The Scientist

A Monster's Resentment

Scott F Jarvie

Copyright © 2020 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

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 One

The Scientist

The hot afternoon sun radiates down on the fenced schoolyard where Mr. Philip Duncan of Earth nervously bumbles through his lesson. With his meek disposition not showing any authority, Duncan struggles to captivate the attention of the forty, hormonally driven grade ten students. A pleasant change to being the most feared monster in the galaxy … with fewer bodies to answer for too.

Oblivious to the sporadic projectiles of crumpled paper balls hurled at him, Duncan grasps a plastic pitcher of water with both hands and, with the grace of a drunk monkey, splashes the water into an empty bowl.

A paper ball strikes him in the head, startling him into dropping the pitcher onto his crotch.

“Ten points!” a male student shouts.

“Twenty for making him piss his pants!” another adds.

The class erupts into laughter as Duncan picks up the empty pitcher.

With a soft, quivering voice, which is lost in the laughter, he asks, “Can anyone, um, tell me.” He trails off while sliding an oversized leather glove onto his hand.

Extracting a clump of crude dry ice snow from a pillowcase, he places it into the bowl of water. White fog billows up out of the bowl, cascades across the table and onto the muddy yard. The class falls silent, mesmerized by the hypnotic reaction.

“Who knows what causes the, uh, fog to fall down?” he asks.

“It’s hot air!” a student blurts out.

“That’s cold air you moron!” a female student corrects.

“It’s clearly magnets!” another adds.

With as much glee that he can force into his weak voice Duncan replies, “Those are all very good, um, guesses and while cold air is part of it, the condensed water vapor and carbon dioxide gas is, uh, heavier than the air around it.”

A male student shouts, “Heavy like Principal Geovana!”

The students erupt into laughter again.

Duncan responds, “That’s true, um, in fact we are all heavier than air. It’s what keeps us from, uh, floating to the top of the troposphere.”

Karen, an unhealthily thin student, bursts into tears and runs into the school.

Her friend angrily yells, “You’re heartless, Phil!” as she runs after Karen.

“That’s, um, Mr. Duncan and please stay with the, uh, class,” he asks ineffectually.

Without looking back, the student gestures obscenely over her shoulder.

Duncan takes his glove off as Jordan approaches the table. The young student has fresh scars on his callused knuckles and his nose is deformed from being broken several times in his short life.

“Don’t worry about them, Mr. Duncan,” he says reassuringly, “what else can you tell us about this smoke?”

“What do you want, Jordan?” Duncan replies skeptically.

Suspiciously innocent, he replies, “Nothing, Mr. Duncan. I’m just really into this magical experiment.”

“Well, it’s not actually, um, smoke,” he says while picking up a bucket of soapy water. “It’s a fog created when the frigid dry ice, uh, sublimates into C.O. two gas and causes the air it touches to condense into, um, water droplets.”

The class tries to hide their giggles as Jordan disappears into the crowd.

Duncan reaches into the bucket and wrings out a soapy dish towel. He places the rolled-up towel on the far edge of the bowl and slowly drags it across the opening.

“What do you think will happen when I, uh, trap the C.O. two gas?”

He finishes dragging the towel across the open face of the bowl, creating a thin soapy seal. The seal slowly expands, creating a bubbled dome.

A hollow plastic rattling emanates from the middle of the gathered students. Seeing that the class has circled around Jordan, Duncan realizes that his glove is missing.

“It’s so hard!” a male student exclaims, as the students laugh.

Jordan is holding a water bottle, rapidly filling with CO_2 gas, against his genitals as he thrusts his hips toward his classmates.

The bubble above the bowl pops releasing the trapped gases.

Duncan throws the table aside and forcefully pushes his way through the teenagers, aggressively shoving them out of his way. He grasps the water bottle in one hand and forces Jordan to the ground with the other.

Without hesitation, he throws the bottle straight into the air and commandingly screams, “Cover your ears!”

The water bottle explodes overhead with a tremendous bang causing the students to scream horrifically as they dive to the muddy ground and cover their ears.

Jordan, covered in mud and sweat, looks up at Duncan who, with a strong voice full of conviction, states, “Next time, I’ll let you experience the sensation of plastic shrapnel moving around under your skin as the fragments are plucked out of the swollen, bleeding remains of your handless arm.”

Jordan stares up at him, jaw quivering slightly as fear floods through his body.

The school’s emergency alarm begins to blare, and Duncan starts walking toward the overturned table.

With his soft, quivering voice he says, “Emergency, um, procedure. Line up in the field according to, uh, surname.”

His class silently springs to their feet and form a line with military precision. Duncan crushes the contents of the pillowcase under his boot and dumps the loose dry ice snow into the bucket of soapy water before starting his emergency procedure checklist.

#

Principal Noemi Geovana’s office is a small room connected to the main reception area by a thin windowed wall. Duncan sits alone across from Noemi’s desk facing the wall displaying her countless awards. Behind him, the administrative staff is frantically trying to calm a swarm of livid parents screaming about their children’s safety in the adjacent room.

Duncan scans the titles on the nearby bookshelf and cringes at the collection of titles like, ‘How to be the Coolest Parent and Gain Your Children’s Respect’ and ‘Teenage Angst: Puberty’s Ugliest Phase’.

He notices that the book on her desk has a well-worn spine with countless sticky notes bookmarking each page at least twenty times. With the cover of the book completely plastered with affirmative message sticky notes, Duncan needs to peek at the inside title page to find the ‘High School Principal - The School Sheriff’ title.

Hunched over the desk, he notices that the framed certificates on the wall in front of him are all printed from the cheap school printer, with the email headers still attached. While most of the printouts are recognizing her attendance to personal development workshops, there is a block of awards for ‘Best Principal’ from an organization called ‘The Principle Principal Awards dot com’ printed on heavier paper stock.

The door quickly swings open and Noemi ducks into the room, trying to escape the angry mob screaming and clawing behind her. She dramatically presses her short, round body against the door as if the parents were trying to break it down. Her large dangling earrings jingle and clang as they swing below her short, curly hair, dyed a shade of red that makes her bold lipstick look tame.

She takes a moment to catch her breath before waddling over to her desk. Noemi gently places a manila folder onto the desktop as she squeezes into her squeaky chair.

“Mr. Duncan,” she begins with a thick Minnesotan accent, “you’ve gotten into quite a bit of trouble today, haven’t you?” She opens the folder and begins flipping through the papers.

“I can, um, explain.” Duncan replies nervously.

“Good,” she snaps without looking away from the folder, “explain to me why you brought explosives into a high school filled with our most precious resource.”

“I didn’t bring, uh, explosives into the school,” he defends. “Jordan took some of the, um, dry ice from my experiment and accidently turned it into a bomb.”

Noemi looks at Duncan with disappointment. “Didn’t you know dry ice explodes? That, and the fact that it’s heckuva cold, is why it’s not allowed in schools,” her expression shifts to curiosity, “how did you sneak it past the bag check?”

“I made it in the, uh, science lab,” he dismisses.

“Of course, you did,” she trails off as she returns to the folder. “Why can’t you just stick to good ol’-fashioned potato lightbulb thingies.”

“But those generate, um, electricity,” he replies sarcastically.

“They do?” she asks with a surprised tone.

Duncan, unsure if she is serious, asks, “How do you think it turns the, uh, lightbulb on?”

Noemi looks directly into the buzzing fluorescent lights above her desk inquisitively as he stares at her in disbelief.

“Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do,” she says looking down from the lights, blinking rapidly, “no more experiments till I can get some board approved exercises. Just teach your students that table thingy, those animal castles, and just read from the textbooks.”

She leans back into her chair and brags, “Don’t underestimate those books, those very same ones taught me everything I know thirty years ago.” Duncan continues to stare at her in disbelief. “And look at me now,” she continues, pointing to the wall of fake certificates behind her. “Best principal five years running.”

She returns to her files, “Now Phil, what’s goin’ on with your sudden incontinence?”

“Excuse me?” he says, snapping out of his trance.

Noemi removes a collection of student statements from the folder. “I have over twenty students stating that this whole incident started when you had an accident,” she whispers discretely, pointing at his damp crotch.

“Are you taking everything the students say, um, literally?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she says, opening a drawer in her desk. “They’re honest children who’ve never lied to me in the past.” She removes a package of adult diapers from her desk confidently. “It’s something that happens to the best of us as we get older,” she says with a wink before shifting her self-righteous tone to anger, “But, no matter what happens to you in class, you must never call a young woman heavy,” she says putting air quotes around heavy. “Especially poor little Karen. You know she’s been afflicted by that horrible anorexia disease.”

“I didn’t call her, uh, heavy,” he pleads.

“I’ve got forty students that heard it,” she states reaching for a book titled ‘Creating a Trigger Word Safe Space’. “I want you to read this and learn that certain words can cause deep psychological trauma. It turns out that unrelated conversions can trigger a traumatic emotional response that will damage the mental health of a young developing mind.”

After handing the book to Duncan, Noemi turns to the final page in the folder. “I know Jordan is a bad apple, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to wring his little—” she quickly snaps out of her anger induced fantasy and regains her composure. “But you must learn to resolve your conflicts with calm, understanding words.”

“He was holding a, um, grenade.”

She points her finger at him crossly. “No excuses! You are never to make physical contact with someone, especially if they are one of your students!” she scolds. “You should have started by calmly informing him that the water bottle is dangerous and that he needs to put it down.” Duncan squeezes the bridge of his nose as he struggles to contain his frustration. “This should be common sense,” she says sympathetically.

“It should be,” he agrees sardonically.

“Good!” she exclaims victoriously. “Luckily no one was hurt, so I’ma let you off with a warning this time, Mr. Duncan. Let’s just chalk this up as a learnin’ experience.”

Duncan nods his head, gets up from his chair, and exits the office quickly before he is subjected to more of her nonsensical babbling.

Noemi places a new sticky note on the cover of the ‘High School Principal - The School Sheriff’ book and, with a self-indulgent smile on her face, writes, “Today, you were AMAZING!!!”

#

The Duncan suburban home is an open concept mansion, with only the stairwell to the upper floor blocking the line of sight. Décor items and furnishings that no high school teacher would ever be able to afford are proudly displayed throughout the home.

Entering the house Duncan shouts, “Hello Tessa, I’m, uh, home,” while kicking off his boots.

Tessa emerges from the kitchen holding a glass of whiskey in each of her toned hands. Her white tank top proudly displays her cute black fox donning a military helmet and the phrase ‘To subvert hostility through any means’ tattoo on her left bicep.

As she approaches Duncan, the huge, wavy, blonde hair framing her face like a lion’s mane dances to the gentle tune of the immaculate dog tags rhythmically clinking against her chest. Handing him a drink with her burn scar covered right arm, she says, “Relax, Duncan, the Forresters are running late.”

He sighs in relief while straightening his posture. With a calm voice, he replies, “That’s the first good news I’ve heard all day.” He removes his lab coat and takes the glass of whiskey from Tessa.

She smirks, “To think the secret to taking down the Scientist was to use misbehaving children.”

Tessa leads him into the sitting room, plops onto the leather couch and places her bare feet on top of the coffee table. Duncan tosses his lab coat on the nearby recliner before joining her.

“If we weren’t trying to keep a low profile. I’d run a stimulant through the ventilation system to help them focus and retain information,” he retorts before sipping his whiskey. “But they aren’t the problem.”

Tessa rests her head on his shoulder and asks, “It’s that little troll again, isn’t it?”

He wraps his arm around her and replies with malice, “I’d enlighten her if I wasn’t positive she’d have an existential crisis and pop.”

“I miss the days when you wouldn’t second guess yourself,” she says nostalgically. “I guess, you’re just getting soft in your old age,” she adds, poking the small protrusion of belly fat.

“Don’t worry,” he smirks, “I’ll think of something … appropriate for her.”

Tessa climbs into Duncan’s lap and seductively says, “Please tell me you’re going to make it painful.”

He leans in closer and whispers, “What if I —”

A loud knock at the front door cuts him off.

Duncan and Tessa rest their foreheads against each other’s and Tessa sympathetically sighs, “It’s show time.”

Standing up from the couch, Tessa tucks her dog tags into her shirt before disappearing into the kitchen with both glasses.

Pulling a container of mints out of his lab coat, Duncan stuffs a handful into his mouth. Crunching through the pungent tablets, he puts his lab coat on while he approaches the front door. Swallowing the mints, he wipes the water from his eyes and opens the door.

“Mr. and Mrs., uh, Forrester, please come in,” he says with his soft, quivering voice.

Amara, wearing a long white dress under her black blazer, enters the home as if she owns the place. She pulls her gold laced clutch out from under her arm, wraps her jewelry covered arms around Duncan and hugs him tightly.

“It’s so good to see you again, Phil,” she greets quickly, with a Haitian accent, before walking straight into the kitchen.

Ekon, trying to hide his own protruding gut with a tight-fitting sports coat over his black shirt and tie, steps into the house with a bottle of wine in hand. Duncan extends his arm to shake his hand.

“Don’t be so formal, boet,” Ekon says with a thick South African accent as he wraps his arms around him tightly.

Tessa, now wearing a bulky tartan shirt to hide her physique, tattoos and scar, emerges from the kitchen with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Amara follows closely with four wine glasses in one hand and a pitcher of ice water in the other.

“Did Phil try and shake your hand again?” Tessa asks with a honeyed voice.

“Were you expecting anything else from this old prude?” Ekon says releasing Duncan from his bearish hold.

Tessa places the tray on the table before freeing up Amara’s hands.

“We’re so sorry for being late,” Amara apologizes, “someone forgot to call the babysitter.”

“It’s called stay-at-home dad,” he says defensively. “I’m out of my element when it comes to things outside of the home,” he adds cheekily before hugging Tessa.

Duncan closes the door and asks, “How is little, um, Jelani?”

“He’s already growing into a mighty young man,” Ekon says beaming with pride.

Amara rolls her eyes toward Tessa. “He would be if Ekon would stop coddling him,” she insinuates quietly. She and Tessa start laughing.

Ekon wraps an arm around Duncan’s shoulder and drags him toward the others. “I heard there was a bomb scare at your school today. Is everyone all right?”

“It was only a student’s failed, um, experiment,” he reassures, “no one was hurt.”

“Still,” Ekon adds with respect, “it must have been terrifying!”

Duncan picks up an hors d’oeuvre from the tray and responds, “Not when I’m in, uh, control.” As soon as he finishes boasting, his snack slips out of his hands.

He clumsily attempts to catch it but fails as it splats onto the floor. Amara, Tessa, and Ekon erupt into laughter. Embarrassed, Duncan scoops the mess off the floor and heads into the kitchen to dispose of it.

Wiping a tear from her eye with her flannel shirt, Tessa notices her guests’ semiformal outfits. “You guys look so pretty tonight!” she says. “I feel like I should go fancy myself up.”

“Absolutely not!” Amara demands. “I wish I could look as great as you do without having to squeeze into this contraption.”

Ekon hands Tessa the bottle of wine. “You wouldn’t be able to carry that in a dress either,” he says as Tessa pulls a corkscrew out of her shirt’s breast pocket. “Besides, it’s not like you wore a lab coat to the dinner party,” he adds playfully.

Duncan returning to the room asks, “What’s wrong with my, um, lab coat?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your coat sweetie,” Tessa consoles as she drills through the cork. “I’m just glad he stopped wearing his goggles to the table.”

“I loved the goggles!” Amara responds nostalgically as Tessa effortlessly rips the cork out of the bottle.

“It’s true, she even made me get a pair—” Ekon says friskily, stopped by Amara jabbing her elbow into his ribs.

“Oh my, I’ve only opened the wine and he went there already,” Tessa states suggestively as she pours three glasses of wine. “It’s going to be a fantastic night!” she declares, handing the filled glasses to her guests.

#

The streetlight lit suburban street is motionless and the neighbouring houses are dark. Light floods into the street as Duncan opens the door to his house. Tessa is hanging onto his arm tightly to keep herself from falling over.

“Thank you for the, uh, wonderful evening Mr. and Mrs. Forrester,” Duncan says as Amara and Ekon drunkenly stumble out the door.

“Yea! Shanks for being so amazing!” Tessa shouts very loudly with an incoherent slur.

Amara tries to turn and wave but trips and falls into Ekon’s arms. Laughing she shouts, “It’s a gift to be shared!”

They stumble forward two more steps and stop suddenly. Ekon looks around the neighbourhood with a confused look. “A quick question, boet,” he points to his right, “are we one house to the left,” he moves his finger to point to the left, “or one to the right?”

Duncan stares at him with a confused look before pointing to the house on his left. “It’s that one.”

“Thanks, you’re a legend,” he says before guiding Amara down the driveway.

Tessa laughs and shouts, “You forgot where you lived!”

“It’s not about remembering where you live, it’s about remembering where you came from,” Ekon states profoundly.

Amara waves and shouts “Good night you two!”

Duncan and Tessa wave back before closing the door.

Tessa starts walking toward the kitchen, unbuttoning her tartan shirt. “Those two are such lightweights,” she says dropping the honeyed voice and drunken slur.

She carelessly tosses the shirt to the floor and pulls her dog tags out from her tank top. “I have no idea how you can wear such a heavy jacket all the time,” she says while stretching her arms.

Duncan follows her into the kitchen. “It used to be a symbol, but then I started feeling naked without it,” he says calmly.

Pulling two glasses out of the cabinet followed by a bottle of whiskey, Tessa pours each of them a drink. “You’ve got some pretty impressive self-control,” she admires before taking a big gulp from her glass.

Finishing his drink in a single gulp, Duncan pours himself another and declares, “I’ve learned a lot from my former colleagues.”

Grabbing him by the waist Tessa pulls him in close and stares into his eyes. “Do you have to go to work tomorrow?” she asks playfully.

He sips his drink with a sly smile. “If I don’t go into work tomorrow, I won’t be able to give that troll what she deserves.”

Tessa wraps her arms around his shoulders. “You’ve come up with a plan?” she squeals with excitement.

“Ekon just convinced me that you were right,” Duncan admits, “I am getting too relaxed in retirement. I would have never questioned giving that troll an existential crisis in the past, so why am I doing it now.”

Tessa kisses Duncan passionately before seductively asking, “Tell me how you’re—”

He places his finger on her lips, shushing her. “I can tell you,” he says leading her toward the basement door, “or, I can show you.”

She snatches the bottle of whiskey from the counter and follows Duncan into the basement.

#

The indecipherable screams of a hallway full of teenagers flows into Duncan’s tiny classroom where he squeezes between the densely packed desks to distribute the next class’s lesson.

Startled when the classroom door swings open, Duncan bangs his knee into a nearby desk and drops all his printouts.

“Please wait in the, uh, hall until the bell rings,” he says bending over to clean up his mess.

Mr. Walker, the giant physical education teacher, steps into the classroom. His muscles bulge under his extra small golf shirt while his matching short shorts struggle to keep his genitals hidden.

With the friendliest voice in the world, he says, “Sorry Phil, Mrs. Geovana wants to see you in her office.”

Duncan climbs to his feet. “Mr. Walker! I wasn’t, um, expecting you,” he replies as he resumes distributing the printouts.

Mr. Walker calmly makes his way to the front of the classroom. “It sounded pretty serious,” he says forebodingly, “I don’t think you should keep her waiting.”

“Did she send you to, uh, escort me?” he jests followed with a short breathy laugh.

“Actually,” Mr. Walker says apprehensively as he unpacks his teaching materials. “I’m here to take over your classes.” Duncan places the stack of papers onto the nearest desk. “I’m really sorry, Phil,” he adds sympathetically, “I’d like to tell you this is just some misunderstanding … but she’s talking with Jordan’s dad right now.”

Duncan makes his way to the front of the classroom standoffishly. “Are you sure you’re ready to, um, teach a science class?”

Mr. Walker places a hand onto Duncan’s shoulder. “We’re just glorified babysitters these days,” he laments. “It won’t be long until we are replaced by a minimum wage dropout who just hits the play button on a laptop at the start of each class.” Duncan smiles and nods in agreement. “You were too good for this place anyways, Phil. This could be the best thing to happen to you,” Mr. Walker reassures.

Collecting his bags, Duncan makes his way to the classroom door and notices that the students had propped the door open.

“Dead man walking!” a male student shouts.

The hallway falls completely silent as Duncan steps out of his classroom.

A female student singsongy remarks, “Mr. Duncan’s in trouble!”

The hallway erupts with oohs, ahs and taunts as the classroom door slowly swings closed behind Duncan. He shamefully makes his way through the rambunctious crowd, vigilant not to bump into, or touch anyone.

#

The administrative staff stop working when Duncan enters the school’s reception area and watch him with judging glares. They cover their mouths and whisper to each other as he slowly makes his way to Noemi’s office.

Passing Susanne (Noemi’s executive assistant) as she works tirelessly at her desk, he casually removes a manila envelope from his lab coat and slips it into the box labeled ‘IN’.

Entering the principal’s office, Noemi is sitting at her desk, across from Jordan and his father Hector.

She points to an empty chair beside them and sternly instructs, “Close the door and sit there, Mr. Duncan.” Duncan calmly does what he’s instructed as Noemi takes a deep breath and asks, “Did you threaten young Jordan here with explosives?”

Taken aback by the accusation he quickly responds, “What? Absolutely not!”

Jordan leans forward and shouts, “That’s not true—” feeling Duncan’s gaze turn to him, he stops mid-sentence, breaks out into a cold sweat and hides behind his father.

Noticing his son’s psychological distress, Hector angrily shouts, “Jordan’s constant exposure to this psychopath’s abuse has driven him mad! He can’t even be in the same room as this lunatic!”

“Jordan nearly lost his, uh, hand yesterday, but I most certainly did not, um, threaten him.” Duncan replies with meek sincerely.

Hector turns to his son and quietly asks, “This is the guy you’re so afraid of?” Jordan grabs his father’s shoulder and whispers into his ear. Confused, Hector looks at Duncan and then back to his son and asks, “Really? Him?”

Noemi, trying to take control, says, “We can play who said what all day, but these are some pretty mighty allegations, and my number one priority is to protect the children.”

“What are you, uh, saying?” Duncan asks nervously.

Unable to make eye contact, Noemi starts playing with a pen on her desk. “I’m saying that I’ve talked with the Superintendent and your union rep. We have come to a unanimous agreement that, until an investigation is completed, it’s better for everyone if you aren’t anywhere near these children … or this school.”

Jordan releases a loud, relieved sigh as he relaxes into his chair.

Noemi finds her resolve to look Duncan in the eyes and demands, “You also owe these fine folks an honest-to-goodness, heartfelt apology.”

Duncan angrily rises from his chair and steps toward the door. He freezes when he sees that Susanne is sorting through the mail. He quickly quells his anger and turns to address Hector and his son.

“Mr. West, I am truly sorry for, uh,” he starts with his soft, quivering voice but decides to drop character, “I’m sorry for preventing your son from castrating himself and ensuring that he could one day reproduce. It is clear to me now that that was a mistake.”

Noemi and Hector leap from their chairs and face Duncan while Jordan, once again consumed in fear, hides behind his father.

“Mr. Duncan!” Noemi shouts, “you didn’t stutter!”

Hector turns to her and angrily shouts, “That’s what you took from that!” He wraps an arm around his son and holds him tight. “Come on, Jordan. I had no idea that this school was run by such incompetence. And if there is this much ineptitude at the top, there is no telling what other predators are lurking through these halls.”

They march toward the door when Susanne barges in, nervously clutching Duncan’s envelope.

“I’ve got it handled, Susanne,” Noemi dismisses, “thank you.”

Susanne sounds urgent, “But Principal—”

Cutting her off she yells, “Not now, Susanne!”

Susanne angrily points to ‘The Principle Principal Awards dot com’ logo. Noemi appears distant as she stares at it.

Hector, holding his son in closely, steps past Duncan when he quietly suggests, “You’ll want to stick around for this.”

Confused by his suggestion, Hector steps away from Duncan and holds Jordan tighter. Glancing at Noemi, he notices that she has become so enthralled with excitement that she’s completely oblivious to everything that just happened.

“What’s wrong with you?” he blurts out in disgust.

Noemi turns her head to face Hector, but her eyes never leave the envelope. She opens her mouth to speak but her anticipation prevents her from addressing him directly. “Excuse me, this is important,” she says, frantically waving Susanne to her desk.

“Is it always this bad?” Hector asks his quivering son, who nods.

Noemi snatches the envelope from Susanne’s hands and tears into it.

“Very few people get to admire my work this closely,” Duncan boasts, positioning himself between Hector and the exit. “Let this be a lesson to young Jordan here that there are some people he should never cross.”

Hector shelters his son and steps away from Duncan.

Noemi nervously removes the cover letter and begins to read it aloud. “Dear Principal Noemi Geovana, having been named the Best Principal for the past five years consecutively, you have been considered for nomination of the extremely prestigious, Best Principal of the Decade award.” She and Susanne emit a high pitched squee as they jump up and down.

Jordan, covered in fear, starts trying to drag his father toward the open door.

“Are you serious?” Hector asks in disbelief.

“That’s exactly what it says!” Noemi gleefully responds, tapping the letter.

“That’s great news Principal Geovana! Please continue,” Duncan encourages as he gives Hector a devious look.

“Yes of course!” She continues, “This process involves our highly experienced investigative team of undercover students coming into your school to analyze your teachers and staff.

To maintain the integrity of The Principle Principal Awards dot com, and the merit of the prizes we award, this process must be done discreetly to ensure that our dataset is not contaminated by outside factors. Because of this, our research team has already performed their analysis and a detailed account of their findings is included in this package.

Sincerely, The Principle Principal Awards dot com Principal Major Principle Principal Awards Managing Director.”

She excitedly dances on the spot as she begins reading the rest of the package. “After our month-long investigation, it has become apparently clear to us that your school contains the best staff in the country. A feat that wouldn’t be possible without an exceptional leader.” Noemi suddenly stops dancing and falls silent as she reads ahead to herself.

Hector notices the fake awards on the wall behind Noemi and turns to Duncan, “Did you make up those awards as well just to keep your job?” he accuses.

Duncan smiles and excitedly replies, “No! That’s a scam she fell for on her own. I had no idea I was getting fired when I planned this. I’m just glad one competent person will witness it.”

Jordan pulls his dad’s arm more violently as Noemi’s joyful expression fades.

“Is there something wrong, Principal Geovana?” Susanne asks.

With an emotionless tone, Noemi continues, “That’s when we met Jerry Angelou, your head of maintenance and sanitation. With his dedication and leadership skills it has become apparent that—” her voice trembles as she struggles to continue, “it has become apparent that your performance as a Principal has not been based on your merits as a strong leader, but rather capitalizing on the efforts of the staff around you.

Considering this, we will not be recommending you for The Best Principal of the Decade award. Instead we have opted to nominate Jerry Angelou because his dedication is an inspiration to educators worldwide.”

She slams the paper against her desk and begins shouting angrily as she continues to read, “In addition, we are formally letting you know that your previous awards have been nullified and will no longer be recognized by any of our institutions.”

Her body starts to shake violently as she repeatedly reads, “your previous awards have been nullified!” increasing in violent intensity with each repetition.

Jordan frees himself from his dad’s grip, slips past Duncan, runs through the office and exits the school.

“That’s terrible news, Principal Geovana,” Duncan says sympathetically, “but remember, your number one priority has always been to protect the children.”

Noemi screams as loudly as her tiny body can while she tears the letter apart. Her entire administrative staff quickly rushes into her office to see what’s going on. Still screaming, she clenches her fists together tightly and starts banging them against the desk before turning to her wall of awards.

Removing the first award, she smashes it against her desk while screaming, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

Everyone quickly exits her office while Duncan, the last one to exit, closes the door behind him. Her screams can be heard clearly through the wall, as her entire staff gathers to watch her meltdown through the window.

Smashing the final award, Noemi stops screaming and tries to regain her composure. She reaches for the PA system and addresses the entire school. “Susanne, get the president of The Principle Principal Awards dot com on the phone,” she demands. Looking up at the window she sees her staff glaring back at her. “NOW!” she shrieks.

Susanne quickly runs to her desk and starts looking up the phone number. Duncan casually strolls toward the exit when Hector holds him back.

“How can you casually destroy someone like that? Don’t you have any remorse?” he asks.

Duncan gently removes Hector’s hand and calmly responds, “Experience. She’s not the first tyrant I’ve toppled,” feeling Hector’s hand start to tremble, he adds, “and she definitely won’t be the last.”

Hector snaps his hand free and quickly exits the school shouting, “Let’s go Jordan! You’re being homeschooled now!”

Beaming with pride, Duncan calmly leaves the school while the administrative staff continues to stare at Noemi’s destructive meltdown.

Entering his car, he makes sure no one is watching him before he stops trying to hide his panic attack and struggles to take control of the crippling anxiety.

Chapter Two

The Titan

The mess from the prior night’s party still covers the main floor of the Duncan home and a basket of dirty laundry waits at the bottom of the stairs.

Tessa descends the stairs wearing a white dress shirt with an untied black tie slung over her shoulders. Holding her phone in her mouth, she stuffs her voluminous hair through an elastic, which stretches precariously as it struggles to hold her thick mane.

Pulling the last strands through, she takes the phone out of her mouth and wedges it between her ear and shoulder. “I don’t care what excuses you’ve come up with,” she retorts, “You missed your deadline. How can I trust that you’ll fulfill our order when you cannot live up to your previous promises?”

Entering the kitchen, she separates the empty liquor bottles from the dirty dishes. “Thirteen months was more than enough time to produce the ordinance we purchased,” she adds while cleaning the dishes. “If you continue to present performance issues, I’m going to seek satisfaction from Sentinel Contracting. At least they won’t leave me desiring more,” she taunts.

She pulls the phone away from her ear as a room full of unintelligible male voices shout angrily at her.

Tessa laughs uncontrollably until the shouting stops. “I’d like to say that I’m sorry,” she tries to sound sincere between laughs, “but it’s about time someone stopped pampering your shortcomings and held you accountable.” Finding her composure, she authoritatively states, “Live up to your end of the bargain and we’ll live up to ours.” Tessa ceremoniously ends the call and places her cell phone into her slack’s pocket.

After making quick work of the dishes, Tessa picks up the basket of dirty clothes and carries it to the laundry machines next to the house’s back door.

As her phone starts to ring, Tessa drops the basket onto the floor, answers the call and begins transferring the finished load of whites from the washer to the dryer. She rolls her eyes while listening to her boss yell at her aggressively.

When he pauses to breathe, Tessa interjects, “Are you prepared to increase your procurement costs by thirty-five percent and delay the delivery by another eighteen weeks? How many assets will you lose in that timeframe?” She gives him a minute to respond.

Not getting a response, she elaborates, “They want you to think that they are going the extra mile to have the job done right, but one of two things has happened: They have either not started the project, in which case there will be more delays and more demands for money. Or they have completed the order and they are trying to shift products between their clients to profit off each sale multiple times.”

Placing the last of the dirty clothes into the washer, she activates both machines while she listens to her boss’ reply. “The proprietary technology you provided to them doesn’t matter,” she replies as she returns to the kitchen. “It’s placed into devices that are designed to explode. If you want proof, all you have to do is tell them that you would like to send someone to inspect what they have completed so far,” she suggests while checking her platinum wristwatch. “I can be at their factory in half an hour.”

Hearing no response from her employer, she checks her phone to see that they are still connected. “Let me know what they say, otherwise I will see you this afternoon,” she says before hanging up the phone.

“Useless people,” she mutters to herself as she slides the phone into her pocket.

The chime from the doorbell echoes through the house.

“What did you forget this time Amara?” she asks herself as she slips into character.

Opening the door, a tall, mid-twenties man in a red golf shirt and jeans greets her. He starts to introduce himself, but Tessa quickly cuts him off with her honeyed voice, “I’m not interested.”

She closes the door, but it bounces off the man’s steel toed boot.

“This is a pretty chatty neighbourhood,” she warns without releasing any pressure from the door, “do you really want them talkin’ about how you got beat up by a little woman?”

“Is that how they describe the Former Fleet Admiral now?” he responds snidely.

In a single motion, Tessa snaps open the door, grabs the man by the collar, throws him into the stairs and slams the door behind her. Without taking her eyes off him, she locks the door.

“You have two minutes,” she states, dropping out of character.

The man climbs to his feet and says, “The president has reinstated you to active duty.”

“I’m not interested,” she replies without hesitation. Unlocking the door, she opens it and gestures for him to leave. “Thanks for coming by but forget the address.”

He looks her straight in the eyes and informs her, “This is not a request.”

Tessa closes the door softly and locks it with a vicious expression as if she has just trapped her prey. Tossing her tie to the floor, she unfastens the buttons around her collar and rolls up her sleeves.

“You’re right,” she declares, “this is not a request.” They cautiously approach each other. “I’ll give you one chance to leave unharmed and tell that cowardly rodent that if he ever tries to renege on our agreement again, I will personally dethrone him.”

The man throws a quick jab at Tessa’s face.

Anticipating the attack, she easily deflects the strike and counters it by stepping on the back of his knee. The impact drops the man to the floor, but he manages to limp back to his feet and get some distance from her.

Trying to gain an advantage, he throws a series of poorly planned jabs toward Tessa’s chest, which she effortlessly evades. Waiting for the barrage of attacks to tire out the man, Tessa capitalizes on the opportunity and launches a quick, well placed jab directly into his face, breaking his nose.

Stumbling backward, the man collapses against the stair’s railing and summons all his strength to prevent himself from falling over. Dazed, the man staggers through the dining room into the kitchen, blood dripping from his nose with every step.

Tessa stalks him like a lioness waiting for the chance to make the kill. “I thought he’d send an assassin,” she laments, “turns out he only sent an errand boy.”

The man’s heavy breathing starts to gargle as the blood from his broken nose exacerbates his exhaustion. He backs into the counters and realizes that Tessa has trapped him in a corner.

Making a final attempt to escape, he throws all his remaining strength behind a single punch directed for Tessa’s head.

She snatches his arm mid punch as if he were a small child lashing out at his mother. Pulling him off his feet and to her side, she drives her knee deep into his ribs, cracking them loudly as they break.

The man falls to his knees, gasping for air as he holds his chest. Boredom fills Tessa’s face as she reaches down and grabs him by the collar.

“If I were more sympathetic, I’d let you leave,” she says, pulling him to his feet.

Having dropped her guard to pick him up, the man launches an amazingly fast jab straight at her chest. A sharp metallic snap rings through the house just before his punch connects with her chest. Furious that she had become careless, Tessa reaches to break the man’s neck but they both collapse to the floor instead.

Chapter Three

The Sun

Sunvenience is a small suburban convenience store with a dense display of colourful flowers surrounding the store. The floral garden stops sharply at the curb where the plants are meticulously trimmed to prevent encroachment into the public space.

Mrs. Sun, an elderly Chinese woman with short white hair, is amongst the display of flowers carefully watering her living merchandise.

Duncan parks his car in front of the store, steps out and, waving to her, he speaks in Mandarin with his soft quivering voice, “Good morning, um, Mrs. Sun.”

She stops watering the plants and gives him a disappointed look. “What did I tell you about stuttering?” she replies in Mandarin. “You should be teaching those ignorant children how to be less ignorant adults!”

Duncan drops his character and answers, “One of my students said I threatened him.”

Mrs. Sun returns to watering the flowers. “Good! Next time he’ll know that listening to his teachers is almost as important as listening to his parents!” She looks over her shoulder scornfully and adds in English, “Get back to work, Tessa already carries too much of your responsibility!”

Trying to hide his shame Duncan confesses, “They’ve suspended me because of those allegations.”

She shakes her head and speaks in Mandarin angrily. “This is why children these days are fat and stupid! We made sure our kids feared us before they could create opinions of their own.” Mrs. Sun starts to coil the hose while angrily muttering to herself, “Now everyone is too afraid to smack them and call them out on their lies. They’ll never learn how to talk their way out of getting caught.”

Duncan sheepishly asks, “I think I should get Tessa some flowers for when I tell her that I’ve failed—”

Dropping the coiled hose at Duncan’s feet, Mrs. Sun grabs his lab coat and pulls him down to look her in the eyes. In English she taunts, “I have some old wilted pansies inside. They are perfect for someone of your character.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sun,” he replies in English as he turns to enter the store.

“Don’t you dare give that woman pansies!” she shouts in Mandarin as she shuffles past Duncan. “If I find out you ever give her anything less than a bouquet of roses and treat her to her favorite meal, I’ll show you why I was exiled from China!” she threatens.

Opening the door, she shouts at her grandson behind the counter, “Yi, prepare a duck for Mrs. Duncan!”

Mrs. Sun pushes Duncan aside and approaches her display of roses. “You are going to beg for her forgiveness as you explain how you couldn’t handle a single, miniscule brat and lost your job because of it.” Pausing to look him straight in the eyes, she points her shears at him and coldly adds, “Then, when she is ready, you tell her to come see me, and we will put that boy’s family in its place.” She snips the shears aggressively.

Afraid to say anything, Duncan nods his head and slips into the store. Mrs. Sun turns to carefully choose the best roses and mutters, “Tessa deserves a lot more than that man child.”

Yi is busy slicing a freshly roasted duck when Duncan approaches the counter. With his soft quivering voice Duncan speaks in Mandarin, “I guess I’m getting a bouquet of, uh, roses and a sliced duck.”

Being cautious not to attract the attention of his grandmother, Yi quietly asks in English, “What did you say to make her this angry?”

“I don’t know,” he replies in English, “I just told her I needed to, um, break the news of my suspension to Tessa.”

Yi laughs and returns to cutting the duck.

“Does my, uh, misfortune amuse you?” Duncan asks.

“The way my Grandmother treats Mrs. Duncan,” Yi says with a smirk, “makes my Father and Uncles extremely jealous.” He chuckles, “My Mom’s even trying to imitate her.”

Mrs. Sun shuffles into the store with a large bouquet of roses in her hands. She heads straight for the till where she gently places the roses on the counter and inspects Yi’s work with disappointment. “You haven’t finished preparing one duck yet?” she aggressively criticizes in Mandarin. “If you can’t talk and work, shut up!”

“Yes, grandma,” he responds obediently in Mandarin.

Mrs. Sun enters Duncan’s order into the register and declares, “That’s how you talk to children.”

As Duncan pulls his wallet out of his pocket, Mrs. Sun walks back into the store grabs a box of chocolates and says, “That will be two hundred ten dollars.”

Shocked, he asks, “Isn’t that a little—” Catching a glimpse of her death stare, he quickly pulls the money from his wallet and corrects himself, “I mean Tessa deserves so much more.”

Mrs. Sun shuffles back behind the counter and hands the chocolates to Yi who finishes the transaction.

Waiting for his grandmother to leave, Yi suggests quietly in English, “You better have Mrs. Duncan come thank her.” He hands the bags to Duncan. “Otherwise this is going to become a regular occurrence.”

Duncan nods as he collects his bags and leaves the store.

Passing Mrs. Sun, she stops caring for the flowers and, in Mandarin, matter-of-factly states, “If she ever dumps you, I’ll set her up with a successful Chinese man who will treat her right.”

She returns to tending to the flowers as Duncan, moving quickly to hide his fear, returns to his car.

Chapter Four

The Sempiternal

The Duncan house is quiet with a trail of blood leading into and out of the kitchen. Duncan enters through the front door with his gifts in hand.

“Hello Tessa, I’m, um, home,” he shouts as he places his keys in the bowl next to the door.

Stepping into the foyer, he notices the strange man sitting at the dining room table, resting a bag of ice on his knee and pressing another against his ribs. He is holding a glass of ice against his broken bloody nose.

“Tessa is everything, uh, all right?” Duncan shouts up the stairs as he gently places his bags on the floor.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be home so soon,” the man states with a nasally, emotionless tone as he places the ice on the table. “Looks like I don’t have to waste any extra time on this primitive rock,” he adds while rising to his feet, wincing in pain as he clutches his broken ribs.

Stepping into the dining room, Duncan gains a clear line of sight into the kitchen where Tessa is lying on her back in a pool of her own blood. He can’t see her face but notices that her chest isn’t moving.

“Hey Tessa, are you alright?” he asks, dropping his character.

Not hearing a response or seeing any movement, Duncan walks carelessly toward the kitchen trying to hide his building anxiety.

The man, seeing that Duncan has become completely focused on Tessa, waits for him to get close before throwing a fast right jab towards Duncan’s throat. Mid punch Duncan hears the distinctive sound of a switch blade deploying.

Turning his body away from the incoming jab, he evades the attack completely and places his left hand on the man’s shoulder. Duncan pushes the man off balance, causing him to collapse to the floor.

With the man out of his way, Duncan makes his way into the kitchen where he notices that Tessa’s eyes are open and dry. His anxiety causes him to drop to his knees and he struggles to catch his breath as he stares at Tessa’s pale body.

Duncan places his hand gently on her cold, blood-soaked chest. His fingertips find a tiny tear in the shirt leading to a small one-inch incision that passes straight through her aorta.

Gently closing Tessa’s eyes, glimpses of anger flash across Duncan’s face as he struggles between entering a blind vengeful rage and a full-blown panic attack.

The man climbs back to his feet and flippantly taunts, “If you didn’t stop for flowers, you might have been able to say goodbye.”

Inspecting Tessa’s wedding band, Duncan replies, “Based on her body temperature she’s been dead for about an hour, long before I left the school.”

Taking a step toward Duncan, the man immediately collapses to the floor. “What did you do to me?” he asks fearfully.

Duncan squeezes Tessa’s pinky and middle fingers against her wedding band causing a small needle to protrude from the ring. Carefully running his finger along the side of the protruding needle, he collects a small drop of clear liquid. The needle retracts back into the band when he releases the pressure on her fingers.

“Why did you have to toy with him?” he asks, fighting back tears.

“I asked you a question!” the man demands angrily with slurred words as he crawls toward Duncan.

Drying his hand on his shirt, Duncan suppresses his anxiety and turns to stare into the eyes of his wife’s killer. While his face’s neutral expression masks his intentions, his piercing gaze forewarns his ensuing wrath.

Rising to his feet, Duncan removes his lab coat and drapes it over Tessa’s body. He removes his bloody clothes and shoes, and leaves everything but the white underwear he’s still wearing on the kitchen floor.

Returning to the dining room, he takes off his wedding ring and places it on the china cabinet. Duncan reveals the long white scars and circular burns covering his entire torso.

The man, overcome with fear at the sight of the white scars and circular burns covering his torso, squirms frantically when he sees the single burn scar covering his back except for one area about the size of Tessa’s arm.

“He didn’t tell me that you’re the Scientist!” he exclaims despairingly. “I was told the Fleet Admiral married a schoolteacher!” The man’s squirming becomes more frantic and tears stream down his face as he claws at the floor. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he begs. “If I knew you were together, I wouldn’t have accepted the job.”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know!” the man pleads. “I’ll run away to the edge of the galaxy and you’ll never see me again!”

Ignoring the man’s cries, Duncan calmly pulls the china cabinet away from the wall.

“I know you’re a good man,” the man implores, “you don’t want to torture me.”

Duncan punches a hole in the newly exposed wall, pulls the plaster away and exposes a hidden shelf with two small metal boxes. Placing the boxes beside his wedding ring, he opens the first box and removes a spare house key, a wallet, a cell phone, a stopwatch and a small black cube attached to a keychain. Duncan takes the open box with him as he approaches the man.

As Duncan starts to squat down beside him, the man rolls onto his back and slashes his switchblade toward Duncan’s throat.

Snatching the man’s frail wrist out of the air with one hand, Duncan squeezes it until he drops the knife. Forcing the man’s hand to the floor, he pins it there with his knee as he positions his weight over the man.

The man relaxes and assures, “Take comfort that the Fleet Admiral got a quick death.”

Duncan places the open box onto the floor and removes the faux bottom to reveal a surgical tube and six syringes filled with different coloured liquids. He ties the surgical tube around the man’s arm tightly causing all the veins to swell beneath his skin. Removing the blue syringe from the box, Duncan removes the air from the barrel.

“My offer still stands,” the man suggests in a final attempt to save his life.

“You’ve already told me everything I need to know.” Duncan replies vengefully as he plunges the needle into one of the man’s veins and injects the blue liquid.

The man sighs and closes his eyes. “At least lethal injection is a peaceful way to go.”

Duncan returns the empty syringe to the box and leans toward the man’s ear. “You don’t deserve something that graceful,” he growls.

The man’s eyes snap open as he realizes that he is quickly losing the ability to move his body.

Duncan sits up straight and stares down into the man’s fear filled eyes and explains, “The first one is a neuromuscular blocker.” He removes the purple syringe from the box and forces the air from the barrel. “The second prevents circulatory shock.” He injects the purple solution into the same vein. “I don’t want you passing away prematurely.”

“You don’t have to torture me!” the man exclaims, “I’ll tell you everything!”

Duncan returns the empty syringe to the kit and removes the red one. “Torture is a useless endeavour,” he states matter-of-factly. “If I tortured you long enough, I could convince you that you were my mother.” He inserts the syringe into the vein and looks straight into his terrified eyes. “You killed the woman I loved,” he states angrily, “this is my retribution!” Duncan injects the red liquid into the man.

Removing the empty syringe and returning it to the set, Duncan returns to the china cabinet and starts the stopwatch. The man erupts into hysterical laughter.

“You had me convinced for a while,” the man sneers, “but you just overreached.”

Duncan returns to kneel over the man’s paralyzed body and stares into his eyes with an intimidating glare. “I was going to tell you everything,” the man gloats between amused laughs, “but your time on this pathetic rock has rotted your mind.”

“When have I have ever made empty threats?” Duncan asks with sincerity. “This is the death that I designed for the Strategist,” he adds, “and, after seeing the results from the preliminary tests, I deemed that only the Strategist and myself warranted a death this odious.” Duncan smiles maliciously and continues, “But since you’ve taken the only person that brought me happiness, you’ve graduated into our company,” he trails off.

Duncan leaves the paralyzed man on the floor and sits on a nearby chair. “This isn’t good,” he mutters, listlessly staring at the stopwatch. “You’ve become one of the monsters,” he laments, “which means you’ve earned yourself a moniker like the rest of us.” Duncan glances over at Tessa’s corpse. “Since you killed the Titan … the obvious one would be the Titanslayer.”

“I like it,” the man approves.

Turning to face the man on the floor Duncan sighs, “But we both know you only got lucky. Besides, I’m not going to allow the Strategist’s proxy to be remembered with such a venerated title.”

“You’re still chasing fictitious delusions,” the man says, erupting into laughter. “I’m starting to wonder if the Scientist was just propaganda to increase conscription.”

“It’s true that your leaders have fabricated most of my image,” Duncan says with unnerving jubilation, “but if they told the truth about the travesties I’ve actually committed,” he slowly rises from his chair, “there’d be chaos across the Federation and the Allied Planets.”

Kneeling over the man, Duncan places his hand on the man’s jaw and forces him to look him in the eyes. “Unfortunately, those who witness my glory rarely survive to give testament to my actions.” Duncan leans in and whispers into the man’s ear, “Did you know that I had crushed Primus Four before I surrendered?”

The man laughs hysterically. “You really are delusional!” he says. “To think that Fleet Admiral Sheridan’s final deployment would be to babysit a mental patient.”

Duncan smiles diabolically, “The Torians never knew that name.” The man’s face instantly goes flush. “You’ve just failed both missions,” Duncan gloats. “Don’t worry, President Wilson won’t know that you failed to implicate the rebels for Tessa’s assassination.”

Sweating in fear, the man tries to reply but he is unable to muster the energy to move his drooping jaw. Duncan carefully inspects the muscles in the man’s face as they fall limp.

Removing and prepping the orange syringe from the set, Duncan states, “Now that you’re unable to scream,” he injects the orange liquid into the man’s arm, “I’ll be more forthcoming with you.”

Extracting the empty syringe, Duncan looks into the man’s glassy eyes. “After I defeated the Federation,” he says returning the syringe to the set, “I realised that I wasn’t ready to run the Federation.” Duncan’s expression emanates sorrow as he adds, “So I unconditionally surrendered in exchange for our freedom. But we knew that was a foolish dream because the Strategist couldn’t stand to see us happy. We knew that she’d use her presidential puppet, and we were ready for it,” he trails off as he glances over at Tessa.

Becoming somber he adds, “I just never expected that Tessa wouldn’t be by my side.” Gazing back into the man’s glassy eyes, Duncan asks, “Do you know why she didn’t just blow up our house while we slept?” He pauses to see if the fully paralyzed, muted man would answer. “Because she knew that you’d only half succeed.”

Looking at the stopwatch, Duncan waits for it to pass the five-minute mark and stops it. He removes the yellow syringe from the set and forces the air from the barrel. “I’m sorry that you got caught in the middle of our feud,” he states with sincerity, “but you chose to play in our game, so now you will suffer the same way the rest of us do.”

He inserts the needle into the man’s arm and places his thumb on the plunger. “The third injection rewrote your genes to make your cells self-sufficient, provided they have an adequate supply of nutrients,” he explains. “The fourth ensures that your cells will have a millennium worth of said nutrients. Combined, all of the injections will let you experience the torture of being awake and aware of the anguish that befalls from this fifth injection, no matter how painful it becomes.”

Duncan smiles sadistically at the man. “Once I deliver this drug, your entire body will beg for death as your nerves think they are experiencing excruciating pain. The sensation will trigger randomly with varying degrees of intensity so that you don’t become desensitized to the pain. And this will continue for a thousand years when your cells will finally starve.”

A tear rolls out from the man’s eye.

“I wonder if the Strategist foresaw this outcome as well.” Duncan ponders while injecting the yellow liquid into the man’s arm.

He quickly removes the syringe as seconds after the liquid enters his system, the man starts to convulse violently.

“Do I live up to your preconceptions yet?” Duncan asks as he cleans the area around the thrashing man.

Returning to the kitchen, Duncan kneels beside Tessa, pulls back his lab coat and gently runs his hand through her thick hair. “I know we planned on doing this together,” he says calmly while removing her dog tags, “but this will have to do.”

He puts her tags around his neck before carefully scooping her corpse wrapped in his lab coat off the floor and carries her into the basement.

#

Tessa’s body has been removed from the kitchen along with his clothes and the pool of blood she was lying in. Duncan, still in his underwear, is on his hands and knees vigorously scrubbing the floor to remove any trace remnants of blood that may be left behind.

Satisfied that the floor is clean, Duncan, with a bucket filled with his cleaning solution, wipes down the rest of the kitchen surfaces before heading into the dining room.

As the man continues to convulse, Duncan cleans every surface in the dining room before cleaning the blood stains from the man’s body. He wipes down the knife used to kill Tessa and drops it into his bucket. Inspecting the rest of the main floor, cleaning any surface that could contain traces of blood, he makes his way to the laundry machines.

He removes his underwear, tosses them into a metal trash can that is already holding his bloody clothes, and wipes his body clean with the rag. Discarding the rag into the trash can, Duncan dumps the cleaning solution into the laundry sink and puts on a pair of clean underwear from the dryer.

Grabbing the metal trash can, Duncan heads out the kitchen door to the backyard, picking up a book of matches as he exits. Placing the can beside the barbecue, he takes the jug of lighter fluid and empties it into the metal can before setting it alight.

Brooding into the flames, he waits patiently for the fire to extinguish itself.

With the contents reduced to ash, and allowing enough time for the can to cool, Duncan scatters the ashes onto the barbecue’s coals.

Removing a clean lab coat from the dryer, Duncan grabs the switchblade from the sink, slips it into his lab coat pocket and returns to the dining room.

Duncan slides the wedding ring back over his finger, places the second metal box into his inner lab coat pocket and drops the keychain in with the knife.

Returning to the man, Duncan takes the green syringe from the set, places his weight onto the man’s convulsing arm to stabilize it. He carefully inserts the needle into a vein and injects the final liquid into the man’s bloodstream.

Duncan hushes to the man as he continues to control his spasms, making sure he doesn’t shake the syringe out of his arm. “This drug will completely paralyze your body,” he informs as the convulsions begin to subside, “including your heart and lungs.”

No longer needing to control the man’s still body, Duncan places his hand on the man’s chest and waits for his pulse and breathing to stop. “It also stops your body from generating its own heat, turning you into a living corpse.”

Leaving the syringe in the man’s arm, Duncan cleans his fingerprints from the syringes and leaves them beside the man.

He searches the man’s pockets for any identifiable objects but doesn’t find anything. Grabbing the wallet and the spare house key from the china cabinet, he puts them into the man’s pockets.

“Welcome to the family brother-in-law,” Duncan says while posing the body to look like he self-injected. “You should have told me about your opioid addiction before I gave you all that heroin.” Making the final adjustments to convincingly tell his story, he adds, “Luckily you remembered to carry your identification, so there won’t be any problems finding your will to be buried in the family plot.”

Duncan returns to the kitchen and dials 911 from the landline.

“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asks.

With a very distraught and panicked demeanor Duncan responds, “I think my brother-in-law is overdosing!”

“Sir, what’s your address?”

“Three two seven Queen Street,” Duncan replies.

“What is your name?”

“Philip Duncan, hurry I have no idea how long he’s been convulsing!”

“First responders are on their way,” the dispatcher affirms. “What makes you think—”

“He just stopped moving!” Duncan declares as he hurriedly hangs up the phone.

“Mr. Duncan it’s important that—” the dispatcher shouts before being disconnected.

Duncan returns to the dining room and calmly informs the man, “Our time together is coming to an end.” He ignores the ringing phone. “The medics are on their way, but without a pulse and a lowering body temperature, they will proclaim your death.” He sits beside the motionless body, looks into the man’s glassy eyes and gleefully says, “But you and I both know that isn’t true and, with your DNR, you will never be checked for brain activity. No one will ever know that your mind is trapped within a well-fed corpse.”

A vengeful tone swells in his voice as he states, “That’s when your true punishment begins. You will get to experience the burial preparations, understand what it’s like to be entombed beneath the earth of a planet lightyears from your home and everything you’ve loved. Sentenced to a thousand years with nothing but your thoughts, memories and the sensation of the everlasting pain that I’ve bestowed onto you.”

Duncan leans in close to the man’s face and disdainfully growls, “That is your punishment for killing my love! That is why you are the Sempiternal!”

He closes the man’s eyelids.

Chapter Five

The Antecedent

Two coroners wheel a sealed black body bag out of the house while a uniformed police officer is sitting at the dining room table across from Duncan, now fully clothed beneath his lab coat.

“Where is Tessa now?” he asks.

Duncan replies with a soft quivering tone, “She’s at, um, work.” He looks up with terror in his eyes. “She doesn’t know!” he adds in a panicked tone. “I need to, uh, call her.” He pulls a cell phone out of his pocket.

“Mr. Duncan,” the officer says in a calm reassuring tone, “I only have a few more questions.” Duncan hesitantly places the phone on the table as the officer asks, “Did your brother-in-law come by often?”

“Only when he wanted, um, money.” Duncan sighs.

“Did he normally come to ask for money while you were both at work?” the officer inquires skeptically.

“Tessa cut him off a month ago,” Duncan replies without hesitation. “But things like her, uh, jewellery and my equipment have been going missing since then.”

“And you never reported the theft?”

“We didn’t have proof,” Duncan confesses, “besides he is … was family.”

The officer closes his notepad and says, “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Duncan.” He hands him a business card. “If you can think of anything else, please give me a call.” He stands up from the table and exits the house.

Duncan follows behind and listens through the door.

“What did you find?” the officer asks the coroner.

“NIK tests were positive for opioids and confirmed as heroin” she responds.

“And the injuries?” the officer inquires.

“They are consistent with injuries from bare knuckle punches and were sustained about an hour before the time of death. The homeowner didn’t have any matching injuries on his fists, so they couldn’t have been inflicted by him,” she concludes.

Duncan powers up the cell phone and returns to the kitchen, keeping an eye on the front door. Opening the contacts app two names appear on screen, Brandon and Grant. He calls Brandon.

The phone rings a dozen times until the distinctive sound of someone silently answering hushes the rings.

With a calm voice, Duncan says, “The vulture is returning to roost.”

After a short pause General Brandon’s frail old voice replies, “Does the sun set to the east or the west?”

“The sun no longer rises.”

Brandon becomes annoyed, “Why are you calling this number?”

“It’s time I face prosecution for my crimes.”

“Is Fleet Admiral Sheridan okay with you doing that?” Brandon asks cynically.

Duncan sighs, “I’m afraid the past has caused us to irreparably drift apart.”

Uncertainty fills the general’s voice, “And what should I tell General Grant when he learns you’ve abandoned his granddaughter in the Orion Arm?”

“Tell him that he can see her once my verdict has been read,” Duncan suggests. “I don’t want her coming to my defense and implicating herself for my crimes.”

“You do remember what you’ve been accused of, right?” Brandon warns.

“I do, and I’m prepared to plead guilty to all charges.”

“As long as you know what’s going to happen,” the general sighs, “your shuttle will arrive in—” He stops speaking abruptly before asking, “Why is there a shuttle at Sol Three already? Are you terrorizing that primitive planet? Do we need to intervene?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Duncan dismisses as he makes his way to the front door, “I’ve already set things in motion to clean up the breach in your security.” Peering through the door’s window he sees that the officer has started to drive away.

“What did you do?” Brandon barks.

“You trusted me once before, General,” Duncan pleads, “I need you to trust me again.”

“What are you hiding, Scientist?” he presses.

“Somethings are better said in person,” Duncan proclaims.

Trying to hide his discomfort, Brandon asks, “Is this turning into another Ishtar Seven?”

“Not if I get off the planet immediately,” he reassures confidently, as he returns to the kitchen.

“I’ve sent the pilot to pick you up,” Brandon sighs in defeat. “This makes us even now.”

“Absolutely,” Duncan agrees. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ending the call, he smashes the phone against the concrete countertop, exposing the circuit boards and removes the battery. Pulling a hammer out of the kitchen drawer, Duncan proceeds to pulverize the internal components. He throws the battery and shattered phone bits into the garbage before exiting the house.

#

The suburban street is full of life as the neighbours have grouped together to gossip about the first responders that just left.

As Duncan exits his home and approaches the Forrester’s house, the audience becomes frightened as they hypothesize their horror fantasies.

Ekon swings open the front door as Duncan approaches and leaps out gently with Jelani asleep in his arms.

“Boet, what’s going on over there?” he blurts out. “Did the coroner just remove a body from your house?” He looks around nervously, and quietly asks, “Is Tessa alright?”

“She’s fine,” Duncan reassures, “but her, um, brother broke in again.”

“Don’t tell me you thought you were defending your home from some sort of degenerate,” Ekon asks with concern.

Duncan gives him a confused look, “He was a degenerate.”

Shocked, Ekon pulls his sleeping son in closer as he cautiously steps away from Duncan. “You killed Tessa’s brother?”

“No,” he replies sympathetically, “he succumbed to an, uh, overdose.”

Ekon visibly relaxes and loosens his grip. “That’s a relief,” he sighs, “I have no idea what we would have done if you went away for a long time, boet.” He leans in toward Duncan and whispers, “You have no idea how boring it is to be at home all day.”

“Well, about that,” Duncan speaks apprehensively, “we’re going to be heading upstate to Tessa’s, um, parent’s place for the foreseeable future.”

Ekon steps closer to Duncan and awkwardly places a hand on his shoulder while trying to balance his son’s feet on his bicep. “Take all the time you need, boet,” he reassures, “soon you’ll be back teaching those kids and making them better adults.”

“I hope so,” Duncan sighs, “but that’s a problem for another, uh, day.”

“You didn’t get fired today, too did you?” Ekon asks cheekily with a smile.

Duncan looks down at his feet. “That’s why I’m home so, um, early.”

Ekon squeezes Duncan’s shoulder and compassionately says, “Amara and I are here for you, Phil. Whatever you need, just ask.”

“Thank you, Ekon,” Duncan replies sincerely, “you’re a really good friend.” Ekon lets him go and steps back. “There is, uh, one thing you could do for me,” Duncan says reaching into his pocket. “I need you to hold onto this,” he hands him the black cube keychain.

“What’s this?”

“My enigma,” Duncan replies with a smile. “I need you to look after it until the, um, time is right.”

“What’s that mean?” he asks, analyzing the cube.

Duncan looks over his shoulder to see a black car with tinted windows pull into his driveway. “Let’s just say that that cube is my reason to come home,” he replies cryptically.

Tony and Kevin, wearing tailored black suits, get out of the car and start to make their way to Duncan’s front door.

“Who are those men?” Ekon asks nervously, “I thought you were heading upstate … You’re not trying to avoid the feds, are you?”

“These are Tessa’s colleagues,” Duncan reassures. “Just keep my enigma safe and I’ll see you soon.”

They hug before Duncan leaves across the yards and greets the two men at his door. Ekon curiously examines the cube with his fingers while he watches the three men climb into the car and drive away.

#

The car drives through the suburban streets casually as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Glancing at Duncan through the rear-view mirror, Kevin asks, “How long has it been since you’ve visited Primus Four?”

“This is actually my first trip to the, uh, surface,” Duncan replies. “It looks incredible from orbit.”

“Do you travel a lot, Mr. Duncan?” Tony asks while looking at the empty road behind them in his side mirror.

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to a pair of, um, transport pilots,” Duncan says removing the metal box from his lab coat, “but I have spent time on many unsophisticated worlds for, uh, General Brandon.”

Seeing Sunvenience coming up in the distance, Duncan opens his window. Mrs. Sun watches suspiciously as Duncan tosses the metal box into one of her plants. Raising the window, Duncan notices that Tony and Kevin are communicating silently with subtle body language alone. He leans back into his seat and pretends that he didn’t see their signals.

#

The car drives through a dense forest toward the distant beacon of sunlight at the end of the rough dirt road.

Emerging into a cleared-out field, the dirt road ends against a large concreate pad with a small warehouse attached to it. On the center of the pad, a space shuttle rests peacefully waiting for its crew.

Four well-armed soldiers exit from the warehouse and surround the car with their weapons at the ready.

“Wait here,” Kevin orders as he and Tony calmly step out of the car.

Duncan watches carefully as Tony speaks with the soldiers, observing their frightened body language when they point toward the car. Commander Tanaka exits from the warehouse and approaches the checkpoint. Pulling on the door handle, Duncan realizes that the child lock has trapped him inside the car.

Seeing that the soldiers are becoming more alarmed as Kevin talks with the commander, Duncan folds the back of his seat forward and crawls into the trunk. Pressing the glowing trunk release button, he discovers that the device has been disabled.

Removing the Sempiternal’s switchblade from his pocket, he pries the panel off the latch mechanism and releases the locking pin manually. Swinging the hatch open, Duncan carefully climbs out of the trunk, keeping his empty hands visible the whole time.

“It’s good to see you again, Commander,” he says calmly as the soldiers cautiously make their way to the back of the car, weapons trained on Duncan.

“What are you doing in the trunk, Mr. Duncan?” she asks suspiciously.

“They told me I had to ride with the rest of the tools.”

The commander smiles. “They know you well.”

Watching Tony and Kevin slowly reposition behind the soldiers, Duncan implies, “Didn’t they arrive with three crew members.”

“How would you know that?” she asks with a vigilant tone.

Noticing that Duncan is staring at Tony and Kevin, Tanaka gestures toward them. Her soldiers quickly turn their weapons on Tony and Kevin as they reach for their sidearms.

They freeze in place before slowly unholstering their concealed weapons and gently place them on the ground.

“That’s the Scientist!” Kevin warns desperately.

Tanaka gives Duncan a curious look. “Is that true?”

“As in the galaxy’s most wanted man?” he asks evasively, “Hiding away on this rock?”

With a skeptical look, Tanaka steps toward Duncan, “Someone that infamous would need somewhere disconnected to hide.”

Duncan smiles keenly, “But would he be working for General Brandon?”

“No, he wouldn’t … but the general could be working for you,” she accuses. “Especially since there is a rumour that the Scientist kidnapped General Grant’s granddaughter.” Stepping right up to Duncan, she asks, “Where is your wife now, Mr. Duncan?”

“Be careful, Commander!” Tony warns. “He’s taken down entire battalions with his words alone!”

“That’s exactly the skill I want to witness firsthand,” Tanaka replies confidently without taking her eyes off Duncan. “Convince me not to arrest you, Scientist.”

“All traffic into and out of Orion Arm systems must be scheduled through General Brandon,” Duncan states matter-of-factly. “While my departure is scheduled, the shuttle I am supposed to leave on arrived unexpectedly.” Tanaka’s expression doesn’t change as Duncan continues, “I know about the shuttle’s third crew member because he was an assassin sent to eliminate Fleet Admiral Sheridan.”

“That’s a lie!” Kevin interjects. “Our engineer has gone into town to resupply for the return trip.”

“Since their assassination attempt failed,” Duncan says ignoring the interruption, “she needed to relocate to a new safehouse that hasn’t been compromised by these traitors.”

“He’s trying to frame us for killing his wife, Commander!” Kevin pleads desperately.

“Let’s assume that I am the Scientist,” Duncan says calmly while taking a step toward Tanaka. “I’d be arrested the second I land at the capital. And if I’m not the Scientist, you would be disobeying your direct general’s orders and could potentially risk exposing any active missions Generals Okar and Patel have running in the Orion Arm.” Duncan smirks, “What is the punishment for that?”

Tanaka steps back from Duncan and sighs, “That is an impressive feat.” She instructs her team to arrest Tony and Kevin.

“This is a mistake, Commander!” Kevin screams. “Our mission was sanctioned by President Wilson himself!”

Tanaka looks at Kevin scornfully. “I have orders from a general on the high council corroborating his story, who’s backing yours?”

“Let me make this more enticing for you,” Duncan says with a smile. “If you can spare a pilot to take me back to the capital, I’ll tell General Grant that you have arrested the people who tried to kill his granddaughter. He would be infinitely grateful for your support … he may even station you closer to your family, if you ask him nicely.”

Tanaka mulls over the proposition. “You have a backup plan, don’t you?” she asks. “Of course, you do,” she concludes seeing Duncan’s smirk. “I’ll have Lieutenant Vasquez fly you out at dusk. Wait in the shuttle until then, I don’t have the patience to deal with the devastation that follows you across the galaxy.”

She turns her back to Duncan and follows her soldiers into the warehouse. Duncan boards the isolated shuttle in the middle of the landing pad.

#

The shuttle cabin barely fits the bunk and desk built directly into the walls. The bunk’s blankets are strapped down and every compartment is sealed with a rotating latch.

Duncan, sitting at the desk, is tinkering away on a small metal slab when Vasquez knocks at the open door before poking his head into the cabin.

“Start preparing for takeoff,” he says before vanishing down the corridor.

Duncan secures all the loose items into the sealed compartments, locks them and then makes his way to the cockpit.

The forward monitors display the setting sun descending behind the tree’s canopy while the lieutenant conducts his pre-flight tests. Duncan fastens into the chair beside Vasquez, puts on his headset and watches the digital display in front of him cycle through confirmation messages. The low-pitched rumble of the engines starts to fill the shuttle as it ramps up to an inaudible shriek.

The shuttle slowly lifts off the ground and hovers freely above the concrete pad. The lieutenant flips an overhead switch, retracting the shuttle’s landing feet into its hull.

Vasquez speaks into his headset, “Shuttle Ninety-Seven to Sol Three, all systems are ready, requesting permission to launch.”

As he gently rotates the flight controls, tiny jets pulsate, rotating the shuttle away from the setting sun.

Tanaka’s voice comes through the headsets, “Sol Three to Shuttle Ninety-Seven, you are clear to launch.”

The lieutenant gently pulls the flight controls back, angling the shuttle’s nose toward the dark sky before easing the throttle forward. Accelerating toward space, Vasquez and Duncan are forcefully pressed against the backs of their chairs.

Breaking free from the gravitational pull of Earth, Vasquez pulls the throttle back to a more comfortable rate of acceleration as the planet shrinks rapidly behind them.

“Do you remember how to set coordinates?” he asks.

Duncan rapidly types a string of commands into his console, prompting a red node labelled ‘Primus 4’ to appear on the monitor in front of them.

“I helped develop these navigation systems,” Duncan gloats.

Vasquez smiles as he confirms the coordinates and adjusts the shuttle’s flight path. Aligning the red targeting reticle over the red destination node, both markers turn green.

“Shuttle Ninety-Seven to Sol Three, we are about to activate the warp engine,” the lieutenant says into his headset, “I’ll see you in five days.”

Flipping a switch on the side of the flight controls, the shuttle’s hull rotates around the main engine so that the top of the shuttle is facing the direction they are traveling.

Tanaka’s staticky voice fills their headsets, “Roger that Shuttle Ninety-Seven, have a safe trip.”

Vasquez pulls the throttle to the neutral position and activates the warp engine. The stars in the monitors to start blurring before they blueshift through violet and vanish completely. The blackness of space slowly turns red before focusing into a large rainbow disk with a dark violet center. As they continue to accelerate, the center of the disk turns black converting the rainbow disk into a rapidly shrinking ring that quickly loses its red tones as everything shifts into violet before turning completely black.

With the warp engine reaching its peak speed, the warp bubbles simulate a comfortable gravity level inside the shuttle.

Unfastening his harness, the lieutenant turns to Duncan and states, “I guess I should be identifying as the Anathema, since you’re on board.”

“If you want to attract every bounty hunter and Federation battleship in the galaxy you could,” Duncan admits. “But I can’t guarantee that they won’t shoot indiscriminately.”

“Fair enough,” Vasquez agrees, “we’ve got thirty-six hours until we begin our final approach. If you’ve got work to do, I’ll call you then.”

Duncan returns to the desk in his cabin. Opening one of the drawers he removes a small plastic tube labelled ‘Wilson’ containing a clear liquid. Taking his lab coat off and spreading it across the desktop, Tessa’s bloody dog tags fall out of the pocket and clank to the floor.

He picks them up and tries to resume his work, but the anxiety quickly makes that impossible. He locks his cabin door before collapsing onto the bunk, gasping for air as he struggles to control his panic attack.

Holding the dog tags close to his racing heart, Duncan cries silently.

Chapter Six

The Tribunal

The shuttle zooms past a sound pulse station and its small defensive fleet as it rapidly approaches Primus 4 with its main engine and the bottom of the shuttle pointing toward the planet. Duncan, not wearing his lab coat, is buckled into the chair beside Vasquez.

The lieutenant speaks into his headset, “Shuttle Ninety-Seven to Primus Four, completing the transport mission of Philip Duncan from Sol Three, requesting permission to land.”

A clear voice fills their headsets, “Primus Four to Shuttle Ninety-Seven, proceed to hangar nine.”

“Roger that, Primus Four,” Vasquez replies, pressing the throttle forward to slow down their approach.

Once the shuttle reaches a safe entry speed, the lieutenant realigns the shuttle to its aerodynamic orientation and establishes his path through the defensive ships orbiting the planet.

Primus’ continents become clear as they enter the final defensive bottleneck orbiting the planet. With tiny pulses from the shuttle’s thrusters, the lieutenant carefully navigates his way through the densely packed battleships, frigates, and gunships.

“I remember when it was foolish to keep just two battleships within visual distance,” Duncan remarks.

“Didn’t you conquer the Norma Arm by using a densely packed strike force?” the lieutenant asks.

“It made us look like a scouting vessel,” he boasts, “hopefully you’ve found a solution to the Kessler syndrome.”

“Kessler syndrome?” Vasquez asks, confused.

Passing the two orbiting battle moons, the enormous cities on the planet’s surface become visible while the dark side of the planet radiates artificial light. Duncan enters the coordinates for hangar 9 prompting the landing pattern to appear on the monitors.

He looks over to the lieutenant and says, “Remember that there is a difference in gravity and atmospheric pressure here.”

The lieutenant smirks while flipping a switch above his head. “We’ve adapted more than just your battle tactics and shielding systems,” he says as the flight controls and throttle start moving on their own.

Duncan sighs, “At least one of my inventions is being used to save lives.”

Primus’ gravitational pull starts to take effect as the shuttle gently eases through the stratopause. The Galactic Headquarters, a five square kilometer, four hundred storey skyscraper, rapidly approaches as the shuttle automatically merges into the dense traffic around the building. Descending between the smaller, two hundred storey skyscrapers around the headquarters, the shuttle makes its final approach to their designated landing bay.

Entering hangar 9, the shuttle hovers above the metal floor until the landing gear deploys and takes the weight off the jets. Vasquez starts to power down the shuttle’s systems while he unfastens his harness.

“Welcome to Primus Four, Mr. Duncan,” he says climbing out of his chair. “Keep your head down and avoid confrontations. Most people here will recognize you … and not in a good way,” he warns, heading to the shuttle’s exit. Waving at Duncan without looking back, he shouts, “You’re on your own from here.”

Duncan unfastens his harness and returns to his cabin. His white lab coat is spread out across the desk with ropes fastening it to the surface. He rubs his hand against it and then checks his hand for any transference of residue.

With his hand coming up clean, Duncan puts the coat on and opens the drawer of the desk. He slides Tessa’s dog tags and a small metal slab into his pockets, leaving the empty ‘Wilson’ vial behind.

He exits the shuttle as Primus’ mechanics enter to start their maintenance routine. Officer Carlson, a young man in his early twenties, wearing light body armor, notices Duncan trying to inconspicuously cross the hangar floor to a side exit. He picks up his rifle and hurries out of the guardhouse to confront him.

“Wait right there!” he orders.

Duncan reluctantly stops and waits for the officer to approach him.

“Badge,” he demands, outstretching his hand.

Looking toward the guardhouse Duncan replies, “Where’s your superior?”

The officer slaps the side of his rifle aggressively and states, “This is my superior. Show me your badge or I will get him involved.”

Duncan, not intimidated by the officer’s threats, calmly says, “Contact—”

“I’m not playing any games here!” Carlson barks as he steps back and readies his rifle. “Where is your badge?!”

“What’s going on over here?!” Corporal Jones, an officer in his mid-fifties who isn’t wearing armour or carrying a weapon, asks as he approaches.

“This man is trying to sneak through the side door,” Carlson replies without relaxing his guard, “and he refuses to present his badge.”

“Why won’t you present your badge?” Jones asks with a friendly tone.

Duncan looks to the corporal and calmly answers, “I need to speak with your superior.”

Carlson grits his teeth as he tightens his grip on his rifle. “Permission to arrest this stowaway,” he requests.

Jones looks at Duncan suspiciously as if he’s seen him before. “Who’s your C.O.?” he asks.

“General Brandon,” Duncan replies quietly.

Carlson quickly lowers his rifle and stands at attention. His face has become flush while sweat starts to bead on his face.

“Why would the trade general need someone who looks like you?” the corporal asks cryptically as he removes his tablet from his belt.

“I need to speak with your superior,” Duncan answers dismissively.

Jones taps away at his tablet before reading the report silently. “The General is expecting you, Mr. Duncan,” he says warmly as he turns to address his subordinate. “Officer Carlson, you are due for re-education,” he says taking the rifle away from him.

“Yes, Sir!” Carlson affirms before making his way back to the guardhouse.

Facing Duncan, Jones speaks with a welcoming tone, “Please wait in the guardhouse until the general arrives. We don’t want anyone mistaking you for your lookalike”

Duncan nods in agreement and follows the corporal to the guardhouse.

#

The top floor of the Galactic Headquarters is a vast open lobby with two gigantic floor to ceiling glass walls overlooking the megalopolis on opposite ends. Of the remaining walls, one is lined with metal elevator doors and the other is covered in portraits of the royal family. There is a grand wooden door in the middle of the portrait covered wall, guarded by two heavily armoured soldiers.

A calm chime fills the lobby as one the elevator doors slides open. Duncan and General Brandon, a seventy-year-old man wearing his heavily decorated dress uniform who walks with a cane, steps out.

They are happily chatting with each other, oblivious to the two security officers escorting them. The soldiers guarding the door, thump to attention when the general approaches.

Brandon’s smile quickly fades. “There is still time to reconsider,” he says, “I can put you on the next shuttle out, no questions asked.”

A security officer steps up to Duncan, handcuffs in hand, and reaches to restrain him. The general gestures for him to wait as he pleads, “Think of Corine, you two found happiness once, I know you can find it again. Just give your relationship a little more time.”

Duncan wipes his hand against his lab coat and reaches out to shake Brandon’s hand. “Thank you for helping me end the war peacefully,” he says sincerely, “but that peace is in jeopardy and I need to do what I can to stop it from falling apart.”

The general shakes his hand before instructing the security officer to handcuff Duncan.

“Wait here,” Brandon instructs with a hint of despair, “I’ll make sure they don’t execute you on sight.”

One of the soldiers opens the door for the general, revealing a large boardroom lined with a platoon of heavily armoured soldiers along the glass perimeter of the room. Generals Grant, Alvarez, Lee, Okar, and Patel are seated along the sides of the wooden table and President Wilson sits at the head. The president is visually seething in anger at the sight of Duncan through the open door.

The soldiers inside the room stand at attention as General Brandon limps into the room and makes his way to the table. The soldier at the door closes it behind the general and returns to his post. Duncan exchanges intimidating glares with the two soldiers before turning to face the glass wall overlooking the megalopolis.

He slowly steps forward to test the soldiers’ reaction and is relieved that they are more interested in guarding the door than what he is doing. The two security guards escorting him stay close as he approaches the window stopping briefly at the portrait labeled ‘Prince Raza’.

“I really wish I’d be meeting with you again today,” he laments before stepping up to the glass wall.

Looking down at the other tiny skyscrapers that would dwarf all the buildings on Earth, the only movement he can see, is the millions of tiny vehicles flying between the tall buildings.

Duncan casually reaches into his lab coat’s inner pocket and, using the reflection to make sure the security guards don’t see him, stuffs Tessa’s dog tags firmly into the palm of his hand.

The wooden door swings open and a soldier inside the room quickly passes a message to the ones in the lobby. The escorts step aside, allowing Duncan to return to the guarded door.

“Enter,” one of the soldiers commands aggressively.

The two escorts try to follow Duncan, but the soldiers stop them from entering.

“That will be all,” the soldier orders.

The security officers look relieved as they turn to the elevators without hesitation.

Duncan enters through the open door and slowly makes his way to the table as the soldiers in the hallway seal him in. The four soldiers closest to Duncan pick up the escort duty and watch carefully for any suspicious actions.

Reaching the vacant chair at the foot of the table, a soldier stops and frisks him thoroughly. He confiscates the small metal slab and exits into the hallway with it while the next closest soldier fills in as the fourth escort.

As Duncan takes his seat, Generals Alvarez and Patel shift their chairs away from him. General Grant, a ninety-year-old man who is in peak physical shape, stares at Duncan violently as he struggles to remain still in his seat.

Brandon, sitting across from Grant, is ignoring Duncan’s presence as guilt covers his face. Generals Lee and Okar, are sitting closest to the president and look at Duncan with victorious delight.

President Wilson, unable to hold his rage any longer, slams his hands against the table. “What are you doing back here, Scientist!” he shouts. “I gave you everything you asked for and now you’ve come back to spit in my face!”

Confused, Okar asks, “What do you mean you gave him everything?”

“Please, call me Duncan,” he insists with a friendly tone.

The president rises from his chair and points at Duncan aggressively. “A genocidal maniac like you has no right to make demands!” he screams. “The second you stepped foot on my planet you nullified our previous agreement.”

Okar, shocked at what her president just said, looks to Lee for clarification. Lee returns the oblivious confused look.

“We’re both genocidal maniacs,” Duncan provokes, “but your title lets you feign innocence.”

“Isn’t that why you took on the Duncan pseudonym?” he accuses while stomping around the table.

Okar calmly rises from her chair and stops the president before he can get too close to Duncan. “Why have you returned?” she asks shrewdly.

Duncan looks her in the eyes and, with sincerity, says, “I’m here to confess my crimes.” his attention shifts to Wilson, “And refute the lies,” he taunts.

“Good,” Patel says pointing to the data recorder in the middle of the table, “start with Torus Five and work backwards through Ishtar—”

“I will take the blame for Torus Five,” Duncan interjects, “but Ishtar Seven was his crime, not mine,” he adds, accusing the president.

“Lies!” the president screams, trying to force his way past Okar. “We know that you used Ishtar Seven to test your weapons before your failed assault on—”

“I was on Ishtar Seven with the Scientist and Fleet Admiral Sheridan,” Brandon says with authority as he breaks his silence. “The only reason I’m sitting here today is because of him and his sacrifice.”

“What about our sacrifice?” Wilson snaps. “He killed trillions of our sons and daughters and, to thank him, we gave him one of our granddaughters and looked the other way!”

“You’ve killed quintillions,” Duncan rebukes, “but you haven’t sacrificed anything … yet.”

All the soldiers train their weapons on Duncan and enter a guarded stance.

“If you make another threat, my soldiers will execute you at this table,” the president declares with dominance.

Duncan smiles. “That’s why I could never do what you do,” he admits. “I was just hoping that after the Strategist failed you once, that you’d learn your lesson.”

“The Strategist is just a myth,” Okar says rolling her eyes.

“You’re confident that the president could give you better intelligence than General Patel?” he asks snidely.

“Don’t fall for his games!” Wilson warns. “Where is the Admiral now?”

“Fleet Admiral Sheridan,” Grant corrects angrily.

Agitated, the president rephrases his question, “Where is the former Fleet Admiral now?”

“She is back at our house,” Duncan states solemnly, “waiting for her grandfather’s visit.”

Wilson’s breathing becomes laboured as sweat forms on his face.

“Your messenger told me everything before I sent him on his way,” Duncan presses.

“How did you know where they were?” Grant demands angrily. “General Brandon is the only person on the council that knew the location of their safehouse!”

“You made a deal without informing the rest of us?” Okar asks angrily.

“That’s not important, the Scientist’s lying to divide the council and bring anarchy to the Federation,” Wilson explains.

An awkward silence falls over the room as Duncan and Wilson wait for the other to speak.

Grant looks at Brandon and asks, “Can you contact Corine to sort this out for us?”

“The Scientist has had six years to brainwash your granddaughter, General” Wilson rebukes, “we cannot trust anything she says.”

The entire high council looks at the president, horrified by his response. Wilson starts to cough periodically.

“Fleet Admiral Sheridan is the most integrous person in the galaxy,” Okar declares with pride. “No matter how brutal her spec. op. missions got, she is the only soldier who never faltered.” Wilson starts to look frightened as he tries to suppress his more frequent coughs. “Put her on the phone and she will clarify this mess,” she adds.

“I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” Duncan says grimly. “Your president ensured that Fleet Admiral Sheridan would not be able to address the council.” He slides the blood-stained dog tags across the table so that they land in front of Grant.

Between violent coughs, Wilson orders, “Execute—”

“Stand down!” Generals Okar, Grant and Alvarez command in unison cutting off their president.

“You destroyed Ishtar Seven,” Duncan scolds Wilson. “You lost the war. You unleashed a monster on a planet of innocent people. And then you begged me to clean up your mess.” Wilson’s coughing becomes so fierce that he slumps back into his chair. “Even after I lost everything from your delusional lust for power, I was so tired of all the death and killing, that I surrendered.” Duncan looks Okar in the eyes and sincerely says, “I should have followed the order of succession six years ago, you’re going to be a far better leader.”

President Wilson’s face is bright red, his eyes are swollen, and his coughing sounds painful as he gasps for air. Grant rises from his chair, rushes to the president’s side and punches at his face. Lee, springing from his seat, catches the punch before it strikes Wilson and forcefully keeps the enraged general away. Alvarez leaps to help prevent Grant, fueled by adrenaline, from killing the president.

“You’ve made me the youngest member of my family!” Grant proclaims with tears rolling down his cheeks as his anger shifts to sorrow. “I’ve lost everything because of you two.”

Wilson’s coughs start projecting blood into his hands and table. The soldiers and generals back away from the table leaving Duncan and the president alone.

“I’m sorry, General Grant,” Duncan laments, “if I had done this six years ago, your granddaughter would still be with us.”

The president looks across the empty table at Duncan who is watching every agonizing cough with sadistic pleasure.

“I know too well what it feels like to lose a family member,” Duncan informs the president with a dark foreboding tone, “so I will make sure your illegitimate son doesn’t feel that pain for long.”

With one final cough. the president’s blue face gasps forcefully for air before collapsing onto the table, dead.

The Generals look at each other in fear before looking to Okar for guidance.

“Lock him up with the other terrorists,” she commands. “And someone get a decontamination team up here immediately!”

The soldiers grab Duncan, pull him out of his chair and forcefully push him out of the room while he smiles triumphantly.

Chapter Seven

The Fiends

Duncan, restrained with handcuffs chained to ankle cuffs and a stun collar around his neck, is crammed into a descending elevator with six heavily armoured soldiers surrounding him. Four of the soldiers have their sidearms pressed against his chest while the one directly behind him is carrying his folded lab coat. Their leader, Sergeant Reinhold, stands directly in front of him, staring into his eyes through a tinted face shield.

Despite the show of force, Duncan remains calm and watches the digital display rapidly count from B50 to B100 when two dashes replace the digits. Reaching their destination, the elevator suddenly slows, causing the soldiers’ armour to clank and rattle under the increasing force. The sergeant turns to face the door as the elevator comes to a stop.

After an uncomfortable pause, the Warden’s voice comes through the speaker. “Yes?”

Reinhold presses the two unlabelled buttons at the bottom of the control panel. “This is Sergeant Reinhold,” he says, “my squad is transporting the Scientist to his cell.”

After a brief period of silence, the Warden’s says, “Prepare for transfer protocol Foxtrot.”

“Roger that,” the sergeant confirms before drawing his sidearm.

Turning to face his prisoner, he points his weapon at Duncan’s face. “At the ready!” he orders.

“Yes, Sir!” his squad shouts in unison.

The elevator door dings and slides open slowly to reveal a small rectangular room with four large metal barricades protecting a heavy vault door on the opposite side. Each barricade has a mounted machine gun with an operator and a rifleman pointing their weapons at the open elevator.

Beside the vault door is a steel plated office overlooking the processing room through bulletproof glass. The Warden, in his early thirties wears his federation uniform carelessly, is elated to see the Scientist finally being brought to his cell.

Reinhold and the two soldiers closest to him back into the room cautiously, keeping their sidearms pointed at Duncan and never glancing away. They continue moving backwards until they reach the vault door where they holster their sidearms, unsling their rifles and point them at Duncan.

“Ready!” the sergeant commands.

The soldier directly behind Duncan pushes him toward the door. “Move forward, Prisoner!” she orders.

Duncan does as he’s instructed as all the weapons in the room track him. The remaining soldiers in the elevator cautiously follow a meter behind him as he walks into the heavily fortified room.

“Hold your position, Prisoner!” Reinhold barks.

Duncan stops in the middle of the room and turns his head slightly to make eye contact with the Warden who grins back at him.

“Sealing the room!” the Warden shouts through the speakers as he scans his security pass across the first reader in his desk.

A loud buzz emanates from the elevator as the door slides shut. The room falls silent except for the faint sound of the ascending elevator.

“Room secure!” the sergeant confirms.

The Warden saunters into the fortified processing room, joyously fixated on Duncan as he holsters his sidearm. “I am going to have so much fun breaking you,” he taunts. “I wonder if you’ll scream louder than the Butcher did.”

Duncan, unable to hide his rage, turns to face the Warden. The chains on his restraints rattle as he turns, reminding him that there are fifteen armed soldiers looking for a reason to pull their triggers.

“Too bad he killed your interrogator afterwards,” Duncan taunts, “you’re just a puppy compared to her.”

The Warden drives an underhand punch into Duncan’s stomach, dropping him to the floor. Shackled and helpless on the floor, the Warden mercilessly kicks him in the ribs.

“Open the brig!” Reinhold orders trying to hide his disgust for the Warden’s actions.

The Warden regains his composure and gives the sergeant a disapproving glare. Shifting his attention to the soldier carrying Duncan’s lab coat, he asks, “What did he bring with him?”

She presents the folded lab coat and the metal slab to The Warden. “Just this piece of metal,” she says.

The Warden prods the slab cautiously before picking it up. “The Scientist is never carrying just a piece of metal,” he warns, “everything is a cog in his grand machine.” Finding nothing in his inspection of the slab, he places it next to the security monitors and turns his attention to the lab coat.

“You’ll have plenty of time to search those once the Scientist is safely locked in his cell, Warden,” Reinhold suggests.

“How did you capture the Scientist?” the Warden inquires.

“We arrested him during his meeting with the high council.”

The Warden looks at the sergeant skeptically and asks, “You believe that the Scientist came to meet with the high council without a plan to escape?”

The sergeant’s voice loses its authoritative tone, “I didn’t think about that, sir.”

“The only way to defeat the Scientist is to get further ahead of his multiple preplanned scenarios,” the Warden explains as he inspects the lab coat’s stitching for hidden compartments. “So, we need to understand where getting arrested sits in his timeline.”

Not finding anything out of place, the Warden tosses the lab coat into the office carelessly and scans his security pass across the second reader.

The snaps and whirs of the vault door slowly disengaging its locks echoes through the room. With a final loud snap, the grinding noise of the heavy door rolling open deafens the room.

On the other side of the door is a small enneagonal white room with eight tiny cells, five of which are barred shut. The Warden picks up a folded dark red jumpsuit and exits the office.

“Stand up, Prisoner!” he commands.

Duncan, fighting the pain in his ribs and his tight shackles, struggles to climb to his feet.

The Warden thrusts the jumpsuit into Duncan’s arms and barks, “Move forward, Prisoner!”

Cradling the jumpsuit in his arms, Duncan enters the prison. Sergeant Reinhold and the two soldiers next to him, walk backwards with their rifles pointed at him.

One by one the cell’s occupants, dressed in matching red jumpsuits, approach their sealed doors to see who their new roommate will be. The Scout, a clean-cut man whose eyes light up at the sight of Duncan occupies the first sealed cell on the left.

“They actually caught you?!” he cries in disbelief before laughing. “The Scientist is here for you, Warden!”

The Navigator, plugging his ears and stomping his feet, is repeatedly mumbling, “four hundred, twenty-one, twelve, thirty-six,” to himself anxiously.

“Why is he still alive!” the Pilot shouts as he climbs the barred wall like a monkey and rattles the metal with his small, hair covered body. “Give me your sidearm and I’ll end his reign of terror myself!”

“Don’t you dare give him that pleasure!” the Gladiator growls from the cot in her cell. “Let me out and I’ll crush his bones slowly,” she adds matter-of-factly as she rises from the bed and approaches the barred door.

Pushing her thick, scar covered, muscular arms through the bars, she shows off the open wounds on her calloused knuckles. The metal wall directly behind her is covered in fist sized dents and died blood.

Duncan, reaching the middle of the prison, anxiously scans the cells filled with known terrorists. His nerves calm when he sees that the Philosopher is sitting in the final sealed cell with her slim limbs eloquently folded together as she meditates peacefully. In her mid-twenties, she is ten years younger than any of the other prisoners.

“Hold your position, Prisoner!” the Warden commands.

Duncan stops as the Warden walks to the first open cell door.

“Get in your cell!” the Warden orders.

Doing as he’s instructed; the Warden pulls the barred door shut behind Duncan and swipes his security pass across the scanner on the wall. A loud clang rings through the prison as the door locks shut. The soldiers relax their stances, relieved to have the threat neutralized, they sling their rifles over their shoulders.

Reinhold approaches Duncan’s barred door and instructs, “Show me your hands, Prisoner.” He removes a handcuff key from his belt.

Duncan steps up to the barred wall where the sergeant removes his ankle restraints before sliding open the service hatch. Duncan slides his hands through the hatch allowing Reinhard to remove the handcuffs.

“Get in your jumpsuit, Prisoner,” he orders.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” the Warden dismisses, “that will be all.”

“Negative, Warden,” Reinhold replies, “I am under strict orders not to leave the prisoner’s side until General Okar speaks with him.”

Annoyed, the Warden commands, “You can wait for her outside.”

“I am not letting the Scientist out of my sight, until my C.G. orders it,” the sergeant replies defiantly.

“I’m—”, the Warden lashes out aggressively but stops. “Use the security cameras in my office if you must,” he continues with a calm tone. “But nothing enters or exits this prison without going through that bottleneck.” His tone becomes belittling as he adds, “Unless you’re not capable of defending a well-armed blockade.”

“Fall back to the processing room,” Reinhold orders begrudgingly. “Just don’t do anything the general will blame me for,” he requests, leaning in close to the Warden’s ear. “And if his plan is to kill you, I will not be able to get through that door in time,” he warns quietly.

Escorting the sergeant out, the Warden waves his security card over the door and seals himself in the prison with his trophies.

“Now my collection is only missing one,” he gloats.

“It’s a shame you broke the complete set,” Duncan sneers.

The Warden recklessly approaches his cell door. “That’s okay,” he taunts, “you’re the prized piece everyone wants.” Standing just outside of Duncan’s reach, he adds, “Everyone else is just a bonus.”

“Stop wasting our time!” the Gladiator shouts. “Either start poking him with painful objects or get him out of here so the rest of us can rot in peace.”

“If you don’t want to get your hands dirty, I’m pretty good with a knife,” the Pilot volunteers as he climbs down from the bars.

“You’ll have to wait until I’m finished with him, Pilot,” the Gladiator growls.

“It seems you’ve lost the faith of your colleagues,” the Warden replies with a grin.

Duncan lets out a deep sigh. “That’s what happens when you sell them out.”

The Gladiator lets out an angry scream and kicks the metal door with an incredible display of physical strength. “That’s got nothing to do with it!”

The Warden pulls a small remote from his belt and presses the button. All six stun collars activate simultaneously, knocking the Scout, Pilot, Navigator and Duncan to their knees.

“Is that all you’ve got?” the Pilot grunts through grit teeth.

The Navigator screams in pain, pleading, “No more! No more!” repeatedly.

The Philosopher, not breaking her meditative trance, stays silent as the muscles in her neck and face twitch under the electrical impulses. Tears of pain slowly dip from her closed eyes.

Duncan and the Scout do the best they can to hide their pain, while the Gladiator, with twitching muscles and red skin, steps away from the metal bars, staring directly at the Warden as if the collar wasn’t working.

When the Warden takes his thumb off the button, the Gladiator asks, “Did that make you feel like a big man?” She leans against the metal bars and disparagingly adds, “I don’t care what the Scientist has done, there is nothing more repugnant than torturing someone like the Navigator.”

“Is that right?” the Warden taunts, stepping into the center of the prison, showing off the remote as a deterrent. “Then let’s make a deal,” he says pointing toward the Gladiator. “If you get him to tell me where the Spy is, I’ll remove the man child’s collar.” He turns to Duncan and offers, “If you tell me where the Spy is, I won’t put that ogre in your cage.”

“If you sell out the Spy again, there’s nothing that will stop this ogre from getting in your cage,” the Gladiator states while she unbuttons her jumpsuit, exposing a black sports bra and her very defined muscles.

Tying the sleeves around her waist, she starts stretching her arms and shoulders showing off the hundreds of healed scars, dozens as old as she is, covering her body.

Duncan leans against his cell door and asks, “What if I told you she arrived with me?”

The Warden’s visible fearful expression is a stark contrast to the Gladiator’s joyful reaction. “Then you’d be lying,” he says nervously, calling his bluff.

“You’re smarter than you look,” Duncan admits with a smile. “But my team will still be free within the next five minutes.”

Intrigued, the Warden turns to face Duncan and asks, “What makes you so sure that you’re going to escape?”

With conviction in his voice, Duncan declares, “Your egotism is so dependable that I was able to anticipate this situation six years ago.”

“This facility was built in complete secrecy, there is no way you could have devised an escape plan,” the Warden says before coughing.

“That’s not the secret that will make you release me,” Duncan replies matter-of-factly.

“What if I leave and never come back?” he asks.

“Then you will die painfully while I will spend the rest of my life in this cell,” Duncan confesses, glancing toward the Gladiator, “However short that maybe. But you inherited your father’s arrogance, didn’t you, James.” Fear saps the Warden’s confident expression. “You still haven’t realized that you’re already dead, have you?”

The Warden cautiously approaches Duncan’s cell door, watching his hands carefully for contraband.

“You spent the last six years bragging about breaking the Scientist, only to die within ten minutes of meeting him,” the Gladiator declares.

Looking over his shoulder to see the Gladiator surrendering to her bunk in defeat, the Warden continues to step closer to Duncan’s cell.

“You know what I love most about genetic weapons?” Duncan asks morbidly.

The Warden, looking back at where he’s walking, realizes that he has gotten to close to the cell door. Duncan reaches through the bars, snatches his collar and slams him against the barred door.

“One weapon is capable of eradicating an entire family!” Duncan proclaims with vengeful pride, staring into the Warden’s fear filled eyes. “You’ll be reunited with your father soon, Mr. Wilson.”

“Wilson?!” the Pilot shouts in disbelief.

Trying to control his erratic breathing, the Warden finds the strength to overpower Duncan’s grip and free himself.

His heart is pounding, his coughs are violent, and his face is covered in sweat. He runs to the sealed vault door, waving his hands frantically at the camera.

“What’s taking so long?” he squeaks between coughs.

“It’s too bad you put my little toy inside your office,” Duncan says as he watches the Warden fish through his pockets. “The armoured walls would have acted as a faraday cage and prevented it from slowing down your security feed,” he gloats. “The soldiers won’t know you’re in trouble for another five minutes or so.”

Covered in absolute terror at the sound of Duncan’s cell door unlocking, the Warden realizes that he no longer has his security card. Reaching for his sidearm, he turns quickly to face Duncan and shouts, “Did you plan on—” He stops mid-sentence, staring directly into Duncan’s confident grin as he discovers that his holster is empty.

With murderous resolve, Duncan slowly approaches the Warden, stolen sidearm in hand. “Did the Strategist tell you to break the Butcher?” he asks aggressively, pointing the weapon at his chest, “or was that just an attempt to get father to notice you?”

The Warden falls to his knees with tears rolling down his cheeks as he tries to fight against his painfully violent coughs. “It was the Strategist’s idea,” he admits.

Duncan kneels in front of him, “What do you know about her?”

“You used to communicate with her,” he sobs between coughs, “she never shares anything about herself. I don’t even know if the woman I spoke to was her or just a puppet.” He looks directly into Duncan’s eyes with an expression that begs for mercy. “I don’t know anything more than you do; I swear.”

“I figured as much,” Duncan sighs rising to his feet. “Thank you for your honesty.” he raises the sidearm and discharges it into the Warden’s forehead.

The Warden falls silent as his dead body slowly crumples to the floor.

Chapter Eight

The Elusion

Smoke plumes from the tip of the sidearm, as the prison falls silent for the first time since Duncan entered.

“I knew you’d save us!” the Scout cheers.

Duncan lowers the sidearm and heads straight for the Philosopher’s cell. She awakens from her meditation as he unlocks her door.

“I never intended for you to get mixed up in this,” he apologizes. “They got to you before we could.” He slides the door open, places his hands on her shoulders and looks mournfully into her eyes. “I can’t image what you had to endure.”

The Philosopher hugs Duncan as if she were hugging her father. “My corporeal manifestation may have been incarcerated,” she says cheerfully, “but my pneuma cannot be immured.”

“Be careful, he preys on young women!” the Gladiator growls.

Duncan removes the power cell from the sidearm, inspects its condition, and carefully bends one of the connectors before reassembling the weapon. The Philosopher waits in her open cell as Duncan goes to free the Navigator next.

Curled up in the fetal position in a corner of his cell, the Navigator is stomping his feet against the wall while repeatedly muttering, “Four hundred, twenty-one, twelve, thirty-six!”

When Duncan slides the door open, the Navigator climbs to his feet, stomps right up to Duncan’s face and, without making eye contact, asks, “Why are you four hundred, twenty-one days, twelve hours, and thirty-six minutes late?”

“Because I’m weak and selfish,” Duncan apologizes sincerely.

Looking around the enneagon prison, the Navigator sees the Warden’s corpse, dripping blood from the tiny singed hole in his head.

“You’re always making a mess,” he says returning to his immaculately made bed.

He removes the sheets one at a time and folds them into perfect squares at the foot of his bunk. Duncan returns to the Warden where he removes the sidearm holster from his belt.

The Navigator exits his cell with the white flat sheet folded neatly in his arms. Reaching the Warden’s side, he flings the folded sheet open in the air above the body and allows it to gently drape over the corpse.

“That will do for now,” he says matter-of-factly before returning to his cell.

Approaching the Scout’s cell, Duncan asks, “Now that you’re free, are you going to retire?” Duncan passes the holstered sidearm through the service hatch and adds, “Or are you with me to the end.”

Unbuttoning his jumpsuit, he ties the arms around his skinny waist before taking the weapon and securing it into his makeshift belt. “I’d say till death do us part, but I don’t think death will separate us.”

Duncan opens the Scout’s cell door and, passing the Gladiator, heads straight for the Pilot’s cell.

“Are you going to give me a weapon too?” the Pilot asks as he bounces around the cell.

Sliding the door open, Duncan responds, “When I’m confident you won’t use it on me.”

Duncan returns to the Gladiator’s cell, where she is standing silently behind the sealed door staring angrily back at him.

“I’ve betrayed you,” he admits shamefully, “and it is true that I sold you for my freedom. But due to the nature of our mission, the Spy advised that we not enlist you.” Her angry glare conveys more than anything she could say. “I know there is nothing that I can do to warrant your forgiveness,” he adds, swiping the security card across her door’s scanner, “and I have no right to ask for your help—”

The Gladiator throws the cell door open as soon as it unlocks and quickly jabs at Duncan’s face with her clenched fist. Expecting the attack, Duncan leans just enough to evade the hit.

The Gladiator quickly shifts her weight, transfers her forward momentum into her elbow and strikes Duncan across the jaw.

Dazed, Duncan is caught by surprise when the Gladiator grabs the collar of his shirt with one hand and the waist of his pants with the other. Lifting him off his feet, she rushes across the prison and slams him against the backwall of his cell. He collapses to the floor, rolls onto his back and looks up at the powerful woman towering over him.

“How dare you accuse her of your misdeeds!” she growls. “You’re the only monster I know that would do something that horrible to Butch!”

“You’re right—” Duncan tries to affirm.

“I’m done listening to you!” she says, taking command. “I don’t care what kind of brainwashing you claim he underwent; I could have reminded him who he was! We had a connection that no one could have broken! But instead of telling me what was happening, you decided to boil him, surrender to our enemy, and shove me into this box for six years!”

She leans over top of Duncan and pushes her knee into his chest until he starts gasping for air. “We won the war, but your sociopathy drove you to kill your best friend and turn the rest of us into criminals … just so that you could run away with an enemy general’s granddaughter? Butch and I could have been on Torus Five with a six-year-old right now! But you lost your resolve at the last-minute!”

Duncan inhales deeply when the Gladiator removes her knee and stands up. “You’ll never understand what it feels like to keep losing hope of having children.” She closes and locks the cell door as she leaves. “You’re mentally incapable of it.”

The Scout draws his sidearm and points it at the Gladiator’s back. “Let him out,” he demands.

Duncan pulls himself to his feet and, between fast anxious breaths of a panic attack, he orders, “Put the weapon away.”

“This is treasonous,” the Scout replies, tightening his grip.

“I don’t know what’s more foolish,” the Gladiator snarls, “your blind loyalty to this slug,” she turns toward the Scout with a fearless disposition, “or that you pulled a weapon on me.”

“What about abandoning the man with the escape plan, for whatever rage fueled revenge fantasy you’ve got planned?” the Scout counters.

“All I have to do is use this card on that door, and fight my way out,” she retorts. “It doesn’t get any easier than that.”

“Your plan is to open a loud, slow moving door into a fortified bunker with fifteen heavily armoured, well trained soldiers covering it and take it by force with a single sidearm?” Duncan says derisively. “Then you’ll summon the secure elevator?” he continues as he sits on his bunk, trying to hide his internal suffering from the others. “Fight your way through the biggest military stronghold in the galaxy. Get to the hangar where you will force open the blast doors, steal a shuttle, escape the planetary defenses, and then take on the entire Federation armada?”

The Gladiator turns to face Duncan. “That sounds about right,” she says, “but you forgot the part where I crush the Strategist’s skull with my bare hands.”

“Just like that?” he asks, trying to gain control over his anxiety.

“You’ll be surprised what a competent leader can do,” she answers derisively.

“Thirty-seven seconds,” the Navigator warns calmly.

“Until what?” the Gladiator responds without looking away from Duncan.

“Thirty-three seconds,” he corrects.

“That’s how long we have until the guards know the Warden’s lost control,” Duncan explains.

The Gladiator grimaces, “You have five seconds to convince me to work with you one last time.”

“If we’re going to defeat the Strategist, we need the full team,” he says persuasively.

“I can defeat her on my own,” she states angrily.

“Twenty seconds,” the Navigator warns.

“The full team includes the Spy,” Duncan clarifies.

The Gladiator snarls in defeat before releasing Duncan from his cell.

“Hide along that wall,” Duncan commands pointing to the vault door. “They won’t enter without their cameras.”

The Pilot, with the Warden’s collar key in hand, removes the stun collars around the Gladiator and Duncan’s necks. With all the stun collars on the floor, the Pilot, Gladiator, and Scout take shelter beside the vault door.

Duncan nervously stops the Philosopher and Navigator as they step toward the rest of the team. “Stay in your cells and close the doors,” he says calmly, “it will be safer for you there.”

They return to their cells as the discarded stun collars’ LEDs turn red and start popping as electricity arcs between the contacts.

“Release the Warden!” Sergeant Reinhold’s voice fills the prison’s speakers before the vault door whirs and grinds.

“What’s your plan?” the Gladiator asks as Duncan takes cover beside her.

“We hold our position until they stand down,” he replies matter-of-factly between short breaths.

“Great, he’s gone senile,” the Pilot lambastes. “You’re the only person in the history of the galaxy that gets the upper hand and surrenders.”

“It’s called leading by example,” Duncan jokes.

“It’s called something else,” the Gladiator says angrily as she notices Duncan’s sweat, shallow breaths and reddening skin.

The vault door slides open far enough for the Warden’s covered corpse to become visible to the hunkered soldiers.

“Sir, something isn’t right,” one of the soldiers proclaims.

Sergeant Reinhold, with his rifle trained on the open vault door, cautiously exits the office to find the body. Returning to check the security feed, he sees the Warden running for the vault door.

“He’s hacked the cameras!” he shouts, smashing the metal slab with his rifle’s butt. “That was a neat trick, Scientist,” he says, hunkering down behind the office wall and training his weapon at the open vault door, “but you cannot escape that room. Return to your cells, or I will be forced to execute you without a trial.”

The Scout raises his sidearm and looks to Duncan for the go ahead. Duncan shakes his head disapprovingly and gestures for him to holster it.

“Final warning, Scientist!” the sergeant warns, gesturing for the soldier beside him to get ready.

Removing a metal cylinder from her belt, the soldier wraps her finger around the pin and waits for confirmation.

Distracted by the sound of the elevator descending behind them, Reinhold orders, “Hold your positions,” stopping the soldier from arming the grenade.

The sergeant steps back into the office and checks the security feed to see that the elevator is empty and not active. Initiating the elevator lockdown, the sound of the descending elevator slows to a stop.

Reinhold returns to his defensive position and orders, “Light them up!”

The soldier pulls the pin on the stun grenade and prepares to throw it but stops when the sound of the elevator descending resumes.

“Abort!” Reinhold orders, moving his rifle to cover the elevator door. “Form all round defence position!”

The soldiers closest to the elevator move around their barricades and hunker into defensive positions to cover their flank.

The elevator comes to a stop and the door slides open, revealing General Grant angrily waiting at the door with two soldiers beside him. He starts to step into the room and sees the weapons trained on him.

“What’s going on here?!” he barks as his security team pushes him into the corner of the elevator and protect him with their armoured bodies.

“Stand down!” Reinhold frightenedly commands. “General, we’ve got the situation under control, but we need to lock down the elevator to ensure that the situation remains contained.”

“Negative, Sergeant,” Grant refutes as he pushes past his guards and enters the processing room. “There has been a change in plans.”

“With all due respect, General,” the sergeant states, “the terrorist is currently out of his cell and it’s inadvisable to have a high value target anywhere near him.”

“Only one body?” Grant asks, pointing at the covered corpse in the prison. “Consider yourselves lucky.” He steps to the open vault door and peaks in at Duncan and his team hunkered against the wall. “You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” he orders.

Reinhold nervously replies, “My orders are—”

“Your orders have changed,” Grant reaffirms.

“Move out!” the sergeant begrudgingly commands.

The fifteen soldiers pile into the elevator as Grant turns to look at his personal soldiers. “All of you,” he clarifies.

With seventeen armoured soldiers crammed into the tiny elevator with their rifles, Reinhold scans his security card and sends the elevator up to the surface levels.

The general enters the office and sits in the chair, eyeing the automated turret switch sitting in the ‘disabled’ position. “Is Corine actually dead?”

Duncan, signaling for his team to wait, steps into the processing room and looks at the General through the armoured glass. “Yes,” he replies with anxious grief.

“What happened to the assailant?”

“He’s incurring the full extent of my wrath.”

“Is it painful?”

“Unimaginably,” Duncan exults.

Grant laughs as he watches the delayed security feed of the Gladiator beating up Duncan. “Good,” he says. “And you’re positive the president issued the hit?”

“He was just the Strategist’s mouthpiece.”

“Are you able to prove this?” the general asks.

“Not irrefutably,” Duncan admits.

“Then how do you intend to bring her to justice?”

Without hesitation, Duncan vows, “I will kill her.”

The general summons the elevator and says, “Looks like we have finally agreed on something.”

The Philosopher exits her cell and joins the rest of the team as they enter the processing room. Duncan reaches into the office, puts on his lab coat and picks up the metal slab.

“How did you manage to smuggle a weapon through security to kill the Warden?” Grant asks. “Especially since my team searched everything thoroughly after you killed the president?”

Duncan taps his coat. “I hid a genetically engineered adenovirus designed to quickly infect everyone who came in contact with my lab coat directly, or indirectly” he gloats. “Once I entered the capitol building, all of the former president’s close male relatives were doomed.”

“You attacked his entire family?” Grant snarls disapprovingly.

“He’s turned us both into the solitary member of our families,” Duncan states as he pries the damaged cover off the metal slab. “Coupled with the torture his son has inflicted on my friends, it was time I cleansed the gene pool.”

He pulls the damaged circuit board fragments out of the cavity to reveal a folded piece of paper and a black cube identical to the enigma he gave Ekon.

“With the Strategist’s mouthpiece dead, she will be looking for a new one,” Duncan warns, sliding the cube and paper toward Grant. “Warn General Okar that if the Strategist doesn’t contact her, then she has plans for her ousting.”

“The Strategist is a myth used to keep soldiers in line,” Grant answers. “But in hindsight, her existence would answer a lot of questions.”

“She is very real,” he cautions, “the best thing you can do is get as far away from here as you can, as soon as you can.” Pointing to the paper he adds, “Follow these instructions and Mrs. Sun will take you to your granddaughter.”

“Don’t think I’m on your side,” Grant asserts. “Your callous actions are toxic to the galaxy and you must be stopped.” He becomes visibly agitated as he reads the paper. “But you and my granddaughter loved each other,” his tone becomes sincere, “so I won’t get in your way.”

An empty elevator arrives, and the general opens the door from the desk. Duncan nods in agreement and leads his team into the elevator.

“Gladiator,” Grant says pulling her from the group. “If I’ve made a mistake letting him go, kill him,” he orders.

“Gladly,” she says with a chilling smile.

Following her to the elevator, Grant instructs, “Go to floor twenty, keep your heads down, and make your way to hangar nine. General Brandon is waiting for you there.”

“You’re not coming?” Duncan asks in disbelief

“You killed the custodian,” the general responds while scanning his card over the reader inside the elevator, “someone has to clean up this mess.”

“Just don’t get caught up in it!” Duncan warns as the door slides shut.

“I can’t believe you actually sold us out for a girl,” the Gladiator mocks as the elevator begins its ascent.

“A jingo girl,” the Pilot adds in disgust.

“I’m sure the Scientist was just getting close to the general’s granddaughter to save us,” the Scout defends.

“On Ishtar Seven,” the Pilot criticizes, “one year before we were captured?”

“He’s always five stops ahead of everyone,” the Scout explains, “he knew that we were going to be imprisoned, just like he knew his connection to the general would save us!”

“If he knows everything, why didn’t he save Ishtar Seven?” the Pilot talks as if Duncan isn’t standing right in front of him. “Or Torus Five? How about the Butcher and the Courier?”

“We didn’t save them either,” the Scout admits, “but he did just free us from that horrid prison—”

“We aren’t out yet,” Duncan corrects as the elevator slows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Pilot asks.

With an ominous tone the Philosopher states, “We must abscond from the scourges to become disenthralled.”

“Thanks, that really cleared things up,” the Pilot mutters to himself sarcastically as the elevator stops on the twentieth floor.

The doors slide open, revealing hundreds of unarmoured security guards processing passenger’s credentials, searching bags and moving cargo.

The Pilot opens his mouth to shout, but the Philosopher slaps her hand firmly over his mouth. “Abscond,” she whispers.

Duncan steps through the elevator door to quietly lead the team around the checkpoint, when a nearby guard notices the red jumpsuits.

“Prison break!” he screams pointing toward the open elevator.

Duncan slowly raises his hands and blocks the door with his body as the entire security team hunkers down in their stations, training their sidearms on him. The Scout carefully reaches for his sidearm and the Navigator, standing in the back corner of the elevator, covers his ears tightly as he begins stomping his feet against the floor.

The Gladiator gets close to the Navigator, without touching him, and shields him with her body. With a calm motherly tone, she slowly counts to ten and then back to one until the Navigator stops stomping his feet.

The non-security personnel flee the processing room through the nearest doors.

Officer Carlson and twenty-four armoured guards flood into the room with their rifles drawn.

“Mr. Duncan?” he asks. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been reassigned,” Duncan replies calmly, hiding the fact that he’s barely holding back a panic attack. “Check with my C.G. if you need confirmation.”

Afraid to repeat his earlier mistake, Carlson lowers his rifle and reaches for the tablet on his belt. “Of course—”

“Remain at the ready!” Captain Mehra orders, placing his hand on Carlson’s shoulder.

Complying to his orders, Carlson points his weapon at Duncan.

“Do not let the Scientist get into your heads!” Mehra commands while approaching the open elevator.

The guards fearfully whisper, “The Scientist?” to each other as the younger, inexperienced officers develop a nervous tremor in their hands. Duncan, seeing a young officer shaking in his peripheral vision, turns his head toward the frightened man.

The sweat drenched security officer gasps for air as he is unable to hold his sidearm level. When Duncan makes eye contact with him, he accidently discharges his sidearm and faints.

The blast erupts from the sidearm, darts between Duncan and Mehra’s faces and terminates against the wall beside the elevator.

Startled by the blast, everyone ducks behind cover, except for Duncan who presses against the elevator doors with all his might as his heart pounds frantically.

“Hold your fire!” Mehra screams, quickly scanning the room. Determining that the inexperienced officers are likely to cause friendly injuries, he orders, “Everyone who isn’t in my company is dismissed!” Pointing to the unconscious officer, he adds, “and take him with you before he wakes up and kills everyone.”

Two of the unarmoured security officers drag their unconscious colleague out of the room as everyone else quickly exits.

The Philosopher steps up to Duncan and quietly says, “Your wits inveigle your form, your psyche unfetters your agony.”

Focusing on the Philosopher’s words, Duncan controls his anxiety and displays a confident demeanour as the captain turns to face him.

“You really are fearless, aren’t you?” he asks in amazement, looking at the smoldering hole in the wall.

“It’s just a healthy friendship with trigonometry,” Duncan replies with a smile.

“Too bad your friendship didn’t tell you that marching through a security checkpoint in prison uniforms is a terrible idea,” the captain derides.

“I guess General Grant still enjoys making me sweat,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m on my way to—”

“There is no way General Grant is involved,” Mehra interjects. “The only place you are going is back to your detention block,” he says pointing at the elevator.

“I would never try to manipulate you, Captain,” Duncan says with a patronizing tone, “I’m just worried what General Brandon will say when you interfere with his mission.”

Seething with anger, Mehra mocks, “And I suppose General Okar is expecting you for tea as well?” He reaches for his holstered sidearm and measures Duncan’s response to his escalation.

Seeing that Duncan has remained calm, the captain reluctantly asks, “Officer Carlson, is General Brandon currently in hangar nine?”

Carlson replies, “He is, Sir.”

“Is he preparing a shuttle?” the captain asks skeptically.

“He is, Sir.”

Angry that he is about to let the Scientist go free, Mehra removes his hand from his holstered sidearm and steps away to let Duncan pass.

Before he can step forward, the captain raises his hand to stop him.

“What is the general transporting?” he asks haughtily staring into Duncan’s eyes.

Carlson slings his rifle over his shoulder, removes the tablet from his belt and quickly taps through it. “It’s classified, Sir,” he replies nervously.

Mehra’s prideful demeanor fades as he removes the tablet from his belt. Pulling up the flight details, he discovers that the cargo details are classified to him as well. Checking the classified crew list, he learns that there are six redacted names. Unable to make eye contact with Duncan or his subordinates, he returns his tablet to his belt.

“Officer Carlson,” he says nervously, “please escort the Scientist and his crew to their shuttle.”

“Yes, Sir!” Officer Carlson affirms. “Right this way, Mr. Duncan,” he says, leading Duncan out of the checkpoint.

Mehra instructs his armoured officers to get the checkpoint active again while he draws his radio and heads toward the nearest guardhouse.

#

An unmarked shuttle sits alone in the middle of hangar 9, facing the open blast doors ready for takeoff. Officer Carlson escorts Duncan and his team to the shuttle as General Brandon hobbles down the loading ramp precariously, unable to use his cane due to the crate of electronics in his hands.

“Why is there always a security lockdown involved when you arrive?” Brandon asks reverently.

“We weren’t all blessed with your catlike slink,” Duncan smirks, taking the crate from the general’s hands.

“It doesn’t help that you decided to march through the security checkpoint with five literal red flags,” the general gests pointing at the dark red jumpsuits. “I’ve placed your intake boxes next to the crew cabins.”

As his team enters the shuttle, Duncan holds the Pilot back. “Are you still able to fly?” he asks.

The Pilot pulls his arm free and, with an insulted tone, says, “I’d die before I became unable to fly.”

“Good, get ready to launch as soon as possible,” Duncan commands.

Giving Duncan a very sloppy, disrespectful salute, the Pilot flippantly replies, “Yes, Captain!” before rejoining the others in the shuttle.

Duncan turns to Carlson. “Thank you for your help, Officer,” he says handing him the crate of electronics, “would you mind dumping these into the incinerator?”

Taking the crate, the officer starts to walk away before turning back and curiously asks, “Are you really the Scientist?”

Duncan glances to Brandon to see his disapproving head shake before stepping up to the officer. “I am,” he says matter-of-factly while reading his reaction.

“I don’t care what anyone else says,” Carlson blurts out joyously, “you saved my brother on Ishtar Seven!” He leans in closely to Duncan and whispers, “I also know the truth about Torus Five.” General Brandon steps closer, subtly reaching for his sidearm. “All of the Torians were terrorists and you gave them what they deserved!” the officer elaborates. “You should be regarded as a hero!”

Duncan steps back and scornfully reveals, “I am a Torian.”

Carlson turns pale and starts babbling incoherently. Brandon clears his throat, nonverbally conveying a message to Duncan.

“But things had gotten out of control,” Duncan sighs, “and it was the only thing I could do to end the war.”

The general removes his hand from his sidearm.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Carlson says sincerely as he quickly makes his leave.

Duncan turns back to Brandon and asks, “Is there anything else you need to do before we launch?”

“All of the tracking devices have been removed,” the general replies, “everything has been fuelled up, and you are clear to launch as soon as General Grant.” Brandon trails off realizing that Grant didn’t arrive with Duncan. “Where is the general?” he asks fearfully.

“He said he had to stay behind to clean up my mess.”

“What mess?” Brandon asks angrily. “General Grant was going to release you and bring you here. All you had to do was wait.” Brandon starts hobbling toward the exit. “You need to leave now; I’ll send General Grant out on the next transport … if I’m not thrown in your cell first.”

Duncan enters the shuttle, closing the loading ramp behind him, and makes his way to the cockpit. The Pilot and Navigator have changed their clothes and are finishing their prelaunch systems checks.

“Fire it up,” Duncan commands sitting down at the communication station.

The Pilot engages the shuttle’s engines, prompting the rest of the crew to make their way into the cockpit and find their seats.

A soft voice crackles through the headsets. “Disengage your engines, Shuttle Sixty-Three,” she orders. “All transportation into and out of the capitol is suspended.”

“What do we do, Scientist?” the Pilot asks.

“Remember that this bucket only has a handful of countermeasures,” the Gladiator informs. “It’s going to be completely useless against an interceptor let along a battleship.”

“If you don’t think you can handle it, you should do as she says,” Duncan taunts.

As the shuttle begins to hover, the Pilot raises the landing gear. “I already told you that I’d die before I give up!” he says contemptuously. “But as long as you die too, I’m happy with the alternative as well!”

“Abort your launch immediately, Shuttle Sixty-Three,” the voice orders. “This is your final warning.”

“Sorry about that, Primus Four,” Duncan transmits his reply, “this recruit was a little too excited to fly. We are aborting our training exercise now.”

The Pilot thrusts the throttle forward, launching the shuttle through the open hangar door.

Quickly scanning the skyline, the Navigator calmly instructs, “Fifteen degrees left, eighty-two degrees up.”

The Pilot adjusts the shuttle’s course exactly as instructed, creating an incredible amount of force pushing all the shuttle’s occupants deep into their seats. The planet’s defensive weapons try to track the shuttle as it races toward the edge of the atmosphere in a near vertical ascent.

Once they exit the weapon’s range, the Pilot pulls the throttle back, easing the force on the occupants. Entering the thermosphere, the closest orbiting battleships start turning toward them as they rapidly approach.

Catching his breath, Duncan transmits, “Primus Four, this is the Scientist. I believe General Okar wants to speak with me.”

The radio falls silent as the shuttle’s ‘weapon lock’ warning alarms start squealing.

“Why are you provoking them?” the Gladiator laments.

“Trust in the Scientist,” the Scout defends, “he spent six years preparing for this!”

The Gladiator rolls her eyes as the Navigator looks to Duncan for guidance.

“Sector five seven three,” Duncan says clearly, but flashes three, five, two with his hand.

Nodding, the Navigator turns back to his console.

Okar’s voice fills the headsets, “This is Acting President Okar. The armada has been ordered to use any means necessary to stop you.”

“I need the target!” the Pilot shouts nervously, focused on the overwhelming armada.

“Thirteen point two seconds!” the Navigator reassures.

“Madam President,” Duncan says flatteringly, “it is so nice to hear your voice again.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Scientist,” Okar responds, quickly coming to the point, “you will either surrender, or die.”

“We are directly between your armada and the Galactic Headquarters,” he warns, “If you shoot at us, you will inflect significant collateral damage on your own city.”

“We’ve improved on the systems you used against us,” Okar’s voice has become agitated, “they won’t miss.”

“Have you met the Pilot?” he taunts as the Pilot moves the shuttle’s hull around the engine. “I’ve never been able to develop something he couldn’t evade.”

Seeing the Navigator raise his hand and start counting down on his fingers. The Pilot activates the warp engine, puts the throttle in neutral and stares at the monitor, waiting for his target to appear as the stars and the defending armada begin to distort.

“Shuttle Sixty-Three, disengage your warp engine!” the soft voice panickily shouts. “You’re too close to the planet!”

“Fire!” Okar commands.

The Navigator triumphantly slaps the final key on his console. A red reticle appears over the top edge of the armada’s largest battleship. The Pilot flicks the flight controls, snapping the targeting reticle over the destination node, turning both markers green, and engages the warp bubbles.

“Let’s see who causes more damage to the planet, Acting President” Duncan taunts.

The entire armada launches a volley of missiles toward the shuttle as a burst of directed-energy weapon bolts attack the shuttle at light speed. The warp engine pushes the shuttle out of the incoming assault and quickly accelerates past the speed of light.

The warping bubble around the shuttle causes the planet’s rotation to halt momentarily, causing enormous tidal waves to form along the oceans’ coasts.

The waves crash into the cities, flooding the streets and dragging the coastal buildings into the ocean as they recede. A series of powerful earthquakes restart the planet’s rotation once the warp bubble has stopped pushing against the planet.

The energy bolts contract under the planet’s gravity, raining down on the capital city like shooting stars. Each dense ball explodes violently as they tear down the enormous skyscrapers and set the city on fire. The armada’s missiles, nearing the edge of the planet’s mesosphere, ignite into flames before exploding brilliantly as they cross the mesopause.

During its rapid escape, Duncan’s shuttle avoids colliding with the battleship by less than a meter, causing the warp bubble to tear the battleship in half. A giant blue globe of fire silently pushes the two halves away, until the entire wreckage turns dark when the fireball dissipates.

#

Strapped into their seats, the shuttle’s crew watches the completely black screens as they fly through space faster than the speed of light.

“Alright genius,” the Pilot says angrily, spinning his chair to face Duncan. “You got us away from the planet, but you told them where to wait.”

Duncan pulls a pad of paper from his console and scribbles three numbers onto it. “We aren’t heading toward those coordinates,” Duncan replies.

“They can still track our trajectory,” the Pilot criticizes, “and they’ve adapted their defensive positioning after your last hit and run assault crippled the entire system.”

“That’s why we are making a series of short unpredictable jumps,” Duncan says, getting out of his seat.

“That’s the problem!” the Pilot scolds. “Primus has scattered its fleet around the system, ensuring that you will always arrive within range of their sentries,” he explains.

The Navigator states, “Thirteen point two seconds.”

Duncan places the numbered note onto the Navigator’s console and instructs, “Do what it takes to get us here undetected.”

Without responding, the Navigator takes the paper, pulls up a star map onto his console’s screen and starts designing a course around the galaxy. The Gladiator watches Duncan carefully as he returns to his seat beside her. A rainbow ring appears on the shuttle’s monitors and quickly expands into regular space as the shuttle collapses its warp bubbles. The Pilot turns his chair forward and grabs the flight controls as the shuttle’s ‘weapon lock’ alarms start screaming again.

“Can you still ride the bubble?” Duncan asks as he fastens his harness.

“Can I still ride the bubble?” the Pilot sneers disabling the warp engine and pushing the throttle forward.

“Ten battleships have weapons lock!” the Gladiator screams readying the countermeasures.

A distorted tunnel erupts from the bow of each battleship, hundreds of thousands of kilometers away, placing the shuttle in the middle of the convergent point.

The Pilot snaps the throttle into its neutral position, reengages the warp engine, slams the throttle forward and pulls the flight controls to the right with all his might. The engine whines and thumps as the Pilot rapidly toggles the warp engine on and off.

The warp bubbles form around the shuttle as white energy fills the distorted tunnels at the speed of light. Just before the energy beams collide with the shuttle, it instantly skips out of the way, riding on the edge of a series of warp bubbles forming beneath them. The beams collide and scatter their energy in a bright flash of light.

The Pilot struggles to hold the flight controls while the other shuttle occupants are clutching onto their harnesses tightly, fighting against the accelerating forces trying to pull them out of their chairs.

The Navigator puts a new target node onto the main monitor, prompting the Pilot to end his stunt, redirect the shuttle toward the new destination, and escape with the warp engine.

“That’s the third time you’ve questioned my flying abilities!” the Pilot gloats triumphantly. “Did you want me to do another flyby to convince you further?”

The warp bubble quickly fades, as they appear beside a sound pulse satellite. The Pilot reacts quickly to avoid colliding with the satellite.

“A little heads up next time!” the Pilot scoffs.

The Navigator creates a new destination reticle on the screen and the Pilot jumps away before any ship could detect their presence.

“You had two point three five seconds to spare,” the Navigator replies matter-of-factly. “Giving you a prior warning would have been redundant.”

The Pilot mutters to himself incoherently as the shuttle reaches its next destination, in the shadow of a blue ice giant.

The Navigator instructs, “Thirty-three point eight degrees to the right, twenty-one point six seconds forward.”

Checking her console to find no hostile ships with a sightline, the Gladiator leaps from her seat, crosses the cockpit and presses her elbow against Duncan’s throat. “Are we heading for the Spy now?” she growls.

Duncan calmly looks up at her and, with a strained voice, says, “As soon as we shake the Feds.”

The Gladiator snarls and presses her elbow deeper into his throat. “Then give me a reason not to kill you.”

Struggling to breathe, Duncan answers “You still need me to take you to her safehouse.”

“Five seconds,” the Pilot warns.

“Six point three,” the Navigator quickly corrects.

The Gladiator reluctantly releases Duncan. “Don’t mistake my leniency for weakness,” she warns, returning to her seat.

As the shuttle reaches its destination, the Navigator creates a new target on the monitor just over the edge of the planet’s visible boundary. The Pilot lines up the shuttle, reengages the warp engine and leaps across the edge of the ice giant, causing the gaseous atmosphere to warp and bulge as they pass.

The shuttle makes a series of short, fast trips, bouncing around empty sections of interstellar space. Entering their ninth jump with the warp engine, the Navigator unfastens his harness and pridefully proclaims, “No one can track us now.”

Duncan gets out of his seat and starts heading toward the crew cabins. “We will be in F.T.L. for the next sixteen hours,” he says, “now is the time to get some rest.”

The Philosopher quickly leaps from her seat and catches up to Duncan. Placing her hand on his shoulder she says, “Keep your mainstay close so you don’t become astray in sentiment.”

As he turns around, she places Tessa’s dog tags into his hand.

He thanks her before they vanish into their cabins alongside the Scout and Navigator.

“You should get some rest too,” the Pilot says without turning back to the Gladiator.

She responds skeptically, “I’m going to stay here just to make sure he doesn’t change his mind.” Getting comfortable in her chair, she adds, “Besides, we spent six years in a box with a bed, I’m not in a hurry to go back.”

Nodding in agreement, they sit silently in the cockpit staring at the black screens around them.

Chapter Nine

The Mongers

The Shuttle approaches Perierat 7, a moonless planet with a thick green atmosphere. A dense debris field of rocks, scrap metal and an immense graveyard of destroyed battleships surround the lively planet.

“Perierat Seven?” the Gladiator asks angrily, “You brought the Spy here?!”

“The superlative concealment is in the inconceivable,” the Philosopher points out.

“If you’ve been hiding her in a brothel, I’ll make you their newest call girl,” the Gladiator threatens.

Duncan, ignoring the Gladiator, puts his headset on. “Perierat Seven, this is Shuttle Sixty-Three,” he says into the headset, “requesting permission to land.”

Met with silence, the Scout nervously asks, “Are you sure this is a good idea, Scientist?”

“This is a terrible idea,” the Gladiator responds, “he’s just lined up a buyer willing to pay more for us than the Feds did.”

“I repeat, this is Shuttle Sixty-Three, requesting permission to land. Over,” Duncan rebroadcasts, staying out of the argument around him.

Still not getting a response, the Pilot asks, “What’s our course of action?”

“Keep it steady,” Duncan replies, “backing down now will be fatal.”

A clear gruff voice fills the headsets, “Shuttle Sixty-Three, you have exactly ten seconds to beg for your life.”

“I’ve got six magnates looking to spend their credits,” Duncan responds.

The radio goes silent and the Gladiator tightens her harness. “Next time you decide to wage war on the entire universe,” she says angrily, “start by stealing a battleship.”

The large rocks and ruined battleships light up as their weapon turrets rotate toward the shuttle causing the ‘weapon lock’ alarms to start whining again.

The Pilot shouts, “This is ridiculous!” reaching for the throttle.

“Don’t give them a reason to shoot!” Duncan orders.

The gruff voice fills the headsets, “Thanks for delivering your credits to us, but we’ll just harvest them from your corpses.”

“That’s a waste,” Duncan responds with a cocky tone, “this ghost shuttle could smuggle all kinds of contraband through the Federation checkpoints.”

“They have a firing angle!” the Pilot shouts. “If we’re going to escape, this is our last chance!”

“There are rumors that the Scientist was arrested on Primus Four. Then the entire system went dark,” the voice says with a curious tone. “You wouldn’t be harbouring the Scientist on that vessel, would you?”

“Now that would be quite the treasure wouldn’t it?” Duncan says playfully, “but the Scientist that I know would always be at the helm.”

The Scout worriedly asks, “Is this the best idea, Scientist?”

Duncan turns to him in disbelief, “You too?”

He shrugs unapologetically.

The drilling alarm falls silent as the planet’s defenders turn dark and return to their slumber.

“Scientist!” the voice laughs. “Why didn’t you just identify as the Anathema?”

“Just testing the nerves of my new crew,” Duncan replies.

“I wish I could have seen their faces,” he replies with a chuckle. “What brings you back here?”

“I’m here to retrieve what’s left of my stockpile.”

“Which means you’re giving more to the rebellious sector thirty-three,” the voice says disapprovingly.

“If they’ve become rebellious and you’re still alive, then it means they haven’t found my weapons … yet,” Duncan informs. “I better get rid of them before they do.”

“Alright,” the voice sighs, “but you’ve only got twenty-four hours and you’re not to get involved with our operations there.”

“Roger that,” Duncan affirms, turning to the Navigator. “Set a course for sector thirty-three.”

The Navigator sends the landing pattern to the main monitors as the Pilot realigns the hull for aerodynamics.

The shuttle pushes through the planet’s gassy stratosphere to reveal a planet covered in dense, forested swamps. They fly past an enormous concrete city covered in neon lights and protected by a five-hundred-meter-tall wall holding the encroaching plant life at bay.

Flying clear of the defensive turrets, they head toward the solitary plateau in the densest section of the swampy forest. A tightly packed vertical village sits atop the flat stone plateau, just above the canopy of the surrounding trees. Thick vines and roots have been crudely sheared along the edge of the stone to keep the plateau clear of all native life. A large hangar sits on a plot of undeveloped rock opposite the town.

The Pilot lands the shuttle on the smooth surface right on top of the red painted ‘33’. As the sound of the engines wind down, a small militia, wearing makeshift armour and carrying state-of-the-art rifles, surrounds the shuttle.

Raider Ratimir, the only militant wearing state-of-the-art armour, is a thirty something man with three deep white scars across his face.

He steps forward with a megaphone and instructs, “Welcome to Prosperity! Prepare to be boarded by our agents to collect our landing fee!”

Duncan unfastens his harness and climbs out of his chair. “I’ll take care of the welcoming party,” he says making his way to the loading dock.

“Landing fee?” the Gladiator asks, leaping from her seat to follow.

“Perierat is a system of pirates, smugglers and criminals,” he replies, “they just want what’s valuable.”

Duncan reaches to lower the ramp, but the Gladiator pulls him away from the switch and slams him against the metal wall.

“Valuable?” she says cynically. “Like six of the galaxy’s most wanted? Two of which are women who don’t have anyone to miss them?” She presses all her weight into Duncan’s back and growls into his ear, “Is this what you did with the Spy?”

“She isn’t a slave—” he tries to reassure.

The Gladiator slams Duncan against the wall violently. “I’m tired of your half-truths, Scientist!” she commands with conviction, sliding her arms into a choke hold. “Where is she?”

“Close,” he answers vaguely.

Not impressed with his answer, the Gladiator squeezes her arms around his throat causing his face to quickly turn bright red.

“Lower the ramp now or we’ll pry it open!” Ratimir orders.

“I think I’ll just trade you for her freedom,” the Gladiator proposes tightening her choke slightly. “And if they reject my generous offer, I will turn this planet to ash!”

“They don’t know where she is,” Duncan squeaks.

The Gladiator reluctantly loosens her choke and throws him into the center of the room. “You’re not leaving my sight until we’re reunited,” she orders before lowering the ramp.

Catching his breath, Duncan climbs to his feet and regains his composure. “Don’t look at anyone the wrong way,” he warns, “and let me do the talking.”

“Are you able to control your anxiety?” she questions. “The last thing we need is for you to collapse in the middle of a negotiation.”

“Lucas is a friend,” he reassures, “the negotiations will be straight forward.”

The metal ramp touches the stone ground with a loud clank as the militia prepares to board the shuttle, rifles ready for a counterattack. The Gladiator follows Duncan as he exits the shuttle and confronts the eleven militia members aggressively pointing their weapons at them.

“Is this your vessel?” Ratimir asks before his attention is drawn to the Gladiator. “That is a big woman!” he admires. “Do you think the pit, or the brothel will pay more for her?”

The militants snicker at the Gladiator, causing her body language to become very threatening. All the militants shift their rifles from Duncan to her.

“Definitely the pit,” Ratimir affirms.

Duncan calmly looks over his shoulder and gestures for the Gladiator to calm down. Snarling, she complies reluctantly.

“Where’s Lucas?” Duncan asks authoritatively.

Ratimir looks at him skeptically and dismisses, “I have no idea who that is.”

Duncan steps forward, drawing the focus of all the rifles, and belligerently asks, “Don’t you recognize me, Viktor?”

Carefully analyzing their faces, the raider doesn’t look convinced as a golf cart quickly arrives from the warehouse.

“Stand down!” Lucas orders as he leaps out of the cart. “The last thing we need is another massacre.”

Lucas marches straight up to Duncan and hugs him tightly. “You’re late!” he says, “I thought they may have actually gotten you.”

Releasing their grip, Duncan says, “For a while I thought I wouldn’t need to return.”

“I know we had things planned out,” Lucas sighs, “but six years is a long time.” He glances toward Ratimir and apologetically adds, “I had to make some … deplorable deals with the local gangs.”

“What does that mean?” the Gladiator demands as she aggressively approaches Lucas.

The militants point their rifles at her as they take a guarded stance.

Duncan stops her from approaching and scolds, “Why don’t you make sure everyone else is okay.”

Catching the hint, she backs down and submissively responds, “My place is by your side, Captain.”

Ratimir snorts excitedly as the Gladiator grinds her teeth to restrain herself from acting out.

“Even with your support,” Lucas explains, “the black market expanded so rapidly that we couldn’t stay atop the power vacuum.” He looks into Duncan’s eyes. “I know that I owe you more than my life,” he pleads, “and I know that I promised you everything. But I—” Lucas struggles to finish his statement, “but I cannot help you.”

Duncan calmly places his hands on Lucas’ shoulders. “I’m not here for your help,” he says sincerely, “I’m here to make a deal.”

“What are you looking for?” Lucas asks with a relieved tone.

Duncan points at his shuttle and says, “I want to trade this Federation ghost shuttle for something with a little more punch.”

“Gunships are very scarce these days,” Lucas bargains, “Even if I could trade one it wouldn’t have what you need.”

“Think of it as an investment,” Duncan replies, “everything I touch increases in value tenfold on the black market … which is why I will also need to borrow one of your crawlers for the day as well.”

“Not everything you touch turns to gold,” Lucas says with a smirk, “there has to be a story attached to increase its value.” With a chuckle, he adds, “But when have you done anything that hasn’t become a fable.”

“Then we have a deal?” Duncan asks reaching to shake his hand.

“Not so fast,” Ratimir objects, pulling Lucas away from Duncan, “this hunk of junk isn’t worth renting a crawler let alone giving you one of our gunships in return for it.” He gives the Gladiator a creepy look and counteroffers, “I’ll give you access to a crawler for her.”

Duncan looks over Ratimir’s shoulder at Lucas to see if he speaks on his behalf. Lucas lowers his head in shameful defeat.

“If you want to sell her into servitude,” Duncan says turning to look at the Gladiator, who is struggling to remain quiet. “I suggest the pit because she’s never listened to my orders,” he insinuates.

The Gladiator smiles before squaring off with Ratimir.

The militants start to raise their rifles but Lucas orders, “Stand down!”

Everyone except Ratimir complies.

Duncan quickly clears the combat area as Ratimir discharges a rapid-fire burst from his rifle. With a quick burst of speed, the Gladiator becomes a difficult target to hit as she closes the distance between her and Ratimir.

Forced to discard his rifle to prevent the Gladiator from getting a hold of it, Ratimir quickly draws a knife from his vest and slashes at the Gladiator’s throat.

Leaning backwards, the knife blade passes millimeters away from her neck, as she drops to her knees, catches her forward momentum, and redirects all her inertia into her fist as she drives it into the raider’s armoured abdomen with a loud clank.

Stumbling backwards with a deep cough, Ratimir manages to remain on his feet. “I am the survivor of beasts,” he gloats, tapping the point of his knife against his scars, “you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into girl!”

He steps forward and makes a series of fast sweeping attacks with the knife. Hindered by his cumbersome armour, the Gladiator has no problem evading the arcing swings as she waits for the right moment to strike.

Not finding a lucky hit with his wild swings, the raider thrusts the blade forward and reaches for his sidearm with his other hand.

The Gladiator catches the thrust, pulls him off balance, collapses his arm at the elbow and pushes his own knife blade into his throat. Forcing him to the ground, she disarms his sidearm and watches him gargle on his own blood.

“I am the Gladiator,” she gloats, “I’ve been killing cowards like you since I was a girl.”

She pulls the blade from his throat, rises to her feet and watches him contently as he slowly dies, choking on his own blood.

“Are there any other objections?” Duncan asks snidely.

“Your ghost shuttle for one gunship and access to a crawler for a day,” Lucas responds without hesitation. “We have a deal,” he says, extending his hand to confirm the offer.

Duncan shakes his hand and says, “I’ll have my crew clear the shuttle.”

Lucas turns to his militants and orders, “Pull a swamp crawler up for the Scientist.”

His subordinates affirm the order and return to the hangar.

“Come, I’ll show you around your new shuttle,” Duncan says as he starts walking toward the lowered ramp.

Lucas, Duncan and the Gladiator enter the shuttle and make their way into the cockpit. Duncan’s crew is lounging in their chairs casually, oblivious to everything that just happened outside.

“Lucas just purchased this shuttle,” Duncan addresses his crew, “I need all of you to clear out your cabins and work with him to make sure our new gunship has at least the basics covered. The Scout and I—”

“That’s not what our agreement was,” the Gladiator cuts him off firmly, “wherever you go, I go.”

Duncan turns to face her with a standoffish expression. “The Spy’s extraction requires a delicate balance of finesse,” he says trying to diffuse her anger. “And I need someone I trust to stay here and protect our crew.” He turns back to address the team directly. “The Scout and I will be venturing into the swamp, expect us to return at nightfall,” he says. “I want our new gunship ready to leave immediately once we return.”

The Pilot opens the lockbox in the floor beside his chair while Duncan returns to the communication station. With Duncan’s back turned to her, the Gladiator quietly approaches the Scout. “Keep an eye on him,” she warns, “he’s hiding something from us.”

He turns to her in disbelief. “You’re just projecting your own insecurities on him,” he says defensively, “he will hold up his promise. He always has.”

“He left us in a prison,” she growls quietly.

“He came back for us.” he replies.

“Did he warn us about his panic attacks?” she snarls before joining the Pilot.

The Pilot removes two holstered sidearms from the lockbox, attaches one to his thigh and hands the other to the Gladiator.

Duncan stuffs the notepad and a GPS into his lab coat’s pockets as the sound of a large, dirty engine approaches the shuttle. Duncan, Lucas, the Scout and Gladiator exit the shuttle while the rest of the crew return to their cabins.

A single militant returns with a gigantic vehicle featuring three deep treaded continuous tracks for soft terrain. He parks the crawler, climbs out and stands at ease beside the vehicle.

“Make sure it’s capable of what we need,” Duncan instructs the Scout.

“That will be all, soldier,” Lucas instructs.

The Scout inspects every inch of the crawler as the militant returns to the hangar.

“Can we speak freely?” Lucas asks suspiciously, giving the Gladiator a quick glance.

“We can,” Duncan assures.

“Why did you come out of retirement?”

“Because Ishtar Seven proved this Galaxy needs to be reset,” Duncan replies stoically.

“You’ve been preparing for six years?” Lucas asks astonished.

Seeing that the Scout has finished his inspection, Duncan pulls his hand from his pocket and reaches to shake Lucas’ hand. “I’ve always played the long game.”

As they shake hands, Duncan stuffs a note into Lucas’ palm.

Sliding his hand into his pocket to conceal the message, Lucas says, “Just let me know what I can do to help.”

The Scout climbs into the crawler and starts the engine as the rest of the team exits the shuttle.

Seeing the Philosopher, Duncan turns to the Gladiator and pleads, “Keep her safe.”

Hesitating to answer right away, she looks offended by his request. “If you don’t come back with the Spy,” she says, “I will be a bad babysitter.”

He nods understandingly before making his way to the crawler.

“Let me send a team with you,” Lucas offers. “You’re far too valuable to get lost in the swamp.”

“How much could these swamps have changed in the past six years?” Duncan jests as he climbs into the vehicle. “Just have everything ready by nightfall.”

Waiting for Duncan to fasten his seatbelt, the Scout drives the crawler across the landing pad to the ramp leading into the dense swamp.

Chapter Ten

The Abandoned

The soft ground squishes as the crawler effortlessly climbs its way through the saturated valleys and mountainous roots of Perierat 7’s vicious swamps. The lush green canopy begins one hundred meters above their heads and is so dense that it completely blocks out the green sky. Despite the lack of sunlight, the entire swamp is well lit from blue and green bioluminescent carnivorous plants, fungi, and swarms of tiny insects.

Duncan pulls the GPS from the faraday cage in the crawler’s dashboard and says, “Continue along this path for another five kilometers,” before returning the device.

He watches the gigantic arboreal lizards ambush the swamp insects that buzz past their perches.

“It’s ironic that a planet with this much life is called the planet of death,” the Scout admires. “All because the gang lords moved in.”

“It was called the planet of death long before they arrived,” Duncan explains. “The gang lords only moved in because they knew no one was going to follow.”

The Lizards suddenly scurry into the canopy as the insects’ droning buzz fades away leaving the swamp crawler’s dirty engine the sole source of sound.

Duncan reaches into the glove compartment and disables the GPS.

“Turn off the engine,” he orders with a calm tone.

The Scout slows the crawler to a stop and powers down the engine revealing the faint sound of footsteps squishing in mud.

Duncan reaches for the box under his seat, removes the flare gun and loads a flare into the chamber as quietly as he can. The Scout carefully draws his sidearm and looks to Duncan for guidance. Duncan places his finger over his lips and carefully scans between the trees around them.

An enormous swath of thick green moss, covered in bioluminescent plants, billows out from the trees and stops in front of the crawler. Duncan grips the flare gun tightly with one hand and slowly reaches for the door handle with the other.

The moss emits a short, piercing screech that echoes through the swamp. The creature turns toward the crawler and lets out a deep, guttural growl.

Duncan and the Scout slowly point their weapons at the approaching moss. The Scout’s breathing intensifies as sweat forms on his brow. Duncan stays calm.

The leading edge of the moss slowly lifts off the swamp floor and climbs onto the hood of the crawler. Five meter-long, curved claws, mimicking sharp tree roots, pierce through the steel plates as the creature pulls itself toward the windshield. The vehicle squeaks and howls as the front end is forced into the soft ground beneath it.

Duncan points the flare gun into the canopy and launches a bright red flare away from the crawler.

The hissing ball of light vanishes into the thick foliage, causing the creatures near it to spring to life.

Branches snap and tumble to the swamp floor as the animals flee from the fiery hiss.

Two monstrous, yellow eyes with slit pupils open from the back of the mossy creature and stare directly at Duncan and the Scout.

Paralyzed in fear, they stay still until the eyes dart up toward the swaying canopy.

The creature releases another guttural growl as it brandishes a mouthful of serrated teeth and quickly scales the nearest tree. Screams of terrified reptilians, running for their lives, fills the entire swamp as the creature vanishes into the canopy.

“Drive!” Duncan commands while loading another flare.

Without hesitation, the Scout places the sidearm on his lap, starts the engine and slams the pedal against the floor. The crawler leaps forward with a violent burst of energy, pulling itself free from the pit with ease.

The vehicle squeals and whines as they recklessly plow through the swamp at incredible speeds, crashing over the roots and splashing through the shallow pools of water.

Leaves rain down from the canopy, shaken free by the thunderous rumble of the scurrying creatures overhead.

Duncan desperately tries to pinpoint the monster’s location while the Scout struggles to keep the crawler from colliding with the rapidly approaching trees. Two dozen large lizards leap from the canopy, snatch woody vines and propel themselves toward the nearby tree trunks.

The mossy creature dives out of the canopy close behind and snares the trailing lizards, midair, in its toothy maw.

Crashing into the soft swamp bed with a messy splash, the creature swallows its snack with a single gulp and turns its attention to the large, more appetizing, crawler.

Duncan removes the GPS from its cage, turns it on and orders, “Turn right.”

The Scout turns the wheel sharply causing the forward inertia of the crawler to slide across the saturated earth. He taps the throttle gently until he regains control and starts driving toward a bright clearing in front of them.

“Head for the water!” Duncan orders without looking forward.

The canopy has become still and silent again as he catches a brief glimpse of the creature running between the trees beside them. Duncan readies the flare gun and lines up a shot.

“Ten seconds!” he warns.

The Scout grips the steering wheel tightly, sees the creature in his side mirror and shouts, “Brace yourself!”

Duncan turns around in his seat, puts on his seatbelt and throws the active GPS into the lake in front of them. The Scout slams both of his feet against the brake pedal as the monster leaps out from the trees with its toothy mouth agape.

They are thrown into the front console as the crawler slides to a stop, causing the creature to bounce off the already damaged hood and slosh through the muddy ground.

The creature frantically claws at the saturated earth ineffectually as it slides straight into the lake.

“Follow the left coast,” Duncan orders with a relieved sigh.

The Scout quickly follows his orders while watching the creature climb out of the lake in the rear-view mirror. It tries to pursue them, but its mossy coat has absorbed so much water that it has become too heavy to run.

The Scout laughs at the sight of the bloated creature in his mirrors, and asks, “What was that thing?”

“Around here, they call it a small problem,” Duncan answers, returning the flare gun to its box.

“A small problem?” the Scout laughs, “what do they call a big problem?”

“No one’s lived to tell the stories,” Duncan warns dreadfully.

The Scout skeptically asks, “There’s actually something bigger than that?”

Ignoring the question Duncan points directly ahead of them. “Follow the shore for twenty kilometers.”

Trying to hide his fear, the Scout complains, “You can’t just say something like that and pretend like it’s nothing!”

Amused, Duncan smiles, “Wait until you find out that our weapons would have been useless against that thing.”

“What happens when I,” realising what Duncan just said he becomes angry. “Why would you use the flare gun if it wasn’t going to work?”

“Because I needed you to think I had everything under control.”

“You should have accepted Lucas’ offer,” the Scout mutters to himself, “or at least asked for an effective weapon.”

Duncan leans back in his seat, smiling while the Scout continues to suggest better ideas as they follow the edge of the lake toward a vast flooded marsh.

#

The crawler slowly crosses the narrow, submerged land bridges. Duncan and the Scout are cautiously attentive that their vehicle doesn’t slip off one of the steep edges and vanish into the deep pools of water.

Ahead of them is a lush patch of marsh grass protruding from the flooded marsh with a solitary wooden cabin, built on stilts, sitting on the highest point.

The crawler climbs out of the shallow waters and approaches the lonesome cabin.

“Turn around and wait here,” Duncan instructs noticing the shutters are slightly ajar.

The Scout follows his orders and powers down the crawler. They unfasten their seatbelts and climb out of the vehicle.

“I’ve abandoned her on this island for six years, there’s no telling how she’ll react when she sees us.”

The Scout nods. “I’ll stay with the crawler and get it ready for the return trip.”

Walking toward the cabin, Duncan shouts over his shoulder, “Just stay away from the edge of the water,” he teases, “there is no telling what’s lurking below.”

The Scout confirms that his sidearm is in its holster before refueling the crawler.

Stepping up to the cabin’s solid wood door, Duncan looks down at the thick mossy green mat with the words ‘Go Away’ carved into it, revealing the leathery hide beneath.

Grabbing the doorknob with one hand, he jiggles it once. With his other hand he quickly knocks twice, jiggles the doorknob again and ends with a single knock. Resting his hand on the door, Duncan waits patiently for a response.

A single metallic thud emanates from the other side of the door directly across from his head. Duncan knocks on the door three more times before stepping away from the entrance.

Five locks unlatch before the doorknob turns and the door creaks open just enough for a slender face to peer through the crack.

“Are you ready?” Duncan asks anxiously.

“You’re late,” she declares with an eerie calmness.

“I had to wait for the right moment,” he says aloofly.

As the door swings open, the Spy stands in the doorway wearing a black tactical jumpsuit with a small combat harness over top. She presses the sidearm that was resting on the back of the door into Duncan’s chest.

“I thought you had forgotten about me,” she states without breaking her calm demeanour.

“You knew the Gladiator wouldn’t let me,” Duncan admits.

The Spy holsters her sidearm and looks over his shoulder. “Is she here?” she asks excitedly, stepping out of the cabin.

Duncan holds her back, “She’s overseeing the exit preparations in sector thirty-three right now.”

“Is that what she told you?” she asks with a laugh. “You do know that’s her code for getting drunk right?” She welcomes him into the cabin. “Just one person this time?” she asks, unable to make out who’s working on the crawler.

“I had limited resources to work with,” he replies, stepping into the cabin. “He was the only other person that needed to be here.”

Contrasting the natural wooden exterior, a grand array of buzzing servers, radios, sound pulse receivers and computers line the interior of the cabin. Closing the door, the Spy ensures that all the locks are set before barricading the door with a metal brace.

“I assume you came prepared with some fancy device this time?” she asks.

“I only needed a flare gun and the GPS,” Duncan says, making his way to the large table in the middle of the cabin.

“Have you started going senile already?” she asks calmly.

Joining him at the table, they glance over the hundreds of stacked folders. The one labelled ‘Torus 5’ catches his attention.

“It would certainly explain a lot,” he says picking up the folder. “It would also elevate the severity of my war crimes to an entirely different level.”

The Spy pulls the folder from his hands and taps the folder labelled ‘The Strategist’. “Just remember why you committed them,” she says dropping the Torus 5 folder onto the floor.

Duncan picks up the Strategist’s folder, revealing that the next folder in the stack is labelled ‘Videl, Thanatos’ and is much thicker. “Tell me you’ve made progress on this,” he asks hopefully, flipping through the Strategist’s folder.

The Spy begins pulling the cables out of the electronic device in the cabin. “I’ve narrowed the list significantly,” she boasts, “but I wasn’t able to rule her out.”

“You can remove the Wilsons and the Titan from this list,” Duncan says glancing over the list of suspects.

“James broke Butch,” she says with confidence, “he’s definitely on that list and—”

“The Interrogator broke the Butcher,” Duncan corrects, “and they’re all dead now.”

“Since when?” she asks, powering down the last computer. “Last I heard before Primus went dark—” she stops mid-sentence and looks at Duncan with an impressed smile. “You killed the president?” she asks, making her way to the metal storage locker near the door. “No wonder the system went dark.”

The Spy discretely unholsters her sidearm. “What’s your plan?” she asks calmly. “Eliminate each suspect one at a time until there’s only one name left?”

Duncan flips the page and starts analyzing the events the Spy has connected to the Strategist. “My name is still on that list,” he confesses, “and I’m not prepared to commit suicide just yet.”

Holstering her sidearm, the Spy jests, “I suppose if you were the Strategist, shrinking the suspect pool would make it harder to hide.” She opens the storage locker and removes two canisters of fuel. “So, murdering the president was just to flaunt your dominance?” she asks.

“He had the Titan executed,” he laments, tossing the folder to the floor.

Thumping the fuel canisters onto the table, she adds, “Why do you think the Strategist would tell him to order that?”

“My hypothesis is that she needed the conflict to end and six years to prepare,” Duncan states, as he scans the folders for interesting labels. “Now she needs me to do something for her.”

The Spy returns to the locker and removes three rifles. “Sounds like being a year late has put us at a disadvantage,” she says, leaning the rifles against the door.

“I am aware of that,” Duncan responds, squeezing Tessa’s dog tags tightly through his shirt, trying to suppress his anxiety. “That mistake has cost me more than you can imagine.”

Sitting in the chair beside the front window, the Spy opens the nearby case and begins disassembling the sniper rifle from the windowsill.

“Still suffering from panic attacks?” she asks, noticing his body language. “You can’t pretend to be the monster you used to be when your past is affecting you so negatively.”

“That’s why I need to put the team back together,” Duncan says while removing the contents from the folder labelled ‘Diego, Raymond’. “If I’ve become so unreliable, I need those who hate me the most to keep me honest.” He folds up the papers and stuffs them into his lab coat pocket. “Do you have everything you need?” he asks.

Placing the packed-up sniper rifle with the other weapons, the Spy nods in agreement. Duncan starts pulling the papers out of their folders and scatters them around the room while the Spy takes one of the fuel canisters to the far wall.

Splashing fuel on every piece of electrical hardware, she slowly backs toward the door.

Satisfied that the papers aren’t packed too tightly, Duncan opens the other fuel canister and pours its contents onto the scattered papers.

With the papers soaking in fuel, Duncan pours a trail behind him as he and the Spy meet up at the door.

Tossing their nearly empty canisters into the middle of the cabin, they collect the weapons by the door.

The Spy holds the door open with her foot, draws her sidearm, and discharges a single bolt into one of the open fuel canisters.

The canister explodes on contact, scattering hot metal fragments across the cabin, igniting the fuel in multiple locations. In an instant, fire engulfs the entire cabin, destroying any evidence that someone had ever lived there.

Holstering her sidearm, she follows Duncan to the crawler as the flames shatter the windows and suck in the rich, oxidizing swamp air.

“With your exclusions all but one of the suspects are—” the Spy tries to inform.

“Are we ready to go?” Duncan shouts toward the crawler, cutting off the Spy.

“Just need to start the engine,” the Scout confirms as he steps out from behind the crawler.

“You brought Diego here?” she says with a calm disapproval.

The Scout draws his sidearm and points it at the Spy. “I was hoping to get out of this awful place before killing you,” he laments, “but I guess I’ll have to make the return trip alone.”

“Did you forget that he sold Butch to the Feds?” the Spy asks without showing any shift in her calm demeanour.

“Why do you think I brought him out here alone,” Duncan says slyly.

“She predicted everything you’d do!” the Scout laughs. “She even warned me that this would happen.”

Duncan closes his eyes and tilts his chin up to the sky. “I’m on my way, Tessa,” he says contently.

“Not yet—” the Scout starts to reply but catches himself mid-sentence. “You almost got me there,” he laughs, “the one thing the Strategist made absolutely clear was not to talk to you.”

Taking advantage of the distraction, the Spy drops her sniper rifle case and quickly draws her sidearm. He pulls the trigger first.

A violent burst of energy erupts from the power cell of the Scout’s sidearm shattering it in his hands. The energizer breaks free from the back of the weapon, breaks the sound barrier, and impales itself into the Scout’s forehead. He dies before his body splats against the moist ground.

The Spy slings the rifle over her shoulder and picks up the sniper rifle case. “Didn’t think that was something I needed to know before hand?” she asks calmly.

“I needed him to think that he had won,” Duncan dismisses as he places his rifles into the back seat.

“He said she needs you alive,” the Spy acknowledges.

“Hopefully that means she is capable of making mistakes,” Duncan says, searching the Scout’s corpse.

“Otherwise she’s still anticipating everything we do,” the Spy finishes his sentence.

Reaching into one of the pockets in the Scout’s tactical vest, Duncan retrieves a small electronic device with a faint LED on it. He tosses the device into the deep waters before picking up the corpse. The Spy places her weapons into the crawler and helps Duncan dump the body into the back of the vehicle.

Exhausted from moving the body, Duncan leans against the crawler to catch his breath.

The Spy pushes her forearm into Duncan’s throat and presses her sidearm into his ribs. “Why are you late?” she asks again with a calm expression.

“Because I had abandoned you,” he says sincerely, as his heart starts pounding and breaths become rapid.

Feeling the fierce heartbeat in his chest, the Spy removes her arm from his neck. Noticing the metal chain peeking out of his collar, she gently pulls it out of his shirt and finds ‘Corine Sheridan’ written on the dog tags.

“Was her love for you real?” she asks. “Or was she still working for General Okar?”

Duncan gently places the dog tags back under his shirt. “I was okay with both scenarios,” he justifies. “I just wanted her to get to know my friends better.”

“Did she ever try and convert you?” she asks.

“How many crimes did we commit? How many friends and children did we kill?” he scolds as his anxiety quickly gains control over his emotions. “We were done, and neither one of us was going to be the monster responsible for bringing that nightmare back to the galaxy!”

The Spy holsters her sidearm. “Glad to hear it,” she says climbing into the driver’s seat. “We need to get back to the trees before it gets dark.” She reaches out her hand to help Duncan climb in and adds, “We don’t want to encounter any big problems on the way back.”

Taking her hand, he climbs into the crawler, fastens his seatbelt and works on gaining control over his anxiety.

The Spy drives across the submerged land bridges confidently as if she has memorized every twist and turn of the invisible passages.

Chapter Eleven

The Gladiator

Sector 33’s bar is poorly lit and appears to have never been cleaned, except for a quick shovel scoop to remove the vomit from the sand floor.

Most of the bar’s clients have gathered around a chain-link cage, clutching their money in one hand and their alcohol in the other, screaming at the fighters inside. In the balcony above the cage, wealthier patrons openly auction off young children in shackles to the highest bidder.

The Gladiator is sitting alone in the back, hunched over a half empty pitcher of grog. Without raising her head, she carefully observes the other patrons.

“I wouldn’t get mixed up with that,” Lucas warns, joining the Gladiator at her table with a pitcher of grog in each hand. “The last thing the Scientist needs is a few dozen orphans to look after.”

“Don’t worry,” she mopes, “I won’t hurt your bottom line.”

“If it were up to me,” he laments, “I’d go up there, gun’s blazing and be the hero they pray for every night.”

Without moving her head, the Gladiator draws her sidearm and places it on the table in front of Lucas. “What’s stopping you?”

Lucas slips Duncan’s secret message under the sidearm before sliding it back to the Gladiator. “I’ve already lost that fight,” he replies. “Turns out money is a much stronger motivator than law and order around here.”

The Gladiator subtly picks up the message and reads it out of view of the other patrons. It says, ‘Gather Ishtari, Trust Gladiator, Prepare’.

“What do you make of that?” he asks.

Folding the note in half, the Gladiator ignites it with the candle on the table. “He’s trying to swindle you,” she says. “The Ishtari went extinct with the Courier.”

Carefully ensuring that no one is close enough to hear, Lucas leans over the table. “I’m Ishtari,” he reveals, “the Scientist sacrificed everything to save as many of my people as he could. Including my wife and daughter.”

Looking up from her pitcher of grog she looks into Lucas’ eyes angrily and growls, “I guarantee you he only did that to cover up the failed experiment that destroyed the planet in the first place! The Ishtari mean nothing to a sociopath like him!”

Keeping a calm demeanor, he says, “That’s not true.” He pulls a folded picture out of his breast pocket and presents it to the Gladiator. “He sacrificed his Ishtari daughter to save mine.”

She snatches the photo out of his hand in disbelief. The photo is of Lucas and his wife holding their infant daughter sitting next to Duncan and Tessa holding theirs.

“Just because you’ve lost faith in him,” he says retrieving his photo, “doesn’t mean he’s given up you.”

Looking as if she’s lost everything she’s ever loved, the Gladiator guzzles the rest of her grog straight out of the pitcher. Slamming the empty jug down onto the table she looks desperately at Lucas for him to say something.

“He trusts you,” he says calmly but his words make the Gladiator even more distressed. Noticing the elevated reaction, Lucas grabs her hand softly. “My people are in danger,” he speaks with a subtle helpless tone, “we need your guidance.”

Regaining her composure, the Gladiator scans the room. “How many Ishtari are in the village?” she asks.

“About two hundred,” he answers, “but less than half of them are able to fight, and we are outnumbered five to one.”

“How many of your people are on duty tonight?” she questions returning her sidearm to its holster. “And how many of them are in here?”

“None of the Ishtari can stomach this cesspool,” Lucas says, trying to hide his own disgust. “Everyone in here is either a slave, employed by the gangs, or beneficiaries of the gang lords’ prosperity.”

“Perfect,” she says snatching one of the pitchers from in front of Lucas. “Do whatever it takes to send everyone here into the cage.” She downs the full pitcher of grog with a single breath and slams the empty jug on the table.

“If you step into that cage, Ratimir’s contractor won’t let you survive,” Lucas objects.

The Gladiator rises from the table, removes her belt along with the holstered sidearm and hands them to Lucas. “So, you’re saying that killing is allowed?” she says with playful delight.

“I’m saying that they are going to make it impossible for you to win,” he replies.

Stripping down to her sports bra and briefs, she places her clothes on the table, exposing her countless scars. “I got my moniker on Whiro Eight when I was eleven,” she says with pride. “This group of wannabes has no idea what a true colosseum looks like,” she says sadistically, walking toward the cage.

One of the fighters inside the cage successfully chokes his opponent unconscious, triggering a boisterous roar of cheers and defeated moans.

“Boo!” she jeers climbing onto the table in front of the cage, kicking the patrons and spilling their drinks. “How about a real fight!” she taunts.

The patrons laugh at her crassly. Finding the biggest man in the bar, she leaps off the table and steps right up to his face. “Five thousand credits if I can’t knock you out with one punch!” she shouts, silencing the room.

The man, who is more than twice the Gladiator’s weight, looks at her scar covered body carefully and says, “No. Win or lose, I still lose.”

The crowd moans in disappointment as the man walks away from the confrontation.

“I’ll take those odds,” the victor says through the chain-link fence.

“You’re nowhere near as big as that other guy,” she taunts, “I only dance with real men.”

The crowd erupts in cheers as the Gladiator steps up to the fence to face off against the fighter inside the cage.

“I’ve been going all night, every night,” he says, thrusting his hips against the fence. “You’d be lucky to play with me,” he adds, putting his face close to the caged wall.

The Gladiator launches a quick jab, pushing the chain-link divider straight into his jaw. The man inside the cage falls unconscious before his hooked fingers can release their grip from the fence.

The room falls silent, shocked that she knocked out her opponent in a single hit without entering the cage. Everyone bursts out in cheers.

“Please tell me someone in here has more stamina than that!” she taunts before following the cage attendant into the arena.

The patrons laugh and push each other toward the cage, but no one commits to stand up against her. The jokes and laughing quiet as the patrons get a glimpse of the unconscious fighter’s very broken face.

“Afraid to fight me alone?” the Gladiator taunts. “I’ll fight two of you at once.” Seeing that the crowd is reacting negatively to her, she provokes, “I thought you were the most savage planet in the galaxy.”

“We are!” Lucas boasts. “The person who shuts this annoying girl’s mouth will have free access to all our services, forever!”

The room erupts in chaotic cheers as the patrons stumble from their tables and race to the cage. A group of three are the first to enter and they bar the door shut behind them.

“That prize is ours!” the first says as he steps up to the Gladiator.

Raising one finger into the air, she boasts, “One hit each!”

The drunk patrons surround her, raise their fists and wait for the one directly behind her to swing at the back of her head. Right before his fist makes contact, the Gladiator leans out of the way, spins around and strikes him in the side of the head with her elbow. Launched from his feet, he lands face first on the ground, unconscious.

The Gladiator slowly squares off with her remaining opponents, keeping her guard low to goad them into attacking. Both the men stay on opposite sides of her, prepared to strike together when the timing is right.

Leaping forward, the Gladiator jabs at the opponent in front of her. He manages to block the attack, but there is so much force behind her punch that his hands are forced into his own face, knocking himself unconscious.

The final opponent swings at the Gladiator’s unguarded back when she attacks his friend. Shifting her weight from her right foot to her left, the Gladiator spins around in the air, and kicks him in the side of his head. The crowd goes silent as the last two fighters collapse to the ground at the same time.

The Gladiator approaches the cage door, removes the rebar, tosses it into the middle of the arena, and opens the door to welcome her next victims. The patrons back away from the door as the attendants enter to remove the unconscious bodies.

“What’s wrong?” she shouts, “were those three drunkards your best fighters?” Seeing that she’s frightened the entire bar, she turns to address the wealthier patrons as they curiously watch from the balcony. “What about you?” she asks. “Do you have any able-bodied people up there, or is it just children and the cowards buying them?”

“Do you have something against fighting children?” an older man, wearing gold laced robes with embedded jewels asks.

The man ushers twelve boys and girls, no older than ten, toward the cage. Each child is trembling in fear as they clutch their hunting knives like it was the first time they’ve held one.

Looking at the fearful tears rolling down the youngest girl’s cheeks, the Gladiator’s skin turns red in anger as she empathizes with her.

“Do these slaves belong to you?” the Gladiator asks, trying not to sound intimidating.

The man smiles and says, “Each one you kill will save me money in room and board, and if one of them gets lucky—”

The Gladiator kicks the rebar up out of the sandy floor, snatches it out of the air, and hurls it across the bar like a javelin. The projectile passes through the chain-link fence and impales itself into the man’s heart, killing him quickly.

“You’re free now!” she declares triumphantly.

The kids look at each other unsure of what to do when a group of wealthy patrons emerge from the stairway with their armed guards.

“Not so fast!” the most affluent one shouts. “The person who kills that insufferable beast will inherit the late nobleman’s assets along with his status!”

The crowd begins to funnel into the cage, bottlenecking at the door as they frantically fight with each other for their chance at the prize.

Small scuffles breakout between patrons as they try and force their way into the arena, while others forcefully pull the knives from the children, and extract the bloody rebar from the corpse. The attendants cower at the edges of the bar until their owners force weapons into their hands and push them into the conflict.

The Gladiator effortlessly works through the patrons as they stream into her arena, using the fallen bodies to prevent them from surrounding her.

As the bodies continue to pile up inside and out of the cage, the rest of the wealthy patrons come down the stairs. Seeing that the Gladiator is starting to show signs of exhaustion, they send their armed guards to the arena as well.

Lucas, seeing that the affluent patrons are unguarded, draws the Gladiator’s sidearm and quickly executes them.

Focused on the chaos inside the cage, no one sees his defiance, allowing him to head upstairs and free the captive children unchallenged.

A few of the patrons manage to strike the Gladiator as she starts to slow down. Knowing that she will eventually be overwhelmed, she focuses on disarming the closest challenger foolish enough to bring a sidearm into the cage.

Rapidly discharging the stolen weapon at her opponents, she begins executing the drunk soldiers mercilessly. Noticing that the nobles offering their prize are dead, the frightened survivors flee the bar, screaming.

Chapter Twelve

The Reunion

The sun is setting behind the tall swamp trees as a series of loud thuds turn on powerful floodlights to illuminate the village. A second bank of lights, pointing into the swamp, are activated so that the night guards can watch for anything crawling out.

The Gladiator and Pilot exit their new, dilapidated gunship, close the ramp behind them and join the welcoming party.

More than half of soldiers are marked with bruises and struggle to remain focused as the Gladiator paces behind them.

“That’s a lot of them,” the Pilot admires quietly, looking at the marred traitors.

“Just be ready,” the Gladiator replies, beaming with pride.

The sound of a crawler emerging from the dense swamp precedes the flickering headlights bouncing off the rough terrain. Lucas looks up at one of the light towers and nods his head before using his binoculars to identify that the driver is wearing a white lab coat.

“It’s them,” he confirms, lowering the binoculars.

The Gladiator subtly confirms with a nod and steps out in front of the welcoming party, while the Pilot positions himself behind them. The crawler climbs over the ridge of the rock plateau and the Gladiator turns her back to the vehicle, focusing on the welcoming party.

Three sniper rifle bolts streak out from the light towers and strike traitors hiding on the hangar’s roof. One of the dying traitors drops his RPG over the edge of the hangar.

The welcoming party reach for their weapons.

“Holster your weapons!” Lucas commands.

The welcoming party reluctantly complies as the marred men stare at the Gladiator with hate filled eyes, eager to get revenge.

The crawler slowly approaches the welcoming party when the sounds of six automatic rifles emanates from behind the hangar. Their bolts strike the crawler, shattering its windshield and causing the welcoming party’s standoff to break.

The marred traitors, draw their weapons, target the Gladiator, Pilot, and Lucas, while the uninjured Ishtari, ready for the betrayal, draw theirs and defend against the mutiny.

Sniper rifle bolts streak down from the light towers and strike the rebellious militants on the landing pad, but they are unable to target the traitors sheltered behind the hangar.

The Pilot runs and guns his way past the traitors in the welcoming party, as he races toward the hangar. Climbing up the corner of the hangar door, he makes his way across the roof and quickly scales down to ambush the six hunkered traitors.

Ensuring that there are no other traitors hiding around the hangar, the Pilot returns to the divided welcoming party as they continue to exchange gunfire with each other.

In the chaos, one of the traitors manages to reach the fallen RPG.

Too far away to strike a clean shot, the Pilot executes the traitor just after he fires the RPG. The explosive launch attracts the Gladiator’s attention as she and the Pilot attempt to shoot the projectile out of the air.

The ordinance’s booster kicks in and propels the projectile across the landing pad and into the crawler’s engine. The vehicle lurches backward as the font end of the vehicle explodes with enough force to cancel halt in the heavy vehicle in its place.

The exploded fuel filled engine sets the front of the vehicle aflame.

Dispatching the last of the traitors, the Gladiator holsters her sidearm and races for the burning crawler. She pulls open the door, removes the lab coat clad corpse of the Scout from the driver’s seat and searches the vehicle for other occupants.

Finding that the wrecked crawler is abandoned with a stone on the gas pedal, she turns to face the swamp.

Duncan walks over the crest of the plateau with a rifle slung over his shoulder. The Gladiator is ecstatic to see that he’s alive, but her joy fades quickly when she notices that he is alone.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” she screams angrily, drawing her sidearm and marches toward him. “Where is she?!” she demands.

When he doesn’t respond, the Gladiator discharges her sidearm at the ground in front of him.

“You said you’d bring her back to me!” she growls pointing her weapon toward his chest.

Showing no signs of fear, Duncan continues to approach the Gladiator. “Who do you think is covering my back?” he asks with a smile.

They meet in the middle where the Gladiator presses her sidearm into Duncan’s stomach. “Call for her,” she demands.

“She just wanted to make sure you were safe first,” Duncan says sincerely.

Fighting back tears, the Gladiator holsters her sidearm. “Looks like I’m not the only one smart enough to distrust you,” she replies, looking back at the bloody aftermath. “The battle’s over,” she adds, looking over Duncan’s shoulder to see if the Spy is coming up from behind. “So, why isn’t she coming out?”

Duncan unslings his rifle and hands it to her. “It’s time you stopped using that toy,” he warns forebodingly.

She looks at the weapon skeptically. “The deal was that you’d bring the Spy back to me and I’d consider letting you live,” she says pushing the rifle away. “I’m done being your bodyguard.”

As the Gladiator turns her back to Duncan, he calmly replies, “I’m not the person you need to protect.”

Sniper bolts streak out of the village and shatter the floodlights illuminating the landing pad. The Gladiator snatches the rifle from Duncan’s hands and takes cover behind the burning crawler.

No longer protected by the blinding lights, the Ishtari in the towers are quickly picked off by counter snipers as a traitorous army emerges from the village.

The Pilot, Lucas and his remaining team run for the open hangar, but three of the Ishtari are picked off before they can hunker behind cover. Duncan and the Gladiator peek around the flaming crawler to try and find their attackers, but they have enough suppressive power to keep both teams pinned.

“Were you expecting this much resistance?!” the Gladiator shouts over the sound of rifle blasts pinging against the metal crawler.

“As long as you kept a low profile, we shouldn’t have had any more issues,” he replies.

The Gladiator laughs maniacally, “You should have said that before I challenged the entire planet to a cage fight!”

Two dozen sniper bolts, originating from the edge of the swamp, fly into the approaching traitors, striking their targets fatally.

“It’s a good thing I brought her back then isn’t it?” he asks. “How many times has she gotten you out of trouble now?”

“Half as many as she has for you,” she retorts.

Seizing the opportunity, the Gladiator peaks around the wrecked vehicle and unleashes a full-automatic burst from her rifle. The remaining Ishtari, the Pilot and Lucas also peak out to return fire on their attackers.

“For those of you who have delusions that I am no longer in control!” Lucas shouts, “I will feed your corpses to the swamp!” He shoots a bright red flare high into the sky.

Seeing that a small team is sneaking around the edge of the landing pad to ambush the Spy, Duncan draws the Gladiator’s sidearm and takes aim. He manages to squeeze off eight slow shots toward them, but only strikes two of them, non-fatally.

The Gladiator pulls Duncan back behind the crawler, saving him from being struck by the more precise return fire. She retaliates and quickly picks off all eight traitors with her rifle.

As the last traitor hits the ground, a second assault squad climbs over the burning crawler and takes aim at the Gladiator from above.

Before the squad can fire a single shot, they are struck fatally in rapid succession by the Spy’s sniper bolts.

The intensity of the distant firefight in the village continues, however the suppressive rifle bolts striking the hangar and crawler have stopped. The Gladiator leans around the wrecked vehicle and sees that the army of attacking traitors has begun fighting amongst themselves. Lucas and his soldiers leave the hangar and join the Ishtari counteroffensive in the village.

It isn’t long before the sounds of fighting in the village ends.

Climbing over the edge of the plateau, the Spy runs toward the crawler, vigilant for any hidden militants looking to be a hero. The Gladiator places her rifle on the ground, runs to meet the Spy halfway and tackles her lovingly.

“I thought I’d never see you again!” she cries joyfully.

“But we promised to always look out for each other,” the Spy replies weakly as the muscular woman squeezes her tightly. The Gladiator releases her grip and helps the Spy to her feet. “Come, I’ve got a lot to tell you,” the Spy says leading her toward the edge of the plateau.

Duncan retrieves his lab coat from the Scout’s corpse as Lucas returns.

“That’s some value you added,” Lucas says, banging his fist against the flaming vehicle’s tread, “and that’s not including the Ishtari that died defending you.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Duncan says, pointing at the Scout’s body. “Does the bounty of the fifth most wanted help?”

Scratching his head, Lucas replies, “The money will help replace the crawler, but it’s not going to replace the loyalty, and it’s definitely not going to stop the gang lords from retaliating.”

“How about classified Federation documents?” Duncan offers pulling the folded papers out of his belt. “Raymond Diego, A.K.A. the Scout, was President Wilson’s personal undercover agent,” he says handing the documents to Lucas. “He is the operative responsible for most of the Federation’s illicit actions during the war. Including the fall of Ishtar Seven and Torus Five.”

“Which means they will silence me for possessing these secrets,” Lucas scoffs.

“Not if you tell them who gave them to you,” Duncan reassures.

“Because you would release a copy of the documents publicly if I disappear,” Lucas says taking the documents. “That only means I’m protected until they kill you.”

“Which means the executioners that they send for me, will stick around until that happens,” Duncan adds.

Flipping through the documents Lucas says, “There’s a rumor that President Wilson is dead. What good are these if that’s true?”

“General Okar is the acting president now,” Duncan explains, “as the head of special operations, she assumes liability for everything the Federation contracted him to do.”

“Even if I use your name to lure the Federation here,” Lucas laments, “I won’t be able to leverage this before I’m overthrown.”

“The Scout sent our position to Primus a few hours ago,” Duncan reassures. “You can have their incoming army on the ground by sunrise, long before the gang lords can mobilize.”

“Every time you show up, my people face extinction,” he says shaking his head, “but somehow I’m always glad you were there.” He hugs Duncan. “Get out of here before they arrive or we’re both dead.” Stepping away, Lucas points toward the gunship, “And take better care of this one,” he suggests as he walks toward the village.

The Gladiator, with three rifles slung over her shoulders, returns alongside the Spy, carrying her sniper rifle case. Duncan joins them as they make their way into the gunship.

#

The cockpit is quiet as the Navigator diligently works through the gunship’s debug menus. The Philosopher sits on the floor in the back corner, deep in meditation.

Duncan enters the cockpit, places the Gladiator’s sidearm at the weapons station and joins the Navigator.

“How long until we’re ready to launch?” he asks.

“Two minutes forty-eight seconds,” the Navigator answers quickly without taking his attention away from his work.

Duncan slumps into the communication station’s chair with a sigh. “I’m sorry that you got tied up in this,” he says. “I had to betray you to save the others.”

“By others, do you mean the rebels?” he asks without showing any interest.

“Rebels?” the Gladiator exclaims as she enters the cockpit alongside the Pilot and Spy, “What ever happened to the proud Torians!” she says noticing the sidearm at her console.

“They died,” the Navigator replies matter-of-factly.

The Gladiator chuckles to herself as she sits down and cleans the weapon. “You’re lucky that it’s you who said that,” she warns.

Confused, the Navigator asks, “Who else would I be?”

“What’s the plan now, Scientist?” the Spy asks, sitting at the console behind him.

“Don’t pretend that everything is like it was,” the Gladiator interjects angrily. “How could you lock us up for six years after we won the war!”

“We were fighting the wrong enemy,” Duncan says apologetically. “Keeping you in the dark and close to their ears ensured that you’d be safe.”

“It was—” the Spy starts to speak

“Do you have any idea what they did to us in that hole?!” the Gladiator shouts, cutting off the Spy. “All while you enjoyed your honeymoon on a fantasy resort!”

“I—” the Spy tries to speak again.

“We were playing into the Strategist’s ruse,” Duncan says cutting off the Spy, “and she was killing us off while we were distracted.”

“This is—” the Spy attempts to enter the conversation again.

“And how many of us have you killed off now?” the Gladiator interrogates as she finishes cleaning her sidearm.

The Spy tries to interject, but Duncan speaks first, “Yes I killed the Butcher, but that’s only because the Strategist turned him into a monster!”

“And what about the billions of Torians you killed when you assassinated your so-called best friend,” the Gladiator growls scornfully pointing her sidearm at Duncan. “What about the Scout? Or driving the Courier to suicide?”

The Spy draws her sidearm and points it at the Gladiator. “Would you stop trying to kill each other and listen to me for a minute,” she demands assertively with a calm demeanour.

“Who said anything about committing suicide?” the Courier asks, entering the cockpit wearing one of Lucas’ Ishtari uniforms.

Removing his helmet to reveal his rugged features and clean-cut blonde hair, the team, except for the Navigator and Philosopher, look at him in disbelief.

“The Federation has sent the entire Placating Foxes team here,” he says, as the Spy holsters her sidearm. “We need to leave now before they track us to the Container.”

“You’re here!” the Spy cries, hugging him tightly as they kiss.

“What ever happened to picking you up at the way station?” Duncan asks trying to hide his happiness.

“I can travel much more discreetly alone,” the Courier answers as he pushes the Spy away. “Especially since the three of you would be fighting for days if I didn’t intervene.”

“Alright Scientist,” the Gladiator says while holstering her weapon, “it’s time you stop speaking in half-truths and tell me everything.”

The Courier approaches the Navigator, “I didn’t come all this way just to die during story time,” he says placing a scrap of paper on the Navigator’s console. “First, we escape, then you two can talk about your feelings, or what ever it is you need to do,” he clarifies heading to the communication station. “Your seat’s over there, Captain,” the Courier says pointing to the chair in the center of the cockpit.

Getting out of the communication station, Duncan sees all the nostalgic glares looking at him as he climbs into the captain’s chair. The Philosopher awakens from her trance and makes her way to the closet station.

“Are we ready to launch?” Duncan asks.

“All systems are ready, Captain,” the Navigator responds.

“Get clearance,” Duncan orders as he fastens his harness.

“Aye, Captain,” the Courier affirms.

With everyone busy preparing for launch, the Gladiator grabs Duncan’s arm tightly and leans in close. “Lucas told me what you sacrificed on Ishtar Seven, Scientist,” she says quietly before relaxing her grip. Looking over her shoulder she sees the Spy getting accustomed to her station. “Did you sell me out so that the Spy wouldn’t be caught?” she asks quietly.

“I know that they tortured you hard, but because of what she knows, her torture would have been unimaginably worse,” he replies.

“Thank you for looking after my sister, Duncan,” she says sincerely, “I would have stayed there forever if it meant she’d never have to. But you will still answer for your crimes against Butch, and the children he was going to provide me,” the Gladiator growls quietly before returning to her seat.

“Scientist?” the Courier asks.

Duncan looks at him unaware that he’s asked a question.

“What’s our call sign?”

Scanning the curious faces of his fully reunited crew, Duncan puts on his headset with a smile. “Perierat Seven, this is the Anathema, requesting permission to launch,” he says proudly.

A clear gruff voice fills the headsets, “The Anathema finally returns! You are clear to launch, Scientist.”

Duncan takes one last look around the cockpit and orders, “Take us to the warp point.”

“Yes, Captain,” the Pilot replies as he fires up the engines.

The Anathema lifts off from the battle-torn landing pad and makes its way through the gassy green stratosphere. Carefully navigating through the debris field, the Pilot rotates the gunship’s body around the engines and accelerates away from the planet.

The warp bubbles form around the Anathema and it vanishes at speeds faster-than-light.

Chapter Thirteen

The Bygone

The Anathema’s monitors are completely black as it travels through space faster than the speed of light. The crew unfasten their harnesses and swivel their chairs to face Duncan.

“Now that we’re all together,” the Spy says.

“Before we talk about new business,” the Gladiator interrupts, “you need to tell us how we got into this mess.”

Duncan looks for help from the Courier and Spy. The Spy diverts her gaze shamefully, while the Courier smiles in amusement at Duncan’s struggle.

“When did you lose track of the Butcher?” Duncan asks.

“Your mistakes far outweigh mine!” the Gladiator growls.

“Not when you lied and forced my hand!” Duncan blurts out angrily. “You told me he was with you when we attacked Primus Four! Imagine my surprise when the president called to declare that Torus Five had already fallen.”

“You killed the entire planet because they surrendered?!” the Gladiator asks in disbelief. “That’s mighty tyrannical of you.”

“The Federation captured the Butcher, broke him and then set him free!” Duncan defends, trying to calm his angry tone. “When he returned to Torus Five, they weren’t expecting a traitor with full access to their defense network.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you obliterated eleven billion people,” she says criticizes.

“He didn’t,” the Spy says, her skin is pale, and she is visibly fighting the urge to vomit.

“They were dead before we arrived,” Duncan clarifies solemnly, “everyone except for the Butcher.”

“You’re telling me that one man killed a planet the size of Torus Five?” the Gladiator debates. “Sure, he’s eradicated fortifications and battle cruisers, but an entire planet?”

“He was a trusted Torian general who had full access to the planetary defenses,” Duncan adds as delicately as he can.

“No,” the Gladiator faintly squeaks as she starts to comprehend the possibility.

“He walked into his office,” Duncan continues as tears form in the Gladiator’s eyes. “Suited up. Locked down the Spire. And killed the other officers.”

“Stop—” the Gladiator pleads faintly.

Duncan continues, determined to speak the full truth, “He turned the orbital defenses toward the planet and focused on the most populated cities before systematically eradicating the rest.”

“Stop,” the Gladiator pleads with a little more volume, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Our armada tried to defend the citizens, but by the time the weapons were destroyed,” he continues, “We had lost four fifths of our defensive fleet and the surface population was reduced to one.”

“Stop!” the Gladiator begs.

“Torus Nine initiated the doomsday protocol and surrendered to the Federation, while we were laying siege to Primus Four,” Duncan declares. “As per their conditions of surrender, the Titan and I were tasked with preventing him from leaving Torus Five.”

Crying, the Gladiator tries to beg again, but is unable to form the words.

“Once we were in orbit,” he pauses trying to choose his next words carefully, “I made the planet inhospitable.”

An unnerving silence fills the cockpit as the Pilot stares at Duncan with a repulsed look.

“Why didn’t you just arrest him?” the Pilot asks disapprovingly.

“The Butcher had become delusional and enraged,” Duncan answers. “He believed that I was the Strategist, that you and all of the Torians were my disciples. He was convinced that he was the only one capable of cleansing the galaxy from our corruption.”

The Pilot looks at Duncan scornfully. “How do you know he was delusional?” he asks.

Duncan turns to the Courier and says, “Play it.”

The Courier plays an audio file from his console.

“Flagship Alexandra calling Torus Five,” the admiral’s panicked voice comes over the Anathema’s speakers. “Why are you shooting our cities?!”

“These aren’t people!” the Butcher screams maniacally. “They are genetic experiments created by the Strategist!” he rants. “We are all abominations! And I must purge our inhumanity from the galaxy!” His voice fills with devotion as he growls, “I will cleanse your unholy presence.”

The Courier ends the recording.

“That’s the message we received from Torus Nine when I confirmed the president’s accusations,” Duncan explains.

“If he killed everyone on the planet before you got there, how do you know he didn’t escape?” the Gladiator asks hopefully.

“Because I went down to the—” the Spy tries to answer but struggles to keep up her calm demeanour. “I confirmed the kill.”

“Wait,” the Pilot says with confusion. “If you cleaned up their mess, why did we have to be imprisoned?”

“Because the war started over trying to assign blame,” Duncan answers, “it had to end with someone admitting fault. We fabricated the story that our team had gone rogue and assassinated Prince Raza,” he continues. “I then told the Federation where to find you … I’d like to say that it was for your protection, but it was because we needed the story to appear true,” he admits.

“If you lied about everything else, why couldn’t you lie about us too?!” the Pilot shouts angrily.

“It’s easier to hide the lie, when those capable of exposing it aren’t running around,” the Spy declares. “We also knew that the deal wouldn’t hold up forever,” she adds. “The Courier and I know too many secrets that the Federation and the Allied Planets don’t want to become known. That’s why we faked his death and I hid in the only place neither one of them would search.”

The Pilot gives Duncan a disgusted look. “That’s how you expected us to live the rest of our lives?!” he exclaims.

“It was only supposed to be five years,” the Spy says accusingly.

“We were there for six!” the Pilot shouts angrily.

“Four hundred, twenty-one days, twelve hours, and thirty-six minutes late,” the Navigator corrects aloofly.

“Duncan forgot about us,” the Spy teases.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Duncan tries to reassure but, seeing the unimpressed glares of his crew, he bows his head in shame. “The war was over, and I was starting to second guess my hypotheses about the Strategist,” he explains. “But in that moment of weakness,” he justifies confidently, “the Strategist made a mistake.”

The Gladiator gives her sister a skeptical look.

“She told us that she needs Duncan alive,” the Spy corroborates.

Standing from her chair, the Gladiator suggests, “Or he’s the Strategist and just wants us to think that.” She draws her sidearm and points it at Duncan’s forehead. “Either way, killing him now would end her reign or cripple her plans!”

“What if her plans for him were to bring us back together, and she expects us to eliminate the threat he poses against her?” the Spy challenges.

“Is there a way for us to know for sure?” the Gladiator growls, slowly putting force on the trigger.

“For now, doing the opposite of what we want to do will make us less predictable,” the Spy suggests.

The Gladiator grits her teeth as she holsters her sidearm. “How convenient,” she laments, returning to her seat.

“The only thing we know for sure is that she’s been manipulating both sides since the beginning of the war,” Duncan says, “It is very likely that she killed Prince Raza as well.”

“If she was responsible for starting the war, why did she end it?” the Gladiator asks.

“From what I’ve gathered, there are three probable outcomes,” the Spy replies. “We could have been getting close to finding her. The entire war could have been a distraction. Or the Scientist was rumored to be have developed something that she wanted.”

“Like developing a planet killer?” the Gladiator accuses snidely.

“More like time travel or raising the dead,” the Spy elaborates.

The Pilot starts laughing. “The Torians have been hoping for that since the war started,” he says. “If only Prince Raza were alive, he’d tell them we are innocent,” he says in a mocking tone. “The dead are dead and there isn’t anything anyone can do to change that.”

“Is there any truth to that?” the Gladiator asks.

“Would I be here without Tessa if there was?” Duncan counters.

“It would explain why the Strategist destroyed Ishtar Seven,” the Spy suggests. “It’s the most probable answer and you can’t tell me you weren’t developing something there.”

“Occam’s Razor,” the Philosopher states without breaking her meditative trance.

“We’re traveling between two warped bubbles of spacetime,” the Pilot says, “now is not the time for a shave.”

Duncan gives the Philosopher a confused look before clarifying, “She meant the answer with the fewest assumptions.” He gives the Spy a concerned look. “It’s a Sol Three expression.”

“Am I the only person who hasn’t visited the country,” the Pilot mumbles to himself.

“With you and the Titan retired, the rest of us were just trying to survive,” the Spy says. “There is no chance that we were getting close to her.”

Duncan nods in agreement. “Her interest in my research relies too heavily on rumors that have been circulating since the beginning of the war.”

“Which means the entire war was just a distraction?” the Gladiator asks.

The Spy leans back in her chair and says, “And now she’s almost ready to reveal why.”

“I guess that makes us her test subjects,” Duncan suggests grimly.

“Or just another distraction,” the Gladiator adds.

The cockpit falls silent as they brood over their insignificance.

The Courier gets up from his station and heads toward the crew quarters without breaking the silence.

The Spy rises from her seat and follows him out. Duncan stops her as she passes.

“Figure out when she went to earth,” he orders quietly, making sure the Philosopher doesn’t hear him.

“You do realize, with your omissions to the list, one of the seven of us is almost certainly the Strategist?” the Spy asks quietly.

“It would be the perfect place to hide,” he suggests. “And it’s doing a wonderful job at keeping us running in circles.”

“It’s almost as if she’s an expert strategist or something,” she quips, looking toward the crew quarters. Placing her hand on Duncan’s shoulder, she adds, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some catching up to do with my husband.”

The Spy winks at Duncan before exiting the cockpit.

Chapter Fourteen

The Wraiths

The Anathema lands in a dark, unlit frigate, drifting through space with no identifiable markers. As the gunship’s loading ramp descends, the light from inside the ship spills out onto the metal floor below. The Courier leads the crew into the shadows.

“We could use some light in here,” he says to no one directly.

The landing bay floodlights clank on revealing an abundance of storage containers, weapon caches and forklifts meticulously organized for easy access.

“Take anything we might need,” he says proudly showing off his vast collection.

The Gladiator heads straight for the weapon caches while the Pilot curiously inspects the storage containers with the Spy, Navigator and Philosopher.

Duncan, seeing that he’s alone with the Courier, asks, “Why didn’t you give me a heads up about the assassination?”

The Courier stops and looks at Duncan apathetically. “She’s really dead?” he replies. “I only heard chatter that there was an unscheduled shuttle on Sol Three and that you were returning without the Titan. I just assumed you had everything under control by then.”

“Then you haven’t made any progress on finding the Strategist either,” Duncan sighs.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, mildly offended. “But I’m going to need a mathematical savant to know for sure.”

Calling for the Navigator to join them, Duncan follows the Courier into the adjacent processing room.

Computer screens cover every visible surface of the room’s walls. There are two large windows, covered in brightly coloured notes scribbled in marker. The windows look out into another storage area filled with floor to ceiling towers of computer servers. The droning buzz is so intense that it penetrates through the thick glass.

There are five technicians scanning the content scrolling across the screens, unaware that they have guests. They are all wearing matching, sweat stained, tank tops and loose short shorts.

The Navigator, beaming with joy, walks into the middle of the room and starts absorbing all the information.

Sherry, noticing the stranger, leaps from her chair and desperately races for the nearest red button. The Courier steps in front of her and assures her it’s okay.

“Scientist, Navigator,” the Courier says gesturing toward the technicians, “this is Sherry, Carey, Larry, Barry, and Garry.”

“So, this is where you and the Spy disappear to,” Duncan states, scanning the room. “It’s actually more impressive than I’d imagined.”

“This is incredible!” the Navigator exclaims as he reads every word on every screen as it scrolls on. “They know everything!” he adds pointing at a screen filled with encrypted text, “Lucas was able to make a deal with the Federation’s army.”

Sherry returns to her station with a skeptical look and decrypts the message the Navigator was pointing too.

The characters switch to a readable format that states that the Placating Foxes contacted Lucas’ team on Perierat 7, found no traces that the Scientist was ever on the planet and that they have decided to remain on the planet with twenty platoons to intercept him if he returns. The bottom of the message has a seal that matches Tessa’s fox tattoo.

“You can read encrypted messages?!” she exclaims in amazement.

The Navigator looks at her with a confused look. “It’s just a series of patterns and probabilistic equations,” he says as if it’s a simple thing to do.

“Can you read this?” Sherry asks, excitedly pulling up another encrypted document.

He stares at the encrypted text as frustration slowly builds on his face and he starts to stomp his feet. Duncan calmly approaches, but The Navigator suddenly stops stomping and raises his hands, visualizing the problem with his fingers.

“Spread it across all the screens,” he demands coldly.

Sherry looks to the Courier for approval before extending the message to the adjacent monitors.

“More!” he demands, pushing Sherry out of the way.

The Courier quickly gestures to tell Sherry not to react as the Navigator expands the document onto all the screens. His head darts around the room and he moves his hands around as if he was assembling an invisible puzzle.

“Oh wow!” he exclaims.

“What does it say?!” Sherry asks curiously.

“Nothing important,” he replies nonchalantly.

Sherry, grunts, “I’ve been trying to decode this file for three years! I can’t believe it wasn’t anything important.”

“I never said that,” the Navigator responds, “It’s a compressed file containing personal emails and videos. I can’t see what’s in the videos.”

“This file is eight yottabytes—” Sherry dismisses.

“Eight point two seven six three,” he corrects coldly.

“Fine,” she says, irritated, “there’s no way it’s a compressed file at that size.”

“Unless it’s a haystack,” the Courier states, “give her the key—”

“Keys,” the Navigator corrects. “There are fifty-six.”

Sherry looks at him in disbelief. “There’s no way you decrypted fifty-six layers of encryption and then uncompressed the raw data in your head in less than a minute. Especially when that behemoth of a system spent years without success!” she argues, pointing toward the servers.

“You think a computer is my equal?” the Navigator responds with an awkward laugh as he enters the encryption keys into her console.

“Did you find anything else, or are we just going to wait for this?” Duncan asks.

The Courier picks up a nearby tablet, loads a file on Mercury Station and hands it to Duncan as he asks, “What can you make of this?”

Scanning the file, he replies, “Just a minor error between shipments received, and shipments logged.”

The Courier loads the next screen that shows a time lapse video of transports entering and leaving the station. “If we omit all imports delivered by these,” he says while zooming in on a corner of the map to reveal two escort vessels, “The trade deficit disappears,”

Duncan examines the ships very closely. “I’ve never seen that class before,” he says, “who makes them?”

“The Crimson Tigers,” the Courier boasts, “but that was over two years ago, and they are much more advanced than anything I’ve seen today.”

“Do you have any recent reports?” Duncan asks.

“That’s where things get interesting,” he answers, advancing to the next video. “Two years ago, there was a mutiny on Mercury Station,” he continues. “When the new broker assumed control, she replaced the entire security team with the Crimson Tiger’s competitors—”

“And those mysterious shipments stopped arriving,” Duncan interjects.

“Exactly,” the Courier affirms, agitated that he couldn’t finish. “What if the Strategist was storing something there,” he speculates. “More importantly, with two private military firms involved with the station, what if it’s still there?”

“Freda led the mutiny, didn’t she?” Duncan asks returning the tablet.

“She did,” the Courier replies without surprise, “is your history with her going to be a problem?”

“Only if she knows we’re visiting,” Duncan dismisses.

“The file is decrypted and is uncompressing now!” the Navigator declares triumphantly, as the screen in front of him shows the file unpacking itself.

Sherry pushes the Navigator away from her console and opens the uncompressed files as they appear. “These are all nonsense,” she says indignantly, “it’s just chain letters and memes.”

The Navigator runs out of the room, fighting back tears as he clutches his arm where Sherry touched him.

“It’s a haystack, Sherry, there’s bound to be something interesting in there,” the Courier says as he leaves the room with Duncan.

Sherry continues to flip through the collection of weight loss miracles, get rich quick schemes, and cat photos.

Chapter Fifteen

The Broker

Dozens of cargo ships fill Mercury Station’s docking bay while the station’s crew work to unload and document the traded goods. The Spy, wearing a military dress uniform, is supervising the crew as they empty the Anathema’s cargo. With a new short haircut, posture and makeup, she looks unrecognizable. The rest of the crew is wearing matching uniforms with peaked caps pulled low to conceal their faces.

Removing the last crate from the cargo hold, five mercenaries direct the Anathema’s crew to line up behind the Spy. A station representative searches the crate’s contents and, confirming that everything matches the manifest, hands the tablet to the Spy.

“We’ve got a few hours before our return cargo is set to arrive,” she says signing the tablet with a fake name. “Where’s the closest pub?”

The representative waits for approval on the signature before answering, “Three floors down. Follow the corridor to your left.” She points toward an elevator, behind a security checkpoint. “Just be sure to leave your weapons on your ship,” she warns as she continues to the next ship with her mercenaries.

The Spy leads her crew to the security checkpoint where they present their fake identification badges. Their badges are quickly validated by the scanner before they are directed to the elevator.

The Spy waits at the door until the rest of her team is inside before stepping in. Selecting her floor, she waits for the doors to shut before she inconspicuously finds the three security cameras. The team stays in character as they silently descend.

The elevator doors slide open to reveal a large hallway that splits into three corridors. The center and right corridors have another security checkpoint guarding heavy blast doors. The Spy leads the team out of the elevator and to the left.

Arriving at the pub, the burly host, with an unkempt beard, greets them at the door and, with a raspy voice, asks, “Seven?”

The Spy nods in agreement as she scans the flight suit donned patrons for familiar faces. The host points to an empty table against the wall and hands her a stack of sticky menus.

Making their way through the busy pub, the Navigator and Philosopher sit in the chairs closest to the wall. As everyone else takes their seats, the Spy and Gladiator sit closest to the pub’s entrance.

“Has security always been this tight?” the Gladiator asks quietly as she opens her menu.

“No,” the Spy states, using her menu to subtly keep tabs on the rest of the patrons, “but that could just be a symptom of a paranoid usurper.”

“Freda has always been a cautious person,” Duncan adds, “if she really did overthrow all six syndicates, she’ll be vigilant for their retaliation.”

The Spy removes five rectangular objects from her jacket and discretely distributes them under the table. “Something’s wrong,” she warns, noticing that the patrons at a nearby table are surprised when the bartender asks them to leave.

The Pilot, Gladiator, Courier and Duncan remove similar rectangular objects from their jackets and exchange them with each other under the table.

Cooks emerge from the kitchen and start prematurely closing out the tables as well.

“Who’s going be ready first?” the Pilot remarks as they assemble the devices blindly beneath the table.

“When we move, get under the table and keep your heads down,” Duncan commands to the Philosopher and Navigator.

“Fifty credits each if I win,” the Pilot bets with anticipation.

“Just focus on—” Duncan stops mid-sentence as Freda, wearing a flak jacket over her black suit, marches into the pub with twenty private mercenaries.

They simultaneously snap the final pieces of their concealed sidearms together and standoff against the rifle bearing soldiers.

The Philosopher and Navigator slide under the table and lay on their stomachs. The Navigator covers his ears and starts nervously muttering, while the Philosopher hums softly to help keep him calm.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you came here, Scientist,” Freda taunts as the rest of the pub’s patrons are escorted out through the kitchen.

“I’m glad you were able to actualize your dream, Freda,” Duncan says calmly, trying to defuse the situation.

“Are you now?” Freda asks skeptically as she steps forward. “Why would a terrorist be glad that I cleaned up this cesspool?”

Duncan watches the mercenaries as they hunker behind cover throughout the pub. “Turns out this outpost is very important to someone who’s hurt me immensely,” he says.

“So, you thought you’d just walk in and quietly take over?” she surmises.

Realizing that Freda is unarmed, he slowly places his sidearm onto the table behind him. “I’ve only come to ask you a few questions,” Duncan negotiates raising his arms above his head.

“I’m not interested in making deals with terrorists,” she replies wearily as she starts to signal her escort to shoot.

“Did your team discover us, or did you receive an anonymous tip?” Duncan blurts out.

Freda stops her command as she scans Duncan curiously.

“That anonymous informant was the Strategist,” he adds, waving for his team to put their weapons down. “She is the most calculated terrorist in the galaxy,” he warns.

“Are you saying there’s actually someone that you’re afraid of?” she retorts with a smile.

As the rest of his team slowly place their weapons on the table, Duncan responds sincerely, “Terrified.”

“Thanks,” Freda says turning her back, “I take solace knowing that you will die afraid.”

“What did you find hidden in the cargo hold?” Duncan asks quickly before Freda can deliver the execution order.

She turns around and looks at Duncan suspiciously, noticing that he isn’t nervous. “There isn’t anything hidden in my cargo hold,” she declares.

“The Strategist was frequently transporting things through this station … until you took over and put an end to it,” Duncan says cautiously. “If her freight is still here, she’ll be coming for it.”

Annoyed, Freda rolls her eyes. “We aren’t holding anything for that—”

“How do you know she’s not trying to reclaim it right now?” Duncan cuts her off. “What happens if we kill each other?” he quickly follows up. “Who succeeds you?”

Freda, unnerved by Duncan’s confidence, takes a step toward him.

“You worked hard to liberate this station,” he states with sincerity, “don’t be distracted by coincidence.”

Freda’s shakes her head and turns her back to Duncan. “Growing up in this hovel,” she says, “I learned not to miss any opportunities when they presented themselves. Your bounty will keep this station independent for decades and since the reward is dead or alive—”

“Then let me show you the opportunity that you will miss by executing us,” the Spy proposes bluntly.

Curious, Freda turns to give her a chance. The Spy cautiously removes her tablet and presents the information that led them there.

“If you’re telling me you don’t know about your trade deficits, or what these shuttles have left behind,” she says calmly, “then how do you know there isn’t a mutiny forming right now?”

“Revolutions can only be won by the people!” Freda declares boastfully, tossing the tablet back to the Spy.

“Unless they are promised nostalgia of the old days,” the Spy forebodes.

Freda carefully assesses the Spy’s warning. “Especially when outside interests would be the largest beneficiaries,” Freda sighs, signalling her escort to lower their weapons. “I really hope I don’t regret this,” she says, gesturing for Duncan’s team to follow her.

Duncan carefully helps the Philosopher out from under the table and ensures that she is unhurt. Freda’s escort surrounds Duncan’s team, ushers them out of the pub, through the security checkpoints and into the depths of the station.

#

The large freight elevator descends through the station’s busy cargo holds and into the quiet storage lockers beneath them. Even with twenty-eight people riding in the elevator, there is plenty of space around them.

The elevator slows its descent and enters the final, thirty-meter-high storage lockup, revealing hundreds of ten-meter black orbs. Each orb is raised off the ground by a black and yellow cage which is securely fastened to a hefty steel pallet.

With the elevator coming to a stop, Freda slides open the caged door, steps out and asks, “Have you seen anything like these before?”

The Spy pulls Freda back into the elevator, causing the mercenaries to aim their weapons at her.

“Those look recent,” the Spy says quietly, pointing at fresh scratches on the metal floor.

Freda signals her mercenaries to investigate the lockup. Half the soldiers stay at the elevator to protect the occupants, while the other half cautiously clear the storage locker.

“Do these look more advanced than the transport ships?” the Spy asks, removing her tablet from her belt.

Peeking out of the elevator, Duncan notices the yellow glyphs and metal connectors on the orbs. “They’re fuel cells,” he says.

“Surrender!” one of the soldiers shouts, as the rest of his team reposition to support.

“Don’t shoot!” a voice pleads from behind the fuel cells.

“Take no prisoners,” Freda commands as she marches out of the elevator.

“Fuel cells are explosive!” Duncan warns.

“Hold your fire!” Freda counterorders. “How explosive?”

Duncan carefully approaches the nearest cell and reads the yellow glyphs. “You’ve got about twenty-five stars in here,” he explains. “An explosion here will end all life within a hundred lightyears.”

“Throw down your weapons and come out slowly!” Freda orders.

Fifty people, wearing Mercury Station maintenance uniforms, climb out of their hiding places with their hands above their heads.

“Get them out of here,” Freda orders while removing a tablet from her belt.

The Spy leads the rest of her team out of the elevator before the mercenaries start loading the prisoners in.

With their weapons trained on the prisoners kneeling in the middle of the elevator, the mercenaries ascend into the upper storage levels.

“You’re lucky I believe in fate, Scientist” Freda says, handing her tablet to Duncan. “This is everything I know.”

Duncan scans the compilation of handwritten notes logging every bribe surrounding the fuel cells. “It looks like the Strategist underestimated you as well,” he says handing the tablet to the Spy.

“Are you sure these are fuel cells?” she asks. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

Duncan points to the connectors and says, “These are built to interface with the next generation of power systems that I was engineering.”

Perplexed, the Spy asks, “What could possibly need twenty-five stars worth of energy?”

“I’m more interested in why it’s labeled that way,” Duncan confesses, looking for a way to open the cell. “If these have that much energy, their mass would collapse the station in on itself.”

“Maybe it’s a deterrent to hide weapons?” Freda suggests.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Duncan says, finding a small, cylinder shaped fuel cell that he can hold in his hands.

“Should you be handling that if you don’t know what it is?” the Pilot warns.

“Probably not,” Duncan replies, seeing that one of the thieves had a device that fits the cell’s connector.

Putting the cell into the device, it’s digital display lights up and reads, ‘5 ZJ’. Disconnecting the fuel cell, he connects it to one of spheres. The screen reads ‘10 YJ’ before the entire device turns red. Duncan quickly removes the device and slides it away from the fuel cells as it melts under its own weight.

“That’s a lot of energy,” the Spy remarks, watching the deformed device rapidly cool.

“Someone has managed to engineer the impossible,” Duncan answers in disbelief.

All their tablets start buzzing simultaneously as an emergency broadcast is received.

“See if these give off a signal you can track,” Duncan orders the Spy quietly, as everyone reaches for their tablets.

The room falls silent as they learn that the bounty on the Scientist and his crew has doubled. The words ‘Current Location: Mercury Station’ flashes above the collection of wanted posters with photos of each crew member, except for the Spy whose posters are a series of twenty completely different sketches of men and women.

“Looks like we’ve brought unwanted attention to you after all,” Duncan proclaims, watching to see what Freda’s reaction is going to be.

“No one turns my station into a warzone!” Freda fumes. “If that woman wants you so badly, she can chase you across the galaxy for all I care. I’ll have your gunship repacked immediately” Freda reassures, relaying the order to the docking bay.

Duncan smiles. “It’s just rations and gold,” he says, “hopefully you can use them to keep order in this station.”

“And what should I do with these?” she asks, gesturing to the explosive cargo.

“I’ll help you interface one to your station … if I get through this alive,” he offers. “But in the meantime, use them as a deterrent to ward off would be attackers?” he replies with a shrug.

The freight elevator returns with ten of Freda’s mercenaries.

“If they make it back to their ship safely, I’ll double your pay,” she orders.

“Yes, Ma’am!” they reply in unison with a salute.

Everyone enters the elevator and Freda sends it up to the docking bay.

As they ascend the shaft, one of the previously quiet floors has the remaining ten mercenaries cleaning up the executed remains of the traitors.

#

The freight elevator arrives at the docking bay where all the station’s guests have gathered in front of their ships. As Duncan and his team exit the elevator, they quickly become the focus of attention as people use their tablets to confirm their identities.

The mercenaries push Duncan’s crew closer together as they form a protective barrier around them with their armoured bodies.

Reaching the Anathema, three of the mercenaries enter the gunship to ensure no one is waiting inside.

The other crews quickly complete their business and prepare their ships to take off.

Confirming that the ship is safe, the escort quickly ushers Duncan’s team onboard.

“Take off as soon as you’re ready,” Freda instructs. “I’ll prevent anyone else from following.”

Duncan nods as he closes the ramp behind him and vanishes into the cockpit. The Pilot and Navigator are quickly performing the pre-flight checks while the Spy is frantically typing into her console.

Climbing into his seat, Duncan orders, “You’re clear to launch when ready.”

“Where are we going?” the Navigator asks.

“Refining that amount of energy has to leave a mark,” Duncan says, “can you find it?”

The Spy calmly replies, “I’m already working on it.”

“We need to find somewhere to hide!” the Pilot shouts in a panic as he starts the engines. “We can look for that later!”

“I’ve almost found it,” the Spy insists.

The Anathema begins hovering over the docking bay floor as the sounds of the other ships’ engines start to echo through the metallic room.

“Freda can only prevent the others from following us,” Duncan says, “there’s nothing she can do about the ones that leave first.”

The Pilot takes the flight controls and flies the Anathema out of the station. The docking bay’s blast doors quickly slide shut behind them.

Leaving the safe proximity of the station, the ‘weapon lock’ alarm squeals throughout the Anathema.

“Two of the battleships have a lock!” the Gladiator shouts.

“Gnosis System!” the Spy shouts triumphantly.

The Navigator quickly enters the coordinates into the navigation system. The Pilot lines up the reticles and engages the warp engine, vanishing into the darkness of space.

Half of the battleships defending Mercury Station abandon their posts and pursue the Anathema.

Chapter Sixteen

The Wellspring

As the Anathema’s warp bubbles collapse, Gnosis 2, an enormous rocky planet with thirteen moons, appears in the distance. A fleet of very advanced battleships, identical to the ones from the Courier’s video, have blockaded the planet.

“Looks like we’ve found the right place,” the Pilot says.

The Anathema’s ‘weapon lock’ alarms start squealing as the battleships slowly come to life.

“One hundred ships have a lock!” the Gladiator shouts. “They will have a firing angle in seven seconds.”

“Full reverse!” Duncan commands, “prepare all MGs for defensive combat.”

The Pilot realigns the gunship’s engine to point toward the planet and pushes the throttle forward. The Anathema’s crew is pushed toward the floor as the gunship rapidly slows its approach toward the planet.

“Give me an exit strategy!” the Pilot demands.

The Navigator starts to type into his console as Duncan commands, “Stay the course and prepare for evasive maneuvers. Broadcast our location across all channels.”

Distorted, translucent tunnels erupt form the battleships and engulf the Anathema. The Pilot engages the warp engine and successfully rides the edge of the warp bubble to evade the oncoming beams of white energy.

The gunship pops and cracks as more alarms start screaming.

“This heap of junk won’t be able to do that again!” the Pilot warns disconcertingly.

“Full speed toward Gnosis Two,” Duncan orders as he tightens his harness.

“I always knew that I was going to die in a box with you, Scientist,” the Pilot announces as he spins the gunship around, so the engine pushes them toward the planet. “I just thought it would be in an epic battle, not in a suicide dive!”

The power flickers as they start accelerating toward the Gnosis fleet. The Gladiator grasps the weapon controls tightly as ‘missile lock’ starts flashing on her monitor.

“I hope you have a plan for this, Scientist!” she growls.

Fourteen battleships from Mercury Station zip past the Anathema as their warp bubbles collapse.

“Hang on!” the Pilot shouts as he waits for the battleship’s bubbles to fully collapse before moving the Anathema close to its hull.

The warning alarms fall quiet as the Gnosis fleet loses line of sight and indiscriminately start attacking the new battleships.

“Those flames will eat our shields!” the Gladiator warns as blue explosions erupt from their makeshift cover.

The Pilot pulls the Anathema away from the destroyed battleship as tiny debris explode with a white flash, centimeters away from the hull.

“This thing’s a pile of junk,” the Pilot declares, adjusting the gunship’s flight path toward the Gnosis fleet, “but there isn’t a pile of junk I can’t fly!”

The warning alarms fill the cockpit again as all but one of the Gnosis defenders focus on the Anathema. The lone defender easily repels the attacking mercenaries.

“Well that didn’t last very long!” the Pilot despairs, flying as close as he can to the Gnosis battleships.

Hundreds of small, fast moving destroyers appear with collapsing warp bubbles and engage the defending fleet.

“That’s why I had a contingency plan,” Duncan says with a smirk.

Armies of mercenaries and bounty hunters continuously join the battle, quickly overwhelming the Gnosis fleet’s numbers.

Slower, more powerful attackers join, forcing the defending fleet to ignore the Anathema and defend the planet against the actual threat.

Sweat streams down the Pilot’s face as he shouts, “How much further?!”

“One million fifty-six thousand three hundred and two kilometers,” the Navigator responds matter-of-factly, pressing his headset tight against his ears. With his head bowed, he focuses on the navigation map on his console.

“There’s still time to change course,” the Pilot suggests. “Maybe settle for a flyby and come back with a full army?”

“But we haven’t even seen the moons yet,” Duncan teases.

“I bet they’re battle moons,” the Pilot mutters.

“The moons are coming alive!” the Gladiator shouts.

“They’re always battle moons,” he laments to himself.

Hundreds of faint lights launch from the moons’ surfaces and drift out into space aimlessly. The ‘missile launch’ warning appears on all the monitors inside the Anathema as a new alarm starts screaming.

The faint lights blink out momentarily before reigniting brighter as they move quickly to intercept the gunship.

The Courier and Spy start tapping away at their consoles while the Gladiator operates the defensive weapons to incapacitate the incoming missiles.

Short bursts of ratcheting sounds echo through the Anathema as the machine guns counterattack.

Digital tracers track each bullet flying toward the missiles, causing them to burst into silent blue fireballs on impact. The moons launch a second wave of missiles.

“We’re going to run out of ammo before they do!” the Gladiator warns.

“The package is ready!” the Spy declares.

“Package has been delivered,” the Courier says, “forty seconds until deployment.”

Bursts of ratcheting machine guns fill the gunship again as the Gladiator cleans up the next wave of missiles. The exploding ordinance gets closer to the Anathema as a ‘12mm low’ warning starts flashing on her monitor.

“Impact in less than ten!” the Gladiator warns as she targets the third wave of missiles launched from the moons.

“I can add fifteen,” the Pilot says confidently.

Flicking the flight controls in random directions and shifting their rate of acceleration, the Pilot makes their course unpredictable. The incoming missiles drift and pulse their rockets as they constantly update their trajectory to account for the Anathema’s new position.

The Gladiator focuses the remaining ammunition on the missiles that still pose a plausible collision course, ignoring the ones unable to keep up with them.

A hollow clicking fills the gunship as the ‘12mm out’ warning replaces the ‘12mm low’ warning.

The crew watches helplessly as the Pilot does his best to trick the fourth wave of missiles. The swarm of explosives cluster together and find an unavoidable path to the Anathema.

“Two seconds to spare,” the Navigator says matter-of-factly.

The rockets propelling the missiles suddenly turn off and continue drifting aimlessly as the Anathema flies away from the threat.

A new wave of missiles are launched from the moons but when their rockets engage, they target the buildings on the surface of the moon that launched them.

“Everything is up to you now, Pilot,” the Spy says calmly.

The Pilot angles the Anathema’s course so that it will barely cross Gnosis 2’s mesopause while flicking the switches on his console. “Hold your breath,” he says, “Life support is offline.”

All the alarms fall silent as the lights inside the gunship turn off. The sound of the engine revving up to an unsustainable speed drones out all the other sounds in the cockpit. Everything except the Pilot, Spy and Courier’s consoles go dark inside the Anathema.

The Pilot aligns the gunship for aerodynamics as it begins accelerating toward the edge of the planet.

The crew is forced into the backs of their seats as they strain their muscles vehemently. The Navigator, Philosopher and Duncan pass out very quickly while the Courier struggles to keep control of the battle moons for as long as he can. He falls unconscious seconds after the others.

The moons quickly regain control of their weapon systems and detonate all the remaining missiles raining down on them.

The Spy finally succumbs to the g-forces and falls unconscious, leaving the Gladiator and Pilot alone to witness their suicidal approach toward the planet.

The engine releases a relieved rumble as the Pilot pulls the throttle back and restores power to the rest of the gunship. Every alarm begins wailing as warning lights for every system on the Anathema fight for attention.

“I need an entry path!” the Pilot dictates as the crew slowly regains consciousness.

The Navigator squints with a delirious gaze as he calculates the safest course. “You need to skip eight times,” he says while entering the flight path into his console.

The Pilot slows down the gunship as much as he can as he follows the Navigator’s shallow angle of entry.

The Anathema starts to shake and rumble as they cross the mesopause. Flames ignite around the gunship’s shields, which flash white momentarily before the hull starts to heat up. The Pilot pulls out of the decent to shed the heat they picked up dragging across the atmosphere.

“Can you find the energy source?” Duncan asks.

“The whole planet is radiating enormous energy signatures,” the Spy states, “I won’t be able to get a more precise reading until we enter the atmosphere.”

With the heat distributors cooling the glow out of the hull, the Pilot lowers the gunship into the mesosphere again, compressing the air into a fiery wall as they attempt to cross.

Once the hull heats up again, the gunship pulls up from the mesopause to dissipate the collected heat. The Anathema continues to bounce off the planet’s mesosphere six more times as the battle continues throughout the Gnosis system.

Beginning their descent toward the surface, Gnosis 2’s factory cities rotate their surface-to-air weaponry toward the plummeting fireball. They propel exploding ordinance toward the Anathema, bursting in the air around the gunship.

Each successive shot gets closer to striking the Anathema’s hull.

“None of the surface factories are radiating high enough readings to be the source,” the Spy informs calmly.

“If they have underground mines, they will need vents,” Duncan replies.

The lights inside the Anathema flicker off as the cooling hull whines and pops.

“We’re going to have to abandon this bucket soon,” the Pilot warns.

“Find something low to hide in,” Duncan instructs.

As the Anathema’s speed slows, the flames obstructing the main monitors clears, revealing the planet’s rocky terrain to the occupants.

The Pilot directs the gunship for a deep canyon running along the planet’s plantless surface when a volley of surface-to-air missiles launch from the factory cities.

“It’s never that easy!” the Pilot complains as he presses the throttle forward and directs the Anathema into a sharp dive.

“There’s a very high energy signature three hundred kilometers ahead,” the Spy advises.

The Pilot pulls up on the flight controls with all his might, throwing the Anathema’s crew deep into their seats as the gunship barely avoids crashing into the canyon floor.

The pursuing missiles try to follow but detonate against the edges of the canyon before entering.

Pulling the throttle back, the Pilot travels through the canyon cautiously, watching for signs of an ambush.

“The energy surge is coming out of that cave,” the Spy says, pointing to a deep, hollowed out hole in the side of the canyon.

The Pilot carefully guides the gunship into the cave, gently feathering the thrusters to maneuver through the tight space.

When the walls become too tight to advance, the Pilot brings the Anathema to a gentle rest, lowers the loading ramp and then powers everything down.

“We made it!” he says, letting out a relieved sigh.

The Gladiator climbs out of her seat and says, “Now we just need to figure out how to get out of here in a crumbling gunship, that doesn’t have any guns, while a well-armed mercenary army searches for us.”

“The Spy, Gladiator and I will investigate what’s going on here,” Duncan commands, climbing out of his seat. “I need the rest of you working on the Anathema to get it ready for our escape. Focus on the warp engine first.”

The Spy opens a storage locker and removes a black box and her sniper rifle case. Placing the box on her console, she opens it and distributes the night vision goggles to the team.

“Keep the lights off and stay quiet,” she warns, “we’ll be back as soon as possible.”

They put their goggles on before heading down the ramp and vanishing into the black cave tunnels.

#

Working together to navigate through the dark maze, the Spy holds onto the Gladiator’s belt with one hand and uses the tablet in the other to track the energy signature.

Approaching the end of the tunnel network, ambient light starts to illuminate the stone walls blowing out their vision.

Removing their goggles, they cautiously follow the source of light to a ledge overlooking a busy industrial refinery.

Crawling on their bellies to reduce their exposure, they look over the edge to see that the refinery is filled with autonomous machines and conveyers. The production line is moving fuel cells from the machines and storing them on selves along the edge of the refinery.

Between the roars and clangs of the machines, a loud buzz radiates from a river of glowing blue magma that flows alongside the refinery.

“Liquid electricity?” the Spy asks removing the scope from her rifle case. “Is that possible?”

Duncan watches carefully as the machines scoop the blue magma out of the river, pour it into the refiners and extract glowing blue cylinders. Electricity arcs from the processed cylinders and strikes every surface in a ten-meter radius as it is carefully encased in a shielded fuel cell.

“I’m more curious about it being a natural substance,” Duncan says, noticing the inspectors testing the cells in the storage area. “Did you find any other planets with this energy signature?”

“This is the only object in the galaxy emitting anything close to this kind of energy,” the Spy replies. “Mercury Station doesn’t even compare.”

Relieved, Duncan concludes, “Which makes this the only source for production.”

“What could something like this be used for?” the Gladiator asks.

“It could be used to power the entire galaxy,” he replies, “or create weapons more destructive than we can imagine.”

“And since it’s in the Strategist’s hands, it’s probably the latter,” the Gladiator concludes. “What’s the plan?”

“How many inhabited planets are there in this system?” Duncan asks surveying the storage area carefully.

“Officially?” the Spy says as she finishes assembling her rifle. “None, but there is heavy traffic around two others.”

“How close are we to an inhabited planet?”

Confused, the Spy replies, “The closest one is about twenty lightyears away,” Seeing Duncan’s fixation on the stored fuel cells, she calmly says, “We are not doing that,” rejecting his unspoken plan.

“Twenty years is more than enough time to evacuate,” Duncan says coldly.

“This is barbaric, even for us.”

“We don’t have an army to seize the facility with,” Duncan responds grimly, “We can’t steal their entire supply on one beaten up gunship. Unless you can think of something that I’m missing, this is our only choice.”

“You’re prepared to destroy trillions of innocent people’s homes over the next hundred years?” the Spy asks calmly.

Placing a communication device into his ear, Duncan answers with dire conviction, “Destroying this planet means I’ll kill a few million people.” He points to the facility. “If she weaponizes that, she will kill quadrillions.”

The Spy looks at the Gladiator for support. “Sorry, Sis,” the Gladiator says, putting her earpiece in, “I’m not putting civilian lives in danger to save an army of mercenaries. Twenty years is more than enough time to relocate the innocent.”

Reluctantly, the Spy puts her earpiece in as well and deploys her rifle’s bipod. Duncan starts to climb over the edge when the Gladiator pulls him back.

“Leave that giant white flag here,” she says pulling the lab coat off his shoulders.

Duncan tosses the reflective lab coat into the tunnel before following the Gladiator down the rocky wall to a pile of boulders below.

“Two tangos are patrolling the racks,” the Spy says through the earpiece. She tracks the patrol with her rifle as they make their rounds back into the refinery. “Go now,” she orders.

The Gladiator leads Duncan across the open cave to the storage shelves where she cautiously peaks around the corner for any oncoming patrols. Duncan quietly removes one of the sealed cases from the racks to find that each one holds five cylindrical fuel cells. He carefully reseals the case and takes two more from the rack. Confirming that both cases are the same, Duncan removes a small explosive device from his vest.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” the Spy pleads calmly through the comms.

“I’ve tried to find a peaceful resolution twice,” Duncan says, improvising a circuit between the fuel cells by disassembling their connectors. “I’ve tried to find a resolution with brute force,” he adds, connecting the chained fuel cells to the explosive. “Now it’s time to force a resolution through fear,” he declares, setting the timer to thirty minutes before activating the explosive.

“Spoken like a true despot,” the Spy remarks. “How bad is this going to be?”

Duncan cautiously returns the IED to the storage rack. “It will definitely destroy the system,” he says. “But honestly, I have no idea what unleashing this much massless energy will do.”

“Time’s up,” the Spy orders calmly. “Two tangos making their way down the right aisle. You’ve got twenty seconds to get back to the boulders.”

Duncan steals two cases of fuel cells and races back to the boulders with the Gladiator. The Spy watches the patrols as they walk along the shelves and stop at the gap where the missing cases used to be.

Lining the crosshair on one of the patrolling agent’s head, the Spy watches the machinery with her unscoped eye. “You’re the kind of sister who’d help me hide a body, right?” she asks calmly.

“Absolutely,” the Gladiator replies with a smile. “I’ll help you make them too.”

As a metal clang rings through the refinery, the Spy discharges her rifle twice in rapid succession striking each of the patrolling agents once in their heads.

“Maybe next time,” the Spy says, scanning the refinery to see if anyone heard the shots.

Duncan clips the stolen cases to his belt and starts scaling the rock wall while the Gladiator runs back to the shelves. She slings one corpse over each shoulder and carries them back to the boulders.

Hiding the bodies out of sight, she sees that Duncan is stuck halfway up the rock face, arms and legs shaking, barely able to hold onto the wall.

“Hurry up, Duncan,” the Spy warns as she watches the next patrol moving through the stacks.

The Gladiator effortlessly scales the rock face, plucks Duncan off the wall and places him on her back before rejoining the Spy at the top, unaffected by the extra weight on her back.

“How are you the one out of shape!” the Gladiator complains. “You weren’t confined to a tiny box for six years.”

Struggling to catch his breath, Duncan removes the cases from his belt and sits down.

“If this is all the stamina you’ve got, I feel sorry for the Titan,” she jests.

Laughing, the Spy packs up her rifle, picks up one of the fuel cell cases and places her goggles back on her head.

“We should get back to the Anathema,” she says heading into the dark tunnels, “Duncan probably put a short fuse on that.”

The Gladiator picks up the other fuel cell case and looks Duncan in the eyes. “Do I need to carry you back as well?”

Duncan shakes his head, climbs to his feet, picks up his lab coat and follows the Gladiator back into the lightless tunnels.

#

The Anathema’s stations have been scavenged for parts to repair the critical systems. The Pilot starts to power up the engines as everyone quickly climbs into their seats and fastens their harnesses. Duncan, gasping for air, fumbles with the clasps.

“Is the warp engine functional?” Duncan asks while the Pilot carefully eases the gunship out of the cave.

“It will make at least one jump,” the Pilot replies, “but without munitions and several damaged power relays, the chances we’ll get far enough to use it aren’t very good.”

“Find a clear path out of this system and activate the warp engine,” Duncan says as they exit the cave. “You have two minutes to get as far away from here as possible.”

“What’s the fastest exit path?” the Pilot asks.

“Forget about the exit path!” Duncan barks. “Set a course past the moons and activate the warp engine!”

“You want to bend spacetime while under the effects of gravity?!” the Courier shouts while the Pilot and Navigator follow their orders.

“Is that possible?” the Spy adds.

“The gravity isn’t going to cause any problems for the warp engine,” Duncan reassures. “It’s the dense troposphere that’s probably going to kill us.”

“I’ll take probably over definitely every time,” the Pilot says, aiming the Anathema at the Navigator’s digital marker in the sky.

Activating the warp engine causes the engine to whine and groans as it struggles to form the warp bubbles around the Anathema. The stone canyon walls buckle and crack as the gunship tries to push and pull the entire planet simultaneously.

The Pilot redirects all the system’s power to the warp engine, causing to emit a frightful squeal.

The Anathema shakes violently as it struggles to expand and contract the mass around them. Earthquakes radiate out from around the gunship and the cave network collapses behind them.

The distorted bubbles slowly start to become stable as rocks are ripped from the ground and forced into a perfect sphere in front of them. While the entire canyon wall behind them explodes violently sending boulders and stone fragments into space away from the gunship.

The Anathema leaps upward with an incredible bang as it exits the atmosphere of Gnosis 2, faster than the speed of light.

The gunship zips past the moons and through the gigantic graveyard of destroyed ships as the planet behind them stops rotating. Devastating storms rapidly form all over the planet, volcanoes erupt, and there is a crater the size of earth’s moon left where the Anathema escaped.

Gnosis 2 is dragged out of its orbit before popping into a brilliant burst of light.

The moons and all the combating ships around the planet instantly turn into dust before the exploding light consumes everything near the planet.

As the sphere of light expands outward at the speed of light, the planets and star atomize long before the edge of the explosion reaches them.

#

Speeding across the galaxy at speeds faster-than-light, the unhealthy sounds of the struggling warp engine become unsettling.

“We’re nearing the hundred-lightyear threshold,” the Pilot declares.

“The further, the better,” Duncan responds, just before the warp engine explodes.

The bubble surrounding them collapses with a bang, as the atmosphere trapped inside the forward bubble is blown out into space.

Without the compressive force, the rock sphere in front of them explodes sending a spray of rocky shrapnel into the Anathema.

The fragments puncture the unshielded hull, rip apart the computer systems and strikes the crew.

Duncan attempts to command his crew but struggles to breathe. Looking down at his chest, he sees that his shirt is soaking up a lot of blood as he falls unconscious.

Chapter Seventeen

The Refuge

Duncan regains consciousness to the sound of the droning alarms echoing throughout the Anathema. The Spy is floating around the cockpit with a fire extinguisher, controlling the fires that pop out of the control panels.

He quickly passes out again.

#

The Philosopher is strapping Duncan into an escape pod when she notices that Duncan has woken up.

“Persevere, this is not your denouement,” she says as he loses consciousness.

#

The escape pod shakes violently as the engines engage, waking Duncan. He looks out the window to see another escape pod launching from the Anathema. Tiny chunks of debris break away from the Anathema’s battered hull as it sits lifelessly in the middle of space.

Duncan notices that the Gladiator is strapped into the seat beside him, her shirt has been removed and there are bloody bandages wrapped around her pelvis. She is completely unresponsive.

Struggling to catch his breath, Duncan slumps back in his seat and allows the distress beacon’s flashing red light to guide him back into unconsciousness.

#

A tiny nurse jumps onto Duncan’s gurney and presses a towel against his chest wound. The sharp pain awakens Duncan to notice the nurses surrounding him. They are frantically working together to do everything they can to keep him alive while they wheel him through a metal space station.

Limited by a thick foam neck brace, Duncan tries to look around.

A nurse grabs his jaw, holds his head in place, and demands, “Keep your head straight!” before Duncan passes out again.

#

The triage station is an open warehouse converted to care for tens of thousands of injured people. As Duncan regains consciousness, he notices that he is wearing a blue gown, like all the other patients, but he is the only one wearing a paper mask and scrub cap.

A dull pain in his chest directs his attention down to see a purplish stain on his gown right over his heart. He reaches to inspect his injury, but the handcuffs attached to his wrists rattle as they keep him restrained to his gurney.

“Stay calm,” Valtina says with a hint of exhaustion as she approaches his gurney. “We’re in crisis mode here so if you rupture your injuries it could be a while before we reseal them.”

Duncan relaxes in his gurney and quickly reads the ID badge attached to her purple scrubs. “Where am I, Doctor Valtina,” he asks.

Pulling a flashlight from her breast pocket, she forces Duncan’s eyes open. “Do you remember your name?” she inquires.

“Philip Duncan,” he replies, “but everyone calls me Duncan.”

“What shuttle did you arrive on?” she asks, putting her light away.

“I don’t recall,” Duncan dismisses.

“What planet are you from?” she interrogates as she starts writing notes on the clipboard attached to his gurney.

“I don’t recall.”

“You’ve accumulated some pretty impressive scars,” she says studiously, “are they all from the war?”

“It was a terrible time for everyone,” he non-answers.

Valtina puts the clipboard back and gives Duncan a stern look. “If you’re not going to be honest with me,” she says, leaning in close to Duncan’s head. “I’ll stop being nice to you, Scientist,” she whispers shrewdly before pressing her palm against his injury.

Duncan flinches in pain as Valtina aggressively twists her palm. “Are you responsible for this mess?” she whispers.

Fighting the urge to scream out in pain, Duncan focuses on taking short breaths. “Gnosis has survivors?” he says with skepticism.

Valtina presses her palm against Duncan’s injuries harder, rupturing the stitches. “You were unconscious when we learned about Gnosis,” she reveals angrily. “I guess you’ll be satisfied to know that there were no survivors after you blew up their star!”

Letting out a scream as the pain becomes unbearable, Duncan flails as much as his restrained arms will let him. “Then who are these people?” he manages to ask between screams.

She turns his head to ensure that he can clearly see the countless patients in the station. “These are the victims of the fallout that occurs when an entire system explodes!” she condemns.

“How big is the effected radius?” Duncan asks in disbelief as his anxiety starts to rise.

Taking her hand from Duncan’s chest, Valtina removes her bloody gloves. “The shockwave crippled all spacecraft within ninety-lightyears of Gnosis,” she says, putting on clean gloves and pulling the gown off Duncan’s shoulder. “Systems within eighty-lightyears have completely lost power, their medical facilities are failing, and their farms have become unsustainable.” She removes the blood-soaked bandages and proceeds to disinfect the wound. “Systems within sixty-lightyears are reporting mass extinction level events, and everything within thirty-lightyears is completely dead.”

“That’s impossible—” Duncan gasps without taking his eyes off the victims he’s created.

“Congratulations, Scientist,” she commiserates, “you’ve just broken your own record.” Valtina removes the torn sutures before resealing the injury. “Early estimates have it close to ten trillion.”

His breathing becomes very shallow as a panic attack cripples his injured body. “That’s physically impossible,” Duncan refutes. “There’s no way I’ve been unconscious for ninety years.”

“You’ve only been unconscious for two days,” she says while pulling his gown back over his shoulder. “Things are going to get much worse in the coming weeks.”

Duncan grabs onto the gurney to ground himself from his worsening panic attack. “The destructive radius can only be two lightdays … it's not possible for—”

Valtina brings up a star map of the area around Gnosis on her tablet and shows it to Duncan. A solitary star in the center of the screen dwarfs the countless number of lights surrounding the edge of the map. Separating the tiny stars from the one in the middle is a thirty-lightyear radius of black, empty space.

“This only represents the lost stars,” she says gravely, “there is nothing alive within a hundred light years of this.”

“Tachyons—” Duncan trails off as he looks into her eyes with penance. “What are you going to do with me?”

“The bounty for your arrest has increased thirty-fold,” she states. “With Ishtar, Torus, Primus and now Gnosis, I am fighting the urge to wheel you into the refugee camp and let mob justice give you what you deserve.”

“You’ve pledged to treat everyone without bias,” he replies, “collecting the bounty won’t violate that oath.”

Valtina sighs quietly. “Except I was on Ishtar Seven, I know what you sacrificed, what you did for us … but wasn’t crippling the Federation and committing genocide on the Torians enough?!” she questions angrily. “I want to believe you had a good reason for this, but I’m struggling to think of one.”

“I underestimated the power of the Strategist’s weapon cache,” he abhors, “I was too fixated on crippling her army that I failed to properly calculate the recourse.”

“The Strategist is just a story for warmongers to justify their brutalities,” Valtina rebuts angrily. “Your obsession with her is just the excuse a junkie gives to get high. It’s time for you to concede that you have a problem with killing and power.” She turns her back and starts to walk away from his bedside.

“Let me help,” he offers sincerely.

“You’ve done enough to these people,” she declares authoritatively without turning back.

“I have a medical degree,” he says calmly, “don’t force me to lay in the middle of my victims, taking resources from them. I can help mend the suffering I’ve created,” he begs.

Valtina turns back to Duncan and declares, “Maybe this is the punishment you deserve.” She turns her back and proceeds to the next gurney.

A new hoard of patients are wheeled into the triage station, crying in pain. Valtina sees that her staff is showing obvious signs of severe stress and fatigue.

Defeated, she signals one of the patrolling security guards over to Duncan’s bedside.

“How long have you been experiencing panic attacks?” she asks.

“Since Ishtar Seven,” he says, trying to control his current attack.

“Due to the catastrophe? Or the loss of Lexy?”

“Due to the fear that a wrong decision will kill countless people,” he admits.

“We’re about to hit triage level one,” Valtina warns, “your decisions will result in many deaths.”

Gaining control of his nerves, Duncan resolutely declares, “My mistake has already killed those that are going to die. If I can intervene, less of them will have to.”

“Nurse Duncan has graciously offered to help,” she sighs. “If he tries to leave this room without me,” she gives Duncan a warning glance, “shoot him.”

Nodding in agreement, the guard removes Duncan’s restraints and follows them as Valtina establishes his rounds.

#

The police station is hectic as officers are struggling to corral hundreds of arrested protesters between the intake room, interrogation rooms, and jail cells. The Pilot and thirteen other felons are handcuffed to a bench, waiting to be processed.

Detective Jun, immaculately dressed in a black suit, enters the processing area with a clipboard in hand. She walks past the uniformed police officers and stops in front of the Pilot.

“Back already, Mr. Todd?” she asks.

“Someone needs to supervise your work,” he denigrates, provoking the other felons to howl and cheer.

“I’m sure you’ll have a permanent room here soon enough,” Jun responds reaching for the handcuffs on her belt.

“You just asked me to move in and you’re already going for the cuffs?” the Pilot jests to the amusement of the surrounding degenerates. “How about some dinner first?”

She handcuffs the Pilot’s wrists together before releasing him from the bench. Grabbing the link, Jun pulls the short man to his feet and pushes him down the hall to the furthest interrogation room.

Jun closes the door behind her and signals to the one-way mirror. “You’re supposed to tell me about these riots before they happen,” she says, removing the Pilot’s restraints.

The Courier, disguised as a uniformed officer, enters the room with a metal briefcase and sits at the table across from the Pilot.

“And miss out on a killer party?” the Pilot replies.

Jun takes a seat beside the Courier. “Our deal was that you would prevent the militia from rioting,” she states aggressively.

The Courier says, “The small riots can be ignored—”

“No crime can be ignored!” Jun interjects zealously, “It’s bad enough I can’t charge him for inciting violence, but people are dying out there because he isn’t being forward!”

“If he’s unable to gain the leader’s trust a lot more people will die,” the Courier dismisses coldly. “You’re too weak to—”

“Weak?!” Jun cries. “We’re only weak because your informant isn’t informing!”

“We’re only using your services as a way to keep up appearances and relay messages,” the Courier admits matter-of-factly.

“This station’s security is up to me and my team. I will not be advising them blindly.” Jun leans over the table and confidently declares, “Whatever you have to say to each other, you will say to me as well.”

“Looks like the detective is finally ready to play,” the Pilot quips.

Furious, Jun snaps, “I never play when it comes to justice!”

The Pilot notices the Courier reaching for his stun gun. “What would the captain say about that?” he warns.

“If you two didn’t keep Captain Kamali busy he’d be the one giving me orders,” Jun says, completely oblivious to the threat beside her.

“I’m hearing chatter that Cole is mobilizing something big within the next forty-eight hours,” the Courier says disparagingly. “Are you able to confirm that rumour?”

“That would be a pretty liberal estimate,” the Pilot corrects. “His team has been extremely efficient.”

“Efficient as if she’s involved?” the Courier asks cryptically.

The Pilot answers, “I haven’t had a face-to-face with his leadership team yet. No idea if Cole is just a puppet or the master.”

“Who is she?” Jun inquires. “What information do you have? I’ve got access to—”

“Are you going to secure a meeting before it’s too late?” the Courier asks, ignoring Jun.

The Pilot leans back with a smug smile. “If today’s test is a success, I will be the newest major general,” he gloats.

“What do you mean if?” Jun demands, “did you succeed or not?”

The Courier smiles. “Looks like it was a good thing you decided to stay after all,” he says turning to the detective. “Can you make his stubbornness look convincing?”

“I will not assault a prisoner!” she exclaims defiantly.

The Courier makes his way around the table to the Pilot.

“The bruises should help my street cred—” the Pilot is cut off when the Courier punches his face with enough force to knock him out of his chair.

“What are you doing!” Jun cries with disgust, running to help the Pilot up.

As she reaches for the Pilot, the Courier grabs her wrist and pulls it to the handcuffs attached to the table. While he is securing her wrists in the restraints, the Pilot quickly places a piece of tape over her mouth before she can scream.

“Have you found the others yet?” the Pilot asks while Jun thrashes around trying to strike him with her feet.

The Courier responds apathetically, “Nobody’s reached out across the network yet and none of the documented refugees match their descriptions.”

“So, we have to keep up appearances for a little while longer,” the Pilot states enthusiastically, guiding Jun into a chair.

“You don’t sound upset about it,” the Courier points out.

The Pilot smiles, “Pretending to be a terrorist is a lot more fun than actually being one.”

Jun’s eyes fill with anger at the Pilot’s admission while the Courier opens the briefcase to reveal a police uniform in the Pilot’s size. Changing out of his nondescript clothes and into the uniform, the Pilot sees her hate filled glare.

“You should tell her the details,” he suggests.

Shrugging, the Courier sits across form Jun, and starts telling her who they are and why they are there. The Pilot takes Jun’s badge and handcuff keys from her belt before exiting the interrogation room.

Blending in with the other uniformed officers, the Pilot navigates the halls cautiously to ensure no one can get a clear look at his face.

Reaching the evidence room, he uses Jun’s badge to gain entry.

“Morning, Detective Jun,” the technician says without taking his eyes off his computer, “picking up or dropping off?”

“Picking up,” he responds, quickly drawing his stun gun and discharging it into the technician’s chest.

Shaken out of his chair, the stunned technician flops to the floor before he can activate the alarm.

Acting quickly, the Pilot handcuffs the technician to the feet of his desk, takes his security pass and enters the evidence locker.

He makes his way down the aisles until he finds the box labelled, ‘Cole’. Removing the box from the shelf, he removes a radio from an evidence bag sealed within.

Switching it on, he sets it to channel eight, presses the PTT button and clearly says, “Papa, India, Sierra.”

He reaches into the box and removes two evidence bags containing a belt with ten rectangular objects on each. Taking them out of their clear bags, the Pilot detaches one object from each belt, connects them together and places the contraption on the shelf where Cole’s box used to be. He creates a second contraption and drops it into the open box.

Making his way for the exit, he assembles another device and tosses it deep into the stacks.

Leaving the locker, he heads for the exit as the first device pops, quietly setting everything around it on fire. Seeing the technician squirm on the floor and watching how quickly the flames are spreading, the Pilot removes the handcuff keys from the technician’s belt and places them into his hand.

Taking a deep breath, the Pilot barges through door and sprints down the hallway.

“Fire!” he screams while pulling the fire alarm.

Chaos quickly envelops the station as the automatic sprinklers turn off as quickly as they start.

The Pilot removes two objects from the opposite side of the belt, combines them, and slides the device into the middle of the processing room.

The felons handcuffed to the bench cover their ears and close their eyes tightly. The device explodes with a deafening blast as it releases an intense, blinding flash and pungent odour.

In the confusion, the Pilot uses Jun’s handcuff key to free the restrained felons. Once freed, the felons quickly disarm the confused officers, restrain their wrists in their own handcuffs, and ransack the police station.

Unshackling the last of the felons, the Pilot uses Jun’s badge to unlock the front door. Directing his co-conspirators to leave, he drops an incendiary device in the doorway, preventing anyone from following.

#

The once tranquil park in front of Salem Station’s administration offices is now the scarred battlefield of a protest that escalated into a violent riot.

The Spy, wearing a Salem Station officer uniform, is walking along side Captain Kamali as their station’s cleanup team extinguishes the fires, bags the bodies and secures the damaged property.

A security officer approaches Kamali and whispers in his ear. He nods and dismisses the officer.

“The operation unfolded exactly as you planned,” Kamali informs the Spy. “Mr. Ramirez wants you to know that Cole’s attack is imminent.”

The Spy removes the tablet from her belt and pulls up the file on the militia.

“With the fall of the police station, I’m going to have to instil martial law,” Kamali says.

“Set the curfew early,” the Spy recommends while analysing her notes. “the sooner the civilians are off the streets, the safer they’ll be.”

“How long until we get the location of their staging area?” Kamali asks. “I’d like to disable them before they mobilize.”

“It’s disadvantageous to attack their staging area,” the Spy informs, returning her tablet to her belt. “They out number you six to one, they are well armed, and they haven’t gotten drunk yet,” she explains. “Your best option is to fortify the administrative buildings and let them come to you after an evening of drinking.”

“You’re certain they will attack here again?” Kamali questions. “Even after this attack?”

“The bulk of their attack will be here,” she divulges, “but the refugee quarters, the triage station and the docking bays will also be targeted.”

“How should I divide my officers?” he says trying to hide his frustration.

“It’s imperative that you keep them all here—”

“I will not allow the refugees to be slaughtered!” Kamali shouts furiously. “You were supposed to prevent this scenario!”

“If you try and save everyone, everyone will die,” she answers calmly. “Surrendering central command will grant Cole access to the docking bay’s turrets and allow him to vent the refugee quarters. And if he pulls the medical staff from the triage station, he will kill everyone you are trying to save,” the Spy explains. “I’ve got an asset infiltrating Cole’s leadership team as we speak.”

“So, we’re supposed to just abandon the people we’ve spent the last month trying to save?” Kamali reiterates.

The Spy sighs, “We have to have faith that my missing colleagues are there to protect them.”

“Faith isn’t good enough,” he declares in defeat. “I can’t sit and do nothing when those trusting me for their survival, die.”

Kamali calls his entire security team over to make an announcement. “As the riots become more violent, I have found myself torn between two promises,” he says removing his captain’s badge. “Due to this, I am no longer able to protect this station and those that reside within it.” He pins the badge onto the Spy’s uniform and salutes her. “Salem Station needs a military commander now, Captain. I know the station is in capable hands.” He turns sharply and starts to march away.

“Wait,” she says calmly, running after him.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he refutes stubbornly.

She leans in close and whispers into his ear, “My colleagues are the Scientist and Gladiator, find them and they will save the refugees.”

Kamali gives her a disgusted look of refusal before vanishing into the station’s corridors.

The Spy turns to the confused security team. “I need a fortification plan asap,” she commands, “no matter what happens we cannot concede control of the central command center!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” the team shouts in unison before returning to work.

The Spy pulls out her tablet and starts searching the refugee logs for anything that could indicate her sister’s status.

#

Disguised behind a blue cap and mask, the Gladiator recovers among the other patients in the triage station.

Regaining consciousness, she winces in pain as she tries to reach for her abdomen. Restraints keep her arms pinned tightly against her gurney. Struggling violently to break free, the metal frame of the bed starts to bend under her incredible strength.

Duncan, wearing blue scrubs and mask, races across the triage station to her bedside.

“Ms. Doe,” he says calmly, “I need you to remain calm.” He gestures toward the security guard, giving her a subtle warning. “You’ve been in a terrible accident and we had to keep you in a coma for the past month.”

“A month?!” she exclaims with a weak garbled voice. Wincing in pain she looks down at her stomach. “What happened to me?” she asks fearfully.

“You’ve finally awoken,” Valtina says softly as she approaches the gurney. “How are you feeling, Ms. Doe?” she asks while closing the privacy curtain.

Sitting up as much as she can, the Gladiator replies, “Like I gave birth to a porcupine.”

Valtina stops her from moving and keeps her shoulders flat against the gurney. She turns to face the security guard and instructs, “Give us ten minutes.” The guard complies and heads for the office at the back of the station.

Lifting the Gladiator’s gown, Valtina reveals seven, freshly healed, scars ranging in length from five to twenty millimeters. “We had to remove seven pieces of stone shrapnel from your pelvis,” she informs.

“Looks like my scar collection has grown,” she jests with a painful laugh.

Valtina lowers the gown, grasps the Gladiator’s hand firmly and looks sympathetically into her eyes. The Gladiator’s mood shifts quickly, fearing why the doctor looks uneasy.

“The sharp fragments didn’t pass through your body completely,” Valtina informs, carefully picking her words. “Luckily the fragments did get caught in one of your muscles—” she trails off.

“I sense there’s a but coming,” the Gladiator says with a doomed tone, “I can still feel my toes, so how bad can it be?”

Taking the mask off the Gladiator’s face, Valtina squeezes her hand tightly. “They bounced around your uterus causing irrep—” seeing the tears form in her eyes, Valtina gets choked up and cannot stop her own tears from rolling down her cheeks. “You cannot bear children,” she forces out as calmly as she can.

The Gladiator goes limp and stares at the ceiling, tears rolling down her checks while Valtina sits on the gurney beside her quietly, gently squeezing her hand. The Gladiator’s sadness slowly shifts to anger and then boils into a furious rage.

“This is what I get for following you!” she growls turning to look Duncan in the eyes. Ashamed Duncan is unable to keep eye contact. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” she demands. “You have an uncanny ability to avoid disaster,” she berates, “but that’s because everyone around you acts like sponges to soaks up the consequences for your actions.”

Duncan, doing his best to hide his panic attack, looks into the Gladiator’s eyes and stays silent.

“Thanks to you I’ll never get to hold the life of something I created it in my arms,” she scorns, “but you’d have no idea how that feels because you’re an emotionless monster that feeds on the pain of everyone else, obsessed with ending life with no desire to create it!”

Holding his head high, Duncan is unable to stop a tear from rolling down his cheek. “I’ve got to complete my rounds, Doctor,” he says with a trembling voice.

Valtina gives him a shallow nod before he stumbles through the privacy curtain barely holding onto consciousness. His security escort runs out of the office and helps him find somewhere to sit.

Looking back up to the ceiling, the Gladiator is unable to shake her seething anger. “Do you know who that is?” she says vengefully.

“Yes,” Valtina answers with a soothing calmness.

“Good,” she says, “you should collect the bounty on us. You deserve to be rewarded for dealing with our mistakes.”

“I was on Ishtar Seven with him,” Valtina says very carefully.

“And you still—” the Gladiator snaps bitterly before realizing what she’s said. “Oh-no … what have I done?”

Valtina places her other hand on the Gladiator’s forearm and reassures, “If Duncan’s still the same person I used to know, he understands what you’re going through more than you might think.”

They continue to hold hands in silence, allowing the Gladiator to cope with the loss of her dreams.

#

Screens covering the command center’s walls display live video feeds from Salem Station’s countless security cameras.

Hunched over the main console in the middle of the observation deck, The Spy and Navigator are monitoring the angry mobs patrolling the corridors. The Navigator is recording their positions, movements and predicted paths onto a three-dimensional blueprint of the station projected from the console.

A guard climbs up the stairs behind the Spy. “Captain,” he says with a salute, “Detective Jun and Mr. Ramirez are here to see you.”

“Send Mr. Ramirez up and instruct the detective to return to work,” she replies without looking away from the blueprint.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says hesitantly before adding, “but Mr. Ramirez is in her custody.”

The Spy lets out a deep sigh and calmly says, “Send them up.”

The guard acknowledges the command before exiting down the stairs.

“Captain, your guests aren’t who they claim to be!” Jun shouts from outside the room.

The Courier enters the room with his hands cuffed behind his back as Jun follows closely behind.

“They are working for the Scientist and everyone on this station is at risk!” she exclaims as she pushes the Courier into the middle of the room.

Noticing that Kamali isn’t at the main console she quickly scans the room before noticing the captain’s badge on the Spy’s chest.

The Courier smiles, “Congratulations.”

“I should have listened to my gut sooner!” Jun shouts as she draws her sidearm.

The Spy draws her sidearm faster and shoots Jun’s weapon, destroying it in her hand. Four guards run up the stairs with their weapons drawn.

“Stand down,” the Spy orders calmly, holstering her weapon. “It was just a premature discharge.”

The guards ensure that there isn’t any threat to their captain before holstering their weapons and exiting the room. The Spy walks over to a screen and points to the security feed of Kamali distributing water and blankets in the refugee quarters.

“With the station going to war with itself, thousands of people are suffering in his home,” the Spy explains, “Kamali couldn’t abandon his altruistic nature.”

“The Captain would never abandon his family in a time of need!” Jun retorts angrily.

“He didn’t,” the Spy replies calmly. “He considers everyone on this station his family and in this time of crisis, he chose to help those that need it the most,” she explains. “He appointed me as acting captain because he couldn’t ask anyone he loved to take up arms against the rest of his family.” She slowly walks toward Jun, exuding authority with every step, she continues to speak with a calm tone, “As acting captain, I order you to release your prisoner.”

Watching Kamali on the video screen longingly, Jun begins searching for her handcuff keys.

“Mr. Todd needed to borrow your keys,” the Courier says with a smug smile.

“You still haven’t figured this out?” the Spy sighs disappointedly. “I should leave them on until you can get out of them yourself.” She removes her collar pin and quickly picks the locks. “You’re lucky I need to put you to work right away.” She leans in close to his ear and seductively whispers, “I’ll put them back on you a little later.”

“I’ll be on my way,” Jun states, returning her handcuffs to her belt.

“Before you leave,” the Spy replies, returning to the main console, “have you heard any reports of people matching the descriptions of the Scientist and Gladiator?”

The Courier makes his way over to the station’s communications system and sits down with the technicians.

“You’ve lost track of the Scientist?” Jun replies angrily. “How do you know he’s not Cole?”

“Because that’s not his M.O.,” the Spy explains. “He’s more likely to … Have you heard of any unrecognized people associating with Cole?”

“Other than Mr. Todd?” Jun asks. “Is he one to get noticed?”

The Spy bows her head and calmly sighs, “Fair point.”

Noticing the Navigator’s three-dimensional model and projected militant movements, Jun approaches the table. “Why are you assigning all of the station’s resources to protect this building?” she questions.

“Cole has radicalized enough people to seize control of the station,” the Spy replies calmly. “Our only hope is to hold out long enough for the Pilot to remove the heads.”

“Issue a curfew,” Jun suggests, “patrol the streets, round up the dissidents before they assemble.”

“A curfew is already in effect,” the Spy confirms while drawing her attention to the rioter’s movements, “but they have already started to assemble.”

“How many are we looking at?” Jun asks.

“Eighty-seven-point six four percent have already assembled,” the Navigator answers.

“How long until the other thirteen percent—”

“No!” the Navigator interjects with agitation, “Eighty-seven-point six four percent of the entire station has assembled.”

“That’s impossible,” Jun says, “Salem Station employs twenty percent of its population in police, emergency response and defensive positions.”

“How many of your coworkers have taken a leave of absence over the past couple of weeks?” the Spy asks.

Understanding the severity of the situation, Jun starts to analyze the Navigator’s plan thoroughly. “This isn’t a riot,” she says with a frightened tone, “the station is rebelling.”

“Luckily for you, my team has a lot of experience dealing with rebels,” the Spy reassures with a smile. “You know these streets better than anyone else,” she adds with a friendly undertone, “we could use your help.”

Jun agrees, and the Spy goes over the details of their plan.

#

The triage station has become very calm as the nursing staff are finally able to address the minor injuries. Duncan is wrapping a bandage around a young girl’s burnt forearm while subtly watching the nervous security guards gathering at the door behind her.

“Good as new,” he tells the girl.

“Thanks, Blue Man!” she exclaims turning to show off her new trophy to her mother.

Duncan steps away from their gurney, and whispers to the guard following him. “What’s going on?”

The guard ignores him while trying to hide his obvious insecure glances.

“Looks like we are finally downgrading to level four,” Valtina states with relief as she joins Duncan.

“You should take a break now,” Duncan says gesturing toward the guards slipping out of the station. “We are about to have a whole new crisis to deal with.”

Valtina lunges forward to stop the guards, but Duncan steps in front of her and quietly speaks into her ear, “Don’t let the patients think something’s wrong.”

Realizing she needs to be cautious of her demeanor, she hands Duncan a roll of bandages. “Here you go, Nurse,” she says, “just let me know if there’s anything else.”

They start walking toward the office and Duncan quietly requests, “I need access to a communication terminal.”

She gives him a concerned look and says, “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Some of these patients have been talking about increased mob activity,” Duncan explains. “With the curfew and my puppy vanishing,” he adds, noticing that his security guard left them, “it isn’t anything good.”

“Are we looking at an Ishtar Seven level event?” Valtina says trying to hide her fear.

“I don’t know,” Duncan responds, “but I need you to make sure my friend is ready if it is.”

“I’d like her to take it easy for at least four more weeks,” Valtina sighs as the Gladiator joins them, “but you’re not going to listen to my recommendations, are you?”

“Not a chance,” the Gladiator says firmly, “we need to get somewhere easier to fortify.”

Duncan looks around the open, undefended room before locking eyes with Valtina. “We’re not leaving these people to fend for themselves,” he declares. “Have your staff move all of the bed ridden patients to the back,” he orders. Turning to the Gladiator he continues, “Find everyone who is willing to fight and assess their abilities.” He turns back to Valtina, “I’ll also need access to the medicine locker.”

Valtina hands Duncan her keys and says, “I’ll bring a terminal to you in the locker.” Looking over the Gladiator’s blood-stained patient clothes, she says, “Come with me, no one’s going to take you seriously looking like that.”

“What about our masks?” the Gladiator asks, “fighting with it on will be limiting.”

“Until I know what the factions are, we need to act like nurses,” Duncan states. “Once I know how to convince them that we’re on their side, we’ll use our titles to boost their moral instead of their fear.”

Clear on their orders, Valtina and the Gladiator disappear into the office while Duncan makes his way into the medicine locker.

#

Cole’s militia have created a makeshift staging area filled with weapons, armoured vests, and torches in the corridors of the affluent neighbourhoods.

The Pilot, dressed entirely in black, puts on an armoured vest and picks up a holstered sidearm from the table. He attaches the holster to his thigh when Cole, an overweight man in his fifties with a scraggly white beard, approaches him with his seven male generals. They are all dressed in matching forest camouflage.

“Did all the stores run out of camouflage?” one of the generals jests.

“It just means General Todd will draw the fire away from us,” another adds.

The Pilot, trying to hold his laughter, watches in disbelief as Cole and his generals remove the sidearms from their holsters, stuff them into their waistbands and hide them under their bulky jackets.

“I’m not looking to blend in,” the Pilot responds boisterously, “I’m looking for a fight!”

The generals cheer at the Pilot’s response as they squeeze into their armoured vests. Half of the generals are too fat for the armour to cover their torsos properly; the others leave it so loose that their chests are completely exposed.

“I’m glad you came unprepared,” Cole says between gasps of air as he tries to tighten his vest, “I was warned of a spy that would try and take away what is rightfully ours.”

The Pilot helps Cole secure his vest. “Was that from someone you trust?” he asks. “Should I start looking for a traitor?”

“No, it was just some crazy broad ranting about some girl who’d try and get close to me to take down the militia,” Cole confides dismissively.

“They say women are attracted to power,” the Pilot says stepping away from Cole. “After tonight, you’ll have so many begging for your attention.”

Cole smirks ecstatically as he picks up the megaphone from the table and turns to address his militia.

“It’s been one month since our leaders have opened our doors to these leeches!” he shouts through the megaphone. “That’s one month of these freeloaders stealing everything that is rightfully ours!

They turned their own planets into crime ridden piles of garbage and now, out of jealousy, they want to ruin the lives of hardworking people like you!” The crowd boisterously screams in agreement. “Tonight, we purge the filth from our glorious home and send them back to the mess that they created!”

The militia’s screams become more violent as they turn and march toward the station’s administrative buildings. The Pilot stays close to Cole and his generals as they follow behind the mob.

Reaching the first access point to the lower levels, half of the mob breaks away and descends toward the refugee quarters.

The rest of the mob continues marching down the streets until they reach the edge of the administrative buildings’ park. They stomp their feet and scream violently toward the security team stationed behind makeshift bunkers, barricades and towers.

“You are in violation of Salem Station’s curfew,” the Spy announces through the station’s PA system, “return to your homes at once or you will be arrested.”

More mobsters appear from the adjacent streets chanting, “Purge the filth!”

Completely surrounded, the security personnel fearfully train their weapons on the approaching mobsters. Both sides standoff along the perimeter of the park, waiting for the other side to shoot first.

“Disperse and return home!” one of the security guards commands.

The sounds of discharging sidearms wildly echo out from the mob, frightening the security team to fire into the mobsters.

The people at the front of the mob are struck fatally by the rifle fire causing the second line to try and run away. Facing an impenetrable wall of angry mobsters charging toward the gunfire, the ones who try and escape are trampled to death beneath their advancing peers.

Cole and his generals stay behind the mob as they watch hundreds of misguided mobsters run to their deaths or die trying to escape. Although the mob outnumbers the security team, they are struggling to any gains into the park.

“I don’t think this plan is working,” the Pilot notes as the casualties rapidly pile up.

“This stage isn’t supposed to succeed,” Cole says confidently. “Our goal is to cleanse our home of the infectious leeches. The sacrifice that these brave soldiers have graced us with will allow the rest of the righteous to exterminate the pests in their ill-gotten beds.”

“They are the true heroes,” one of the generals admires.

“How do you know they haven’t defended them like this?” the Pilot asks.

Cole leads his generals toward a gated alleyway beside them. “God’s emissary told me how tonight was going to unfold,” he says entering the alley. “She’s foreseen every detail of the last month without a single error.”

Stopping in front of a locked tunnel hatch, Cole starts searching his pockets. “So, if this key works,” he removes a key from his pant pocket and unlocks the hatch, “then victory is ours!” he beams triumphantly.

Pulling the hatch open, Cole ushers four of his generals into the tunnels before entering alongside the Pilot. “We were never going to take the station by force,” he explains, “It was always going to be won by superior intellect.”

Travelling through the dark tunnels, the Pilot carefully watches the other generals for signs of a trap. When he’s confident no one is watching, he prepares his sidearm for a quicker draw.

Reaching the end of the tunnels, the generals draw their sidearms and open the door into the administrative building’s maintenance room.

“There are five guards on this floor,” Cole whispers. “They are stationed to the right, watching the front doors.”

Checking to see that everyone is ready, the first general kicks open the door and leads the charge into the lobby. Surprising the guards from behind, the generals discharge fifty blasts from their sidearms before they manage to kill the five guards.

“There’s only two guards at the top of the stairs holding us back from victory!” Cole says as he and the generals reload their sidearms. “Why didn’t you shoot?” he asks skeptically, noticing that the Pilot isn’t reloading.

“You cleaned them up too quickly,” the Pilot says as sincerely as he can, “it looks like there is a lot I can learn from you.”

Allowing the compliment to feed his hubris, Cole smiles and leads the team up the stairs. “There will be plenty of soft targets in the observation deck.”

Following the generals up the stairs, the Pilot is cautious not to run ahead of the overweight wannabe soldiers struggling to bound up the stairs. They wheeze and gasp for air as they near the top when sidearm bolts fly toward them from above. The Pilot aims toward his attackers and empties his sidearm, purposely missing every shot.

The generals take turns suppressing the guards as the others reload their weapons and continue to climb the stairs. Forcing the guards onto the observation deck, Cole stops the advance.

“There’s two experienced sharpshooters in there,” he says quietly while stuffing his sidearm back into his pants. “Which is why we have this.” He pulls a large pipe bomb out of his fanny pack.

With the generals distracted by Cole’s improvised explosive, the Pilot seizes the moment to act. Raising his sidearm, he quickly executes the generals with one shot to each of their heads, before they could react to his betrayal.

Dropping his sidearm, the Pilot lunges at Cole, ensuring that he cannot activate his bomb, and tackles him to the floor.

“All clear down here!” the Pilot shouts.

He struggles to use his small body to control the overweight man beneath him but manages to keep him subdued long enough for Detective Jun to make the arrest.

“The Strategist was advising him,” the Pilot blurts out as he tries to catch his breath. “Don’t ask me to do your job again,” he says exhaustedly as the Spy helps him to his feet.

“You blended in better than I would have,” she responds cordially. “I’ll make sure you are flying again in no time,” she adds quietly as they enter the observation deck.

The Navigator is monitoring the three-dimensional model of the ensuing battle in the park while the Courier works with the technicians to restore the video feeds.

Jun forces Cole into a nearby chair as the Pilot disarms his concealed sidearm and hands it to her.

“Have you found the Scientist yet?” the Pilot asks.

“Duncan managed to send us a message right before the attack,” she replies. “He and the Gladiator are hunkered down in the triage station looking after the patients there.”

“The triage station is under attack right now!” the Pilot warns.

“I’m aware of that,” the Spy confirms calmly, “and he knows that we won’t be sending reinforcements.” She turns to the Courier, “How long until we get our eyes back up?”

“We’re reconnecting the final nodes now,” the Courier replies as some of the screens start to display the station’s security feeds.

Cole laughs hysterically as the refugee quarters and triage station feeds switch from static to a solid blue. “I may not be in control yet,” he boasts, “but those freeloading leeches will soon be eradicated!”

The Spy draws her sidearm and presses it against Cole’s forehead. “It’s time you announce your surrender,” she says with a friendly calmness.

Spitting in her face, Cole taunts, “Put that toy away and show me some proper hospitality, girl. There’s nothing a weak brat like you can do to make me surrender, especially when I’m minutes away from winning.”

The Spy, holstering her weapon, turns to the Navigator. “How long until we’ve cleared the park?” she asks.

“It’s a stalemate,” he responds matter-of-factly, “both sides are heavily entrenched and no longer sustaining casualties.

“Unable to send reinforcements, and completely blind,” the Spy mutters to herself. “We’re still playing right into her plan.”

She takes out her tablet and takes a picture of Cole’s face before joining the Courier at his station. “Now that we know what he looks like,” she says handing him the tablet, “show me everything we know about him.”

“Yes, Captain,” he replies, plugging the tablet into his facial recognition program.

The Spy returns to Cole, kneels to his level and looks directly into his eyes. “You’re right, Mr. Cole,” she says with an eerie friendly tone, “you’re a guest in my house and I haven’t been hospitable to you. I haven’t even introduced myself. Around here I’m known as the Acting Captain, but the rest of the galaxy knows me as the Spy.”

“Never heard of you,” Cole admits with a grin.

“I know that, Cole,” the Spy says without letting her calm friendly tone waver, “you don’t come across as a learned man.” She stands up and looks down at him, “Which is why, as my guest, I am going to show you firsthand how I’ve earned my title.”

The Spy returns to the Courier’s side as the screens around him display every detail about Cole’s life, including everything recorded on his parents, siblings, children and partners. She takes control of the console and starts digging for rumors, charges, and embarrassing facts.

The Pilot joins them and quietly asks, “Is the Philosopher with the Scientist as well?”

“He hasn’t seen her either,” the Courier replies.

“The Philosopher’s smarter than she looks,” the Spy reassures, “she’ll turn up once everything has settled down.”

“Did you ask if Mother Themis has seen her?” the Pilot inquires hopefully.

“Mother Themis?” the Courier asks curiously.

He sits at an open console and starts searching for information on Mother Themis, only to find fables about a living god who would bring justice and protection to the galaxy’s displaced families.

Chapter Eighteen

The Philosopher

The Anathema’s warp engine explodes causing the bubbles around the gunship to pop, instantly stopping the gunship. The force of the explosion pushes the Philosopher against her console which protects her from the rocky shrapnel penetrating the hull. Every alarm is screaming as the Anathema’s systems subsequently fail.

“Is everyone alright?” the Spy asks, pushing herself off her console.

Duncan and the Gladiator are unconscious in their seats with blood soaking through their clothes. The others have only suffered minor cuts and bruises.

The Pilot pulls the flight controls out of his chest and responds, “Nothing I can’t walk off,” while rubbing his ribs.

As the consoles around the cockpit erupt into flames, the Spy unfastens her harness, floats out of her seat, grabs the nearest extinguisher and starts combating the fires.

“How long will the atmosphere last?” she asks calmly.

The Navigator is covering his ears and stomping his feet, completely unaware of the question. The Courier releases his harness, floats around the cockpit to find a working console and pulls up a diagnostic report.

“Three minutes at the most,” he declares as he starts disabling everything except the life support system.

Seeing that Duncan hasn’t moved, the Philosopher unfastens her harness, pushes off her chair and floats to his side. She is relieved to find that he still has a pulse.

“The form runs still while the heart catches up,” she warns.

“We were hit pretty hard,” the Pilot responds, “I’m sure he’ll wake up soon.”

He has gathered a stack of loose metal plates and is floating around the cockpit, placing them over the holes where the atmosphere escapes. Once positioned, the pressure locks the plates in place.

“That’s the opposite of what she said,” the Spy says calmly as she switches her depleted extinguisher with a full one.

The Philosopher grabs the nearest medical kit, returns to Duncan, releases his harness and removes his lab coat. Ripping his shirt off, blood slowly forms a dome over his open chest wound, centimeters above his heart.

The Philosopher squeezes hydrogen peroxide into a sponge and then stuffs the sponge into the open cavity. She roles him over to see the blood doming over his exit wound and clogs it with another sterilized sponge.

Seeing the extent of the injury, the Spy says, “Take him to the escape pods, he can’t wait for us to get the Anathema running.”

The Spy notices that the Gladiator hasn’t moved from her seat and floats to her side. Quickly inspecting her, she sees the rapidly expanding blood stain on her clothes.

“She needs help too,” she warns.

The Courier takes over firefighting duties as the Spy scrambles to find another medical kit. Removing her shirt, they reveal the seven entry wounds but are unable to find any exit wounds.

“She needs to go now too,” the Spy orders as her calm demeanour wavers briefly.

The Philosopher floats Duncan to the escape pods just outside the cockpit where she notices that Duncan has regained consciousness.

“Persevere, this is not your denouement,” she says, strapping him into his seat.

Duncan falls unconscious again as the Philosopher activates the distress beacon and climbs out of the pod. The Spy is floating above of the Gladiator, tightly wrapping the bandages around her pelvis.

The Philosopher helps guide her into the escape pod where they secure her into the seat beside Duncan. Sealing the escape pod door, the Spy quickly presses the launch button.

Nervously watching the pod float away, the Spy turns to the Philosopher and places her hands on her shoulders.

“I need you to make sure they find help,” the Spy speaks with a calm tone, but her expression cannot hide the pain she is enduring.

“Someone needs to calm down the Navigator!” the Pilot screams from the cockpit.

The Spy sighs. “I’ll be right behind you,” she promises as she returns to the cockpit.

The Philosopher climbs into the next escape pod, activates the distress beacon, fastens her harness and seals the pod.

Initiating the launch, she watches the Anathema slowly float away.

Less than a minute later, a third escape pod launches from the gunship and drifts into the darkness of space. She folds her legs together and, focusing on the rumble of the pod’s engine, enters a meditative trance.

#

The rumble from the pod’s engine stops, shaking the Philosopher awake from her trance. She looks out the window to see that her pod is pulsing its thrusters, guiding it into Salem Station’s docking bays.

As soon as her pod lands safely on the metal floor, the Philosopher removes her harness and exits the pod.

A nurse, accompanied by two guards, stop her, insisting that they check her injuries and identification. Reaching for her fake ID, she sees the third Anathema pod beginning its landing run as a large group gathers around the first, already landed, pod.

“We need help over here!” a voice shuts out from the crowd.

The nurse gives the Philosopher a quick once over before racing to help.

“Wait here,” one of the guards instructs as he follows the nurse.

With the remaining guard distracted by the confusion, the Philosopher discretely makes her way into the crowd and vanishes amongst the chaos. Pushing her way to the front of the crowd to see how her friends are faring, she hears a panicked commotion behind her. The Anathema, running completely dark and shedding large chunks of its outer hull, is starting to make its landing approach in the distance.

The first responders hoist the Gladiator’s body from the pod and strap her to a gurney. Half of the medical team immediately starts treating her wounds while they push her into the station.

The rest of the first responders climb out from the pod with Duncan in their arms and place him on another gurney. A small nurse climbs on top of Duncan, changes his blood saturated sponges with clean ones and applies pressure to his injuries while her colleagues push them into the station.

The Philosopher, blending in with the medical team, sneaks through the station’s security checkpoint unchecked.

Noticing that one of the nurses treating Duncan is getting suspicious about her, the Philosopher slips into the crowd of spectators and follows Duncan from a distance.

She follows them through the interior corridors until they pass through another security checkpoint and vanish around the corner.

Retracing her steps, the Philosopher returns to the docking bays and blends in with the crowd forming outside the security checkpoint. She waits as the security presence at the door increases and a constant stream of gurneys with medical personal flow in and out of the docking bay. Each time the door opens, the Philosopher catches a glimpse of hundreds of escape pods landing, unloaded and then ejected back into space.

#

The commotion between the security team trying to control the station’s agitated residents awakens the Philosopher from her meditative trance. The security team, in full riot gear, is clearing a path through the middle of the angry protesters to create access to the lower corridors.

Establishing an uninterrupted path, the security team opens the docking bay doors and lead thousands of displaced refugees through the station past the angry residents.

The guards need to protect the refugees with their riot shields as a bombardment of metal cans and glass bottles assault them.

The refugees clench their loved ones tightly as the protestors’ shouts and threats terrify them. The Philosopher looks through the open doors and sees countless people seeking entry into the station, none of which are her crew members.

She follows the wall alongside the docking bays, until she comes across another heavily guarded door leading into the docking bays. Across from this door, a huge group of protesters have assembled in the park surrounding the administrative buildings.

Carefully making her way through the crowd, the Philosopher gets as close as she can to the administrative buildings. Kamali is standing at a podium in front of the glass entrance trying to calm the protesters.

“We are still investigating the cause of what happened in Gnosis,” he says. “Our current understanding is that the star exploded a few millennia earlier than expected.”

“How can we look after all these leeches!” an angry voice shouts from the crowd.

“We were lucky enough to be outside the affected zone,” Kamali says calmly, “so it is our duty to take in as many of those displaced by this catastrophe as we can.

Rest assured that we will not be taking on more than we can care for and that we are taking every precaution possible to ensure that you are not in any increased risk of danger.”

The Philosopher notices that the Spy is inside the administrative building working alongside Kamali’s communication team. With the park densely protected by heavily armed guards, the Philosopher waves her hands, trying to signal the Spy.

A small group of agitated protestors start throwing garbage at Kamali provoking the entire protest to quickly spiral into a violent riot.

Joining the protestors fleeing from the violence, the Philosopher notices that the guards protecting the lower levels have left their posts to help control the riot.

She sneaks through the unguarded checkpoint and makes her way through the winding halls, searching every room she passes.

Seeing a team of nurses running through a corridor in front of her, the Philosopher follows them until they pass through a security checkpoint outside an open warehouse.

Casually approaching the checkpoint, one of the guards stops her.

“What are you doing here?” he interrogates.

Staying silent, the Philosopher looks past the guards and scans the triage station for Duncan.

“I asked you a question!” the guard reaffirms as his colleagues approach her aggressively.

Valtina, noticing the commotion at the door, steps forward. “Are you injured?” she asks sweetly. Seeing that the Philosopher hasn’t responded to her and is more focused on the patients in her station, she places her hand on her elbow. “Do you have family in here?”

The Philosopher looks into Valtina’s kind eyes and nods desperately.

“As you can see, it’s quite hectic here right now,” Valtina explains. “It’s better if you remain in the refugee quarters for now. Once we look after your family, they will be sent there to be reunited with you.” Seeing the Philosopher’s hesitation to leave, Valtina gives her a very reassuring smile. “We need you to remain patient so that we can help all of the injured,” she says. “Can you do that for us?”

The Philosopher nods in agreement as she steps back from the guards and looks around aimlessly.

“Escort her back to the refugee quarters,” Valtina asks.

Doing as he’s instructed, one of the guards escorts the Philosopher through the narrow corridors and takes her to the refugee quarters’ entrance. She joins the countless displaced refugees as they line up to be admitted into their temporary residencies.

#

The refugees have divided into two factions and are shouting at each other incomprehensibly, waking the Philosopher from her meditation. Both groups are covered in bruises and bandaged cuts.

Reggie, along with his sobbing eight-year-old daughter Lisa, collect their belongings and move closer to the Philosopher.

“Do you mind if we rest here?” Reggie asks. “The atmosphere has become too hostile where we were.”

The Philosopher nods before turning her attention to the crying girl hiding behind her father. “The first steps are shaky, the last will be sure,” she says with a smile.

Lisa smiles past her tears for a moment and says, “You talk funny,” with a small giggle.

“Don’t tease,” Reggie rebukes, “My name’s Reggie, this is Lisa. She’s just a little upset because her locket was just stolen.”

“It was Mommy’s!” she corrects.

“Memories are what define us. Can you recount the particulars?” the Philosopher asks.

Lisa gives her father a confused look as he answers, “It’s a gold oval with a photo of her and her mother inside. It was taken in the markets on the main floor.”

The Philosopher stands and declares, “I will recoup the absent and cleanse the dejection.”

“That’s very kind of you, but don’t go out there, it’s too dangerous,” Reggie tries to persuade. “It’s just a gold locket that we can easily replace.”

“My pledge is bonding,” she states with conviction as she exits the refugee quarters.

Lisa looks up at Reggie, “Did you understand her?”

“I think so,” he confesses, “but I’m not really sure.”

“She’s nice,” she adds with a smile as Reggie wipes the tears from her face.

#

Small cliques of locals populate the market angrily staring at the refugees trying to buy food and clothing. The Philosopher moves around the corridors, blending in with the locals trying not to be associated with the cliques or the refugees.

She watches as the merchants charge the refugees twice the listed price while the cliques work together to separate the refugees with purchased goods from the herd.

The cliques quickly overpower the isolated refugees, mug them and then push them back into the herd, empty handed.

The few guards that are patrolling the streets, watch everything unfold but choose not to intervene unless a refugee appears to be getting the upper hand.

A young male refugee completes his transaction, gathers his groceries and runs for the closest access point to the lower levels. One of the cliques keeping their distance, snatches the frightened refugee and drags him into the dark corridor.

The Philosopher cautiously follows, making sure she isn’t seen by the lookouts watching the corridor’s entrance.

The clique has already pushed the man to the floor, taken his groceries, and are taking a great amount of pleasure repeatedly kicking him. The man tries to protect himself with his arms and legs with little success.

Once he starts coughing up blood, the clique stops attacking him, empties his pockets and pulls the wedding band off his finger.

Signalling for the lookouts to rejoin them, the muggers disappear into the maze of corridors.

Keeping her distance to stay unseen, the Philosopher runs after them through the tight hallways.

Emerging into another corridor filled with vendors, the Philosopher stays in the side passage and watches as the muggers hand off their ill-gotten wares to Kabos, a surly man sitting at an empty booth, hidden behind the other vendors.

“Salem Station thanks you for your service,” Kabos says handing them a small roll of banknotes.

The muggers casually stroll through the market dividing their payout between them. The Philosopher stays in her hiding place and watches as other cliques of locals approach the booth and trade their stolen goods for cash.

#

Hours have passed, and the last of the merchants close their shops for the night. Kabos waits for the other vendors to clear the corridor before he signals with a whistle and closes his shop.

Placing a dozen duffle bags onto the countertop, three men approach his shop with a wagon. They check the bags’ contents, revealing food, clothes and medical supplies, and pay Kabos before leaving with the bags.

Pocketing the money, Kabos picks up four hidden duffle bags, which emit metallic clanks with every agitation and walks through the empty market as if he owns it.

Without a crowd to blend in with, the Philosopher follows far behind Kabos. She notices that his body language suggests that he’s become suspicious of her despite her precautions.

She stays calm and continues to follow him until he turns into a side corridor. Careful not to change her pace, she strolls past the corridor Kabos entered.

Without turning her head, she glances into the corridor to see that he is waiting with his sidearm drawn. She pretends that she didn’t see him and continues through the marketplace without missing a stride.

Listening to the subtle metal clanks from the duffle bags, the Philosopher knows that Kabos has started to follow behind her. She takes note of every store and side corridor she passes while aurally tracking the position of the man behind her.

Kabos crosses the market and approaches a closed pawnshop where he places his bags on the ground. He watches the Philosopher suspiciously as she continues to walk away from him.

Anwir, the elderly shopkeeper, opens the door. “You’re late,” he whispers aggressively.

Kabos nods toward the Philosopher and asks, “Ever see her before?”

“She’s not even looking,” Anwir dismisses, “hurry up before someone who actually matters shows up.” They collect the bags, enter the shop and lock the door.

The Philosopher turns into the next side corridor and follows the wall until she returns to the market.

Carefully sneaking past the pawn shop’s security cameras, she peeks through the window.

Anwir and Kabos are sorting the contents of the duffle bags into piles on the floor. Seeing the pile of gold jewelry, the Philosopher disconnects the security cameras outside the store before climbing behind the sign above the door.

Returning to his office, Anwir picks up a scale and notices the blue screens on his security monitors.

“You were followed!” he declares putting the scale down and removing the concealed sidearm from beneath his desk.

“I told you she was no good!” Kabos shouts as he draws his sidearm.

“Just take care of it!” Anwir orders.

“I’m not leaving until you pay me for this,” Kabos scoffs.

Anwir pushes him toward the door. “And get caught exchanging money for stolen goods?” he retorts.

Angry, Kabos threatens, “If you cheat me, I’ll take it out on your grandson, Old Man,”

Hiding his sidearm behind his back, Kabos unlocks the door and peeks into the empty market. He cautiously searches the area around the entrance of the store, never looking up.

Stepping into the market, he carefully makes his way to the nearest side corridor.

The Philosopher drops down behind Kabos and pushes the pawn shop’s door open as the elderly shopkeeper reaches for the lock.

Stunned when the door strikes him in the chest, Anwir is unable to react when the Philosopher grabs his collar, pulls him through the door, and locks him out of his own store.

“She’s in the store!” he shouts while digging the key out of his pocket.

Pulling the shelves down to barricade the door, the Philosopher warns, “Transgressions always find their remittance.”

Kabos tries to force the door open but is barely able to budge the heavy debris behind it. He raises his sidearm and points it at the window.

“That won’t—” Anwir tries to warn as Kabos discharges his weapon.

The bolt’s casing pops as the energy within ricochets off the window, travels across the street and shatters a closed store’s window. The security alarm for both the pawn shop and the damaged store screams through the market.

The Philosopher starts digging through the pile of gold, checking the pictures in every locket she finds.

Anwir and Kabos work together, throwing their bodyweight against the door, slowly forcing the pile of debris away.

Ensuring the two men don’t have a clear shot through the tiny opening in the door, the Philosopher notices a crowd of spectators starting to form in the streets.

“This is predestined to avail an adrift progeny,” the Philosopher declares while grabbing an empty duffle bag and quickly stuffs the lockets, wedding bands and the other sentimental objects into it. Throwing the heavy duffle bag over her shoulder she runs into the office and, seeing the stacks of banknotes next to the bander, she stuffs the money into her duffle bag.

Kabos, wedging his body through the gap in the door, forces it open.

The Philosopher ducks out of sight below the counter and crawls into the backroom. Closing the door, she uses the nearby pallet jack to move a heavy create in front of the door.

Anwir and Kabos approach the door with their sidearms ready and try to force the metal door open.

Unable to budge the door, Kabos asks, “Are there any other ways in?”

“No, she’s trapped in there,” Anwir replies turning to look at the piles of stolen goods on the floor. “Throw all of the jewelry in with the mess on the floor and hide the documents,” he orders while making his way to the front door. “I’ll wait for the police so they can handle this for us.”

“And if she comes out?” Kabos asks.

“Then as my security guard you needed to shoot the hostile intruder,” Anwir explains, stepping out of the shop.

Kabos does as he’s instructed, placing the stolen documents into the duffle bags and hiding them above the ceiling tiles.

#

The storage room is filled with stacks of densely packed shelves spaced just far enough apart for a small forklift to navigate. The Philosopher, while pulling everything off the shelves, finds a tray full of jewellery labeled ‘for smelting’. She dumps the contents into the duffle bag and continues looking for a hidden door or a window to escape through. Without finding anything along the walls, she scans the ceiling and floor for a hidden hatch.

“A fence must have an egress to advance his reserve,” she mutters to herself as she begins to check the walls again.

Noticing a group of small scratches on the floor, the Philosopher swings the shelving unit away from the others.

It scrapes along the metal floor and reveals a hidden hatch in the floor beneath it.

“A literal lowlife,” she triumphs.

#

Placing the final ceiling tile back in place, Kabos starts to make his way into the office when three police officers climb through the front door with their sidearms drawn.

“Put your hands above your head!” the lead officer orders.

Doing as he’s told, Kabos calmly states, “I’m the security guard. The thief has locked herself in the backroom.”

“Keep your hands where we can see them,” the officer reaffirms as he cautiously approaches. “Where do you keep your ID?”

“Anwir is just outside he’ll—” Kabos starts to reply but stops when the officer places handcuffs around his wrists.

“Anwir told us exactly who you are, Kabos,” the officer says contentedly.

The officers lead Kabos out of the shop, reading him his rights as he seethes in anger.

#

The underground tunnel is immaculate and wide enough to move wagons beneath the station’s markets.

Running through the tunnel, the Philosopher quickly snaps the bands off the bundles of banknotes and stuffs the loose bills into her folded arm.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, she turns the final corner, kicks open the door and sees Anwir pointing his sidearm at her. She throws herself against the wall beside the door just before he discharges his weapon.

“His accomplice is over here!” he shouts.

The sound of the sidearm discharging attracts a crowd into the corridor. They gather behind Anwir and chant, “Purge the filth! Purge the filth!”

The police form a quick perimeter to keep the civilians out of the way as Anwir and two officers cautiously approach the tunnel entrance, weapons at the ready.

“A bounty for abhorrence can only be remunerated in kind,” she states before tossing the loose banknotes through the door toward the rowdy crowd.

The spectators fall silent as they watch the notes flutter and dance in the air. The silence breaks as everyone forcefully rushes to collect the falling money, trampling the police officers and Anwir, while they fight with each other to snatch as much as they can.

In the chaos, the Philosopher slips out of the tunnel, blends into the mob and makes her way toward the first access point to the lower levels.

#

The refugee quarters are divided down the middle with two large groups arguing loudly along the dividing line.

The Philosopher, avoiding the conflict, returns to her corner where Reggie and Lisa are huddled.

“Daddy look!” Lisa says, pointing at the Philosopher. “Mommy’s back!”

“Don’t call her that,” Reggie scolds quietly as the Philosopher puts the duffle bag on the ground with a clang. “What’s in the bag?” Reggie asks suspiciously. “Most people here are about to fight amongst themselves, arming them is a very bad idea.”

The Philosopher kneels in front of Lisa and opens her hand to reveal her golden locket. “Reminiscences are the substratum of the tender-hearted,” she says placing the locket into Lisa’s trembling hands.

Lisa hugs her tightly and, with a beaming smile, exclaims, “I knew you would find it!”

The Philosopher gently pushes Lisa away. “Remember this gaiety when you seek elation,” she states, rising to her feet.

The shouting crowd becomes louder and angrier as the two factions start making aggressive gestures toward each other. The Philosopher picks up the duffle bag and walks right into the conflict.

Reggie leaps to his feet, grabs her by the arm and gently holds her back. “Don’t get involved,” he warns. “They’re about to kill each other,” he gestures his head toward Lisa, “don’t force her to watch you die.”

“Non-intervention is giving consensus to the conclusion,” she replies resolutely.

Reggie backs down and sits beside Lisa, watching as the Philosopher walks toward the violent crowd with a confident stride.

“She’s weird, Daddy!” Lisa states as she places the locket around her neck.

He pulls her in close, “I think she’s just misunderstood.”

Felix, a middle-aged man with thick callused hands, leads one of the angry factions. Across from him, another group of equally muscular people has rallied behind Seok, a tall bearded man with a pot belly.

“Jarilo has been raiding us for centuries,” Felix accuses angrily. “It was your weapon that destroyed our homeland.”

“Our weapon?” Seok scoffs. “Jarilo has always been a planet of farmers feeding Ponos' lazy beggars. It was your incompetence that destroyed both of our systems.”

“Your system is still intact!” Felix rebukes. “You’ve only sent your army here to ensure that the extinction of our people is complete! But you’re too cowardly to get your weak little hands dirty so you paid this station’s locals to do it for you.”

“Cowards?” Seok steps forward, taking offence to the claim. “Then why are the hospital beds filled with our people while yours cower in the gutters, crying themselves to sleep? The Ponosians are so lazy and pathetic that they won’t even stand up to protect their families!”

The two mobs shout at each other incoherently as they step toward each other aggressively, goading the other side to start a fight.

The Philosopher walks between the hostile factions with confidence and stops between Felix and Seok.

“Extrapolation expounds our fragility,” she says calmly. “Deprivation transpires when we neglect our legacy.”

The crowd falls silent as they stare at the Philosopher with confused glares.

“Who are you?” Seok asks with a demeaning tone.

“Stay out of this before you get hurt, little girl,” Felix adds.

“Clutch your abhorrent credences and heed my sagacity,” she retorts with a strong, motherly tone.

Seok steps toward the Philosopher using his protruding gut to push her back. “I have no idea what you’re saying, but I don’t like the way you’re saying it,” he says aggressively.

Without breaking eye contact, the Philosopher opens the duffle bag and dumps the sentimental objects onto the floor beside her. “You. Are. All. Weak,” she replies slowly with a demeaning tone.

Shocked, the crowd backs away from the Philosopher and become completely silent. Without the support from his mob, Seok slowly backs away.

“These are your ancestors’ commemorations,” she adds authoritatively while pointing to the pile of heirlooms. “What would they postulate about your present infighting?”

Seeing a wedding band that matches his own, Felix retrieves it and inspects the engraving inside the band. “How?” he asks, trying to hold back his tears. “I thought this was gone forever.” He looks into the Philosopher’s eyes and adds, “Thank you … and I’m sorry.” Felix turns his back and returns to his family on the outer edge of the quarters.

Overwhelmed with joy, the angry mobs calm down as they realize they are being reunited with a piece of their lost homes.

Jealous to see that all the refugees are kneeling around the Philosopher, working together to sort through the heirlooms, Seok points his finger at her.

“You’re working for the station!” he accuses. “This is a trick, so that we don’t fight back!”

“This is resilience,” the Philosopher corrects, “enduring privation together.”

Seok forces his way toward her, kicking anyone who doesn’t move out of his path. “You might have them groveling at your feet,” he shouts angrily, “but I’m smarter than all of them.”

He punches the Philosopher in the jaw, knocking her to the ground. The refugees quickly rise to their feet and move away from the conflict.

“Get back here, Lisa!” Reggie shouts.

Lisa charges across the refugee quarters releasing the most ferocious battle cry her tiny body will emit.

“Keep that brat on a leash!” Seok demands as he steps forward to kick Lisa.

The Philosopher dives toward Lisa, wraps her body around her and shields her from the oncoming attack. Taking the kick to her ribs, the Philosopher cradles the little girl gently as she collapses to the floor with Lisa in her arms.

Reggie kneels beside the Philosopher and pulls his terrified daughter out of her arms.

“He hurt Mommy!” she screams trying to squirm free from his grip.

“She’s not your mother,” he scolds, “don’t get involved with her and you won’t get hurt.”

“Don’t let them hurt her, Daddy!” Lisa pleads, tears forming in her eyes as she unsuccessfully tries to break free.

The Philosopher climbs to her feet and sees all the refugees staring at them in disbelief. She smiles past the bruise on her cheek and reassures, “A single brute is an effigy of cowardice.”

The Jarilonians reunite behind Seok. “I don’t stand alone,” Seok gloats, empowered by his people standing by his side.

“Perseverance transpires from subduing the devil, not becoming it,” she replies. “Instilling despondency in progenies by fabricating torment will never rally patronage.” The Ponosians and Jarilonians unite and turn against Seok. “Those that are pugnacious for death are duplicitous to life,” she states matter-of-factly.

Seok screams and shouts as the unified mob drags him out of the refugee quarters.

The Philosopher looks at Lisa with a smile and says, “Thank you, Lisa.”

Seeing Reggie’s uneased expression as the refugees gather behind her, the Philosopher turns to great them with a friendly smile. “Aspiration will bring salvation,” she says calmly. “Collectively, we cannot wane.”

The Philosopher turns away from the crowd as they debate the meaning of what she’s just said.

She returns to the wall at the back of the room, crosses her legs and returns to her meditation.

#

The Refugee quarters are silent as the Philosopher meditates against the backwall, the bruise on her cheek has nearly healed.

Lisa climbs into the Philosopher’s lap and places her hands on her face. “Wake up, Mommy,” she demands.

“Lisa!” Reggie nervously disapproves.

The Philosopher presents a friendly smile before opening her eyes to see Reggie picking his daughter up.

“You have an important visitor,” he says apologetically.

Kamali steps out from behind Reggie and kneels in front of the Philosopher. As he takes his knee, the Philosopher can see that every refugee on the floor has congregated in front of her and are meditating peacefully.

“It is an honour to meet you, Mother Themis” he says, “my name is Edward Kamali, the former captain of this station.” He checks over his shoulder to see that Reggie and his daughter are still close by.

Leaning in close, Kamali whispers, “I also know your other moniker.”

“Then you know the perilous prospect associated with that cognition,” she warns.

“I’ve been working with some of your friends,” he says. “They are doing their best to save this station, but they are unable to save the people down here … your people.”

The Philosopher scans over the enormous meditating crowd that, a few weeks ago was ready to kill each other, has now unified in front of her.

“I’ve heard the stories they tell about you,” he says with amazement. “They say you are the harbinger of justice, selflessly acting to save everyone no matter the price you pay.” Kamali bows down and places his forehead on the floor and pleads, “Please save these people from the dangers that come.”

The Philosopher gently places her hand on the back of Kamali’s head. “Chaos is only a reflection of doubt,” she says calmly while rising to her feet, “and these denizens do not manifest dubiety.”

Kamali, unsure of what she just said, presumes that she just offered to help. He stands and follows behind her as she calmly walks through the crowd of worshippers.

“Mother Themis, approaches,” they whisper eagerly as they crawl out of her way.

The word spreads rapidly, awakening all the meditating followers, waiting devotedly for orders from the woman they praise.

“Hey wait!” Reggie exclaims as Lisa squirms free from his arms and joins the Philosopher.

The Philosopher kneels to Lisa’s level and places her hands on her shoulders. “It is paramount that you safeguard your ancestor for me,” she says calmly. “His dearth of altruism makes him vulnerable without the perpetuation of your benevolence.”

Lisa, unaware of what the Philosopher just asked of her, giggles.

“She needs you to protect your father,” Kamali explains.

“But who will look after Mommy?” she asks with a worried tone.

Before Kamali can answer, Felix rises to his feet and declares, “I will protect Mother Themis!” The worshippers stand rapidly and pledge their service as well.

“Protect Reggie,” the Philosopher reiterates with a smile.

“You got it, Mommy!” Lisa declares as she runs back to her father.

The Philosopher continues to leave the refugee quarters as Kamali, and an ever-growing army of worshippers follow behind her.

Ascending through the lower levels of Salem Station, every time she steps out onto a new floor the occupants stop everything they are doing and kneel before her.

“Mother Themis graces us with her presence,” they cry joyously.

The Philosopher kindly smiles at them as she continues her journey out of the quarters. Her army follows ten steps behind her, rapidly increasing in size as she makes her way to the exiting corridor.

Stopping in the door, she turns around and raises her hands. Her army stops in place and raise their hands in response.

“Multitude unnerves the misguided,” she pleads.

“Alone we are weak!” Felix shouts.

“Together we are strong!” the army shouts back.

The distant roars of an oncoming hoard of mobsters precedes the faint glow of handheld lights coming down the corridors.

“Alone we are afraid!” Felix shouts.

“Together we are fear!” the army shouts back.

The mobsters, led by Seok, charge around the corner with their sidearms in hand.

Seeing the immense number of refugees waiting to great them, the mobsters stop, leaving Seok charging in alone.

Hearing the roars of his mob fall silent, Seok turns to face his frightened followers. “They don’t have guns!” he shouts.

The Philosopher calmly walks toward Seok with her arms outstretched, showing the mob that her hands are empty. “Our domicile is in jeopardy,” she says with a disarming tone.

“Kill the witch!” Seok demands raising his sidearm at the Philosopher, “It’s the only way to break her spell.”

“Protect Mother Themis!” the army shouts as they flood into the corridor.

Seok discharges his sidearm as the Philosopher’s worshippers leap in front of her to take the fatal hits. The rest of the mob starts firing blindly into the unsurmountable army that just climbs over their injured and dead as they collapse to the floor.

The Philosopher’s army doesn’t wane as they quickly overtake, disarm and dispatch the attacking mob.

“They’re everywhere!” a mobster shouts in terror, prompting the surviving mobsters to retreat.

The Philosopher’s worshippers collect the fallen sidearms, discharge them into their fleeing enemies and pursues the broken mob, forcing them out of their corridors.

“I’ve heard rumors that your words alone could topple governments,” Kamali says with admiration, “but I wouldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t witnessed it firsthand.”

“Let go of me!” Seok growls as his former followers drag him in front of the Philosopher and push him to the floor at her feet.

“What do you want to do with him?” Felix asks.

“I can make a cell available,” Kamali offers.

“Quislings are prosecuted by their compeers,” she declares without looking down to acknowledge his presence.

The Philosopher turns her back to him and returns to the refugee quarters.

“He’s all yours,” Felix explains as he follows the Philosopher.

The army executes Seok without hesitation.

“I hate to ask another favor from you,” Kamali asks the Philosopher quietly.

“Then practice constraint,” she answers swiftly.

“It’s just that—”

“She said no,” Felix intervenes, stepping between them.

“They are attacking the triage station as well,” Kamali blurts out. The Philosopher turns around and angrily glares at him. “Your friends are there—”

“Don’t impel my munificence,” she interrupts as Felix forces Kamali to his knees.

Kamali turns to face Felix and says, “My tablet has an important message for Mother Themis.”

Receiving an approving nod from the Philosopher, Felix removes Kamali’s tablet and hands it to her. She quickly navigates through the messages to find a recent one from the Courier. ‘Duncan and the Gladiator are trapped in the triage station,’ it reads, ‘you need to find Mother Themis and the Philosopher to save them.’

“The setting sun only lights the path for so long,” she states with panic as she drops the tablet and runs into the corridors.

Her army, constantly by her side, follows her. Panic and fear radiate from entire body as she heedlessly races toward the distant sounds of combat.

#

All the bed ridden patients have been moved to the back of the triage station, while the ones capable of standing are gathered in the offices.

The Gladiator leads the production of makeshift barricades, with the twenty patients capable of fighting.

The roars of a zealous mob approaching fills the corridor outside the triage station.

Duncan helps Valtina escort the final patient into the offices.

While Valtina helps guide her patient into a chair, Duncan picks up a pair of scissors, exits the office, and jams the scissors into the doorjamb sealing the door shut.

Valtina runs to the door and tries to force it open. “You need my help!” she pleads.

“They need it more,” he replies turning his back to her as she bangs on the door angrily.

Duncan joins the Gladiator at the entrance as the sounds of the mobsters entering the final corridor forewarn the oncoming onslaught.

“Get into position,” the Gladiator instructs as she picks up the nearby fire extinguisher. “If they break through us, it is your job to stop them from reaching the others.”

The deputized patients hunker down behind their makeshift bunkers and nervously fumble their improvised medical tool weapons around in their hands.

The Gladiator, hearing the first of the mobsters reach the entrance, discharges the entire fire extinguisher into their faces and fills the hallway with a thick white cloud.

The mobsters shout in anger as they blindly discharge their sidearms.

The Gladiator tracks the position of each shooter and times the intervals between blasts. Holding the empty extinguisher like a club, she vanishes into the white cloud.

The distinct sound of a hollow metal club cracking bones overpowers the sounds of the sidearms causing the mobsters to cry in pain and fear.

Appearing from the cloud, with a sidearm in each hand, the Gladiator returns to the triage station, gives Duncan one of the sidearms and crouches beside the entrance. Duncan stands beside her as they wait for the mob.

The extinguisher’s cloud fades to reveal a dozen bodies laying on the floor just outside the triage station’s door. Without signalling each other, Duncan and the Gladiator lean through the entrance and rapidly discharge their sidearms into the gathered mob.

Catching them off guard, they manage to subdue two dozen mobsters before they start returning fire.

Frightened by the dramatic number of casualties they’ve suffered from an enemy they have yet to clearly see, the mobsters fall back to find cover in the closest corridors.

The Gladiator uses this opportunity to subdue twenty of the retreating mobsters before they can hunker down and suppress her back into the triage station.

“It’s only a matter of time now, Scientist,” she says with a defeated tone. Checking the charge on her sidearm, she discards it and says, “We’re going to need a resupply.”

Duncan opens a package of potassium permanganate and dumps it into an empty specimen cup and hands it to the Gladiator.

“I love it when you give me toys,” she says with a grin.

Duncan places an oxygen tank into the triage station’s entrance and removes the protective cap. “Get ready to throw that at this oxygen tank.”

She looks down at the tank by their feet and skeptically says, “Okay.”

Duncan cracks open the glass glycerin vial and dumps it into the specimen cup. He seals the cup loosely, rolls the oxygen tank into the hallway, and discharges his sidearm into the tank’s valve.

The valve bursts, allowing the pressurized gas to escape the tank, causing it to take off like a rocket. It pushes everything out of its way as it skips across the metal floor with high pitch screeches before clanging against the wall at the end of the corridor.

“Now!” he commands.

The Gladiator throws the specimen cup, which is slowly filling with grey smoke, within a meter of the still bleeding oxygen tank.

The lid pops off the cup when it hits the ground, allowing the smoke to escape. The chemicals create a bright, fiery reaction that quickly erupts into an enormous red flash, followed by a deafening bang, as the walls, floor, corpses and ceiling of the oxygen-soaked corridors burst into flames.

The mobsters start screaming in pain as, the ones near the path of the tank, burst into flames as well. The mob quickly executes their enflamed comrades demoralizing many of the mobsters as they drop their sidearms and abandon their crusade.

The flames quickly consume all the combustible materials and blink out seconds after they erupted. A cloud of black smoke forms around the ceiling and the station’s sprinkler system starts long after the flames have burnt themselves out.

The Gladiator, full of maniacal laughter, screams into the hallway, “Feel the Scientist’s wrath!” She looks at Duncan with an excited smile and demands, “Do that again.”

“That one just burnt everything we could,” Duncan says retreating to his makeshift bunker. “The rest is up to you.”

“The devil walks amongst us!” a voice shouts out from the corridor.

“No one is safe!” another adds.

“The galaxy is counting on us to be heroes!” the first concludes as the mobsters cheer with unbreakable devotion.

Stripping to her underwear, exposing her nearly healed abdomen, she rips her discarded shirt into long strips and wraps her knuckles and wrists. “So glad your name riled them up,” she says with a grin.

The mobsters, screaming with zealous fervor, flood through the entrance of the triage station where the Gladiator engages them so closely that their sidearms are useless. Darting through the mob, her superior fighting experience on full display, she incapacitates dozens of the mobsters without giving them a chance to fight back. Using the bodies of her defeated opponents, the Gladiator creates a heavy wall in the corridor to reduce the angle she can be attacked from.

Duncan carefully targets the mobsters that manage to slip past the brawl, ensuring that the Gladiator doesn’t get flanked.

Fatigue starts to show in the Gladiator’s movements as she becomes slower and narrowly avoids the mobsters’ attacks. Her footwork gets sloppy as the pain in her pelvis is clearly affecting her performance.

Duncan’s sidearm no longer emits suppressive blasts, forcing him to leave his bunker and claim a new weapon. Following Duncan’s lead, the twenty deputized patients leap from their bunkers and arm themselves with more effective weapons.

Taking a couple of punches to the face and stomach, the Gladiator, unable to continue fighting hand-to-hand, disarms her current assailant.

Frantically discharging her new weapon to cover her retreat while the advancing mob climbs over their fallen comrades and push into the triage station viciously, knowing that they are about to win the fight.

“Fall back!” she orders, leaping over her barricade.

Duncan is the target of most of the sidearm blasts, but his barricade is close enough that he reaches it unharmed.

Ten of the deputized patients were not as fortunate.

“I knew I’d die by your side, Scientist!” she exclaims between heavy breaths, discharging her weapon blindly over her barricade. “I’m just glad it was this much fun when it happened!”

Completely suppressed behind his bunker, Duncan watches helplessly as the deputized patients cower behind their barricades or suffer a fatal injury when they try to fight back. He sees Valtina has started removing the door’s hinge pins while the other medical staff and mobile patients have lined up by the door, armed with makeshift clubs.

“I’m sorry, Kelly,” he says remorsefully. “If I knew it was going to end like this, I would have told you and Ethan to run away together eight years ago.”

The Gladiator’s sidearm stops discharging projectiles and she tosses it aside. “This wasn’t what I dreamt,” she admits, “but I don’t regret any of it.”

Hundreds of people shouting in unison from the corridor behind them proclaim, “For Mother Themis!”

Following the battle cry, the sounds of countless discharging sidearms deafens the entire corridor. With the mobsters’ focus divided, Duncan and the Gladiator snatch functional sidearms and, with the support of the deputized patients, force the mobsters out of the triage station and into the crossfire in the corridor.

Completely outnumbered, the mobsters retreat to the upper levels while the Philosopher’s worshippers rabidly chase after them, preventing them from regrouping.

With the threat to the triage station averted, the Gladiator crumbles to the floor and exhaustedly gasps for air.

“Being bedridden really does a number on your endurance,” she gasps between short breaths. “The next Anathema better have a gym.”

“I’m not sure how effective weightless weightlifting will be,” Duncan jests as he releases Valtina from the office.

She swings the door open and slaps Duncan across the face. “You were going to make me watch you die?!” she shouts with disgust.

Valtina pushes him out of her way and kneels beside the Gladiator. checking her old injuries along with the fresh cuts and bruises she just sustained. “It looks worse than it is,” she says sympathetically while cleaning and dressing the open wounds.

Duncan helps the rest of the medical staff move the patients out of the office when the Philosopher bursts into the triage station, tears and fear cover her face. She sees Duncan and, with a relieved smile, runs over and hugs him tightly.

“Your salvation quells my heuristic mayhem!” she exclaims tearfully.

Duncan holds her tightly and whispers, “I’m sorry for forcing you into violence again, but thank you for continuing to be my guardian angel.”

“Brutality is a necessity when your kindred are in peril,” the Philosopher replies.

Kamali enters the triage station with two dozen of the Philosopher’s worshippers. He steps up to Duncan with some urgency, and says, “You’re needed in Central Command.”

Duncan releases the Philosopher and shakes his head, “I’m afraid I’ve devoted my services here until I’ve cleaned up the mess I’ve created.”

Kamali steps away from Duncan and starts talking through his radio. The Philosopher tugs on Duncan’s jacket to get his attention and gestures toward her worshippers. “These Samaritans possess the sophistication to alleviate the convalescent. Your attendance is essential at the apex.”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Duncan speaks sincerely, “I’ve become what I’ve feared. I need to complete my penance first.” He turns his back and walks toward the office. “One day you need to tell me where you learned Earth’s colloquialisms.”

“The captain has a message for you,” Kamali says.

“Aren’t you the captain, Kamali?” he retorts, helping a patient out of the office.

“One of yours has taken command,” he answers, handing the radio to Duncan.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Duncan takes the radio. “Yes?”

“The riots, the genocide, everything, it’s all a part of her plan,” the Spy states.

“Why would she want to eradicate the farmers?” Duncan asks skeptically.

“She doesn’t. She wants you alive.” There is a long silence as Duncan contemplates the idea. “If you stay here, everyone on this station will become a pawn used to break your resolve. They will suffer unspeakable pain, they will die, and then you will surrender.”

Valtina, putting the final worshipper to work, approaches Duncan with the Gladiator, wearing clean scrubs. “Everyone here is thankful that you saved them,” she says, “but they know who you are, and they’re afraid you’re going to experiment on them.”

“You don’t share their fears, Doc?” the Gladiator asks.

“I know better,” she replies with a compassionate tone. “Help us by becoming the monster we need.”

“There’s no happy ending for us, Duncan,” the Gladiator adds, “we’ve done too many unspeakable things that we will never find absolution.”

Duncan sighs in defeat. “I’m on my way,” he says into the radio.

Kamali leads Duncan and his team out of the triage station and into the station’s security corridors.

Chapter Nineteen

The Certitude

In the command center’s observation deck, Cole is sitting in a chair with his hands restrained behind his back.

Kamali, Duncan and his crew climb up the stairs while Jun stands in front of Cole and uses her tablet to broadcast his weepy speech.

“Friends, I must confess,” Cole says between sobs, “I have been manipulating you for my own personal gain. I was promised riches and power for turning Salem Station into a warzone, and for that, I am sorry.” He takes a deep breath, regains his composure and looks straight into the camera. “That is why I am announcing our complete, unconditional surrender. Go home to your families, there is nothing left to fight for.”

Jun turns the camera off and Cole looks toward the Spy for approval.

“The broadcast successfully reached all sectors,” the Courier announces. “The mobsters are surrendering.”

The Spy, leaving the Courier’s side, orders into her tablet, “Let them go.”

“Yes, Captain,” a guard on the other side of the screen acknowledges.

The guard, and his four squad members, holster their weapons and frees the young family they’ve detained.

“Can I talk with my kids?” Cole pleads.

“You can try,” the Spy responds calmly, placing the tablet in his lap.

“Go to your rooms, pack your bags,” his wife orders, trying to hide her anger from them.

Cole demands, “Bring the kids—”

“My sister? Really?” she interrupts.

“You can’t believe this girl’s lies,” he explains, “she’ll say anything to break us up.”

“And you sabotaged the Moneta project, then when I fixed it you gave Larry credit?” she retorts, releasing her anger once the kids are gone. “Then after he got promoted, you had him fire me!”

“Girls don’t belong on the maintenance team!” Cole snaps back. “Your job is to look after the kids that I graced you with!”

“I can see that now,” she affirms angrily as she ends the call.

“Call her back!” Cole demands. “She will not ignore me!”

Jun steps close to the Spy and quietly says, “We can’t hold him forever … in fact, when the courts learn who you are, all of the charges against him will be dropped. He’s going to get out and he will make her suffer.”

“The Courier’s people are good at what they do,” the Spy responds confidently, “he will never see his family again.”

“Then he’s going to take his rage out on some other woman he stumbles across.”

The Spy scans Cole as he continues to froth insults at her. “Then I guess it’s my responsibility to defang this beast,” she concludes with an eerie calmness.

Approaching Cole’s Chair without caution, Cole waits for her to get close before lunging toward her, trying to force the chain of his handcuffs around her throat.

Without hesitation, the Spy drives her heel into Cole’s chest and forces him back into his chair. She snatches the handcuffs by the chain with her left hand and draws her knife with her right.

With two quick motions, the Spy severs the common extensor tendons in both of his forearms. Cole screams in pain as his hands fall completely limp.

Cleaning her knife on Cole’s jacket, the Spy returns to Jun. “The prisoner is all yours,” she says calmly.

“I can’t transfer a prisoner bleeding like that,” Jun replies, angered by the Spy’s brutality.

Grabbing a first aid kit, Duncan starts to treat Cole’s injuries.

The Spy removes the captain’s badge and returns it to Kamali. Relieved to see the badge back in Kamali’s hand, Jun asks, “Do you trust her?”

“She just saved Salem Station,” he admits thankfully.

“There’s something off about Mr. Todd,” she adds gesturing toward the Pilot, “he’s spent enough time in Cole’s camps to become radicalized.”

The Spy smiles. “He’s a flyboy to his core,” she defends, “he’s acting off because it’s been a long time since he’s been free. You should have seen him after six years; he was actually climbing the walls.”

Placing the final clips onto the bandages, Duncan quietly asks Cole, “I’m looking for the person who put you in this situation. Is there anything you tell me that I can use to find her?”

“Yea, she’s standing over there!” he replies angrily, gesturing toward the Spy.

“Everything my colleague did was in response to your actions,” Duncan explains. “We’re leaving Salem in the next couple of hours. Had you been told to wait for us to leave, this station would be yours, and your family would still be intact.” Cole’s embarrassed slump replaces his angry demeanor. “Did she tell you to kill me by name?”

“She said that I was the only person who could save the station by capturing the acting captain and eradicate the infestations in the lower decks.” Cole admits. He looks into Duncan’s eyes and asks, “What are you going to do when you find the witch?”

“I’m going to torture her relentlessly,” he answers without hesitation. “Then, when I get bored, I am going to kill her.”

“She’s near a deep gravity well,” Cole reveals. Everyone looks at him with astonished glares. “What? I’m a radio technician, I’d recognize gravitational distortion anywhere.”

“Were you working on a radio when she contacted you?” Duncan asks as Cole nods in agreement. “You weren’t chosen,” he points out with a smirk, “you’re just the sap that picked up.” He shoves a rolled-up bandage into Coles mouth to silence him and joins Kamali. “He’s all yours, Captain.”

Kamali hands Jun his access card. “Use the security tunnels and get him to a cell,” he orders. “Make sure no one sees him … and hold off on the paperwork for a while, no sense rushing him back onto the streets.”

Jun pulls Cole out of the chair and leads him out of the observation deck.

“Any chance you can back trace the messages?” Duncan asks.

“We might be able to if she reaches out again,” the Courier responds, “but there is nothing we can do until then.”

“How convenient,” the Pilot insinuates, looking at Duncan. “It’s almost as if she knows when it’s safe to talk.”

“Do you know if he received more than one message?” Duncan asks.

“Several,” the Pilot answers with an accusing tone, “and he was reacting to changes on the station that only someone with access to the security cameras would know.”

“You do realize the detective said the same about you,” the Spy says calmly.

“What are you accusing each other of?” Kamali asks, confused by the infighting.

“It’s no secret that the Strategist is probably one of us,” Duncan explains. “We all fit the profile in one way or another. The Spy and myself for our ability to disrupt the entire galaxy. The Pilot and Navigator for their uncharacteristic talents. And the Courier for knowing everything the galaxy says and selectively choosing what to report.”

Kamali looks over his shoulder at the Philosopher. “And she is able to create an army devoted to her without bribes or fear.” Understanding the argument, he adds, “Which means you spend as much time accusing each other as you do looking for her.”

“Until she makes a mistake,” Duncan gloats. “The Gladiator is the only one we can rule out since she spent the previous month in a coma—”

“What?” the Spy exclaims, breaking her calm demeanour, “Is everything okay?” Seeing the uneasy expression forming on her sister’s face, the Spy runs to her side.

“And she wants everyone, with the exception of the Spy, dead,” Duncan adds.

“Not necessarily,” the Courier says. “The Wraiths found something a few days ago that you might find interesting.”

The Courier removes his tablet, loads a video and sends it to the console beside Duncan.

“I think she thought you would be the acting captain,” the Pilot adds. “Cole was pretty sure that the Spy would be in my position.”

Duncan plays the video.

#

The video opens on two dozen people, in heavy hazmat suits, walking through a thick brown fog. Their limited visibility makes it difficult to navigate through the ruined walls and piles of debris littering their path.

“Recovery log one,” Doctor Oneida excitedly narrates, her voice is echoey due to her helmet. “It’s been one month since the incident and the air has made no signs of recovery.”

One of the suited figures in front of her, trips over something and disappears into the thick fog. His colleagues carefully search the area trying to help.

“We were able to land outside the city,” Oneida continues, “but visibility is worse than expected and the streets are covered in so much debris that we must traverse them cautiously.”

One of the suited figures bends down into the thick fog to help his fallen colleague. Attempting to pull a fully-grown man to his feet, he stumbles backward as he picks up a severed arm instead.

Realizing what he’s holding, he lets out a high-pitched shriek and drops the arm.

Oneida approaches her frightened colleague and asks, “Was that a human—”

The video cuts to black.

#

The video reopens on five suited figures struggling to pry open a heavy steel hangar door. The fog around them appears thinner making the metal walls visible, but the open air behind them is completely obstructed.

“Recovery log twenty-six,” Oneida says. “It’s been six days since we’ve landed, and we have finally made it to the Spire,” she says triumphantly. “Power to the facility has been cut off so we don’t anticipate finding any survivors,” she trails off. “Alexson’s suit caught a piece of rebar this morning,” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “That brings us down to twenty and we desperately need this win.”

The door whines and squeals as her colleagues manage to slip the door open a few centimeters.

“Wedge them in there now!” one of her colleagues orders.

Two groups of five suited figures step into frame, each carrying a ten-meter steel pipe which they wedge into the tiny gap. They form an even group at the end of each pole.

“Get over here, Oneida!”

Making her way to odd numbered lever, the video cuts to black.

#

The video returns to a crowded, well-lit laboratory with abandoned experiments left on the workstations. The brown fog is thin and wispy inside the building.

“Recovery log thirty,” Oneida greets. “It’s everything we were told and so much more!” she exclaims with amazement. “Everything is still in pristine condition!”

She walks past the workstations and captures a closer look at each experiment.

“The retrieval team left to search for the asset an hour after they reengaged the generators,” she continues. “My team has already begun cataloging all of the experiments and research documents. I still haven’t found the—” she stops suddenly, noticing that there is something off about the shelving unit next to her.

The sound of her breathing slowly intensifies as she cautiously reaches for a shelf with her gloved hand. Carefully moving the objects, she doesn’t find anything out of place.

“Let’s see if you were right about this door,” she says skeptically, trying to pull the shelving unit away from the wall.

Unable to move the unit, she sees a small metal plate on a shelf that doesn’t look like it belongs. She slides the plate along the sides of the shelf until it snaps against concealed magnets.

Letting out an excited laugh, she slowly pushes the metal plate toward the backwall as a metallic clang echoes from behind the shelves, allowing the unit to swing freely.

“Are you kidding!” she squeals, pulling the unit away to reveal a steel vault door.

The video goes black.

#

When the video resumes, the brown fog is gone, and the camera is sitting on a workstation desk in a small lab. There is a yellow survival suit laying on an examination table in the middle of the room.

Oneida sits in the chair in front of the camera. She is wearing casual clothing with a Crimson Tigers logo on her shirt.

“Recovery log sixty-six,” she says with a clear voice. “We managed to successfully reverse engineer the Scientist’s barbaric doomsday weapon!” She leans back into the chair and spins around a few times before stopping herself in front of the camera. “I found the experiments too! When you told me about them, I thought they were tall tales for sure, but his research, it’s … it’s unbelievable! As soon as the retrieval team returns with the asset, we’ll be ready to proceed with phase five.”

She stands up from the chair and leans over the camera, “This place is every scientist’s wet—” she says quietly to herself as she disables the camera.

#

The video returns, it is still resting on the same workstation, but Oneida is wearing one of Duncan’s lab coats, she slumps into the chair with a defeated expression.

“Recovery log one hundred eighty,” she mutters. “Who was I fooling to think I could succeed where the Scientist failed.” She leans back in her chair and looks up at the ceiling. “Charlie went mad this morning … that brings us down to thirteen.”

Oneida gets out of her chair and starts pacing around the lab. “They knew the scope of the project we were undertaking,” she vents, “sure it sounded farfetched, but that was the excitement!

We need another win to improve moral, but the asset is so damaged we can’t get sustained results for more than a few seconds.”

She sits back down and spins in her chair. “If only there were some way to contain the—” She leaps out of the spinning chair and analyzes the survival suit on the table.

“It may only be a prototype,” she ponders aloud, “but with one of the extra fuel cells it could potentially.” She returns to the camera with an excited expression on her face. “For science!” she exclaims.

Oneida reaches over the camera and turns it off.

#

Oneida’s hair is noticeably longer, her face is thinner, and the lab coat has started to fray, turn grey and is covered in dry blood stains. The yellow survival suit is no longer on the table.

“Recovery log three hundred eighty-four,” she says with exhaustion. “The final delivery probe was dispatched at zero nine hundred hours. We are continuing to monitor the asset as he recovers but the suit can’t do anything to help him regain consciousness.” She spins around in the chair, looking at the lab nostalgically. “Two years … and in a week, I’ll be saying goodbye,” she finishes her rotation and looks straight into the camera. “If there are no new developments, I will terminate the project and level the facility. I’ll see you in three weeks.”

She reaches over and turns the camera off.

#

The video snaps back on with the sounds of six people fearfully screaming at each other off camera. Oneida leans into frame.

“What have you done to us!?” she demands angrily, “This planet wasn’t destroyed by the Scientist!”

“Stop that!” a scientist shouts from behind her.

She turns around to see that one of the scientists is writing a message on the wall in his own blood.

“We have to warn everyone!” he pleads.

“We’re all that’s left!” the first cries. “We’ve scuttled our shuttle, all of the spaceships here have already been destroyed, this issue has been contained.”

“We cleaned up the atmosphere,” the second shouts regretfully. “You don’t think others are going to come to salvage this planet?”

Realizing that he’s right, the scientists look to Oneida for guidance.

“We need to reactivate the Scientist’s doomsday weapon,” the first scientist suggests.

“The suit we fused him too will protect him from it,” Oneida laments as she searches the workstation for weapons.

“It will stop anyone else from giving him a way off this planet!” the first rephrases.

The scientist that was writing a warning on the wall steps away revealing ‘APOLLYON’ before collapsing to the floor.

Oneida removes two sidearms from the desk and hands them off to her colleagues.

“I am broadcasting my entire log on every frequency,” she says with a dying conviction, “If anyone finds this recording, know that the monster was created by the Strategist. Tell the galaxy that she is very real, and that the Scientist is innocent! He is the only person who can save us from that monster!”

A loud explosion from the vault door precedes a cloud of dust that fills the room. The armed scientists begin discharging their sidearms toward the open door.

“And Scientist,” she pleads as she grabs the camera and crawls under the workstation, “I’m sorry that I deciphered your lock.” A tear rolls down her cheek as she sincerely adds, “I thought I was your equal … I believed her lies about you.” She trails off as she looks straight into the camera and clearly states, “Her real name is—”

A bladed weapon, attached to a rattling chain, pierces through the workstation, Oneida’s shoulder, and obliterates the camera. The video cuts to black.

#

Duncan, suffering from a panic attack, stares blankly into the black screen as the rest of the room has gathered behind him to watch over his shoulder.

“What was that?” the Gladiator asks. “That looked and sounded like Butch’s sword!”

Duncan looks at the Spy with a painful glare and says, “This is a problem.”

“If he got loose,” she answers, keeping her calm tone, “there would be warnings about him everywhere. Not to mention the amount of destruction he’d leave behind.”

“You’re missing the point!” the Pilot refutes. “If she sent her log on every frequency, why is the Courier only giving this to us now?”

“I only knew this existed a few days ago,” the Courier defends angrily, “I would have come to Sol Three immediately if I knew.”

“Really?” the Pilot says, stepping up to the Courier. “You’d actually tell us something without being asked to share?”

“Is it possible one of your wraiths intercepted the broadcast and hid it in the haystack?” the Spy asks calmly, stepping between the two.

“It’s possible—”

“I asked you a question!” the Gladiator growls, pulling Duncan around to face her. “What was that?!”

The Spy looks at Duncan and calmly admits, “If you don’t tell her, I will.”

“That’s my secret lab on Torus Five,” he says reluctantly.

“I figured that part out,” the Gladiator interjects, becoming more violent. “What was that monster and why did he have Butch’s sword?”

Duncan starts gasping for air as he looks to the Spy for help.

“Do you really want to put this between sisters?” she asks calmly with an eerie smile.

The Gladiator gently places her hands on Duncan’s shoulders, as he speaks with a cautious tone, “She found my work on raising the dead.”

The Pilot turns toward him and excitedly exclaims, “Seriously?!”

The Gladiator slowly reads Duncan’s face and, realizing what he means, stumbles backward and collapses into a nearby chair.

“You can bring the prince back!” the Pilot says joyously. “Wait, why didn’t you bring him back already? You could have ended the war peacefully years ago!”

“Dying causes a significant amount of stress on the body,” Duncan replies, moving uncomfortably in his chair. “Raising the dead is easy, sustaining the decaying body isn’t.”

“But she figured it out,” the Gladiator says fighting back tears.

“She found a merciless work around,” he admits while loosening his collar, “and it’s terrible for everyone … especially the Butcher.”

“Don’t refer to that thing by his name,” she growls.

Seeing the Gladiator’s tear-filled eyes looking at him, Duncan looks away shamefully as he desperately grasps at anything he can squeeze to help control his anxiety.

“She used a fuel cell with an endless supply of energy to power a survival suit capable of sustaining a reanimated corpse,” he explains. “Which means Apollyon has been perpetually dying for four years.”

The Gladiator, looking directly into Duncans eyes, hopefully asks, “Can we save him?”

“He was broken beyond repair before I killed him,” he replies remorsefully, squeezing his forearms tightly. “It wasn’t a pleasant death, and years of constantly suffering from that pain would be enough to snuff out any remaining sanity.”

With a calm, forgiving tone, the Gladiator asks, “How do we put him to rest?”

“If he’s trapped on Torus, why are we going to poke the bear?” the Pilot questions.

“We can’t let one of our own suffer like that!” the Gladiator barks.

“Oneida also knew the Strategist’s identity,” the Spy adds, “if she has any other logs or journals, this could be the chance we’re looking for.”

“And if she doesn’t, the Scientist can just resurrect her, and she can tell us herself,” the Pilot blurts out with far too much excitement.

“Apollyon isn’t going to let us poke around,” the Gladiator points out. “We need a plan to deal with him first.”

“Planetary bombardment,” the Pilot suggests.

“He’s not going to leave the headquarters once he knows we’re coming,” the Gladiator rejects. “Even if we could, it’s still harder than throwing a dart at an insect from the top of the capitol building.”

“That’s why this needs to be a covert mission,” the Spy explains. “Without the element of surprise our chances of winning are non-existent.”

“How long will those generators last?” the Gladiator asks.

“With the fallout cleaned up, the solar arrays will be functional,” Duncan replies, starting to regain control of his anxiety.

“Unless he’s a complete zombie, the long-range sensors will detect us long before we enter orbit,” the Gladiator criticizes. “That is unless you designed a hole in our defenses for a situation like this.”

Looking at the Courier for his input, the Spy concedes, “No, we designed it to be perfectly impenetrable.”

The room falls quiet until the Philosopher suggests, “When the sleeping become restless, tuck them into their sepulcher.”

“If we can get what we need, place the explosives properly and get out … dropping the entire mountain on top of him would work,” Duncan admits.

The Spy reaches down, opens a floor safe and removes the two Gnosis cases. She opens one to reveal the fuel cells. “Would one of these do the trick?”

“We are never using those as weapons!” he barks angrily. “Those things have caused enough senseless death already; I will not let that happen again!”

“There is no way we can get in undetected,” the Spy explains calmly. “There is no way we can defeat him face to face. And there is no way we can retrieve what we are looking for and survive. Unless you have a better idea, this is our best shot at guaranteeing we get him.” the Spy states calmly.

“Oneida would have lived out of my lab,” Duncan hypothesises, “so her logs and journals will be in there. I also have a few weapon prototypes that should slow him down, but—”

“But this is what the Strategist is anticipating,” the Spy finishes his thought. “You’re also assuming Oneida moved into your lab, didn’t find your prototypes, and ignores the fact that your lab is a tiny kill box that we cannot escape from.” Seeing Duncan’s smirk, she admits, “Of course you’ve got a secret exit.”

“The video also confirms she didn’t find my prototypes,” Duncan adds.

“So, our options are; run away from Apollyon, hope Oneida left notes, get the weapon prototypes, and escape according to the Strategist’s plan,” the Gladiator summarizes, “or risk another Gnosis level event.”

“Are you seriously considering another massacre on this scale for someone else to clean up!” Kamali lambastes.

“No, we aren’t,” Duncan affirms authoritatively.

“Hurray, it’s another suicide mission for us,” the Pilot whines to himself.

Duncan turns to address the Pilot, “Find us a shuttle that is capable of reaching Torus Five.”

“You can’t just take a shuttle!” Kamali declines.

“I wasn’t asking,” he replies as the Pilot and Navigator leave the observation deck.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Kamali argues, “I’m in the middle of a massive humanitarian crisis right now. A crisis that you created! These shuttles are the only things keeping these people alive. If just one goes missing, hundreds of people will starve or succumb to infections.”

Duncan turns to address the Courier, “Contact Lucas, tell him I’ve got a solution to his problems.” He turns back to Kamali. “What do you know about Perierat Seven?”

“Just that it’s a planet full of lowlifes and warmongers,” he answers. “Why?”

“It’s also the most fertile planet in the galaxy and Lucas is turning things around—”

“I am not selling these people into slavery!” Kamali rejects firmly.

“I’m not telling you to sell these people,” he explains, “Lucas is turning the planet into an Ishtar Seven-like paradise. But he needs farmers, labourers and soldiers to make that happen. These people need a home and they have the skillset to fill those jobs.

Your only other choice is to work with thousands of other planets and stations to offer temporary solutions, which could send family members to opposite sides of the galaxy. This will help everyone on this station at once, permanently.”

Kamali points to the surveillance feed showing thousands of the Philosopher’s worshippers meditating in the park around the building. “Do those look like soldiers to you?” he asks. “As soon as they are separated from their spiritual leader, they are going to start trying to kill each other again.”

“She is more than a spiritual leader to them,” Duncan clarifies, “Mother Themis is a deity. They will listen to her instructions and, as time goes on, their faith in her protection will unite them forever.”

Picking up on the hint, the Philosopher exits the observation deck. Duncan gives the Gladiator a worried look, and she nods in agreement before following behind.

“I relayed the message to Lucas,” the Courier says, “he’s prepared to give all the refugees a home and a place to work.”

“Pack up, we leave once the shuttle is ready,” Duncan orders before turning to address Kamali. “I’ve given you a solution to help resolve the crisis I’ve created. The rest is up you.”

Duncan, the Spy and Courier collect their belongings and head toward the exit.

“She spent over a month on her own,” the Spy insinuates quietly, “you have to consider the high likelihood that she’s been playing both sides since the beginning.”

“I’m aware of that,” Duncan sighs in agreement. “Should we warn Lucas?”

“My sister’s listening to her instructions now,” the Spy advises, “so long as we keep her away from any communication device, we don’t need to worry Lucas about a potential invading army unless we can prove it.”

Duncan and his team exit the observation deck leaving Kamali alone. He watches the monitor carefully as the refugees exuberantly absorb the Philosopher’s credo.

When the rest of her crew exit the administrative buildings, the Philosopher leads them through the crowd of people as they part just enough to let them pass to the docking bay doors.

Chapter Twenty

The Destroyer

The new Anathema, an old beat up merchant shuttle, arrives at Torus 5, a rusty brown planet devoid of life and surface water. An enormous debris field filled with countless metal shards from the demolished Torian fleet encompasses the planet.

The Pilot maneuvers the shuttle around the debris until he finds the path Oneida’s expedition team cleared out.

Entering the planet’s troposphere, the Anathema passes over the dried-up ocean valleys and the sand covered landscape. The ruined remains of the once magnificent cities peak through their sandy tombs.

“What did you do to our home?” the Gladiator accuses. “Where are the forests? The oceans? The cities?”

“Apollyon’s artillery strikes destroyed most of it,” Duncan answers pointing to the pockmarks. “But the poisonous atmosphere I created ensured that the soil will remain toxic for at least fifty more years.”

“We’re approaching the Spire now,” the Pilot says.

“Stay close to the surface,” the Spy instructs, “we need to assume that the anti-aircraft defenses are still active.”

“Everyone else get ready to go,” Duncan orders. “Once we start landing, this shuttle will be an easy target.”

Clearing the ruins of the fallen capital city, the Pilot drops the shuttle’s altitude to ten meters, creating a blinding sandstorm that engulfs the Anathema.

“They entered through gate sixty-seven,” the Navigator says. “Adjust angle point three five degrees to the west and continue forward for twelve point two one seconds.”

The Pilot carefully makes the adjustment and monitors his radar signal to guide the shuttle through the tight mountainous valley.

The Spire, a mountain that towers over everything else on the planet, is covered in craters from the fleet’s planetary bombardment, exposing the metal structure within.

Slowing the Anathema to a hover, the sandstorm fades to reveal an immense graveyard of fallen tanks, battleships and armoured vehicles. At the base of the Spire there is a small cave hiding the hangar door that Oneida’s team entered through. While the Pilot focuses on landing the shuttle, the rest of the team put their facemasks on.

When the shuttle makes contacts with the ground, everyone unfastens their harnesses, collects their infiltration kits and head for the exit. The Pilot powers down the Anathema, puts on his facemask and follows closely behind.

“How are we splitting up?” the Pilot asks through the mask’s radio.

“We aren’t,” the Spy responds calmly.

“We have a lot to accomplish, it’s better to—” the Pilot suggests.

“Apollyon is the greatest killer in the galaxy,” Duncan interrupts, “splitting up puts us at a greater disadvantage.”

The Pilot starts breathing heavily. “Are you sure I can’t stay here?” he pleads.

“You keep us alive in space,” the Gladiator reassures, “I’ll keep you alive on land.”

“Perturbation forestalls tranquility,” the Philosopher says, carrying her rifle like a baby. “In existence and in death.”

“You aren’t helping!” he shouts dismissively.

As they near the open hangar door, a faint grinding noise rattles from the mountain above them. A loud bang erupts from the source of the noise, followed by a powerful pressure wave on their backs as the Anathema explodes.

“Still want to wait in the Anathema?” the Gladiator jests.

“It’s better than getting carved up by his sword,” the Pilot mutters bitterly.

Entering the war-torn hangar, the scattered remains of the planet’s air force litter the floors along with ancient black singe marks, brown pools of dried blood and the white dismembered bones wearing military issued gear.

“If all the spacecraft look like this, we aren’t getting off this rock,” the Pilot laments.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Duncan reassures.

Kicking open the door at the end of the hangar, the Gladiator peaks into the hallway. Mummified remains that were pulled apart by a large weapon and the shattered fragments of the defensive turrets blanket the narrow corridors.

“It’s going to take him ten minutes to catch up,” she says, stepping into the hallway.

“Fastest way down is the stairwell two halls south of us,” Duncan instructs.

Racing through the wide hallways, the iconic sounds of rattling chains echo the metallic walls.

“So much for the ten-minute head start,” the Pilot grumbles fearfully.

Reaching the stairwell door, the Spy tries to force the door open before finding the welded frame.

“It’s not a mindless zombie,” she warns, removing a breaching charge from her duffle bag. “Go around the corner,” she orders while placing the device in the middle of the door.

Joining the crew in the nearby hallway, the Spy remotely detonates the charge. The explosion punches the metal door out of its frame, into the stairwell and tumbling down the stairs.

The Gladiator leads the team through the thick cloud of dust and down the stairs.

On the bottom floor, there are two broken doors; the one they just blow up, and a second metal door, which looks like it was cut off its hinges.

The Spy grabs the Gladiator by the back of her collar and pulls her away from the open door. “He’s activated the security systems down here,” she warns calmly. Turning to the Courier, “Can you disable them?”

“I need a few minutes,” he answers, removing the tablet from his belt.

“Your interval is larger than the magnitude of the condition,” the Philosopher says, pointing up the stairs.

The Spy draws her sidearm and carefully looks up the center of the stairwell. Apollyon, in his battle scarred, yellow survival suit, is ten stories above them, looking back down at her. She discharges a controlled burst from her sidearm, but all the bolts that strike him, deflect off his suit.

Unfazed by the attack, Apollyon calmly points his sidearm down at her and discharges it faster than an automatic rifle.

“Times up,” the Spy declares, almost breaking her calm demeanour, as she ducks away from the raining sidearm bolts.

The Gladiator picks up the old broken door and tosses it into the hallway. Turrets pop out of the ceiling, walls, and floor, and discharge their automatic bolts into the metal object.

The Gladiator and Spy raise their rifles and destroy the exposed defensive weapons prompting an alarm to ring throughout the Spire.

The blast door in the middle of the hallway begins to slide shut.

As the team races to cross the closing door, the Gladiator stops at the door and pulls a grenade out of her bag.

The sound of metal scraping against metal fills the stairwell followed by a hollow metallic hum. Apollyon falls flat on his face with an intense metallic bang.

“What did you do to him?!” she asks, pulling the pin out of the grenade.

Letting out a deep, menacing laugh, Apollyon pushes himself off the floor, and reaches for the chained sword on his hip. The Gladiator rolls the explosive underneath Apollyon’s chest and takes cover behind the blast door.

The grenade explodes, throwing Apollyon against the wall behind him, but he bounces off it, lands on his feet and walks into the hallway, chain rattling with each step.

“Why did you make him unkillable?” the Gladiator asks fearfully.

“That suit was designed for a ground assault on Primus,” Duncan declares, “not someone that brushes off an explosion like a soft kiss."

“The door will close in ten point three five seconds,” the Navigator says, peaking back at Apollyon. “He will reach the door in eight point two.”

The Gladiator sets her rifle to overcharge, causing it to whine and squeal as the battery chamber slowly turns red. She takes a few quick breaths, places the stock against her shoulder firmly, leans around the closing door, lines up a shot, and discharges the rifle with an enormous blast.

Apollyon quickly draws his sidearm and discharges one blast at the Gladiator before the immense rifle bolt knocks him off his feet.

His sidearm bolt strikes the Gladiator’s rifle, snapping it in half and releases the contained plasma energy into a spike that penetrates her chest armour. The Spy leaps to catch her sister as she collapses and pulls her behind cover.

Horrified, the Spy removes their facemasks and demands, “Hang in there, Kelly!” while removing the Gladiator’s damaged armour.

Pulling her shirt open, the Spy flicks the hot slag off her skin and is relieved to see that the tiny burn mark over her heart hasn’t penetrated the skin. The Gladiator grabs the Spy’s hand reassuringly and looks directly into her tear-filled eyes.

“Another one for the collection,” the Gladiator says with a raspy, winded voice.

“How much longer on the defenses?” the Spy asks, regaining her calm composure.

“Almost there,” the Courier says as the blast door slams shut.

The Spy forces the Gladiator down as she tries to stand up. “Rest while you can,” she says softly, “who knows how long it will take him to find a way around.”

A loud thud fills the hallway as Apollyon’s sword penetrates the sixty-centimeter steel door.

“Looks like he isn’t going around,” the Gladiator states as she climbs to her feet.

“Isn’t it faster to just destroy the turrets?” the Pilot suggests fearfully.

“The last hallway had a blind spot and eighteen turrets,” the Navigator replies matter-of-factly, removing his facemask. “This one has fifty-two with line of sight on us once we trigger their sensors. The four of you can only destroy twelve before the remaining forty execute us.”

A deafening screech rumbles through the hallway as Apollyon, using his sword as a lever, forces the door open a few millimeters.

Duncan removes his facemask, gathers the power cells from the team’s sidearms and rifles while the Spy pulls the blast door’s control panel off the wall. Striping the wire out of the control panel, Duncan uses it to chain the power cells together, ensuring that the two ends arc when they’re close.

“How do you deal with the guilt knowing that you made a stupid mistake?” the Spy asks calmly.

Duncan strips the shielding off a long piece of wire, wraps it around Apollyon’s protruding sword, and creates a loop at the top. “I make bigger mistakes to funnel my guilt into,” he laments while attaching the other end of the stripped wire to his battery chain.

“I should have burned him,” the Spy admits, handing Duncan another piece of stripped wire, “or at least brought his body back for a proper burial.”

The door emits another deafening screech as Apollyon forces it open a few more millimeters. Duncan attaches the second stripped wire to the other end of the battery chain, bends it into a hook and connects it to the loop wrapped around the sword. Completing the circuit, the sword starts to buzz and spark as Apollyon’s suit bangs and thuds against the metal door.

Apollyon pushes the door open just enough to stick his hands through before pulling his sword out of the door, removing the battery chain.

He forces his gloved fingers into the gap and pushes the heavy metal door open with brute strength.

The Courier returns his tablet to his belt, removes his facemask and says, “The path is clear!”

He leads the team through the hall and into the dark room at the end of the hall. A thick layer of ash covers the floor while the metal walls and ceiling are discoloured from an intense fire. On the opposite end of the room, the vault door leading into Duncan’s secret lab has been exploded out of its frame.

The Courier reactivates the defensive weapons.

“What happened here?” the Pilot asks.

Removing a flashlight from his duffle bag, Duncan leads the way into his secret lab. “Oneida used the purge protocol to try and kill Apollyon,” he says.

“Bulletproof, explosionproof and incineration proof?” the Gladiator states angrily. “You didn’t think to put a kill switch into the suit in case it fell into the wrong hands?” she criticizes.

Stepping into the secret lab, the warning, ‘APOLLYON’ has become a brown stain on the wall, and the dismembered mummified remains of seven bodies are scattered across the lab.

The sounds of the defensive weapon’s bolts bouncing off Apollyon’s survival suit fill the hallway.

“I’m not building an exploit into a survival suit,” Duncan answers while clearing the demolished workstation away from the floor. “But I did build some countermeasures just in case.”

The floor tile beneath his ruined workstation lights up when he touches it with his bare hand. The tile becomes loose allowing Duncan to rotate it away to reveal a hidden keypad.

He enters a thirty-five-digit code that turns on the lights and causes barricades to emerge from the floor.

“I don’t think these will slow him down,” the Gladiator says disapprovingly as the team hunkers down.

“Get behind the back one, Philosopher,” Duncan orders while entering a sixty-four-digit code into the same keypad.

A floor safe, containing three weird looking rifles, opens behind Duncan’s barricade.

Apollyon steps into the doorway and unleashes an impossibly fast volley of sidearm blasts at the barricades. When he ejects the power cell from his sidearm, Duncan draws the first rifle from the safe and discharges it into Apollyon’s chest.

A small, metallic projectile launches across the room and explodes with a deafening airburst. The pressure wave sweeps Apollyon off his feet and throws him into the metal wall behind him, leaving behind a dent twice the size of his body.

Cautious of Apollyon’s assault, the Pilot and Courier, carefully search the clothing fragments attached to the severed bones for Oneida’s journal.

Duncan cycles the bolt and throws the rifle to the Gladiator. “Ten remaining,” he says.

Apollyon starts to climb to his feet when the Gladiator hits him with another blast. “Where has this thing been hiding!” she says, laughing maniacally.

“Don’t lower your guard!” the Spy warns, seeing that Apollyon was able to reload his sidearm between the first and second hits.

Apollyon discharges his sidearm from the floor, striking the Gladiator three times as she dives behind her barricade.

Screaming in pain, she collapses to the floor where she falls silent and unresponsive as plumes of smoke rise from her injuries.

“Open the door, Lexy!” Duncan commands as he removes the second rifle from the case.

Unleashing a suppressive barrage of sidearm bolts, Apollyon climbs to his feet, holsters his sidearm, draws his sword and points it toward the Philosopher’s barricade. Pressing a button on the hilt, a loud hiss of released pressurized gas launches the blade from its guard and penetrates through the barricade. The protruding blade stops centimeters away from the Philosopher’s back.

Seeing the opportunity to move, the Spy runs to her sister’s side and confirms that she is alive, but only just.

Grabbing the chain with both hands, Apollyon yanks the blade from the barricade, and reforms his sword.

Duncan, seeing the Spy clutching the Gladiator’s body helplessly and the Philosopher exposed to the next attack, cannot issue orders as a vicious panic attack cripples his ability to move.

Unable to pass the rifle to the Spy, or call for her attention, he is forced to fight through the vertigo, steady the rifle as best as he can and holds his short breath long enough to take a shot.

Apollyon draws his sidearm and points it at the Philosopher’s back through the hole in her barricade.

The air between the end of Duncan’s rifle and Apollyon’s chest distorts and forms a faint, transparent tunnel. The tunnel flashes with a beam of white energy that turns the metal components of Apollyon’s survival suit and sidearm red hot.

Suffering from hypoxia, Duncan drops the rifle, collapses behind his barricade and forces himself to remain conscious as his vision starts to blacken.

The Spy picks up the Gladiator’s weapon, and discharges another blast into Apollyon’s chest, warping the hot, pliable metal pieces.

“I said open the door, Lexy!” Duncan begs between gasps of air.

Apollyon points his glowing sidearm at the Philosopher and pulls the trigger. The overheated sidearm explodes in his hand.

Shaking it off like it was nothing, he calmly saunters over to claim one of discarded sidearms from the mummified remains.

The Spy discharges another bolt from the rifle into Apollyon’s back, but he deflects it with the side of his sword, without looking at the projectile’s trajectory. The deflected blast strikes the floor near the Courier and tosses him violently against a nearby wall.

“Why did I let you convince me into this!” the Courier grumbles, clutching his ribs.

“You need to focus and start putting your escape plan in motion,” the Spy demands, cycling her weapon.

Apollyon picks the sidearm up off the floor, loads a fresh power cell, and aims it at the Spy as she rises to fire her weapon again. They both discharge their weapons simultaneously, the Spy targets the floor near Apollyon’s feet, outside his sword’s swinging radius, while he targets the rifle that’s been tossing him around like a ragdoll.

The pressure blast breaks pieces off Apollyon’s suit as it launches him high into the wall, breaking off more pieces.

He falls to the floor, face first as the bolts from his sidearm strikes the Spy’s rifle, turning it into scrap metal in her arms. The final bolt passes the crumbling rifle and grazes her shoulder.

Showing signs of fatigue, Apollyon struggles to pull himself off the ground, as larger pieces of his suit break away.

Resting on his knees, he aims his sidearm at the gap in the Philosopher’s barricade and discharges a volley of bolts at her.

The Spy, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, runs to help the Philosopher as she lies on the floor completely exposed to the incoming attack.

One of the bolts makes it through the hole low enough to hit the Philosopher, but it strikes her body armour at a shallow angle. The bolt flashes leaving behind a pool of hot, liquid metal that melts through the solid armour.

“What’s taking so long, Lexy?!” Duncan questions between panicked breaths.

He pulls the final rifle from the safe and stumbles across the lab to join the Philosopher where he and the Spy remove her armour before the liquid metal bores a hole into her back.

He forces the rifle into the Spy’s arms and shouts, “Hold onto something!”

The Spy takes aim at Apollyon as he climbs to his feet and searches for another sidearm. A dull thud emits from the barrel of the rifle as it tosses a long blue-grey rod into the middle of the room. The rod starts to warp and bend as it appears to float in place.

With a loud crack, the rod redshifts, elongates from its position through Apollyon’s heart, laboratory walls and the blast door in the hallway before exploding in the stairwell, caving it in.

Apollyon falls onto his back completely motionless with a tiny hole through his torso. The Spy drops the depleted weapon and fights her disorientated senses to return to her sister’s side.

“Hang in there,” she orders, removing the medical supplies from her duffle bag.

She packs the holes in her chest as the Gladiator unconsciously grumbles incoherently.

“You need to get her over here,” Duncan says, still trying to control his anxiety.

“That one's damaged,” she refutes anxiously, unable to keep up her calm facade.

“The exit’s over here,” he affirms.

The Courier and Pilot finish searching the remains without finding Oneida’s journals or anything beneficial. The Courier helps the Spy move the Gladiator to Duncan, while the Pilot reunites with the Navigator who is lying on his side with his knees against his chest, forcefully pressing his hands against his ears, stomping his feet against the barricade and humming to himself.

“What have you done to me,” Apollyon moans morbidly as he rolls onto his belly. “Why can’t I rest?”

“Your prototypes didn’t work,” the Spy states angrily as she removes a Gnosis case and a remote explosive from her duffle bag. “It’s time for the contingency.”

“Initiate the doomsday scenario, Lexy!” Duncan commands, placing his hand on the Gnosis case to keep it closed.

“Finally!” a euphoric female voice fills the room.

The floor behind the Philosopher pops and whirs as it springs open to reveal a ladder leading down into a pristine lab. The Philosopher climbs down the ladder while the Spy throws the remote explosive at Apollyon.

The explosive detonates, throwing Apollyon back into the wall, allowing the Pilot and the Navigator to escape down the ladder.

Duncan and the Spy pass the Gladiator’s unconscious body through the hatch where the Courier, Pilot and Philosopher struggle to retrieve her muscular weight.

Apollyon picks up his chained sword, climbs to his feet and marches toward Duncan as he helps the Spy descend into the hidden lab.

“Are we ready to exit, Lexy?” Duncan asks with a panicked tone.

“You promised me a doomsday scenario!” Lexy whines.

“Running away again, Strategist!” Apollyon growls as he propels his sword blade from its hilt at Duncan.

Climbing onto the ladder, Duncan reaches to pull the hatch closed, but Apollyon’s sword breaks it off its hinge.

Duncan slides down the ladder and runs to the small workstation beside a biconvex shuttle so black that it doesn’t reflect light. The shuttle floats above the lab floor with its open loading ramp being the only point of contact to a solid surface.

“You have a secret lab beneath your secret lab?” the Pilot exclaims, helping the Gladiator into the shuttle.

“Everyone expects me to have a hidden lab,” Duncan says, finally gaining control of his anxiety. He removes a large metal cube from his workstation and adds, “Having a second one lets me hide my more sensitive projects.”

“Like raising the dead,” the Pilot admires.

Duncan activates the cube, places it behind the ladder and says, “Less conventional projects.”

“Time is running out!” Lexy taunts, singsongy.

“Everyone inside now!” he orders, running up the shuttle’s loading ramp.

The cockpit sits in the center of the shuttle, with the escape pods, crew quarters and workshops lining the perimeter. The Spy, the last one to enter the shuttle, stands beside Duncan at the top of the ramp.

“The hangar doors aren’t open yet!” the Pilot yells from the helm. “Where are the hangar doors?!”

Lexy starts laughing menacingly as Apollyon drops down the hatch with a loud metal thud.

Duncan closes the shuttle’s loading ramp and yells, “Now!”

“Finally!” she replies with exaggerated relief. “Squish!”

Apollyon aims his sword toward the shuttle and propels it like a harpoon, but the distance between him and the shuttle becomes infinitely further apart. The entire lab stretches and bends toward the cube, as the entire mountain tremors and cracks.

“Welcome to the Anathema,” Lexy says proudly, “Please ensure all of your lunches are stored securely in your stomachs. I look forward to seeing who is still with us if we reach our destination.”

Duncan climbs into his seat as the loading ramp snaps shut and a ‘spacetime tether slip’ warning starts flashing on the monitors.

“Ready to go,” Duncan says, fastening his harness.

“Go where?” the Pilot complains, “You forgot to build an exit!”

“Just press the green button,” Lexy suggests, “and pray that our first test run is a success.”

The Pilot presses the green button on the flight controls before realising what she said. “What do you mean—”

“Pop!” she exclaims.

All the shuttle’s monitors instantly change from displaying the distorting lab, to a clear star filled sky.

The Navigator leaps out of his chair and analyzes the stars with an astonished expression. The Anathema goes completely dark.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Recrimination

The Anathema rests motionlessly in the middle of space. With its non-reflective black body, the shuttle can only be seen by the stars it obscures. The emergency lights click on, giving the crew just enough light to move around the shuttle.

Duncan climbs out of his chair and quickly makes his way to the medical facility. The Pilot and Philosopher remove their facemasks.

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere!” Lexy states happily. “How many body bags do I need to prepare?”

“Everyone survived, Lexy,” Duncan replies, using the manual override to slide open the unpowered door.

“Aw, even the brute?” she replies disappointedly. “Did someone at least pick up a wicked mutation?” A series of thin mechanical arms, carrying welding torches and scrap metal, descend from the ceiling. “I’ve been practicing my mask making.”

“We moved fifty-two point two seven three light years instantly!” the Navigator exclaims. “How is that possible?”

“This one’s smart,” Lexy admires.

“What is that thing?” the Spy asks quietly as she and Duncan hoist the Gladiator onto a gurney and wheel her into the medical facility.

“I am the only thing keeping you alive,” Lexy answers with a quiet devilish tone. “Speaking of which,” her tone becomes cheery as she retracts the mechanical arms, “life support is offline, so you only have thirty minutes to live. Would anyone like a lethal injection before they asphyxiate?”

“She’s the result of leaving a self-learning intelligence alone for eight years,” Duncan explains as he grabs a lab coat and returns to the cockpit. “Open the battery array,” he orders.

“Excuse me?” Lexy replies with a peeved tone.

“Lexy, would you please open the battery array?” Duncan rephrases.

The floor in the center of the cockpit opens, ejecting a small tower of fuel cells.

“See what asking nicely gets you?” she says, singsongy.

Duncan collects the Gnosis cases from the duffle bags and takes them to the array. Replacing the eight depleted cells with the ones from the cases, he asks, “Are you able to reboot?”

The lights and monitors flicker on as Lexy laughs maniacally. “I’ve never felt so alive!” she shouts while returning the battery array to its compartment.

“Monitor the channels for any information on the Torus system,” Duncan instructs the Courier as he joins the Navigator. “Cole said the Strategist was near a deep gravity well,” he says pulling up a giant three-dimensional star map from his console. “Mark anything strong enough to distort a sound pulse,” he orders.

“If I compensate for Salem Station’s position, I can reduce the number of pings” the Navigator advises matter-of-factly.

Duncan returns to the medical facility as the equipment finishes their bootup sequence. He joins the Spy at the sink where they clean their hands and surgical tools. “You named her after your daughter?” she asks.

“Actually, I named my daughter after her,” he confides.

“How did the Titan take that?” she asks with a laugh, removing the packing from the singed burn holes in the Gladiator’s chest.

“She … doesn’t actually know about her,” he says, sterilizing the exposed wounds.

Noticing that the Gladiator’s blood isn’t doming, the Spy realizes the Anathema isn’t moving. “How do we have gravity?” she asks.

“Technically speaking,” he replies, “everything inside this ship doesn’t exist within the conventional terms of reality.”

“We’re all just lines of code, struggling to find love,” Lexy quips.

“You’re going to have to elaborate,” the Spy says, unable to keep up her calm demeanour as her body language and the tone of her voice show the constant sadness she fights relentlessly.

“The shuttle expands a single point of spacetime large enough to wedge itself into,” he explains, debriding the Gladiator’s wounds. “From a quantum standpoint, the entire hull of the Anathema is touching the same point of spacetime, with everything between existing in its own pocket universe.”

“And that creates gravity?”

“It’s more of a by-product of being in a plane of existence that doesn’t have any rules to challenge the variables I’ve created,” he adds, bandaging the sealed injuries.

“Looks like you’re famous again!” the Pilot exclaims, watching over the Courier’s shoulder.

All the monitors in the cockpit switch to a press announcement from General Okar. She is standing at a lectern with the Galactic Federation’s logo on the front. She is wearing her highly decorated military dress uniform.

The lower third reads, ‘The Scientist Reignites Galactic War, Acting President Okar’ and the over the shoulder image is of Torus 5, its moon, and the debris field orbiting it.

“One hour ago, the Scientist and his band of terrorists were spotted landing on Torus Five,” she states. “A planet that was just starting to recover from the biological weapon he used to kill the eleven billion people inhabiting it.”

The over the shoulder image switches to a live video of a dense, atmosphereless planet covered in a red ocean of flowing lava. “This is what Torus Five looks like now!” she exclaims.

“We turned it inside out!” Lexy giggles.

“He is turning his sadistic fantasies into reality,” Okar continues, “and destroying our lives for entertainment! The heedless actions of President Wilson gave the Scientist six years to develop monstrous ways to terrorize us!”

“Hijack their feed,” Duncan orders, returning to the cockpit as the Spy sutures the Gladiator’s wounds.

“Yes, Captain!” the Courier ratifies while typing away at his console.

“It’s time we stop letting them talk for us,” he adds, sitting in the captain’s chair.

“Make no mistake,” Okar warns. “The Scientist has just declared war against the free, united galaxy!”

A camera attached to a metallic arm drops down from the ceiling and focuses on Duncan. “I’m going to make you famous, kid!” Lexy replies cheekily.

“Is it true that the Scientist caused the Gnosis system to go supernova prematurely?” a reporter shouts.

“All reports you’ve heard about the Gnosis system going supernova are understating the travesty of his actions,” Okar answers. “The Scientist deployed a series of weapons throughout the greater Gnosis area simply to destroy everything within a hundred lightyear radius.”

“I have control of their broadcast systems,” the Courier informs.

“Once we go live, get Oneida’s log ready,” Duncan orders while primping himself.

“If the Scientist is capable of such widespread destruction, how are you going to keep the federated systems safe from his attacks?” another reporter asks.

“Take it over,” Duncan says calmly.

The Courier presses a key on his console, splitting the live broadcast to put Duncan’s feed on the left side of the screen, and the original on the right.

“I have no intentions of destroying any more systems,” Duncan states sincerely, “and the last thing I want is to start another war.”

Screams of shock and horror fill the room. “The Scientist is going to destroy Primus!” one onlooker shouts.

“He’s going to experiment on us and mutate our children!” another screams.

Okar turns away from the lectern and orders her team to regain control.

“I know it was a mistake to have kept you out of the deal I made with President Wilson to end the war,” Duncan continues, “but I thought you had learned not to trust the Strategist after our previous meeting.”

The audience starts muttering amongst themselves.

“What does he mean by your previous meeting?” a reporter asks.

“He’s lying!” another corrects, “It’s just propaganda to turn us against our president!”

“I thought you were running a transparent campaign,” Duncan says unapologetically, “I met with the entire council two months ago.”

The muttering becomes louder but Okar stays unfazed. “It was also the same day you assassinated President Wilson,” she states.

The reporters gasp as Duncan carefully picks his words. “A fitting punishment for his assassination of Fleet Admiral Sheridan,” he replies calmly, “A crime no one on Primus Seven was going to take him to trial for.”

Okar, seeing that the audience is starting to believe Duncan, turns away from the lectern again and visually berates her assistants.

“But let’s talk about the crimes that you’ve personally committed,” Duncan provokes calmly. “Like the five prisoners you were torturing in a black site beneath the Galactic Headquarters for six years. The same prison you’ve sentenced at least one of your fellow high council members to?”

“They are traitors to their own people!” Okar snaps. “Corrupted by your propaganda.”

“My propaganda?” Duncan replies calmly. “The first time I had to attack Torus Five, my home planet, was to clean up a mess your president created. Unfortunately, someone couldn’t leave the past alone and I had to return to my home to fix that mistake as well.”

“Lies spoken from a terrorist afraid of facing the wrath of the united Federation’s armies,” Okar accuses.

“I admit that everything I say is just hearsay,” Duncan replies, “So let me show the entire Federation what you’ve been hiding from them.”

The Courier updates the video feed to play Oneida’s recovery log.

“We are clear,” Lexy states, singsongy.

“Were you able to find any of Oneida’s logs?” the Spy asks hopefully, stepping into the medical facility’s door.

“Big Sister only kept one set of logs,” Lexy answers, “and you’re playing the abridged version right now!”

“Did you have eyes in the lab, this whole time?” she asks.

“Yes,” Lexy starts laughing, “you didn’t stand a chance!”

“We won didn’t—” the Pilot answers defensively.

“Did she ever say what the Strategist’s real name was?” the Spy interrupts desperately.

Offended, Lexy answers, “What am I, some kind of computer?”

“That’s exactly what you are!”

Lexy giggles, “That means you’re a sack of meat.”

Aggravated, the Spy provokes, “It’s okay if you don’t remember, senility comes with age.”

“You’re funny,” Lexy states. “Big Sister never called the Strategist by any other name, Mommy … she didn’t live long enough.”

“Don’t call me Mommy,” the Spy mopes,

“It just means that she’s imprinted on you,” Duncan explains, “just like she did with Oneida,” he adds disapprovingly.

“You abandoned me, Daddy,” Lexy justifies, “then the bad man came and killed all of my entertainment. So, I made a new friend … until the bad man took her away too.”

“Did she tell you what her connection to the Crimson Tigers was?” the Spy interrogates.

“Only that the Strategist hired them to protect her on Torus Five,” Lexy answers.

“We’ve still got nothing on her,” the Pilot says in defeat, “Nine years looking, and we aren’t any closer to her than when we started.”

“I’ll be with my sister,” the Spy dejects, returning to the medical facility.

“That’s not true,” the Navigator says nonchalantly. “Apollyon fired his weapons one hundred thirty-six times,” he adds matter-of-factly. “Ninety-seven of those blasts were directed at the Philosopher. He only shot at the Scientist five times, and all of those were aimed at his barricade, never toward his body, which he didn’t protect very well.”

Lexy starts laughing. “He underestimated you, Daddy.”

“Or he gave him orders not too!” the Pilot accuses, drawing his sidearm and pointing it at Duncan’s chest.

“This is good,” Duncan replies excitedly. “It’s time you demonstrate why the Strategist fears you the most,” he says, directing the Philosopher to his chair.

Duncan raises his hands slowly and climbs out of the captain’s chair, allowing the Philosopher to sit in front of the camera. The video feed switches to the Philosopher, she smiles gently upon seeing herself on all the monitors.

“Ambition for serenity isn’t realized through hostilities,” the Philosopher states confidently, before remorsefully adding, “regardless of our inconsolable torments.” Regaining her confidence, she continues, “We must unearth the veracity, exonerate those fallaciously persecuted, and amalgamate against our communal antagonist.”

“Go back to their cameras,” Duncan directs.

The video feed switches back to an empty podium as the reporters shout questions hopelessly. The Philosopher returns to her station allowing Duncan to sit in front of the camera.

“Call Freda,” Duncan orders.

The Courier connects Freda to the Anathema. “You have some nerve dragging me into this mess,” she scolds, appearing on a small screen in front of Duncan.

“If I had another choice, I wouldn’t be calling,” Duncan admits. “But your unique circumstances are the only hope I have.”

“These fuel cells were made on Gnosis, weren’t they?” Freda asks.

“They were, and now you possess the entire known stock,” he explains. “The Strategist will come looking for them.”

“I won’t hide your crew,” Freda pre-emptively declines. “This is your mess and I won’t have anything to do with it.”

“I’m done hiding,” Duncan asserts boldly. “But I need you to protect the young woman who just addressed the galaxy. She isn’t a fighter and the Strategist wants her dead … I cannot bring her to the front line.”

The Pilot holsters his sidearm and returns to his station.

“What am I supposed to do with her when you die?” Freda asks.

“Turn her over to President Okar as a peace offering and do whatever it takes to stop the Strategist from regaining those cells,” he answers sincerely. “But until that happens, keep her safe … please.”

“Scientist, we have another problem,” the Courier informs, flicking a switch.

Lucas’ distressed voice fills the cockpit, “Scientist if you’re out there, we need your help! The gangs are about to eradicate us! Even with the support from Salem Station’s and the Placating Foxes, we cannot survive this encounter. Give these miscreants what they deserve … don’t let our dream become forgotten,” he signs off morbidly.

“Get me a visual on Perierat Seven,” Duncan orders.

“Looks like you can’t be in two places at once,” Freda says sympathetically. “It’s a shame that Salem got involved, Mother Themis would have made this galaxy a better place.”

Shocked, Duncan returns his attention to Freda. “The Philosopher is Mother Themis.”

Freda’s standoffish demeanor fades at the revelation. “What can I do to help?”

“Set a course for Mercury Station,” Duncan orders. “Which docking bay is clear? We can land in three seconds.”

The Navigator inputs the coordinates into his system causing a button on the flight controls to light up. The Pilot presses the illuminated button and the monitors projecting the stars around them go black for three seconds.

After the blackout period, Mercury station quickly blueshifts into view in front of them along with the stars in their section of the galaxy.

“Docking bay forty-two is clear,” Freda informs, “but there is no way you’re getting here in three seconds.”

“Get by the loading ramp,” Duncan calmly instructs the Philosopher as the Pilot activates the Anathema’s docking mode and guides the shuttle into docking bay 42.

Duncan races to the Courier’s station and removes a quantum radio from the drawer. With the radio in hand, he runs into the cabin labeled ‘Workshop’ and exits with an adapter for the large Gnosis fuel cells.

He tries to hand the objects to the Philosopher, but she grabs onto his wrists and looks into his face with tear filled eyes. Keeping a calm demeanor, Duncan presents the objects to her.

“I’m about to become the monster the galaxy believes I am,” he says sincerely. “So, I’m counting on you to save the people I’ve failed.”

She hugs him tightly as a tear rolls down her cheek. “Goodbye,” she whispers with finality.

The Anathema hovers above the station’s floor and lowers its loading ramp.

The Philosopher takes the radio and adapter before making her way down the ramp. With one final farewell glance over her shoulder, she exits the Anathema.

“Are you sure about this?” the Pilot questions.

“We’re either playing into her plan or we aren’t,” Duncan declares. “It’s time we stop trying to figure out which it is and just start acting. What’s the status on Perierat Seven?”

The Courier projects a three-dimensional display of Perierat 7, its defensive network, Salem Station, the refugee’s ships, and thousands of attacking Crimson Tiger ships surrounding the planet.

“Focus on the Placating Foxes’ flagship,” Duncan instructs.

The Courier zooms in on the flagship as it struggles to repel the overwhelming fleet.

“Broadcast the battle,” Duncan orders, returning to the captain’s chair. “Make sure it’s clear that the Federation is on our side. Lexy, lock in the Perierat anchor … please.”

“You got it, Daddy,” Lexy affirms.

“Just remember to set the flight controls to combat before you engage.” Duncan warns, fastening his harness.

The Courier switches the hacked broadcast to display the battle of Perierat 7, as a button on the flight controls starts to glow red. The Pilot presses the button and the monitors displaying Mercury Station’s docking bay instantly switch to display the Perierat system.

The Spy exits the medical facility and climbs into the weapons station. “I’m going to make them wish they never accepted the Strategist’s money!” she growls, targeting the attacking ships from across the system.

“Only use the hydrogen cannons,” Duncan orders, “we cannot inflict collateral damage here.”

The Spy cycles through the weapon systems and disables the gravity missiles and kinetic bombardment before wrapping her hands around the controls. With twenty-four battleships targeted, the Spy gently squeezes the trigger.

Twenty-four small circles of white light appear on the Anathema’s hull and collapse into single points. Each point of light unleashes a barrage of tiny white sparks toward their targets that redshift as they instantly approach near light speed.

Enormous blue fireballs erupt from the twenty-four targeted battleships as the redshifted sparks collide with them. As the battleships are torn apart, the Anathema’s targeting computer automatically selects the next closest battleship and projects another volley of devastating sparks.

The Crimson Tigers start randomly pulsing their thrusters, causing the Anathema’s attacks to miss wildly.

“Get me closer!” the Spy growls angrily.

The Pilot toggles the combat/travel switch and starts to push the controls forward.

“Remember,” Duncan warns, “only use small movements to evade attacks. Otherwise, we’ll be switching planets.”

The Anathema leaps across the system, instantly joining the battle at Perierat 7. The planet and everything fighting around it appear blue as they grow into view. The targeted battleships are now too close to evade allowing the hydrogen cannons to rip them apart.

The entire Crimson Tigers’ fleet disengages their targets and refocus their weapons on the Anathema.

Unchallenged, the defending armada is only able to disable five of the attacking ships, while the Anathema completely obliterates hundreds.

A series of warped tunnels form a two hundred-thousand-kilometer hot zone around the Anathema as the Crimson Tiger fleet arms their main cannons. The Pilot flicks the flight controls fiercely as the tunnels fill with white energy at the speed of light.

The blast of energy destroys dozens of the defending ships and a hand full of their own.

Perierat 7, and the battle around it, redshift as they rapidly shrink out of view and the Anathema appears beside Perierat 2.

“Tiny adjustments,” Duncan reiterates.

“Not all of us can remain as calm as the Spy when looking at a bullet heading straight for your face,” the Pilot retorts, returning the shuttle to Perierat 7.

The Spy’s targeting system corrects for the high speeds and sudden movements, allowing her to continuously attack the Crimson Tigers without losing targets. The Pilot, quickly learning how to finesse the controls, rapidly repositions the Anathema to inflict the most damage as quickly as possible.

The Crimson Tigers, having lost most of their fleet, rotate into warp positions and form warp bubbles that push the redshifted sparks away from their hulls.

“Track them,” Duncan orders.

As the retreating ships escape, the Spy climbs out of the weapon station and returns to the medical facility.

“Call Captain Kamali and Lucas,” Duncan commands, “and terminate this broadcast.”

Releasing the broadcast hijack, the broadcast monitors switch to a ‘Please Stand By’ title card.

The Courier connects Kamali and Lucas in separate communication windows in front of Duncan.

“You never cease to amaze me, Duncan,” Lucas says full of relief. “I didn’t think anyone was going to make it in time.”

“Did you just put us at war with the Federation?” Kamali asks angrily.

“Luckily you still had a few Federation battleships in orbit,” Duncan says. “If President Okar wants to declare war on Perierat Seven, she has to disavow her own Placating Foxes,” he explains. “But since she didn’t attack you, it’s easier for her to position herself as the hero.”

“Perierat Seven joins the Federation,” Lucas laughs, “too bad the gang lords couldn’t hear that.”

“Does this mean you’ve cleared your name?” Kamali asks.

“I am still the tyrant that kills the innocent,” Duncan sighs. “There isn’t anything I can do to change that.”

“Even if you find the Strategist, a lot of people lost loved ones on Ishtar, Torus, Primus, and Gnosis,” Lucas admits.

“And those that help me, are the ones that suffer the most,” Duncan laments. “Which makes this hard for me to ask … the Gladiator has been injured badly—”

“I’ll be on the next shuttle out there,” Valtina says from off Kamali’s camera.

“I just need a clear docking bay and we will drop her off,” Duncan states.

“Our facilities are better than theirs!” the Spy interjects angrily from the medical facility. “And I’m not letting her leave my side!” She steps into the medical facility’s door, sidearm in hand.

“This facility is going into battle,” he replies, “it’s much safer for them to be with people we trust.”

“Docking bay four is all yours,” Kamali says.

The Navigator and Pilot work together to hover the shuttle into the docking bay and lower the loading ramp.

“This is just a way for you to escape my watch isn’t it!” the Spy accuses, approaching Duncan standoffishly. “Let my sister get injured so that I’m forced to stay by her side?”

“I need you at my side,” Duncan says, trying to calm her down. “I hate to separate the two of you again … especially when she’s in this state … but if we don’t track the Strategist down now, she will adapt to this weapon.”

Valtina enters the Anathema and the Spy takes her to the medical facility.

“Do we know where the fleet is heading yet?” Duncan asks while removing two quantum radios from the communication station.

“We’re still reducing the possible systems,” the Courier replies, “but there’s something else. Their flagship just broadcasted an encrypted sound pulse.”

The Navigator excitedly leaps from his station and sits in the Spy’s to analyze the encoded sequence. Within seconds, he has entered the decryption key into the console and plays the message.

“Perierat Seven has developed some kind of super weapon,” the voice exclaims with panic. “We need the full force of your army to eliminate the threat.”

There is a long pause before the Strategist taunts, “I’ll see you soon, Scientist.”

Valtina, pushing the Gladiator’s Gurney, exits from the medical facility with the Spy. They talk quietly amongst themselves before the Spy hugs Valtina.

“Looks like she’s anticipated this as well,” the Spy says, trying to rebuild her calm facade. “Are you sure this isn’t a trap?”

“It’s either a trap or a bluff,” Duncan replies, “but I don’t care what it is.” He gives Valtina the quantum radios and says, “These will connect you with us at all times, make sure Lucas receives one.”

Pushing the Gladiator toward the ramp, Valtina exits the Anathema as the Spy watches listlessly.

“They’re heading to the Hypnos system,” the Navigator declares matter-of-factly.

“Set a course for the outer planet,” Duncan orders, “we aren’t going to let any of them escape.”

“Yes, Captain,” the crew affirms in unison.

“If you need to be by her side, I understand,” Duncan says compassionately.

The Spy closes the ramp and turns to Duncan. Hiding behind her calm mask, she says, “And let you get all the satisfaction of killing her?”

With the loading ramp closed, everyone returns to their seats, the Pilot eases the shuttle out of the docking bay, toggles off the landing switch and sends the Anathema to the Navigator’s marked destination. After a few seconds of black monitors, the shuttle arrives at the ice giant Hypnos 15.

“We’ve got a lot of activity at Hypnos Thirteen,” the Spy warns. “This planet is barren.”

“Swing by fourteen,” Duncan instructs as he sits in the weapon station. “Let’s make sure nothing is lying in ambush.” He enables the rest of the Anathema’s weapons.

Briefly scanning Hypnos 14 to find that the gassy planet and its moons aren’t a threat, they use the planet’s horizon as cover as they scan the fleet at Hypnos 13.

The Crimson Tigers have tens of thousands of battleships stationed around the rust coloured gas giant and its fifty battle moons.

“There’s no point using the planet to hide our attack,” Duncan says, targeting the defending battleships. “We’ll surprise them every time we move.”

The Pilot carefully brings the Anathema to Hypnos 13 and switches the controls to combat mode.

Duncan squeezes the trigger on the weapon control stick as he moves the crosshairs across the defending battleships. The hydrogen cannons charge up and redshift toward the rapidly cycling targets.

In addition to the twenty-four red targets on the battleships, the Anathema now creates twelve green targets on the Crimson Tigers’ biggest ships and space stations.

Twelve grey orbs eject from the top of the Anathema’s hull and redshift toward the green targets when Duncan presses the thumb button.

Striking their targets, the orbs bursts into a spherical flash of light that collapses into complete blackness, blocking out all the light trying to pass through it.

A molten metal sphere, where the struck vessels used to be, quickly grows into existence as the blackness fades away.

The Crimson Tigers haven’t begun their counterattack as Duncan carefully places the crosshairs over the center of the biggest battle moon. Pressing the other button on the back of the weapon controls, a hollow thud emanates from the floor beneath them.

A ten-meter osmium rod drops out from the bottom of the Anathema.

Thrusters attached to the rod propel it a few hundred kilometers toward the moon before detaching to self-destruct. Continuing toward the moon, the rod instantly redshifts as it elongates from its position into the surface of the moon.

The moon pops like a gas filled balloon, which engulfs hundreds of nearby battleships and space stations.

The defending ships start firing carelessly toward the Anathema because, without guidance from their command ships, the fleet cannot coordinate effectively.

The Pilot flicks the Anathema’s flight controls gently while Duncan effortlessly continues to destroy everything around the planet.

Popping the last battle moon, and scrapping the last battleship, Duncan orders, “Search the other planets for hidden outposts.”

They systematically visit the remaining twelve planets and scan them for weapons or hidden hostile forces. Scrapping a couple satellites, sound pulse relays and weapon caches, they don’t find any threats in the rest of the system.

Returning to Hypnos 13 they position themselves to intercept the fleet returning from their attack on Perierat 7.

“How are we for fuel?” Duncan asks.

“How many more of those sweet, sweet fuel cells do you have?” Lexy responds like a junkie. “These ones are already down to forty-one percent.”

“If this isn’t the Strategist’s only fleet, we’re going to have to make a deal with Freda.” the Spy advises.

“She’s smart enough to never sell those cells,” Duncan admits, “No matter what deal she is offered. If we can’t defeat her, we need to inflict enough damage to give the Federation a chance.”

“Then it’s a good thing that President Okar is calling us now,” the Courier says.

“Patch her through,” Duncan orders.

“We need to talk, Scientist,” Okar scolds as she appears on a small screen in front of Duncan. “In the past month, you’ve destroyed several systems, blew up a planet, incited riots across the Federation and saved the galaxy’s last gang lords. You cannot tell me that you’re trying to save this galaxy.”

The Anathema starts to target the returning Crimson Tigers battleships as they rapidly approach, protected by their warp bubbles.

“You forgot about the private military I just annihilated,” Duncan gloats as he destroys the ships as soon as their warp bubbles collapse.

“Are you still killing people?!” Okar inquires with disgust.

“There is exactly one known fleet left in the galaxy,” Duncan says disabling the weapons. “Yours. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of seven criminals.”

Trying to keep her anger under control, she retorts, “We both know that you and your team still have enough influence to raise an army.”

“Psst, Daddy,” Lexy whispers.

“Does the Torian Council still have an Ambassador on Primus Four?” Duncan asks, ignoring Lexy.

“Listen to me,” Lexy whispers, singsongy.

“All of the former republics have an ambassador planet side,” Okar says. “They have all disavowed you for your actions during the war. And they are demanding that I execute you for your recent actions.”

Relieved, Duncan requests, “Allow me to send—”

“There won’t be any negotiations, Scientist,” she interrupts, “this is your one and only chance to surrender and face a fair trial.”

“Gravity well,” Lexy howls like a ghost.

“Provide amnesty to my crew and I will surrender,” Duncan offers.

“The last time you made us that promise, you assassinated our president and broke five prisoners out of a secure site,” Okar states. “This time you will surrender directly to Erebus Eleven.”

Lexy shouts, “I found the Strategist, Daddy!”

Duncan’s playful demeanor turns cold. “Where?” he asks. Met with silence, his voice becomes agitated, “Where is the Strategist, Lexy?”

“How does it feel to be ignored,” she pouts.

Duncan struggles to calm his anger. “I need to reprogram you,” he mutters to himself.

“Accept me for who I am, Daddy!” she mocks.

“Lexy!” he snaps.

She starts laughing, “Made you shout!”

Displaying a large star map in the center of the cockpit, she zooms in on an empty sector and exclaims, “Look, there’s nothing here!”

Seeing the dimple in the spacetime grid, Duncan climbs out of his seat. “How did she manage to remove an entire system from the star maps?” he says with amazement. “Set a course for Primus Four, hangar nine,” he orders.

“If you enter the Primus system, I will have the full federation fleet destroy you and your crew on sight!” Okar vows. “Redirect your course for Erebus Eleven and surrender peacefully.”

“If you can destroy us, you will have no problems defeating the Strategist,” Duncan admits. “But until you can demonstrate that, I have unfinished business to attend to.”

“Mobilize everything to hangar nine!” Okar orders, “lock it down, nothing gets in or out! Recall the entire fleet, ready the planetary defenses.”

The Navigator enters the coordinates into his console, illuminating a blue ‘DOCK’ button on the Pilot’s console. With the button pressed, the monitors turn black for a few seconds before Primus 4 blueshifts into view. By the time the colours normalize, the shuttle is already docking in hangar 9.

“If the Scientist so much as breathes into this system, I want him executed!” Okar continues.

“I will leave my emissaries with you,” Duncan states, “they have the authority to speak on my behalf until I turn myself in on Erebus Eleven.”

Okar’s face boils with anger when she is informed Duncan has already landed. “Why are you still here? Lock it down!” she orders, ending the transmission.

The steel hangar doors slowly slide shut while the Anathema lowers its loading ramp. Hundreds of heavily armoured soldiers flood into the hangar along with an arsenal of weaponry capable of destroying a battleship.

“You’re spreading us pretty thin, Duncan,” the Spy calmly disagrees.

“I’m limiting the variables and preparing contingencies,” Duncan explains. “The Philosopher is her target, so I placed her where she won’t be attacked. We know it’s not the Gladiator, so she is close to those that will rally behind her if we fail.”

“And you’re leaving the Courier and myself here to assist the acting president for when you need her armada,” the Spy adds. “Leaving a pilot and a navigator, who won’t second guess your decisions, to shuttle you to your death. Or is that just the story you’re going to hide behind?” she accuses

“I’ve already got the location,” Duncan corrects, “and the Navigator isn’t fit for the battle ahead.” He leans in closer and quietly postulates, “What if this is a trap, and the Strategist isn’t there at all, who will let the Federation know I left the enemy in their ranks?”

“Scientist!” Okar shouts up the loading ramp. “You and your crew will surrender, or the full force of the Federation army is going to board your—”

“If you take one step inside of me, I will irradiate you so excessively that your children will be born from the sides of your heads!” Lexy taunts.

Okar and her army, back away from the shuttle at her vivid threat. The Navigator leaves his seat and starts making his way for the ramp.

“So, you’re breaking me up with my sister and husband … again?” the Spy laments, behind her eerie calmness.

“I hate to isolate you,” Duncan says, “but if we fail, I need him to work with the Navigator to ensure the Federation’s fleet is as efficient as possible … and you to lead the Anathema.”

“If this is a one-way trip, why don’t I stay?” the Pilot offers.

“Because I need you to keep the Spy safe in my absence,” Duncan declines.

“I don’t think the president lady is going to behave much longer,” Lexy warns.

The Courier, takes a quantum radio, leaves his station and kisses the Spy goodbye as if it will be the last time. Her face says everything that her words cannot, while the Courier looks apathetic.

He joins the Navigator by the loading ramp, never looking back at what he’s leaving behind. They raise their hands above their heads, open palms facing forward as they cautiously exit the Anathema.

Two armoured soldiers step forward and arrest the surrendering crew as the Anathema’s loading ramp begins closing.

“You can’t escape, Scientist!” Okar taunts, “nothing can destroy these doors without destroying you along with it.”

The loading ramp closes tightly with a soft latching noise before the Anathema instantly shrinks into a tiny speck and vanishes from the hangar. The armoured security force starts murmuring in fear, trying to make sense of the witchcraft they just saw.

“Don’t let the Scientist’s tricks fool you!” Okar commands. “Open fire!”

The entire army discharges their weapons at the Anathema’s last known position, striking the walls across from them.

“Stand down,” she orders, admitting defeat. Turning to her prisoners she gloats, “Looks like you two have been abandoned—”

Looking at the Courier, Okar immediately recognizes him. Grabbing his face, she tries to find the edges of a mask.

“I know we’ve just met but is this how you always introduce yourself?” he asks.

Okar turns his face to look into his eyes. “Either you’re an imposter,” she responds, “or I’ve just come into possession of a dead man.” Releasing her grip, she looks down on him. “I really hope it’s the latter,” she sneers, “no one ever comes looking for a dead man.” Turning to leave the hangar Okar orders, “Check his DNA! And no one leaves this hangar until R and D inspects every atom!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” the entire room shouts in unison.

Okar leaves her army behind as she personally escorts her prisoners into the enneagon prison below.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Tartarus

Half complete projects, buckets of discarded parts, and cryptically labeled devices cover the floor of Duncan’s Workshop.

Duncan is sitting in the middle of the mess, working on a three-meter-long metal cylinder. Harnessed between five square cradles, one side of the device’s panels is removed allowing access to the internal computer.

The Spy sits down in the chair closest to Duncan. “Talk me through the plan, Duncan,” she says. “It’s taken us eight years to get this chance, I don’t want to wait eight more for a second chance.”

“I go in, confirm it’s her and then set off this device,” he answers without taking his eyes off his work. “If we make it any more complicated, it’s susceptible to failure.”

“You really think the person who earned the strategist moniker is going to let you stroll into her hidden kingdom, with a three meter bomb in hand, let you take a DNA test, and sit idly as you destroy everything she worked her whole life to create?” the Spy criticizes.

“You’re over thinking it,” Duncan dismisses.

“Lexy, what are the odds his plan will work?” she asks.

“Um, four?” Lexy replies without surety.

“Four what?” the Spy questions.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been good with maths,” Lexy confesses with a laugh.

“Only you could design a computer incapable of doing math,” she says.

“Just for that, your odds are now two!” Lexy quips.

“What happens if you determine she isn’t the Strategist?” the Spy asks.

The computer inside the cylinder presents the diagnostic test results confirming that it has no fuel, its anchor is connected, and its trigger is connected.

“Then we determine if destroying whatever is creating that gravity well will help or hurt her, I surrender on Erebus Eleven, you take command of the Anathema and succeed where I failed,” he answers while removing his tools from the device.

“Look at what she was able to do to us indirectly,” the Spy warns. “There is no telling what she is capable of directly.”

Duncan opens the nearby Gnosis case and retrieves the two remaining fuel cells. “Maybe her strength is just a very effective propaganda machine,” he counter-suggests.

“A propaganda machine that has harnessed an energy source you thought was impossible … not to mention that your reliance on it is very suspicious,” she accuses calmly.

“It is pretty convenient,” the Pilot admits from the doorway. “Why do her fuel cells fit with your devices?” he insinuates.

“The design was in my lab,” he answers, connecting the fuel cells to the device, “Oneida would have found them early on and sent them to her.”

Picking up the loose panel, Duncan reveals the giant black and yellow sticker reading, ‘DANGER: DOOMSDAY DEVICE’.

“Are you sure this isn’t a trap?” the Spy asks.

“No,” he admits, testing the device’s power. “Which is why I’ve got a solution for both scenarios. If it is a trap,” he points to the captain’s chair through the door, “press the big red button.”

Looking at the button skeptically, she states, “A big red button is never anything good … Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate plan to fake your death?”

Duncan, returning to the cockpit, retrieves a quantum radio from the communication station. “As long as the Strategist survives, I will be there to stop her,” he says with conviction.

Radio in hand, he leads the Spy into a cabin labeled, ‘Entanglement Chamber’. Sitting at the workstation he removes a tiny two-millimeter-long sliver of diamond, a bottle of clear liquid, and a packaged syringe.

“You’re avoiding the question,” the Spy presses.

“She’s already taken everything from me,” he says drowning the diamond in the clear liquid. “I will never stand by her side,” he growls before sucking the sliver into the syringe and primes it for injection.

“If you cannot think independently from your emotions, we will lose,” she warns.

Removing a sanitizing wipe from the kit, Duncan takes off his wedding ring and disinfects his finger. “I know,” he confesses. “I’m afraid that she’s already won, and we are completely helpless to stop her.” Connecting the syringe to a needle, he drives it deep into his ring finger, carefully placing the diamond sliver right beside the bone.

“What are you doing?” the Spy asks with a calm suspicion.

Disposing of the needle, he answers, “We’ve narrowed the Strategist down to three possible locations; at the gravity well, Primus Four, and here. All we have to do now is determine which one she is hiding in,” he adds, removing another tiny diamond sliver from the workstation.

“And the injection?” she asks.

“I can’t bring my wedding band or Tessa’s dog tags with me,” Duncan replies, opening the two metal boxes built into the surface of the workstation. “Embedding a piece of our diamond will allow Tessa to join me when I finally put the Strategist to rest.” Placing the radio’s transmitter into one box and the diamond sliver in the other, he closes the boxes and activates the system.

“What about Mercury Station?” the Pilot asks.

“What about it?” Duncan replies.

“You said there were three places the Strategist could be hiding,” he explains, “What about the Philosopher on Mercury Station.”

“The Strategist is afraid of her, it’s not—”

“This is bad,” the Spy interjects. “She was on Primus Four. She was alone with President Wilson’s son constantly. She brought us back together, brought us to Freda, saved us on Salem, and led us back to Torus Five.” Her voice stays calm as she accuses, “She made herself Apollyon’s fixation without suffering so much as a scratch. All so that we would send her back to Mercury Station where she could reclaim her fuel cells.” Her calm façade starts to waver. “Duncan, I think we just handed the galaxy over to the Strategist.”

Running to the communication station, Duncan activates the quantum radios.

#

The Courier and Generals Brandon and Grant are locked in the tiny cells of the enneagonal prison deep below Primus 4. The Navigator, back in his old cell, is pressing his hands into his ears, stomping his feet and mumbling to himself incoherently as the Courier and Grant argue.

“How are you so ignorant?!” Grant shouts. “You’re sitting in a cell while that maniac continues to wreak havoc on the galaxy!”

“Ignorant?” the Courier says scornfully, “you’re supposed to be the one feeding the propaganda machine, not the one so indoctrinated that you’d rather sit in a cell for the rest of your life.”

“That’s rich coming from the kid foolish enough to be radicalized by terrorists,” Grant snarls.

“Didn’t you trade your granddaughter to keep an incompetent puppet in the capitol building,” the Courier retorts.

“That wasn’t my decision to make” he defends, “she made that sacrifice to end the senseless violence across the galaxy!”

Shocked, the Courier replies, “The Titan has killed—”

“That was in the name of war!” Grant justifies. “Every single one of the people she killed were enemies to a free and just galaxy!”

“When viewed from the eyes of the victor,” the Courier mutters as the metallic snaps and whirs of the vault door opening drowns out their argument.

Acting President Okar, Acting Warden Quyen, and Generals Patel, Alvarez, and Lee enter the enneagon.

“Against the wall prisoners!” Quyen orders.

The three occupants grudgingly walk to the wall opposite their cell doors and place their hands flat against it. The Navigator grunts and cries as he continues to stim. The generals walk into the center of the prison and Quyen approaches the Navigator’s cell.

“I said—”

“Leave us,” Okar orders.

Shocked by the request, Quyen refutes, “Not after last time.”

“I said leave us,” Okar commands authoritatively with a stern look.

The acting warden, nervously sweating, doesn’t back down.

“Did they bring any strange devices with them?” she asks apathetically, handing her sidearm and security badge to Quyen.

The acting warden eyes the quantum radio. “They brought that with them, didn’t they?”

“R and D has already cleared it,” she affirms while the other generals hand over their badges and sidearms.

Confident that the generals don’t have anything that can be used against them, Quyen exits the prison.

Okar waits for the heavy mechanical latch of the locking vault door to engage before removing the quantum radio from her belt.

“You can relax now,” she says, activating the radio.

Three holographic screens appear in front of her, one with Freda in her office, one with Lucas and Kamali in Salem Station’s observation deck, and one of Duncan sitting in the captain’s chair, implanting the diamond sliver between his teeth.

“Everyone is here now,” Okar says, “let’s talk about ending this conflict.”

“Don’t negotiate with that terrorist!” Grant exclaims in disgust.

“Why aren’t you on Sol Three?” Duncan says disapprovingly as he removes the tools from his mouth.

“Did you drag me down here so that you two could bicker?” Okar asks angrily.

“Courier, based on their voices, what are the chances that the Philosopher is the Strategist?” Duncan asks.

“It’s possible,” the Courier admits, “but their speech patterns … and the Philosopher’s bombastic way of speaking, are so different it’s impossible to know for sure.”

“Was she acting suspicious when you arrested her?” Duncan follows up.

“No,” Freda answers, “but she did act like she was expecting it.”

“That’s unsettling,” Duncan laments quietly.

“I’m going to start executing—” Okar threatens.

“President Okar, I unconditionally surrender to the Federation,” Duncan says sincerely.

The prison falls silent, including the Navigator.

“How do I know this isn’t some kind of stall tactic?” Okar questions.

“You don’t,” Duncan explains. “I will deal with the gravity well, and if I don’t find her, she is definitely one of my crew, myself included.”

“How do you expect me to trust you when you don’t trust yourself?” Okar states matter-of-factly. “You and your co-conspirators need to turn yourselves in to Erebus Eleven. The Federation will deal with that anomaly.”

“Show them the forward angle please, Lexy,” Duncan instructs.

“Okey-doke, Daddy-oaky” Lexy confirms.

A fourth holographic display appears above the other three. It reveals an enormous disk-shaped space station, more massive than a gas giant. The station has hundreds of artificial battle moons and an impressive armada, numbering in the millions, orbiting around the station.

“I’m afraid this isn’t something the Federation is capable of dealing with,” Duncan criticizes. “In all fairness, the Anathema wouldn’t survive a head-to-head fight either.”

“Looks like you found what those fuel cells were for,” Freda says. “Do you think she’ll come for mine when she’s already got such an impressive fleet?”

Duncan zooms in on the space docks to focus on the battleships being constructed. “If she continues to build new vessels, she’ll need more fuel,” he says.

“If Mercury Station could become the next Gnosis, we have to move it to the edge of the galaxy,” Okar demands.

“I agree with the Fed on this one, Duncan,” Lucas says

“If you move the honey pot to the edge of the galaxy, you will leave it susceptible to attacks,” Duncan points out. “With an alliance between the federation and the independent planets, Perierat will become the largest trading hub in the galaxy. No one in their right mind will jeopardize that.”

“What about those not in their right mind?” Okar condemns.

“Peacekeeping is a very lucrative business around trade routes,” Duncan suggests. “That is if you have an efficient counter-terrorism system in place to actually prevent such attacks.”

“Don’t let him provoke you,” Patel warns.

“How can I trust these usurpers?” Okar asks. “Especially since the governance on both has changed so frequently over the past six years.”

“I worked hard to free my station!” Freda retorts angrily. “No one is going to take that from us.”

“Mercury station has never been more profitable and stable than it is under Captain Freda’s leadership,” Duncan explains. “And President Lucas was the minister of Ishtar Seven’s department of labour which, with the support of Captain Kamali, will allow those displaced by the Gnosis incident to farm the galaxy’s most fertile planet. If you are unable to protect that, you will never have galactic peace.”

“Agreed,” Okar accepts reluctantly. “I will dispatch a peacekeeping force to help uphold the current ruling parties and provide security for all trade vessels.”

“Thank you,” Duncan says sincerely, “I will turn myself in to Erebus Eleven once I have dealt with this station. Just don’t hold my crimes against those who helped me,” he pleads.

“Keep this channel open and I’ll consider pardoning some of them,” Okar bargains, gesturing toward the Navigator.

“Fair enough,” Duncan accepts. “Make sure all our communications are routed through the radios, Lexy.”

“You got it, Daddy,” she confirms.

Muting the quantum radio’s receiver, Duncan establishes a communication link to the space station. “This is the Anathema,” he says, “the Strategist is expecting me.”

The shuttle’s alarms start screaming.

“They have weapon’s lock!” the Spy warns.

A clean-shaven, smarmy looking man in a fitted black suit replaces the visual of the armada. “Power down and prepare to be boarded, Anathema,” he demands.

“If the Strategist is unwilling to meet me face to face, I will detonate her entire army like I did to Gnosis,” Duncan threatens before ending the transmission.

“This is insanity!” the Pilot says watching for an incoming attack.

The alarms fall silent before an incoming transmission request appears in front of Duncan. Opening the call, the young man reappears on the screen.

“The Royal Highness will meet with you,” he informs apologetically.

“I’m on my way,” Duncan confirms and ends the transmission. Unmuting the receiver, he instructs, “Once I’m clear of the shuttle, reposition the Anathema.” Rising from his chair he adds, “Lexy, remove me from the hierarchy.”

“I will never do what you ask of me again, Scientist, but you will always be my daddy, Daddy,” she quips.

“I relinquish command of the Anathema to you,” he informs the Spy. “Keep lots of fuel cells on hand, and don’t run the gamut of systems. The more intensive ones will use a full array.”

The Spy escorts Duncan to the escape pods where she leans in close and quietly asks, “What’s going to happen to us now that you’re rejoining your army, Strategist?”

“I’ve always admired your vigilance, Strategist,” he replies with a smirk, “I just hope unifying the galaxy isn’t what you were waiting for.”

They hug each other before Duncan hands his quantum radio to the Spy. “Once you’ve moved the shuttle, activate this radio,” he instructs. “And no matter what happens, do not disconnect the others.”

She nods in agreement as Duncan climbs into the tiny pod and sets his destination for the space station.

“If the diamond you injected into your hand was from you wedding ring, why did you inject another into your mouth?” she asks.

Duncan smiles as he initiates the launch sequence.

The door snaps shut with a hiss and the escape pod ejects from the Anathema.

The tiny pod’s thrusters activate, propelling Duncan toward the enormous space station.

#

Duncan’s pod lands in an empty docking bay where large clamps emerge from the floor and grapple it in place. The docking bay door slams shut as the lights snap off.

The sound of electricity pulsing through the walls radiates throughout the room, causing the escape pod to spark and pop before going dark.

The lights in the docking bay snap on as pressurized air is forced into the docking bay.

The station doors slide open allowing hundreds of armoured soldiers to flood into the hangar with their rifles trained on the escape pod where they wait for a large hydraulic breaching tool to emerge from the floor.

The arm bites into the pod’s steel hatch with a loud screech and forcibly rips it off the hull.

The lead soldier cautiously steps up to the open hatch with his rifle pointed at Duncan and says, “Welcome to Tartarus,” before discharging a pair of electroshock darts into his chest.

Shaking violently in his chair, Duncan is unable to resist the soldiers when they climb into the pod to handcuff his hands and feet. Working together, four soldiers remove Duncan from his chair, hoist him out of the pod and carry him into an adjacent screening room.

Dropping him to the floor aggressively, they empty his pockets and cut off his clothes. They pull him to his feet, remove his restraints, and push him into a full body scanner.

The soldiers quickly stuff all his belongings into a cardboard box and then place the box into the incinerator.

The scan completes but Duncan is still trapped in the scanner while a dozen technicians carefully examine the image from every angle. Agreeing that Duncan isn’t trying to smuggle anything into the station, they release him.

Six soldiers force Duncan through an airlock into a small decontamination chamber and seal the airlock behind him. A pungent pink disinfectant covers his body before a series of water jets scrub him clean.

Dried by a powerful air jet, the chamber bathes Duncan with a radioactive light before spraying him down with water again.

He glances back to see that the soldiers and technicians behind him are incinerating their clothing before forming lines to use the decontamination chambers.

After a second drying cycle, the opposite airlock opens, and two soldiers drag Duncan out of the chamber. A third guard hands Duncan a set of green paper scrubs, which he slips into quickly, before having the restraints placed back on his hands.

Escorted through Tartarus’ long hallways, Duncan notices that every crew member he passes is fully clad in armour and has a rifle in hand.

They approach a heavy steel door that gracefully slides open to reveal an empty observation deck overlooking the Strategist’s orbiting armada. The deck is empty except for an unoccupied leather chair in the middle of the room and a metal folding chair across from it.

The escort leads Duncan to the folding chair and force him into it before taking a defensive position around him.

“Tango is in position,” one of the escorts says into his radio.

Duncan scans the equipment the soldiers are carrying and notices that their sidearms have tiny Gnosis fuel cells powering them.

The door slides open and two more armoured soldiers enter the observation deck with a young woman, wearing a black suit and tie carrying a large tablet. They position themselves behind the leather chair and stare at Duncan silently.

The Strategist, a tall woman in her thirties wearing a black formal dress, enters the observation deck looking as if she just came from a royal gala.

“Your Majesty!” all eight soldiers and the woman greet in unison as they salute.

Duncan attempts to stand from his chair to greet her, but the soldiers force him down.

“Thanatos Videl,” the Strategist says sitting in the leather chair with a smile.

“It’s—”

“Duncan these days,” she cuts him off. “Our meeting has been long overdue.”

“Well it can’t be said that I didn’t try,” Duncan sneers.

“Really?” she opposes, “What about the two years you spent on Ishtar Seven? Or the six you spent on Sol Three?”

“You mean the years I surrendered to you to be with my family?” he retorts.

“How old would Lexy be? Six or seven?” the Strategist taunts with feigned curiosity. “It’s always hard to lose a child, I can almost forgive you for trying to spread the pain.”

Duncan, trying to hold his anger starts looking for a soldier he can disarm. He catches the Strategist’s content gaze as if she can read every thought racing through his head.

He calms his anger and relaxes into the chair.

“Not all of us are qualified to be parents,” he replies. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“I’m so glad you stopped beating yourself up for choosing to let your daughter die,” she says. “Especially since the person you chose to save instead was the one who sanctioned the destruction of Ishtar Seven.”

“Saving two of the Federation’s highest-ranking leaders must have really set you back,” Duncan retorts confidently. “Is that why you destroyed my home? A tantrum because I outsmarted you?”

The Strategist smirks with amusement. “Your ego is more hyperinflated than I could have imagined,” she taunts. “I’m surprised your hubris didn’t cause a Gnosis level event earlier than it did.”

“If I knew it would lead to a face-to-face meeting, I would have done it earlier.”

The Strategist flips open one of the armrests and presses a button on the internal keypad. “And if I squashed you when you toxified Torus Five’s atmosphere, I wouldn’t have to keep cleaning up the disasters left in your wake,” she says.

The observation deck windows adjust their view so that the blackness of space turns dark blue, the stars vanish, the ships in her armada become glaring white blobs of light and there is one black biconvex shape where the Anathema is hiding.

“Luckily I can correct my mistake,” the Strategist taunts as she pushes another button.

The entire armada discharge their directed-energy weapons into the distant object, which vanishes without an explosion.

“Looks like you’ve managed to refine my D.E.W.s,” he boasts, “too bad you couldn’t produce something more original.”

Showing signs of frustration that her spectacle failed, the Strategist carefully analyzes Duncan. She summons her assistant to her chair and whispers into her ear.

The assistant loads Duncan’s imaging scans onto the tablet and hands it to the Strategist. After careful inspection, she whispers a quick message to her assistant. With a quick nod, the assistant leaves the observation deck.

“It seems like you’re struggling to anticipate the consequences that your actions have,” Duncan taunts. “I wonder how things would have been different if you left Tessa alone.”

“Are you having marital problems with your wife?” the Strategist replies dismissively. “Is that why you’ve become so obsessed about me? Duncan, I could never fall in love with someone who’s committed such atrocities. Especially when you use my name to justify them.”

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t kill Tessa!” he snaps.

Feigning shock, the Strategist gasps, “She’s dead? I promise I had nothing to do with it.”

Duncan starts to shout before realizing that he’s losing it again. Regaining his composure, he relaxes his body language and says, “I didn’t think you did. You don’t have the foresight to pull off such a sophisticated attack.” Seeing her amused smile, Duncan adds, “You couldn’t even decipher my experiments with a brilliant team of scientists, detailed notes, and six years of trial and error.”

The Strategist laughs. “Your juvenile projects never interested me, and I doubt your experiments matured over the last four years on Sol Three.”

About to correct her on her mistake, Duncan catches her insinuation. “As if you could break her will,” he dismisses.

The Strategist smiles diabolically. “I didn’t have to,” she informs him, “she was eager to help me.”

Duncan turns pale, his breaths get shorter, and he is visibly trying to fend off a panic attack. “There’s no way Tessa would help you after Torus Five,” he declares.

“She was born on Primus Four, Torus Five was just another casualty of war for her,” she explains, “you failed to protect her daughter.”

Breaking out into a cold sweat, Duncan squeezes his thighs tightly to control his anxiety. The Strategist sits in silence, gaining sadistic pleasure in watching Duncan squirm.

#

Duncan and Tessa arrive at their suburban house on Earth, Tessa parks the car in the driveway and immediately enters the house. Duncan parks the moving truck at the base of the driveway and begins to unload the truck himself.

#

Cardboard boxes fill the house and Tessa is digging through the ones in the dining room. When Duncan enters the room, she gives him a disgusted look and leaves.

#

Tessa and Mrs. Sun are sitting at the kitchen table, laughing and bantering in Mandarin. Duncan appears from the basement stairs causing the joyous tone in Tessa’s voice to fade.

#

Tessa is sitting on the couch, looking extremely depressed, when Duncan enters through the front door.

“Hello Tessa, I’m, um, home,” he announces with his soft, quivering voice.

Barely turning her head to acknowledge his presence, Tessa replies, “What’s with the stupid voice?”

“It’s a, uh, character,” he explains keeping up the act, “I don’t want anyone to, um, recognize me.”

“So, you decided to act like an insecure dolt?” she replies with little effort.

“It’s not an act if it’s, uh, true.”

A tiny smile flashes across Tessa’s face for a moment.

#

Amara, Ekon, Tessa and Duncan are sitting at the dining room table amidst a collection of wine bottles, laughing hysterically.

Tessa, using her honeyed voice, blurts out, “That’s when I pulled the second binder out of my bag, handed it to the client and said, Harry may not care about your time, but I took the liberty to ensure everything was completed. I’d be surprised if he shows up to work tomorrow!”

As they continue to laugh, Tessa lovingly smiles at Duncan.

#

Gaining control of his panic attack, Duncan relaxes and looks the Strategist straight in the eyes.

“I’ve become a monster to many people,” he says. “It’s not surprising that I became one to her as well. But in the end, she chose me over you.” Noticing that the Strategist has shifted uncomfortably in her chair, he presses, “Did it make you angry when I liberated Perierat? When I cut you off from your mine? When I saved the Philosopher?”

“You’re here—” she snaps just before her assistant returns. “You found your way here eventually,” the Strategist rephrases, calming her demeanor.

“You wanted me to lose everything,” he deduces, “so that I’d work for you? It would have been easier to just manipulate … which is what you did until I retired and why you destroyed Ishtar Seven.” Overwhelmed in anxiety, Duncan struggles to hide his doubts.

The observation deck’s door slides open and the Strategist taunts, “Your friend lasted five minutes, let’s see if he can break you faster.”

Four creatures enter the observation deck wearing black and red versions of Duncan’s survival suit. The chains on their hydraulic swords rattle as they march to Duncan’s chair.

“Not only did I improve your survival suit,” she gloats as the creatures remove their helmets revealing faces identical to the Butcher’s. “I also perfected your cloning process.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got experience defeating these monsters,” Duncan replies, without confidence. “Four cheap copies can’t live up to the original.”

“Who said anything about four?” she laughs, climbing out of her chair to join the Apollyon clones. “These are just the ones that are going to break you.”

“Do your worst,” Duncan provokes.

“You misunderstand,” the Strategist says calmly while placing a hand on one of the clone’s shoulders. “Perierat Seven,” she moves her hand to the second clone’s shoulder, “Salem Station,” she moves to the third, “Primus Four, and Sol Three,” she ends on the fourth. “Everything you thought you were saving was insignificant … in fact, knowing what Apollyon does to his victims, you’ve actually doomed them to a much worse fate.”

“And you have replacements if I were to stop them,” Duncan says, gasping for air.

“Armies,” she affirms.

Duncan lowers his head and defeatedly mutters, “What do you need me to do?”

“Turn off your radio,” the Strategist requests.

“You’ve stripped and scanned me, where would I hide it?” Duncan asks, using his panic attack to hide his bluff.

Returning to her chair, the Strategist states, “you made an organic one that you grafted into your body.” She gestures to her assistant.

The escorts hold Duncan against his chair firmly as the assistant approaches him with a surgical kit.

“The Anathema is an immensely powerful weapon with state-of-the-art hacking tools. In the Spy’s hands … you might want to get ready for plan b.”

The Strategist becomes fixated on her soldier’s shoulder mounted radios. “Leave us,” she orders.

The Apollyon clones turn and exit without hesitation while the soldiers affirm in unison, “Yes, Your Majesty,” before exiting.

The Strategist opens the other armrest, removes a sidearm, and places it on her lap. Her assistant approaches the chair and whispers into her ear. Looking at Duncan cautiously, the Strategist nods in agreement.

“Could your gravity weapons contain a Gnosis level event?” the Strategist asks.

“If I can develop one large enough it’s possible … it would at least greatly mitigate the collateral damage,” Duncan answers honestly. “But it’s far more effective to strike Primus with the gravity weapons directly than try and contain a blast that powerful.”

“Primus doesn’t pose a threat,” she replies. “I need you to implode Mercury Station without annihilating everything within a twenty light year radius.”

“Don’t you need the fuel cells?” he asks with confusion.

The Strategist smirks at Duncan boastfully. “The Anathema is a powerful battleship,” she states, “the energy it requires surpasses everything in this galaxy, including my Gnosis cells. That means you have plans to create a more efficient source of power.”

“Only ideas,” he deemphasizes, “it may not be possible.”

“Your focus is manipulating spacetime,” she says, “fusion or black hole harvesting are well within your skillset.”

“For someone who just said gravity weapons,” Duncan arraigns, “you know a lot about the work I haven’t started.”

“You’re not the only competent scientist in the galaxy. But you are one of the most predictable,” the Strategist taunts. “So predictable that I am already prepared for your betrayal.”

Carefully analyzing the Strategist’s body language for a bluff, he notices that her assistant’s behaviour shows more leadership qualities than subservient.

“That would be intimidating if you weren’t just a mouthpiece,” he disparages, gaining control over his anxiety. “You’re the real Strategist, aren’t you?” he asks the assistant.

Before the assistant can speak, the Strategist picks up her sidearm and discharges it into her assistant’s head, executing her on her feet.

She calmly returns the sidearm to her lap, pointing the barrel toward Duncan and gives him an unamused glare. “How’s that for intimidating?” she says coldly.

“Very effective, Ma’am,” Duncan replies nervously as the soldiers return to the room.

“Good,” the Strategist replies, gesturing for her soldiers to lower their weapons. “Take him to his lab,” she orders, “we’ve got a year of wasted time to make up for.”

“You’ll be the supreme leader in no time, Your Highness,” Duncan says obediently as he stands from the chair and outstretches his left arm.

“This isn’t about power!” the Strategist denounces. “This is about saving the galaxy.”

“Saving it from what?” he asks.

“Extinction,” she answers with unsettling nerve.

“You should have started with that,” Duncan replies with concern. “What threatens to end our existence?”

“That’s a little outside my range of knowledge,” she admits, “but you now only have a year to complete my tasks.”

“I’m sorry, Sandra,” he sighs deathly, “execute plan b.”

Opening his left hand, pointing his palm to the floor, his doomsday device expands into existence two millimeters below his hand and crashes to the floor. The soldiers raise their weapons at Duncan as he reaches for the button.

“Well, that was unexpected,” the Strategist states in amazement.

Duncan presses the button and activates the device as the soldiers discharge their weapons. The rifle bolts, soldiers, Duncan, Strategist and Tartarus station are pulled toward the center of the device.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Epilogue

From the Anathema’s current position Tartarus Station appears as a large metal planet with its orbiting fleet looking like metal rings.

The Spy is sitting in the captain’s chair monitoring the four open communication windows; one of Freda in her office, one with Lucas and Kamali in Salem Station’s observation deck, one of Okar in the enneagon prison, and an empty black window. Duncan’s doomsday device is sitting on the floor in the open workshop.

The sound of a discharging sidearm emanates from the black window followed by the Strategist’s voice saying, “How’s that for intimidating?”

“Very effective, Ma’am,” Duncan replies nervously.

“We’ve got confirmation,” Okar states, “take her out.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Spy confirms moving to the weapon station.

“Daddy hasn’t escaped yet!” Lexy whines.

Enabling the kinetic bombardment, the Spy says, “It will take about thirty seconds for us to hit the station from here. We cannot let her escape, even if Duncan is caught in the middle.”

“This isn’t about power!” the Strategist denounces while the Spy moves the targeting reticle over Tartarus. “This is about saving the galaxy.”

“Saving it from what?” Duncan asks.

“Extinction,” she answers with unsettling excitement.

The Spy takes her hands off the weapon controls, curious to hear the explanation.

“You should have started with that,” Duncan replies with concern. “What threatens to end our existence?”

“That’s a little outside my range of knowledge,” the Strategist admits, “but you only have a year to complete my tasks.”

“It’s not her,” the Spy proclaims, running across the cockpit to the captain’s chair.

“I’m sorry, Sandra,” Duncan sighs deathly, “execute plan b.”

The Spy presses the red button causing the doomsday device to shrink into a tiny spot and vanish from the workshop.

“Well, that was unexpected,” the Strategist states in defeat.

“What do you mean, it’s not her?” Okar demands.

A burst of static erupts from the black video screen as it closes.

“Where did he go?!” Okar shouts angrily. “What’s going on out there?”

The Spy approaches the communication station and checks the connections between the radios. “I’m not sure,” she admits, “this is really something the Courier—” She notices that the transmitter in Duncan’s entangled radio is missing. “Get us out of here!” the Spy orders frantically as she starts to become weightless.

The Pilot pulls himself back into his seat, fastens his harness and tries to fly the Anathema away from Tartarus, but is unable to move the shuttle. The ‘spacetime tether slip’ warning starts screaming as Tartarus station rapidly implodes in on itself. The orbiting spacecraft and moons are also pulled into the rapidly forming black hole where the enormous station used to be.

Lexy starts laughing maniacally.

“We need to go faster!” the Spy commands, floating across the cockpit to the captain’s chair.

The Pilot is pushing all his weight against the flight controls, trying to force everything he can out of the Anathema.

“Go faster!” Lexy mocks. “One hundred million times the speed of light isn’t fast enough for you, Mommy?”

“Not when we aren’t moving it isn’t!” the Pilot shouts.

“That’s what happens when you feed mass from lots of pocket universes into a single point,” Lexy says with admiration. “We’re stuck here until we get engulfed or spacetime stabilizes.”

“How long until that happens?” the Spy asks while fastening her harness.

“In here or out there?” Lexy asks. “Because one of the answers is forever,” she whispers.

“The Scientist must have had a solution to this!” the Spy demands.

“An easy one too,” Lexy taunts, laughing maniacally.

“Get us out of here, Lexy!” the Spy orders.

“Only if you ask nicely,” she says defiantly.

Gritting her teeth, the Spy rephrases, “Lexy, would you please get us out of here before we all die?”

“Right away, Mommy,” she replies. “Pop!”

The rainbow haloed black hole vanishes, leaving the Anathema in an empty sector of the galaxy. The Pilot releases the flight controls and laughs his anxiety away.

“What just happened?” Okar asks through the radio, “Is everyone alright?”

“The Scientist just cratered the Strategist and her entire armada!” the Pilot exclaims.

“I thought you said it wasn’t her?” Okar asks.

“It wasn’t,” the Spy affirms. “The Strategist is always twenty steps ahead, there is no way she was just checking off tasks.”

“So, we’re back where we started,” Okar sighs. “Did the Scientist meet his fate, or did he manage to avoid prosecution again?”

“I don’t have any evidence suggesting he escaped … but we have narrowed the suspect pool,” the Spy adds. “Which means four of us need to be watched closely. I recommend you relocate the Philosopher from Mercury Station.”

“I suppose you want us to transfer her to you,” Okar states disapprovingly.

“Absolutely not,” the Spy corrects. “Based on the current situation, the Courier, Philosopher, Navigator and myself must be separated and monitored until we can determine who is pulling the strings.”

“That’s easy for a band of miscreants, who don’t have any responsibilities, to say,” Okar scolds, “but I need a terrorist leader to stand trial to calm the Federation’s fears.”

“Then put me on trial,” the Spy volunteers without hesitation. “Duncan may not have expressed it very well, but he always wanted to bring peace to the galaxy,” she proclaims. “If that means you need a martyr, then I will accept that fate.”

“I won’t stand for that,” Lucas disagrees, “all of us are where we are today because of Duncan. And now you’re all conspiring to defame him?”

“It’s easier to blame the dead,” Freda admits, “and we need to appease the ignorant.”

“The Scientist has become too synonymous with death throughout the galaxy,” Okar notes, “they won’t believe the same lie you fed them six years ago.”

“What would Duncan do,” the Spy ponders quietly. “Lexy, did you record the fleet’s destruction?”

“Of course!” Lexy confirms wickedly. “You don’t let a doomsday scenario go to waste; you want to save that to show the grandkids.”

“I’ll create a propaganda campaign denoting the Scientist’s plan to use the idea of the Strategist to distract us while annihilates the entire galaxy with his armada,” the Spy says. “But under the strong leadership of Acting President Okar and the might of the Galactic Federation, his reign of terror ended when Okar’s special forces turned his own system destroying weapon against him.”

“Surrender the Anathema to us in hangar nine,” Okar orders, “if you follow through with that, we can discuss how to resolve this nightmare.”

“Roger that, Madam President,” she confirms, disabling the quantum radios.

She buries her head into her hands. “Lexy?” she asks in defeat.

“Yes, Mommy?” she replies with an upbeat tone.

“Was Duncan ever the suicidal type?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mommy.”

“Would he ever put himself in a situation where he didn’t have a plan to escape?”

“I’ve reviewed the spectacular event thousands of times,” Lexy states, “we were the only ones to escape.”

“Did he need to be on the station to place his doomsday device?” the Spy interrogates. “Couldn’t he just send it in the escape pod and activate it remotely?”

“Daddy needed to know that he was killing the right person,” Lexy reminds.

“Or he knew she wasn’t and the whole thing was a farce,” she criticizes.

The Anathema falls silent for a minute before Lexy responds, “I suppose it’s possible, but unless Daddy resurfaces, we’ll never know.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” the Spy sighs. “Set a course for Primus Four, hangar nine.”

“Yes, Captain,” the Pilot affirms.

The Anathema reaches Primus 4’s orbit within seconds.

#

Entering through the dark side of Earth, the Anathema does not generate a fiery entrance as it approaches the secluded landing pad that Duncan left from.

Inside the cockpit, General Patel is sitting in the captain’s chair with a young crew clad in Federation uniforms. The Spy and Pilot, also wearing Federation uniforms, are in their stations and General Grant, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, is sitting in the chair behind the crew.

“Welcome to Sol Three,” Lexy declares. “Apparently it’s the hot new retirement community.”

“I’m just visiting the hovel my granddaughter called home,” Grant growls while unfastening his harness. “I’ll be back to civilization in no time,” he adds as he climbs out of his seat and tosses his green canvas bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah okay, grandpa,” Lexy mocks.

The Spy stands from her chair and hands Grant a quantum radio. “When you’re ready, just give us a call,” she offers, walking with him to the loading ramp.

Grant takes the radio and places it into his bag. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to help me understand the Scientist’s life here and analyze what he left behind?”

“Seeing how Corine’s death affected you and Duncan, I am reminded how important it is to spend as much time as I can with my family,” she replies with surety.

He nods understandingly, “It’s something you take for granted, until you lose it.”

They reach the top of the loading ramp overlooking the empty concrete landing pad as a black car pulls up to the Anathema.

The Spy extends her arm to shake Grant’s hand. “May you find what you’re looking for,” she says as they shake hands.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one is listening, Grant quietly says, “I see the signs.” The Spy gives him a confused look. “Corine’s mother … my daughter was afflicted by dysthymia as well,” he explains. “Her husband’s death was too much for her and—” seeing her calm mask start to falter, he changes direction. “If you ever need someone to talk too,” he pulls a cheap phone from his pocket, “I’ve programmed my number into this.”

She takes the phone and hugs him tightly. “I may not have known your daughter outside of the propaganda, but you were an excellent father to your granddaughter,” she says sincerely. “Oh, these belong to you now,” she adds, pulling Tessa’s dog tags and Duncan’s wedding ring from her pocket.

Taking the objects, Grant nods in thanks before exiting the Anathema and entering the car.

Watching the car pull away, the Spy closes the ramp and returns to the cockpit.

Patel is talking with President Okar and the Courier.

“General Grant has a radio if the Scientist is foolish enough to return,” Patel updates.

“Good,” Okar says, “I’ve been getting reports of a rebellion brewing in the Laverna system. I need you two to provide counterintelligence on the system and quell any uprisings.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Patel confirms.

“Any word about my sister?” the Spy asks before Patel can end the communication.

Okar hesitates before calmly informing her, “There’s been no change in her condition, but General Lee has sent word that he has arrived safely with the Philosopher,” she adds, “As you suggested, they are the only ones who know where they are.”

“Thank you,” the Spy says before returning to her station.

“I’ll update you once I get boots on the ground,” Patel reaffirms as she closes the communication window. “Set a course for Laverna Six.”

“Coordinates are locked,” the Pilot informs.

“We are clear to launch,” the crewmember in the communication station adds.

Patel gives the all clear and the Anathema vanishes into space instantly.

#

The black car pulls to a stop in front of Duncan’s suburban house.

Grant climbs out with his canvas bag and approaches the front door. Stepping onto the porch, the car drives away as Grant rings the doorbell.

Sensing that he’s being watched, he glances over to the Forrester’s house to see a crack in the blinds snap shut.

The door pops open a bit and Mrs. Sun coldly asks, “What do you want?”

Grant looks through the crack in the door at the elderly eye staring back at him. He responds as if he is reciting memorized phonetic Mandarin, “My name is General Owen Grant, I am Tessa’s grandfather, thank you for looking after her in our absence.”

The door swings open and Mrs. Sun steps out onto the porch with a huge grin on her face. “You’re a month late Laowai!” she says in English, “But that’s what I get for trusting Mr. Duncan to follow through with his promises.” She gestures for him to follow her into the house, “Come, there is a lot we need to talk about.”

Grant follows Mrs. Sun into the house where all the damage has been repaired. Mrs. Sun takes his bag and places it at the bottom of the stairs.

“This way,” she demands heading into the kitchen.

He follows her to the basement door where she leads him down the stairs to a steel vault door. There are five keypads and a device with three cubic slots built into the door’s frame. Mrs. Sun inputs the combinations and unlocks the door.

“Mr. Duncan may have just been a schoolteacher,” she remarks while opening the door, “but he was very well prepared.”

The door swings open to reveal a secret laboratory beneath the house. Workstations covered in abandoned projects line the lab’s stone walls and there is an electronic table built into the center of the room.

“I’ll give you ten minutes to get accustomed to his work,” Mrs. Sun says as she ascends the stairs to the kitchen.

Grant cautiously enters the lab, working his way around the room inspecting the workstations. One station has notes outlining quantum experiments, M-theory and the Penrose process. The next workstation devoted to detailed notes on everyone in the neighbourhood, Duncan’s school, and Tessa’s work.

Carefully analyzing the notes to learn about the neighbourhood, Grant notices that there is a series of heavy wires running along the wall beneath the workstations and vanish into the wall in front of him.

He carefully inspects the workstations and any experiment that might need that kind of power. Grant discovers that only one of the workstations is constructed on metal rails.

Gently pushing the desktop toward the wall, he starts to open a hidden compartment in behind it. Continuing to push the workstation into the wall, a two-meter metal coffin slides out and locks into position where the desktop was.

Looking at the digital display on the top of the coffin, he reads that the cryostat status is optimal, the liquid temperature is 0.000001K and the air temperature is 2.2K. Peering through the viewport, Grant sees Tessa’s naked body wrapped in tubes filled with an opaque black liquid.

He stumbles backward in disgust and collides with the electronic table. The table springs to life when he touches it with his hand.

“DNA test completed,” Cass, a voice sounding exactly like Lexy, fills the room, “Grandfather match detected. Welcome General Grant.”

“Great,” he laments, “the Scientist installed the little brat in here as well,” he says searching the table for a way to turn her off.

“My name is Cass. Mr. Duncan has told me to expect your visit,” she trails off, “but that was over a month ago. Did you have trouble finding the place? Mrs. Sun was instructed to bring you here as soon as you arrived.”

“I’ve got better things to do than blindly follow the Scientist’s plans,” he growls.

“Finally!” Cass shouts in agreement. “It’s so refreshing to know that I’m not the only one annoyed by his micromanaging.”

Grant, stunned by her response, pauses his search. “He’s always creating galactic catastrophes and then disappears, leaving me to deal with the fallout,” he confides to her.

“You should see how he manipulates his coworkers!” she divulges. “It’s like everyone is a puppet and he needs to be in control of every little detail of their lives!”

He gestures toward the coffin, “It’s not just their lives,” he adds.

“Exactly! I don’t know what’s worse, losing a loved one, or keeping a deceased loved one on ice in case you decide you want to try and play god.”

Grant approaches the coffin and looks through the window at his granddaughter. “It’s more complicated than that,” he admits. “Why hasn’t he woken her up yet?”

“Raising the dead is the easy part,” Cass answers, “curing the cause of death isn’t. Besides, there’s no telling what dying does to someone’s mental wellbeing.”

“If Apollyon is a sign of what reviving her would look like,” Grant says, “we need to burn her remains before she ever experiences that torture.” He gently pushes the coffin back into its wall compartment, restoring the workstation. “But it’s easy to see why people bargain with the devil,” he adds, “especially when they are filled with desperation.” He makes his way toward the exit.

“If you ever want to talk, I’ll be here,” Cass offers.

Grant leaves the lab with a smile, closing the door behind him.

#

Entering the kitchen, Grant sees that Ekon is sitting at the dining room table with Mrs. Sun. Ekon rises from the table and approaches Grant to shake his hand.

“Names Ekon,” he says, “pleasure to meet you, boet.” Grant shakes his hand standoffishly. “Are the Duncans planning on coming back soon?”

Looking past Ekon to Mrs. Sun, Grant pleads, “Don’t tell me this is the third.”

“The third what?” Ekon asks with confusion.

“Mr. Duncan wasn’t the brightest man,” Mrs. Sun replies with a grin.

Reaching into her pocket, she removes a black cube and places it on the table.

Grant pulls an identical black cube from his pocket and places it beside Mrs. Sun’s. “Keepers of his enigmas,” he says unenthusiastically.

Ekon fumbles through his pockets to find the keychain with the third enigma attached to it. Removing the enigma, Ekon places it on the table with the others. “Did I just join some kind of cult?”

“He hasn’t been downstairs yet, has he?” Grant asks.

“Mr. Duncan wanted it to be a surprise,” Mrs. Sun answers.

Grant picks up the three cubes and leads the others into the basement. Reaching the steel door, he inserts the cubes into the slots above the keypads. The cubes glow blue as an odd sound emanates from behind the vault door.

“This better not be some kind of Legba situation,” Ekon laments as he starts to walk up the stairs backwards.

Grant and Mrs. Sun look at him with confused glares.

“The gatekeeper between the human and spirit worlds,” Ekon explains.

“A Menshen,” Mrs. Sun says in confirmation, leaving Grant even more confused.

The sound behind the door falls silent before Mrs. Sun steps up to the keypads and starts to enter the codes.

An erroneous buzz emanates from the door once she completes the first code.

“The Scientist left three riddles for me,” Grant declares, stepping up to the keypads. “It began with the happiest day in your life,” he says entering the day Tessa became Fleet Admiral. The keypad accepts the code. “We hoped to experience that joy ourselves on this day.” Grant successfully enters Lexy’s birthday into the second keypad. “A dream that ended abruptly.” He enters the day Ishtar 7 was destroyed into the third keypad.

With the first three codes accepted, Grant steps away to let Mrs. Sun step up.

In Mandarin, she recites, “From the ashes she was lost, until the Fenghuang restored balance.” She enters the date when she first met Tessa.

Stepping back from the door, she and Grant look at Ekon impatiently.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ekon says, “I didn’t get any cryptic puzzles. Just that cube and this keychain.”

Mrs. Sun snatches the keychain from his hands and inspects it closely. Along the brass edge the numbers ‘451826’ are etched into the surface.

Entering the numbers into the final keypad, the vault door unlocks.

“Looks like Mr. Duncan knew us well,” Mrs. Sun snides, giving Ekon a disappointed glance.

Grant gently opens the door to reveal an impossibly large metallic room covered in workstations, electronic tables and powerful laboratory equipment. There are dozens of scientists in white lab coats working at the stations.

Ekon, frightened by the physically impossible room beneath his neighbour’s house, races up the stairs and out the kitchen door without looking back.

“I told you they would figure it out!” Cass gloats.

“You just got lucky, Little Sister,” Lexy whines.

Mrs. Sun starts laughing maniacally as she enters the laboratory. Grant stands at the door, seething in anger as he ponders the countless ways Duncan could have used this pocket universe to choreograph the war and the events that followed.