasn’t hurt anyone when it teleported,” Tessa instructs. “I’ll hire the syndicates’ to start instigating rebellions.”

Standing from the desk chair, Duncan hugs and kisses Tessa before leaving the office.

#

Present day, in Duncan’s pocket universe. Okar, Utu, Kaur, the Spy, Gladiator, and Grant are standing around the electronic table in the office adjacent to the lab. The frantic scribbles that were on the whiteboard have been replaced with a detailed plan for Traveler One to teleport with Kismet One and a list of ways they will attempt to communicate with each other after the fact.

The videos from the Kokou’s cameras are projected above the electronic table showing the final glowing remnants from the exploded Kismet disappear into the distance.

“Return to the Yeshe, Kokou,” Okar orders. “We might need you to run surveillance.”

“Affirmative,” the Pilot says. “I’ll see you in five.”

Turning off the projection, Okar turns to Kaur and asks, “What do you suggest, Doctor?”

“We should consider sealing the spacetime doors for good,” she says. “If we can figure out how to turn the matter expelled by our white holes into functional materials, we can build our own solar system in here.”

“President Okar,” Brandon says through the quantum radio. “Six unknown objects have just appeared around Erebus Eleven.”

Typing on the electronic table’s keyboard, Okar projects the camera feeds from the ships orbiting Erebus 11. The objects are two metal rings, about the diameter of the Moon, spinning independently of each other around golf ball sized blackholes.

“That’s a honeypot!” Kaur exclaims. “They did it!”

“Reach out to the Independent—” Okar orders.

“President Okar,” Kamali says over the radio, “Six alien space stations have just appeared around Perierat Seven.”

“President Okar,” General Alvarez says over the radio.

“Where have you been hiding, General?” Okar asks trying to hide her anger. “Why did you abandon Primus?”

“Fleet Admiral Sheridan arrived just after you left for Amaguq Three,” Alvarez says. “She told me Primus was in danger and insisted that we couldn’t communicate with you for the next year.”

“Us? Is Myeisha okay?” Okar asks.

“I’m here, Honey,” Myeisha says. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Grant springs forward and catches Okar when her knees give out.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Okar says as Grant helps her into a chair. “How did you survive?”

“Mother Themis brought the Fleet Admiral back to us so she could save the people of Primus,” Myeisha says. “The Children of Themis had already built us new homes in the Scutum-Crux, and they took care of us as if we were family.”

“Is the Fleet Admiral still there?” Okar asks.

“No, she’s here,” the Spy says, seeing the spacetime door open into the lab through the office window.

Tessa and Duncan, in their early sixties, walk through to door with Eve, in her early thirties. They are all wearing officer uniforms and Tessa walks with the help of a metal cane. The Spy, Gladiator, and Grant leave the office to confront them.

“It’s as if you aged twenty years in a couple of minutes,” Grant says, hugging Tessa.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” she says. “But it was only seventeen years.”

“So, this is the Moirai?” the Gladiator says. Sizing Eve up, she asks, “What’s your name?”

“The Strategist is fine for now,” she says, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I need—” She stops when she feels the barrel of the Gladiator’s sidearm press against her head.

“I asked you for your name,” the Gladiator orders.

Slipping away from her hug, Tessa draws her sidearm and points it at the Gladiator.

“Think carefully, Brute,” she warns. “She is far more valuable than you.”

As the Gladiator steps away and holsters her sidearm, the Spy reaches for her weapon discreetly but stops when Eve draws hers and points it at Tessa.

“I told you to let me handle it,” Eve scowls. “If you ever threaten her again, I will make sure this galaxy burns!”

Holstering her weapon, Tessa raises her hand and steps back carefully. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“I need to update the Yeshe’s systems so they can monitor the honeypot network,” Eve says, putting her sidearm away.

“You’re not going anywhere until the Spy clears you,” the Gladiator growls.

“Take her to the office,” the Spy instructs calmly. “I’ll interrogate her once Okar is finished talking with her wife.” She pulls Duncan away from the others and pushes him into an empty workstation. “You knew what the Courier was,” she says, struggling to maintain her calm façade.

“It’s worse than that,” Duncan admits shamefully. “I was the one that setup the events that caused you to meet.”

The Spy slaps him so hard that he collapses onto the desktop.

She rolls him onto his back and angrily states, “You made me fall in love with a serial killer? Knowing that I would be forced to kill him?”

“He directed us to Mercury Station, the Anathema, and he saved Okar’s life by trying to kill you on Amaguq Three,” Duncan says. “We needed him to do his part.”

“So, the Pilot losing their hand was just him doing his part?” the Spy growls, grabbing her sidearm.

Grant grabs her wrist before she can unholster her weapon.

“He should face a court martial before you sentence him,” he says.

“Fine,” she says, releasing her grip on her sidearm. “Lock him up for now. Away from the Philosopher.”

Leaving Duncan with Grant, the Spy joins the Gladiator and Eve outside the office door. When Okar is finished talking to Myeisha, she waves the three of them in.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Aspiration

The Yeshe Walmo’s crew has been dismissed from the war room so they don’t need to explain Tessa’s dramatic age change. The wall mounted monitors are all showing a solid blue screen. Okar, Kaur, Tessa, the Spy, Gladiator, and Utu are standing around Eve who is working on the electronic table with handcuffs around her wrists. The Spy stands between Okar and Utu to translate.

Entering a quick keystroke, the tabletop turns black and scrolls through a list of firmware updates. Each of the monitors on the walls sequentially switches to a video looking at one of the honeypot stations scattered throughout the outer Perseus arm.

“The first three hundred thousand have been deployed in critical systems along the edge of the Perseus arm,” Eve says, closing the command window. “Our shipyards have restarted production now that we’ve reclaimed our fuel cells from Mercury Station. We will deploy a thousand new nodes each week.”

“Are you confident they’ll work?” Kaur asks.

“I’ve got twenty-three years experience fighting these things,” Eve says. “If this design doesn’t work, the honeypot system won’t work.”

Seeing three Triangulum ghostships passing one the honeypots’ cameras, Eve projects that video above the electronic table.

“We’ve found some of the parasites that followed you here,” she says in Triangulum. “Fingers crossed,” she adds, switching back to the Galactic language.

The camera follows the ghostships passing the planet, but they don’t show any interest in the honeypots.

“It’s not working,” Kaur says with a defeated tone. “Your design has to be flawed.”

“You designed them,” Eve says. “You spent five years perfecting them until the Aruna was compromised at the end of the Matter Wars.”

A cloud of grey dust appears on the video heading toward the rotating rings of the closet honeypot. Most of the dust is pulled around the metal rings and flies into the golf ball sized blackhole. The rest latches onto the metal rings briefly before being pulled in with the rest of the matter.

“It does work!” Eve exclaims. Her excitement fades when the ghostships activate their warp engines and redshift out of view. “Wait, why are they leaving?”

“If their scouts don’t return, they recognize it as a threat,” Utu says. “Otherwise, the ghostships would fly straight into a star.”

“Then we only need to put honey … devices around the planets people live on,” Tessa says in Triangulum. “Once they’ve taken what they can, they will leave us alone.”

“If we try to outlast them, we will lose,” Eve says in Triangulum. Switching to the Galactic language she continues, “The honeypots are not a perfect solution. They will take damage every time grey dust passes over them and, if we don’t protect the matter contained in the uninhabitable planets, their numbers will grow exponentially while our ability to fend them off diminishes. It also only takes one contaminated particle to take down an entire system.”

“Then we hunt the ghostships,” Okar says.

“Antimatter is the only effective weapon,” Utu warns. “Using anything else just makes them harder to kill.”

“Creating antimatter weapons is energy intensive,” Eve explains in Triangulum. “We haven’t been making them because creating enough to have a noticeable effect would completely kill the honeypot project. Which will prolong our existence far longer than reducing their numbers by one or two percent.”

“Then we reduce the number of targets,” the Gladiator says after hearing the Spy’s translation. “When given the choice to fight one giant beast or a dozen insurrectionists in the stadium, I always chose the beast. Fighting the creature looks more dangerous to the audience, but it’s easier for twelve fighters to wear you out and score an upset victory.”

Eve steps away from the keyboard and gives the Gladiator a curious look as she steps forward.

The Gladiator projects an image of Tartarus Station beside the honeypot video and asks, “If we rebuild this, can we get them to clone it?”

“Then instead of needing trillions of bombs, we’d only need hundreds,” Eve says with admiration. “Tartarus Station still exists but we’d need to gut the station of Ana’s experiments, the teleportation anchors, and everything we’ve entangled. That would make it safe for them to take, but we still need to make sure it’s enticing enough for them to build over the Triangulum warships they currently perceive as perfect.”

The war room door opens, and the Navigator enters. Outside the door, two guards are holding the Pilot back.

“You don’t always have to do what they tell you,” the Pilot says.

“The president only calls me when something interesting is happening,” the Navigator responds matter-of-factly without looking back.

“Text me if you’re going to be late for din—” The Pilot is cut off when the door closes.

Joining the others at the table, the Navigator looks at Tessa, Eve, and then Okar.

“Did Duncan and Tessa not make it?” he asks.

“We did,” Tessa says.

Briefly making eye contact with her, the Navigator turns his back and stomps away.

“No, no, no,” he says, kicking the floor. “You look too different.”

“It’s been—” Tessa says aggressively.

The Gladiator squeezes Tessa’s shoulder to stop her from talking before slowly approaching the Navigator.

“I know this is a sudden change,” she says with a calming tone, “but you successfully sent people back in time.” Pointing to the videos of the honeypot network on the wall, she adds, “Thanks to you, we have more time to save the galaxy.”

Looking at the video screens, he stops kicking the floor.

“This network also lets us watch the edge of the galaxy,” she continues.

“Which means I can tell you when I see the program,” the Navigator says, returning to the table.

He quickly glances at Tessa before looking at the honeypot projected above the table.

“Why is this one spinning slower,” he asks.

“It was just attacked by a ghostship,” Eve says.

Glancing into her eyes quickly before looking away, he waves and says, “I’m the Navigator, pleased to meet you.”

“Glad to finally meet you,” Eve says. “I’m the Strategist.”

Full of anger, he stares into her eyes.

“She’s the enemy!” he exclaims while crawling onto the table. “You killed Butch!” he accuses as the Gladiator pulls him off the table. “You destroyed my home!” he adds, while frantically trying to peel the Gladiator’s arms off his chest. “I was tortured for six years because of you!”

Struggling to hold the Navigator back, the Gladiator speaks as calmly as she can, “I’m sorry that I’m touching you, but you’re stronger than you look. I’m begging you, don’t make me hurt you.”

The Navigator goes completely limp as tears roll down his face. “Do your worst. She’s caused me to suffer more than you ever could.”

Gently placing him on the floor he crumples to his knees.

The Gladiator kneels in front of him and says, “I also hate being in the same room as her after what she did to Butch. But we need her help, almost as much as we need yours.” The Navigator wipes the tears from his face. “Once we save the galaxy, she will be punished for her crimes,” the Gladiator promises. “I won’t let her out of my sight until that happens.”

“What if she tries to corrupt you?” the Navigator asks.

“I’ll ask myself: what would Geminus do?” she says.

“I’d kill her,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Then I’ll kill her,” she says with a smile.

“Deal,” he says, climbing to his feet. “If the honeypots in Jangseung are spinning slower because they were attacked,” he says while typing on the table’s keyboard. “Then Tammuz, Cardea, Kherty, and Pinga systems have been attacked as well. Based on the deviation between each of the honeypots in these systems we know where they’re going next.”

Pressing a key on the keyboard, a map of the Milky Way galaxy appears with six red arrows branching inward from the Perseus arm.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Utu says in Triangulum. “Once we realised the rotation was slowing, it would have taken our physicists a month to get something half this accurate.”

“If he updates Tartarus’s star map with the most efficient routes around the galaxy, would that be enough to entice the program to favour the station?” Eve asks in Triangulum.

“That would certainly make Tartarus more interesting,” Utu admits, “but we’ve seen other large vessels be discontinued before. A station that big cannot move very quickly and will ultimately lose the race to new resources.”

“It won’t move at all once we remove the entangled anchors,” Eve says. “But if we are gutting the station, maybe Doctor Kaur can turn the entire thing into one giant warp engine.”

“Get the speed fast enough and the cloned stations will feed first and cannibalise the rest of the fleet when they arrive looking for scraps,” Utu summarizes.

“I can have my team ready to go first thing tomorrow,” Kaur says after hearing the Spy’s translation.

“If the Navigator is going to Tartarus, the Strategist is staying here,” Okar says.

“I need to go to ensure that everything that would be catastrophic in the program’s hands is fully removed,” Eve says.

“Duncan knows the station just as well,” Tessa says. “You can keep the Strategist here and … if you assign Duncan to lead the cleanup.”

“I demand General Brandon comes as my assistant,” the Navigator says.

Gesturing for Tessa to follow her, Okar steps away from the others.

“Can we trust that the Strategist and Scientist aren’t going to betray us?” she asks.

“Duncan and I raised her since she was a teenager,” Tessa says. “She’s one of our daughters.”

Tessa looks over her shoulder at the others before leaning in very close to Okar’s ear and whispers inaudibly to anyone else.

“So, that’s why she pulled her sidearm on you,” Okar says with a smirk. “Okay. Keep them close and give me hourly reports.”

They return to the table.

“How many attacks can the honeypots take before needing to be replaced?” Eve asks.

“If it’s a linear decline, sixty to sixty-seven,” the Navigator says matter-of-factly. “If it’s an exponential decline, seven or eight.”

“I’ll make sure the production facilities know about the change in command and the importance of keeping the network fresh,” Eve affirms.

“If General Brandon goes to Tartarus, I need you to look after him,” Okar says.

“Yes, Ma’am! With my life,” the Navigator affirms.

Looking around to see if anyone else has anything else to say, Okar dismisses them.

The Navigator exits into the Yeshe Walmo, while everyone else returns to Duncan’s pocket universe through the closet in Okar’s office.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Sacrifice

Tartarus Station’s command center is a giant open room with tens of thousands of workstations arranged into a labyrinth of tightly packed sections. Each section has a central electronic table that collects information from and supervises the workstations surrounding them.

The Navigator and Brandon are standing across from each other at one of the electronic tables with a computer engineering technician working at the workstation closest to them. The table projects a star map of the Milky Way galaxy and several solar systems above the surface.

Reviewing the flight paths between the celestial bodies, the Navigator dictates the inefficiencies to the technician who updates the algorithm until the Navigator approves each map.

In the far corner of the command center, Duncan has gathered an army of technicians to review the station’s diagnostic reports. The table closest to the corner is projecting a floor to ceiling to-do list visible to everyone working on the project.

The screen in front of Duncan displays the status of the sound pulse network. Each line-item shows a red ‘Device not found’ error except for the final line which has a green ‘Ready’ label beside it. When the final line-item switches to the red error, Duncan turns to the technician beside him.

“The sound pulse network software can be removed,” he says.

“I’ll take care of it,” they say. “I’m not sure if it’s important, but the weapons disarmament team has slowed down over the past hour.”

“It’s probably nothing to worry about,” Duncan says.

Picking up his radio, Duncan leaves the corner to find an unused section away from everyone else.

“How’s everything going, General Paris?” he asks into the radio as he sits at an empty workstation.

“Everything is progressing as planned, Doctor,” the Angel answers. “If you need to speak with the General, might I suggest her tablet?”

“Affirmative, Angel,” Duncan responds. “Give me an update every thirty minutes.”

Putting the radio down on the workstation’s desk, Duncan pulls out his tablet and calls the Spy. She answers, but the video is black.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“We’ve noticed that some of weapons have gone missing,” she says with a quiet, calm voice. “Including three Gnosis cells.”

“Is this a recon or recovery mission?”

“Depends on the culprit,” she answers. “I’ll call back when I have something.”

“Stay safe, Sandra,” he says.

The Spy, hiding behind a stack of crates in the station’s maintenance tunnels, ends the call with Duncan. She is watching six Belphegor Syndicate members carefully pass stolen crates to two more syndicate members inside the airlock.

After every eight crates, the two members inside the airlock climb into the tunnel and seal the floor hatch behind them. Waiting for the decompression recompression cycle to complete, they open the hatch and start filling it with more of their stolen goods.

Moving through the shadows very slowly, the Spy quietly approaches the stack of crates they’re working on and places a tracking device on six of the boxes. Keeping her eyes on the syndicate members, she cautiously moves back to a safer distance.

Waiting until the marked crates move through the airlock, the Spy leaves the maintenance tunnel unnoticed.

#

In an empty storage room beside Tartarus Station’s engine room, Doctor Kaur and a team of engineers are converting the entire room into a giant active component. A second team of engineers is feeding dozens of thick, rubber shielded cables from the active component, through a hole cut into the wall connecting to the engine room. On the opposite side of the storage room, a third team of engineers is cutting a hole in the bottom of the wall.

The Angel enters the room effortlessly carrying a hundred and fifty-centimeter box in their arms. They place the box on the floor where Kaur tells them to place it and removes the lid to reveal twenty Gnosis cells inside.

Kaur dismisses the Angel before carefully connecting the Gnosis cells to the active component.

As the Angel steps into the hall, they almost bump into the Spy as she jogs by.

“Come with me, Angel,” she says. “I might need someone to look intimidating.”

“I’m afraid I’m more of a gentle giant these days,” they say with a grin.

“I said look intimidating,” she reiterates without slowing down. “I’ll take care of things if they get heated.”

The Angel matches her pace and follows her through the station’s halls.

#

Tartarus Station’s docking bay is a frantic mess with hundreds of transport shuttles, millions of stacked shipping containers, and dozens of logistics officers trying to keep everything moving. The Spy enters the docking bay with the Angel and heads into the security office by the door.

“Lock down the station,” she orders. “Nothing in or out until I tell you otherwise.”

“I need to clear it—” The security coordinator stops when he notices the five-star shoulder marks. “Yes, General.”

He presses a button on the console next to him causing a loud buzz to echo through the docking bay.

Giant metal doors slowly slide over the hatches leading out into space. The soldiers stationed at the checkpoints lock the doors leading into the station. And hundreds of soldiers flood out of the security offices around the outer edge of the docking bay and direct the transport crew members to stand in front of their shuttles.

The logistics supervisors group their staff away from the shuttle crews and wait for instructions from the security team.

“I want to see all the manifests,” the Spy orders.

Removing the tablet from her belt, she finds an image of the Belphegor emblem and shows it to the coordinator.

“They won’t mark any of their documents, uniforms, or vessels with this, but a lot of their members are dumb enough to have it tattooed on their bodies,” she says.

As the coordinator starts to gather the customs and flight manifests, the Spy notices a group of eight soldiers, wearing ill-fitting uniforms, cross the docking bay and enter a security office.

Taking the radio off the coordinator’s belt, the Spy commands, “Attention all security offices. By the decree of General Paris, no one is to exit the docking bay for any reason. This includes security and military personnel.”

Putting the radio down on the workstation beside the coordinator, the Spy exits the office with the Angel and jogs to the office where the eight soldiers entered.

“Our mission is classified,” the lead soldier says. “My team needs to enter the station immediately.”

“That’s funny,” the Spy says calmly. “I didn’t assign any of you a classified mission.”

“Who are you?” the soldier scoffs.

“Exactly,” she says, pointing to her shoulder mark with a smile. “Arrest them.”

The security team tackles the soldiers, disarms them, and handcuff their hands behind their backs.

“You have no idea what you’re missing,” the lead soldier growls. “Let us go and we’ll give you half a percent.”

“Only half a percent?” the Spy says, pretending to be offended. “I don’t make exceptions for anything under ten.”

“Ten?” the lead soldier says, calming his tone. “Our buyers are paying a thousand gold coins per item. Half a percent is five coins per box.”

“And ten percent is a hundred coins per box,” she says calmly. “But if you won’t comply, I’ll just sell you to the Asmodeus Syndicate and take over your operation. Bring them,” the Spy orders, gesturing for the guards to follow her.

Returning to the docking bay, she marches across the bay, scanning the crew standing in front of their shuttles until she sees four more syndicate members wearing ill-fitting uniforms.

Seeing that their colleagues have been arrested, three of the four syndicate members run into the shuttle and pull carbines from a weapon locker.

The Angel draws the submachine gun from their thigh holster, which looks like a sidearm in their giant hand, and makes quick work of the three armed syndicate members before they raise their weapons.

“Looks like you’re the only one with any sense,” the Angel says as they step in front of the fourth syndicate member. “Stay back!” they order with a panicked tone, pointing directly at the Spy.

Holstering their weapon, the Angel points at the metal door in front of the Belphegor shuttle and commands, “This vessel needs to leave, now!”

The security supervisor looks to the Spy for confirmation before saying, “Yes, Commander.”

Turning to the Spy, the Angel says, “Head back the way we came in. Wait on the other side of the door, call every outbreak technician to the docking bay, and bring in the Apollyon clones to contain the situation. And most importantly, do not touch anyone else.”

Picking up the statuesque syndicate member with ease, the Angel carries them into the shuttle.

Taking the radio off their belt, the Angel steps off the shuttle.

“Attention, Duncan,” they say. “Prepare the evacuation protocol.” Lowering the radio, the Angel points at the security team holding the Belphegor Syndicate members. “Take them inside,” they order.

“Affirmative, Commander,” Duncan says over the radio. “How bad is it?”

The Angel steps to the side to allow the security team to bring their prisoners on the shuttle.

Seeing that the Spy hasn’t started to leave yet, the Angel points to the interior door and orders, “Leave!”

Waiting for the Spy to start jogging toward the door, the Angel enters the Belphegor shuttle, raises the radio to their face and says, “The station is lost. We are assessing the rate of infection now.”

“Understood, I’ll meet you at the rally point,” Duncan says.

“Negative,” the Angel says, preventing the security team from exiting the shuttle. “I’ve come in direct contact with someone on the verge of becoming vacuous.” Pressing the raise ramp button, they add, “I’ve isolated everyone who is deemed unsafe to be tested. This call is a request for an antimatter strike.”

Seeing the frightened looks on the security guards’ faces, the Angel lowers the radio and sympathetically says, “If there’s someone you’d like to call, do it in the crew cabins now. I’ll handle everything else.”

Without saying anything, the guards take the tablets off their belts and disappear into the cabins. The Angel’s tablet starts ringing.

Answering the call, Eve, wearing handcuffs around her wrists, appears on the screen and, holding back tears, says, “How do you know you’ve been infected? The medical team was just dispatched.”

“You’ve been fighting our enemy for twenty-three years,” they say with a confident, reassuring tone as they make their way to the cockpit. “But I’ve been fighting them for millennia. I’ve learned not to question the glassy look, because that hesitation ends thousands of lives.”

“Do you have the glassy look?” Eve asks as the Angel squeezes into the undersized pilot’s seat and slides the harness straps as far up their arms as they will go. “You can still save countless more!” she pleads. “Destroy the infected and get tested.”

“That would infect the person who tests me, and every person they test thereafter,” they respond as they power up the shuttle. “The residents of Tartarus will be the final people I save.”

“The Sharur is in the vicinity,” Duncan says over the radio. “You’re going to have to give them the order. I won’t make it for you.”

“I’d never ask you to,” the Angel says. “Oh, and Ana. Just because you’ve done things you will never forget in this timeline; you are still the kind soul that is always looking for a better future. The truth will give you a chance to repent.”

“Stop acting so hastily!” Eve demands. “If the roles were reversed—”

“The roles were reversed,” the Angel interjects with a calm resolve. “Your father gave us seventeen years. We did right by him, and I know you’ll do right by me.”

Eve turns the tablet’s camera away as tears start to roll down her face. The Angel stares through the open hatch at the distant stars, crying with a smile on their face. The cockpit door opens and one of the security guards shuffles in with red eyes.

“I don’t want to die alone in a cabin,” he says.

“I appreciate the company,” the Angel says. Reaching for the radio, they say, “I’m going to need clearance to launch.”

“Angel, this is Tartarus Station, you’re clear to launch,” Duncan says, trying to sound official but his voice cracks.

“Roger that, Ana,” the Angel says. “Keep this timeline’s version of me safe.”

“Send Butch my love, Utu,” Duncan says.

Securing the radio to their belt, the Angel gently guides the shuttle out of the docking bay and says, “Don’t be afraid to be honest, Child. Reach out and give her space to process.”

“Promise me you’ll look after my parents,” Eve says, turning the camera back to face her.

“I promise they won’t get into any trouble without me,” they say with a toothy grin.

“I’d like to keep the call open until the end, if that’s alright, Uncle Utu,” she says.

“Of course, Child,” they say, securing the tablet to the console in front of them.

They sit in silence as the other security guards enter the cockpit one after the other and harness themselves into a chair.

Hearing the final guard secure their harness behind them, the Angel flips a switch on the console and says, “Angel calling, Sharur. Fire at will.”

“Roger that, Commander,” Sharur’s captain says over the radio.

Turning the radio off before the Sharur can finish their transmission, the Angel and the security guards sit in silence with their eyes closed, thinking about their loved ones.

An antimatter bomb blueshifts toward the shuttle and collides with the hull. The shuttle and its crew are converted into light instantaneously.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Unborn

The workstations and electronic tables have been removed from the lab in Duncan’s pocket universe. An army of small forklifts moving stacks of crates coming through the spacetime door from Tartarus Station have turned the laboratory into a warehouse. Eve, working diligently to distract herself from the loss of her oldest friend, personally checks every crate. Her wrists are no longer restrained.

The Gladiator follows her, keeping a watchful eye over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t smuggling anything into the pocket universe. Once Eve has finished logging the contents, she reseals the crate and instructs the forklift operators where to take them.

In the adjacent office, Okar, Grant, and Tessa are standing around the electronic table where video calls with Lee and Alvarez are projected above the table.

“Everything matches our manifests,” Lee says. “We’ve started to do background checks on our crew, but as it stands, the Sema is not missing any equipment or hosting any unfamiliar faces.”

“What about the Scutum-Crux?” Okar asks.

“A handful of people are reporting cases of shoplifting,” Alvarez says, “but no one’s seen anything suspicious leaving the military bases or temples.”

“Have you done an audit to see if anything has gone missing?” Tessa asks.

“I don’t have the authority to do that,” Alvarez answers.

“I can have an investigatory team assembled to take her through the militarized areas,” Lee says. “But Mother Themis is the only person capable of issuing orders inside the temples.”

The tablet in Grant’s hand buzzes.

“Speaking of which,” Grant says. “Lexy’s received a lot of messages in the past hour.”

“There might be something wrong on the Nefertem,” Lee says. “Rumors have it that Mother Themis used her command ship to retrieve weapons from the heavens. That would be the first place I’d go to find something valuable.”

“Alright,” Okar says. “Persuade the Philosopher to give Tessa and her team clearance to inspect the Nefertem.”

“That’s not going to work, Madam President,” Lee refutes. “The Nefertem is the Children of Themis’s holiest site. Even if Mother Themis were present, the disciples she selected to live there are the most fanatically devout people I’ve ever seen. If they suspect she’s in any form of danger, they will act recklessly to protect her.”

“Then we’ll hide our presence by … sending a team of three,” Tessa says, looking out the window behind her. “The Strategist is a part of the Moirai. They won’t be … question her presence on the Nefertem.”

“I don’t care that they’re your daughters,” Okar rejects. “I’m not sending you to a vessel where she has absolute authority over you.”

“That’s why you’re sending the Gladiator instead of me,” Tessa says. “Dress her in a Divine Guard’s uniform and she’ll be more … deadly than any Placating Fox team.”

“I want Federation eyes inside that vessel,” Okar says. “You’re part of the Moirai as well, having you go would give me peace of mind.”

Tapping her cane against the table, Tessa says, “I’d be a hindrance if things got out of hand. Besides, you’ll need someone to … recognize Tartarus’s refugees once they start evacuating the station. Since the Gladiator and Strategist are a package deal, Lexy is … integral to the mission, and Duncan is busy on Tartarus, I’m the only one left to … babysit.”

“Fine,” Okar says. “Lee, work with General Alvarez to get her what she needs. General Grant, brief the Philosopher. Fleet Admiral, get the Gladiator and Strategist ready.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” they affirm.

The video calls end and Grant exits the office with Tessa. Okar sits down at the table, waits for the office door to close, and calls Myeisha.

#

Inside the Nefertem, every surface is painted white, the doors and halls are purpose-built without any decorations. The Philosopher, wearing a thin, plain white robe, Eve, wearing a purple robe under her armoured vest and a belt suspending her sidearm over her thigh, and the Gladiator, wearing a red robe with a similar armoured vest and sidearm belt, are walking through the halls. Agni, the leader of the Divine Guard wearing a red outfit identical to the Gladiator’s, escorts them through the Children of Themis’s command ship.

Agni leads them into a freezer room where there are six frozen bodies wearing red robes lined up beside each other in a corner. The armoured vests have melted holes that reveal the wearers’ fatal injuries.

“They thought we wouldn’t recognize strangers,” he says. “But there are no strangers among the Divine Guard,” he adds, giving the Gladiator a disapproving glare.

“I anointed Sister Kelly for ushering me back from Nirvana,” the Philosopher says. “She is my sword.”

Ashamed, Agni kneels and bows his head. “My apologies, Sister Kelly,” he says. “I am grateful to be in your divine presence.”

“Have you been patrolling the maintenance hatches?” Eve asks.

“We have,” Agni says, rising to his feet. “We did not find any nonbelievers, but we did recover the weapons they were trying to steal.”

“The Belphegor operate in teams of twelve,” the Gladiator says. “There are at least six more aboard this ship.”

“Join us in the hunt, Sister,” Agni says, directing them out of the freezer.

“My duty is by the Mother’s side,” the Gladiator says.

“Forgive me for questioning the divine order,” he says. “Mother, allow me to lead the inquisition to root out the nonbelievers.”

“Be circumspect, Brother Agni,” the Philosopher says while nodding with a smile.

Banging his fist against his chest plate, he says, “We serve the Mother.”

The Gladiator and Eve bang their fists against their chest plates and respond, “The Mother is wise.”

Agni bows and leaves.

“I can scrutinize what’s absent in my office,” the Philosopher says as she heads down the hall away from Agni.

Eve and the Gladiator follow her to her office in the middle of the spacecraft.

The Philosopher places her hand in the small gap beside her locked office door where a small needle punctures her finger and tests her blood. The door beeps as the sound of a sliding metal latch can be heard through the door.

The Gladiator draws her sidearm, opens the door, and quickly looks around the empty office before waving the others in.

When the Philosopher enters, she turns the lights on to reveal a metal desk with an old, tattered version of the book she brought with her on Traveler One, a metal garbage can, and a computer.

The Philosopher sits at the desk and powers on the computer while the Gladiator makes sure no one is hiding in the connected bedroom and bathroom.

“This was careless to leave behind,” Eve scolds, picking up the tattered book.

“It’s all history now,” the Philosopher dismisses. “Just a diary of a young girl growing up in a constant war.”

“So, the fancy talk was just a show after all,” the Gladiator says, returning from the bedroom.

“Speak slowly and use vocabulary that makes you sound superior to everyone else,” the Philosopher says, mocking Duncan’s voice. “People will listen carefully to what you say and think that you know what you’re talking about.” Dropping the mocking voice, she adds, “That was the first lesson Dad put into my memory palace.”

“Be careful what you say,” Eve says, mocking Duncan’s voice while pulling the garbage can out from under the desk, “and never write anything down. Any record will be distorted and used against you.” She rips the pages out of the book and drops them into the garbage can.

Dropping the pageless cover into the can on top of loose pages, Eve removes the power cell from her sidearm and presses the contacts against the side of the can. Rocking the cell back and forth so the contacts take turns touching the metal, an arc forms and ignites the old paper.

“At least you had someone to teach you how to survive,” the Gladiator says, looking at the computer screen over the Philosopher’s shoulder. “The headmistress was very strict that if we didn’t figure out how to pay for dinner on our own, we didn’t eat.”

“I have the Divine Guard’s recovery report,” the Philosopher says. “The Belphegor Syndicate tried to steal a couple white hole bombs, a couple dozen crates of Independent Planet currencies, and ten crates of armoured vests.” A new alert appears on her screen and, after reading it, she adds, “It looks like someone is trying to break into the Gnosis fuel cell storage room right now.”

“We’re close to that,” Eve says, putting her sidearm back together. “They might be able to escape before the Divine Guard gets to them.”

“Let’s go,” the Philosopher says, turning the computer off.

The Gladiator opens the door and is confronted by five Belphegor Syndicate members wearing white robes. They are all pointing their sidearms at her.

Eve, pressing off the door frame with her foot tackles the Gladiator to the floor as the syndicate members discharge their weapons. Eve is struck in the left thigh once and the back three times.

Rolling onto her back, she draws her sidearm and shoots back.

Killing two of the unarmoured attackers, Eve takes two more hits to the front of her armoured vest, one to her right leg, and one to her right hand. She drops her weapon.

Climbing to her feet with her sidearm in hand, the Gladiator uses the doorframe as cover to kill the three remaining syndicate members.

Closing the door, the Gladiator helps the Philosopher remove the melting armoured vest from Eve.

Gasping for air, Eve reaches for the Gladiator’s face with her left arm, exposing that her right lung and liver have been hit through the armour on her back.

The Gladiator pulls Eve closer, and Eve hugs her as tightly as she can.

“My name is Evelyn, but you can call me Eve for short,” she says forcefully.

Eve dies in the Gladiator’s arms.

Tears roll down the Gladiator’s face as her expression rapidly cycles through being angry, sad, and confused.

“How dare you tell her to say that!” she screams.

Fighting back tears and holding her chest tightly, the Philosopher says with a choked-up voice, “That’s what her mother always said. It’s one of the many ways she expressed her pride and joy.”

“No, no, no,” the Gladiator begs, picking Eve up. “We have to move quickly. If we get her to the freezer, Duncan can bring her back.”

“The freezer can’t freeze her fast enough—”

“Do as I say!” she shouts.

Her breathing becomes heavy, and her skin turns red.

“A plasma bolt does too much internal damage,” the Philosopher says. “Even if we had a cryochamber, there’s nothing Duncan can do.”

The Gladiator places Eve on the floor and looks at her face.

“I only counted eleven Belphegor operatives,” she says as she rises to her feet. “Good,” she adds while drawing her sidearm. “Then there’s still one left.”

The Gladiator throws the office door open, steps into the hall, and shoots each of the five dead syndicate members in the head. From the corner of her eye, she sees the final syndicate member peeking around the corner, pointing his sidearm at her.

Stepping to the side with incredible speed, the Gladiator raises her weapon, takes aim, and discharges it once. The plasma bolt strikes the syndicate member’s weapon causing it to crumble in his hands.

The syndicate member turns to run away and, seeing the Divine Guard forming in the hall in front of him, he raises his hands, runs toward them, and shouts, “I surrender!” repeatedly.

“He’s mine!” the Gladiator growls as she takes aim at his legs.

She fires a second bolt from her sidearm and strikes the syndicate member in the left thigh. His leg goes limp causing him to fall on his face.

Terrifying metal clangs echo through the hall as the Gladiator’s feet stomp against the floor with incredible strength as she slowly approaches. The syndicate member rolls onto his back and begs for mercy as she holsters her weapon.

“You don’t deserve mercy!” she growls.

Snatching his right hand, the Gladiator effortlessly breaks his wrist and several bones in the hand.

“Consider yourself lucky that you get to die as she did,” she says, over his painful screams.

The Gladiator stomps his right thigh, breaking his femur, and punches his chest twice, breaking ribs with each hit.

“You don’t deserve to transition as she did,” she growls.

Effortlessly flipping him onto his stomach with a quick flick of her wrist, the Gladiator punches him in the back twice, dislocating his ribs.

“But I want Charon to know what your sin was as soon as you arrive,” she says, drawing her sidearm. “Pray that my daughter didn’t inherit my vengeful nature.”

Ignoring his final pleas, she discharges her sidearm, destroying his right lung and liver.

Holstering her weapon, she rolls him onto his back, leans in close with a sadistic smile and watches him carefully, making sure she witnesses his last, painful breath.

Agni steps out in front of the Divine Guard and kneels. The Divine Guard follows his lead.

“Praise, Sister Kelly, the Divine Sword of Vengeance,” he says, bowing his head.

“Praise, Sister Kelly, the Divine Sword of Vengeance,” the Divine Guard say in unison as they bow their heads.

Her skin colour returns to normal, but she stumbles backward, struggling to hold up her bodyweight. She desperately removes her armour and clutches her chest in pain.

“All the syndicates are blasphemous,” she declares. “Merely being affiliated is cause for death.”

“We are your obedient soldiers, Sister Kelly,” Agni says.

“Praise, Sister Kelly, the Divine Sword of Vengeance,” the Divine Guard say in unison.

The Philosopher runs up behind the Gladiator, hugs her tightly, and guides her to the floor where they cry together. Agni directs the Divine Guard to clean up the deceased.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Strategist

Federation officers, wearing their dress uniforms, and Children of Themis disciples, wearing black robes, have gathered in the Yeshe Walmo’s docking bay. They are lined up at the bottom of a transport shuttle’s open loading ramp. Okar, Grant, Brandon, the Spy, Navigator, Pilot, Tessa, and Duncan are wearing Federation dress uniforms while Lee is wearing a black robe.

Agni and five other Divine Guards, all wearing black robes, carry Eve’s ornate casket out of the shuttle. As the casket passes the attendants they salute.

The Philosopher and Gladiator, also wearing black robes, exit the shuttle behind the casket. They wait at the bottom of the ramp and watch as the casket leaves the docking bay.

The officers and disciples lower their hands and take turns stepping up to the Gladiator. They salute her and then march out through the docking bay’s exit without saying anything.

When the last attendant leaves, Okar, Tessa, Duncan, and the Spy approach the Gladiator.

“My condolences,” Okar says.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” the Gladiator asks, giving Duncan a cold glare.

“She wanted to tell you herself,” Duncan says. “We begged her to tell you as soon as she met you, but she was afraid you’d reject her if she didn’t redeem herself first.”

“Then she was no daughter of mine,” the Gladiator snarls. Looking away she adds, “I would have never raised such a coward.”

Looking uneasy, Duncan speaks slowly as he tries to find the right words, “She didn’t get the … Her mother didn’t survive into her teenage years.” Handing her a tablet, he adds, “She recorded a message for you, in case something happened to her before she got to speak to you.”

Taking the tablet, the Gladiator says, “I want everything you have on the syndicates.”

“We can’t split our—” Okar says.

“You have your war, I have mine,” the Gladiator interjects as she heads toward the exit.

“Kelly, wait,” the Spy says, trying to stop her.

“I won’t ask for your help,” the Gladiator says, without slowing down. “But if you decide to help me, I’ll be in my cabin.”

“You need to talk some sense into her,” Okar orders, turning to Duncan and Tessa.

Looking at each other, they can tell they’re thinking the same thing.

“Eve was our daughter,” Tessa says.

“If fighting the rogue program didn’t need our attention, we’d be walking out of here with her,” Duncan adds.

“Do I have to worry about you trying to avenge your sister’s death?” Okar says, stepping in front of the Philosopher.

“Are you afraid I’ll stop propping up your failed rule?” the Philosopher snaps. “I only knew Eve for six years, but Kelly is one of us. Seeing her hurt is unbearable.” Regaining her composure and wiping the tears from her face, she adds, “My children perceive me as a beacon of hope, not a conflagration of hostilities. We will aid your conquest of the program.”

Okar and the Philosopher glare at each other until Grant says, “Shall I escort her back to her cell?”

Sighing, Okar steps away from the Philosopher.

“No,” she says. “We’ve already lost one intelligence officer. I can’t risk losing four more. You’re all dismissed until twenty hundred hours. We’ll reconvene then for our daily debrief.”

Okar leaves the docking bay alone as the others stay behind with the Philosopher.

#

The Gladiator’s cabin is filled with grey and white plush furnishings with lavender accents. String lights frame the bed’s grey headboard and turn the wall around the bathroom door into a radiant feature.

Wearing an ankle length lavender bath robe, the Gladiator, looking defeated, enters from the bathroom and heads straight for the bed. Kicking off her brown teddy bear slippers, she crawls under the blankets and picks up the tablet from her nightstand.

The desktop has one video file titled, ‘For Mom’. She opens the video and a sixteen-year-old Eve appears on the screen.

“Hi, Mom,” she says before giving off an animated confused look. “Or, Kelly, I don’t really know how I should address you. Uncle Ana only told me to speak from my heart.”

“You could’ve always called me Mom,” the Gladiator says, as if she were speaking directly to her.

Eve’s expression becomes uneasy as she continues, “Well, he also said I wasn’t born, and I would never be born in this timeline with Dad dying in the Galactic War … and with what happened to you after Gnosis.” Shaking her head Eve forces a smile. “But you’re the expert on this timeline, I know you want to know more about me and where I came from.”

“More than anything, Eve,” the Gladiator says, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Back in my day,” Eve says, mocking an elderly tone, “the galactic peace ceremony was the first day of long friendship between the Allied Planets and the Federation.”

Eve shows some photos of Raza, Duncan, Kaur, the Navigator, and the rest of the University of Coeus research team on Torus 5.

Dropping the mocking tone, she says, “There was never a galactic war. Prince Raza and Uncle Ana continued their intergalactic travel experiments for eleven years.”

Cutting to photos of Duncan’s wedding, Eve continues, “When Uncle Ana, er, Duncan told me Tessa was his wife, it was really strange seeing him with someone other than Auntie Prabhjot.” She shows a photo of Kaur without the veil covering her face. “Especially since Tessa wasn’t someone I met in my timeline. Rumor has it she died on Primus Four, but who knows with those special op types.”

“They got married when he was thirty-eight and she was forty-two,” she says, cutting back to her. “Oh! Speaking of weddings, you and Dad got married a few months after the galactic peace ceremony!” She cuts to pictures of the Gladiator’s wedding. “And I was born nine months later.”

Cutting to baby pictures and images of Eve growing up on Torus 5, they show that the Gladiator’s defined muscles start to fade over time. As the photos continue showing later years in Eve’s life, four other children start appearing in them.

“You devoted everything to being the best Mom anyone could hope for,” she says. “I’d tell you their names, but I know you already know who’s who.”

Pointing at her children, the Gladiator says, “Evelyn, Julian, Alesia, Darrel, and Wilmer.”

“While you worked hard providing us a majestic home, Dad continued to work for the Torian Global Space Force,” Eve continues. “It was just after my tenth birthday when Uncle Ana realized that their satellites were going missing progressively closer to the edge of the galaxy.”

Cutting back to her face, she adds, “Since Dad was going to miss my birthday, and it was only a trip to the Perseus arm’s observatories, he took me with him. Uncle Ana, Auntie Prabhjot, Auntie Sandra, and Prince Raza came along too.” Starting to sound choked-up, Eve says, “The Triangulum attacked while we were traveling. You, Julian, Alesia, Darrel, and Wilmer were all killed on Torus Five.” She wipes tears from her face as she says, “I was only ten when I lost you, Mom.”

“Prince Raza was able to rally the Federation Space Force and Dad retired from active combat,” Eve says with a smile. “He knew you’d want him to give everything up to look after me, so that’s what he did. He became devoted to his faith and a father. His infectious smile and hopeful sermons helped the resistance continue to fight even though we lost every time.”

Cutting to pictures of the parties the Butcher hosted, she adds, “But his most admirable moment was when the rogue program defeated the Triangulum for us. Dad was the most vocal in welcoming these angels, as he called them, into the resistance.”

Cutting to pictures of Prince Raza and the Triangulum chiefs shaking hands, Eve says, “When they came, asking for help, the resistance wanted to execute them. But Dad’s faith wouldn’t let us. He said,” she switches her tone to mock the Butcher’s, “you’ll have to hang me first before I let you execute my neighbours.” She giggles.

“Everyone always saw him as a soldier,” the Gladiator says. “But he only wanted peace.”

“In the end, the resistance’s love for him was greater than their hate for the Triangulum,” Eve continues. “Unfortunately, despite the knowledge the Triangulum brought with them, Uncle Ana, Auntie Prabhjot, and Uncle Utu couldn’t save the galaxy.”

Her voice becomes somber. “Five years later, the Milky Way was gone. Auntie Prabhjot, Auntie Sandra, Uncle Ana, Prince Raza, and Dad were all infected. Uncle Utu and I were the last survivors,” she says. “Auntie Prabhjot had been working on a quantum system to find a way to go back in time and figure out how to save the galaxy. But, by the time galaxy fell, she hadn’t confirmed her theory. So, Uncle Utu and I went on a quest of probable death instead of waiting for certain death.”

“If everything played out the same way, the galaxy would fall, so we were told to be reckless,” Eve continues. “Hecate Three was decades ahead of anything this galaxy had ever produced, and we could use it to conquer the galaxy by force if we needed to.”

“We decided to start by destroying the Kismet One,” she adds. “It was moving too fast for the program to catch and, if we could change the future, it would let the others know that we made it.”

“But that’s where I met Duncan, Tessa, Lexy, and Dad’s clone.” Her expression becomes excited as she says, “Apparently our mission caused a ripple effect through countless timelines until a causality loop formed!”

Pointing at the camera, she explains, “Your timeline has happened exactly the same way countless times before and will happen exactly the same way countless more times. The only difference is that Traveler One arrives one one-thousandth of a second earlier each loop. The Duncan that came back isn’t the same one that left! The one that rescued you from Whiro will appear in the next iteration after their Duncan leaves!”

Leaning away from the camera, Eve pouts, “But that means I have to become a bad person to keep this causal loop going.” She leans in close with a smile and quietly says, “Duncan promised me that I will get to see you again if I do exactly what I did in the previous loop. So, forgive me for what I have to do, because I want to see you again in seventeen years, and I will pay any price to make that happen.”

Returning to a natural seated position, Eve says, “Hopefully you never have to see this because I want to see your face when your mind explodes.” She reaches for the camera and says, “I love you, Mom.”

The screen goes black.

Placing the tablet back on the nightstand, the Gladiator stares at the ceiling, fuming in anger as tears roll toward her ears.

Hearing her tablet beep from the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed, she reaches down and sees she has two new messages.

Opening them she discovers that Duncan has sent her a list of his syndicate contacts and a copy of every agreement he made with them. The second is from the Spy detailing every key person in the syndicates, their last known locations, and the tracking data from the crates she marked on Tartarus.

The Gladiator quickly types, ‘Give me Agni’s contact info’ and sends it to the Philosopher before calling Freda.

“Why are you calling me?” Freda asks.

“I’m going to eradicate the syndicates from this galaxy,” the Gladiator growls. “Care to join me?”

“You certainly believe that you will,” Freda says with a smile. “But taking down a syndicate operation takes years of intelligence gathering and muscle. Taking down all seven syndicates entirely? Manage your expectations.”

“I have seventeen years of intel from the Scientist and recent locations from the Spy,” the Gladiator says confidently. “If you’ve forgiven the syndicates, then I’ll act on my own.”

Freda sighs. “I have to admit that I miss the look they gave me when I liberated my home,” she says. “I’ll send a shuttle to pick you up.”

Seeing the message from the Philosopher, the Gladiator says, “Just send me your coordinates. I’ll bring my army to you.”

“I never expected the President to sanction this mission,” Freda says with a smirk. “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call, the Gladiator calls Agni.

Seeing the Gladiator appear on his tablet, Agni bows and says, “Thank you for gracing me with your presence, Sister Kelly. What can I do for the Divine Sword?”

“You can fight with me,” she says authoritatively. “I am going to purge the blasphemous from this galaxy.”

“If the Divine Sword is going to war, then the Divine Guard is your army,” he says, banging his fist against his chest.

“Is the shuttle still scheduled to depart at nineteen hundred hours?”

“Affirmative.”

“Thank you, Brother Agni,” she says, climbing out of bed. “I will be onboard before it departs.”

“Praise Sister Kelly, the Divine Sword of Vengeance,” he says.

Ending the call, the Gladiator drops the tablet on her bed, gets dressed, and heads for the cabin door. Reaching for the handle, she stops and turns back to get Eve’s tablet.

Attaching the tablet to her belt, she leaves her cabin.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The End

In the two years since Duncan and Tessa returned, Duncan’s pocket universe has been filled with a labyrinth of workstations modeled after Tartarus Station’s command center. Each of the galaxy’s major governments have established a presence in the pocket universe turning it into the joint operations center.

The office adjacent to the operations center has been converted into the Navigator’s office with dozens of computer monitors cycling through the honeypot network. The Navigator and Brandon are sitting at the electronic table, updating the star map with the rogue program’s positions, where the antimatter bomb carriers are, and which honeypots need to be replaced.

A long list of planets with a countdown next to each name is projected from the table between the Navigator and Brandon. Cathubodua 9 is at the at the top of the list with a timer twelve seconds away from zero.

“Target will be in range in ten seconds, Ker,” Brandon says. “Coordinates have been sent.”

The Navigator projects the video from the Ker’s cameras above the table. The Placating Fox corvette is waiting near the ninth planet in the Cathubodua system.

“Copy that, Dispatch,” Ker’s captain affirms. “Bombs are loaded, waiting for intercept.”

When the timer reaches zero, a half-built Tartarus Station blueshifts to the center of the video frame and the Ker launches two antimatter bombs.

The bombs redshift toward the cloned station where the first bomb strikes the protective shielding and creates a nuclear explosion with an electromagnetic pulse strong enough to strip the shields off the station. The second bomb strikes the metal hull erasing the station with a flash of light as intense as a small star.

“Intercept is a success,” Ker’s captain says. “Evacuating to quarantine zone.”

“Well done, Ker,” Brandon says. “The infection team will meet you there.”

The Navigator closes the video window, starts a new timer next to Cathubodua 9, moves it down the list, and removes the destroyed station from the tracking system.

Across the pocket universe, the spacetime door opens into Okar’s office on the Yeshe and Okar storms through. She weaves through the maze of workstations and marches to the corridor of offices in the back.

She peeks through the office door windows until she finds Duncan and Tessa. They are working with six technicians to setup a galactic press conference.

“You’ve called an election?” Okar asks, barging through the door.

“You were necessary when the galaxy was at war,” Tessa says, without looking away from her tablet. “The Tartarus Project has contained the … expansion of the rogue program. It’s time to start looking toward the future and our … transition to a unified galaxy.”

“And you’re saying I’m incapable of that?” Okar says.

“I’m done delegating leadership,” Tessa says looking at Okar. “Wilson had two chances. Raza refused to … understand what was needed, and you’re struggling to realize that the Federation has changed.”

“We’re not out of danger yet!” Okar refutes. “Eighty percent of the Federation’s planets still support my leadership. This election will force us to antagonize each other and bring uncertainty to the Federation’s ability to lead us into the future!”

“That’s the problem,” Tessa says. “The Federation is just a … whisper of what it once was. It is incapable of leading us into the future. The Federation needs to become a part of a … unified governing force represented by the Allied Planets, the Independent Planets, and the Children of Themis. They have the majority of the … influence, and all of them have backed my bid for presidency.”

Duncan hands Okar a folder and two sets of house keys.

“You’ve served the galaxy well,” Tessa continues. “Retire to the country with Myeisha.”

Opening the folder, Okar sees a completed change of ownership form and a notarized deed for the Duncan house on Earth with Okar and Myeisha’s name on it.

“You’ll love Ekon and Amara,” Tessa says. “They have two kids you can spoil.”

“Trying to pay me off?” Okar says with a smirk. “Maybe you have what it takes to be a politician after all.”

“Retire as the woman who saved the galaxy,” Tessa says sincerely. “Don’t tarnish your name with a … democratic fight.”

Pointing at the Union of Galactic Nations logo hanging behind the lectern, Okar says, “It looks like you’re already decided for me.”

“Talk it over with Myeisha,” Tessa says. “If you’re not ready to retire, I’ll see you at the debates.”

Pointing at Tessa as if she’s going to say something, Okar storms out of the office and leaves the pocket universe instead.

“Are we ready to broadcast?” Tessa says stepping up to the lectern with her cane.

“The teleprompter is ready, and the video reel is queued,” the lead technician says.

Seeing herself in the monitor in front of her, Tessa adjusts her hair and uniform before ordering, “Start the broadcast.”

Duncan locks the door as the lead technician says, “Lock the set. Cameras are rolling. Going live in five, four, three, two,” they nod and point to Tessa.

“Good evening,” Tessa says, reading off the teleprompters.

On the monitor, the title, ‘Fleet Admiral Sheridan’ appears in the lower third.

“We have come a long way since the Matter Wars started three years ago, and it’s time that we tell you what’s been happening behind the secrecy.

Before we knew the war had started, both the Allied Planets and the Federation were destroyed. Homeless, we drifted through space hoping that we’d find someone who would welcome us as one of their own. Luckily, Mother Themis and the Children of Themis were there to offer us shelter and protect us from the trying days ahead. Their generosity gave us a clear message of unity and hope.”

The monitor switches from Tessa at the podium to a pre-recorded clip of Duncan with a team of researchers in a generic lab. The lower third reads, ‘The Recolonization Effort’. The video is silent, so everyone is exaggerating their actions while they act busy.

“Learning from their lessons,” Tessa’s voice continues over the video. “Old enemies have set aside their differences.”

The video cuts to show Utu and the other Triangulum helping humans build houses.

“We learned to cooperate with our neighbours,” Tessa adds, “and use our combined strengths to rebuild stronger, together.”

The video cuts to show the Nefertem, Mercury Station, and Freda’s mercenary army surrounding the Asmodeus Syndicate’s Tuonela station. The lower thirds changes to, ‘Building Back Better’.

“Some of us decided to profit from the galaxy’s plight,” she says.

Inside Tuonela, a small army of Divine Guards, wearing armoured red tactical suits with carbines in their hands, are freeing imprisoned Humans and Triangulum from the Asmodeus holding cells.

“Stealing food, medicine, and children. Ensuring that those who are suffering, suffer the most,” she continues.

The video cuts to show the Divine Guard escorting the liberated prisoners to the docking bays where they are loaded onto shuttles. The video shows the surrendered Asmodeus Syndicate members being locked into the cells that once held the people they were trafficking.

“Captain Freda and the Divine Sword could not sit idle while these atrocities happened.”

The video cuts to show a shuttle landing in Mercury Station’s docking bay where the Gladiator pushes the five leaders of the Asmodeus Syndicate off the shuttle. She turns her prisoners over to Freda and her mercenary army.

“After spending the last fifteen years living in the fear of war, they have promised that the selfish greed of the blasphemous will not follow us into the new age.”

Switching to a video of a Tartarus Station clone blueshifting toward a planet, the lower thirds updates to, ‘The Future Is Bright’.

“While the threat to our existence hasn’t ended,” Tessa says as the video shows two antimatter bombs strike and destroy the station. “The combined effort of the Children of Themis, Federation, Allied Planets, and Triangulum survivors have brought the threat under control.”

Cutting back to Tessa at the lectern, she says, “Which means today marks the first day in three years that we can look to the future and see something other than war. A future where the Children of Themis, the Federation, the Allied Planets, the Triangulum, and the Independent Planets come together as a Union of Galactic Nations.

A union that will be temporarily led by Mother Themis, President Lucas, Prime Minister Wanbli, Chief Utu, and President Okar until an election can be held to allow each nation to select their own representative as we transition into the next era.

In doing so, we will achieve the dream of the late Prince Raza who wanted to see everyone in this galaxy, and the next, living together without fear.

So, I am asking you to hug those next to you and tell them that everything will be better together. Thank you,” Tessa signs off with a smile.

“We’re clear,” the lead technician says, turning the camera away from the lectern.

Pushing her weight onto her cane, Tessa shakes the pain and stiffness out of her leg.

“How much time do we have until we meet the high council?” she asks.

“Twenty minutes,” Duncan says as he unlocks the door.

“Great, I could use a quick walk,” Tessa says, approaching the door.

They exit the office while the technicians pack up the broadcast equipment.

#

Okar and Myeisha’s cabin on the Yeshe Walmo is designed with earthy tones highlighted with pinks and reds. The floor to ceiling screens show a panoramic recorded video of Primus 4’s bustling skyline from the vantage point of the Federation HQ’s penthouse. Myeisha is standing in front of a television watching Tessa’s speech with an angry expression.

The cabin door opens and Okar walks in with Duncan’s folder tucked under her arm.

“How dare she use his name to steal the presidency,” Myeisha says angrily.

Closing the door behind her, Okar says, “I don’t think I should challenge her.”

“The patriarch was just a figurehead, but he was loved by everyone,” Myeisha says. “Once we tell them she killed Prince Raza—”

“She shot the prince in the back because he wouldn’t follow her orders,” Okar interjects, handing Myeisha the folder with the notarized deed. “At least she’s giving me the option to retire.”

“This is ridiculous,” Myeisha says. “None of the federated planets will stand for this blatant power grab.”

“Which would throw the galaxy into another war,” Okar says with a defeated tone as she sits down on the bed. “But this time the Federation will certainly lose to the Children of Themis.” Tapping the bed beside her, she adds, “I’m tired of fighting, and I’m tired of politics.” Myeisha sits beside her. “Would you hate me if I said I wanted to retire?”

“Never!” Myeisha says, grabbing Okar’s hand tightly. “I was angry because I thought Corine was trying to take what you spent your whole life earning. Honestly, growing old with you in the country sounds like a dream.”

They kiss.

“Thank you,” Okar says with a relieved tone. “I’ll negotiate a severance package before I throw my support behind the Fleet Admiral.”

“Well, make it quick,” Myeisha says with a smile. “I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to be interested in politics.” Pulling Okar back to lay beside her on the bed with their feet dangling over the edge, she adds, “Tell me everything about Sol Three.”

Laying on their sides, looking into each other’s eyes, Myeisha intently listens to Okar’s stories of the archaic planet called Earth.

#

Enormous cities have been built along the ocean coasts of the swamp covered Perierat 7, the largest of which is Elysium. The thick, swampy forests have been cleared, and the waterways have been controlled to allow the rich, fertile soil to be cultivated. Large hangars line the cliffs on the outskirts of the cities.

In Elysium’s city square, Lucas, Felix, and the Philosopher are attending a ribbon cutting ceremony in front of the city hall. Felix has a livery collar around his neck, Lucas is wearing a blue and green presidential sash over his shoulder, and the Philosopher is wearing a plain white robe. There are a hundred people in suits lined up behind them with an announcer standing at a wooden lectern in front. Hundreds of thousands of farmers and Children of Themis disciples have gathered in the square to take part in the ceremony.

“And now it is my honour to introduce President Lucas,” the announcer says.

The crowd claps as the announcer and Lucas shake hands and change places.

“Thank you, thank you,” Lucas says, stepping up to the microphone. “Four years ago, we were all refugees without a place to call home, living under the boot of tyrants that exploited us. We were farmers and merchants but, by the grace of Mother Themis’s guiding light and the strength of Brother Felix, we have come together to repel those that oppressed us!”

The crowed cheers.

“Stories of our devotion spread across the galaxy and honest people seeking better lives were drawn to our warmth,” he continues. “When Mother Themis ascended to the heavens and returned with the Moirai, the galaxy noticed and chose to elect three delegates from the Children of Themis to the Union of Galactic Nations, ensuring that our voice will continue to be heard across the galaxy.

Which is why today we are celebrating more than the incorporation of a new city,” Lucas says. “We are celebrating the official opening of Elysium, the city that will be the home to all of Mother Themis’s children!”

The crowd’s cheers drown out Lucas’s final statements before he steps away from the lectern.

The city officials hand the Philosopher, Felix, and Lucas a pair of novelty gold-plated scissors. They place the ribbon between the scissors’ blades, wait for the photos to be taken, and cut the ribbon.

Returning the scissors to the city officials, Lucas, Felix, and the Philosopher shake hands with each other, before waving to the cheering crowd.

#

The final five hundred Triangulum warships orbit around Baldr 3, a small rocky planet covered in rivers and meadows. A single rural town is built along one of the rivers with solar collectors scattered around the edges of the farms.

Utu and their partner are tending the small field in front of their stone home when nine oversized cars pull up and stop on the dirt road in front of their house.

The Triangulum chiefs get out of their cars with flowers, wine, and a long velvet box.

“Good morning, Utu,” Bau says in Triangulum.

“Good morning, Bau,” Utu responds. “What brings all of you out here?”

The chiefs line up and take turns kissing Utu and their partner’s cheeks as they hand them their gifts.

“Congratulations are in order,” Bau says, ensuring they are last in line. Kissing Utu’s cheeks, they present them with the long velvet box. “With the exception of one vote, we have unanimously elected you to represent us in the Union of Galactic Nations,” they say.

The chiefs kneel in front of Utu and bow their heads. Bau opens the box and holds it above their head. Inside the box is an iron necklace with large pentagrams forming the chain and a winged man pendant.

“You were running unopposed,” Utu says, taken aback. “How did I win?”

“I only registered so your name wouldn’t be alone on the ballot,” Bau explains. “Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to write-in your name when it wasn’t there. Your vote was the only vote I received. Please, do us the honour of representing us in this galaxy.”

Looking to their partner for their input, Utu sees that they have already reached for the necklace. They place it around Utu’s neck and kiss them.

#

Orbiting a sound pulse relay in the middle of nowhere, the Wraith’s frigate has no external lights or identifiable markings. Half of the frigate’s interior is a small landing bay housing a single Federation shuttle and countless meticulously organized storage containers. The other half of the frigate is an enormous server farm giving off a deafening hum from the floor to ceiling towers of computers.

In the middle of the frigate, a small office covered in computer screens divides the server farm from the landing bay. Sherry, Carey, Larry, Barry, Garry, and the Spy, all wearing thin white tank tops with loose short shorts, are in the office watching helmet cameras from the caves of Erebus 11.

The videos show Freda’s mercenaries handing the imprisoned syndicate leaders over to the Federation guards. The prisoners are then locked into metal cells carved into the stone walls.

Raising a radio to her face, the Spy says, “The serpents are in their vivaria, Captain.”

“Has anyone decided to start talking yet?” Freda asks over the radio.

“Not yet,” the Spy says. “I made sure they were put in the echoiest chamber. Someone will start selling out the Mammon Syndicate within the week.”

“Save a copy of the moment they start begging,” Freda says with a chuckle. “There is nothing more therapeutic than seeing your oppressors being oppressed.”

“I can’t say that I share your sadism,” the Spy says.

“You can’t tell me it didn’t feel great to sweep the children’s home out from under the stadium officials,” Freda states, her grin can be heard over the radio.

“That was a pretty good day,” the Spy admits, cracking a smile briefly before returning to her calm demeanor.

“I’ve detected suspicious activity on Gwydion Two, Sandra,” Shelly says. “A fringe political group is spending a lot of untraceable money to seize control of the system.”

“Any reports of them purchasing Federation vessels?” the Spy asks.

“Three. And they are campaigning on buying hundreds more by the end of the year.”

“Are you up for another undercover mission?” Freda asks.

“I’m done with field work,” the Spy says. “As soon as we dismantle Mammon, we’ll have eliminated the syndicates and I think I’ll retire to a solitary life again.”

“Speaking of retirement,” Freda says. “Make sure Kelly knows that if she ever needs more money, it’s hers. She’ll spend it better than I ever could.”

“If I phrase it like that, she’ll end up buying the entire planet,” the Spy says.

“Do it,” Freda says sincerely. “She’s seized more from the syndicates than I knew they had, and we haven’t even started on Mammon yet. I don’t think I’d notice anything missing if she bought the entire system.” A ringing is heard over Freda’s radio. “That’s President Sheridan,” she says. “Send me everything you have on Gwydion. I’ll dispatch our Apollyon clones once we know what we’re sending them into.”

“Yes, Captain,” the Spy affirms. Putting the radio down she orders, “Once the package is ready, send it to the Captain Freda, Shelly.”

“You got it,” Shelly affirms.

The Wraiths continue to sift through the information they’re hijacking from the sound pulse network while the Spy opens a collection of photos from Whiro 8 that the Gladiator sent.

#

The Mediterraneanesque ria city of Maher, the capital of Whiro 8, is protected by a tall mountain range on three sides and a busy harbour on the fourth. White limestone mansions are built on ledges carved into the mountains overlooking the once decaying inner-city. The remaining concrete apartments are being rebuilt with the same limestone used to make the luxurious mansions.

The Gladiator, wearing a black and red singlet with the Maher’s golden falcon insignia on the chest, is in the well-maintained street, lined with bright green trees in front of the children’s home she grew up in.

Hundreds of people have gathered around her, waiting for their turn to pose with her, and flex their muscles for pictures. The Gladiator picks up the small children and lets them sit on her shoulders.

Behind them, a contractor finishes polishing the new bronze letters mounted to the wall of the Maher Inner-City Children’s Home. Cynthia, wearing a lowcut bright blue dress over a yellow dress shirt, inspects the work before helping the contractor lower the white sheet to hide it.

She pays the contractor and walks into the middle of the road, unashamed of the burn scar covering the left side of her face that seals her eye shut.

Waiting for the current woman to finish having her picture taken, Cynthia says, “It’s ready, Kelly.”

Guiding her to the white sheet, Cynthia positions the Gladiator on the edge of the sidewalk and removes the tablet from her small yellow shoulder bag. The crowd gathers behind them on the street, with their phones out to record the unveiling.

Cynthia steps in front of the sheet, turns the lights on with her tablet, and reveals the illuminated sign reading, ‘Evelyn’s Home for Children’. Cynthia drops the sheet, runs to the Gladiator’s side, and hugs her muscular arm tightly.

“You’ve done so much for us, and I wanted to do something for you in return,” Cynthia says with tears forming in her eyes. “I couldn’t think of anything else to express how thankful I am.”

“No. Thank you,” the Gladiator says, sounding choked-up. “This means everything to me. I may not have been able to hold Eve in my arms, but now every time I hold a crying child that’s been left in our care, I’ll be holding a piece of her.” She hugs Cynthia and says, “Thank you, Cynthia.”

They hug each in front of the children’s home as the crowd takes pictures of them in front of the renamed building.

#

Beneath the quiet suburban neighbourhood on Earth, the vault door in the Duncans’ home opens into the pocket universe. Four Federation soldiers carry luggage from the pocket universe, up the stairs, through the kitchen, and place them in the sitting room next to the foyer.

The soldiers return to the lab where Brandon and the Navigator, wearing officer dress uniforms, are waiting with Okar, wearing a green qipao, and Myeisha, wearing a yellow sundress with a blue floral pattern.

The soldiers line up in front of Okar and salute.

“Your luggage has been delivered, Ma’am,” the lead soldier says.

“Thank you. That will be all,” Okar says, saluting back.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the soldiers affirm in unison, before marching through the maze of workstations.

“Normally I’d list a soldier’s accomplishments before they retire,” Brandon says, “but it would take far too long to rattle through yours. So, I’ll just keep it simple. Thanks to your unwavering valor, the people of the Milky Way and Triangulum galaxies can say they’ve survived extinction. As you move on to the next chapter of your life, remember that the rest of us only have this opportunity because of your leadership.” Saluting, he adds, “Happy retirement, Madam President.”

“Thank you, General,” Okar says. After returning the salute, Okar reaches out and hugs him. Okar turns to the Navigator, bows her head, and says, “Make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“Belay that order,” Brandon says before the Navigator can affirm. “Geminus has been assigned something more important.”

“Oh?” Okar asks.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Navigator says. “The Pilot requires my assistance on a classified mission.”

Looking at Brandon, who winks at her, Okar says, “Well, it’s about time that gets taken care of. Remember not to get lost in your work, Navigator.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Navigator affirms.

“Well, we can’t stand around here forever,” Okar says, looking at the stairs through the spacetime door. “Don’t wait too long to move on, Brandon. We’ve done our part.”

“I’m starting to make my retirement plans now,” he says, hugging Okar again. “Send Grant my love.”

“Of course,” Okar says.

Myeisha hugs Brandon and follows Okar through the door. They wave at each other as Okar closes the heavy vault door.

Waiting for the strange sound from behind the door to stop, Okar pulls the glowing blue cubes out of the slots above the keypads and hands one to Myeisha.

“Keep this hidden,” she says. “This door cannot connect to the pocket universe without it.”

“Are you giving it to me to stop Duncan from visiting us, or to stop you from going back?” Myeisha says with a smirk.

“Both,” Okar says. Wrapping her arm around Myeisha’s, she pulls her close and says, “Come, lets explore our new home.”

They head up the stairs to the kitchen and look at the fenced backyard through the window.

“It’ll be nice to start a proper vegetable garden,” Myeisha says.

They continue into the dining room when a loud knock on the front door echoes through the house.

Cautiously approaching the front door, Okar peeks through the window to see Ekon and Amara waving at her. Ekon is wearing a navy-blue sports coat over a loose-fitting black dress shirt and Amara is wearing a long orange tube dress under a white bolero jacket. She opens the door.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” they say.

“I’m Amara, and this is my husband Ekon,” Amara says with a Haitian accent. “Tessa and Phil asked us to give you a proper housewarming, so, we brought Griot and wine.”

Okar and Myeisha look at each other without saying anything.

“And by the look on your faces, it looks like Phil forgot to tell you,” Amara says. “I can’t believe they let someone so irresponsible teach children.”

“Well, he did get fired for setting off a bomb in the school,” Ekon says with a thick South African accent.

A black car driving through the suburban street pulls into the driveway.

“You must have plenty of stories to tell,” Myeisha says as the smell of the Griot reaches her.

As the car disappears in front of the garage, Okar slips her hand into her shoulder bag and clutches her sidearm.

“Did you know that after he moved into the neighbourhood, he wore plastic goggles and rubber gloves everywhere he went for two years?” Amara says. “Come to think of it, that should have been the first sign that he was from another planet.”

General Grant, wearing a tight-fitting, red dress shirt tucked into his black dress pants with the buttons perfectly lining up with the fly, steps off the driveway with a bottle of wine in one hand and Mrs. Sun holding onto his other arm. She is wearing a red qipao and carrying a large plastic container filled with Jiaozi.

Okar releases her grip on her weapon and takes her hand out of her shoulder bag.

“Welcome home, Madam President,” Mrs. Sun says in Mandarin.

“We still need to teach them Mandarin,” Grant says quietly in Mandarin.

“She hasn’t learned after two years?” she says with a disappointed tone. “Kids are so lazy these days.”

“Welcome, President Okar,” Grant says, switching to English.

“President?!” Ekon exclaims. Bowing deeply, he says, “I had no idea I was in—”

“Straighten up, Son. You look like a fool,” Grant orders.

“Yes, General.” Ekon does as he’s told.

“And tuck in that shirt. This a party, not a Sunday afternoon trip to the laundromat.”

“Yes, General.” He hands the bottle of wine to Myeisha before straightening his shirt.

“So glad to have you back, Owen,” Amara says, stepping up to hug him. Seeing that they have two bottles of wine, she adds, “Let’s pop one of these open and get to know each other.”

“That sounds delightful,” Myeisha says. “Please, come inside.”

They take turns greeting each other as they enter the house. Okar closes the door behind Grant who enters last.

#

The halls of the Yeshe Walmo are lined with flags representing the Federation, the Allied Planets, the Children of Themis, the Independent Planets, and the Triangulum. Guards, wearing dress uniforms from each governing body, except the Triangulum, are standing along the wall leading up to the war room, alternating so no organization has two guards standing next to each other.

The guards salute as the Philosopher, wearing a white robe, President Lucas, wearing an Independent Planet dress uniform, President Wanbli, wearing an Allied Planet dress uniform, Utu, wearing a purple robe, and Tessa, wearing the Federation’s presidential dress uniform, walk past them. Duncan, wearing an Allied Planet dress uniform, is waiting at the door to the war room.

“Congratulations on your election victory, President Sheridan,” Duncan says as Tessa approaches.

“We’ll meet you inside,” Tessa says, holding the Philosopher back.

The guard beside Duncan opens the door allowing Utu, Lucas, and Wanbli to enter the war room. They make their way to the chairs positioned around the electronic table in the middle of the room.

“Over here,” Tessa orders as she gestures for Duncan and the Philosopher to follow her away from the guards.

Stepping out of earshot, Tessa asks, “How’s the warfront?”

“Brandon’s team have been following Geminus’s plan meticulously,” Duncan says. “We’re still seeing new targets appear on the edge of the galaxy, but we’ve managed to keep the program contained in the Perseus arm.”

“And the syndicates?”

“Mammon is the last one,” Duncan says. “Captain Freda and the Divine Guard continue to starve their supply, and everyone who stands a credible threat is afraid to do business with them.”

“Anything else come up during the election?” Tessa asks.

“Nothing that presents a continued risk,” he dismisses. Looking to the Philosopher he asks, “Have you put any thought in what you want to do, Lexy?”

“I like what I’m doing,” she says. “The past two years have been incredible. No more stress worrying about maintaining my memory palace. It’s so liberating to be free from that dreadful causal loop, I’m finally able to think on my own.”

“Be careful,” Duncan warns. “Zealous cults have a tendency to redefine their virtues.”

“I have free will now, Dad,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And the Children depend on me to keep them safe because of my decisions, not the ones you forced me to memorize.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I worry about you,” Duncan says with a calming tone. “Religious figures often become targets or martyrs.”

“I’m safe with Felix, Lucas, and the small army of Apollyon clones determined to protect me,” the Philosopher says. “As long as the Children aren’t vilified, we can keep them focused with the faith.”

“She’s our daughter,” Tessa reassures. “When she makes mistakes, she’ll be … ready to find creative solutions.” Turning to the Philosopher, she says, “We shouldn’t keep the others waiting. I’ll see you at dinner, Duncan.”

She kisses Duncan and makes her way to the open war room door.

“Are you going to be joining us, Lexy?” Duncan asks, as he hugs the Philosopher.

“Of course,” she says. “I don’t leave for Elysium until tomorrow.”

“Great, I look forward to seeing you there,” he says.

Waiting for the guard to close the door behind the Philosopher, Duncan heads down the hall and returns to his cabin.

#

On the outer edge of the Perseus arm, three half-built Tartarus Station clones are traveling out of the Milky Way Galaxy. They are cannibalising the fleet of Triangulum ghostships coming from the Andromeda galaxy.

The Eshu, a Federation shuttle, is flying through the net of honeypots, stopping every hundred million kilometers to place a quantum anchor.

In the cockpit, the Pilot is handling the flight controls that have been modified to work with his arm. Beside him, the Navigator is making sure each anchor is placed perfectly between the existing honeypots.

“That’s three thousand,” the Navigator says. Typing a quick command into his console, he adds, “The safe zone has been marked.”

“Yessir,” the Pilot says, lining the target reticle up with the Navigator’s marked location.

Flying the Eshu away from the honeypot net, the Pilot adjusts the microphone on his headset and says, “Eshu calling, Yeshe. The anchors have been deployed.”

“Copy that, Eshu,” Tessa says through the headsets. “Standby to confirm teleportation.”

“Understood,” the Pilot affirms.

Reaching the marked location, the Pilot spins the shuttle around, so the cameras are pointing at the honeypot net. In rapid succession, three thousand honeypots grow into existence, replacing the anchors.

The Navigator, controlling the zoom and angle of the Eshu’s cameras, scans the net.

“Three thousand new honeypots teleported successfully and spinning properly,” he says.

“Affirmative, Eshu,” Tessa says. “Thank you for taking care of that, Shango. I’ll sign your retirement form by the … conclusion of the day.”

“You’ve retired too?” the Navigator says.

“Why haven’t you told him yet?” Duncan scolds through the headset.

“You know how he is with change,” the Pilot says. “I thought an organic moment would come up.” Turning to the Navigator he says, “Sorry I didn’t have the confidence to tell you earlier, Gemi. I want to explore the galaxy, and I can’t do that sitting in the Yeshe’s barracks waiting for new assignments.”

“What happens with us?” the Navigator asks, starting to pull at his harness. “My work is on the Yeshe, if you’re not there, when will I see you?”

“That’s where the President and I come in,” Duncan says. “Shango’s adventure will lead him to discover a lot of new things. We need someone we trust to document those discoveries in detail and to make sure he stays safe.”

“Can it wait until after we stop the rogue program?” the Navigator asks.

“General Brandon and his team are following your plan,” Duncan says. “If we need your help, we will call you.”

“I will take you back to the Yeshe if that’s what you want,” the Pilot says. “But I heard rumours of fire-breathing lizards on Kulshedra Four.”

“That’s highly improbable,” the Navigator says curiously.

“But not impossible?” the Pilot asks with a goading tone.

“Okay, if I go, you promise to keep me updated about the rogue program?” the Navigator asks. “There is absolutely no reason for it to expand out of the Perseus arm.”

“I’ll instruct General Brandon to give you monthly updates,” Tessa says.

“Daily,” the Navigator says matter-of-factly.

“Weekly?” Tessa asks.

“If we lose an extra system because they can’t follow instructions, that’s not my fault,” the Navigator says.

“Understood,” Tessa says.

“Deal,” the Navigator agrees. “I’ll send you daily reports on our journey.”

“You only need to report when you discover something new, or you just want to talk,” Duncan says. “Otherwise, look out for each other, stay safe, and have fun.”

“Thank you, and take care,” the Pilot says before he ends the call.

“Shall I set a course for Kulshedra Four, Captain?” the Navigator asks.

“Let’s forget the formalities, Gemi,” the Pilot says. “I want to explore the galaxy with you, not as your Captain.”

Typing a quick command into his console, the Navigator says, “I’ve set Kulshedra Four as our destination, Shango. Let’s see some fire-breathing lizards.”

Turning toward the marked location, the Eshu speeds away from the honeypot net. When the large incomplete space stations look like tiny moons behind them, warp bubbles surround the shuttle.

Redshifting toward the Kulshedra system, the Pilot and Navigator begin their next adventure, leaving the safety of the Milky Way in the capable hands of Duncan, Tessa, Lucas, Wanbli, and the Philosopher.