Cosmic Fate 3r2jg

COSMIC FATE

Jonathan A. Meyer

Copyright © 2016 by Jonathan A. Meyer.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016917940 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-5245-5498-9 Softcover 978-1-5245-5497-2 eBook 978-1-5245-5496-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/02/2016

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Contents

Part 1 It’s Who You Know

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part 2 Praxis

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Part 3 Out Of The Shadows

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

PART 1

It’s Who You Know

CHAPTER 1

As the elongated beams of light began to condense into their more familiar, twinkling form, Commander Peters knew that the HAS (Human Alliance Ship) Meridian had begun its deceleration procedure, though the latest in gravimetric technology made the change in velocity impossible to detect physically. “I still don’t see why we have to be the ones,” complained the young woman hunched over a large navigation console to his right. Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez, the trim, olive-skinned Caucasian, was regarded as one of the finest pilots in the fleet, an especially impressive feat considering she had not yet reached the age of twenty-five. Having allowed her family history to serve as guide, she’d initially focused on medicine at the academy but switched to her ion before graduation. The slender five-foot-three, chestnut-haired woman had a propensity to complain when she didn’t get her way. Perhaps it’s the impertinence of youth, Peters mused. He himself was only a few years her senior. She’ll make a fine senior officer one day. Peters wasn’t the only one who thought so. “This mission is important. If we can convince the Fevros to play nice, that’ll go a long way toward shoring up our borders so we can focus on more important ventures. Not to mention the Tetriarch who…” “Yes, yes, I know, Christopher,” Gonzalez interrupted her lecturing colleague with a dramatic wave of her hand. “Intragalactic politics blah-blah-blah peaceful relations blah-blah-blah, I’ve heard that whole spiel before. The Fevros are disgusting. With those antennae… and all those eyes! Why don’t we ever get the good assignments?” “Oh, didn’t you hear, Angela? We’re getting shore leave on Asnolia as soon as we wrap this up,” Peters joked flatly. “You have got to be kidding me, why in the world… ,” started Gonzalez as a smirk began to form on Peters’ face, giving away his ruse. “You’re a jerk. You know that?”

“It’s moments like these that make life worth living,” jabbed Peters with just a hint of sarcasm. “Besides, somebody has to keep Little Miss Prodigy in line.” Gonzalez opened her mouth to respond, but a small gray dot on the viewer, which could be none other than their counterpart for the dreaded rendezvous, interrupted her thoughts of a witty retort. Instead, she reached for the faintly glowing green sphere on her console, activating the inboard voice message system. “Captain Barinton, we have arrived at our destination. The Fevros ship is on visual. Adjusting course to intercept. ETA ten minutes.” After a few moments, the captain’s gravelly voice echoed with perfect clarity throughout the otherwise silent bridge. “Richland is heading up there to handle docking maneuvers. You two, meet me at the docking bay in two.” The captain paused, his voice taking on a noticeably exasperated tone. “And look sharp. It’s time to make nice with the Fevros. Barinton out.” As if on cue, the lift doors at the rear of the bridge opened just as the captain concluded, and out strode Ensign Richland. Commander Peters stood slowly and sighed as he somberly regarded the Fevros vessel, now clearly visible on the viewer. Its distinctive shape, an oval with three rigid prongs that looked more like bull ant mandibles than anything else, was growing larger by the second. With one final glance, the officers turned and headed for the lift. Though far from pleased with the situation, the commander was far more subtle about it than his companion. Gonzalez’s emotions radiated off her like heat from the fusion engines she had been piloting moments before. As the lift’s doors closed with a faint hiss, Peters tried one last time to get through to his companion. “At least try to pretend like you don’t detest this whole thing. As much as we don’t like it, this is an important mission.” Gonzalez slowly turned, looking him straight in the eyes as the elevator doors opened once more. “Just shoot me now.”

“I am continually amazed by your verbal elegance,” joked Peters as his counterpart groaned and rolled her eyes. “Come on, it’s showtime!” Captain Asher Barinton closed his eyes and sighed heavily after disconnecting with the bridge. It had been nearly fifty years since humanity’s first encounter with the alien race known as the Fevros. That encounter had not gone favorably. Barinton chuckled as he recalled how heavily the media had censored the conflict for those back on Earth. In truth, the situation had been far darker and far closer to an all-out disaster than many knew. Only a fresh-faced ensign in the ASD (Air and Space Defense, a United States governmental organization made up of scientific, defense, and aerospace agencies) at the time, he had been serving on a dreadnought—one of humanity’s first—when the shit hit the fan. A survey team in the fringe system had gone dark. Then an armed frigate sent to investigate went missing. All the while, Barinton himself had been in his final year at the academy. His first active duty assignment had been serving on the dreadnought with a pair of heavy battle cruisers. The mini-armada had one goal—discover what had happened to the missing ships and secure the sector militarily if necessary. At that early age of interstellar travel, ships were primarily armed to defend against other human ships. Human pirates mostly. War with another human nation was not likely, but always a possibility. The most advanced alien life-forms encountered had been no more complex than bacteria. The likelihood of armed conflict with an unknown race on the frontier had seemed particularly unlikely at the time. Barinton had been one of the first humans to see the signature, telltale mandibles… and survive. With virtually no warning, the alien bugs fell upon the human ships like a starving canine on a raw pork chop. One of the cruisers had been knocked out of the fight almost instantly. The heavier firepower of the dreadnought and remaining cruiser gave the aliens just enough pause for humanity’s best to escape with their tail between their legs. What followed for the next six months consisted of skirmishes, all of which went the same way. The resource pool from which the Fevros sated their forces was unknown. What was painfully obvious was that the Human Navy (the newly formed coalition of all space-faring nations with the sole purpose of combating the Fevros threat) was losing far more ships than the enemy and, more importantly, at a rate greater than the rate at which

new crews are being trained and new ships built. Though extraordinarily rare, a few Fevros vessels had been captured, albeit severely damaged. What little alien technology remained had been whisked back to Earth for intensive study. Unfortunately, it would take time to learn alien secrets. Time mankind did not have. It all came down to one defining moment. Humanity’s control over its galactic territory had been squeezed little by little until little more than Alpha Sector was still under man’s control. All available warships had been concentrated to protect Earth, just outside the asteroid belt to block any attempt at breaching the core planets. Beyond the asteroids lay the essential mining and industrial centers on Mars and, most importantly, Earth itself. To this day, Barinton could the feeling of dread and depression that permeated the very walls of each ship in the fleet as everyone from the lowest ensign to the greatest iral waited for the Fevros to begin their savage attack. Every enlisted man and woman had struggled in their own ways with the realization that they would soon be ing their many friends who had already fallen, the thousands ripped away in the prime of life. Then… nothing happened! No Fevros ships appeared. No assault took place. No desperate battle was fought. Not on that fateful day. Not later that week. Cautious probing of sectors recently lost to the Fevros turned up no sign of the malicious enemy. It was as if the scourge had suddenly and inexplicably disappeared forever. The media back on Earth had done such a proficient job hiding the near destruction of mankind’s last real defense from grotesque alien insects, that few outside of the navy knew the truth. The Human Alliance (in the vernacular known simply as the Alliance), the new unified human government on Earth formed in the war’s wake, went nearly two years before the next Fevros encounter of any real consequence. Fortunately, mankind had used the lull in hostilities to ramp up naval construction to a level previously considered unimaginable. Already deployed ships had to make do with dated technology; the time needed to install and test more advanced hardware simply wasn’t available. Fortunately, the first of a new generation in Alliance ships had just come out of production as the Fevros began to once again show boldness.

These new ships were fitted with modified Fevros technology recovered from the original conflict. While these vessels were more technologically sophisticated, sleekness of design had largely fallen to the wayside. In the early days, spacecraft had come in a variety of shapes and sizes. The smaller ones generally resembled large early-twenty-first-century fighter aircraft, while the larger ones took on the appearance more akin to massive flying wings. The newer cruisers and dreadnoughts quickly took on a simpler, less elegant design. The internal habitable areas were condensed into an elongated oval shape to conserve space. They were then surrounded by sensors, armor, weapons, and other equipment that tended to make the ships look like bulging, armored blimps covered with dozens of massive cannons. While each individual gun was not nearly as powerful as the primary weapon of Fevros vessels, these heavy ships more than made up for it in quantity of offense and depth of defense. With interstellar war as their primary purpose, the aerodynamic requirements of atmospheric flight were rendered irrelevant. Only the smaller maneuverable frigates still took both space and atmospheric combat into with their designs. Though a bit sleeker with an elongated diamond shape similar to the famous American F-22 fighter jets his grandfather had flown, the basic look of the Meridian had always reminded Barinton of the old Venture Star spacecraft. Most of the current generation held a similar form. The difference in results was unmistakable. The next encounter with the Fevros ended much more evenly. The unexpected stalemate was enough to give the insectoids second thoughts. Regular, small-scale conflict with the Fevros had become a way of life for the Alliance Navy ever since, but no massive territorial wars had broken out. Since those days, humanity had encountered a number of other alien races. While those s had not always gone well, nothing ever came close to the conflict with the Fevros. Now suddenly, out of nowhere, the insects wanted to talk.

“Captain?” The solemn voice of his first officer jolted Captain Barinton from his thoughts. The elderly statesman slowly closed the pages of his journal on which his far younger self had recorded events from so long ago. “Captain, are you all right?” asked Commander Peters with a hint of concern as he placed a steadying hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Yes, I’m fine, Commander.” Barinton straightened up as he regarded his first officer and helmsman. Most subordinates would have stood quietly half a step behind their superior, but the young man was anything but ordinary. He was one of the best officers Barinton had been privileged to mentor—and he’d mentored quite a few. His second-in-command’s raw talent and thoughtful nature combined with the helmsman’s youthful self-assurance made the pair an excellent team. Barinton, himself easily old enough to have attended university with their parents, had the two pegged for greatness early on, a faith that had already started paying dividends. At a deeper level, the duo, separated by only a few years in age, had developed quite a liking toward one another. They attempted to keep it hidden but were nowhere near as successful in hiding their mutual affection as they believed. Barinton chose to let them believe as they wished. In truth, such fraternization was frowned upon by the Alliance, though not strictly forbidden. If the Barinton’s own observations indicated anything, it was that the forbidden relationship kept his executive officers sharp. There was always a chance that things between Peters and Gonzalez could go south. That would have to be another day’s problem. “Good, you’re both here. I don’t know what the Fevros want, but whatever it is we need to be ready.” “Do you expect trouble, sir?” asked Gonzalez with a touch of uncertainty in her voice. “When it comes to the Fevros, I always expect trouble. And both of you do too. That’s an order!” “Sir, yes sir!”

Seconds later, a muffled thud followed by a faint whine could be heard throughout the docking bay as air pressure in the docking tube was calibrated. The entire process took a matter of seconds, though in the tension of the moment it felt like hours. Finally, the interior docking doors opened to reveal the Fevros delegation. Three insectoids stepped in unison onto the HAS Meridian. Peters nearly gagged as their distinct odor permeated the air. Had he been able to stop gawking at the aliens, he would have noticed Gonzalez turn a slight shade of green. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t pry his eyes away from the gruesome aliens. The hideous black insect creatures had segmented bodies divided between an oversized head, a torso, and a massive abdomen, each of which seemed to pulsate at different intervals. The translucent wings tucked away on their backs disguised their massive span. Aside from a few random tufts of fur here and there, the bugs were completely hairless. They varied in height by a few inches, but all were in excess of seven feet even after discounting the pair of antennae that each possessed. Two of them had four arms—two the length of human arms with three foot-long serrated digits on the end and two appendages that ended in barbed points. The third Fevros, the one who appeared to be the leader, had those same features plus two more arms with giant lobsterlike pincers on the end. At first, each bug looked to have a pair of giant eyes on its massive head. However, after a moment’s observation, it became clear that each of these “eyes” was actually made up of hundreds, possibly thousands, of smaller eyes, which seemed to look everywhere at once, while the mandibles on their mouths silently moved inward and outward in what could have just as easily been an unconscious fidget as an attempt to intimidate. Small droplets of saliva drooled out all the while. If they had any intention of starting a conversation, they gave no sign of it. After what seemed like an eternity in silence, Captain Barinton reached out his hand. “Welcome to the HAS Meridian.” The two subordinate insects immediately jumped back, unfurled their wings, and beat them aggressively. The resulting buzzing sound filled the room and instantaneously gave Commander Peters a headache. He instinctively went for his pistol, and glancing over at Gonzalez, he saw she was doing the same. Fortunately, there was no need. The leading Fevros, with his thousand eyes locked on Barinton, raised a pincer in front of each companion and clamped

them shut with enough force to split bone. The buzz immediately came to a halt, though the subordinate insects continued to utter angry clicks interspersed with slurping sounds. Barinton motioned for Peters and Gonzalez to holster their weapons. All right, thought Barinton. First potential crisis avoided. That’s progress I suppose. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought he sensed the same emotion coming from his insect counterpart. Silence once more filled the room. Just as Barinton started to wonder if this was some sick, Fevros joke, the lead insect gingerly tapped his hand with the nonserrated side of his finger and gave a slight bow of his head, which ended up looking more awkward than anything else. “I… leader… Quilik. You leader… Barinnnnton? King of Merrrrridian?” the insect leader rasped with clear difficulty. “I am Captain Asher Barinton of the HAS Meridian. Welcome to my ship, Captain Quilik,” Captain Barinton began, being sure to speak slowly and clearly. “Why did you request a meeting with my people?” “I… no make request. Meeting necessary… required.” Quilik’s ease with speaking the foreign tongue seemed to gradually improve with each word spoken. “People… your people, not ready before. Now close, meet required,” he rasped. “Did you come all the way here to tell us how much we’ve grown as a species, Quilik?” offered Gonzalez. “No offend. You, huuuumans, small, do not know, not yet understanding.” “What are you sa—,” started Peters, when he was interrupted by the intercom. “Captain Barinton, Ensign Richland here. Two more Fevros just dropped into the sector, powering weapons and closing fast.” “Get us out of here, Ensign! Emergency delock with the Fevros ship and engage FTL!” shouted Barinton as one of the Fevros honor guards lunged toward him. Fortunately, his companions instantly sprang into action. A concentrated beam of photons burned a hole in the alien’s head, while another burned through his chest

and burst out the other side. The insect was killed instantly. The Meridian lurched suddenly as it forced a disconnection with the docked Fevros vessel, causing the docking bay’s residence to stumble. The remaining Fevros honor guard recovered quickest, and seeing that the smallest of his potential opponents was distracted by the ship’s jerking, he beat his wings and raced for Gonzalez, clicking his mandibles menacingly. Any lesser officer would have run at the sight of the monstrosity barreling down at her, but Gonzalez simply sneered back, her crystal-clear brown eyes glowing as if from pure intensity of spirit as her world began to slow down. She managed to get one shot off, the laser light instantly severing the end of an insect appendage, before a lengthy serrated finger sliced into her side. The light armor she had placed under her uniform saved her from being cut in two, but only just. The woman slowly slunk to the floor as everything started to get blurry. The giant bug seemed genuinely surprised that his dainty 120-pound victim had not been instantly obliterated. So unexpected was the result of the attack that the bug paused for a moment before roaring and going in for the final blow. For Barinton, that extra second was all he needed to whip out his custommade Kalari hand cannon and blow a giant hole in the insect’s abdomen. “Peters, see to Gonzalez,” commanded Barinton as he raised the hand cannon at the only remaining Fevros. Peters was already at her side. “I don’t know what you want or why you’re here, Quilik, but you make one wrong move and you’re going to be missing your head. You got it?” “Me… underrrstand,” croaked Quilik as he stood perfectly still aside from his mandibles, which nervously twitched to and fro. “Good. Ensign Richland, have we cleared the sector?” “Yes, sir. The Fevros vessels do not appear to be pursuing.” “Good. Activate stealth systems just to be sure… and send a security detail with medical assistance down to the docking bay. There’s been a situation.” “I… yes, sir. Alerting security and medical now.”

It was the strangest thing. The Meridian was safely out of harm’s way, at least for the moment, and yet nothing made sense. The Fevros had practically begged for a meeting, and then they launched a surprise attack, a surprise attack on a single ship with no human dignitaries, scientists, or leaders (political, military, religious, or otherwise) aside from its standard command and crew. It was true that the Meridian possessed some of the most advanced technology in the fleet. There were only a few other ships that had been selected to possess the new, experimental stealth technology. But if it was meant to capture our stealth technology, then why no pursuers? The whole thing seemed fishy to Commander Peters. At times like this, he considered himself very fortunate to be first officer, not captain. Barinton would figure everything out. The old man always did, and he made it look easy. At least there had been no fatalities. Though incapacitated, the tiny nanobots flowing through Gonzalez’s veins had instantly sprung into action, beginning their repair work. Once they got her to the infirmary, the healing process accelerated further. A wound that would have taken months to fully heal less than a decade ago would take only a few days now. “Gotta love progress,” mused Peters wistfully as he entered the small shipboard medical center. “Hey, kid, how are you feeling?” “Well enough to take down an army of Fevros shock troopers!” responded Gonzalez with nearly enough enthusiasm to cover up the exhaustion in her voice. “Glad to see you’re cheery as ever. What do you ?” “I … an attack. We killed one of those giant bugs and then… the other one came at me. I tried to shoot him, maybe I did? I’m not sure and then… and then nothing. Just this hospital bed. What’s the prognosis, Doc?” “You’re going to be fine.” Peters smiled. “Just give it a few days. Barinton blasted a gaping hole in the bug that attacked you. We’re all safe now. Their leader, that Quilik guy, is in the brig. The captain is trying to get everything figured out.” “Are… we at war?” Gonzalez was worried as she tried to prop herself up,

though weakness and an especially large fluffy pillow meant her struggle was in vain. “No… at least I don’t think so, but there are a lot of unanswered questions.” “Good. Tell the captain… tell him to… be sure he…” Peters leaned in closer while Gonzalez struggled to speak. “Yes, Angie?” “Make sure we don’t go to war for a few days… because if Gramps sends us into combat while I’m stuck in this bed, I’ll never forgive that SOB!” “Ha-ha, only you, Angie, only you.”

“Enter,” called Captain Barinton without looking up from the data pads strewn across his desk. A moment later, Commander Peters strode in looking noticeably less confident than he had in the med bay an hour prior. “Good, Chris, have a seat. How is Angela?” “If her attitude is any indication, she’s almost back to normal. In fact, she asked a request of you, sir.” “Is that so? Well, out with it, soldier.” “She formally requested”—Peters paused to clear his throat, purposely altering his tone to sound exaggeratedly official, with a slight British accent thrown in for good measure—“that you endeavor to take every reasonable precaution in order to stall any prolonged series of space-combat-oriented maneuvers until such a time as she has vacated her current locale.” “So… she’s hoping the real action won’t start until she’s out of that hospital bed?” Peters nodded stoically, trying to maintain his serious demeanor. “Ha, good! Events may play out in her favor. We don’t know much about their intentions, but in the last hour I’ve been going over all available information on their recent ship movements.” “Find anything useful?” “It’s crazy, but no. No other ambushes or attacks. Not even an outpost one sector away from where we were hit was touched. In fact, most of the sectors where they have traditionally had at least some activity have been dark for nearly a month.” “Do you think they’re preparing for an invasion, sir?” “The Fevros are predisposed to violence, which makes an attack an ever-present possibility, but they’ve always favored direct assaults over finesse and subtlety. In any case, we’ve not been able to get anything from our prisoner, so we’re

heading to Sanctuary. They have personnel more adept at interrogating the bugs. Nothing about this seems right. Everything the bugs went through to arrange a liaison, and now their leader won’t say squat,” the captain spat in annoyance. “Oh, and while we’re at Sanctuary, I want you to touch base with the Hebroni liaison.” “Malek la Tesh?” As he spoke the name of the orange-skinned humanoid, a sudden rush of emotions cascaded over Peters, thoughts and feelings he’d hoped had been extinguished long ago, but deep down he knew better. “Yes. I want you to find out if she knows anything about recent Fevros activity, or if she has any other intel that might help us piece this together.” “Yes, sir.” “Be ready to disembark at 1400 hours. Dismissed.”

CHAPTER 2

Captain Barinton watched out his cabin window as the diamond-shaped space station entered into view, exponentially increasing in scope by the millisecond. Sanctuary was a station with an ironic dichotomy. One pyramid served as a maximum security, interrogation, and detention area. The other served as a nexus for housing so-called white-collar work—scientific research, intelligence operations, and diplomatic summits. When Sanctuary looked to be within five hundred kilometers, Barinton reluctantly forced himself up from his desk and slowly headed to the docking bay. An eerie calm had settled over the ship since the chaotic scramble of just a few hours prior. A moment later, Barinton began to smell the faint stench that was becoming entirely too familiar for his liking. The captain’s eyes quickly confirmed what his nose had sensed as Peters rounded the corner accompanied by Quilik and a full security detail. The entourage stopped a few feet of Barinton as the humans in the group saluted their honored captain. “At ease, men,” Barinton replied with a quick salute as his focus turned to Peters. “We’ll drop off the bug with our friends while we turn our attention to intel.” Within minutes, a familiar thud and whine could be heard as the HAS Meridian docked with the detention side of Sanctuary. Moments later, the docking hatch opened, revealing Sanctuary’s own security detail followed closely by a short gray alien with large eyes and an oversized forehead. From a distance, the creature could have ed for a very strange-looking human midget. Close-up, however, was another story. His short, thin body was completely gray and hairless. With four thin fingers on each hand, a slightly elongated head, and solid dark-blue eyes that were themselves several times too large, this alien creature was decidedly not from Earth. “Ah, yes. So I see. I almost didn’t believe the reports, but with you, Captain, I should have known better.” The alien’s words came out rapid-fire to the point where they were nearly unintelligible. Fortunately, Captain Barinton had worked with this particular Bilian scientist before and was able to keep up. “The other Fevros who were with him are dead. We’ve tried interrogating him,

but he won’t talk. I was hoping you’d have better luck, Alrich.” “Yes, taking a Fevros commander alive is very rare. Very rare indeed. But do not worry, my friend. We…” Alrich paused for a moment to clear his throat. When he began again, his words were slower and deeper in a clear attempt to mimic a human expression. “We have ways of making him talk.” As Peters’ eyebrow shot up, a worried expression crossed Alrich’s face. “Was that not the correct phrase, as you humans use? Do not worry. We will soon know his secrets. I will you soon, Captain.” With the transaction complete, Quilik was force-marched onto Sanctuary surrounded by security forces and a hyperactive little Bilian that seemed a little too excited.

CHAPTER 3

As the Meridian moved to dock with the other half of Sanctuary, Peters turned to his captain. “Do you ever think it’s strange?” “What’s that, Commander?” “This station. I mean, does it really make sense to house dangerous, hardened criminals right next to sensitive intel and some of the galaxy’s most influential diplomatic and spy hubs?” “I used to wonder about that, but in the end I think it’s just the Hebroni doing what Hebroni do best. There are times when I think they get their kicks from making nonsense decisions and then forcing the rest of the galaxy to go along.” “I guess that’s one of the perks that come with controlling most of the known galaxy.” “Most of the galaxy? Don’t tell them that. They’ll get all offended!” “Yes, sir, whatever was I thinking? The Tetriarch’s isolation has left Hebroni domination unchecked, and based on recent events, the Fevros are clearly no longer of any consequence to anyone,” shot a sarcastic Peters. “The funny thing is, that’s probably true as far as the Hebroni are concerned. At least as far as the Fevros go. They’re small potatoes. The bugs’ll mess with us humans, but the Hebroni? Nah, not unless it’s a one-off raid or something. Now the Tetriarch? They’re really the closest thing the Hebroni have to a rival, though you’ll never get them to it it. They prefer to pretend the Tetriarch doesn’t exist. If those two came to blows… only an honest and drunk Hebroni will it it, but the possibility has them scared shitless. The Tetriarch are like their boogeyman.” “Talk of those ironclads makes me glad humanity has Hebroni protection.”

“Sure, protection, at least when it suits them,” spat Barinton as the docking bay doors opened once more. “Let’s go. I’ll hit up the embassy while you… you work on Malek,” Barinton instructed, with a smirk.

Peters’ stomach churned more with each second he spent waiting in the silent lounge, waiting to be called into Malek la Tesh’s office. Immense iration for his captain notwithstanding, the Meridian’s executive officer was anything but pleased with this assignment. Peters and this particular Hebroni woman, Malek la Tesh, had a brief, mostly good history, which had not ended on a particularly positive note. Asher owes me one… Then after a brief moment of considering the numerous times his captain had stepped in to help him, This makes us even. Sanctuary had a number of consulates, one consulate for each species honored with Hebroni protection. Peters looked across the room and saw another Bilian rapidly tapping his fingers on his leg and an amorphous blob that could have either been an Asnolian or a gigantic pile of green jelly that someone had spilled on the floor, it was impossible to tell. So engrossed in thought was Peters that he didn’t notice the orange-skinned male humanoid approach. While the skin of Hebroni females tended to be more subdued, almost bronze in color, the orange tint of male Hebroni skin was much more pronounced. Aside from that and hair that always seemed to hold a rich, uniformly red color, the Hebroni looked just like humans. “Ambassador la Tesh will see you now.” “Huh, what? . . . Oh, thank you,” replied Peters. Overcoming his sudden jolt back to reality, the officer stood and followed the receptionist into the ambassador’s suite. If there was ever any doubt as to whom the galaxy’s power players were, that question could easily be put to rest simply by looking at the size of the ambassador’s office. Whereas the liaison to the Bilians had a spacious, almost luxurious suite, the Hebroni-human liaison’s office was relatively small and cramped. The bronze-skinned Malek sitting behind a translucent, composite desk looking just like Peters ed her, all the way down to her luminous ruby hair, which, aside from a few strands that danced halfway down her cheek with her every move, was kept in a tight bun. The Hebroni woman, for her part, never bothered to look up from her data pads. “Yes… Christopher Peters. What can I do for you?” She set a tone that was all business.

Well, at least she didn’t throw an Asnolian squid at me like last time, thought Peters as he took a deep breath and tried to calm his emotions. “We recently met with a group of Fevros. It turned violent, but they did not pursue. As far as we can tell, there has been no other significant Fevros activity recently. In fact, activity levels have been dropping. We were hoping the Hebroni might know something that we don’t.” “The Fevros are known to be erratic and aggressive, Mr. Peters,” Malek responded flatly as she looked up, her eyes glaring into his. “Consider yourself fortunate that you and your crew escaped with your lives. You should have requested a Hebroni escort if you suspected Fevros might be in the area.” “We were on a diplomatic mission. The Fevros requested .” Malek’s eyebrow shot up. “Diplomacy? With the Fevros? I find that hard to believe, Mr. Peters,” she commented sarcastically, dismissing the notion with a wave of her hand. “We’d hoped it was possible, but you may be right. The meeting didn’t last long before Fevros warships attempted an ambush. Their delegation, already on board, turned aggressive, so we put them down. Their captain is being interrogated on the flip side.” “He let you take him alive?” responded Malek, expressing interest in the conversation for the first time. “That is surprising.” “Do you have any information that might explain any of this?” “Let me see…” Malek trailed off as she punched a few buttons on her console, pulling up a series of reports on a nearby screen, which only she could see. “Hmm… intel indicates that the Fevros have dramatically increased their mining investments and expanded their military industrial development in recent months. And… this is odd… an increase in resource expenditures for research and scientific development. Can’t tell on what exactly, but it looks militarybased. Known overt military activity has dropped sharply over the last few months. There’s nothing that explains your encounter though.” “What do you think it all means?”

“Just the Fevros wanting a bigger piece of the pie,” she dodged. “They think they can build a few more capital ships, bluster, and demand to be ceded a new system or two. They’ve tried it before. They’ve failed. But that doesn’t mean those pea-brained insects won’t try it again,” she lectured like a tenured history professor speaking to a freshman student. “If it’s to be war—” “If it’s to be war,” interrupted Malek, “the Unified Hebroni Systems will see to it that the Fevros, and any other upstarts who threaten the current galactic balance, are swiftly reminded of their place. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Peters, an important Bilian dignitary is waiting. You can see yourself out.” As he turned and walked out of the tiny office, Peters mused to himself, Well, that could have been worse.

If it had been anyone else, I would have gone, considered Barinton as he made his way to the human embassy on Sanctuary. His first officer had a past with Malek. Mostly good, though there had been a falling out between the two a few years prior. Barinton didn’t know the details. The statesman didn’t need to know. He respected the commander’s privacy. When it all came down to it, Malek was a career diplomat, and Peters knew how to be professional. That’s why, despite his recent past with the Hebroni liaison, Barinton trusted him to get the intel. Besides, splitting up allowed the pair of officers to cover more ground more quickly. “I need to speak to the ambassador,” Barinton announced directly to the young man sitting at the receptionist desk. “What is it pertaining t—er, yes, Captain Barinton, sir! I will Ambassador Rynol right away.” Barinton chuckled silently to himself, casually observing a kid who could have easily gone to the academy with his son nervously punch a few buttons on his console and speak quietly into an unseen microphone. Being a decorated war hero certainly had its advantages. A few moments later, the heavy oak-imitation doors beyond the receptionist’s desk opened, and out charged a short, portly man —Ambassador Brad Rynol. His eyes darted around the room to and fro until they came to rest on the captain. “Ah, Asher!” he exclaimed with a grin as he sauntered over, slapping Barinton on the back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “Just thought I’d drop by for a casual visit, Brad. Oh, and the Fevros are causing trouble again.” The ambassador’s facial reaction was as sour as it was immediate. “Those bugs, again? Are they ever not stirring up trouble? Come.” As he glanced around the waiting lounge, the ambassador continued, “Let’s discuss it in my office.” Then turning to the receptionist, “Billy, process two coffees. One cream, two sugars for me and for my good friend… ?” “Black, thanks.”

“And black for the captain. Send them in when they’re ready.” As the receptionist frantically typed the exact drink schematics into his keypad, Barinton and the ambassador made their way into the back office. It was furnished simply, with only a picture of home, Earth, on one of the walls. The only other items of note consisted of a few chairs with standard build common throughout Sanctuary, a heavily ornamented oak-imitation desk on which were scattered a dozen files, three paper-thin computer monitors set up in a row at a height comfortable for anyone sitting behind the desk, and two data pads. Before proceeding more than a foot in the door, Rynol held up a hand, motioning for Barinton to stop. He then walked back over to his desk and sat down. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have some unexpected business to which I must attend.” The response was a slightly digitized, “I hope you are not making light of the situation, Ambassador.” The elevated pitch and rapidly flowing words suggested that the speaker was either an auctioneer or an emotionally charged Bilian. Barinton guessed the latter. “We will continue these discussions tomorrow?” came another annoyedsounding voice with a tone that made the statement seem more like an order than a suggestion. “Until then!” responded Rynol, going out of his way to sound overly cheery as he disconnected the video conference. “What was that about, Brad?” “Oh, just the usual politicking. The Hebroni think everyone should kiss their ass. Lately the Bilians have been doing the most brownnosing, so they’re the favorites. But if they think they’re something special, they’ve forgotten how fickle the Hebroni can be. They’ll be reminded by the end of the month I’m sure.” “You mean being the human ambassador isn’t all glitz and glamor like in the movies?” joked Barinton. “If only! The job is more like the—” A soft chime indicating imminent coffee

interrupted Rynol’s thought midsentence. “Oh yes, the coffee!” The pudgy man slid open a subtly camouflaged compartment door in the wall just to his right and retrieved two cups of steaming hot liquid. Handing the cup with the jet-black contents to Barinton while taking the more brownish java for himself, the ambassador continued, “This job is like a cross between being a babysitter and a punching bag.” “But at least the coffee is good,” offered Barinton, after a long sip. “Ha, so true, my friend, so true. It’s a real shame how crazy life can be. One minute we’re flying around the galaxy fighting the bad guys…” “One of us is still flying around the galaxy, Brad,” Barinton reminded his friend. “Yeah, until you throw out your hip or something. Listen, don’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about retiring.” “Retire? Ha! An old warhorse like me? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Give speeches, do PR? That’s not me.” “Well, we do have a few internships available.” Rynol grinned. “Minimal compensation, but with your pension? Shouldn’t be a problem.” “Be the punching bag’s punching bag? Hmm… it sounds so enticing.” “With incentives like these, only a fool would say no.” “I’ll think about it. Maybe when things with the Fevros start to calm down.” Rynol groaned but said nothing as the captain continued. “Until then, we may have a potentially explosive situation on our hands. I’m sure you’ve read the reports.” “Yeah, and I didn’t like any of this from the instant I caught wind of it. The whole thing sounded like an obvious trap, but we, humanity I mean, are on the rise, economically, militarily, hell even culturally according to some folks, though you won’t find the Hebroni itting it anytime soon. That being what it is, High Command is keen to stay on course and not rock the boat. Reducing the ever-present Fevros threat would have been a huge win for us. Strategically, it makes sense… but frankly, I’m not surprised it went south.”

“Ditto, but now that it’s over, I’ve been dying to know, what exactly did they say that made Command so interested? My briefing was pretty scant on the details. Go here, meet with the Fevros ambassador, and see what he has to say. Be cautious, but diplomatic.” “Yeah, sorry, that’s the ‘need to know’ mentality for you. Though honestly, there isn’t a lot more to it. I suppose it can’t hurt to share the details with you considering the mission is essentially over. Just don’t go spouting this all over your ship. Basically, we received an encrypted message from their leadership, which took a long while to translate I might add. It said, and I’m paraphrasing and summarizing here, they wanted to conduct a t venture with us. Some ‘revolutionary’ project they said, and they needed help.” “Sure, and we’d make good partners because… ?” “That was my first reaction too, until I really thought about it. As strange as it seems, it does make a certain amount of sense. Think about it from the bugs’ perspective. Their average life span is what, forty years? Half the generation or more that fought us in the early days is probably dead by now. And with all the wars and skirmishes they stir up, they’ve pretty much picked a fight with every major species in the galaxy at least twice in the last fifty years. The fact that we’ve had only one major conflict with them puts us at the top of their friends’ list. As it is, most other races hate them just as much as we do. Besides, the Hebroni would just seize any important tech and claim they invented the thing. Most of the galaxy would believe them too. The Bilians would just feign help and then copy all critical files and transmit them to some clandestine base, after which they’d thoroughly destroy the originals and liquidate any Fevros involved. Afterward, they’d also claim it was entirely their own discovery.” “The Hebroni and Bilians both do like to take credit, don’t they?” “Oh, the stories I could tell!” The ambassador laughed. “I suppose… We’re the only ones with enough scientific know-how to help without having enough to easily steal their data and get away with it? Command wouldn’t risk starting an all-out war with the Fevros despite the Alliance’s growing prominence.” “Yeah, basically. But apparently it was all just a scam. That’s the Fevros for you. About half an hour ago, I received a message from Fevros Command, a

particularly nasty-looking stag beetle creature who was inquiring as to the status of their missing captain. I, of course, denied any knowledge of his location,” stated Rynol, “and will continue to do so, at least until after I have confirmation that your interrogations were complete.” As if on cue, Barinton’s communicator buzzed, showing a short written message from Alrich, which indicated that preliminary interrogations were complete. “Speaking of which…” Barinton trailed off as he slowly stood. “If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know. Now get out of there and fight the good fight.” “Same to you,” replied Barinton as Rynol walked him out. “Hopefully the Bilians can crack him and we can find out what this was really all about. I’ll touch base if we find out anything truly intriguing.” Fortune favored the captain as Commander Peters walked into the embassy’s lobby right as Barinton was exiting Rynol’s office. The two men compared notes on the kilometer walk to the station’s singular tram, which would carry them to the detention blocks.

“Fevros are hard nuts to crack, yes, but not beyond our abilities,” started Alrich in his usual rapid-fire manner of speech. “We actually had to try, which is impressive given the inferior mental capacity of the subject species. I assigned my best students to the work. When conventional methods yielded minimal results, Katya turned to a new, mentally invasive technique. New tech, still experimental, but she showed no hesitation to get results. We’re all very proud of her work. She—” Knowing that he would go on in exquisite and elaborate detail explaining all the interrogation methods used, both failed and successful, Barinton interrupted the gray alien. “What information did you pry from him, Alrich?” “Humans! Always so impatient!” Alrich grumbled. “You’re curious about only the final results? The insects have found something, an old artifact, very old. Maybe a religious icon from a long-forgotten era? Not sure what it is yet, but we do know the location. A special ops team is already en route to study the cause of this sudden, uncharacteristic Fevros interest in archeology.” I wonder if that has something to do with their inexplicable R&D focus, wondered Barinton as he and Peters exchanged concerned glances. “Doesn’t that risk starting a conflict?” asked Peters, worriedly. “Every precaution will be taken, most certainly. Bilian elite ops teams are very precise. The Fevros will never know they are being observed. The intel obtained may be invaluable.” “Were you able to find out the reason they wanted to meet with us?” inquired Barinton. Alrich frowned. “That? It is… still illusive. The Fevros leader has not yielded information on the topic in spite of our new techniques. We will keep trying. There is no need for concern. Their captain is not going anywhere.” After thanking Alrich for his help, Barinton and Peters started their trek back to the tram. As the small train got under way, the pair moved to a deserted part of the car to discuss the situation more privately. Scarcely a full sentence had been shared between the two when blaring alarm sirens began sounding from every direction at once.

Quilik raged in his cell. Despite the fact that reinforced titanium bars sandwiched between two high-energy translucent barriers separated him and a pair of armed guards (one human and the other Bilian), he could see that they feared him. That pleased him greatly. In the Fevros native tongue, he snarled at them. “When I am free, I will take great pleasure ripping you limb from limb, slowly, meticulously, while my spawn feast on your entrails. Then I’ll flay your Hebroni masters alive. Every instant will be more excruciating than the last.” His guards couldn’t understand his words, but there was no mistaking the intent. Nearly everything had gone wrong, and now the conniving Bilians had gotten into his head. What secrets they had pried, he wasn’t entirely sure. He had barely been conscious while their machines tore into his mind, peeling it away piece by piece until they found whatever it is they were looking for. Those humming machines. Everything had gone wrong. And yet, as the station’s alarms suddenly began blaring, he had the strange feeling that somehow everything was happening exactly as it should. That filled him with both a smug sense of satisfaction as well as unmitigated terror because deep down he knew what it meant. As if on cue, an energy surge overloaded the cell block’s power generators. It was to be expected. The Fevros had been studying this station for years. Despite Hebroni and Bilian thoughts to the contrary, they were not the only races in the galaxy skilled in espionage. Quilik’s people had long prepared contingencies for the day when they might need to assault the prominent space station known as Sanctuary. While he was curious about which particular operation his hive had selected, there was no time to ponder that now. In the split second it took the guards to process what was going on, Quilik launched a stream of thick acid from his jowl, covering the bars to his cage, blinding one guard’s face and burning the barrel of his other captor’s rifle. Sliding to the side, Quilik dodged the rain of blasts emanating from the blind guard’s gun before the acid ate the rest of its way into his face, killing him in a matter of seconds. The other guard, knowing his rifle was now useless, turned to grab his dead companion’s weapon. He was too slow. By the time he retrieved the rifle, Quilik had already used his pincers to snap the corroded bars and burst out of the cell. The horrified soldier shakily pointed his weapon at the insect. Quilik batted it away like a toy.

Despite the Fevros’s earlier ravings, this guard’s death was quick. There was no time to waste. With all the other cells in the area likewise without energy barriers, the guards had their hands full. Quilik had little trouble beating down the occasional soldier on his way to the cell block’s central interrogation room. They knew his secrets. Now he would know theirs. The security locks did little to stop Quilik as he summarily applied a combination of acid and brute force to burst into the room. The scientists shrieked in terror while their lone protector raised his rifle. Light armor. Pathetic. A pair of expertly thrown scalpels obtained from a nearby table took him out of commission. Any other time, Quilik would have been elated to terrorize the puny mix of human, Bilian, and Hebroni scientists. The fear he saw in the last of which gave him a special kind of enjoyment. “Decryption disk!” he growled. Seeing as the scientists were more intent on nervously glancing to and fro than obeying his demands, Quilik unfurled his wings to their full eight-foot length. Stepping forward, the massive insect towered over the lone Hebroni male, whom he naturally assumed was their leader. “NOW!” he barked, ensuring that a few small specks of acid fell on the scientist. Enough to sting, but not enough to kill. The crimson-haired Hebroni got the message. Reaching into the pocket of his now hole-filled white lab coat, he produced a blue encryption card, shaking so badly the entire time that he nearly dropped it. With the decryption card in hand, Quilik decided the cowardly Hebroni was no longer useful. Quilik backhanded him with a pincer, lifting him off the ground and into the wall several feet away. The frightened target impacted the wall with a thud and crumpled to the floor, unconscious or dead. The insect didn’t care which. Quilik swiftly set to work accessing and erasing all the files he could find on his interrogation. Upon finishing this task, the giant alien finally took a moment to regard the cluster of scientists in detail, hoping to find his tormentor and her mentor. Sadly, neither was present. In the blink of an eye, he impaled the closest Bilian on a razor-barbed appendage and then cut him in two with an oversized pincer. His thirst for vengeance was sated, at least for the time being. With great satisfaction, Quilik left the bloody room behind. He had a flight to catch.

Peters and Barinton raced toward docking bay 11. Even with their combat training and years of experience, the trek took what seemed like hours as they were forced to halt and carefully maneuver with ever-increasing frequency, outwitting and then blasting every Fevros shock trooper that crossed their path. “I can’t believe they’re assaulting Sanctuary!” huffed Peters. “Whatever’s going on with Quilik must be pretty damn important. What I want to know is how they managed to gain so much ground so quickly. The embassies were already swarming by the time we got off the tram.” “You think they had help from the inside, sir?” “It’s hard to imagine them pulling off this kind of assault without it. Long-range sensors should have… ugh.” Barinton stopped midsentence as he dove back behind a bulkhead, barely dodging a laser blast. Fortunately, the acid-drooling insect was too busy looking at where Barinton dove as he sauntered closer to notice Peters. The commander ended him with a point-blank, pinpoint shot to the head. “Long-range sensors should have alerted the station long before they got close,” finished Barinton without missing a beat. “Somebody must have either disabled or purposely ignored the scanners.” “Not to mention all the other things that would have had to happen on Sanctuary to allow for this kind of attack to succeed.” “Don’t give the bugs too much credit. They haven’t succeeded yet! Come on, the Meridian is just ahead.” They’d use the Meridian to force back the invasion fleet and then help secure the station. That was the plan. As the officers rounded the corner, they breathed a collective sigh of relief at the sight of an empty docking bay. Not a soul in sight. Finally some good luck. Peters sighed as he lowered his pistol, jogging over to the boarding ramp. “Stay sharp, Commander,” barked Barinton, himself just a few steps behind his

subordinate. In spite of their caution, the two were aboard the Meridian in moments. No sooner had they safely arrived when the ground suddenly lurched beneath them. “We just detached from Sanctuary?” muttered Peters, half as a question and half as a statement. Without responding, Barinton tapped a nearby communication console in the wall. “Captain Barinton to the bridge. Status report!” Silence was the only response he received. Frustrated, Barinton turned to his first officer and motioned down a hall. Both men held their weapons at the ready as they swiftly progressed through the ship, eventually approaching the only lift with a direct connection to the ship’s bridge, only to discover it was on lockdown. Fortunately, Barinton’s security clearance as the ship’s chief commanding officer allowed him to override the security protocol for a one-way trip. They’d need to disable the lockdown—or override it again—should they want to use the elevator a second time. Having ridden the lift countless times before, both men knew just the right moment to crouch—one on each side of the small moving room so as not to be fully exposed. When the doors opened a split second later, an all-too-familiar stench overwhelmed their senses. Yet there was something different as well. Something seemed to immerse the entire room with a faint reddish-orange light. Their eyes adjusted after a fraction of a second, and that’s when they saw the source—gleaming alien armor worn by one of the largest Fevros they’d ever seen. Without a moment’s pause, the two humans opened fire, only to see their blasts harmlessly dissipate inches from the insect’s face. Some sort of force field? wondered Barinton and Peters at the same time. Completely unfazed, the giant bug raised an appendage, and two bolts of energy sprung to life. Each one found its respective target as the impacts flung both humans into the lift’s back wall. The alien took a menacing step toward them, and in a crisp, clear tone that could have easily been mistaken for human, “Welcome, Captain Barinton and Commander Peters, to my new ship.” The creature snarled, slowly raising his left arm. Peters suddenly found himself levitating, his legs dangling helplessly a few inches above the floor. Had he control over his body, he could have glanced over to find his captain in the same position. As it was, he could only speculate.

The humans could do nothing but stare straight ahead with unblinking eyes as the alien pirate raised another appendage, which glowed with some form of intense energy. The world was suddenly awash with reddish-orange… and then black.

An intense sense of urgency pulsed through Gonzalez’s mind, instantly ripping through her dreamy state and shaking her like a rag doll. Drearily, she opened her eyes and glanced around the darkened infirmary, expecting to see the source of her annoyance. Instead, she saw no one, yet the urge to get out of the bed would not subside. “Hello?” Having received no response from the solitary, dark room, the young woman slowly forced herself to sit up. Gradually rotating around, she gingerly slid off the bed and onto her feet. A twinge of pain shooting up her legs and into her torso served as a greeting. As the lieutenant began to curse her own frailty, a sudden jolt of the ship tumbled her to the floor. The meaning was unmistakable. The Meridian was headed somewhere, and in a hurry! Fortunately, the deck quickly restabilized. Relying on her years of military training, Gonzalez pushed her pain down as far as she could. Fueled by sheer will, she managed to get back on her feet, stumble across the room, and reach the door. Locked? Strange . . . Her fumbling fingers required three attempts to enter her officer’s override code before she could escape. Even before her eyes had fully adjusted to the fully lit med bay, she knew something was very wrong. There should have been a doctor on staff or, at the very least, a nurse or two along with the ever-present background hum of medical scanners. No one was present. Only silence filled the air. The all-too-familiar scent of death flooded through the open door into her tiny room, forcing the woman to wrinkle her nose. Eyes now fully adjusted, she ventured forward to discern the odor’s source. It didn’t take long. The lifeless bodies of the ship’s primary doctor and all three nurses had been haphazardly tossed to the side of the room. Not one was without a missing limb. Lying in ever-expanding pools of their own blood, each body showed obvious signs of gleeful torture. Whoever had done this had taken their time, sadistically enjoying every moment. As a soldier, Gonzalez saw death regularly. Still, the gruesome sight of her friends and crew caused her to throw up a little, even as anger welled up inside. The lieutenant set to work as quickly as she was able, rummaging around for a weapon, but found something else instead. A shot of adrenaline? That’s almost

as good! Within a few minutes, her motor skills had improved nearly to the level of her newfound mental focus. The only weapon she could find was a small medical scalpel. “Well… better than nothing, I suppose… ,” she mumbled. “I’ll just have to pick my targets carefully.” Satisfied that she was as well armed as possible given the circumstances, Gonzalez crouched down to one side as she opened the main med bay doors. Slowly peeking around the corner and seeing no signs of life in either direction, she cautiously shifted her weight forward and hobbled out of her short-lived home. Aside from the occasional sight of a slaughtered crewman, her slow journey down the first few halls was nothing if not uneventful. It made her stomach sick all over again, but there was no choice but to search each unmoving corpse for a weapon. Any real weapon would do. Nearing a point of despair, she finally found a light, nearly drained pistol. It wouldn’t do much against armor, but it was still lethal to unguarded skin and a marked improvement from the tiny scalpel. It would have to do for the moment. Unfortunately, her newly acquired armament did nothing to soften the imposing hum of the engine. Barely noticeable any other time, it seemed to bore straight into her brain. As she was about to round the next corner, an intersection through which she had casually ed countless times before, a sudden chill shot up her spine, forcing her to a halt. Shaking it off, she cautiously peered around the corner to discover a heavily armed Fevros shock trooper only a few feet away, his back turned to her. Had she not stopped dead in her tracks, she would have stumbled upon the hulking beast, dooming both her investigation and her life. Looking down at the scalpel in her left hand and pistol in her right, they both seemed far smaller and more pitiful now than just a few moments prior. If only she could manage to take down this alien hostile, she’d get her hands on a real weapon. As if on cue, the bug suddenly froze, cocked his head in an odd fashion, and then slowly started walking away. Gonzalez welcomed the strange sight with a sigh of relief. As her enemy began to round a distant corner, the young woman hustled forward as quietly as she could muster, eventually taking up a hiding position behind some equipment that had been carelessly overturned farther up the hall. That’s when her sudden stroke of good luck turned into a nightmare. While ducking behind her new vantage point, she saw the bug suddenly stop,

shudder, and frantically look every which way as if suddenly confused by its surroundings. The confusion almost instantly turned to rage as the creature smashed its pincer into the bulkhead, leaving a small impression. Grasping a dead crewman from a small pile of nearby flesh, the enraged beast flung him across the hall. He landed just a few feet from Gonzalez’s hiding place. That’s when she saw her teammate’s eye flicker. He wasn’t dead after all! Not yet anyway, and he had a pistol still holstered! Others may be alive over there. I have to stop that beast! If I can slow him down, then maybe I can switch weapons and… With barely a thought to her own safety, Gonzalez slowly leaned out of her hiding place. Inhaling slowly, she lined up her shot, focusing on what looked to be the most vulnerable part of the distracted enemy’s armor, a small crack between heavy plates at the knee. Holding her breath, she pulled the trigger. The Fevros yelped and fell to his knees as the laser blast hit square on target. Still, his exoskeleton provided some protection from the nearly drained pistol. Gonzalez glanced down at her weapon. Enough juice for one more shot, at half strength. Great. The enemy lurched around and snarled, struggling to get back on his feet. As he unsheathed his powerful battle rifle, the human released the last bit of energy from her weakened pistol, blowing the enemy weapon to pieces. Seeing that the pistol was now completely worthless, she tossed it to the side and grabbed her near-dead comrade’s blaster. Charging it up to full power, she pulled the trigger to finish off her enemy… and then nothing happened. What a time for mechanical failure! Dropping the useless weapon, she tossed the scalpel over to her right hand and took a slight crouching stance, fit for melee combat. The enemy had size and weight, but as surprising as it seemed, she was the less injured and more mobile of the two at the moment. Retreat was not an option when there could be another, less injured, alien a few halls down. Enraged at the loss of his favorite rifle, the Fevros finally rose to his feet. With wings unfurled, he roared, showering everything nearby with little droplets of acidic green spittle. As the beast charged, the small human couldn’t help but feel as if she were in a modern-day retelling of a medieval tale pitting a young squire against a massive dragon. Fortunately, those feelings did not dull her instincts. Knowing that the momentum carrying her enemy also meant that he could not quickly change direction, she waited until just the right moment and then expertly ducked and rolled to the side.

Grinning as her opponent ran full speed into a bulkhead a few yards beyond her prior location, Gonzalez felt a rush of pain flow through every t in her body as she struggled to stand back up. Overexertion was causing the adrenaline to wear off much faster than expected. Another dodge like that would be impossible. To make matters worse, the Fevros had regained his composure and was slowly lumbering in her direction. Attempting to back away, she found that every step became slower and slower while her ts ached more and more. Within moments, the massive insect was in melee range. Using the scalpel to knock away its first strike, she did little more than enrage the beast further. The creature issued a bloodcurdling roar and raised all its appendages and pincers to deliver a massive final blow that they both knew would be impossible to dodge. Seeing only one chance, Gonzalez used all her strength to lunge forward, praying that she could land the scalpel in a chink of armor and, somehow, it would be enough. The petite woman rammed into the giant bug with full force. Surprised at the ferocity of its injured victim’s oncoming assault, the Fevros attempted to sidestep, a task it failed utterly to perform. Its sudden, jerky movement did, however, succeed in causing Gonzalez’s attack to miss by a good inch and a half. Her blade ricocheted harmlessly off the crimson, reinforced durateel armor. With her last ounces of strength expended, the human could do nothing to defend herself as the alien lifted a pincer and slammed her into the bulkhead with a giant backhand swing. Crumpling to the cold floor, she was unable to lift even her head and look upon the insect, whose size and presence seemed to have grown in her mind’s eye to surreal levels. “Not… like… this… ,” Gonzalez moaned as her body tried to find the strength to get back up but came up empty. There was simply nothing left. She could feel the massive creature standing above her as she closed her eyes to embrace the end, knowing it would only be a few short moments now. Seconds ticked by, yet the attack never came. Still unable to get up after what seemed like an eternity, she finally succeeded in lifting her heavy brow just in time to see the colossal insect tumble backward, lifelessly falling to the floor with a ground-shaking thud. Her mind raced to put the pieces together, but then there was only darkness. Darkness and the floor’s cold embrace.

“AHHHHHH!” A violent scream of pure anguish jolted Barinton back to consciousness, though blurry eyes made it impossible to get his bearings. He could feel that he was in a standing position, though if not for the tight shackles attaching his arms to something unseen behind and above, he would have instantly collapsed. An unexpected sharp jab to his side shot pain up and down every nerve at once. The shock did have one fortunate side effect; the elderly captain’s vision rapidly began to return. Must be the adrenaline… Thank God for small favors, thought Barinton as he slowly took stock of the situation while making every effort to appear just as blind as before. It didn’t look like they’d been moved far. In fact, they were still on the bridge. His wrists were shackled to something above. A Fevros shock trooper, likely the same one who had pierced his side a moment ago, stood at attention to his left. Directly across from him was a half-conscious, badly beaten Commander Peters shackled in much the same way. It was impossible to know exactly how much time had ed, though by the look of Peters’ now barely visible stubble, it had been far more than a few hours. Two insects faced the commander. One of the bugs was clearly the leader they had confronted earlier. The other? Barinton didn’t know, but he did know it was not as heavily armed. A small foreignlooking table stood next to the nonsoldier. On it sat their Alliance weapons along with a dark orb, which seemed to pulse reddish-orange every few seconds. The giant bugs clicked back and forth in their alien tongue, completely incomprehensible even to Barinton in spite of his prior exposure to the Fevros. Even so, it was easy to tell by the rapidity of sounds that the nonsoldier was particularly excited about something. The soldier raised a mandible as if in protest, but this was waved off by his companion, who grabbed the orb and shoved it toward Peters’ face. All at once, it lit up like a glowing Christmas tree ornament, pulsing faster and faster the closer it got to the helpless human’s face as if somehow mirroring the nonsoldier’s excitement. The poor man tried to slink away, but his shackles prevented any escape beyond a mere head turn. As it got within centimeters, the orb showed almost solid red, while a moaning Peters looked to be in pure agony, the side of his face beginning to burn away. It was painful even to watch. The nonsoldier, seemingly unaffected by the orb, suddenly pulled it away. Its pulsing instantly slowed as the bug began anew with his excited clicks and

motions. Whatever he was saying, his colleagues slowly appeared to show their agreement. At least that’s over. Give him some time to recov—Barinton’s hopes in favor of Peters’ recovery were destroyed when the lead insect snatched the orb from his companion and shoved it forcefully into Peters’ face. The shriek of pain that came out from Peters’ mouth, easily audible even over the aliens’ excited clicks, confirmed for Barinton that this, not a jab to the side, was the cause of the scream that had awoken him. As the smell of his friend’s burning flesh filled the air, the seasoned captain couldn’t help but cringe, an action that inevitably earned another jab from his captor. That pain, so severe moments ago, was practically unnoticeable now. After what seemed like an eternity, the soldier removed the orb and placed it back on its stand. Removing the helmet from his disgusting face, he placed his bulging head mere inches from Peters’ disfigured face. Snarling and clicking sadistically at the tortured human, the alien spewed forth acid saliva all over Peters as he shouted what were undoubtedly threats against his life and everything he held dear. Peters’ reaction was impossible to perceive, if he’d reacted at all. The nonsoldier, for his part, patiently stood by, speedily entering information into some sort of data pad. Barinton closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block out the gruesome scene and tried to steady his breathing, a trick he commonly used to calm his emotions in desperate situations. If there was to be any hope of escape, his head would need to be as clear as possible. Just as he began to feel his heart rate slow, the bugs began shrieking. Opening his eyes, Barinton looked around in utter dismay to see one of the two Fevros soldiers stumble backward, having taken a heavy disruptor shot to the shoulder. His thick armor had protected him, but only just. A sizeable hole now appeared where a plate of reinforced durateel had been. He unsheathed his own weapon, too slowly to make a difference. A second massive bolt of energy splattered the unhelmeted alien’s head all over the room. The captain turned to see his would-be savior and was shocked to see another Fevros blasting away at his captors. The nonsoldier dove for cover behind the closest thing nearby, which, unfortunately for him, was a small table, affording no real protection. He was the next to go down as a high-powered shot splintered the meek furniture into millions of tiny toothpicks, sending the glowing orb of pain flying in Barinton’s direction and a pistol careening through the air toward Peters. The remaining Fevros soldier—the leader—dove for real cover while reaching for his weapon.

As the now flying orb lit up once more, Barinton tried to shift to one side, but his shackles made vain any attempt at dodging. The orb slammed into his left wrist. The intensity of the burning sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt in all his years. Even his mind felt on fire as it was suddenly unable to process anything. Thankfully, the orb did not lodge into its new victim but rather rolled down the captain’s exosuit, burning light armor and clothing the entire way until finally bouncing off his left leg and coming to rest a few feet away. That’s when the captain noticed the metal on his left wrist was allowing a slight give, weakened by the damaging heat. Not wanting to take a moment to consider what this meant in of the orb’s temperature, Barinton summoned all his strength and pulled. The process practically dislocated his shoulder, but that arm —and what was left of his hand—was free! As energy blasts flew to and fro between the warring Fevros, neither noticed the human captain cringe in anticipation as he struggled with one fluid motion to scoop up the orb with his withered free hand and fling it with what little accuracy he could muster toward his intact shackle. Amazingly, the giant beach ball–sized device hit close enough to do the trick, though the process left Barinton’s left hand so badly burned it would be virtually useless from now on. “Heh, that’s what surgery is for,” he grunted quietly while collapsing to the floor, convulsing uncontrollably from shock. A howl from the newcomer’s side of the hall jolted the human back to reality. There’s no time to lose! He slowly crawled on his knees and better hand under the Fevros’ duel and over to his first officer and the pistol. After what seemed like an endless struggle, he finally reached his final destination, a few mere yards from where he’d started. Leaning against the bulkhead, he propped himself up. After carefully aiming a half-second, low-powered shot at each of Peters’ shackles, he used his good hand to pull his companion free. The jostling seemed to rouse the first officer, though he still looked dazed and utterly confused. Barinton was unsure if Peters was in any way able to comprehend what was happening. As the shackles came off, the commander collapsed to the ground and half sprawled across the corridor. Though free, the officer’s eyes had an unnatural, almost ghastly look to them. Suddenly, a fatal-sounding scream of pain came from the attacker’s side of the room. Only then did the torturer step out of cover, intent on marching across the room so that he might finish off his unexpected enemy up close and personal. His slow, stuttering movements proved that he, too, had suffered substantial

injury. Barinton tried to pull Peters up against the wall, but the dazed human seemed unable to comply in any meaningful way. Apparently unaware of the human’s attempted escape, the monster nearly walked right past them… until he stepped on Peters’ arm, which crunched under several hundred pounds of weight. Just now coming to the realization that the humans were not where he’d left them, the alien turned and snarled. Eyeing the tortured commander first, it moved in for the kill. Though Barinton was severely burned himself, the barely conscious Peters was as vulnerable as a rag doll. As the alien lifted its deadly pincer, Barinton fired a now fully charged blast at the monster, intent on saving his friend. The shot hit its target squarely but, thanks to reinforced durasteel armor, did little aside from divert the beast’s attention to a new target just as general awareness was beginning to return to Peters. In one fluid motion, the creature lifted Barinton with an arm and impaled him with such force that the pincer tips ran the man fully through and lodged into the bulkhead behind. Watching helplessly, the junior officer tried to skirt away, but all his efforts afforded him no more than an inch of success. The bug moved in for another kill, but its victory was interrupted by the impact of an unexpected disruptor blast to the insect’s already heavily damaged side armor. The creature toppled over, never to rise again. Expecting to see a triumphant rescuer, Peters’ ears were instead greeted with only the sound of a heavy disruptor rifle hitting the floor. Then there was nothing. Not even the sound of breathing, save Peters’ own. Only silence prevailed.

CHAPTER 4

All at once, Gonzalez’s limp body convulsed, jerking back to consciousness. Struggling to open her eyes, she was greeted by an intense light that shone down from the sun, which lazily hung up above and enveloped the entire area in comforting warmth. After taking a few seconds to soak in her strange environment, the brunette immediately noticed two things. First, she was alone on a small beach. Second, there were people nearby. The distant yet clear sound of percussion was a dead giveaway. As she struggled to get up, the lieutenant was shocked to see that her wounds, which recently seemed fatal, had already healed to such an extent that she was able to stand and walk, albeit slowly and with some discomfort. Finally, a nice beach vacation! As soon as I figure out where exactly here is and get cleaned up, I’m definitely coming back to relax! Having settled on future plans, Gonzalez immediately turned to the task at hand—obtaining information and supplies from the locals. A tree-lined, wooded area was just up the beach, and it was from here that the unmistakable sounds of intelligent life emanated. Slowly but surely, the woman made her way toward the sounds. Using a conveniently sized tree branch as a walking stick, she was able to make a steady pace even over the rough terrain of the forest as the increasing density of the canopy made things darker and darker. As Gonzalez approached the lower side of a steep embankment, she knew that the source of the sound was just over the ridge. Though the area around her was engulfed almost entirely in darkness, faint light, rich in luminescent colors, overflowed from the top. She began to climb. Just before reaching the top, sudden caution set in. What if the locals aren’t human? How did I get here? Something doesn’t feel right about any of this… Yet her caution scarcely lasted a moment; curiosity got the better of her. Pushing doubts aside, the human popped her head over the top. What she saw next floored her. Sounds, not just the drums, but of all sorts of instruments playing in perfect harmony, hit her like a tsunami. There were definitely people here, people of all types dancing wildly, and yet there seemed to be a hint of synchronization about

it all. Most of the figures were impossible to identify exactly, but most looked humanoid. She distinctly spotted a few Bilians, humans, and even several hulking Fevros dancing along with the crowd without a care in the world. The gigantic forest dance floor was packed, and as she drew closer, she felt the urge to dance right along with them. What can it hurt to stop and enjoy the moment for a bit? The more she spun and twirled, the more euphoria took over. The lights, the colors, the sounds, the emotions, they all began to blur together. Even as the elite pilot panted to catch her breath, she couldn’t get enough. All at once, everything stopped. As if the other dancers had been expecting it all along, everyone instantly shifted into organized columns as far forward and as far back as the confused gasping officer could see. Without saying a word, a nearby Bilian caught the dizzy human and helped her sidestep into his own column. The silent gray alien gracefully lifted a single solitary finger and pointed toward something ahead in the distance, as the air above the crowd burst into a rich royal blue color. All at once, the human felt a strange sense of peace like that described by people who claim to have “found God.”

The sudden feeling of a cold metal floor beneath her filled Gonzalez with both confusion and disappointment. A slight cramp in her neck proved that she had been lying there for more than a few minutes. Expecting that standing would be a struggle, she was shocked to discover that the pain in her neck was, in fact, the worst of it. Inexplicably, her other wounds had largely healed. Only a few scars and a little soreness proved her injuries had occurred at all. How long was I out… ? As her memories came flooding back, she dove for the dead Fevros’s weapon. After cautiously glancing down each hall to confirm no nearby enemies, she speedily made way for the bridge. The lift ride seemed eerily silent, almost surreal. As the doors opened with a slight hiss, she pressed against the wall to keep a slim profile, weapon still at the ready, while surveying the room. A hulking bug stood out like a sore thumb. The creature was distracted by something. That was all the advantage Gonzalez needed as she took aim and fired the kill shot. With the beast eliminated, she surveyed the room more fully to find an upturned object that looked like it may have been a small table at one point, energy blast damage to the hull, and, Oh my God! “Chris!” the woman screamed as she rushed toward her fallen comrade, forgetting in an instant that danger might still lurk nearby. “Wake up, Chris! Talk to me!” Cradling his singed, unresponsive head in her hands, there was no mistake. His wounds were catastrophic to the point he was almost unrecognizable. “No… this can’t be happening…” She began to sob uncontrollably. “It can’t end like this…” As tears flowed, she shut her eyes tightly and tried to calm down. No, this is just a dream. This is still just a dream! In the flash of a moment, she once more saw rich royal blue and felt a strange sense of inexplicable peace. Then, as suddenly as it happened, it was gone. She opened her reddened eyes and was speechless to see Peters’ eyes open and vibrant, face deeply charred yet somehow far more complete than she ed it a just a few seconds prior. “Really, Angie”—he coughed—“you’d think I’d died or something.” “I thought you… I hate you. Don’t scare me like that, jerk face!” she reprimanded him, though a wide grin and a clutching hug gave her true feelings away as tears of sorrow turned into tears of joy.

“I love you too, Angie,” responded Peters weakly. Still not strong enough to sit upright, the young man reached up to gingerly wipe away the droplets from her face while the woman grasped his other hand as if she feared he might slip away. Looking up at her, he knew that he had never seen a face so beautiful. For a moment, he was lost in her deep blue eyes, and she, lost in his. Only after several minutes did recent memories flood back into Peters’ mind. “The… captain…” He wheezed. Reluctantly, Gonzalez slowly released her grip and began looking around the room. It didn’t take long to notice the unmoving corpses of several hulking Fevros. A more in-depth search revealed a much smaller human boot just barely sticking out from behind some debris. Pushing the obstruction out of the way, the lieutenant was horrified to see the skewered body of her noble captain. A pool of not-yet-congealed blood indicated that death had occurred not long before. If only I had gotten here sooner… Feelings of guilt and regret were all but overwhelming, but they couldn’t change the harsh reality. The Meridian’s great captain was dead.

For the fifth time since lying down, Peters checked the clock by his bed. The blurry red digits confirmed, much to his annoyance, that almost no time had ed since the last time he’d checked. After securing the bridge, he and Gonzalez had been diligent in thoroughly locking down the rest of the ship. Not being under direct attack for a time had allowed them that luxury. Fortunately, there had been only a handful of Fevros on board, just the minimum necessary to secure the ship. Of those, only two were still alive after the bridge episode, and they had been patrolling a distant realm of the vessel. A short-term adjustment to oxygen allocation from the life controls on the bridge neutralized this final threat, a threat that was subsequently and unceremoniously jettisoned into the unforgiving cold of the deep. The task of searching for the dead aliens prior to their final deep space journey had been laboriously slow. Gonzalez had protested against it, but Peters had insisted. Probably because she had to do most of the work, he mused. Try as he had, the acting captain was not in the physical condition to do anything of much use. Still, any clue, no matter how small, as to the Fevros’ intention and future plans could be vital. Unfortunately, the whole venture had also turned up next to nothing in way of an explanation. Just a lot of dead crew. Most (the full complement was only twenty) had been on Sanctuary when the ship disembarked. Those who had chosen to remain all met the same unseemly fate. The Fevros don’t take prisoners, Peters scowled. Even so, their meticulous searching hadn’t been a total loss; the officers had now replenished their supply of personal firearms. Though the insectoid design was a bit awkward, the new battle rifles were useable enough and packed a major punch. The whole experience had left both humans incredibly exhausted, though now deep within Fevros space at an unknown location on an unknown trajectory; they didn’t dare leave their guard down. Piloting was a full-time job even with all of the automated systems on board. To ensure the stealth system operated at maximum effectiveness, they had to travel at speeds far below the ship’s maximum velocity. Peters could monitor a few systems while on the bridge, but these two jobs placed the solitary pair at maximum capacity. They hadn’t the manpower to fight a space battle or initiate ship repairs should they be needed. After ensuring the liquidation of all hostile forces, adjusting their course in favor of a friendlier destination, and securing the means to defend themselves, the pair

took on the somber duty of respectfully handling Captain Barinton’s broken, lifeless form. Standard Alliance protocol called for officers of rank to be returned to his or her home planet and buried there whenever possible. If that preferred option was not practical, the recommended alternative was to provide a “funeral among the stars.” A dignified way of saying, “Fired out of a missile into the vast expanse of space.” Peters sighed. He’d argued against the missile option, at least at this point. Gonzalez had agreed. She’d practically burst into tears at the thought of setting her captain adrift in Fevros territory. Yet it would be some time before they’d make it back to Earth, and leaving him on the bridge for who knows how long wasn’t an option. There were no coffins on board the sleek frigate. In the end, they decided to use a missile not as a permanent home but rather as a temporary resting place until they could find better accommodations. So far in Fevros territory, leaving the ship on autopilot was a dangerous proposition. Gonzalez was the far better pilot, but Peters was in no condition to carry Barinton to the weapons bay. Instead, he would maintain the ship’s stationary position (so as to best employ stealth protection) and instigate an emergency escape if one was needed. They’d employ the ship’s lone semiautonomous bot to retrieve the other crew, who lay slain throughout the ship, and place them in a room that could be chilled in order to slow decomposition until deliverance to Alliance personnel. The bot could perform basic tasks like this but was not capable enough to perform surgery on a missile. Peters aided Gonzalez as much as he could, but ultimately it was up to the latter to traverse the Meridian from bridge to weapons bay and perform surgery on a missile, all the while pulling Barinton on a makeshift stretcher. I’ve got to get back to the bridge. Gonzalez huffed in her mind the entire way. The endeavor didn’t take long, but it was still longer than she would have liked given the dangers that lurked just out of sensor range. Upon gingerly securing her former captain to his short-term home, the lieutenant took one last look before closing the missile’s hatch and racing back to the bridge. Immediately upon reentering the bridge, Gonzalez had insisted on taking first watch. Only after Peters had spent a good deal of time and effort recalibrating all sensors—internal, proximity, and LR (long range)—to their maximum sensitivity did he agree to rest in his quarters. Though he hated the idea of leaving her alone, especially after everything that had just happened, given the extent of Peters’ injuries and Gonzalez’s piloting talent, the senior officer was in

little position to argue. Heh, a lot of good has come from trying to rest, Peters thought glumly. In five hours of trying to sleep, he’d succeeded for a grand total of one, and even that was merely the total sum of many far shorter dozings. At least it had been five hours without Fevros shock troopers. Thank God for small favors. Weary eyed, the commander slowly got out of bed, cleaned himself up, and, grabbing a confiscated Fevros battle rifle that he had tucked under his loft just in case, made his way to the bridge. Expecting to see his junior officer in an equally drowsy state, the lift doors opened to reveal just the opposite. Even from behind and all the way across the command center, Peters could clearly see his companion fully alert and sitting in the navigator’s chair, her eyes darting to and fro from the massive viewer of space ahead to the multitude of dials and sensor readings on her console and back again while her nimble fingers swiftly made the smallest adjustments here and there. “So much for autopilot,” Peters commented aloud. Seeing no response from his vantage point, the man slowly trudged across the room. Finally right behind her, he started again. “Couldn’t stay away from flying, eh? Good thing there are no Fevros still lurking around the bridge.” Jumping slightly at the sound of her friend’s voice, it was clear Gonzalez had been so engrossed in her instruments that she was completely unaware of her immediate surroundings. “Nah, if there were any, old Betsy here would have solved that issue, no problem.” She patted her own trophy Fevros battle rifle, which sat comfortably within arm’s reach on the chair next to her. “Just give me a sec to restart the autopilot and… there we go,” she finished, turning to face Peters. Watching Gonzalez pilot the nimble Meridian was like watching a Renaissance artist painting a masterpiece. Not only did she somehow look fully rested, she practically glowed with vitality. It reminded Peters of the first time he’d met the impulsive young lieutenant back when she was still a fresh face at the academy. “Skirted a few Fevros cruisers here and there that showed up on the LR scanner, otherwise all quie—why are you looking at me like that?” She even had the

same twinkle in her eye as she looked at him, lips curling up slightly on one side in a bemused yet quizzical smile. “Just thinking about the first time we met. Anyway, if you want to get some sleep I can take over here.” “Nah, I’m good. Could use the company though. I noticed something strange with that Fevros artifact.” She motioned to the orb sitting casually on the floor, braced on one side by a bulkhead and on the other by some strategically placed debris left over from the fight earlier. “I got curious and…” Walking over, she slowly reached down and touched the orb. It didn’t flicker or react in any discernable way. “Think it’s spent?” Cringing in memory of his all-too-recent torture, Peters cautiously walked over and reached down, expecting the same response Gonzalez had received. Instantly, the orb sprung to life. He instinctively recoiled as waves of heat began to emanate from the sphere. The orb gave off a blue hue, but otherwise the result was identical to his previous close encounter. “Huh… ,” mumbled Gonzalez as she reached down once more. Her dainty fingers felt no ill effects. “That is unreal… It still feels chilled to me.” “Whatever this is, I’ve never heard of anything like it and I’ll be much happier when we can drop it off at a research station for proper study.” Gonzalez nodded silently as the two made their way back to their seats at the head of the bridge, opposite the main viewer. As a million tiny shimmering diamonds of light flew past, the universe seemed to be at peace. Despite everything that had happened, she and Peters were still alive. A strange sense of calm enveloped the woman like a blanket. We’re going to make it out of this. Everything is going to be all right…

CHAPTER 5

Sighing with quiet relief, Peters peered at the gray silhouette of Outpost 371 as the sensor relay slowly grew larger on the front viewer. For nearly three days, they’d traveled to reach the nearest human sensor relay. It was a small array, usually unoccupied, though it could hold a technician or two in a pinch. It served as one tiny piece of a much grander sensor array all along the human-Fevros border. For the weary travelers, it symbolized something far greater. It meant that they were back in friendly territory. Having moved the alien artifact off the bridge and into secure containment made him feel even better still. “Don’t you think it’s strange that we didn’t run into any trouble? Like not even a little bit?” Peters inquired to his crewmate. “Are you complaining?” Gonzalez asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. Her eyes still glimmered, a feat made all the more impressive by the fact that she hadn’t slept more than a few hours each night. “Nah, it isn’t that. I’m just a little surprised. All of the stories I’ve heard are that the Fevros keep a tight lid on everything in their territory. Get more than a few sectors in? You’re lucky to survive the swarm. Do you suppose they let us escape?” “Now you’re just being paranoid. Besides, do you believe every wild story that goes around the academy, sir? Pardon me for saying, but I do think the good commander has been taken in.” “Only if I heard it from those frat boys with Intelligence. I always believe Intelligence. No. Matter. What. I mean, when have they ever dropped the ball?” He smirked. Gonzalez rolled her eyes in response. Peters didn’t see anything out of the ordinary… at first. Squinting as Outpost 371 came ever closer, the physical details of the small station started to come into view. There was the habitation cylinder—a few meters long and big enough to pack in two beds and a small lavatory. In many ways, it was similar to the cramped two-person dorm rooms back at the academy. Maybe this is why

they’re designed that way. So if cadets ever take a stint out here in deep space, they feel right at home… As the outpost grew still larger, the finer aspects became clear—or rather they should have—and that’s when reality hit Peters like a ton of bricks. A series of lengthy antennae should have been elegantly protruding from one side of the cylinder—the RCSM (rapid communication and signaling matrix) designed to instantaneously transmit readings to all other border sensors and Alliance Command, giving the precise location and strength of any approaching fleet. The transmitter used a state-of-the-art transmission beam capable of rapid data transfer scales far exceeding that of any ordinary starship. And yet the RCSM was nowhere to be found. It was as if the entire array had been surgically removed. The other side of the outpost should have contained a series of subspace satellite dishes, a sort of deep space radar system through which enemy ships could be detected from several sectors away. It, too, was inexplicably missing. Tearing his eyes away from the viewer, Peters shifted his gaze to the Meridian’s own sensor readings. “No damage to the habitable structure. No residual damage either. That seems… so unlike them,” an emotionless Gonzalez stated in direct response to Peters’ silent thoughts. Instead of answering, he stepped over to the Meridian’s communications station. They’d been running on silent but still should have picked up an emergency alert. “Nothing. Either a patrol was already in the area and dealt with the bugs…” “Or Alliance Command doesn’t know… !” “Get us to Sanctuary. Punch it!” commanded Peters, a twinge of fear creeping into what Gonzalez secretly called his “command voice.” It was her name for the subconscious changes in his tone when he assumed an air of command. Slightly deeper, more annunciated, and perhaps a little more formal than normal. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, she considered through a small half grin. Accelerating to maximum speed would mean giving off considerable amounts of engine power, rendering their stealth system entirely obsolete. Now that they were in friendlier territory, pushing their engines to maximum power was finally an available luxury. The small frigate seared through space like a

bullet.

Most other times, the lightly flashing purple orb on her personal shuttle’s cockpit console would have been greeted by a slightly amused Malek la Tesh. It would typically be a diplomat from an uncouth race looking for a favor, or perhaps one of many hopeful suitors who had acquired her personal through several well-placed, well-paid bribes. If nothing else, those calls rarely failed to be entertaining. This time, the Hebroni woman knew the call would not be particularly pleasant. After taking a moment to hide her considerable annoyance and only moderately succeeding, she tapped the orb and acknowledged the incoming transmission. An instant later, a gray-faced Bilian appeared on a small computer console just in front of where she sat. What appeared to be an almost unbelievably well-kept office sat behind. “Ah, Malek. I feared we’d lost you.” The Bilian opened with either genuine concern or a well-practiced act. Malek suspected the latter was far more likely. “Your intel was sloppy. The attack came sooner than expected. Were it not for my personal resources, I would have been stuck back on the station.” “And yet, here you are safe and away,” the Bilian stated flatly. “The timing of the attack may have caught you unawares, but it changed little. The pendulum has swung into motion and events are unfolding exactly as expected.” “And what of our associates? Did the transition succeed?” “Was there ever any doubt?” The Bilian smirked in what Malek suspected was her first and probably only glimpse at genuine emotion for the conversation. “Intelligence provided by the doctor confirmed the last piece of the puzzle.” “What’s the expected ETA?” “Five days.” Malek opened her mouth to respond, but her counterpart didn’t allow her the opportunity. “Sensitive operations like this take meticulous work, Malek, but successful execution is assured. If anything is even remotely out of the ordinary, you’ll be ed immediately. I vow it.” “Good, see that you do,” replied Malek flatly as she flicked off the transmission. Flopping back in her chair, she closed her eyes and tried to suppress flaring emotions. Slowly letting her hair down, she ran her fingers through the soft ruby

strands in a routine that helped her relax and feel in control. It was a trick she had learned while morphing from a nervous young adolescent to an especially attractive woman (even by Hebroni standards) who possessed an almost mystical power over the male gender. After a few moments, she felt the anger finally start to fade away. All the sacrifices, they’re finally about to pay off…

Gonzalez’s eyes speedily darted over the ship’s scanners for the sixth time in the last hour. No one… For days, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was observing her every move, yet none of the sensors had picked up anything. She had conducted regular interior scans just to make sure they hadn’t missed any stowaways. Nothing turned up there either, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling. It’s been a crazy last couple of days. Probably just nerves. Peters was able to get around, but his injuries had not yet fully healed. She elected to not involve him in her inexplicable paranoia. As much as he wanted to be up and about, the simple fact was that the man needed extensive rest to accelerate his healing. Only at Gonzalez’s continued insistence had he finally agreed to try getting additional sleep a few hours ago. Physically, she felt better than any other time in memory. She’d been working extralong shifts to give Peters time to sleep while he healed and kept expecting that the few hours of sleep per night she had been getting would eventually catch up with her. It hadn’t happened yet. She felt as alert as if she’d just awoken from a full night’s sleep and downed an oversized cup of coffee, minus the jitters. While on the one hand longing for his company, she was still a little disappointed when the lift doors opened and Chris walked into the bridge. “You need to rest, sir,” she said, slightly annoyed, never looking away from her scanners. “You and me, alone, on our ship, in the middle of nowhere. How could I sleep?” he jabbed. “Besides, aren’t we getting close to Sanctuary? I can’t be lazying around in my quarters when we arrive given all that has happened. I mean, what would people think?” the commander replied, as he slowly hobbled up and sat down next to his pilot. “People would think that you nearly died and you’re recovering.” She smiled at the man’s ridiculousness while gently steadying him as he sat down. “Sanctuary will be on the viewer in five. We can get something to accelerate your healing… there…” Gonzalez trailed off. “I feel better already,” Chris remarked, dryly. “We can alert our embassy about what happened along the border and get the captain shuttled back to Earth for a proper funeral. It’s the least we can do. I just wish we had more time, you know?

I have a feeling the Meridian is going to be tasked with damage mitigation.” “I feel the same way. I just… wish… that…” Angie’s voice slowed and shortened, almost as if she suddenly had to catch her breath. “Angie? What is… ?” “Something’s wrong!” The words shot out of her mouth with such sudden, unexpected ferocity, her companion momentarily went wide-eyed. The unexpected expression of emotion even took the lieutenant by surprise, resulting in an awkward few seconds while she tried intently to reestablish her composure. “I don’t know I… just got this feeling. It just… washed over me like a dam broke and I got hit by a massive tsunami… of emotion… or something. I just…” Her eyes began welling up with tears as she helplessly tried to express her intuitive clairvoyance while knowing all the while that the entire effort was futile. Chris, though not truly understanding, put his arm around her and did his best to be reassuring, though the young woman was not to be so easily consoled. Within moments, all her attempts at speaking had morphed into sobs as she locked her eyes shut and cried into his shoulder. In a flash, she saw it, and then it was gone. Lightly disengaging from her companion, eyes still red and puffy but at least gaining some sense of composure, she looked him square in the eyes. “I saw it,” she said flatly. “Saw what, dear?” “Sanctuary. But it didn’t look right, not exactly. I saw the shell, charred with scars all over, like there was some sort of battle. I heard alarms blaring but no one would do anything. No one on the station was alive… and then I saw a huge shadow darken everything in sight.” Chris nodded quietly, not entirely sure what to make of his companion’s vision or if there was even anything to make of it. Still, he reached over to the engine controls and began decelerating the ship. “What are you doing?” inquired Gonzalez in between sniffles.

“Taking us in nice and slow. If something did happen to Sanctuary, I want us coming in quietly, not like a wrecking ball.” And if nothing else, it’ll help put your mind at ease, he added mentally as he engaged stealth protocols. Within minutes, Sanctuary appeared as a tiny dot on the viewer. Chris slowed the ship down almost to a crawl to further mask the Meridian’s presence before activating the viewer’s enhanced magnification system, which would allow the pair to see the station long before they were up close and personal. He could scarcely believe what it revealed. Massive craters wrecked much of the political-intelligence half of the station. The prison half, while not as thoroughly assaulted, had still received its own share of the beating. Chunks of space debris floated lifelessly nearby, indistinguishable remnants of vessels involved in the onslaught. Had they been friend or foe? Given their current state, the difference was impossible to tell. “I’m reading… just a few dozen life signs emanating from Sanctuary. Some faint. Limited atmosphere. Life is slowly failing,” stuttered Peters as he finally tore his eyes away from the viewer and toward the sensor readouts. Just a handful of people. A handful out of thousands… “No other ships in the area, not even on LR. Whoever did this is long gone,” added Gonzalez, only now looking at the scanners herself. “Still… let’s not take any chances. We’ll dock, use my Alliance Command security clearance to prevent another attempted hijacking, and see if we can lend a hand to any survivors.” “No to mention get some answers,” muttered Gonzalez. “Right, that too. Then we’ll have something to send Alliance Command and GRIDD.” “The Galactic Reconnaissance Intelligence and—what’s the last word?” “Defense Division, technically two words.” “Right, how could I forget? The Galactic Reconnaissance Intelligence and Defense Division. Humanity’s answer to alien intel and black ops. Our perfect counter to the Bilian’s Qerbellic agency,” Gonzalez announced with more than a

touch of sarcasm. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they already know.” “Yeah, probably,” muttered Peters, “but either way there’ll be hell to pay if they think we withheld information.” As Sanctuary grew closer, Gonzalez secured two small audio communicators. Having synced them first to each other and then to the ship’s internal communications system, she handed one to Peters while swiftly slipping the other one over her right ear. “Just in case we get separated. Or, you know, someone tries to steal the ship and I have to get it back again.” She nudged Peters playfully. “I learned my lesson. They can have the ship, but I’m not letting you out of my sight for a second!” He chuckled. After conducting a manual docking maneuver at the hold nearest a group of faint life signs, the pair set a security block on the bridge to prevent unwanted guests, should any somehow board and reach the bridge, from co-opting any of the ship’s primary systems. After suiting up for a zero-oxygen atmosphere just in case, they applied another similar security code to the Meridian’s docking bay doors and disembarked. The station looked as bad on the inside as it did on the outside. Dozens of people of all races lay dead. Some showed signs of injury by laser fire, while others had been savagely slashed and bashed to bits. One thing was clear; the battle had not been confined to outer space. With their heavy Fevros rifles at the ready, the two humans slowly made way toward the nearest life signs. Aside from the faint sound of static emanating from distant monitors, a slow drip, drip, drip from an unknown number of nearby damaged pipes, and the sizzle of occasional electrical surges, the entire place was eerily quiet. With weapons drawn, the officers rounded a corner to enter one of the station’s several commercial districts, coming face-to-face with the first living beings they’d seen since arrival. Leaning up against what was left of a store kiosk, slowly sinking to the floor clutching his stomach in pain with his one remaining hand, was a Hebroni male. His female Hebroni counterpart, while not in good shape herself, was clearly in better condition than her partner and was doing her best to be reassuring. A meter-tall glob of what looked like grape jelly slowly bobbed opposite them. Despite the abnormal color for its species, Peters immediately recognized it—Asnolian. As the humans sheathed their weapons

and approached, the blob slid across the floor to position itself between the newcomers and the injured Hebroni, leaving a faint train of slime behind that evaporated within seconds. “Who art thou? From whence hast thou come?” It spoke from an unseen mouth in a high-pitched, squeaky voice typical of the Asnolian race. of high Asnolian society, if there could truly be such a thing, studied the lofty languages of many cultures. They believed, in most cases wrongly, that using such language in the presence of those cultures provided them an air of dignity and respect. “I’m Commander Christopher Peters of the Human Alliance and this is—” “First Officer Angela Gonzalez. We’re here to help. What is his condition?” Gonzalez asked, motioning toward the male Hebroni as she pulled basic medical supplies from her portable kit. “Thou beest human? Then be gone! Thou shalt not claim these as thy victims!” the Asnolian bellowed in a flash of anger and bobbed in a manner that was meant to look intimidating. Shocked at the instant hostility, both Peters and Gonzalez held up their hands and took a few slow steps back to illustrate that they meant no offense. “We did not intend to cause any harm. I apologize. Our ship, the HAS Meridian, was hijacked by Fevros forces in the assault on Sanctuary a week ago. It has taken us days to make it back here with the ship in one piece. If there is any assistance we can offer, we stand at the ready to provide it.” “Does thou takest me for a fool?” the creature growled, moving closer and increasing its height by a few centimeters. Gonzalez cautiously moved her right hand, resting it on her satcheled rifle. Noticing this subtle movement out of the corner of his eye, Peters ever so slightly shook his head without ever taking his eyes off the hostile alien goop. Gonzalez, for her part, picked up the cue and moved her hand such that it was resting on her hip, just above rather than on her weapon. “We have a ship and medical supplies. Please, let us help you.” “Thou shalt pay for thy treachery!”

“Wait!” a faint feminine plea for hesitation rang through the room. “Batigh, I don’t recognize these humans from the raids. I… I don’t think they’re with them.” The female Hebroni hobbled over. The Asnolian paused but continued to bob and squirm aggressively. “You’re Human Alliance? What ship?” “The HAS Meridian, ma’am.” “I’ve… heard of that ship… I think. Captain Barinton? The ambassador spoke of him. Is he with you?” “Captain Barinton… ,” Gonzalez started. “When we were retaking the ship… the Fevros killed him.” “He sacrificed his own life to save us,” added Peters, solemnly. “We’ve been trying to get back to civilization, to Sanctuary, ever since.” “I… I see…” “What happened here?” “There will be time for that… later.” The Hebroni wheezed. “You say you can help? You have medical supplies? I’m Rilona. This is Batigh. We were injured in one of the attacks. Barely survived. None of us escaped without scars. My husband, Ing, got the worst of it. Please… if you can help him. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just please…” Still clearly annoyed, the Asnolian slowly acquiesced and moved out of their path. The Hebroni woman led the humans to Ing, now sprawled out on the floor, writhing in pain. After efficiently examining Ing’s wound, Gonzalez applied localized painkillers and began to clean and dress the worst of his wounds with the supplies she and Peters carried with them. Afterward, she gave him a quick nanobot injection to further boost his body’s natural healing capabilities. Though his injuries were severe, Ing’s condition appeared to have stabilized for the time being. This change in fortune allowed the party to move deeper into the damaged store for some semblance of privacy, after which Rolina finally agreed to be treated herself. Eventually, even Batigh permitted to have his wounds examined. Sitting down at a table in what may have once been a conference room, Rolina

began. “You fulfilled your part of the bargain. Now it’s my turn. What would you like to know?” “What happened here? Did the Fevros seize control of the station?” inquired Gonzalez enthusiastically. We’re finally going to get some answers. “No, I… I don’t think so.” “What do you mean, you don’t think so?” inquired Peters. “The Fevros assault came so suddenly, most of us had no warning at all. There were rumors of traitors on the inside. I can scarcely believe it myself, but how else could they have succeeded as much as they did?” The two humans nodded, though further speculation on possible conspiracy theories would have to wait. “Anyway, I guess you know about all that, huh? Well, um, we ran. Headed for my quarters to hole up and someone. I’m not sure what happened exactly, except that there was fighting everywhere, maybe a prison break? I’m not certain. They say a friendly fleet arrived and chased the Fevros away. We didn’t know that at the time though. The entire station started shaking. We thought it was all over.” “They tried to destroy the station with their own people still on board?” Gonzalez shook her head in disgust. “I don’t know, but eventually the insects retreated for one reason or another and newly arriving security details were able to stabilize things here. Residential and most commercial/diplomatic zones were given the all clear, though some scattered areas still remained off-limits.” “Mop-up action. Clearing out remaining pockets of particularly stubborn enemies,” Peters confirmed. Nodding, Rilona continued. “We came out of hiding to try and pick up, you know, help out in the aftermath. Everything was heavy military. More soldiers and armed guards than I’ve ever seen on Sanctuary. It was like martial law! Hebroni, Bilian, even some human soldiers.” The last two words dripped with vehemence and something else— Peters couldn’t quite tell from the tone. Her clenched fists suggested it was most likely anger. He knew not what would come next in this story but doubted it would be anything pleasant.

“Where did all those soldiers, the multiracial force, where did it come from?” asked Gonzalez, calmly. “I don’t know!” spat Rilona. Suddenly snapping back into the present, the Hebroni slowly took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know you weren’t involved. It’s just that… just that…” She hung her head and refused to look them in the eyes. “It’s all right.” Gonzalez slowly put her arm around Rilona in a show of . “Take your time.” “There was… a human. Captain Caelon, I think. Tall, muscular build clear even under his armor, short midnight-black hair with a well-cropped beard. Actually, had a pretty handsome face, for a human anyway. They said the old human ambassador, the chubby one, died in the attack and that Caelon would be the liaison until a new diplomat could be dispatched. Leadership throughout the station was in chaos and he stepped in to fill the void.” Peters and Gonzalez exchanged glances. Something was very wrong about the way Rilona’s story was unfolding. “We thought it was a good thing… but then rumors started to fly and in less than a day, rumors turned into a full-fledged witch hunt for traitors. They started rounding up people on even the smallest suspicion. They broke into our home and… seized… Ing… He never did anything wrong to anybody.” She began sobbing. “I thought… it was just a misidentification… I went down to the enforcement area. They gave me… some papers. Said if I filled them out, that would speed things up and he’d be out by dinnertime. I believed them. So stupid…” “What were they doing?” “They helped me to a small waiting room. I saw my Asnolian friend there”—she motioned to Batigh—“filling out some form adapted for Asnolian use. I got halfway through my own but then started to feel light-headed. I got up to clear my mind. Thought I just needed to calm myself down, so I left the room for just a few minutes to use the restroom, you know? Except when I got back, the hall lights had all been dimmed like it was after hours or something. The door was

locked, sealed even. I knocked, hard too, called out to Batigh, but nobody came. I couldn’t raise him on wireless either. “I had to know what was going on, but there were still a few officers milling around, so… I hid… back in the bathroom… for an hour or so. The longest hour in my life. I slid out when I knew only the skeleton staff would be there and started poking around. I work in infrastructure here on the station, so I was able to access some schematic information on my data pad—air vents, maintenance tunnels, that sort of thing. I was crawling around on my hands and knees trying to find the cells when I heard these… howls of pain… and sadistic laughter. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sleep again with those… sounds… rattling around in my mind.” “Who was it?” asked Peters, anger welling up inside, coupled with thoughts of his own recent experience with sadistic torturers. “It was everyone! Humans, Hebroni, Bilians! They were torching the prisoners in unimaginable ways, dozens of them, and laughing like it was some game!” She pounded her fist on the damaged table with such force it was surprising that it didn’t crack. “But that isn’t all. Those who didn’t break, the ones that stayed strong? They were sent into another area down a long hallway for ‘special treatment.’” “That… can’t be good.” “No… it was not good.” Rilona shook her head in grief. “All the races seemed to run the other areas together, but this room? Only humans. I saw them do it to two prisoners. A Bilian and a Hebroni. They forced them into these pods, injected them with all sorts of stuff, I don’t know what, but as I watched from a tiny crack in a maintenance shaft overhead, their victims started writhing in pain, spasming uncontrollably inside the pods as if they’d lost complete control. After a few minutes, it stopped. The humans opened the pods, and the test subjects got up like nothing had happened… except there was almost like a cloud or something across their eyes. They didn’t seem fully there, fully aware. I heard those torturers talking. The physical and athletic capabilities of the ‘specimens’ had been heightened to almost unreal levels, they said. The subjects listened to orders too, never questioning. Got suited up ASAP in heavy trooper armor, fully helmeted of course, to keep their cloudy eyes out of view.”

“Why? Why do this?” Gonzalez gasped. “I don’t know! But I know enough to see an assembly line in process and Ing? He and Batigh were practically next in line! I waited until a lone guard, one of the regular ones, not a supersoldier, wandered off, maybe to file a report, maybe to take a piss, I don’t know. I jumped him with a pipe I found, took his pistol, ran into the room, and took out the human scientists before they could turn on the pod with Ing in it. “They hadn’t locked Batigh down yet. He was putting up more of a fight than they’d expected. I guess they weren’t versed well enough in Asnolian anatomy to make the torture entirely effective, but my poor Ing was crumpled and broken. I got to him before the machine did its work, but not before a human jabbed him in the side with something, some strange device. There was another Hebroni stretched out on a table. We heard running from outside. Tried to disappear back into the maintenance shaft, but there just wasn’t enough time. “A full complement burst through the door, Hebroni, Bilian, and a bunch of those supersoldiers. We thought we were done for… but then a strange thing happened. The supersoldiers? They didn’t obey. They just stood there, frozen like statues. A Bilian even got right up in the face of one, yelling all sorts of profanity into the dark helmet. No reaction. If I’d been able to see the soldier’s face behind his protective mask, I imagine it would have been a blank stare. We all just stood there, looking at each other.” “I thought you said they obeyed unquestioningly. Why not then?” asked Gonzalez, perplexed. “I don’t know, but I don’t think anyone else expected that either. That dark helmet guy, right in the middle of the Bilian’s tirade, slowly raised his gun and shot him. Blew his gray head right off! Everyone was in shock. Us, the nonsupersoldiers, everyone! Then the other supersoldiers started an all-out brawl. “We thought we were saved! That other Hebroni, the one who had been on the table when I kicked in the door, took a step toward them to offer thanks for the rescue… and was shot half a dozen times. We had to dive for cover to dodge a hail of laser blasts. They weren’t saving us! They were shooting, bashing, and lacerating anything that got too close! We stayed in cover as well as we could, backing away to the far corner of the room and eventually up into the ductwork.

It took some time crawling through those dark tunnels, but eventually we made it out of the area. “It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when the first pack of supersoldiers was wondering the station freely, ravaging anything that moved. Station security tried to deal with the situation, but they had been focused on the Fevros, and a second assault from the inside took them completely by surprise. Even had they known, it would have taken a handful of them to take down a single supersoldier. Security engaged where they could and suffered terrible losses. Within two days, normal law enforcement pretty much ceased to exist. I don’t know how so many supersoldiers appeared so quickly. The military forces that were supposed to be protecting us? Killed or fled, I don’t know which. Doesn’t really matter, does it? Still, the fight wasn’t completely one-sided. Many of the supersoldiers were killed too. The few dozen that survived now wander the station in packs, killing and looting. I don’t know if they ever eat or sleep. It sure doesn’t seem like it. They’ve been changing too, into hideous, monstrous creatures, getting faster and stronger all the time. “We’ve been scavenging for supplies, trying to find a way off this garbage heap. Ing seemed totally fine aside from a rash, great in fact. His torture wounds healed quickly. That is, until last night when he started getting searing pains in his side again. The rash started to blister badly too. I’ve never seen anything like it, but then I’m no doctor. He was still able to stay on his feet to fight though and insisted on coming with us to get medical supplies. We got caught in the cross fire of two rival gangs. Survived, barely. When one group gets beaten, the other moves into their territory. That’s how it works around here. They didn’t even seem to notice us cowering in the shop. We tried to stay in cover until we were certain those men were gone. I dunno how long. Maybe thirty minutes? Maybe an hour? We were just starting to get a move on when you showed up.”

It was a lot to take in. They’d barely limped out of the shop when the unmistakable sound of military-grade boots began echoing nearby. Four, maybe five. Peters counted silently while the group slid through the dead halls of Sanctuary back toward the Meridian. The ship would be far safer than anywhere on the station; they’d all agreed on that point. Though the medical supplies on board were a far cry from what would have been available on Sanctuary at its prime, the station’s premier medical center was far deeper in the complex. With the wandering bands of savages, attempting to reach it was borderline suicidal. Rilona and Batigh were able to move swiftly, despite suffering from severe fatigue due to lack of sleep the last few days. Though injured, their healing process was already noticeable. Through adrenaline-induced physical exertion and the promise of their first real safety in days, the aliens were able to match Peters’ own, slightly slower than normal speed. Ing, unfortunately, was doing nowhere near as well. Despite receiving a double portion of pain meds and nanobot boosters, his condition only seemed to worsen. For her part, Rilona stayed by his side every step of the way, holding him steady whenever he had a flash of dizziness and helping him as they ed over debris. The closer they got to the Meridian, the more footsteps they heard, though they still saw no one. “I wish they’d just show themselves so we could end them. I much preferred the silence to this annoying thud, thud, thud,” grumbled Gonzalez, through gritted teeth. “Two humans, two Hebroni, and a brave Asnolian saving the station, eh, Chris?” “Two great human warriors and three aliens barely able to defend themselves, you mean!” Peters grinned. “It’ll be one for the legends!” “You know, I think you’re on to something with that. Your version is better. As long as the two humans save the day and make it out alive.” “But of course. Wouldn’t be much of a story otherwise. In fact, I think—” The pair chuckled at their exchange. “Doest thou find this amusing?” interrupted the Asnolian in what might have been an expression of annoyance, though it was impossible to tell as the creature

always sounded exasperated. “Oh, come on, lighten up, Batigh.” “Mine eyes hast seen this chaos near and far. Treachery and torture, mine home hath been destroyed.” “And yet, here you are, nearly rescued,” encouraged Peters. “Thou shalt not take lightly—” “Unless you’d prefer to stay,” interrupted Gonzalez, stopping in her tracks to glare into the faceless jelly blob. Before it could respond, Rilona, having closed the gap between her, Ing, and the main group, noticed that everyone had stopped. “Why are we slowing down? Is something wrong?” “Nah, we’re almost there,” explained Peters as the party started off again. Rounding the final corner before reaching their docking bay, the group was forced to a halt once more. There, just a few yards away, Gonzalez and Peters got their first personal glimpse of the savage beasts. Rilona let out an instinctive yelp of surprise before her hands shot up like lightning, covering her mouth to prevent further outbursts. There were three in total; two were slightly shorter, between four foot ten and five foot three, with that distinctive skin hue and hair color that gave their Hebroni heritage away. The other was a little taller, with short brown hair suggestive of human origin. All looked as if they’d been binging on steroids since the day they were born. At the sound of Rilona’s scream, the three instantly whipped around. With their backs now to the docking bay doors, they turned and snarled at the intruders. Their animalistic expressions showed a hint of fangs, even while their eyes demonstrated the clouded look Rilona had recounted in her story. “My God… who… how could this have happened?” asked Gonzalez, breathlessly. “Whatever they were, whoever they were, they aren’t anymore. The Meridian and our ticket out of here is on the other side of those doors. They stand aside or

we make them,” commanded Peters. “Yes, sir, roger that,” responded Gonzalez with iron military discipline in her voice as the officers drew their weapons and fanned out in opposite directions to better cover each other and give the beasts a more dispersed target in the process. Rilona set Ing down slowly just around the corner and then, with her pistol drawn, followed the humans’ lead. Batigh grew in size and wobbled aggressively, for what little good it did. The beasts, in turn, spread out in a fashion roughly mirroring their counterparts. “They have blasters. Why aren’t they drawing weapons?” asked Gonzalez aloud to Rilona, all the while never taking her eyes off their adversaries. “Whatever was done to them, they keep changing. Look at their hands.” One look provided the definitive answer to Gonzalez’s question. Clad in heavy armor below the neck, razor claws a few inches in length protruded out of each gauntlet. Operating a blaster trigger with those nails would be cumbersome at best. Given the current distance between assailants, a skilled soldier could close into melee range within seconds. Given their enhanced athletic abilities? Melee was within a blink of an eye. There was no need for the predators to use ranged weapons. Snarling, the creatures beat their chests in a way that reminded Peters of great apes back on Earth. One of the Hebroni, or rather, former Hebroni, crouched down like a tiger readying a deadly leap. Flaring her nostrils and sniffing the air, it bobbed and shook its head so violently it could have caused a minor whiplash. For a few seconds, silence reigned supreme. Nobody moved. Peters, Gonzalez, and Rilona all had their trigger fingers at the ready. All were a split second away from blasting the crouching Hebroni to hell with fire from three different directions simultaneously… and then the beast let out a bloodcurdling screech and ran away. Her two companions followed closely behind. For moments, the party remained still, frozen in confusion as their minds tried to wrap around what had just transpired. It was Peters who finally broke the silence. “I don’t know what that was, but we don’t want to be here when they come back with friends. Let’s move. Back to the Meridian. Go. Go! GO!” With these beasts roaming the station and limited friendly manpower, attempting to rescue other

survivors simply was not plausible.

Having disengaged the docking clamps with expert efficiency, Commander Peters reengaged their stealth systems as the HAS Meridian silently glided away from Sanctuary. Gonzalez had gone to escort their new traveling companions to the med bay for some much needed rest, not to mention more thorough diagnoses. The encounter with the former Hebroni and human had been… odd. According to Rilona and Batigh, they’d never known the creatures to back down from a fight or even hesitate for that matter. They were like savage predators. Why would they back down against clearly feebler foes? Peters prided himself on being able to carefully analyze his enemies and their battlefield motivations. Not being able to make heads or tails of this recent encounter frustrated the tactician to no end. Lost in thought, a faint swishing sound yanked him back to reality—the telltale sound of the lift doors opening. He slowly swiveled his chair around to watch a noticeably stressed Gonzalez trudge in his direction and flop down in the seat next to his own. “Something is wrong with that guy.” She could only mean Ing. “What do you mean, Angie?” “His affliction. I ran a dozen tests. It isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. From what I was able to research, no one else has either.” “What have you found so far?” “Well, that jab to his side?” “The one Rilona said he took during the rescue operation?” Nodding, Gonzalez continued, “Either that was more than just a jab, or the wound got infected back on Sanctuary with… something. I found traces of nanobots in his bloodstream, far smaller than anything we use, so I figured it was some Bilian prototype. You know how those gray guys love developing new tech? Either that, or maybe Hebroni special forces. I could see them experimenting on humans and Asnolian, but other Hebroni? I’m not so sure. Of course, I’m not ruling out GRIDD either. Anyway, I did some scans, and the concentration was by far highest at the wound site. That’s when things got really

weird. “The nanobots are replicating somehow, and they’re using his own tissue to do it. It’s concealed under the skin right now, but I ran the med scans twice to be sure. The internal tissue around that wound is being changed into something totally different. Totally alien—well, more alien anyway. I’ve never seen anything like this. Hell, I’ve never even heard of nanites capable of this sort of thing. It’s unlike anything even being whispered about by GRIDD, or even Qerbellic or Hebroni Command…” “Changed into what?” asked an alarmed Peters, at this point unwilling to go down the road of idle speculation with regard to which shadow intelligence agency was involved. That was a question for another time. What mattered most was the immediate situation and mitigating any lingering dangers that remained. “I wish I could tell. But there’s more to this than just that. I ran scans over several individual areas of Ing’s body. These little bots? They move, large concentrations of them. I scanned his arm and found some. I scanned the same place less than a minute later, and they were nearly all gone. Same thing for every other part of his body, aside from the wound site itself. Small variation is normal as nanobots flow throughout the bloodstream, but not like this. Not this fast. Even our most advanced medical nanobots, programmed to hone in on injury sites for rapid recovery, still take several minutes to redistribute themselves and then several more if they’re called to repair another injury elsewhere in the body. It’s almost like they know they’re being scanned… and are purposely trying to stay hidden.” “What about the others?” “They all seem to be doing fine given their injuries, which are consistent with laser fire, first- and second-degree burns, bruises, a cracked rib or two, all normal stuff given what they’ve been through.” “Good. Let’s keep them all situated in the med bay for now. They could use some sleep. Let’s keep Ing quarantined though. Whatever he has pulsing through his veins, I don’t want to take any chances on it spreading. How does your old room look?” “He’s already settled in comfortably.” Then turning to the console in front of her, “I’ll set up an electromagnetic barrier too. It won’t affect anything large enough

to be seen, but any nanobot that tries to go on a pilgrimage will be held like a bug on flypaper.” Mitrich frowned. They’d gotten everything they had aimed for, but there was so much more that still could have been accomplished. It had all been snatched away right when the next breakthrough seemed at hand. Not attaining 100 percent maximum yield always felt like failure to the gray Bilian. But still, as far as most others were aware, complete victory had been achieved. And despite his personal knowledge otherwise, that is the story he would see propagated. A soft, high-pitched whine from his workstation instantly notified Mitrich that someone outside was hoping to meet with him. Grumbling quietly to himself, the Bilian casually tapped a few unassuming concealed buttons on the nearer side of his sleek desk, and the holo-projected schematics he’d been studying incessantly for the last hour vanished, replaced a moment later by a 3D projected model of the luxurious outdoor waiting area, complete with a real-time visual of everyone currently present therein. It was something Mitrich had installed years ago. The humans had a saying, “Knowledge is power.” Any piece of information, no matter how small, could provide the upper hand in key negotiations. Or in any negotiations, thought Mitrich. It was the Bilian way. It had not only assured their survival as a race but cemented their place within the galactic power structure as second only to the Hebroni. Their prestige was unshakable, but far more was needed if they were to become predominant rulers of the galaxy. Fortunately, there would be no need for elaborate diplomatic maneuvering today. The sight of Verdolf, Mitrich’s longtime colleague from the days they attended primary school together, indicated that only a substandard level of subterfuge would be required. Tapping another button, the projection vanished and was, in turn, replaced by the image of a small speaker and microphone. “Send him in.” Moments later, a portion of Mitrich’s office wall dematerialized as Verdolf quietly stepped through. After taking a slight bow, the new arrival made his way to a seat across from Mitrich as the wall reformed at his back. Verdolf’s slightly hunched shoulders and the not-quite-precise walking movements indicated that either something deeply troubling was on his mind or he had recently lacked sufficient rest, possibly both. Mitrich made a silent note of it while, at the same time, forcing a genuine smile—genuinely rehearsed anyway—and leaned forward to engage his colleague.

“Grand Commistre Mitrich.” “ Verdolf, welcome.” “Grand Commistre, we have been unable to raise the station. All attempts of reestablishing have failed.” Mitrich nodded slowly, taking care to show measured shock and surprise, mimicking his actual reaction to the news when he’d first become aware, nearly half a day prior. Still, there may be something new to learn here. “What was the cause?” “Unknown. It is as if they are either unable or willing to respond.” “Perhaps a follow-up assault?” “Unlikely. The task force swept the remaining hostiles from the sector and had the numbers and firepower to more than tripled local security.” “Sanctuary is still there, isn’t it?” Mitrich asked with a hint of annoyance. “Yes, sir. The station is definitely still there. They just aren’t responding. The Kierock is the closest vessel. We can dispatch it to begin a more thorough investigation. It could be at Sanctuary in less than a day.” Mitrich feigned contemplation as he slowly tapped his longest fingers together, pretending not to notice the faint green glow emanating from a hidden diode on his side of the desk. It was hidden from view to anyone not in his seat by design. The light indicated that an inbound message on a secure channel had arrived, and he suspected he knew from whom it came. After a few moments, he spoke. “No. Too dangerous. Too many unknowns with the recent Fevros involvement, especially for the Kierock, a mere science vessel.” “Sir?” “We will deploy a specialized fact-finding team to determine the nature of the current situation. In a day or two, we will have analyzed the motivation and relative strength of any party involved, native or foreign, which is preventing us from communicating with the team. We will be in a position to act with both

prudence and decisiveness, ensuring success,” Mitrich stated matter-of-factly. Probe, study, respond. It was the Bilian way. It also just so happened to serve his larger goals at the moment. “Understood, sir,” responded Verdolf without any hint of suspicion. “When the team reports their findings, will you require my assistance? I had hoped to vacation with my family the next few days. We have not been able to take a trip to Bathra since Kiylia was born.” “Bathra? No, no, enjoy your vacation. They had excellent entertainment last I was there.” “When were you on our second moon?” “It was years ago. Things were… much simpler then.” Mitrich sighed. “If the entertainment is still good, I’ll beam you some holo-recordings. You know, I hear the humans have to fly a few planets over to access the same kind of off-world resort.” “How very uncivilized,” added Mitrich as Verdolf nodded in agreement. The Bilians had constructed their own lavish tourist resort on the larger of their two moons shortly after accomplishing intersector spaceflight. The original idea had been to create both a pleasing farewell station before venturing into the unknown as well as a place to return and unwind before being reimmersed in day-to-day Bilian life. From that noble idea had sprung a series of casinos, theaters, simulators, sporting venues, and other less wholesome forms of entertainment that quite nearly spanned the entire moon. “I wish you the best on your vacation. We will proceed with our work in your stead. Be prepared to pick everything back up when you return though.” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” responded Verdolf as he slowly rose, turned, and walked to the wall where he had entered. As expected, the wall dissipated before him, only to rematerialize moments after he stepped through to the other side. Satisfied that he was once more alone, Commistre Mitrich tapped the glowing green button. An instant later, a shoulders-up hologram of a handsome but grizzled human formed.

“It’s about time. What have you—,” started the Bilian. The gruff human voice didn’t even allow him to finish. “M, we’ve got a problem.”

An entire batch of prototypes. The most promising subjects. Gone. Signal terminated. Mitrich, though frequently annoyed, was a patient man. Were he human, he would have been a masterful chess player. Right now though, what he felt was not mere annoyance. It was outright, unbridled rage. The key to everything was on Sanctuary, and now they’d lost control. By all reports, raving lunatics were rampaging the halls, killing everyone in sight. It reminded the Bilian of ridiculous stories he’d heard about the American Old West. The only difference was that this was real. The situation was fragile, and resources were already spread thin. As anger slowly gave way to despair, a soft green light appeared, signaling a new inbound transmission. In what was a highly unusual occurrence, the Bilian made no attempt to hide his seething anger, forcefully swatting at the controls. An instant later, a hologram appeared depicting a Bilian in full battle gear with rank insignia indicating first commistre of an elite, heavily decorated Bilian team of special forces skilled in subterfuge and espionage, as well as combat. Paridic Group. Mitrich’s expression must have betrayed his mood as the first commistre paused, surprised. A glare from Mitrich all but demanded, “What is it?” “Sir, objective acquired. Heading back to the rendezvous.” Finally, someone who manages to get things done. A smile slowly formed on Mitrich’s face. “Negative, Commistre. There’s been a change of plans…”

Gonzalez felt familiar waves of relaxation flow over her exhausted physical form. The feeling seemed so familiar, and yet she couldn’t quite place it, much like a forgotten dream only half ed in the morning. Sensing faint light streaming in from above, she slowly opened her eyes and was greeted with the sight of a forest canopy a hundred feet up. Rising gradually to her feet, she found herself on top of moss bedding in a forest clearing with only the occasional sounds of chirping birds and distant wildlife for company. Then she noticed something else. A soft melody in the distance, which sounded so familiar that she instantly knew she’d heard it before, though she couldn’t place exactly when or where. The farther she moved in the direction of the strange sound, the more it seemed to permeate every aspect of the forest. It soaked into the trees and into the leaves. Even the ground reverberated in perfect harmony. It wasn’t long before her slow walk became more brisk, and then, without even realizing it, she broke out into a jog, only to be stopped dead in her tracks by a steep embankment. The sound was most definitely coming from the other side. Skillfully surveying the land, she managed to take only a few seconds to find a location fit for climbing. In an instant, Gonzalez had raced over the top. Her vision was flooded with of every race and every species, dancing together. There were a few Fevros and Asnolian, along with Bilians, Hebroni, humans, and a few races she couldn’t quite place. I wonder who they are… Mild curiosity, which was quickly drowned out as the music’s magical pull took effect. As if this was something she had prepared for all her life, the officer instantly fell into step with the crowd and began dancing. Her movements were slow at first but gradually grew wilder to match the music’s rapid tempo. In spite of the frantic pace, her movements felt natural, fluid. The wilder the dance, the more graceful all the dancers became. Suddenly everything stopped. Gonzalez popped into line as if she had always known this moment would come. Glancing around, there were no outliers. As if scripted, the expected royal blue light shone from up ahead. It was far too bright to stare directly into at first. The light seemed to get closer as the crowd of thousands in front of Gonzalez slowly parted to the right and left. The intensity faded ever so slightly, leaving the darkened silhouette of a human, a man, from whom the light and feelings of peace and contentment seemed to emanate. The

human reached out slowly, serenely with one arm, and beckoned the woman. Without a thought of hesitation, Angela Gonzalez stepped forth.

Rilona couldn’t sleep. Despite how much she wanted to, her buzzing mind simply would not turn off. Everything had been a whirlwind, and to make matters worse, there was something wrong with Ing. In the back of her mind, she had known for some time. They’d always had a deep emotional bond. Their friends had joked about them being telepathically linked to each other, but despite appearances, they’d been drifting apart over the years. The distance had been developing for some time before either was willing to recognize it. Even after they did, neither had wanted to it it. The situation on the station—the horror and the rescue—as they held each other, comforted each other, it almost seemed like all the walls of separation had crumbled down. A silver lining at last perhaps. But now? Now it’s worse than before. His injuries weren’t healing, but there was something else too. The young Hebroni woman could tell by the slight, almost invisible frown the human female had made while reviewing Ing’s medical test results. Rilona had done her best to keep that observation discreet. How successful she had been was impossible to tell. If the human had noticed, she’d given no indication. The medical analysis that had been provided afterward was not the most optimistic, but delivered as softly as one could expect given the situation. The human woman was obviously hiding something. She’d been afraid to accept it, but the nuanced diagnosis did nothing if not confirm the worst. Rilona knew there was more going on than just Ing’s physical injuries, though that’s all the human bothered to mention. Mentally, he was different. He could still function. He could still eat, carry a conversation, and do all the normal things a person should be able to do. Even a fellow Hebroni probably wouldn’t have noticed the difference, but she did. The manner in which he spoke had changed. Nuances in his body language had too. They were subtle yet unmistakable and had been occurring since the incident on the station, becoming more frequent all the time. She saw it in the way he looked at her, in the way he spoke to her. The words were right, but it was as if he was doing nothing more than reading dialogue from a page. And the way he looks at that human female! The one with the ridiculous name! What kind of name is Angela anyway? He made no argument when she had recommended placing him in quarantine. The moment she mentioned it as a safety precaution, he wholeheartedly embraced the idea, even over my protests!

He even followed that woman with his eyes when she left the room! She’d gone to see him afterward against the human’s recommendation. He hadn’t seemed interested in talking, so she’d gone back to her area in the med bay. After nearly losing him, I’ve poured my everything into getting him back. I will not lose him again. Not to those beasts on Sanctuary, and not to you. Human BYTOCK! I will know what you know. I must… With that, Rilona jumped up and withdrew a hidden Level Rt.B hacking data chip—government issue—from a hidden pocket deep within her satchel. In minutes, she’d cracked into Ing’s full medical results. Now, let’s see what we have here…

Gonzalez lurched back to reality, falling out of bed in the process. Drenched in sweat, she had to take a moment to reorient herself on the cool, metallic floor. Something important had happened, or was about to happen. It was hard to say which, but the feeling gnawing at the back of her mind was clear as crystal. Yet just as she began trying to make sense of it, the feeling began to fade. The harder she tried to discern, the faster it diminished, until she wasn’t even sure if she’d even felt anything at all. Either way, it was time to get up; she’d slept for nearly eight hours—the first time in a week. At least my sleeping is finally back on track. After a quick change of clothes, a shower, and some breakfast, she made her way for the bridge. “Anything new, Chris?” “Same old same old. How are you feeling, Angie?” “I’m… okay.” “That’s just great. I was counting on you to take down an entire Fevros armada single-handedly, but I guess ‘okay’ will have to do.” He sighed. “Okay should be more than enough to take out some bugs, jerk. But…” “What is it?” asked Peters, his tone suddenly growing softer, more serious. “It’s… there’s this weird dream I’ve been having.” “What is it about?” The commander turned to face her. “That’s the thing! I… I can never . I wake up with this weird feeling. It’s been the same thing every night this week. But when I wake up and try to the details? It’s gone. And I can’t shake the feeling that someone else is on the ship…” “Someone else is on the ship. We picked them up from Sanctuary. Come on, Angie, keep up,” he teased. “This is serious!” the woman responded, smacking Peters lightly. “I’m going to run an internal sensor sweep again. Make sure we didn’t pick up any stowaways

from Sanctuary. The last thing we need is one of those beasts running around the Meridian.” Reg in defeat, Peters could see Gonzalez was determined to see this trivial matter through. Best not to argue on this one. It wasn’t long before the noticeable sound of, “Hmm… ,” permeated the otherwise silent room, piquing Peters’ interest once more. “Hmm? Find something, Angie?” “Ing. It looks like the electromagnets did catch a few nanobots trying to jump ship after all.” “Is that normal?” Peters asked. Neither of them was a medical expert, though having minored in biotech at the academy, Gonzalez was the resident expert. “With these guys, I can’t say for certain. Though with normal nanobots, occasionally a few will get their signals mixed up and exit the body before ing naturally like they should. When that happens, the little guys end up just kinda floating around in the air in a confused, dormant state. We inhale them occasionally, but separated from their target host, they’re inactive, totally harmless.” Sighing, she continued, “It looks like Rilona went to see him… Twice…” “You can hardly blame her for wanting to see her husband. If they were still stuck on the station…” “I suppose. It’s just… there are a lot of unknowns. What’s floating around in that bloodstream of his? It could be dangerous!” “I know. But could she stop caring just like that? Because he has some strange infection?” “I guess… you’re right. Sometimes it’s easy to get detached and forget.” Smiling, she leaned over and hugged him. “Thanks, Chris.” Peters held her tight, and the pair nuzzled close, enjoying their quiet, temporary respite. Hope as they might for it to last just a little while longer, fate would not smile upon them this particular evening. As if it had been waiting all along for the perfect moment, a little red light burst to life on the communication controls,

causing Gonzalez to jump in surprise. Though feeling highly inclined to ignore the message, a red light meant an encrypted emergency message was inbound from Alliance Command. Peters knew far better than to dismiss a communication sent on this channel. After taking a brief moment for both he and Gonzalez to straighten up into more professional postures, the commander accepted the inbound transmission. “Barinton! Are you there?” barked an unfamiliar voice as the image of an aged, balding man with a severe look materialized on the small viewer. His rank insignia indicated he was a senior iral, possibly even a high iral. “No, sir. Commander Peters here, sir.” “I don’t have time to deal with lackeys, Commander. I must speak to Captain Barinton at once.” “I am sorry, sir. Captain Barinton is not—” “What do you mean, you’re sorry? Did you major in apologizing at the academy, boy? Get me your captain on the double!” “Captain Barinton is dead, sir. Killed when a Fevros squad assaulted Sanctuary and attempted to make off with the Meridian.” Dead silence filled the air as the iral’s glare bore into Peters with such intensity that the junior officer wanted to flinch, though he somehow managed to maintain the iral’s gaze. After what seemed like an eternity, the grizzled man reached over with his right arm, pressed a few unseen buttons offscreen, and shifted his gaze slightly. Peters suspected the iral was silently reading a data file. “I see. That is… unfortunate, Commander. The situation is grave, and we are in desperate need of men with your former captain’s stature.” Nodding silently, Peters said nothing, allowing the iral to continue uninterrupted. “Sanctuary was just the beginning. Almost as soon as we received reports about the station, other troubling information began pouring in. Readings of activity just beyond our border with the insectoids. The whole length of the border is awash with buzzing, even areas that have traditionally been the quietest. We’ve doubled our border patrols, but they’re no match for a full-fledged invasion force. The bulk of our fleets have been mobilizing at strategic points deeper within friendly territory.”

Noting a pause in dialogue, Peters finally took the opportunity to speak, even if for just only a quick interjecting question. “Have they made a move, sir?” “Not yet. Not as far as we know. We’ve been losing with our border sensors. The cause is, as yet, unknown. They should have been able to detect hostiles long before they could be disabled, but the story has repeated itself half a dozen times over.” “We found Outpost 371. It looked like equipment had been removed.” “Removed?” the iral asked with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, sir, with a high level of precision. The habitation cylinder was largely intact, but the detection equipment was gone. We saw no evidence of combat.” “Heh…” The iral chuckled. “With the Meridian in the area, I’d hoped for answers, but now all I’m left with is more questions, questions which we will deal with another time.” The abrasive man paused, nodding to some unseen individual offscreen. “We are ing coordinates to you now. Rendezvous with my command ship, the HAS Hastings, for a full debriefing. It’s time we start putting the pieces together. Schilinton out.” “Not one for idle chatter, that one,” observed Gonzalez. “Debriefing with the iral. How exciting!” The sarcasm practically dripped from Peters’ mouth as Gonzalez punched in the newly provided coordinates and adjusted the ship’s course. “Oh, come on now,” cooed Gonzalez with her own distinct sense of sarcasm, putting her arm around him once more. “Will it weely be so bad? My poor wittle commander will just have to find some way to distract himself so that he can make it through all his tewwible twoubles.” “I think I can think of a way…”

CHAPTER 6

Knowing that it would be nearly a day before they reached the iral’s coordinates, the two humans took the fleeting opportunity for some much needed recreation. That it was mostly on the floor of the Meridian’s bridge was of little importance. They’d survived life and death, the near destruction of Sanctuary, stopped giant bugs from stealing their ship, and even managed to rescue a few refugees from the murderous, pillaging bands that roamed a desolate space station. It was time for a little fun. They deserved it. That’s what Peters said anyway, and Gonzalez felt no need to disagree. After their latest bout, she rested her head on his steady shoulder and leaned in for a kiss. She never made it. Without any warning, jarring pain seared through her entire body. It was like she had just hit her funny bone, twenty times worse and all over! Convulsing, she grasped for her head with one hand and clutched her stomach with the other. Peters grabbed on to her, trying to calm her jolting. “Angie, Angie, what is it? What’s wrong?” “It’s… like a thousand… needles… all over…” Already his free hand darted to and fro within the first aid kit nearby. He was instantly thankful they hadn’t bothered to unload their supplies properly after the trek on Sanctuary. Quite the opposite, they’d just tossed them haphazardly on the floor of the bridge. Angie’s influence, naturally. Finally, he found what he was looking for—a small syringe filled with a combination of morphine, a mild sedative, and nanobots, a concoction designed to scan for unknown injuries and boost the immune system at the same time. Searching for a good vein to use, he tried to reassure his companion. Her eyes straining and beginning to water, she bit her lip in an attempt to control the pain. He could tell she was using every ounce of her will to hold it together, though the impact it actually had on her spasming muscles was extremely limited. It was enough though. Moments after the injection, the rigid tension running throughout her small frame slowly began to relax. “Thanks… I owe you…” She wheezed.

“I’m getting you down to medical,” Peters announced as he enveloped the woman in a blanket and scooped her up. At that moment, a green light began flashing on the communications . Oh, for the love of… We don’t have time for this. With the ship still on autopilot, the pair made their way as fast as possible—still fairly slowly by any objective measure—down to the medical bay. Though she now claimed to be all right aside from a “tingling feeling,” Gonzalez could barely walk. After what seemed like an eternity, they made it to the med bay and were confronted by a very agitated Rilona. “So you got my message?” “What message?” “I rang the bridge ten minutes ago! Something is happening to Ing!” As if completely oblivious to the fact that the humans had their own plight with which to contend, the Hebroni charged across the room, her glossy ruby hair bouncing off her shoulders every step of the way as she burst through the intangible magnetic fields and into Ing’s chamber. The alien male was extremely pale and babbling incoherently, his head bobbing back and forth, eyes wide and sunken. Settling Gonzalez down on a lab table, Peters ignored the raging Hebroni woman and her unintelligible lover. He had more important things on his mind. The sounds Rilona uttered were relegated to mere background noise as he tuned out all he could, concentrating instead on finding out what was wrong with Angela and what he could do about it. “Are you even listening to me?” Rilona shrieked as she grabbed Peters by the cuff of his jacket. “Sit down NOW!” demanded Peters, shooting her a look sparking with intensity before going back to his lab work. For a moment, Rilona was speechless. She hadn’t expected such lip from a mere human man. “No. I will not. You listen to me, human. Ing is dying. You need to do something.” “The only thing I need to do is save her life. If you don’t like it, we can drop you two back on Sanctuary. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you. Otherwise, sit there and shut up.” He never looked back in her direction, choosing instead to pore over three med scan readouts at once.

“I…” This time, Rilona really was speechless. Though he’s just a human, he does hold the power here… at least for now… Instead of continuing a fruitless argument, the Hebroni woman turned and marched back to Ing’s bedside. Her husband was still babbling. Usually it was in Hebroni, but she occasionally caught words and phrases mixed in that were clearly Bilian and human. He always did have a fondness for multiculturalism. Mostly, his utterances sounded like little more than incoherent gobbledygook. As the woman gave way to depths of despair scarcely conceivable until now, she heard two words that shot through her like a laser. “I… need…” Those words she could understand. They were as clear as could be in their shared Hebroni tongue. “Yes, dear? What do you need? Whatever it is? Anything, I’ll get it for you.” And then there was a pause in the stammering. A brief break as Ing slowly turned his head, gazed deep into Rilona’s eyes, and opened his mouth to speak. “Yes, my dearest love?” the redhead asked with bated breath. “Nrgthylagrtymthggbterp…” Just like that, back to gibberish. Rilona’s heart sank as a fountain of tears welled up. She could do little more than lean in, rest her head against his chest, and sob. He smelled like he hadn’t cleaned in days, but soaking up his presence, she couldn’t have cared less. Just give me something. I’ll do anything. Help me understand, my love… Reaching out once again to touch the nearly telepathic bond they had once shared, she tried to connect with him on the mental-emotional plane. Words through this connection were rare. But feelings, images—sometimes still, sometimes moving—could be transferred between mated Hebroni. It was something of a fascination with the other races, though they could never experience it, even if mated with a Hebroni themselves. And then she felt something. It was very faint at first. Focusing all her concentration on it, she blocked out everything else. In time, the essence grew stronger. “Rilona? Is that you?” Words? Surprising, but a welcome nonetheless. She tried to respond the normal way, with pictures and emotions projected from

her mind into his, but instead she heard her own voice with perfect clarity. “Yes, dearest, I’m with you.” “How did you get here?” “I used our mated bond.” Again, as she tried to project images to display her thoughts and feelings, words themselves took shape. “Something is happening, I don’t understand what, but something is happening to you.” “Amazing. I never realized that we could… never mind. There is not much time left for me now.” “Don’t talk like that! We can help you, Ing. We can make you better again!” As if completely unaffected by his wife’s pleadings, the man continued, “There is something of great importance I must tell you.” “You need something. What is it that you need?” “There is… something… here… ship…” The sound of his voice started to crackle, fading in and out every other word. “Destroying… us…” A sudden image flashed between them, searing itself into Rilona’s mind before it vanished a millisecond later. He helped her see the image of a sparsely equipped research lab, with a glowing orb distinctly standing apart from everything. Its faint light seemed to bathe everything in a warm, welcoming glow. It was unlike anything Rilona had ever seen before. “What is it? What’s here? I don’t understand,” Rilona responded in despair. “You’re fading, Ing. Please… please don’t go. Come back to me.” “No… time. Rilona, I… love… you.” And then there was nothing. Just silence. The Hebroni woman pushed and probed, but all her efforts were in vain. After what seemed like hours, she slowly pulled back and opened her eyes. Ing lay perfectly still in his bed, eyes closed as if asleep. A quick check of the overhead monitors confirmed he had slipped into a comma. At least you’re able to rest now, my love. But what did he mean? There’s something here, and it’s killing us? The redhead quietly contemplated half a dozen ways she might find the true location of the mysterious orb-like device. Slowly backing out of the room, she regarded the humans. The man was still

sufficiently distracted, and the woman, strangely, was on a lab table and seemed incapacitated. Had she been like that when they’d arrived? Rilona couldn’t for sure, nor did she care. The duo hadn’t reset the locks or alarms on the doors when they’d arrived, which meant she could sneak out, an opportunity that was instantly seized. Humans, always so unperceptive. She chuckled, slipping away, entirely unnoticed. After swiftly walking down a corridor and jumping behind a corner, the Hebroni pulled out a small data pad, using it to access basic information about the ship’s layout. She’d swiped it as an afterthought when accessing Ing’s medical data earlier, just in case. Though foresight hadn’t been devoted to the particular task now at hand, her subterfuge had proved beneficial. Major onboard locations— the bridge, the shuttle bay, the med bay, crew quarters, and finally the research lab—were now known to her. Let’s see… on the other side of the ship, one deck down. Fortunately for Rilona, the Meridian was built to be fast and stealthy and, as such, was far smaller than a dreadnought. Traversing the length of the ship, from one wing to another, would take mere minutes.

The Hebroni woman had finally piped down, a reality for which Peters was infinitely grateful. His limited medical training meant that it required a great deal of concentration to make basic heads or tails of the data reads presently being spewed at him. Having an alien woman shrieking in the background made it all but impossible. He’d been so engrossed in his studies that the she’d almost slipped out of the med bay unnoticed. Almost. Distracted though he was, attention focused elsewhere though it was, years of intense training had refined the human’s senses. Where the Hebroni was going, he knew not, nor did he care. All of our important systems are restricted. More importantly, she can be tracked. With only a handful of crew, and all of them save Rilona in the med bay at the moment, using the ship’s internal sensors would make tracing her movements a piece of cake. Her sudden attempt at subtlety did seem a bit odd though. Gonzalez was sleeping, comfortably it seemed. Thank goodness for the small favors. The data reads made little sense. There were no signs of internal or external trauma. All her vital signs were normal. Nothing was out of the ordinary aside from an elevated heart and heightened adrenaline levels, both of which were also dropping steadily as if she’d just finished an intense workout. The important thing right now is that she isn’t feeling any pain and can rest. Having acquired a fresh supply of nanobots for injection at a moment’s notice, Peters turned his attention to the other patients, Ing and Batigh. The Asnolian had been surprisingly quiet since they’d left Sanctuary. After being shown to his temporary quarters in the med bay, he’d scarcely made any requests or said anything to anyone as far as Peters could tell. Occasionally, the Asnolian species would go into a kind of hibernation. They’d find a safe place and sit motionless for days at a time, usually after a lengthy period of extensive stress. Whereas most intelligent species required regular intervals of sleep every twenty-four-hour period to function properly, the Asnolian were able to remain active and fully functional for many days at a time. The flip side was that when they did eventually slow down and “sleep,” they could potentially remain in that dormant state for days. Peters had assumed this was one of those instances. A quick look at Batigh’s medical readouts confirmed this suspicion. The alien had received a number of injuries on Sanctuary, ranging in seriousness from minor to moderate. His body was using “sleep” time to recuperate.

Ing was also sleeping, or so it seemed. In a word, he looked terrible. The sheets up by his chest were still damp from Rilona’s tears. The alien’s face was almost completely white. His hair was noticeably thinning, and it looked like he’d lost twenty pounds in the last few hours. As Peters peered closer, he noticed thin dark lines crisscrossing the man’s hands and neck. Thinking they might be discolored veins, Peters reached down to check Ing’s pulse. What he found caused him to jump back in complete surprise. The dark lines were indeed where prominent veins should have been, but veins these were not. They were small hard, almost prickly, metal tubes, and they moved in response to his touch. The entire “tube” moved a good inch off to the side from wherever he’d applied pressure with his finger. Horrified, Peters lifted up the upper sheet that had concealed Ing’s side wound. There it was. Plain as day. A glob of black device residue had formed at the site of Ing’s infamous injection. The tubs, as there were now clearly more than one, extended a few inches out of the thick black goo and then plunged deep into Ing’s side. Slowly backing out of the room, Peters ed the nanobots. Fearing he’d been infected, the officer immediately ran a med scan on himself. None of those crazy bots on me. Thank God… Having used quarantine controls to instantly lock and seal Ing’s room, Peters turned his attention once more to Gonzalez. The woman still lay sleeping, her eyes fluttering slightly every once in a while as if she were dreaming, a faint smile forming across her lips. Whatever she’s dreaming about, it must be pleasant. That’s something good at least. Her heart rate and adrenaline levels had settled back to normal, as if she’d done nothing but lie down and take a quick nap. With the immediate situation handled, at least for now, the commander turned his attention to secondary matters. Now, where did that Hebroni run off to? Applying his senior officer override, he was quickly able to connect to bridge controls remotely. Conducting full bridge operations from this location would have been impossible, but he could at least see the sensor reads. Heat signature scans identified six distinct images on board. Six people on board? Peters had to do a double take before realizing that the orb was giving off its own small heat signature. It was enough that the computer thought it might be a baby Asnolian, or maybe a cat or something. Environmental controls could detect changes in air quality. Oxygen and carbon dioxide levels indicated only five living, breathing

individuals were on board. Four were in the med bay, though Ing was barely showing up. At this point, the orb was probably putting off a more convincing heat signature. And Rilona? She was making a beeline for something on the other side of the ship. Either she’s running to get away from the emotional roller coaster with Ing, which Peters doubted considering how subtly she’d tried to sneak out of the med bay, or she’s running toward something. There was a supply area in that part of the ship, just a few surplus medical components, spare mechanical parts, and… the orb? The room is sealed, but who knows if that crazed woman knows. For that matter, how could she even know about that beach ball of terror? There were no weapons stored in the area to which Rilona was headed, but Peters made sure he grabbed his personal pistol and set it to stun all the same. He didn’t consider the secretive Hebroni to be dangerous per se, but in her emotional state, some form of sedation might be necessary, especially if she was committed to sneaking all over the ship, intent on doing who knows what. Before heading out, he grabbed a small three-by-four-inch tablet and secured it to his jacket just above the left wrist. He could use the device to stay abreast of any sudden changes in Gonzalez’s condition. While he couldn’t track everyone on board with it simultaneously, the device could also be used to hone in on a single heat signature, Rilona’s, so he wouldn’t lose track of her either.

Rilona easily made her way through the ship and toward her target. With everyone else in the med bay, there was no risk of being spotted, which allowed for swift movement. Sliding down a deck to the storage room where the orb lay had been no trouble at all. The door was sealed, a minor inconvenience for someone with her skill set. Within seconds, her personal hacking device had breached the security protocols and unlocked the door. Humans. They spend all their resources on shiny new toys, big guns, and flashy ships, but always neglect cybersecurity. Even with her agent training, it would have taken time to by Hebroni encryption. Bilian, while technically doable, was even harder to crack. A faint hum and click confirmed the work was done. Slowly pushing the door open a crack, just enough for her slender frame to slide through, she was in. The room was small, not more than a ten-by-ten-foot square, and utterly plain. A few random tools and parts were scattered here and there. A large maintenance store was located on the far side of the room, which likely held a few more small gadgets. It didn’t look like anything had been disturbed in days, possibly weeks. There on the far side of the room, held in place by a corner wall on one side and a titanium widget on the other, the item the woman was looking for stared her right in the face. Its pale blue color obliviously engulfed much of the room. Letting the door quietly shut behind her, the alien slowly approached. Suddenly, doubt filled her mind as she came to the realization that she wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed. Okay, now that I’m here… what am I supposed to do with this thing? She cautiously moved toward the orb, not quite sure what to expect. Her target did nothing in response aside from continue on with its faint glow. It was a strange thing, this artifact, but it did have a certain appeal, something like a piece of art. Better than a piece of art though, for from it came a pleasant warmth, which seemed to fill the entire room. Rilona hadn’t noticed at first, but it became more evident with each step forward. The tension in her muscles slowly began to melt away. The worries of the recent past began to feel like a dream, and then a distant memory of a dream, all the while her senses heightened, in a rapidly rising crescendo. Wait… wasn’t I supposed to… It all began to fade as the device illuminated her in shimmering emerald light. There was nothing else now. Nothing but a petite ruby-headed woman and the glowing blue light that massaged her skin, emptied her thoughts, and penetrated her mind with memories of the happiest of moments. Moments…

with Ing! No… NO! I will not be deceived! Looking around the room frantically for a weapon, Rilona now recognized the danger.

The object of his chase had frozen in her tracks. Peters had expected her to grab whatever she was after and then attempt to stealthily slink back to the med bay. She had gone to a very specific storage room and then stopped. All indications were that she’d entered the room and then slowed, as if taking a pause, after which the woman had shuffled at a snail’s pace over to a particular area within the small chamber. A few feet from a corner, she had stopped entirely and just stood there. Peters wasn’t sure why, but he was about to find out. Having approached the door as silently as possible, he checked and found it unlocked. So our little alien refugee is more than she first appeared… After making a mental note to improve the Meridian’s cybersecurity at the next possible opportunity, Peters cracked open the door and took a peek inside. Rilona’s back was turned to him, though he could easily see that she held something in her hand. What do you have there, Rilona? Careful observation revealed it to be a glorified high-tech repair device that was, in all truthfulness, little more than a fancy, modern-day version of a primitive wrench. His curiosity sated, Peters silently slipped into the room. Pistol drawn, he aimed at the woman and announced his presence. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Rilona flew around, wrench still firmly in her grasp, and glared at the human with an icy stare. “Point that thing somewhere else, human. I’m saving my husband, and if you take so much as half a step to stop me, it will be the last move you ever make!” The intensity in her eyes told Peters the woman believed what she said, though there was little chance she would actually be able to enact the threat. All the same, the officer decided to play along. “And how are you going to do that, Rilona?” “I will destroy this… evil thing! It is a tool of pain!” she exclaimed. “How do you know it’s a tool of evil, Rilona?” “Ing told me in a dream. He said there was something on the ship that was killing him and then showed me this thing. I didn’t even know it was here until that moment! It’s making him sick. It’s destroying him.” She was ranting like a lunatic now. Peters let her continue, though he never loosened the grip on his pistol. “It tried to stop me, to distract me. But the bond between my husband and I is too. I’m too strong!” With that, the woman swung back around and whacked the orb with all her strength. The pleasant light faded for a mere moment. Then, as if defending itself, the artifact unleashed a flash of light energy, blasting the woman into the wall. Her sudden look of bewilderment turned to unhinged fury in little more than the blink of an eye as she lunged back at the artifact, beating it from every direction like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. Blasts of light, much like the first one, started shooting out in every direction. She got hit by a few here and there, but they seemed only to enhance her fury— not to mention her agility—as she was somehow able to dodge a few of the energy bolts. The orb, for its part, showed neither wear nor tear despite the woman’s primal rage. The storage room, on the other hand, had seen better days. The blasts were making the small compartment look more like a cratered moon landscape. Peters was thankful the damage was confined to a small area, but enough was enough. Carefully aiming his pistol at the crazed woman while she bobbed and weaved in her endless assault, he slowly pulled the trigger, hitting

her square in the back. The blast made solid , a hit that should have knocked her out cold. Stumbling forward, she paused and looked around as if only now realizing what she was doing. Wheeling around, she took one look at her assailant, while Peters increased the pistol’s power setting, and lunged at him with superhuman speed. Peters fired, but she dodged. She could not, however, dodge what happened next. Neither of them could. The pistol blast missed its intended target, hitting the orb behind, which responded in kind with a searing pulse of light energy that rocked the entire room, sending both humanoids flying against the wall and knocking them unconscious for a time. The wrench? Blown to bits. The pistol? Destroyed. Everything in the room small enough to hold was reduced to little more than rubble and dust.

Peters slowly came to. Rilona was still out cold as far as he could tell. It was impossible to say whether just a few seconds, a few hours, or even more time had ed. Regardless, Peters couldn’t get up. He could barely move, though he did hear the door swing open and see a dark shadow spring to life across the floor. The shadow’s source said nothing as it stood motionless, surveying the room before confidently striding toward the orb. The artifact’s light had dimmed somewhat since earlier. Even so, it seemed to shrink away even further as the newcomer approached. Stopping just a few feet away, the unknown guest appeared to regard the orb. Peters wasn’t sure who the recently arrived party could be. Have I lain unconscious on the floor for long? If so, it could be anyone. Even the iral himself. A low, animalistic growl slowly emanated from the visitor, a sound that told Peters if this were the iral, he had chosen the wrong career. “Ing?” The sound had caused the woman to stir. “Ing… I… I tried. I’m… sorry.” Barely able to lift his eyes, Peters saw Ing, or rather a creature that looked somewhat like Ing, lumber over to Rilona. That thing looks more like a ghost… “Ing… I tried to… to destroy it. It… blasted my… my weapon.” Rilona looked around helplessly. “I don’t… know what to… do. How to… destroy it… Nothing here can… break… it.” The creature stood there tall and silent for a moment, regarding his wife. Then in one fell swoop, he scooped her up off the floor. “Oh, Ing!” Rilona cried as she did what little she could to throw her arms around the man’s shoulders. Ing, for his part, barely blinked as he turned and pulled Rilona toward the artifact. “Ing, it’s… going to be… ouch… okay… we’re… we’re safe now… Ing… slow down… you’re… please… you’re hurting me…” The frail woman whimpered. Ing either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Having approached within a few feet of the artifact, he dropped his wife on the floor as if she were little more than a bag of garbage.

“Ouch… Ing… why are you… ? Look… at me. Please, my love.” Ing unleashed a hideous snarl. His devilish grin showed… fangs? That… can’t be good. The glint in its eyes betrayed the imposter. This thing, whatever it was, was not Ing. Maybe at one point it had been, but now the creature in front of Rilona looked far more like one of the beasts on Sanctuary than a Hebroni on the verge of death. Only now did Rilona finally see it too. The color instantly drained from her face as she shrieked in sheer horror. Her eyes raced around frantically, like a cornered animal that knew its time among the living was near the end. “Get away from me!” she cried, trying in vain to crawl backward, away from her assailant. Despite devoting what had to be all her strength to the task, she scarcely moved more than a few inches. Ing, witnessing his victim desperately trying to back away, cackled. Peters had heard a lot of threats made by a lot of different species in a lot of different languages—from Asnolian to Hebroni, Bilian to Fevros. Yet this sound trumped them all. What emanated from Ing’s throat was by far the most devilish and sadistic sound he’d ever heard. With little more than a moment’s pause, the creature reached down and picked up Rilona by the back of her head with a single hand. He held her level with his face, peering with his fierce beady eyes into hers. The woman tried to squirm, to look away, but could offer little meaningful resistance. The creature grinned, those hideous fangs showing themselves once more, before lifting her up and bashing her head into the orb. The impact, reinforced with strength far exceeding that of any normal Hebroni, was instantly fatal as poor Rilona’s head exploded like a melon, splattering blood and brain and bone every which way. The orb blasted a fresh shot of energy toward the monster in response, but it easily dodged as if it had been fully expecting the counterattack. For its part, the creature seemed disappointed that the orb was still intact, but ultimately unfazed. As goop slowly dripped off the artifact, the monster looked for another hard weapon. Spying Peters lying against the wall, the feral beast purposely sauntered toward him. Only a blast from a Fevros battle rifle hitting Ing square in the chest gave the creature pause. What the… Peters’ mind raced. Then he heard a familiar voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

CHAPTER 7

You need to get up… Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez… listen to me… It seemed like a whisper in the night, like a dream in her mind that slowly grew ever more persistent, ever more real. Gonzalez’s eyes fluttered. Slowly opening them, she had expected to see Peters at her bedside. Instead, she found herself alone in the Meridian’s med bay, stretched out on an examination table with only the low hum of sensor equipment to keep her company. As the woman worked to sit up, sharp pain served as reminder of recent events. Then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Replaced with a throbbing headache. Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez… get up… There was that voice again. She looked around for the source, growing more frantic and confused by the second. “Where are you? Show yourself!” she commanded, trying to sound surer of herself than she felt, talking into nothing as she was. The injured pilot did not have to feel foolish long. She felt it. Chaos. Conflict. Helplessness. Desperation. While still wondering where these emotions were coming from, a vision of the Meridian storage room flashed in her mind. She saw the blue alien artifact. Peters, Rilona, and… something else. Something was approaching from nearby, something that cast a dark shadow over everything, making it harder and harder to see. Chris and Rilona are in danger, and neither of them realizes it! Without a second thought, the woman jumped down from her examination table. Instant dizziness and nausea were her reward. Grasping the side of the table to keep balance, she willed herself to stand and was marginally successful. I can help… You must go… They will not last long. A mere fraction of a second after she heard the words, she regained her balance, while the nauseating feeling in her stomach was reduced from debilitating to

minor annoyance. Much to her astonishment, she found herself miraculously able to retain her posture even after letting go of the table, shuffling a few paces. Peters’ pistol isn’t lying out. He probably has it with him. Angela had hers, though if the entity was as strong as it felt in the vision, a pistol would do little good. She sprinted to the bridge, where the heavy weaponry still lay. Whatever this thing was, serious firepower would be needed. She just prayed the sixtysecond detour wouldn’t make her too late. Having grabbed a Fevros battle rifle, she raced to the storage room. Rounding the final corner, she heard a horrific shriek followed by a thud that seemed to echo through the entire ship. Then nothing. The source of the scream had been silenced. The door left open, Angela stepped in and was greeted with the sight of pink and red goop. The stench of death initiated an all-out assault on her nostrils. Peters lay against a wall to the side of the room, practically lifeless. The subtle widening of his eyes indicated that he was still conscious. But what is he staring at so intently? Angela redirected her gaze to the other side of the room. That’s when she saw it, the monstrosity from her vision personified. Its facial features loosely resembled that of a Hebroni—Ing maybe—but this thing was clearly not the sickly Hebroni man. Its hands were decked out with razor claws inches long. Unlike the frail Ing, this beast was bulging at the seams with muscle. Jagged fangs protruded from its mouth. Even the coppery-red skin tone had been exchanged for a sickening pus-like white. The creature’s eyes were bright yellow with a noticeable red hue. While she’d never taken the time to really study Ing’s eyes, these eyes were decidedly far more feral than of any species she’d had the misfortune of encountering. Just behind him, the lifeless body of Rilona, minus much of her head, had been carelessly dropped on the hard floor. Not taking any chances, Gonzalez turned her rifle to just below full strength. The maximum setting on this alien weapon was rumored to cause instantaneous vaporization. It also drained a substantial amount of energy from the rifle’s battery, so she stopped just short of that output level. The beast had already begun lumbering across the room toward Chris. With its attention focused elsewhere, she fired, scoring a direct hit. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Gonzalez’s strong feminine voice was unmistakable. Though Chris was unable to shift his gaze to see her, rarely had he been so relieved to hear his companion’s voice. Ing stumbled backward, clearly not expecting to be assailed by the unexpected visitor. The beast wheeled around to scowl at the newcomer. “That was a warning. This rifle’s stun setting,” she lied. “In the far corner, now, or you’ll see what max power feels like.” That part was no bluff. As she spoke, she turned the battle rifle to its maximum, never for an instant taking her eyes off the growling monster before her. In response, the beast howled angrily. Crouching, it leapt through the air, attempting a deadly pounce. The creature would have covered the distance in a single bound had Gonzalez not scored another direct hit. The impact stopped Ing midair, knocking him to the ground. A gaping wound of seared flesh smoked at point of impact. Yet the beast somehow slowly picked itself up. Severely hurt, but not down for the count. Angela watched in amazement as little strands of black seemed to appear out of nowhere, sewing together to rapidly mend the wound. The creature ignored the blackness as if it were the most normal thing in the world, while it stared down the only challenge to its supremacy. The beast attempted to dodge another shot from the rifle and succeeded in having only its forearm singed. Like the hole in his chest, the arm began repairing itself as the creature shuffled toward Gonzalez. Additional shots yielded the same result, as Gonzalez slowly stepped back. A quick glance at her weapon’s power gauge confirmed what she’d already suspected. Energy reserves were getting dangerously low. Switching back to her original setting, she unloaded the last of her shots. They did little more than slow Ing down. Subsequent shots from her sidearm proved to be even less effective. She wanted to run, but there was little doubt the animalistic beast, already nearly fully healed, could easily catch her if it wanted. As emotions of helplessness and desperation flooded her mind, she heard the voice. Not a hair on your head will be singed… A blinding flash of light erupted from the orb as if the sun itself had somehow been teleported into the heart of the room. Shielding her eyes, Angela heard a gruff roar of pain and a thud that seemed to shake the entire ship. The light’s

intensity quickly faded, though the entire room was still engulfed in greenish blue. Lowering her hands, she saw it. The orb itself was attacking Ing with some sort of energy blast. The monster was pinned against the wall opposite where Angela stood. The beast remained there, held by an ever-present beam, which grew in intensity every second. The beast howled in pain and struggled, but despite its enhanced physical form, it was unable to resist. Self-healing in overdrive, its body still couldn’t keep pace with the crippling damage it was receiving, and the beast was slowly, agonizingly vaporized into nothingness. As the final molecules dissipated, the energy projection likewise ceased, and the orb fell silent, slowly pulsing as if it had played no role in recent events. Gonzalez dove toward Peters, holding him in her arms. “Chris… can you hear me? It’s going to be all right.” “Uh… ngh…” “Stay with me. You’re going to be all right.” He will be all right, she heard the voice again. Looking around once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source, she saw a thin blue beam of energy shoot out from the orb and into Peters. In light of what had just happened to the monster, she instinctively wanted to pull him away. Instead she just sat there staring, completely dumbstruck. Right before her eyes, Peters’ wounds started to heal. Though still lying on the floor, his eyes began rapidly glancing all over the room. In his first move, he reached up and tightly hugged his companion. “So… I guess that means we’re even?” joked Gonzalez. “I guess so. I love you.” “I love you too, but seriously, we need to talk. You’ve got to stop running off alone and nearly getting killed. This is getting kind of ridiculous.” “On that, my dear, I couldn’t agree more. But how did… ?” Peters’ voice trailed off as he took stock of his injuries, or rather his former injuries. “It’s… the orb… somehow. It turned Ing to dust, and then it… healed you… I

think.” “Too strange…” “It spoke to me,” she interjected, the realization flooding over her only after the words had left her mouth. “It did what?” “There’s something really strange going on here. I know it sounds crazy, but it spoke to me in the med bay. It showed me you were in danger. I felt that monster, whatever that thing was. Ing? I saw it. I felt its presence halfway across the ship. The voice guided me here, and then I heard it again right before the contraption blasted the monster.” Looking down at her armaments, “The orb killed him, not this blaster,” she itted. “I heard it again right before it healed you.” “Will it talk to me?” “I… don’t know… Honestly I don’t know why it started talking to me.” Cautiously peering into the orb, Peters didn’t truly expect an answer but addressed the artifact anyway. “Hello. I am Commander Christopher Peters. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?” Silence filled the air. Turning to his companion, Chris gave a small shrug before jumping back in surprise as a clear, pleasant female voice filled the room. “Yes… Commander Christopher Peters… I can hear you.” The two humans looked at each other in shock; the voice continued. “I apologize for… the trouble I have caused. Regaining consciousness after so long in slumber… I was confused, instincts, autodefenses… The damage I have caused to you and your people fills me with the deepest of regrets. I now have full control over my faculties and will no longer cause suffering to you or the one called Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez… I will devote myself to rectifying the suffering I have caused.”

“Who are you?” Gonzalez gasped. “That will take a long while to explain, but if you are willing, I will do so. You may call me Gem.” The two humans nodded, though neither was certain Gem could perceive such a movement. “I am from a race belonging to a long-forgotten past. Far beyond thousands of the cycles you call years, my kind, the Py-Roxis, roamed free throughout the cosmos. We helped new species develop and grow. Galactic life flourished under our guidance. We assisted the many species of the galaxy, helping them overcome differences and resolve conflicts.” The voice seemed to take on a nostalgic tone. “It was a golden age of peace and prosperity, both for us and for all species. Symbiosis. Perfect harmony.” “You? Roamed the cosmos? How did you, ya know, get around exactly?” Gonzalez was skeptical. “The form currently visible before you is but a token, an embryonic shell. Selfdefense is a core instinct of all living things, is it not? I am a healer among my kind. Medical service is an honorable vocation, always held in high regard by my people. I suspect this is why those two capacities, defense and healing, manifested themselves so early, even before the return of sentience.” For their part, the two humans exchanged uncertain glances. Gem either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “This recent… incident… reactivated long-lost cognitive pathways. As you might say, ‘The shock woke me up.’ Other attributes that have not yet manifested themselves. Levitation and the ability to fluidly move through space are two such qualities. I am hopeful that given enough rest, these, too, will mature.” “Fair enough,” interjected Peters. “What happened to your people?” “Indeed.” Gem seemed to sigh sadly. “Some of my kind were unsatisfied. One of our strongest, Darius, yearned for more. ‘Why help the other creatures when we can control them, when we can dominate them as gods!’ he argued. His philosophy of selfishness and conquest drew many to his cause, though far more opposed him. We discussed, talked, debated for what you would call decades but

came to no consensus. We had organized for another series of intricate philosophical discussions on the topic when the attacks began. Over the years, the patience of Darius and his followers had grown far thinner, their capabilities far greater, and their intentions far darker than any of us had realized. The light of many Py-Roxis flickered out in those days.” “What happened to your people?” asked Peters, unable to hide his now increasing interest. “The War of Desolation raged for centuries. As our numbers dwindled, we had no choice but to call upon those we had just recently been weaning. Even then, they were divided between our warring factions. We promised peace. Darius and his followers promised glory, spoils, and power to every civilization of the galaxy that was willing and able to advance brutal war and further his cause. “It was discovered early on that in order for less evolved creatures to truly become effective against my kind, a small piece of essence must be transferred. It leaves my kind virtually unchanged, but has a substantial impact on the recipient.” “Your essence? What kind of transfer?” inquired Gonzalez. “We discovered the process largely by accident. Miniscule particles generate on the surface of our bodies and dissipate into the air, much like small amounts of sweat on yours. In trace amounts, the impact is so gradual that it would take years of direct for any change to be noticed. However, if exposure to a concentrated dose occurs, non–Py-Roxi creatures begin to experience exponential evolution. If nurtured, the volunteer becomes stronger, faster, and more agile, but most importantly more intelligent and clever. The most gifted had even begun to show signs of base telepathy and telekinesis, attributes we had thought unique to ourselves.” “And if it isn’t nurtured?” questioned Gonzalez, eyebrow raised. “If the process is rushed, if the living creature is not sheltered from aggression in the initial stages, the transformation still yields the physical manifestations, but the mind withers. The creature becomes a terror to its people, driven only by instinct and a yearning to destroy. Such creatures can be culled and controlled for a time, but the full descent into madness is inevitable. Darius needed soldiers, not thinkers. As we tried to lead the young civilizations of the galaxy to

transcendence, to elevate them as equals in our conflict against desolation, Darius bred an army of unquestioning warriors. Through submission to his will, he promised them freedom and spoils. He gave them slavery and depravity.” Both thinking the same thing, the two humans looked up to where Ing had been pinned against the wall moments before. “So… Ing was… what exactly?” “I know not the source of the transformation, but that creature, the aggressor, it bore the mark of Darius, but Darius has been silent ever since…” “If he has been silent… what happened to your kind, exactly? Why haven’t we heard of you before?” asked Peters. “The war raged for centuries. Slowly but surely, Darius’s control over his hordes waned. It was inevitable given the trauma they’d faced during conversion. His numbers beat us back, but was forced to enslave new populations just to have new fodder to hold his older, now uncontrollable brood in check.” “You’d think he would have noticed the flaw in his planning… ,” mused Peters. “Indeed. Darius always tended to focus on the short term. Perhaps he did not realize his folly. Perhaps he did not see his legion of primitive warriors as a threat. Perhaps he didn’t care. Either way, he found himself in a desperate war of attrition with his former military, even as those of us who opposed him were on our last legs. We made a stand on a planet we called Kirytbxl. His massive empire crumbling to bits from within, Darius poured considerable resources into liquidating Kirytbxl. I am certain he meant to wipe us out and then deal with the insurrections one planet at a time. “The battle itself swiftly turned to chaos. Darius personally led the brutal, vicious assault. Even against our seasoned forces and strong fortifications, his army seemed endless. Ten or more of his fell for every one of ours, and yet they kept coming. Even still, his forces were not unstoppable. As we were driven back and our strength began to wane, more and more of the enemy soldiers turned on each other as they descended into madness. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, viciously ripped into each other all across the planet. Darius had lost control even as he stood poised for final victory.

“He and his generals began blasting their former warrior slaves into nothingness, drawing more attention from the savage multitudes. For all their enhancements, Darius was still more powerful than his minions many times over. He could defeat tens, perhaps even hundreds, single-handedly but was now faced with thousands upon thousands. Not even he, the strongest of us, could stem the tsunami. I sensed his essence flickering away. “As we worked to fortify our feeble defenses, the onslaught began again. I saw my brothers and sisters fall. Every last one of them. Cornered and alone, I knew I couldn’t defeat the rampaging horde. I had but one hope. In desperation, I surged out all that I am in a healing wave, rippling energy across space in an attempt to cure all the unfortunate souls of their madness. I poured out my entire life force upon them, and then there was nothing.” “And yet, here you are,” stated Gonzalez, flatly. “I had thought the exercise would surely end my existence, and yet, though reduced to a subconscious state, I instantly felt that my life energy was not gone entirely. I could vaguely sense the ing of time. Like a blind-deaf creature drifting in and out of consciousness, powerless to interact with the outside world in any meaningful way, yet still alive all the same. My subconscious reached out, trying to make sense of this new world, to realize an understanding.” “What changed all of a sudden? Why are you now suddenly able to speak?” asked Peters. “The residue of Darius. Being engulfed in it was the last thing I sensed before the blackness. To sense it again, everything—memories of the war, despair at seeing entire worlds pillaged, their populations committed to desolation through blind greed or forced subjugation, watching the light of my people get snuffed out one by one—it jolted me like a nightmare might cause a young child to jump up and out of bed.” “Wait, so…” The mention of nightmares electrified a feeling that had been tugging at Gonzalez’s mind ever since Gem spoke her first words. “These premonitions I’ve been having. And the dreams feel so real, but then when I wake up, I can barely what happened, except for the emotions. The feelings are still fresh. They started right after we found you, so… ?” “You want to know where those premonitions come from?” guessed Gem.

“Truly, I cannot say with certainty, though the mental probing of even an unconscious Py-Roxi has been known to impact less advanced cerebral organisms.” Peters frowned in annoyance at hearing himself, indeed all humans, referred to as creatures with “less advanced” brains. As if detecting his annoyance, Gem instantly reacted. “No offense was intended, Commander Christopher Peters. Please allow me to offer a deep and sincere apology. I meant only that the mental physiology of my kind evolved along a path which heavily integrated what you would call telepathy and telekinesis. While evolved and advanced in many other ways, I am not currently aware of another galactic civilization of prominence that developed similar attributes of telepathy.” “Hmph,” grunted Peters, clearly still annoyed but unwilling to continue the subject. “You were saying? How have you been impacting Angie exactly?” “I cannot say with certainty that I have been. If any influence has occurred, it has been entirely accidental. Still, the possibility does exist. During the war, it was discovered that whenever one of my kind would go into a hibernative state, that individual’s personality would seep through and message the thoughts and feelings of those whose minds had evolved along a less telepathy-heavy path. A member of my kind with pacifist tendencies would cause those around to become less aggressive. Those with a great deal of pride would cause others to become more prideful. Those around Darius? Well, if he ever went into a hibernative state, I feel a great deal of sympathy for any such individual.” “You said you were an avatar of healing?” asked Gonzalez, though it was more of a statement. “That would explain a few things,” finished Peters, “but I haven’t been having strange dreams or getting visionary premonitions. Why is that? Not that I’m complaining.” He chuckled. “I am uncertain. Though we had theorized that the impact normally happened gradually, at least with what little we were able to observe. At first, we did not realize it was going on at all. Later, we did not have the time nor the resources to properly study the phenomenon.” “What about the other things? Needing less sleep and the heightened senses? I feel the best I’ve ever felt, well, except for a recent…” Gonzalez trailed off

before clenching her fists, shouting, “What about that? Is that you too?” Her emotions changed from curiosity to anger so rapidly, it surprised everyone in the room, but no one was more taken aback than she herself. “I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused, however unintentional,” expressed a submissive-sounding Gem. “If you have experienced any physical or mental abilities far exceeding your standard capabilities, then it is entirely likely that you may have been unduly influenced. I am truly sorry if this has happened or if you have experienced any uncomfortable side effects. I am not aware of any creature experiencing severe pain as a result of close proximity to a Py-Roxi in hibernation. Oh, what a little more time researching could have yielded! But alas…” Gem began to trail off. Then, as if realizing that there was still a conversation to be had, she started once again. “Please allow me to assure you both that I am now in full control of my faculties. You will experience no further discomfort, unusual dreams, or other strange abilities, benign or otherwise, on my . With your permission, I shall use my powers to shield you from injury and illness as my abilities allow in order to make amends. Of this, I give you my solemn oath as a Py-Roxi.” “Sure, whatever you say,” mumbled Peters, making no attempt to hide his disdain for the artifact. “Your kind… humans… are not easily trusting. I understand and accept this. I will submit to your authority as long as you consider it wise.” “Thank you, Gem,” replied Gonzalez, at this point not entirely sure what ought to be believed. “Yes, it would be wise to run some tests,” observed Peters, matter-of-factly. “Let’s get you to the med bay so we can run a few scans. You said you’d be able to move eventually. How long did you mean? Do you have the ability to move right now?” “Unfortunately I do not currently possess the strength to move on my own,” replied Gem sorrowfully. “But I can use my conscious mind to keep my instinctive defense mechanism toned down. Bringing your skin into with mine will no longer result in danger.” Despite Gem’s assurances, Peters gloved his hands and cautiously approached

the sentient object. As it had predicted, the man detected no heat. On the contrary, had the orb not just been speaking to him, he would have thought it nothing more than an oversized discolored crystal, the kind used by fortunetellers in the old stories. He carefully carried the Py-Roxi to the ship’s medical facility. As they approached their destination, Gem’s light flared up suddenly, though a thankful Peters still felt no heat. “What was that about?” demanded Gonzalez pointedly. “I thought you said there’d be no more unexpected outbursts?” “I do not mean to cause alarm, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez. I will not prevent you from treating me as you see fit. I detect a lingering presence. A faded memory, but I can still sense it. There is corruption in this place. It reeks of death and decay. It reminds me of a group of Irotu. They were a civilization—one of the first to Darius in his schemes. They inevitably succumbed to the madness. All too late a group of Irotu fled to us, begging that we purge the poison afflicting their minds, a disease they’d freely accepted from Darius and his ilk. This was our first true realization that prolonged, direct exposure with Py-Roxis could have a detrimental impact on other civilizations. Try as we might, even our most gifted physical healers were powerless to stop the spread of the corruption once it had reached the levels found in those Irotu.” “And you sense it, this corruption, here?” probed Gonzalez. “It lingers here,” confirmed Gem. “But it permeates distinctly from a single room.” Gem’s light seemed to pulse in a flowing pattern indicative of the direction she was referencing. There was no mistake. It was the room that had housed Ing not long ago, the door now mangled and broken in pieces as if the former occupant had opted for brutally assaulting it over merely turning the door handle. And there I’d lain, unconscious on a table. If he’d had half a mind, he could have… Gonzalez shuddered “Is there any danger?” asked Peters, only half believing the orb but curious as to what it would say all the same. “That is impossible to say with certainty, Commander Christopher Peters, but I do not believe so. The echoing essence of the creature appears to be weakening quickly over time.” Silently, Gonzalez coolly strode over to one of the med stations and punched a

few buttons. Readouts analyzing the magnetic field surrounding Ing’s former habitat suddenly flooded the screen. Zooming in on miniscule objects, far too small to see with the naked eye, the woman squinted, frowning. Taking his eyes off Gem for the first time since the object had spoken, Peters slowly walked over to his companion and spoke in a low, soft voice so as not to be overheard. “What is it, Angie?” Without looking up, Angela responded in a similarly hushed tone, “ those weird nanobots? They suddenly went inactive. At least the ones that were caught in the barrier. And look at their numbers! Either they suddenly became much more jump happy or…” “They replicated a thousand times in the last few hours…” He instantly initiated a scan to check the rest of the med bay. It confirmed nanobots had infiltrated the airspace of the med bay and possibly beyond. Though their numbers were nothing compared with that of Ing’s room, the truth was obvious. They had been attempting to spread. “Gem, change of plans. We’re going to hold off on those tests for a short while.” “As you wish. Have I done something wrong?” the orb asked, its voice filled with concern. “No… it isn’t that. It’s about what you said. Some children come up with a new dream for their life every other week. Me? I’ve always wanted to fly in space and discover the unknown. I was never the best student, but I worked my ass off and got accepted into the officer corps of the academy. I’ve spent years learning and exploring the unknown, being a pioneer in a sense, but I’ve never, not once, ever come across something like what you’ve described. That being what it is, I’ve been around long enough to know not to take any chances with the unknown. So this corruption you mentioned? It may not be dangerous. Hell, it probably isn’t dangerous, but I’m not taking any unnecessary risks. We have some security, medical quarantine equipment on board. We’re going to see if we can purge this… substance that you’re detecting.” “A wise course of action,” Gem sounded her approval with understanding and agreement. As Peters reached out and picked up the orb, it showed no sense of uneasiness. “Where shall I lie until you have need of me?”

“Do you have any comfort needs or nutritional requirements?” probed Gonzalez. “Fortunately, I need very little to survive comfortably. Any room with a view of the great starry expanse would be ideal.” “One of the unoccupied crew quarters should do then,” stated Gonzalez matterof-factly. “God knows it won’t be in use for a while.” Then, turning to Peters, “Unit 2C I think is the one with the window.” “That sounds right. Think you can hold yourself in position, or should I wedge some things around so you don’t go rolling away?” Peters chuckled. “I believe I can succeed in maintaining self-stability as long as we do not initiate sudden extreme maneuvers,” responded Gem in a flat tone. She either had missed the joke entirely or was beginning to develop a preference toward dry sarcasm. As the pair headed for the crew deck, Gonzalez checked Batigh’s room. It appeared to be virtually free of the nanobots. Ing had little reason to enter the Asnolian’s room. The alien would likely be out cold for another day or two, so the lieutenant quietly sealed his room with a magnetic field to protect against nanobot incursions and then headed for the bridge. Once there, she used command controls to seal the med bay as a whole. Finally, she was ready to begin the purge. With the exception of Batigh’s room, she used microwave, ultraviolet, and high-frequency electromagnetic pulses to liquidate all living airborne material. While this method would not typically cause longterm injury to larger organisms, it could still lead to short-term discomfort and illness. After purging the rest of the room, she turned the irradiation system down to a lower, less harmful setting and irradiated Batigh’s room as well, just in case. A follow-up scan detected no active nanobots. As an extra precaution, Gonzalez initiated a venting protocol. The air in the med bay was efficiently pumped out of the room and, within a few moments, out of the ship. All the while, new, fresh air was pumped in. In the old days, this would have been a dangerous procedure for anyone in the medical center. Fortunately, necessity-driven technology had come a long way over the years. Aside from a slight change in air pressure and a sound similar to that of a high-powered vacuum, residents of the infirmary would scarcely notice the difference. A postventing scan of the room reaffirmed what she’d hoped. No nanobots remained. So far, so good.

Given this success, she began systematically sealing, purging, and venting every corridor on the decks where Ing had traveled. Peters hadn’t asked for this additional safety precaution; he didn’t need to. With this second phase complete, she began doing the same with all other parts of the ship, taking care not to affect any room that contained or would momentarily contain her companions. All purged and vented sections of the ship had a confirmed absence of the little mechanical bugs, at least as far as the ship’s internal sensors could tell. As Gonzalez prepared to purge the cargo room, she hesitated for a moment as a new idea entered her brain. Should we try to contain some of the nanobots for future study? Pondering the question for a moment, her mind was made up. No, she thought, shaking her head, too dangerous. Within seconds the door to the cargo hold opened, venting the air and everything floating within it into space.

CHAPTER 8

It wasn’t long before Peters returned to the bridge. Gem had been fully compliant during the move to her new quarters. She’d even regaled him with a brief lesson on Py-Roxi history prior to the conflict with Darius. The man found the stories interesting, though he couldn’t quite tell how much, if any, was true. It all seemed so far-fetched. Yet Gem spoke with the confidence and authority of one who had either experienced the events firsthand or spent a lot of time memorizing made-up stories. Peters wasn’t entirely sure which was more probable. According to the orb, the Py-Roxis had been the first truly advanced creatures in the galaxy, the dominant species of their time. Their hard crystalline surface protected an intricate array of fused crystals and electrical transmitters a thousand times more complex than even the most advanced computer Hebroni science could. It was through this “brain” that the Py-Roxi developed their psychic abilities. They interacted with the world through energy, from the healing kind to far more destructive varieties. Manipulating energy allowed them to interact with the physical world as easily as a human might with hands or legs. Over time, the Py-Roxis developed advanced genetic engineering techniques. Projecting evolutionary trends, they had attempted to “speed nature along” by artificially instigating certain mutations. Peters was no scientist and wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but something about it rubbed him the wrong way. Gem glossed over the details without pause, focusing only on a few notable successes. The Asnolian, according to the orb, had been an experiment in the creation of simplistic living cells using inorganic amino acids, proteins, and enzymes. Left to develop on their own for thousands of years after the fall of Gem’s people, they had evolved from small jellyfish-like creatures no bigger than a human hand to their current condition. Gem surmised that given their rapid rate of evolution, a few thousand years more would yield the unquestionable age of Asnolian dominance throughout the galaxy. That can’t possibly be true. It seems so absurd… though it would explain why Asnolian physiology is so different from every other intelligent species in the galaxy…

The Hebroni, Bilians, Fevros, and a handful of others—the names of which Peters didn’t recognize—had been touched by the Py-Roxis. Even Earth itself had garnered a few visits. Early humans, it seemed, had generated particular fascination among the orb people. Unlike most races, humanity had developed biologically in such a way that the mind rather than physical attributes (like hard shells or razor claws) served as the key to survival. No other species known to the Py-Roxi had developed in such a way, save the Hebroni themselves. The latter had been discovered much earlier, and as such, it was impossible to tell how much of their development was the result of their own genetics and how much was due to Py-Roxi interference. Humans, or so Gem claimed, had evolved with relatively little outside interference. By the time the orbs had expanded to what were now the Alliance’s home sectors, humanity had already begun developing simple tools. While discussions were under way among the Py-Roxi to determine whether or not to give mankind the secret of agriculture—the basis on which all complex societies rest—humans discovered basic farming on their own. Is any of this true… , Peters wondered silently, or is she just complimenting my human ancestors to flatter her way to my trust? In the end, the story of the Py-Roxi was tragic. It reminded Peters of more than a dozen stories from human history. It was a story of accomplishment and great achievement, a golden era followed by jealousy, infighting, and then the inevitable backstabbing and conflict. In the end, it wasn’t war that ended PyRoxi society. It was pride. How little things have changed… Upon settling in on the bridge, the commander shared a summarized version of Gem’s stories with his shipmate. It was plain as day; she wasn’t sure if she believed any of it either. A lost civilization from thousands of years ago with a hand in the development of virtually every major species in the galaxy? It seemed much too far-fetched to be believed, yet something within her yearned to soak up Gem’s words like a sponge. “I think we should call it a night. You don’t want to fall asleep in the debriefing, after all.” She smiled, slowly rising from her chair. “I don’t know. Sleeping through it sounds like a far more productive option. It certainly would make the time go by faster… ,” grumbled Peters.

“Poor baby,” mocked Gonzalez loudly as she entered the lift. The elevator doors shut swiftly before Peters had a chance to respond. Instead of heading straight to her quarters though, she decided to make a quick pit stop and see Gem one-onone. She had questions, and those questions needed answers. Gonzalez wasn’t sure what was worse, the strange powers she had somehow absorbed or her inexplicably calm indifference to a situation she knew should have scared her to death.

“Why have you been beaming crazy dreams into my head?” Gonzalez demanded as she barged into Gem’s new quarters. “I am not sure that I understand,” responded the orb with a hint of surprise and concern. “It’s the same thing every time. A forest, a crazy dance, and a bathing royal blue light that engulfs everything. A light just like yours. Then suddenly it all stops,” the woman accused pointedly. “I feel waves of emotions that are all-consuming, but they aren’t mine. I know they aren’t. Then I wake up in a cold sweat as if I’d just had the sparring match of a lifetime. I want to know why!” “While I cannot say with certainty that I am the source, I apologize for any inconvenience you have experienced. It is possible—nay, entirely likely that my subconscious has been trying to send out snippets of information in an attempt to make a connection with the larger world. Such events are not unheard of. It has been our observation that in such cases, the most prominent aspects of the PyRoxi’s personality, along with some memories, would merge with memories and experiences of another species to create visions. I am uncertain with regard to the forest dance of which you spoke, though such visions are often distortions of ancient memories. Did many species take part in the festivities in your vision?” “You could say that,” replied the woman dryly. “I suspect that what you saw was a manifestation of very old recollections, those of bringing multiple races together in harmonious life, even those who had especially long-standing conflicts prior. Those moments were among my proudest. It is logical they would be among the first projected by my subconscious. You should no longer have these visions, at least not on my . I am thankful that I once more have full control of my consciousness. Despite this new reality, your subconscious may still contain dream echoes. For most species, those fade quickly.” “Uh-huh,” responded Gonzalez, not at all feeling reassured. “I am curious,” continued Gem after a moment’s pause. “Have you experienced any other ramifications?”

“Like what? Should I be expecting tail or something?” his company retorted. “I assure you, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez, if you should sprout a tail, it will not be on my . If such an event occurs, I do suggest making the commander aware. I suspect that is something which would concern him,” Gem responded. The human’s mouth shot open to respond, then paused after realizing that she was unable to determine if Gem was being sarcastic or just stating the facts as she saw them. “What ramifications should I be on the lookout for, Gem? Anything I should be concerned with?” “Nothing of the sort. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was rumored that under circumstances similar to those you’ve described, certain abilities would manifest themselves. I was a paragon of peace and healing amongst my people. Perhaps… have you found yourself more readily able to persuade parties involved in conflict to set aside their differences?” “Me? Diplomatic?” Gonzalez chuckled. “You’re funny, Gem.” “I am pleased you found my question amusing, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez, but I am still curious as to the answer.” Gem did not comprehend the humor in this exchange. “I can’t say that I feel any more persuasive or diplomatic, honestly. The only thing I’ve really noticed is that my sleep pattern is way out of whack.” “What do you mean?” inquired Gem with a hint of concern in her otherwise monotone voice. “I’ve noticed that I can go a lot longer without sleep, like, substantially. Nearly twenty-four hours in some cases. I feel completely fine—hell, I feel more alert with just a few hours of sleep these days than I used to with nearly eight. What do you think? Is that another side effect?” questioned the lieutenant. “Though it is expected that the effects will vary from species to species, I believe the probability of a connection is high.” Seeing that she was clearly not going to get a definitive answer, Gonzalez decided to switch gears. “So I’ve been dying to ask you something, Gem,” she began.

“There is no need to place your well-being in jeopardy. Please, go ahead. I will do my very best to answer your inquiry.” “Why me?” “Why you, what?” replied an uncertain Py-Roxi. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that no one else has been… infected. But there are other people on this ship. Why am I the only one who has noticed the proximity effects of having you around?” “That is a most curious question. It is difficult to say with certainty. Think back to the moment I was first brought on board. At what point did you first have the dream?” “I… I woke up on the floor, in a hallway on the Meridian. I… had just fought a Fevros shock trooper. My injuries from the fight, I thought I was going to die. Then I slipped into sleep… into that dream. That was… the first time I ever had it. It must have been!” the woman recalled. “Intriguing.” Gem sounded genuinely interested for the first time. “What of your wounds afterward?” “They were… healed?” Gonzalez responded with sudden realization. “And Chris! I found him as close to death as I’ve ever seen a man. I thought he was a goner for sure. I clung to him. You can’t imagine; I’ve never felt so alone, so desperate.” The feelings of that moment started pouring out a little more with every word she breathed. “Out of nowhere this feeling of peace swept over me and then? Then he was alive, practically as good as new. It was a miracle! . . . Or maybe…” The pieces were coming together. “The telltale signs of transference,” Gem declared. “I believe we have confirmed ramifications.” “Yes, I suppose we have… but that still doesn’t explain why me and nobody else.” “Indeed. This may have been the first substantive manifestation of the effects. The connection must have occurred prior, though likely not long before the episode you described. Do you what was happening shortly before

your fight with the Fevros soldier?” “I was in the med bay. I’d been out for a while, injuries from a previous bug encounter. When I… suddenly woke up and felt a compelling urge to get a move on. The ship had been seized, but I had no way of knowing that at the time. I just knew something was wrong and I needed to move.” “That may be the answer to your original inquiry, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez,” Gem advised. “It is highly probable that the unconscious state of humanoids is akin to the meditative state of certain species in my time. A bond between a species in such a state and a Py-Roxi would be much more easily forged under those conditions. If my assertion is accurate, it is likely that this is the reason for such rapid, early manifestations.” “What about the captain? Why couldn’t I bring him back?” the lieutenant demanded an explanation. “Not even I can bring the dead back to life. If not for this deficiency, my family, my friends, and countless innocents across a million worlds would be more than mere memories today. All those caught up in Darius’s vengeance…” “I’m… sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Gonzalez apologized. “It is quite all right, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez. Though the sharp clarity of those memories is with me even today, the events transpired long ago. Thousands of years before your kind ever ventured into space. You have nothing for which to be sorry.” “Still… I’m sorry for your loss. The thought of it… it’s tragic.” “Yes…” Gem sighed. “But we are still alive. You, and I, the commander Christopher Peters, and countless others. A few managed to escape the clutches of Darius, and once again life flourishes throughout the galaxy. That is a victory itself.” “I suppose you’re right, Gem.” For a long moment, silence permeated the room as the full weight of the discussion slowly sank in. It was Gonzalez who broke the silence. “Say, Gem? Do you think the others will get these abilities too? Eventually?”

“It is possible, but now that I am in full control of my faculties, the process will all but cease unless such a connection is actively pursued by both parties. I must recommend against proceeding. We have no idea what the long-term effects will be on individuals of your species. You revived Commander Christopher Peters, yes, but you have also suffered unfortunate side effects. While the adverse results should rapidly subside going forward, it is impossible to know what other conditions may manifest. I regret that you have been placed in the current predicament.” Gonzalez had been thinking much the same thing about the strange alien’s influence. Still, the thought of being part supernatural and then losing it all tugged on her emotions in an inexplicable way that bordered on loneliness. “You know, I was just thinking that if I could learn to control these healing abilities… do you think I could I use them and manage to avoid those ‘adverse conditions’ you mentioned? If my entire soul catches fire again, I think I might just die!” “An intriguing prospect, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez! Surely a possibility exists.” “Will you teach me? Ill effects or not, it doesn’t make sense that this gift go to waste.” “I will do my very best, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez, though please be aware that any benefits you receive will fade if we are apart for an extended period.” “I understand. Now, let’s hash this out.” “The key to training your healing technique can be discovered by considering the situation in which they first manifested. You felt that the commander Christopher Peters was dying?” “I have never felt so helplessly alone,” whispered Gonzalez. “That may be the key.” “Feeling alone and helpless?” Gonzalez was shocked. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. What you felt was strong. There is power in emotions. This power, it’s something my people called Viraw.”

“Viraw?” “Yes, Viraw. Viraw gives all sentient beings strength to continue forward even when they know logically that all is lost. When my species was at its most desperate hour, it was Viraw that urged us forward to keep fighting against Darius and his friends, no matter the cost.” “And you think this Viraw is the key to controlling my healing abilities?” “It seems the most likely catalyst, given recent events. Mastering the ability to recall these healing abilities will still take practice and a great effort, however. Accessing them will be the first step in training.” “I’d like to give a go at it now, if you are willing to help me, Gem.” “Try to recall a powerful memory.” The orb wasted no time. “One that stirs up your emotions. It does not matter what emotion as long as you feel it deeply.” Taking a deep breath, the human woman closed her eyes and dug deep into some of her oldest memories—as a lone child back on Earth, playing with her cousins, her parents within earshot. It was a pleasant memory. She hadn’t seen any of them in years, and as the officer focused, she realized that she missed them deeply. As emotions began flowing through her and she began to feel a slight tingling sensation, the lieutenant opened her eyes and cried with delight. A faint greenish blue hue had enveloped her right hand down to the elbow. It encased her forearm like a silk glove that felt pleasantly cool to the touch while faint crackles of energy popped in the air every few moments. “Aha! There it is!” Gem sounded almost gleeful. “The first step toward controlling your abilities, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez,” she pronounced. Was that pride in her voice? Gonzalez was so pleased with herself, she didn’t care. “Now,” Gem continued, “shall we experiment with telepathy, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez?”

CHAPTER 9

Commander Peters was not looking forward to this. One of the perks, he had always told himself, of being first officer of the Meridian was that he was in on most of the high-level, classified mission briefs with Barinton but got to avoid all the mind-numbingly boring meetings and bureaucratic bullshit. Fearing on the one hand that he may have to become accustomed to this unfortunate reality and dreading on the other the prospect of serving under a captain far less capable than Barinton, the officer sat, impatiently tapping his index finger absentmindedly on the long side of a small wooden table. The impatient iral had insisted that Peters see him right away. Fortunately, he’d barely noticed Gonzalez, which meant the lieutenant could attend to far more solemn matters, specifically the transfer of Barinton and the rest of the slain crew to the Hastings. At least they’ll each get a proper funeral now, back on Earth. I can give you that, old friend… There were several chairs situated carefully in the chamber with enough room for several high-ranking officials to sit and converse comfortably. The fauxleather chairs, while not real material, felt incredibly comfortable especially in comparison to standard furnishings of most other ships. Though he would always love the Meridian, Peters made a mental note to look into seamless comfort upgrades should the opportunity arise. Even the ornamented, rich mahogany table, fake though it was, looked surprisingly convincing. Must be one of the perks of being in Fleet Command… Another perk? Not having to be on time, evidently. After getting an earful about respecting authority and efficiency of operation from one of the iral’s subordinates on of the Meridian arriving slightly behind schedule, Peters had briskly proceeded as requested to one of the Hastings’ small debriefing chambers. The dreadnought had several such rooms, along with more substantial arenas for large-scale meetings. The ship itself easily eclipsed in size and armaments and outclassed just about all other capital ships in the Alliance fleet, save for just a handful of other similarly styled command vessels. As his time in solitary approached forty-five minutes, the commander slowly

rose with the idea of making a getaway. He’d check with the secretary and, if luck were on his side, would be informed that something important had come up, forcing the iral to cancel this meaningless exercise in the proper way to waste time. Much to his disappointment, this fantasy was not to be realized. No sooner had he risen from his chair than the door on the other side of the room flew open, and in strode a particularly grizzled, severe-looking iral. Peters, attempting to cover up his recent escape attempt, tried to off his standing position as a sign of respect—something one might do when a judge or someone held in high esteem enters a room. Holding his hand out toward the iral, he hoped that the room’s new occupant would respond favorably to the handshake invitation. No such luck. iral Schilinton walked smartly and with military efficiency to the seat opposite Peters and sat down without so much as a “how do you do.” The commander slowly withdrew his arm. This meeting is going to be all business, the commander lamented with a mental sigh. The slight bags under the iral’s eyes gave indication that he had not been sleeping well recently. Maybe the meeting will be so boring he’ll be the one falling asleep… “Well, son,” the iral began, entirely oblivious, “why don’t you sit down. I have a feeling we’re going to be here for a while.” That’s what I was afraid of…

“So this… thing… claims to be an as yet undiscovered life-form?” iral Schilinton asked skeptically after nearly two hours of debriefing. “Yes, sir. That is what it claims to be. I can’t say I’m convinced, though it has taken no hostile acts since its consciousness became evident.” “Uh-huh.” “In any case”—Peters frowned—“I’ve never heard of anything like it.” “Could it be some kind of weapon?” “Our scans did not pick up any material inside the object to indicate such, though we were able to confirm an internal structure made up of highly intricate crystalline structures which, according to the creature, serve as its brain. There’s massive processing power there, potentially more than in an entire ship!” “Maybe in your entire ship,” the iral spat. “But perhaps you’re right. It does seem wasteful to package a bomb around a supercomputer. Even so, until we know for certain, this device is to be considered armed and dangerous. Our labs and personnel on the Hastings are far better equipped to deal with this thing than you. Prep your ship for a company of marines. They’ll be along to secure the orb shortly.” “Sir?” asked Peters in surprise. “I’m not taking any chances. Not with the Fevros and not with this artifact of theirs. It’s to be under lock and key until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Some of my best scientists will be along shortly with heavy-duty equipment, far more advanced and precise than the standard issue you’re carrying.” “What of the influence the artifact alluded to? Are you sure this is wise?” warned Peters. “You don’t seem any worse for wear, Commander,” the iral pointed out dismissively. “Besides, if it makes any aggressive movement, that’ll be the last thing it ever does. My commandos know what to do.”

“Understood, sir.” “One last thing, Commander.” “Yes, sir?” “Be sure the Meridian is cleaned up. I’m going to oversee the transfer personally.” “I… ,” Peters started but then thought better of it. “Very well, sir. It will be done.” “Good, see that it is. Now”—the iral flippantly motioned toward the door with his worn, stubby fingers—“you’re dismissed.” As if on cue, a thin electronic device in the iral’s left breast pocket began to vibrate—his personal terminal, used for nonholographic communication as well as storing data. He whipped it out and began hastily tapping at the controls, paying his subordinate no further mind. Relieved, Commander Peters arose and walked out as quickly as he dared. As the doors whisked shut behind him, he let out the heavy sigh he’d been holding in since the moment the iral had appeared. And with that, he made haste for his ship in order to prep for what was to come. Might as well get this over with…

CHAPTER 10

“What did he say about Sanctuary? Who is Captain Caelon?” demanded Gonzalez, eager for new insight the instant she and Peters rendezvoused back on the Meridian bridge. “He said he’s never heard of the man.” “Maybe Caelon is an alias?” “Maybe. But how did he get that kind of personnel backing him, not to mention all the equipment Rilona described?” “He’s obviously the wealthiest, most well-connected con man in the galaxy!” She grinned. “A sadistic James Bond? That’d make one hell of a movie… but who plays the British government in this little play?” “When we find 007, we find the British government. Besides… I’ve always wanted to visit London,” joked Gonzalez, making giant doe eyes as she scooted over and sat down on her commander’s lap. “When this is all over, maybe we can take a trip,” he agreed, squeezing her close. “We’ve got to have some shore leave coming to us.” For her part, Gonzalez looked up into her lover’s eyes. Smiling sweetly, “You read my mind.” “And here I thought you were the one with blossoming psychic abilities?” he teased. “Be careful,” she warned playfully. “I have Gem’s powers now. Cross me and I just might blast you into monster dust!” “Nah, you won’t do that.”

“Oh? You don’t think so?” Gonzalez pulled away, crossing her arms in playful indignation. “Nah, you can’t afford to.” He dismissed her nonchalantly. “And why is that?” “I bring way too much class to the table. I mean, seriously.” He flashed one of his cheesiest smiles. “Oh, brother… That’s rich, Commander.” “I just call it like I see it.” As she was about to offer another even more sarcastic reply, a chime sounded from a nearby terminal, bringing their conversation to an unexpected halt. The chirp confirmed that a shuttle overflowing with marines had docked and was waiting permission to board. “Duty calls.” Peters sighed dejectedly. “Get moving, sir,” she encouraged, getting up herself and heading slowly toward the lift. “Besides,” she called over her shoulder, “our visitors could use a touch of much needed class.” Grunting in annoyance, the commander pushed himself up and out of his chair to follow the petite brunette.

Though not entirely surprising, the marines operated with almost inhuman military-like efficiency. They’re all amiable enough I suppose, thought Peters. Alliance marines had a reputation for being all business and not particularly personable, even among men and women in the other branches of service. For his part, Peters was happy he’d spent most of his career aboard frigates like the Meridian. Crews on those ships were smaller, almost like family with each other. Even the handful of marines that occasionally frequented the Meridian now and again typically dropped their dour demeanor in a matter of days. These security troops were loaded to the teeth with weapons, impressive even by marine standards. It was clear by their insignia that these were decorated Alliance commandos, the best on the Hastings’ and essentially iral Schilinton’s elite personal guard. Even Gonzalez, who was never much for military bluster, was impressed by the efficiency with which the soldiers operated as they set up a seemingly impenetrable perimeter around the med bay, Gem’s current home. There were about two dozen commandos in total, and nothing was interfering with the transfer. While most of the work would be done back on the Hastings, they had brought with them some smaller piece of equipment to take measure of any radioactive, chemical, or biological hazards emanating from Gem. When activated, they seemed to emit a faint hum that permeated the entire deck. It reminded Gonzalez of the sound the engine made when the ship pushed to FTL, though that sound was far more pleasant, almost nurturing like a mother’s lullaby. The sound these machines made was annoying, almost hostile—like a lone mosquito buzzing near the ears. Gonzalez had briefed Gem ahead of time, just to ensure there were no surprises on either side. She’d acquiesced easily enough. For an alien entity thousands of years old, she’s surprisingly easygoing, the lieutenant mused before fearing that she may have inadvertently transmitted the observation over their burgeoning telepathic link. If she had projected, the Py-Roxi gave no indication of it. If the situation were reversed, Gonzalez couldn’t guarantee she’d be nearly as open about getting poked and prodded by a bunch of strangers. Before the perimeter was fully in place, she had implored Gem one final time to answer any questions asked of her with honesty and to have patience with the regiment of tests—as if she ever exhibited anything other than tireless patience. Then she bid farewell,

heading out the door with the intention of getting as far away from that annoying hum as possible. She thought the orb had wished her farewell, though none of the nearby marines reacted in the slightest. With her mind on her home—the cockpit of the Meridian—her pace quickened to something only slightly less brisk than a jog. Rounding a corner, she bumped unexpectedly headlong into a less-than-familiar man. Barrel-chested and with a grizzled beard, he outmatched her in height by a foot and in age by at least double. The man scowled angrily as she swiftly moved to the side and let him . The iral? His gruff barking command to “watch where she was going” all but confirmed the woman’s suspicion. That was not a voice one could easily forget. He must be in a hurry. I didn’t think he’d be here for another hour or two. Gonzalez made her way to the bridge with no further incidents. She’d hoped to find Peters there. With any luck, they could hide out together on the bridge until it was all over. No such luck, at least not for now. Alone, she sat in her usual spot, gazing out at the vast expanse of stars laid out before her. Gradually, her eyes wandered, eventually coming to rest on a small portion of the Hastings’ hulking mass visible from her vantage point. The battleship came fully loaded with heavy, reinforced armor. Its shields had shields, and those shields may have even had shields of their own for all she knew. That wouldn’t be one bit surprising. Bristling with weapons, it was a sight to behold. And yet Gonzalez much preferred her own ship. The Meridian was quick and agile. It could go in, engage, and get out without attracting the attention that inevitably accompanied the Hastings and other capital ships wherever they went. Who needs all that armor when you can dodge? Who needs a hundred guns if you can whack your enemy’s weak spot with just a few good hits? It all seemed like such a waste of resources. The decorated pilot was not impressed. “Angie?” The sound of her name softly wafting through the air jolted the woman from her thoughts. She swiveled her chair around to see what company had arrived, though in truth she already knew. Peters slowly walked over and sat in the chair next to hers. For a moment, he said nothing. He just looked out the main viewer, exactly as she had been doing for the past few minutes. Gonzalez didn’t care; she was grateful to finally have some company. “So… ,” he began, “I heard you met Schilinton.”

“And I praise God above that my meeting was a lot shorter than yours. But that just goes to show that the big man upstairs likes me better than you.” “I’d count any blessings right now if I were you. The iral was fuming about some ‘flaky, upstart woman who had been absentmindedly jogging around the ship,’” Peters recalled. “Hey, who is he calling an upstart?” she cried, leaping up from her chair in offense. “If the man upstairs likes you as much as you say, he doesn’t know who you are. Hopefully thinks you’re just some ensign or a green marine or something.” “I’m the best damn pilot in the whole damn fleet!” With one hand on her hip and the other gesturing aggressively in the air, “I ought to give him a piece of my mind!” As she wheeled around to make way for the lift, a hand caught her arm. “Trust me, Angie, it’s best to just let it go,” he said softly. “First in my class at the academy. A half dozen Alliance records shattered. Decorated pilot of the sleekest ship in the entire Alliance fleet, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez!” she ranted, pulling away. “What’s he going to do? Fire me? ME? My grandfather was Fleet iral Philip Gonzalez. Schilinton would have been lucky to so much as fetch him coffee back in the day. So he’ll discharge me from service? I’d like to see him try.” “When we get back to Alliance Command, you can file an official complaint,” Peters pleaded. “Why are you always so ive!” she shouted angrily. Why doesn’t he ever me? “I want to get away from the Hastings as fast as possible. Being so tied down makes my skin crawl! Something isn’t right about all this.” “What isn’t right is that you won’t stand up for me!” Her anger seethed as she got right in his face. “Angie… it isn’t… it isn’t that. Listen, I did some checking. Captain Caelon?”

“What do you mean?” Gonzalez asked skeptically, a volcano of rage about to burst her little frame at the seams. “Ever since my debriefing, something has been bothering me. The iral seemed completely surprised about Sanctuary. Surprised and angry… but, well, angrier it seemed that he was out of the loop than that the station was devastated.” “Yeah, so?” “Doesn’t that seem like something a fleet iral would have at least ing knowledge of? So that got me thinking. The Hastings has greater access to fleet intelligence resources than the Meridian. With the whole marine party going on, I slipped back over to do some research. No mention of the good Captain Caelon.” “But you did find something, I take it?” The agitation was not yet beginning to fade from his counterpart. “No mention of the captain, but I was finally able to siphon recently discovered information on Fevros activities. They’ve been involved in a program that loosely translates to Operation Burlap Knapsack.” “Burlap Knapsack? Seriously?” “Yeah, I know…” “Whoever comes up with these things needs to be shot. That’s all I’m saying. What is this Operation Knapsack, and why does it matter?” Gonzalez demanded, hands still on her hips. “Solid information is pretty spotty,” Peters itted, “but there are a few mentions of a strange artifact, could be Gem, another Py-Roxi, or something else entirely. Anyway, it seems that those bugs had been running their own experiments, but they had an incident.” “What kind of incident?” “The intel isn’t particularly clear on that point, but whatever it was happened within days of Quilik reaching out to the Alliance.”

“Great…” Gonzalez sighed sullenly as she sank back into her chair. “So we’re back to square one?” “It’s something, at least. I ed word along to one of Schilinton’s lackeys. If we can help them connect a few dots without rocking the boat, hopefully they’ll send us on our merry way sooner rather than later and we’ll be out of this bureaucratic black hole,” Peters explained. “Well… all right.” Gonzalez reluctantly accepted his logic. “But I’m still mad at you for not ing me,” she finished, sticking her tongue out to further emphasis her point. Beneath it all, she knew he was right.

What could be taking so long? It had been nearly a day since Gem had been transferred to the Hastings. The Meridian had been ordered to remain in a docked position, but no other instructions had come. We’re practically prisoners. After speculating over the implications of Burlap Knapsack, the pair of lowly officers decided to take a break and clear their heads. Aside from a brief stint of sleep in their respective quarters, Peters and Gonzalez had spent much of the time keeping each other company, whether on the bridge or touring the Hastings while taking advantage of its various culinary options. Batigh had awoken and eagerly agreed to be transported to the more spacious and luxurious dreadnought. They’d not heard so much as a peep from him since. It’s just as well. Finally, Peters received a message; iral Schilinton wanted to talk. Though the briefing would be between only him and the iral, he’d invited Gonzalez along for a change in scenery. For better or worse, his companion had declined the invite on of an “annoying hum” coming from the instruments being used to analyze Gem. In the back of his mind Peters had noticed it when the marines were on board too, though it had not seemed quite so harsh as Gonzalez described. Maybe extrasensitive hearing is another one of her patented “Gem abilities” . . . As briskly as he could manage without getting strange looks, Peters made his way to the meeting location the iral’s secretary had requested. This time, he didn’t have to wait; Schilinton was already present, examining a data file that sat before him. Peters’ superior made no move to acknowledge his arrival. “What are we going to do?” Peters finally broke the silence and interrupted the iral’s thoughts. “Try to avoid a war,” the iral finally announced with a grim edge in his voice. “Sir?” “I’m going to make a few s, set some things into motion.” That isn’t cryptic at all. “But the Hastings can’t move as freely and as unnoticed as the Meridian,” the iral lectured.

That bastard is going to commandeer my ship! Peters waited for the inevitable like a marked man in the days of old, waiting for the guillotine to drop. “That’s why I need you to keep an eye on things at the front.” What? Did I hear that right? “Hell, you have more firsthand experience with the Fevros than half my crew. We’ll give your systems a quick tune-up so you don’t have any more Hebroni refugees hacking your systems.” The iral winked in what may have been an attempt at reassurance. Peters felt anything but reassured. “Thank you, si—” “And one other thing,” interrupted the iral, “I was never much for flourishes, but it has come to my attention that the Meridian has been without official leadership since the untimely… demise… of the honorable Captain Asher Barinton. Consider yourself promoted, Commander. And we’ll give your first officer a bump up too. Whoever she is, just log it into the system as soon as your credentials update. You are no longer acting captain. I officially declare you to be full Captain Christopher Peters of the Meridian, with all the responsibilities and privileges thereto. May whatever god you believe in have mercy on your soul.” He finished with a dismissive wave of his hand. In all the ways Peters had imagined getting his own command, none had seemed so flippant. “Thank you, sir… ,” the newly minted Captain Peters eventually croaked out. “Now as I was saying, I’m going to set some things into motion. Some diplomatic, political things. Annoyances but they must be done. You? You get the fun stuff.” I can’t wait to hear what comes next… “I’m ordering the recrewing of the Meridian from my surplus staff here on Hastings. Not a full complement, just a few more hands so that you can operative efficiently. You’ll head to Praxis, pay the council some respect, and make sure they’re prepped and ready for conflict with the bugs. If they aren’t, get them there. That’s your number one priority. Oh, and of course the artifact will remain on the Hastings while you go gallivanting around. That’s an order.” He said it all with such certainty. The whole thing did have a certain ring of logic to it. Yet Peters couldn’t shake a bad feeling that had begun taking shape at the back of his mind. So they were going to head to Praxis, a planet that would soon

become ground zero for Fevros defense. Hastings techs wasted no time upgrading the Meridian with the latest encryption, decryption, and firewall programs available to the Alliance. If hardware additions had been involved, the process would have taken days, possibly weeks longer. Fortunately, aside from a few server nodes, encryption s, and some U processor boosts, the upgrade had been primarily software oriented, resulting in a dramatically faster retrofit. Peters filled Gonzalez in of course. The lieutenant hadn’t been too keen on leaving Gem behind, but in the end the Py-Roxi’s presence on the Meridian would have been impossible to conceal for long, even with the ship’s recent upgrades. There would be questions, the kind of questions that would cause headaches. Worst-case scenario, the spy or his cronies might try to storm the Meridian and seize the orb for their own. That outcome had to be avoided at all costs. While disappointed at the concept of losing her powers just as she was starting to control them, Gonzalez was also somewhat encouraged by the idea of regaining a normal sleep schedule. Even that would only happen gradually. She quickly took to approaching the trip as a much needed vacation away from all the worries of the last few weeks, a vacation away from reports and hierarchy and bureaucracy. A vacation away from all that in favor of visiting “exotic worlds.” She felt like Peters was taking their mission too seriously and told him. The new captain felt like his counterpart wasn’t taking their mission seriously enough. After the upgrades were complete, they set off on their next adventure. Praxis was the hub of all human activity in the area, about a day’s travel from the Meridian’s current location, near the Fevros-human border. Like a medieval castle controlling the landscape around it, Alliance domination of Praxis meant military strength could be projected throughout the entire region. It made for an effective location to coordinate counteroffensive should the Fevros invade. At the same time, its stature made the planet an obvious early target. Any Fevros assault was bound to end up focusing on Praxis sooner rather than later. Its greatest strength was also its greatest liability.

PART 2

Praxis

CHAPTER 11

Peters and Gonzalez had each been to Praxis several times. The bustling planet was so much like Earth in climate that it was no wonder Alliance Command plopped down a regional HQ years ago. Millions of colonists had flocked to the area ever since. Faster-than-light travel had resulted in a technological renaissance of sorts. One area of science that had shown particular promise was that of clean, renewable energy. Many of the new techniques, though experimental, had reaped tremendous rewards. Praxis, so far from Earth, was a testament to those early Alliance engineers. Even from outer space, there were few signs of water and air pollution despite a burgeoning population, officially just over 27 million. Rumors suggested that there were millions more who had been smuggled in, or had come as stowaways. Slavery was illegal throughout the Alliance, but that didn’t mean the ambitious and uncompromising failed to take advantage of lax law enforcement where they could. Security in the capital, Prax Prime, and the surrounding area was good. Nearly half of the planet’s population lived in that sprawling megalopolis, and an estimated 80 percent lived within a three-hundred-kilometer radius of city center. The other residents were scattered across the entire planet. A thousand miles from Prax Prime, consistent law enforcement was virtually impossible. Colonists could and often did whatever they chose. In these areas, local authorities were king. Only if knowledge of truly egregious crimes filtered all the way back to the capital would planetary authorities think about getting involved. As the Meridian entered lower orbit and continued to descend, thin spindly hairs seemed to spring up from the durasteel and titanium alloys that covered kilometers and kilometers of the planet’s surface—control towers for Wyvn, the planet’s primary spaceport. Tower control had been alerted to their impending arrival, and the port was wasting no time preparing for their landing. As they approached, Peters slowly reached out and opened a communications channel. “This is Captain Christopher Peters of the HAS Meridian. Requesting permission to dock at Wyvn spaceport.” After a few seconds of silence, a

response crackled over the speakers. “Permission granted, Meridian. You are clear to dock in pod C71E. The Council would speak with you at your earliest convenience, Captain. Welcome to Prax Prime.” “Thank you, Wyvn. Meridian out.” With that, Peters closed communications. Gonzalez rolled her eyes at her companion’s unnecessary politeness as she directed the small frigate toward docking pod C71E. “Our fame precedes us!” she exclaimed. “Guess the Council is expecting us?”

Wyvn was bustling. The spaceport consisted of a massive primary docking hangar along with over a dozen smaller pods for VIPs and dignitaries, each with its own specialized maintenance, fueling, and repair services. As the Meridian docked in pod C71E, Peters could see that the C71 pod was of moderate size, designed to hold five frigate-sized ships in five semiseparated cells—A, B, C, D, and E—though currently only two other ships were present. Blocks C and D were empty, which afforded the Meridian a decent amount of privacy in slot E. Things are looking up. The other two ships in the pod looked noticeably older and in need of maintenance servicing, though the only port workers in the area were doing nothing aside from patiently waiting for the Meridian behind a pane of transparent alloy in C71’s main concourse. The owners of the neglected vessels either didn’t think they’d be needed again anytime soon, didn’t have the funds to have any real work done, or owed a substantial unpaid debt and port authorities were keeping the ships as collateral, it was hard to tell. The Meridian attached to the docking arm without any complications. After air pressure on both sides of the lock had been equalized, Peters enabled the appropriate security protocols. Afterward, he and Gonzalez strolled from their ship, across a small causeway from their ship and to the concourse. Several grayuniformed representatives awaited them, along with one who had donned an ivory jacket.

“Welcome to Prax Prime!” exclaimed ivory coat as a sparkling smile spread across her round caramel-colored face. While many human racial attributes had become blurred over the last few generations, this woman still held a wisp of Scandinavian air, which seemed in conflict with her slight English accent. Despite the tight bun in which it was currently maintained, her lustrous platinum-blonde hair was clearly lengthy. “I am Lieutenant Marietta Swast, but you can call me Mary if you like.” “Thank you, Mary, I am Captain Peters of the HAS Meridian, and this is my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Gonzalez.” “Lieutenant Swast.” Gonzalez nodded. “Ah, yes, it is great to finally meet you two,” she exclaimed cheerily. Then her spirit seemed to take an instantaneous nosedive. “It is a shame what happened to Captain Barinton. He was a great man. There are a lot of people on Praxis who ire him greatly.” “He was a good man,” agreed Peters. “I only wish I’d had the opportunity to meet him myself… no offense intended to your own captaining, sir. It’s just… well… I…” Swast looked down shyly as she stumbled over her words, desperately trying to salvage the hole she was digging. “That is quite all right, Mary. I’m lucky to have known him as well as I did. Without his mentorship, I’d be fit for little more than commanding a mess hall.” “Perish the thought! You are made for greatness, like your captain before you!” Swast exclaimed. From what I’ve heard… well…” Swast started blushing uncontrollably as she stumbled over herself once more. Gonzalez rolled her eyes. “We were told the Council was waiting for us?” the impatient brunette interrupted. “Oh yes, my apologies.” The lieutenant straightened up. “I’ve been given the privilege of formally welcoming you to Prax Prime on behalf of Councilor

Ruggar,” she said, beaming with pride. “He and the other councilors have requested a formal meeting at 1900 hours local time.” “And… your entourage?” inquired Gonzalez further. “Huh?” Swast’s perplexed gaze focused first on Gonzalez, then Peters, then back to Gonzalez. Only when the latter motioned toward the gray-shirted men standing several steps behind her did the lightbulb go off. “Oh! Yes!” she exclaimed as if just now noticing the technicians for the first time. “Techs to service the HAS Meridian if she has need.” Then turning to the closest tech, “Jerald, come here.” A man who practically towered over Swast stepped forward. With carefully cropped, short black hair and a muscular build, he looked more an athlete than a tech. Yet as a few broad steps carried him forward, the technician produced a small pack—seemingly from nowhere—and presented it to the Meridian’s leadership. “What’s this?” asked Peters. “A token of the Council’s appreciation,” announced Swast, “for your efforts to solidify our defenses against the impending Fevros threat.” Without uttering a word himself, Jerald opened the satchel to produce a bottle of what looked to be red wine. The label read, “Parlic AA, 2102.” A local production considered one of the finest wines in Alliance-controlled space. Some claimed it even rivaled that produced out of the famous Champagne region of back on Earth. “The feeling is rampant amongst Praxis’s citizens that Alliance Command and Earth itself barely we exist. With the Fevros making moves, there was a lot of concern, a lot of uncertainty, and a lot of anxiety among our people. Would the Alliance send help? Would Praxis be forgotten? Hearing nothing, we feared the volumes that silence was speaking.” “I am sorry for the unease that you and your people have experienced,” offered Peters. “No need to apologize. Our fears were unfounded. You’re here now. The Alliance didn’t leave us to fend for ourselves. They sent you. They sent one of the best gosh darn ships in the fleet along with the best crew,” she gushed, stamping her foot with enthusiasm.

“We will do our best,” replied Peters humbly. Such a gift was appreciated, but in his mind they were simply doing their duty. “Was the Council wanting to discuss planetary defenses with us this evening?” “I’m sorry, but I’m not privy to that information, though it would not surprise me in the slightest if the Fevros threat is on their mind.” “Looks like we have a few hours before we need to meet them. The Meridian doesn’t really need any service at present,” informed Gonzalez coolly, “so I’m afraid your techs will be out of a job.” “What of your accommodations? Certainly you will want dinner before—” “I’d prefer you show us around,” interrupted Peters. “Me?” squeaked Swast. “Sure. It’s been a few years since the last time either of us was on Prax Prime. I’m sure a lot has changed. Why don’t we all grab a bite somewhere and you can fill us in. I trust your associates can help the rest of our crew get acclimated?” “Uh… yes… yes, I can do that. I mean… we can… ,” the woman stuttered. Gonzalez elbowed Peters hard in the ribs the instant their tour guide turned to dismiss her comrades. “How about Lariq’s Praxis Barbeque? It’s an Earth tradition with a Praxis twist!” “Sounds great. Lead the way!” grunted Peters, still recovering from his companion’s jab while she glared at the back of Swast’s head and the tour began.

The spacey blonde swiftly led her new companions through a maze of hallways and doors until finally they reached fresh air. The confines of Wyvn were spacious and meant to be roomy and pleasant, but there was something about being cooped up in a made-man structure no matter the size that made Gonzalez’s skin crawl. Spacecraft were the only exception. The Meridian felt like home, and that, on its own, eased away the claustrophobic nervousness. Within moments of Swast signaling on her PDA, a government-issue cab pulled up just a few feet away. The color and general design harkened to the picturesque yellow taxis in the New York City of old, though there were a few marked differences. These cabs scarcely made a sound beyond the faint hum of their hover engine. They were also chock-full of gadgets, both inside and out, to monitor nearby traffic, calibrate and recalibrate routes, and ensure the safety of both engers and pedestrians. This particular cab was extended, much like an old-fashioned limousine, affording its engers increased comfort and room. As Swast climbed in, a soft chime echoed through the car, indicating an auto charge would be debited from her . Butting ahead, Gonzalez was the next to enter, followed by Peters. As they all settled in, a more offensive lower tone played over the cab’s speakers. It reminded Gonzalez of the sound that played on old game shows when a contestant got a wrong answer. She and Peters looked at each other, perplexed. Swast knew just what to do. “Excuse me.” She tapped on the wall separating the enger area from the driver. A moment later, a small window slid open. “Yah?” grunted a man in a heavy accent while the faint smell of cigarette smoke and putrid body odor floated into the enger chamber. “This is on the Council’s tab. Councilor Ruggar’s orders,” answered Swast pointedly. “Councilor Ruggar. Okay.” “Now, take us to Lariq’s Barbeque.” “Yes, I take you Lariq’s.” And with that, the driver slid the window cover back, and they were off.

“And that’s what’s wrong with Praxian society,” explained Swast between mouthfuls of succulent steak. Lariq’s may have been a barbeque t, but by all s it was considerably upscale. The restaurant was subdivided into several smaller rooms for patron privacy. Each individual room had its own customized fireplace enhancing the cozy atmosphere, along with its own chef. Patrons could literally watch their food cook should they desire. The waiters, when present, all wore old-school tuxedos. Gonzalez wondered how much they were paid to do nothing more than pick up food from the private chef and carry it through what couldn’t have been more than twenty feet to the table. One thing was for sure, she didn’t want to see the tab at the end of the night. To be fair, these are the best ribs I’ve had in a long time… “Why doesn’t the government do anything about it?” Peters interrupted his companion’s thoughts. “Last I was planet-side, Prax Prime ran a pretty tight ship.” “In an ideal world, we still would,” replied Swast as a dribble of juice escaped the edge of her mouth, making its way down her dainty chin. “But—oh, excuse me.” After lightly wiping her mouth, she continued, “But the reality is there simply aren’t enough resources to go around. It takes time, money, people— direct or contracted. They’re basically the same. Anyway, when self-proclaimed chieftains in the far reaches fought amongst themselves, it worked out great. We were able to extend peace, social order, and civil law from Prax Prime. But before anyone could bat an eye, everything changed.” “What do you mean?” inquired Gonzalez, for the first time starting to pay attention to the conversation. “The chieftains consolidated. Some say one tribe subjugated the others. Others say they started banding together of their own accord. In either case, our law enforcement capabilities had been designed to deal with small disorganized groups, not armies of well-equipped insurrectionists. It all started about a year ago,” she reminisced nonchalantly. “An entire squad went missing. Nobody knew what happened to them until a week later, when a larger force was confronted by a few hundred aggressive tribal warriors. Only a few of our police escaped with their lives.”

Peters was shocked. “Why didn’t the government here in Prax Prime do anything about it?” “They tried,” recalled Swast as she took a sip of wine. “Three sizeable military detachments were organized for a coordinated search and destroy, but the chieftains’ forces were far more nimble than we’d realized. All three forces were lured in opposing directions. When they were too far away from each other to quickly coordinate, thousands of barbarians, not the hundreds that had been expected, descended and massacred one of the teams. By the time word got out to the others, skirmishes had already begun against the second. The third disbanded at the first sign of trouble.” “That’s what you get for employing amateurs,” lectured Gonzalez. “Where were Alliance marines during all this?” “Where they usually are, HQ. Given their meager numbers, they don’t usually venture forth into combat unless in leadership or advisory roles.” “Uh-huh… So what happened next?” asked Gonzalez. “Well, mercenary payroll was already bloated as things were. Given the sudden increase in… hazardous conditions, the largest suppliers of armed manpower demanded more, substantially more, in return for their services. At first the Council refused, but then word started trickling through society that the chieftains were hiring. I bet you can imagine what kind of impact that had on our numeric advantage.” Peters and Gonzalez both nodded grimly. “Some mercenaries stayed true to Prax Prime, but are content to serve the highest bidder. The Council had no choice. They expanded the bloated arms budget just to keep up.” “Which means cuts somewhere else, I assume?” “You nailed it. Eventually anyway. First, there was a push to streamline government programs and infrastructure. Good in theory, but it meant we civil servants really had to tighten our collective belts,” lamented Swast in between bites of steamed veggies. “But that only went so far, as I’m sure you guessed. Subsidies for the impoverished, low-income housing were among the next things

to go, along with public unemployment benefits. In the long run, maintenance in those poor areas really took off once the landlords were allowed to charge a fair market price for rent. The downside is that a lot of people had nowhere to go, so they just kind of dispersed throughout the city.” “Now the homeless are on every street corner?” asked Gonzalez, though it was more of an observation she’d made on the trip to Lariq’s than a question. “The dilution solution is far from ideal, but it has proved far cheaper than the alternative. Besides, the number of neighborhoods you dare not venture into after dark are few and far between. Necessity is the mother of adaptation. The less fortunate are so creative!” she exclaimed in iration. “No matter what happens, they always seem to find a way to make things work. They take up jobs many other Praxians normally don’t want to do. It’s like social symbiosis. Those jobs get done, and they take home a paycheck. It’s great how society comes together like that. Don’t you agree, Commander?” “Seems like there’s definitely a less advantaged side to that arrangement, but I agree that having a job, even an unpleasant one, is usually better than being unemployed without a social safety net.” “Exactly. And besides, if they work hard, someone is bound to take notice. There’s definitely room for advancement,” Swast explained in between sips of wine. “So,” interjected Gonzalez, who had quickly grown bored with the topic of social equity, “where do things stand with the tribes?” “Oh yes, the tribes!” exclaimed Swast as if the topic had completely slipped her mind. “Well, the last few months, the fighting has bogged down into, well, you might say a stalemate of sorts.” “We might say?” asked Gonzalez. “Why not just bombard them from the sky? They can’t possibly have a fleet of ships protecting them.” “We tried that.” The lieutenant sighed. “With our low orbital patrol ships, but they’re designed more for speedy troop deployment than combat and are only lightly armed. The tribes acquired some serious surface to air defensive capabilities somehow. Anything we have that’s big enough to do the job would have to area bombard from high orbit. The tribes are seminomadic as far as we

can tell. The potential for collateral damage to peaceful villagers, not to mention to the pristine environment, would be high. The damage to our tourism industry would be devastating. And don’t even get me started on the headache of explaining to Earth why the civilian government of Praxis felt the need to put a few craters in the planet. No thank you.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Earth doesn’t know?” Peters asked, surprised. “You didn’t know.” Swast smiled. “Freedom of operation can only be maintained by handling our own problems. No offense, but the more we tell Earth, the more the high irals will feel the need to involve themselves. The more they meddle, the less flexibility and freedom we have on Praxis. I don’t doubt that the Alliance technocrats over at Wyvn have a general idea that something out of the ordinary has been going on, but as long as the port is in tip-top shape, they generally turn a blind eye to planetary affairs. To them, anything short of utter disaster is local politics, small potatoes.” “Fine. So does the Council have any sort of plan for dealing with the tribes?” Gonzalez asked pointedly, hardly believing that the planet’s civilian government had been paralyzed by a bunch of nomadic barbarians. “Well, sure,” Swast continued, absentmindedly tucking a curl of blonde hair behind her ear. “The tribes don’t have the numbers or technology to truly threaten Prax Prime, and an offensive campaign of any real magnitude would be a dreadfully expensive endeavor. There are skirmishes every now and then, but for the most part they leave us alone. We’re giving them freer reign temporarily while we build up for a major push.” “So you do have something planned?” Peters leaned in. “How soon?” “Well,” Swast began, “we’ve been developing something for months now, getting key people in key locations—which isn’t easy in a bureaucracy, mind you, even with the Council’s backing—stockpiling equipment and shifting human resource assets. The plan was actually set to initiate within the next few days.” Peters could sense a “but” coming. It never did. “So… that’s what the Council wanted to discuss with us so urgently?” he guessed. “Your guess is as good as mine.” Swast shrugged. “But it’s rare that they’d take

such a keen interest in you, and before you had even touched down no less! I’m sure it’s important, whatever it is. Speaking of which, oh my goodness, I’ve certainly talked your ear off, haven’t I? You best be on your way to meet them! The cabbie will take us to Prime Central.” She suddenly frowned. “But that’s where our rendezvous will have to end, I’m afraid. I’ve enjoyed your company, Captain Peters, Commander Gonzalez, but I have some paperwork I need to do back in my office. Never a break for us hardworking Praxians!” She grinned as they left Lariq’s.

CHAPTER 12

The tall colorful marble archways served both as ornamentation and markers to separate distinctive areas in Prax Prime’s massive governmental compound, or Prime Central as the locals called it, creating an imposing yet serene environment. The mere size of Prime Central must have rivaled Wyvn itself. However, unlike the spaceport, there were no docking hubs for ships in this complex. Instead, a maze of what looked like corporate office buildings full of cubicles and conference rooms seemed to stretch on for kilometers. “And just down that way is our residential complex, which serves as home for over one hundred thousand government employees here at Prime Central.” Lieutenant Swast had bid them farewell almost immediately after securing a new local tour guide—Lieutenant Barclay Alexander. Evidently, their new guide had noticed the not-so-hidden efforts of his guests to visually soak in their surroundings and felt a need to elaborate on the various sites during their walk. “The complex is made up of two hundred smaller communities, housing approximately five hundred employees apiece. Each block has been specifically designed with the spatial, physical, and emotional needs of our employees in mind and comes equipped with a fully furnished and staffed exercise arena, which I’m pleased to say rivals anything you’ll find out in the Prax Prime city proper. My personal favorite activity is tennis, though basketball is probably the community favorite overall. Local swimming pools and Jacuzzis are also maintained regularly to help keep our people fresh and ready to put their best foot forward. And of course, there are on-site medical and daycare facilities, theaters, restaurants, and a wide complement of other entertainment amenities. “When it comes to helping its employees fulfill their potential, the government here at Prax Prime spares no expense. Sure, these things come with a cost, but in the end we believe the benefits are worth it. Some squash courts were the latest addition. Let me tell you something about that. Squash? Now that isn’t my cup of tea, but rumor was that there were a lot of people interested, so it got approved. We all had to take a hit. Me personally? My quarterly bonus took almost a three-point hit!” Alexander stretched out his words for emphasis.

“’Course the cost was spread around. I heard some Prax Proper fees were increased to make up for the difference. Oh, and a general increase in taxes across the board, but you’ll see that every now and again, especially when it comes to projects that are critical to the health and wellness of the planet’s proper istration.” “How many people work for the government in total?” inquired Peters. “Well, there’s the hundred thousand that live here, give or take a few thousand, plus at least that many out in the community doing hands-on istrative work… plus law enforcement, security, safety, sanitation… probably close to three hundred thousand when it’s all said and done. Maybe a little more.” “Do they get squash courts too?” prodded Gonzalez. “I’m sure they wish they did, but those are only available at Prime Central. Of course, as government employees, they are free to use any of our facilities after checking into the compound, though I’d imagine that just doesn’t hold the same convenience,” the lieutenant speculated as he directed them to a nearby tram car, which was springing unexpectedly out of the ground as if from nothing. “And here’s where our tour ends, I’m afraid. It’d take hours for us to walk to the Council Chambers, but this tram will get you right to the front door in just a few minutes,” lectured the lieutenant as if the sudden appearance of the small train car without any tracks to speak of was the most normal thing in the world. Questioning glances from Gonzalez and Peters taught him differently. “These little wonders are stationed at select locations throughout the compound. They’re stored underground except during boarding and departure processes so as not to interfere with local aesthetics,” he explained. “Why did it… ?” asked Peters. “Why did it show itself just now? I sent a signal from my wrist comp as we were walking. See?” Lieutenant Alexander held up his left wrist, pointing at a small colorful device. At first glance, it looked like an oversized orange bracelet. A closer inspection revealed a small touchscreen on the flexible ribbon that showed Alexander’s photo and some government credentials. “It’s fully automated and will take you directly to the Council Chambers district.

All you have to do is tap the purplish orb up front. I can’t say much for the view. Unfortunately, you’ll be back underground as soon as you set off, but it is a straight shot to your destination. No need to stop for pedestrian traffic.” Shrugging, Peters climbed in through the car’s small side door. Gonzalez followed immediately after. The furnishings of the tram were far more luxurious than either of them had envisioned. An L-shaped couch in the corner that looked to be made of high-quality leather curved around a small table for drinks. A minibar stood midway down the car complete with stools and a few bottles of brightly colored liquids, each seeming to sparkle in the light. The other end of the car had a slight business feel to it. A moderately sized, rich mahogany desk sat on the far end complete with a complimentary data pad and more than enough room for one’s personal gadgets. The side of this desk sat the purple orb the lieutenant had mentioned. Across from the desk stood an ornamented door that led to a small room. Peaking inside, Gonzalez could see a large bed (how a separate room, not to mention a bed of that size, could even fit in the tram car was a mystery) and a small dresser. For long trips? But what journey within Prime Central could possibly take so long? Popping her head back out of the room, she spied Alexander waving cheerfully through a window while Peters initiated their journey. As the tram suddenly lurched, dropping back into the dark underground, the occupants were forced to grab on for stability or risk toppling over. The interior lights, which seemed so insignificant just moments ago, now gave the entire car a dim, almost nightclublike atmosphere. Aside from a second jolt as the train car rocketed into motion, the ride was relatively smooth. Were it not for the occasional underground lamp zipping past outside, it would have been hard to tell they were moving at all. For their part, the couple settled down on the couch for some small talk. Prime Central was not what they’d imagined it to be, but they dared not discuss Gem, iral Schilinton, or the overran bureaucratic gluttony they had witnessed for fear of who might be listening in. There were no overt reasons to be fearful of course, but one could never be too safe. The room had a pleasant temperature. Peters was caught completely by surprise to witness his counterpart shivering. The commander was about to ask if she wanted a blanket when she broached the subject herself, inquiring about a

blanket. Checking the tiny room’s dresser, Peters found a sleeved blanket, which he, in turn, presented to Gonzalez with exaggerated flourish. Happily accepting the soft fabric, she grinned at his goofiness. “This’ll do nicely,” she stated, settling in and embracing the sleeved cloth. “Does it feel cold down here to you?” “To be honest… no, not really. I’m pretty comfortable.” “I felt this weird chill when the tram started moving. Thought it was just from the jolt, but it hasn’t gone away.” “Are you feeling all right, Angie?” he asked with concern. “Nah, I’m fine, just kind of tired,” she itted, “but don’t fawn over me. Besides, one of us has already been getting all sorts of special attention today, and I’ll give you a hint. It isn’t me.” She stuck out her tongue with the intent of looking menacing. The expression, combined with the flood of fabric that threatened to completely engulf her tiny frame, made the gesture look more than a little ridiculous. “Feeling a little jealous, are we?” mocked Peters. “Afraid someone better has come along?” “Better? Ha! You wouldn’t dare.” She glared. “And what makes you say that?” Peters egged her on. “Because I’m a gorgeous, bursting ball of smoking hotness. That’s what they say. I’m smart and cute, and most importantly I put up with you for some unknown reason. Let’s face it. I’m way out of your league. I mean, come on! Only a complete fool would that up for an empty suit. So, the question is, Mr. Peters, are you that kind of fool?” “You always did have a way with words, dearest,” he replied with a hint of the dramatic. “That’s what I thought,” she replied smugly from the confines of her blanket. “Just try not to let all the attention go to your head. Otherwise, I may focus myself elsewhere too,” she said, crossing her arms, satisfied in her victory as the

tram jerked to a stop. The thought of losing her personal fortress of comfort resulted in a grumble, but she reluctantly parted with the blanket all the same, haphazardly tossing her sanctuary of warmth on the couch. Light flooded through the windows as the tram rose back to street level again. Gonzalez noticed her counterpart squint and blink a few times until his eyes readjusted. She didn’t feel a need to do the same. After a few seconds, the tram doors slid open, and the officers departed for more stationary ground. This was a part of Prime Central that neither officer had been to before. The tram had let them off just outside a huge gate. Unlike the ornamented archways dividing the other districts, this particular area had a literal gate covered in intricate detailed designs. It was hard to see the details all the way at the top of what must have been a twenty-foot-plus door, but the bits that could be seen appeared to tell the story of mankind making its way in the galaxy. The discovery of FTL technology, the war with the Fevros, the settlement of colonies, and the establishment of Praxis were all noted. Behind the door, a majestic tower could be seen rising far above the nearby landscape. The pair approached the gate, uncertain exactly as how best to enter as there was no handle, no doorbell, and no intercom system. The mystery was effectively solved when they stepped closer and the door opened on its own as if by some hidden automated system. Behind the door, a series of steps were laid before them, leading to a massive plateau, which itself opened up into the freshest, greenest garden the officers had ever seen. An assortment of fruit trees appeared off to one side, a giant vineyard to the other. Is that… a winery? The sprawling structures over by the vineyard definitely looked the part. The rest of the minicity was impressive in its own right, but the Council Chambers—as this small area was called—put the rest of the complex to shame. Finely cut bushes in a variety of designs, some of real-life animals and objects and some of more abstract forms, dotted the landscape. Even the air itself had a sweet, pleasant aroma to it. A few square kilometers in size, the massive gated wall completely sealed off the district from all others. A few hundred yards distant stood the massive Council Tower itself. From a base that looked like a prestigious hotel building rose seven obsidian towers that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Each was distinct, yet they all rose in a cluster. A central tower with six others surrounding it. Each tower rose a few stories taller than the one before, with the central tower being the tallest of all.

“That must be the place,” remarked Gonzalez aloud to no one in particular. The entire landscape naturally directed the eyes in that direction. “Thank you, Commander. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Peters replied with a smirk as he led the way.

The couple meandered to the tower, being sure to take in the many sights and smells along the way. The closer they got, the more imposing it seemed. The large rectangular base was made of heavy stone with some brick overlays, which gave it an entirely different feel than the predominantly metallic construction throughout the rest of Prime Central. The garden was so well manicured and the building so well maintained that upkeep must have required a small army. Yet even as they entered the tower, no one, neither human nor alien, was in sight. The main building entrance immediately opened into a large lobby complete with marble floors, decorative pillars, and crystalline chandeliers that hung from a vaulted ceiling three stories high. In the middle of the lobby sat a shimmering golden fountain that shot water nearly up to the ceiling. On the far side of the room sat a reception desk, though no one appeared to be on the other side. The pair approached and looked for a way to signal. Seeing none, Gonzalez turned to Peters. “I guess they’re at dinner?” Peters shrugged. “Weird that they’d call us in for a meeting and then not show —” “Hello!” a young female voice cut Peters off midsentence. In the blink of an eye, the source scurried around the corner and took her place behind a computer terminal across from the captain. “Um, hi,” began Peters, a little startled. “We have a meeting with the Council at… now.” “The Council is very busy. May I inquire the matter about which you would like to speak?” inquired the receptionist without a hint of emotion as if this was a line she had repeated many times before and expected to repeat many more. “Does the Council entertain many guests? They called us here. How should we know what they want?” asked Gonzalez pointedly, though sounding a bit more aggressive than even she had intended.

“I’m Captain Christopher Peters, of the HAS Meridian and former executive officer to Captain Barinton. This is my first officer, Lieutenant Commander Angela Gonzalez. We were sent by Alliance Command to help coordinate regional defenses. Our ship docked earlier today at Wyvn port. A representative, Lieutenant Marietta Swast, met us as we disembarked and advised the Council wanted to meet tonight.” “Uh-huh,” responded the receptionist as if only half paying attention while she tapped away at her terminal. “Oh, here we go. Commander… Peters and Lieutenant Commander Gonzalez?” She looked at her screen, then up at them, then back at her screen. Comparing photographs, thought Peters. After a moment, the woman continued, “Yes, I see now. I apologize. Please, take that lift to Conference Room 1, on the top floor.” She motioned toward an elevator that was practically camouflaged into the wall, just to the side of her reception desk. “You’ve been cleared for Room One, so just hit the CF1 button, and you’ll be there in a jiffy.” As they entered the elevator, Peters glanced back at the receptionist desk. The woman had fled, once again, completely out of sight. As the lift doors closed, Peters slowly reached out to press the CF1 button, but Gonzalez caught his arm. “You’ve been to Prax Prime a few times before, right, Chris? Have you ever been to the Council Chambers before? I haven’t… ,” she asked with wary unease. The captain shook his head. “Something doesn’t seem right about this place.” “You took the words right out of my mouth, Angie. I’ve been to the colony a few times, Prime Central once or twice, but never here. The way some of the old s used to talk, the Council Chambers is the city’s crowning achievement. I always imagined it’d be busier and, well, full of tourists, you know? Like old Washington DC around the reflecting pool.” “The whole place feels weird. Idealized, perfect almost, but sterile. I’ll be happy when we can get out of here. I hope the Council doesn’t talk as much as the iral.” “You and me both.” Peters chuckled as he tapped the lift’s controls. “Well, the sooner we get started, the sooner we can be done with it.” The elevator launched them upward like a bullet. The sudden intensity of motion forced the two

officers to momentarily brace themselves against the wall. The lift had a small window, which was completely useless while they were in the base of the massive complex. As soon as they were above the roofline, a spectacular view of the district, then the Prime Central, and then some of the city greeted the engers as they moved ever higher. When the elevator eventually stopped, the world below looked to be ant-sized. Gonzalez was so taken in by the view, craning her neck to soak up as much as possible, that she scarcely noticed the lift doors open. Only as her counterpart tenderly tugged on her elbow did she relinquish her prime real estate and follow him. They were greeted with a marble hallway, a thick, plush red carpet, and… A bellboy? Strange as it was to believe, standing right in front of them was a tuxedo-wearing bellboy complete with a wispy mustache that curled on the ends like some sort of French nineteenth-century stereotype. “Ah, Monsieur Petears, Madam Gonzelez, welcome to the Council Chamber. Please, follow me.” He even has a French accent! How crazy is that? The bellboy turned around and began a brisk walk away from the lift. Peters and Gonzalez fell in line a few steps behind. The hall down which they ventured was very well lit. Masterpiece works of art and old antique suits of armor decorated the walls. Here and there tucked against the wall sat the occasional small artifact, antique, or sculpture on stands. Peters guessed they were important relics from Praxis’s history, though he didn’t recognize any on sight. The hallway down which the bellboy led went on for roughly fifty feet, then turned to the right, went another fifty, then right again, and so on, eventually leading to a heavy brass door built directly into the wall. Neither door nor wall had any ornamentation, which seemed strangely at odds with the rest of the hall, building, and district. Given that the only path out of the elevator led to this location, the two visitors were left to wonder what the French bellboy’s purpose was at all. Their unspoken question was answered when the butler pressed a small indistinguishable piece of wall just to the right of the door, causing the entire entrance to illuminate like a lightbulb. “Monsieur Petears and Madam Gonzelez have arrived, my lords.” Expecting a gruff voice not unlike the iral’s, Peters was surprised to hear a much smoother response, which couldn’t have belonged to a man much older

than himself. “Thank you, Jeffrey. They may us as it pleases them.” At this invitation, the French escort turned off the intercom and swiftly tapped the wall in several new locations of no special note. Just as Gonzalez opened her mouth to inquire about whether or not the bellboy had lost his mind, a soft chime echoed throughout the hall, and the heavy doors slowly opened. Jeffrey motioned for them to enter as he bowed and stepped back. As the Meridian’s leadership team moved forward, the bellboy turned to head back toward who knows where. At first, the only thing the officers saw was a bright light up ahead, forcing them to shield their eyes. Then they heard a voice. “Come now, my friends, is this pomp really necessary?” It was the same voice that had sounded over the comm. “I say, adjust these lights!” Moments later, the glaring light that had greeted the approaching newcomers faded into a much more normal intensity. “You too easily dismiss our traditions!” cried a much older, bearded gentleman over to one side, who was just now coming into view. The room appeared ovalshaped. A long echelon-shaped desk sat on the far end, which opened to the room. Three regal-looking magistrates sat on each leg of the V, with one sitting at a slightly elevated position at the intersection. A man with a long white beard that seemed to overflow his desk sat in the seat of honor. If standing, the beard would have easily gone to his knees. The objecting magistrate, a man who was by no means young himself, sat one desk to the left. “These are representatives of the Alliance. They deserve our respect,” disputed the younger voice. He sat three spaces to the right of center. While most of the magistrates looked to be in their upper fifties at the very least, if not older, this man—the only beardless one of the group—could scarcely have been over thirty. “You forget your place, Ruggar. We are the Lords of Praxis. They are nothing but rabble, commoners! They shouldn’t be here. They don’t even deserve to be in this district!” shouted the magistrate on the left, clearly perturbed. “I invited them here, Lord Kreg! They are our guests.” At this, the room erupted into a sea of grumbling from every direction. While some councilors took to Ruggar’s defense, it appeared that Kreg had the better of the group’s . The eldest said nothing as he slowly peered from side to side at the faces of the men surrounding him. The man looked tired, not just from lack of sleep, but

from a long, dreary life as if he’d carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He may have been a great general once, but his frail state made him look anything but. The overflowing robes he wore served only to make him appear even smaller, even weaker. After several minutes of grumbling, the group had still not made any gesture to greet Peters and Gonzalez or even acknowledge their presence aside from debating whether or not they deserved to be there at all. Peters was having a hard time keeping a lid on his annoyance. He could scarcely imagine what Gonzalez was feeling. Glancing over at her, he could see that her face had turned red with anger. Her subtle eye twitch was telling. He’d seen it before. The involuntary muscle spasm occurred often when she was extremely furious but trying with everything she had to keep her mouth shut. Maybe that patented “Gem patience” is rubbing off on her after all. As much as he wanted to demand these men stop disputing his and Gonzalez’s worth, they were for better or worse the ruling governors of Praxis. What they said was law planet-side, though from what Swast had said, that may no longer be entirely true everywhere. They still controlled all the levers of government in the civilized part of the planet and, by extension, held enormous sway over the entire sector of space. Openly provoking them, however justified such an action might be, could have dangerous repercussions. Peters was proud of his first officer for holding her tongue. Finally without uttering a word, the eldest slowly, steadily raised his right hand. Instantly, the group fell silent except for Ruggar and Kreg, who continued to fling insults at each other, completely oblivious to the sudden change. Seeing as these two were still locked in a battle of words, the old statesman lifted a small metallic object from his desk. The top was curved, smooth, and seemed to fit perfectly in the man’s bony hand, while the bottom was flat. The elder’s hand, even his whole arm, seemed to shake under the strain of lifting the device. Then he slammed it down on the table, though in reality his arm may have simply collapsed under the weight of the object. It was difficult to discern which. Regardless, the booming sound that echoed through the room was enough to finally silence the last of the irate agitators. “Hem… yes, the… officers from the Alliance… If you wish to speak… to them… now is an opportune… time,” the eldest councilor spoke, with the slight twinge of an old English accent, pausing after each phrase to catch his breath. He

looked far more like a fabled wizard from legends half-forgotten than like the first councilor. “Yes, I agree. Captain, Commander.” Councilor Ruggar nodded at Peters and Gonzalez, who elected to finally step forward, deeper into the Council meeting room. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. We—” A mutter came from the opposing side of the room, interrupting Ruggar, though neither Peters nor Gonzalez could make out exactly what was said. As the two sides glared, the councilor continued. “The Fevros have been and continue to be a primary concern for the many noble citizens of Praxis. Though few among our citizenry have actually encountered one in person, you have had firsthand with them?” “That is correct, Councilor,” replied the captain. “Captain Barinton, under whom I served until recently, had extensive experience fighting them in the past. Our encounters”—he motioned toward Gonzalez—“have been much more recent.” “I see. And—,” Ruggar tried to continue the conversation but was cut off by a rival. “And where is this Captain Barinton?” demanded the interrupting councilor. “Should we not have summoned him, rather than these children, Ruggar?” “Captain Barinton died saving me, Commander Gonzalez, and our ship from the Fevros,” Peters argued back. “If not for the captain, we’d be dead and the Meridian would be in Fevros hands,” Gonzalez backed up her superior. The hostile councilor crossed his arms, seemingly unimpressed. “A good captain would have understood the importance of keeping the chain of command alive,” he snarled. Before the officers could respond, Ruggar piped up. “We are all deeply sorry for the loss of your former captain. Oftentimes, the Council is called upon to make critical, life-and-death decisions. Save a million by sealing the fate of a hundred? That kind of arithmetic weighs heavily. It can lead to deplorable desensitization out of which we forget that every life is

precious.” Several other councilors nodded in agreement, though most sat stonefaced. The man whom Ruggar had cut off scowled but said nothing. “Thank you, Councilor Ruggar,” replied Peters, while Gonzalez silently glared at the other malicious councilor. If looks could kill, the uncaring man would have been incinerated in an instant. “Please, enlighten us. What experience do you two have with the Fevros?” eagerly asked another councilor. “It began recently, shortly before the Fevros attack on Sanctuary. We were on a diplomatic mission to meet a Fevros emissary.” A noticeable gasp emanated from more than one councilor. “Diplomacy? For… what purpose?” inquired Ruggar, dumbstruck. “I wish I knew. Alliance Command was sketchy on the details, even with the captain, but we were ordered to give the mission utmost priority. We docked with a lone Fevros ship, which contained the emissary and a few warriors,” Peters began. “It did not make much sense to us either, Councilors,” Gonzalez continued, “but we thought more information would come when the time was right. I’ve been on sensitive Alliance missions before. We both have. Believe me, I don’t like it, but I’d trust Captain Barinton with my life. He said the mission was important, and that was good enough for me, lack of details aside.” “Were you able to learn more about the nature of this… rendezvous later?” inquired another councilor. “I’m afraid everything went downhill fast. Fevros warships dropped out FTL during introductions. We raced out of there before they could bring their weapons to bear,” recalled Peters. “I see… ,” pondered Ruggar. “A trap? And what of the emissary?” “His guards attacked. We put them down, hard. Took the emissary to Sanctuary for interrogation. And then—” “Let me guess,” began the hostile councilor from before. “The Fevros assault

conveniently freed him before any useful information could be obtained?” “If any useful information was obtained during interrogation, it was lost during the attack along with hundreds of lives.” “I figured as much,” he grumbled angrily. “They attempted to capture the Meridian. Captain Barinton was murdered during our attempt to regain control, though we ultimately did succeed in that endeavor.” “News of the Fevros assault on Sanctuary has reached us here on Praxis, but nothing else. Tell me, what is the condition of the station?” inquired another councilor. “My understanding is that the Fevros threat has been neutralized, though the station itself was severely damaged,” replied Peters, purposely leaving out details regarding Ing, Rilona, and the monsters. “That is to be expected, I suppose.” The councilor sighed. “A relatively painless victory would have been to expect the impossible whenever those creatures are concerned. At least the station is secure. Its position on that front is critical for any future encounter with those things.” On this point, all of the councilors nodded in agreement, though a second glance suggested that the first councilor had actually just nodded off to sleep. “When they tried to steal your ship… ,” began Ruggar, “where were they taking her?” “Somewhere deep inside their territory. We cross-referenced all known star charts, even Hebroni and Bilian transcripts. They were taking us to the Tzyka sector. Detailed information for locations that deep in Fevros territory is hard to come by. What little information we do have doesn’t suggest any kind of industrial or production center, or governmental operation.” At this, quiet mumbling began anew. After a moment, Ruggar spoke once more, hushing the chamber. “The Fevros have never been good at logic. Perhaps your ship was a bounty and they wished to collect payment? A remote system would make an ideal spot for such a trade.”

“I cannot say with certainty, Councilor Ruggar, but I am pleased we were able to foil their objective, whatever it may have been,” replied Peters. “To be sure, as are we!” Ruggar exclaimed with a grin. “Have you been involved in any further developments? I’ve heard precious little since the incident at Sanctuary.” “I’m afraid not, Councilor. The monitor stations along our border with the Fevros have gone dark. We’ve been coordinating with additional Alliance resources to try and piece things together.” “Gone dark?” he asked. “Well, if that doesn’t sound a little bit ominous, I don’t know what does.” “They’ve stopped sending signal. It’s almost as if they’ve been disabled,” clarified Peters. “Disabled or destroyed?” asked a concerned councilor. “Not destroyed, not entirely anyway. We ed one on our way back to Alliance space, intending to use it as a means to quickly communicate our status,” Gonzalez explained. “Parts of the sensor were missing, but there were virtually no indications of foul play. The precise removal of key sensor and communications equipment seemed almost surgical.” “Impossible!” exclaimed another councilor who had done little but rail against the Alliance officers. “There’s been no indication of any kind of interference. Even if they were capable of that kind of precision targeting, the sensors would have detected a Fevros vessel long before it got in range.” “I understand your skepticism,” Peters jumped in with a careful, even tone before his counterpart could provide her own, less measured response, “but I know what I saw, and our sensor reads confirmed the same, sensor reads which can be made available to you if you please. How it happened though? Without an advanced stealth system, it would be impossible to get that close undetected, so unless the Fevros have a stealth system as advanced as anything in the Alliance…” The councilor crossed his arms, looking smug.

“You’re not truly suggesting… Councilor Kreg?” Another councilor gasped. “I’m suggesting that these petty officers have little more to tell us than we already know,” he replied, condescension dripping from his words. “They know about Sanctuary, but we already knew about that. We don’t need them to tell us that the border transmitters aren’t working anymore. We knew that already too. Somehow the monitors have been ‘surgically altered’?” he scowled while placing his final last two words in air quotes before leaping to his feet. “My fellow councilors, this is a perfect example of the very thing I’ve been saying all along. We cannot count on Alliance bureaucrats if we want to keep Praxis safe! We must make our own way!” “Lord Kreg, please! This is not the time!” Ruggar tried to quiet him. “Your idealism blinds you, Ruggar. It’s a wonder Praxis is still in one piece with your brand of lunacy represented at our table!” shouted the agitated councilor as murmurs began rising from among the others. “A future without our friends is no future for Praxis!” retorted Ruggar. “Your ‘friends,’” again Kreg retorted with air quotes, “they turned their back on us for decades. Now they send a newly appointed ship’s captain on a lone frigate? Where are the irals? Where are the fleets? This envoy is an insult to Praxis. These are your friends, Ruggar? They are no friends of mine! Their presence here is an insult!” “Life on Praxis has been good. Very good for some of us, including you, Lord Kreg. You would seek to alter the status quo?” inquired a cautious councilor, though there was an edge of cold calculation in his voice. “Praxis has been good to many of us, but what are we to do? Always look to the past? Rely on a foundation that has been rotting for decades? How long have they ignored our words of warning? How long have they paid no heed to our troubles here on far-flung Praxis? The Alliance pays us no mind unless we fit conveniently into their shortsighted plans? I say no! Now and for all time! For the good of Praxis, for the strength of her people and her institutions, we must bind ourselves to strong allies, not to the weak, floundering Alliance!” “You would see us enslaved by your supposed allies!” cried another councilor. “They do not have friends, only subjects. The Tetriarch—”

“Only a worm fears the future,” Kreg retorted. “Tell us, what would they get out of an alliance exactly?” argued Ruggar. “The question isn’t what’s in it for them. This is about what’s in it for us.” “You’re blind!” “You’re a coward!” At this, the room erupted into angry shouts from every corner. The councilors, for all their supposed stateliness and decorum, quite nearly came to blows. For their part, Peters and Gonzalez felt unexpectedly embarrassed for the grown elders of Praxis as they threw massive toddler-like tantrums. Fortunately, all the commotion had one positive benefit; it awoke the first councilor from his slumber. Blinking in bewildered confusion, he slowly raised his mallet and let it drop with a room-shaking thud. The chamber instantly grew quiet once more. “I see… ,” he spoke slowly. At the moment, he looked the meekest of all by far. It’s a wonder the rest hold him in such high regard, Gonzalez considered, though it was entirely possible their deference may have simply been a matter of protocol rather than actual respect. “That we have come to an ime,” the man continued. Understatement of the year, mentally replied Gonzalez, though she kept her mouth shut. “Let us, my friends… retire until another time. Let us… calm ourselves.” Every phrase seemed to be a struggle for the old man. “When the… sun is at its fullest overhead… let us… reconvene. We can… discuss Councilor Kreg’s proposal in greater detail…” “And what of the captain and crew?” cautiously inquired another councilor, showing complete subservience to the first councilor’s wishes. “Oh… yes… Captain, thank you for… presenting yourself to the Council. Your testimony has… been most helpful indeed… most informative. We thank you but… no longer require your assistance… If Councilor Ruggar would like… to continue working with you… you shall make yourselves available during… your

stay.” Gonzalez’s eye shot up, but uncertainty held her tongue still. The first councilor’s words could have been a command, yet there was something unusual in his tone. Something hidden in such an artful way that she’d nearly missed it. What was it? A request? A plea? “Fellow Councilors… I shall retire for the evening… I suggest you all do likewise.” As the First slowly struggled to stand, the others remained seated. Only when the elder was fully upright did the others also rise. The First hobbled slowly, like an overgrown turtle with a broken leg, away from his desk and out a door to the rear of the chamber. Where it led, Peters and Gonzalez could only guess. Only when the door shut behind him did the other councilors finally stir. In silence, they filed out one by one, each sage not moving from his standing position until the exit door had closed behind the preceding member. Kreg was the first to leave after the First. Peters could tell the order of departure was clearly more than just chance. Was it by seniority? By age? Given the advanced ages of all the councilors save Ruggar, it was impossible to know for sure. The whole process was no doubt designed as part of a sovereign ritual generations ago. The whole thing seemed grossly inefficient and dull to the captain. As the others filed out, Ruggar remained. Finally, it was his turn to depart. He started shuffling to the door just as all the others had done. Peters and Gonzalez looked at each other with uncertainty, as if to ask, “I guess we’ll let ourselves out?” Yet as he approached the far exit, Ruggar turned back. Though he was all the way across the room, his voice reverberated clearly throughout the now-empty chamber. “I am sorry, my friends. Please meet me at first light tomorrow in the garden near the district entrance. We can discuss more then.” Before they had a chance to respond, the councilor was gone.

CHAPTER 13

“I don’t like it,” Gonzalez announced as they rode back to their governmentprovided living accommodations, though her feelings were obvious to her companion even before she spoke. “There’s way more going on here. And did you notice they said nothing about those insurrectionists? Do you think they even know? Off in their ivory tower… ,” she grumbled. “Don’t be ridiculous. If anything, it’s an obsidian tower,” Peters chided. “Ha-ha-ha. Very funny.” “Thanks. I thought so.” “You know what I mean! And the First? The man fell asleep! How is he supposed to govern? How is he supposed to keep the other councilors in line? They’ll rip Praxis apart with their bickering.” “You’re being too pessimistic. Think about it this way. How much trouble can they cause if they’re bogged down in deadlock?” “So they fiddle while Praxis burns?” shot back Gonzalez. “Hey, if they aren’t lighting matches, that’s something good at least.” “Heh, maybe… Did you catch what Kreg said? The Tetriarch? What do you think that was about?” “It sounds like a match ready to light,” the captain itted. “But the Tetriarch are isolationists. Hard to say why they’d be interested in Praxis, let alone why they’d agree to make any kind of mutually beneficial alliance with a single, solitary world.” “Have you ever met someone from the empire?” “Just once, shortly after I first met Barinton. I was an ensign on special

assignment. He was first officer. Our captain at the time, Frydrek, was meeting with some Tetriarch dignitaries. Aside from their welcome to the ship, I barely noticed they were there.” “Sneaky bastards. What do they look like anyway? In the pictures, they’re always covered in that weird crimson armor.” “They aren’t much different in real life. Not much for words either. Military discipline and efficiency flow from everything they did, even in the way they moved and walked. Kinda reminded me of those old stories about Ancient Greece. Like those guys from one of those city-states, Sparta, I think? I almost felt bad for Frydrek, but apparently things went well enough. No galactic incident broke out at least. I know one thing. I’d hate to fight them.” “Do you think we’ll ever have to?” “I definitely hope not! They’re slow to incite, but when they go to war, they go all out. Their entire way of life is focused on martial discipline, strategy, and tactics.” “I’ve heard that they never surrender, even if they know they can’t win. They’ll die to the last man… Do you think that’s true?” “Let’s pray we never have to find out. But it is true that they’ve never gotten into a major conflict that they haven’t won. Even the Hebroni tell tales of entire worlds being razed in their war with the armor-clad aliens hundreds of years ago. I think the Tetriarch is the only civilization they might actually be afraid of.” “I suppose everyone has their own boogeymen, even the Hebroni. They survived at least.” “True. From the way they talk about it, if you can get them talking about it, the conflict set them back centuries. They make the whole conflict sound like the Mongol horde sacking Baghdad. But there was some good to come from it.” “Oh?” Gonzalez raised an eyebrow. “It spurred the Hebroni to take a more conciliatory tone toward other civilizations. They went from being a solitary, domineering culture to one that pioneered a galactic community where different civilizations can resolve

conflicts diplomatically rather than militarily. The foundation of galactic society as we know it today.” “A society still run by the Hebroni, essentially,” his counterpart pointed out. “Never said it was perfect. But it sure beats having a gun to our head the instant the galaxy realized we had FTL capability.” “I’ve always wondered why we never reached out to the Tetriarch more. I mean, the Hebroni are a pain in the neck sometimes.” “Maybe we have, but they just don’t find our species very interesting?” “I think,” Gonzalez postulated, “that the Alliance is afraid—too afraid of pissing the Hebroni off, too afraid of the Bilians and the clandestine GRIDD operations they might bring to light if we cause a stir. Hell, we’ve probably partnered with the Bilians on most of them. If the grays ever invited GRIDD to, you know, to be a part of a t venture? They’d never refuse.” “I prefer not to speculate on black ops. The less I know, the safer I am.” “Ignorance isn’t always bliss, Captain.” “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” He grinned. “Whatever. How bad can the Tetriarch be anyway? And besides, do you think the Fevros mess with them from time to time? Do you think the other races get away with belittling them? They wouldn’t dare.” “If a civilization comes along that prefers servitude to freedom, they may be the first to the Tetriarch voluntarily. The Tetra-Hebroni war was forever ago, but sometimes I wonder…” He trailed off. “What is it?” she asked, surprised at her partner’s introspection. “During the war, entire planets were ruined, populations deported, hundreds of millions perished, maybe even billions.” “Yeah… but that was a long time ago. No galactic war has ever come anywhere close to that kind of cataclysm. Things are different. The galaxy is a much more

stable place now.” “Is it, though?” Peters pressed. “While planets were being rendered uninhabitable willy-nilly just to prevent the other side from having a base of operations, what were we doing? Humans, I mean,” he asked. Gonzalez knew he was going somewhere with all this, but she wasn’t sure where exactly. “What do I look like, a history professor?” She played him off. “I give up. What were we crazy humans up to?” “Napoleon. He had just lost at Waterloo. The most powerful countries on Earth got together to form the Concert of Europe.” “Must have been a hell of a show. How much were tickets to that party? Not very sportsmanlike though. Rubbing it in like that. Napoleon was French, right? Well… they probably deserved it.” “They probably did, but this concert wasn’t nearly so festive. Basically, the victor countries—what was left of them—met and agreed to preserve the ‘balance of power’ in order to avoid major wars going forward… and they succeeded for nearly a hundred years.” “Well… that’s good then, right?” Gonzalez asked cautiously, still unsure exactly where her captain was going. “They certainly thought so. They thought they had everything figured out. They were confident, comfortable, but how in control were they really? The Tetriarch or Hebroni or who knows who, one of their allies, could have razed our planet to dust without so much as a second thought. And what would our people have done? Fired muskets at spaceships?” “But that didn’t happen. Why dwell on it?” “It could have. All our people, all of humanity. Wiped out. Gone! Nothing left.” Peters looked away sullenly. “We would have found a way. You know… ,” Gonzalez began, softly. “It’s what we do. I prefer to think that most things, the big things at least, happen for a reason. Maybe we were a little slower than the Bilians or the Hebroni or the Tetriarch when it comes to space-age gear. Maybe that saved us from being

annihilated. Maybe it was fate because our people are meant for a far greater role.” “Maybe we just got lucky,” Peters countered cynically. “Maybe”—Gonzalez straightened up her posture—“the galaxy just wasn’t ready for real greatness yet,” she announced. “So the way to reach our potential is to become subservient to the Tetriarch?” Peters asked, bringing the conversation full circle. It took Gonzalez a moment to that’s where the current line of thought had begun. “Well… no. But if anyone can deal with them… Look, we have a lot in common with those guys when you think about it. It’s just a matter of scale.” “Oh?” Peters crossed his arms. “Sure! We’re both pariah civilizations as far as the rest of the galactic community is concerned. The only difference is they don’t care. We grovel, our leaders do anyway, and for that the other civilizations mostly just give us dirty looks.” “Oh, come on, you don’t really believe that.” “Our slice of the galactic economic pie… In the short time since we’ve been part of this ‘community,’ we’ve already sured a lot of other races, civilizations that have been traveling the stars a lot longer. We have more colonies. We’ve spread out faster and farther than most other cultures in recent memory. The power players? They don’t like that. It upsets their balance. Do you ever wonder why they never help us when we need it? That’s why! When push comes to shove, we’re on our own. Just like the Tetriarch.” “Sorry, I’m just not buying it. What else have you got?” “Let’s see. Aside from both being pariahs, we’re both independent cultures. For as much as we go along to get along, which is far too often by the way, there’s still at least some talk from time to time about asserting human rights. People are concerned about becoming too integrated about and giving up our sovereignty, though you usually only hear about that around election time.”

“Uh-huh.” “Still not buying it? Well, if you ask any nonhuman, they’ll tell you we have a reputation for being pushy, aggressive, expansionist, and even militaristic. Guess what, they say the same thing about the Tetriarch.” “Except the Tetriarch keep entire races as slaves,” Peters countered. “So say the Hebroni. Maybe they’re just afraid of the possibilities.” “Possibilities such as… ?” “A human-Tetriarch alliance of course!” she exclaimed, eyes growing wide with excitement. “Just imagine it! The galaxy would shit its pants.” “And what happens if one day we don’t want to dance to the Tetriarch’s tune? You expect us to fight them? You expect any other civilization to come to our aid if that happens?” “They don’t come to our aid as it is. Working with the Tetriarch isn’t going to change that,” she considered aloud. “And what makes you think the Tetriarch would be interested in an alliance when we have nothing to offer them?” “How do we know we have nothing they’d be interested in if we scarcely even talk to them? You’re a history guy, what did European settlers have in common with Native Americans? And yet they found reasons to trade and ally from time to time.” “And in the end, the stronger overpowered the weaker.” “You’re missing the point!” “Oh?” “People always want things. It doesn’t really matter who they are. And if there’s a people in this huge galaxy that has the hutzpah and innovative spirit to strike a deal with the one race everyone else is afraid of, it’s humanity.”

“And a few years from now, when they start making more and more demands of their new ‘ally’? What then?” “Do you how quickly we retooled after the first war with the Fevros? It’d be like that but a thousandfold. Why, I bet we could take on those armored fools ourselves within a decade if we could get our hands on a few large-scale caches of their tech.” “And if we don’t? Our civilization gets burnt to a crisp. I don’t like it, Angie.” “What’s that old saying, it’s better to live on our feet than die on our knees bowing to the redheaded Hebroni?” “Heh… something like that. But I hear kneeling before iron-plated tyrants is even worse.” “We won’t kneel. They’ll respect that.” “So you agree with Kreg?” “In of Alliance-Tetriarch relations, sure. But a single planet trying to jump ship and deal with the Tetriarch as equals? No way! That’s crazy talk. The relative strength of the two sides is way too unbalanced, not to mention what it would mean for the Alliance, having a planet try to secede like that…” “Either the Alliance would have to give up Praxis completely, which is not particularly likely,” Peters finished her thought, “or the Tetriarch would have to back down.” “Which we know they won’t, since they don’t back down from anything.” “It’d be war,” Peters finished. “And without a chance to experiment with their tech for a few years ahead of time, it’d be a disaster. I’m just being pragmatic.” “I prefer my plan. One that doesn’t involve a galaxy-wide war now or in the future.” “You’re no fun,” Gonzalez pouted, “and you smell.”

At least we can agree that a Praxis-Tetriarch alliance is a bad way to go, considered Peters as they headed to meet Ruggar the next morning. It would have made the immediate situation a lot more complicated if he’d needed to persuade his counterpart along with half the Council. Given that the Council didn’t really seem to care for their opinion or, for that matter, any of their information, he wasn’t exactly sure why Ruggar wanted to meet with them again. Really, how is this any different from yesterday? As the pair walked up to the gate that secured the Council Chambers district, the heavy doors slowly creaked to life and opened once more, offering entry to the Meridian crew. As the pair stepped through and the massive doors slowly sealed them off from the rest of Prax Prime, Gonzalez took a moment to soak in the scenery and then meandered over to the vineyard across the path. Peters followed without argument. They had arrived a little early, for the sun was just now beginning to pour golden light across the horizon. Ruggar was not yet anywhere to be seen. With such an open landscape, they could afford to meander a bit; they would see the councilor long before he made it to their location. Early though it was, they could easily see that life in the winery had already begun. Upon approaching the winery, the pair was immediately greeted at an outer pavilion by a tall, thin brunette with hair that had just started to gray due to age. She spoke with an accent not unlike that of the butler, though a bit less thick. The hostess had insisted they try a sampling of the morning’s latest wine. While it was some of the best Peters had ever tasted, he declined a bottle for the table over the unspoken objection of his companion. They still had to meet Ruggar after all. Instead, the hostess called over another woman—a slightly plump blonde girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old herself. She came carrying half a dozen pints of ale and spoke in a decidedly different, almost German accent. She seemed overjoyed to meet the winery’s new visitors. Though Peters warned they were not interested in more alcohol so early in the day, this did nothing to dim the young girl’s demeanor. She called something over her shoulder and whipped back into the building so fast no one had time to ask what she had said. “Way to go, we could have had free booze, free food, you name it. Leave it to

you to turn that down,” Gonzalez teased, jabbing Peters in the chest. The mocking wasn’t to last. Not more than a full minute later, the German girl burst through the doors once more, this time carrying two giant mugs of steaming, hot coffee. Despite the fact that both mugs were filled to the brim, she gracefully maneuvered the cups in front of each patron so expertly that not a single drop was spilled. I’m not sure I’ll be able to manage the same feat just getting the drink from the table to my mouth, mused Peters. “Cream and sugar?” asked Gonzalez, clearly less impressed by the woman’s skill than Peters. “Yah, just ze vay you like it.” The woman grinned before disappearing back into the winery. The lieutenant commander blew lightly over her mug in an attempt to cool the steaming liquid, then raised it to her lips. It was at this moment that the officer came face-to-face with the most flavorful coffee she’d ever known. It took a great deal of self-control to hold herself back from gulping down the scalding, hot liquid and burning her throat. Peters noticed the sudden change in his companion’s demeanor from caution to can’t-get-enough. “So,” he began, “how is it?” “Words can’t describe.” Sip. “It’s just, I don’t know how.” Sip. “Just… just try yours!” Smirking, the amused captain slowly took a drink from his own mug and smiled approvingly. “What do you suppose is in it?” he asked. “I’m still trying to figure out how they knew our preferred blends. You take yours black with just a touch of sugar, not nearly as doctored up as me, but look. Mine is a lighter color. It was prepped like we’d asked for them this way.” “You never know!” he replied with exaggerated exuberance. “Think the Alliance has that tagged in our files?” “Hell, if it means getting coffee like this, I don’t even care.” Sip. “Think they’ll let us buy in bulk, take it off world?” “I do believe you’ve just solved their government’s little money problem,

Angie.” In the back of his mind, Peters knew they should head over to meet the councilor, but he didn’t care. The atmosphere was just too perfect, from the sweet smell in the air to the perfect weather; just a touch of chilly morning air with a slight breeze, not a cloud in the sky; an amazing coffee to ward away that chill; and perfect company—the lovely Angela Gonzalez. The councilor could wait. It wasn’t until several minutes after they had both finished their drinks that the captain recommended they get a move on. His first officer acquiesced, though a forlorn glance back at the winery revealed her hope that the German woman would reappear with two more mugs. No such luck. The pair casually meandered over to the garden area but decided to take a short detour, walking through a local orchard instead. To their amazement, they quickly found all variety of fruit trees, even those that by all rights shouldn’t be growing together. There were apple trees and cherry trees alongside orange trees, banana trees, and even coconut trees. “How do you suppose they… ,” began Gonzalez. “This is the Council Chambers district! A land where dreams become reality!” Peters grinned as he yanked a low-hanging pear from a nearby tree, chomping into it as they walked. Gonzalez sampled a few cherries before settling on an oversized peach. The pair gradually made their way, eating their fill the entire trek, to the outskirts of the garden proper. It was here that a figure seemed to step out from behind nothingness and finally made his presence known. “I see you’ve been enjoying some good, old-fashioned Council hospitality!” Ruggar exclaimed with a childish grin. Rather than be startled by their sudden visitor, the pair nonchalantly turned and approached the councilor, Gonzalez with a half-eaten peach still in hand as if having the young planetary ruler pop out from behind an invisible curtain was the most normal thing in the world. The councilor gave no indication that he was offended or even surprised by their behavior. “The coffee is to die for! Have you had it?” he asked excitedly. Both Meridian crew nodded. “Then let us have some wine!” he called as he walked past them and headed

straight back toward the winery. “At this hour… ?” interjected Peters, though he followed close behind the councilor. Gonzalez did the same. “Nonsense! A little wine in the morning works wonders for the soul. A touch of class puts the rest of the day into perspective.” As the party returned, the French hostess reappeared from within, bowing to the councilor. She greeted the captain and commander once more. Personally taking their order out on the patio, she swiftly disappeared back into the building. Almost instantly, the young blonde emerged carrying an intricately decorated silver tray with three ornamented wine goblets atop. Carefully placing the first glass in front of Ruggar, he leaned in, whispering something into her ear. Though the girl let out a soft girly giggle, no one else at the table was able to hear what had been said. Peters received the next drink and Gonzalez the last. Seeing that they were waiting for him to begin, Ruggar opened the floor as he took his first, long sip. “Please, my friends, drink up!” At this, his companions each took a sip of their own. The taste was exquisite, which left Gonzalez with a serious conundrum. Should I try to get mostly coffee or mostly wine to take off world? “I trust you received the Parlic AA?” he asked. “This is a sister fermentation. It’s called Parig AA. A little sweeter to be sure, but I prefer it, to be honest. Say that my palette is unrefined if you must.” “I don’t think anyone can rightly criticize the taste of a man who favors this wine,” reassured Gonzalez. Peters nodded in agreement after another sip from his own cup. The three chitchatted for a while longer until finally, after they’d each consumed two full glasses apiece, Peters redirected the conversation into a more businessoriented direction. “This wine is really excellent, though I fear if we keep drinking we may never be able to properly address the reasons you wanted to meet us here,” he began. “Ah, yes, about that… ,” started Ruggar. “Yesterday… you did not see the Council at its best, and I apologize for that. The others, Lord Kreg included, mean well, but they have their minds stuck in the past.”

“An alliance with the Tetriarch doesn’t seem like it has much of precedence in the past,” corrected Gonzalez. “Living under the illusion that Praxis holds the kind of interstellar clout it used to is living in the past,” clarified Ruggar. “Clout badly needed for any kind of agreement with the Tetriarch if quick annexation, or war between the Tetriarch and the Alliance, is to be avoided.” “Have things really gotten that bad around here?” asked Peters, not ready to reveal the information Swast had freely provided nor call out the decadence he and his companion had already witnessed. “It pains me to say it. It pains me even more to have witnessed it, to be on the Council itself and yet unable to turn back the tide of decline,” Ruggar lamented. “Praxis was at its best just after the last Fevros war. Our location is critical for command and control of the entire front. We’re a gateway to the larger expanse of Alliance-controlled territory. First, soldiers and equipment poured in. Then longer-term defensive and sensor equipment. Each new wave of colonists, if they wanted to settle anywhere out here, they had to through Praxis. Many of them stayed. Those that didn’t still knew where their bread was buttered. You know how everything revolves around Earth? It was like that, just on a smaller scale. Like a state capital in the old United States, I suppose.” “So what happened? I doubt you called us here for a history lesson,” remarked Gonzalez. “Yes, you are quite right, Commander. History is hardly the reason your presence planet-side is so critical, but I want you to know that the Praxis you see is not the way it has always been. The world Lord Kreg and many of the other councilors believe Praxis is now is that world from the past. When the entire sector kisses your ass for years, it’s hard to come to grips with all that slowly slipping away. The Fevros threat? Virtually nonexistent for quite some time. That only changed just recently. The planets and systems that used to pay us homage have grown bolder, more independent.” “With no external threat, the necessity of paying tribute for protection, organization, logistics… I don’t doubt resistance to higher taxation grew,” Peters theorized academically. “Exactly, but the Council doesn’t see it. Government coffers slowly dwindled,

but the luxury in which the Council lived was never curtailed. The public sector, too, had grown quite accustomed to an exceptionally high standard of living. The Council refused to cut back. The government unions banded together, refusing to even consider cuts to their benefits unless the Council reduced theirs first. In reality, I doubt very much if they would have agreed even if the Council had worked for no pay whatsoever, but it gave them a stronger foundation on which to justify their demands.” “This is why I hate politics,” observed Gonzalez. “Nobody is ever willing to make tough choices. No offense, Councilor, it’s just a theme I’ve noticed… frequently.” “None taken.” Ruggar shook his head. “I doubt Praxis is the first place to encounter such a fate.” He sighed sadly. “Of course, that wasn’t the only piece to the puzzle. Costs continued to go up too. As each faction of government came to the realization that the fiscal pie was shrinking, they made a dash to grab and secure as much as they could before the flow of funds dried up completely. Eventually, everything came to a head. Taxes went up on everyone that was touchable, which ultimately meant everyone not employed by the government. Social programs like job training, education, trash pickup? Slashed severely or eliminated entirely… except for areas servicing predominantly government employees of course.” “No wonder the people are so unhappy… ,” murmured Gonzalez. “Yes, and I don’t blame them. During good economic times—or even uncertain times—people usually don’t mind paying a little bit more for the sake of stability, but the government hasn’t been able to provide that lately. The early measures were never enough to pay for the ever-increasing cumbersome bureaucracy. The government went after all the loose colonies dotting the planet next. Used to relative autonomy, of course they revolted! Makes me think of the American Revolution in a way, though I’d hoped we could avoid that kind of bloodshed.” “You speak as if you powerlessly watched all this transpire. You’re a Praxis councilor,” Gonzalez pointed out. “Why didn’t you do something if you saw it all coming years ago?” “I am, in a sense, one of the few concessions made by the Council over the last

few years,” Ruggar itted. “What do you mean, you were a concession?” asked Peters, surprised. “The Council only had six until a little over a year ago. The wheels were coming off. The colonies were revolting. The unions, they refused to have their work without a customary increase in pay, which the Council was refusing to authorize given their inability to extract the needed funds from the colonies. But without production of weapons and lacking manpower, which the unions could provide, bringing the colonies in line went from difficult to impossible. It took months, but eventually an agreement was reached.” “Let me guess, it did nothing but kick the can down the road?” quipped Gonzalez. “That’s only partially true,” answered Ruggar. “The unions got half their standard pay raise but were also allowed to appoint one person from among themselves to a rotating seat on the Council. Finally, they’d gotten the direct governmental representation for which they’d longed. And here I am!” He grinned. “In return, they agreed to help put down the rebellion?” assumed Peters. “Exactly. It stemmed the tsunami that would have swept into Prax Prime, wiping away civilized society like the Goths sacking Rome. So in that sense, the agreement was successful. As the rebels’ string of victories came to a sudden halt, we’d hoped negotiations could begin for a peaceful resolution. Every last one of the colonies refused!” Ruggar slammed his fist down. “We promised them roads, equipment, infrastructure, even an advisory Council seat of their own!” “Just advisory?” asked Gonzalez. “It was hard to get even that from the existing Council. The government unions were getting tired of war, and they got behind the idea. Since it had worked so well saving Prax Prime from getting sacked and razed, the Council eventually agreed to a new advisory slot. They just don’t want to give up too much of their clout. But the colonial leadership wouldn’t take it!” “Colonial leadership? I was under the impression that the populace outside of Prax Prime were a loose confederacy at best,” Peters recalled.

“Indeed, before the war that was true, but conflict has a strange way of concentrating authority. The smaller, weaker colonies fell under the sway of the larger, stronger ones. It’s easier to coordinate logistics and strategy through a clearer hierarchy with only a few people at the top than with hundreds. The details are sketchy, but our intel indicates that power is now concentrated in the hands of just a few strategically significant, resource-rich colonies, less than five probably. It’s been from them that most of the high-ranking rebel generals have come, and where much of their logistical coordination appears to be controlled. Tyria and Gribt were major outposts before and are undoubtedly prominent of the rebellion. A few other cities have risen to prominence as suppliers of arms, Cwan. Possibly one or two others. It has unfortunately been hard to get good intel these days.” “Just follow the flow of weapons, troops, and material,” suggested Peters. “Pretty straightforward, right?” “That’s the name of the game, pretty much, but resources appear to be flowing in from everywhere, even from places at which we have no record of major settlements. A few colonies we thought important turned out to simply be temporary transit stations. When the war front moves, rebel supply routes change in a flash. One of the few major successes of the conflict, if the newspaper can be believed, came when we raided what we expected to be a major rebel encampment just outside of what we perceived to be one of the colony power players, Balyr. It wasn’t really a great location for us, but to deprive the insurrectionists of it was an opportunity too good to up. “The idea was to knock out and secure the camp, then capture Balyr, thereby depriving the rebels of a major command center and shattering their control over the entire area, but aside from a token force, the camp had been deserted long before our men arrived. The colony had been converted into a giant transit station and had been otherwise evacuated, left behind like yesterday’s garbage. Of course the news heralded it as a major victory, a major turning point in the conflict,” Ruggar trumpeted sarcastically, placing his hand over his heart. “In reality, our troops just walked onto an undefended, strategically irrelevant plot of dirt. Some recon equipment was set up along with a regular team to patrol the area and keep it in our hands, but otherwise we all but abandoned the area too. Military intel had been virtually certain it was a major enemy nerve center. That faulty assessment has had military command second-guessing itself ever since.”

“I can imagine,” Peters sympathized as he took a bite out of a small apple pastry the waitress had just served. “So where do things stand now?” “Stalemate. Every time we put pressure on a supposed enemy stronghold, another two spring up nearby. Every time we think we have the rebels on the run, they counterattack with forces we never knew they had. Bloody stalemate…” “So… ,” began Gonzalez, “why have you asked to meet us, exactly?” “I must confess something to you,” started Ruggar. “I was hoping your presence here would help sway the undecided on the Council. Lord Kreg has been railing for some time about declaring Praxian independent, independent from the Alliance, I mean. With the rumors of Fevros trouble, myself and similarly minded of government expected he would drop all the bluster in favor of ensuring Alliance protection.” “Things don’t seem to have quite worked out that way,” remarked Gonzalez. “Indeed. If anything, his fervor has only grown. And now it’s seasoned with dangerous spices. The Tetriarch…” Ruggar shuddered. “I had hoped that an Alliance envoy would help remind Kreg of the Alliance’s strength and of the many benefits it has provided Praxis over the years.” “All this talk about the Tetriarch, is that even a possibility?” asked Gonzalez with interest. “Lord Kreg seems utterly convinced, as do a small but vocal minority in government.” Ruggar sighed. “There have been… rumors that he has reached out to them without official Council sanction.” “He can do that?” asked both of his companions simultaneously. “Praxian councilors enjoy a high degree of freedom and discretion in all matters. He cannot sign any official treaty or accord without Council approval, but he may speak to whomever he wishes, even intergalactically.” “The Alliance won’t stand for treason!” the captain exclaimed, clenching his fist in anger. “You’ll hear no argument from me. His is a fool’s errand if these whispers are

true, though he is right about one thing. The Alliance doesn’t generally pay much attention to Praxis. It isn’t treason if nobody cares. But believe it or not, I have another reason for wanting to meet you, and it has nothing to do with Lord Kreg.” “Oh?” asked Peters, arms crossed. The officer felt indignant that anti-Alliance activities were being dismissed so casually. “Yes.” Ruggar leaned in, lowering his tone to just above a whisper. “It’s about the rebels and their equipment.” “Uh-huh…” “It’s expensive, advanced military hardware. We aren’t sure exactly where they’re getting it. Black market dealers maybe? Anyway, we raided a heavily guarded arms depot in rebel-controlled territory a little over a week ago. The plan was to deprive the enemy of supplies, inflict a hit to their morale by pulling off a major raid so deep in their territory, and get our hands on some equipment that could lead us to their suppliers all in one swoop. Except, well, there was very little in of heavy weapons there.” “Like Balyr all over again?” asked Peters. “We didn’t find heavy weapons, but we did find something else. Something we weren’t expecting. In the center of the compound, under lock and key, in the most heavily protected area in the complex, we found… people.” “People?” Gonzalez blinked in surprise. “Yes, peasants, workers, a soldier or two. About a dozen in total. They had come down with some sort of lethargic disease, every one of them. They scarcely cared about anything. Even while their guardians fell from our assault, they made no attempt to assist in the base’s defense, nor did they try to flee. By all s, they calmly, if a bit sluggishly, followed every command our team gave without question as they were escorted back to a POW camp on the outskirts of Prax Prime.” “A trap? Biological sleeper weapons?” suggested Peters. “We suspected that, had every last one of them screened for all known diseases.

But they’re completely clean aside from the congestion and lethargy.” “That can’t be a coincidence.” Gonzalez frowned. “Whatever is going on, the rebels went to great lengths to keep their existence secret. We’ve kept them quarantined for now, away from the other prisoners. So far, none of our other rebel prisoners are talking and Cold Squad—that’s what we’ve started calling them since some of their symptoms mimic the common cold—seems just as clueless as everyone else. They don’t cause trouble, which is something I wish I could say of the other inmates. They don’t talk, not unless you talk to them first. Even then, after a few words it’s like their mind clouds up and they forget where they are and what they had been saying.” “What condition are their minds in, medically I mean?” asked Gonzalez. “Well… ,” Ruggar began, “their motor skills are all there. But something has definitely impacted their cognitive activity. We’ve never seen anything like it. In the gymnasium where we found them, we also found a small shard composed of an unknown material. Our soldiers’ handling of it was the only thing Cold Squad seemed to care about.” “What did they do exactly?” asked Peters. “They slowly drudged over and asked the officer touching the shard to leave it be. He told them that he was securing the area and they should wait in the corner until spoken to. Cold Squad complied, much to the officer’s surprise I’m sure.” “Where is this shard now?” asked Gonzalez. “What did you do with it?” “We noticed that Cold Squad would get uncharacteristically agitated when we moved it too far away from them, screaming, little-kid-tantrum stuff. As long as it doesn’t get too far away, they don’t get upset. They all just watch whoever has it. Kinda creepy if you ask me. The shard is being housed in their quarantine facility, just not in their block so it’s out of eyeshot. As long as it’s within a few hundred yards or so, even if they can’t actually see it, they’re all cool as cucumbers. If that’s what we need to do to keep them tame while we extracting information, then that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” “Doesn’t it bother you, them behaving so… amicably?” asked Gonzalez.

“In a word, yes. Very much so. The quarantine area is buried deep underground and surrounded with reinforced durasteel. It’s virtually impossible to escape. If they have a bomb of some kind, they’d kill only themselves, a few guards, and dozens of their fellow POWs. It’s on the outskirts of Prax Prime, like I said, so it’s deep inside our area of control. I’m not sure what their play is, not yet, but we’re taking every precaution,” explained Ruggar. “The shard is being kept separately under lock and key until we figure out what it’s for.” “Does it do anything, aside from attract Cold Squad’s attention?” asked Peters. “It does emit low levels of radiation. Far too little to be considered harmful, though we’re not quite sure where it’s coming from. The thing doesn’t look like any piece of tech I’ve ever seen, which leads me to believe that it isn’t anything the rebels produced in-house or acquired from a standard arms dealer. I fear more distant influence.” “The Tetriarch is already here?” asked a surprised Gonzalez. It makes sense in a way. Little is known about their technology aside from it being highly advanced, a match, or better than anything the Hebroni or Bilians can produce. But how could the rebels have come upon it? “Possibly… ,” pondered Peters aloud. “If so, the rebels either stole it or acquired it from someone who did—which would be a death sentence if the Tetriarch ever found out.” “The Tetriarch could have given it to the rebels,” suggested Gonzalez. “Subtlety has never been their style. If it is a piece of their technology, then whatever the rebels traded to get it must have been something the ironclads wanted very badly,” surmised Ruggar. “We don’t even know what it does yet,” reminded Peters. “For all we know, it’s three or four tech generations old that some low-level Tetriarch janitor was going to throw out, but decided he’d make a few bucks on the black market instead.” “Could be… ,” Ruggar agreed with the possibility. “In any case, I was wondering if you might have a look at it, given your recent experiences in border regions.” “We’ve not had any encounters with the Tetriarch,” Peters pointed out.

“Yes, but you have dealt with the Fevros more recently than anyone on Prax Prime. The Tetriarch shares a long border with the Fevros. Maybe the bugs got their hands on some Tetriarch tech and the rebels got it from them. Maybe it’ll look similar to something you’ve seen the bugs use. To be honest, we’re grasping at straws before the other shoe drops, if you catch my meaning.” The captain and his first mate both nodded in understanding. The rebels had deep, dark secrets. Cold Squad and this alien device were keys to unlocking the puzzle. But opportunities had one golden rule. They never last long. Peering into the sky, Ruggar downed the rest of his drink in a single giant gulp. “Well, I must be going. I need to meet the rest of my fellows in a few minutes. Here.” He handed a small electronic card to Peters. “This’ll allow you to use a tram to get to the outskirts of the city, where the POW camp is located. When you get into the car, activate it and say, ‘Camp Nordstrom.’ The device will take care of the rest.” As he got up to walk back toward his obsidian home, Peters caught the councilor by the arm. “Should we, you know, ask for someone when we get there?” “Just show them the card I gave you. They’ll know what to do. You’ll have full Council authority to access any location at the camp, have a look at the artifact in person, observe and interview Cold Squad, so forth and so on. You can’t remove anything or anyone from the compound of course, but security will let you move freely throughout the complex. Commander Arthur is the one in charge over there. If you’re present for lunch, they’ll get you some food. Don’t count on it being as good as breakfast though,” he added with a wink. “Let’s meet up again tomorrow, same place and time, to go over what you’ve discovered. Until then, my friends.” Bowing, the councilor turned and briskly made his way toward the Council Tower. Gonzalez looked at Peters. Peters looked at Gonzalez. Both shrugged and helped themselves to another massive mug of coffee. After collecting a free bottle of wine, the couple made their way back through the gate onto a personal tram and off to Camp Nordstrom, Cold Squad, and the shard.

The breadth of unrest on Praxis was unexpected, though the fact that there was some discontent on the planet was hardly a surprise. Humans are a funny species. The more their appetite is appeased, the more they hunger, mused Mitrich. With a few hundred years to mature, they may go far. But whatever was to come, the distant future had little role to play in the here and now. The Fevros were predominantly a human concern, though if Praxis fell, the entire sector would fall. Such an event would throw the humans on the defensive across a massive swath of territory, creating a power vacuum, and power vacuums could be dangerous… or make for opportunities. The Hebroni would be eager to stake claim in the event of any human withdrawal. Ceding more territory and influence to that race of egotists was not an option as far as Mitrich was concerned. The spread of human influence had, in many areas—some significant—stemmed the spread of Hebroni tentacles. Their impatience, greed, and bumbling drive to explore had yielded that one positive effect on galactic politics at a time that could not have been more opportune for the Bilian Empire. Who would have thought that their sudden emergence onto the intergalactic stage could have gone so well. Funny how things work out. Any war with the Fevros would be bloody; the insect creatures were known for their brutality, not for their intellect. With just a short time to prepare, even the humans had managed to hold them at bay in their second bout. The key to it all lay on Praxis. Mitrich had begun arguing nearly a decade ago that this strategic zone needed keen, if subtle, Bilian observation. His higher-ups had refused, but that all changed when intelligence began reporting a growing discontent on the planet. A quiet observational strategy was authorized to ensure Command was appraised of any major developments. Naturally, Mitrich’s expertise in the matter put him on the short list of those called upon to execute the strategy, a mandate the conniving gray alien interpreted with overwhelming liberality. A few prods in the right places and the planetwide rebellion practically ran itself. Fewer fingerprints were always a good thing, but now something was wrong. Mitrich frowned as he read the report that had just been delivered by Tryar. His direct subordinate and second in command of the Praxis Observation Operation was exceptionally tall for a Bilian, nearly six feet, and had a slight green tint to his otherwise gray skin.

“Are you sure about this?” Mitrich finally asked after a long silence. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so. The entire team…” “Did you give them authorization? I certainly didn’t!” His anger flared as the Bilian leader slammed his tiny gray fist on the curvy, translucent desk at which he sat. The sight of an enraged, frail-looking Bilian was something many other races found humorous. Tryar found it anything but and kept his mouth tightly shut. In less than a second, his notorious boss regained his composure. “Why were they in the field?” Mitrich asked flatly. “Commis Bradar by all reports.” “And where is he now?” “He’s dead. Died in the early moments of the assault.” Of course he is… Commis Bradar was the scientific community’s liaison on the Praxis mission. Officially, he and Mitrich had equal authority as leaders in their respective areas—science and espionage. In reality, it just meant Bradar and his men could, and often did, operate with their own agenda, sharing only the tidbits that they deemed so trivial as to render secrecy irrelevant. Though Mitrich could scarcely contain the rising tide of glee that came from knowing his annoying rival was gone forever, he made a great effort to disguise his feelings. His outburst just a moment earlier proved the need to clamp down. “Why was he planet-side?” “It appears that his team was doing some on-site experimentation with something referred to as Artifact X.” “Artifact X?” the commistre asked, intrigued. “What is Artifact X, exactly?” Tryar shrugged. It was a human physical expression that indicated uncertainty, a primitive behavior that Mitrich despised. Seeing such a mannerism adopted by his kin was disgusting. He made an immediate mental note to thoroughly degrade Tryar in his next report to High Command. “Some schematics are at the end of your report,” explained Tryar, completely unaware that his boss had just decided to throw him under the bus for any and all

mission failures, both real and imagined. “It appears to be some kind of device designed to gain temporary influence over the weak-minded, which explains,” he said with a chuckle, “why Bradar wanted to try it on humans.” “Indeed,” Mitrich agreed as he absorbed all data currently available about Artifact X through his large sunken eyes. “It looks like the device was most effective in exerting influence over reptiles, birds, even lower primates. Human experimentation would have been the obvious next step.” A step I would have heartily agreed to under most other circumstances. “But there are far more subtle and effective ways of testing this technology. Our entire operation was nearly exposed. Where is Artifact X now?” “Captured. We were able to erase any evidence of the team’s presence and liquidate their killers without exposing our presence, but we were not able to recover that particular item,” explained Tryar. More good news… “It looks like Artifact X runs on its own internal energy source. Put a tracer out and scan for its signature. Find it.” “Yes, sir. Already done, sir.” “Then where is it?” “Artifact X is currently in a heavily guarded facility run by the recognized planetary government. Acquiring it undetected may prove to be especially difficult.” “Leave that to me.” Mitrich let out a slight grin. Work was boring without a real challenge every now and then. “Good work maintaining the secrecy of our presence. I will be sure to mention your efforts to Command,” he lied. “Thank you, sir.” “Dismissed.” Tryar nodded and strode out of the room full of the belief that he had executed his job flawlessly. The commis was smug and secretive and loved to parade his impunity in front of Mitrich every chance he got. Now that his Bilian rival was out of the way, Mitrich could apply the full force of his resources to crack Commis Bradar’s deepest secrets. The commistre wasted no time, immediately tapping orders to

his spy network through a private holographic terminal. I will learn your secrets, Bradar, he thought as a sadistic grin slowly began to form across his long gray face. What you’ve been doing here under my nose, everything you’ve had your hands in. Thank you… for your cooperation. In an hour, Mitrich’s control over the Praxis initiative had doubled. In a week, his influence far beyond the sector would do the same. Within minutes, data began to silently stream onto the data pad’s small gray screen. Some of the information confirmed what had been widely rumored, though many items caught even the master spy by surprise. My, my, Bradar, you have been busy…

CHAPTER 14

Commistre Warich had seen a lot of things. He had fought the Fevros bugs. He had skirmished with the armor-clad Tetriarch. He’d even had a spat or two with Hebroni commandos, though both governments officially denied any such events had ever occurred. As he thoughtfully considered the events of the last two days, he came to the realization that though he’d studied their techniques as well as their physical and mental strengths and weaknesses, the Bilian war hero had never actually been called upon to fight a human before. That is, at least until recently, if what had been on Sanctuary could truly be called human. The station had been assaulted by the bug creatures, and by all s, chaos had reigned ever since. Sanctuary’s security forces were virtually nonexistent, and the entire station was trashed, which was not surprising considering the entire prison block was deserted. With systems failing left and right—including some critical to the continued existence of life—the arrival of Warich and his elite team, Paridic Squad, had been most timely. A faint smile formed on Warich’s face as he considered how many had been saved by the team’s arrival. Then the smile turned into a grimace. Among pockets of survivors had been… something else. Most bore something of a resemblance to humans, but these were unlike any his team had ever seen. These creatures were beastly, with long fangs and deadly claws. They prowled around in packs like predators stalking prey. The creatures looked to have the strength of a dozen humans, perhaps more. The most famous human traits—for those objective enough to see it—were their intellect and cleverness. This, of course, led to stereotypes concerning greed and fickleness, but Warich had learned long ago to respect, rather than dismiss, the strengths of all potential foes. Those creatures were not intelligent. Those creatures were not clever. Can they truly be considered human? The commistre was not quite sure. They attacked and killed, slaughtered, and ravaged seemingly indiscriminately. The only lifeform that didn’t seem to drive them into an instantaneous bloodthirsty rage was their own kind.

The beasts’ strength was clear at first glance, but their equally impressive speed and agility had initially caught the team utterly flat-footed. It had cost the team Itir, the youngest member of the squad, a promising recruit. They did not make the same mistake again. As soon as basic life functionality was restored, the battle-hardened, elite Bilian unit set out with a singular purpose: save the station by systematically hunting down and eliminating the Prowlers—it was what Itir had first called the creatures before his life was taken away. It was a name as good as any other. In respect to their fallen friend, Paridic Squad officially bestowed the name to the creatures, a designation made official through a baptism of blood. The team applied strict discipline to the job at hand, as they did with all their tasks. After a little over a day, nearly four dozen Prowlers had been liquidated at the cost of only a few fatalities and injuries. Internal sensors indicated that a lot more of them had taken up residency on the detention side. The block appeared vacant otherwise, so rather than risk losing more lives, Warich had ordered life completely disabled throughout that entire half of the station. Not quite as precise, but the result was the same—death to enemies, with the added benefit of no more friendly casualties. How the whole situation had begun was impossible to say, except that the instigators, if they were still alive, didn’t want it known. The station’s surveillance feeds were thorough until right after the Fevros were neutralized. Then a whole lot of nothing. It was as if all of the security apparatuses, not to mention their backup systems, had gone offline simultaneously. Or, as was far more likely the case, were disabled. But by whom and for what purpose? Warich rubbed his temple as if trying to massage the answers he sought out from the deep recesses of his mind. The Prowlers were involved somehow. They didn’t seem nearly intelligent or capable enough to pull off something like this unnoticed. They were merely puppets, but who was the puppet master? If it could be known, Qerbellic (Bilian intelligence) would be the group to find out. Paridic Squad had begun ing all their findings the moment they’d approached the station. No conclusive answers had become apparent yet. His at Qerbellic had seemed surprised and intrigued about all the scientific discoveries that could come from Paridic’s Sanctuary findings. He was a little too gleeful for the commistre’s taste considering how much death and destruction had been wrought. Perhaps, if he had seen the way the Prowlers ravaged, mutilated, and cannibalized their victims, he wouldn’t be so callous.

The soft chime of his door alarm jerked the Bilian commander from his thoughts. “Come in,” he called while slowly standing. The door to his quarters opened, and he was greeted with the site of Commis Teril, his first officer. Just a year behind Warich in seniority, the two had led Paridic Squad hand in hand for some time. They both hated the suffering of all-out war but at the same time were meticulous in planning and both clever and flexible in execution. Despite taking on some of the toughest missions Bilian Command could muster, they had one of the lowest casualty rates of any team their size. Individually, they were both good leaders. Together, they were among the best in the galaxy. “Sir,” began Teril. Warich motioned toward a chair opposite his own position at a small table, the location at which he had been pondering for the last hour. Teril took a seat before continuing. “Our teams found something… strange.” “Oh?” Given recent events, Warich was unsurprised. Until recently, he’d thought there wasn’t much left in the universe that could surprise either man, but then there were the Prowlers and now something more. “Yes, sir. We found some makeshift med labs deep on station. Based on the concentration of mutilated bodies, we believe that is the location from which the Prowlers originated. Either that or the things decided to converge at a location where a lot of medical personnel just happened to have advanced biometric, nanobot, and injector equipment.” “I suspect the former,” Warich mused as Teril nodded. “As do I.” “Have we been able to ascertain what kind of experimentation resulted in the Prowlers?” inquired the commistre. “Analyses are already under way. No nanobots have been recoverable thus far, but we did find some unusual residue that looks to be the by-product from some sort of a surgical operation. Techy is performing an intricate examination as we speak,” reported Teril. “Good. I don’t like operating blind.” This is what happens when science goes too far. He considered a story humans used to tell about a monster called to life by a

doctor named Frankenstein, a creature against nature that terrorized its maker and all those who came near. Perhaps the Prowlers will be this generation’s Frankenstein’s monster. “We found something else unusual.” The voice of Paridic’s first officer cut into Warich’s thoughts. “The Prowlers so far have looked to most closely resemble humans, though their physical appearance is so morphed that it’s really impossible to make a definitive connection. The skin tone and lack of red hair make Hebroni unlikely, and their stature is far different from that of our people. The team has been running DNA checks on a number of dead monsters, ones we’ve killed and ones we’ve found dead. These things did not originate solely as humans. Some were, in fact, Hebroni. Others were our own, fellow Bilians! But whatever the cause, the metamorphosis appears to result in a similar creature regardless of original species.” As the aliens began to let this new revelation soak in, a beep emanated from Teril’s front breast pocket. Quickly snatching up the source of the sound, the commis placed the small communication device on the table in front of him and pressed a faint green light on the side. Instantaneously, a six-inch-tall holographic image of a Bilian, another member of Paridic Squad, sprung to life. “Ah, Techy, my favorite science officer,” greeted Warich. Slightly startled, the hologram offered a bow in respect. “Commistre, Commis,” he began. “Have you news to report, my friend?” Teril asked, hoping the pieces of the puzzle would finally start to come together. “Yes, sir. The residue we discovered? It’s definitely a surgical by-product like we hypothesized. It’s the leftovers from an Ovich-Yyger’s procedure performed on a young Bilian female who reached maturity three or four cycles ago.” The two commanders nodded in understanding. Ovich-Yyger was an old surgical procedure used when a host’s body violently rejected a nanobot implantation. The need for the operation was typically revealed within minutes of an injection. The procedure usually involved the surgical removal of tissue around the injection area (Type A), thus removing the vast majority of the nanobots. In cases where removal of the nanobots could mean death to the patient, only the area around the injection site that was showing the most severe trauma was

removed. In these Type B cases, potent medication was also applied to reduce the strength of the recipient’s immune response until the nanobots were recognized as friendly by their biological counterparts. Thanks to advances in nanotechnology and an improved understanding of biological and nanobot interaction, the practice had been virtually obsolete for a generation. “Can we determine which type of Ovich-Yyger was performed?” “Definitely Type B. I’ve cross-referenced some of the most extreme OvichYyger cases in our records. To find this violent of a reaction is, well, it’s incredibly rare. This Bilian must have been in incredible pain after the initial nanobot injection,” he regretfully concluded. “Any sign of the nanobots themselves?” “No, sir, but the trauma to this tissue is unmistakable. I can conclusively say that the vast majority of it was caused by the nanobots themselves, not Ovich-Yyger, which was performed by a highly skilled pair of hands. There can be no doubt that this doctor knew exactly what he was doing.” “Any sign of the patient?” “None. But I suspect the end result was one of those Prowler creatures. We’re comparing the DNA collected from the residue with samples collected from the creatures we’ve found thus far to see if we can find a match. That kind of transformation… it’s easy to see why native biology would react violently to it. If the nanobots are the cause, then they are somehow able to generate a complete physical rewrite. This is the sort of thing that has been theorized, even tried on bacteria, but no such test has ever ultimately proved successful.” “Success can mean different things to different people,” reminded Teril. “What were the results of those bacteria tests you mentioned?” “That is an excellent point, sir. In all of the experiments, the bacteria were rendered lifeless. At this point, success is measured only by how long the host survives. The most promising procedure left the subject alive for nearly two days post injection, though it has been postulated that this was only possible because the nanobots were designed to act more slowly, the hope being that the host’s biology would be more receptive. In the end, only an incredibly small amount of biological rewrite is possible before the host simply shuts down entirely. Once

that begins, a quick death has resulted in 100 percent of test cases.” “Is it possible that a breakthrough has been achieved?” asked Warich. “Possible… but unlikely. That kind of discovery, even on the simplest of organic creatures, would have sent shock waves through galactic medicine. For this to have been accomplished on any creature, let alone intelligent life, and for it to have been kept hidden from our medical community is unthinkable. By our own law, this type of invasive implantation, even if it were possible, can only be given to willing volunteers. That this could all be done in the shadows, in secret, is incredibly unlikely, bordering on impossible.” Techy shook his head. “And yet, here are the Prowlers,” mused Warich. “Indeed. Here are the Prowlers.” Techy sighed in resignation. “What’s that thing the humans say sometimes? ‘If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’?” recalled Teril. “Very fitting. So, my friends, what exactly do we know?” Grotesque experiments may have been performed. On the other hand, it was possible that a nanobot infection had occurred elsewhere and Ovich-Yyger had been used in an attempt to rescue, not harm the afflicted. Would removal of the nanobots truly have led to death? If the affliction caused metamorphosis resulting in the victims becoming mindless Prowlers, would death not have been a better final state for these poor victims? As they drilled down, it quickly became evident that though they had obtained a great deal more information in the last two days, they still had far more questions than answers. After well over an hour of discussion, it was clear little more could be determined at this point. The team decided to break for the evening. Additional biological tests would be done by morning, which would hopefully shed additional light on the situation. The Prowlers had been eliminated. The imminent danger had ceased. Still, as he laid his head down to get some sleep, Warich couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling.

Morning came too soon. The commistre pulled himself out of bed despite a heavy, groggy feeling. Though he’d slept the standard amount, the slender gray alien felt as if he’d scarcely dozed off. There was still something gnawing away at the back of his consciousness. After quickly hopping into a sonic shower for hygiene—always sixty seconds, no more, no less—he slipped into a freshly cleaned and pressed uniform. Noticing an incoming message, he slipped on some light armor and pressed the receiver with a single elongated finger. An instant later, Techy appeared looking as the commistre had prior to his shower. Warich wasted no time. “Techy, report.” “Yes, sir. Preliminary test results on the Prowler tissue samples are back. I was hoping to find some of those illusive nanobots.” “And did you?” “It was a little tricky, but yes. The little buggers try to mask their presence. They shift concentrations, even in dead tissue. Evidence as to their presence is clear enough on a molecular level, but these nanobots, these agents that actually cause metamorphosis, it’s like they consciously try to evade detection. That’s why we missed them in our initial es.” “I’ve never heard of nanobots behaving in such a way,” Warich remarked. “Me neither.” Techy shrugged. “But I ran a dozen simulations. It’s about as close to definite as I can make it.” “Good work, Techy. These nanobots, can they spread?” “Now that we know how to find them, I’ve begun scanning areas of Sanctuary, especially areas that had high Prowler populations, and that surgical center we talked about last night. They’re definitely present in the air. Much smaller concentrations—far too small to infect a host and dormant as far as I can tell— but they are there.” “I trust your assessment, but we mustn’t forget these little guys are already displaying capabilities that should be impossible. Let’s not get careless and assume we know what we’re dealing with. I want a full decontamination of our

ship completed within the hour. Until further notice, all expeditions to Sanctuary will be equipped with full hazard suits.” “Roger that, sir,” Techy agreed. “One other thing… ,” Warich began. “For our protection, keep your hazard suit on at all times when in the lab. I’ll have Teril set up Decontamination Protocol Gamma for your comings and goings.” “DC Gamma? Sir, I really don’t think—,” the scientist began to object. His commanding officer didn’t give him a chance. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, Gamma is the least we should be doing. Who knows how these things got on Sanctuary. For all we know, the s on station thought they had the situation under control too.” “Understood, sir. I will submit to DC and then immediately begin coordinating preparations for ongoing Gamma with Commis Teril.” “Thank you, Techy.” The commistre was grateful for such a capable team, now more than ever. Squads could be trained to fight a known enemy easily enough, but to face something like this? He’d recruited only the best for Paridic Squad, and each had earned his or her place many times over. Their famed leader believed they would do so once more now. “Have you any other news to report?” “None, sir, but I am looking forward to the next round of tests. I expect to have another analysis for you within three hours,” the science officer responded enthusiastically. If there was one thing he loved, it was being on the forefront of scientific discovery. “Thank you. I’m interested to learn what you discover.” Reaching over with the intention of closing the channel, the commistre paused for a moment, thinking better of it. “Oh, and, Techy?” “Yes, sir?” “Let’s… hold off on sharing the details of this to Qerbellic for now, at least until we have a better handle on the situation.” I can’t imagine Qerbellic let something this big slip through the cracks. They may have played a role, but how much of

one? While the activities that likely occurred were both illegal and highly unethical in Bilian society, the idea that Qerbellic would have instigated the creation of the Prowlers was definitely not outside the realm of possibility if they had the means. “Understood, sir.” The subordinate gave no argument. If anything, the tone in his voice betrayed a sense of relief. He came to the same conclusion, Warich guessed. With that, the channel was closed. Warich slowly leaned back, closing his eyes. An image flashed in his mind. What was it? A faint glimmer of something in his mind’s eye, and then it was gone. Rubbing his right temple in an attempt to refocus yielded no result aside from growing frustration. I think, he considered, I’ll submit to detox myself. One can never be too careful. The Bilian rose from his chair and quickly strode across his quarters and out the door, heading in a dignified yet swift fashion toward the med bay.

Tarolf Grichig, a Bilian known more commonly by his nickname Techy, was concerned. About the Prowlers? About the nanobots? Yes, but mostly about his commistre. The man did not seem himself. His mannerisms in the morning’s report had seemed strangely off. The science officer couldn’t place his finger on it, but Paridic Squad was close-knit, like a family. He could tell when something wasn’t quite right. As a studier of minute scientific details, he had trained himself to pick up on the smallest nuances. He could feel changes in behavior when most others, Bilians and non-Bilians alike, missed them. Part of the nature of the work I do, I suppose… He sighed mentally and made a silent point to inquire with Commis Teril as the pair would begin preparations for DC Gamma within the hour. For now, he ran a detox program on himself. The commistre hadn’t explicitly requested this be done, but it was within the spirit of his directives. Techy smiled as the program finished precisely on time. Just long enough to do a reasonably thorough scan and purge any foreign, potentially dangerous microscopic substances, but not a millisecond longer. Not a moment wasted. Perfection. The scientist wasn’t left to his thoughts long before Commis Teril entered the decontamination area, a small room that separated the lab from the rest of the ship. He had already donned a hazard suit. Commistre’s orders no doubt. Techy donned his own hazard suit and strode out to meet his companion. “I detoxed,” he explained before Teril had a chance to speak, “just in case.” “Good. We’ll both undergo another stringent run when we’re done with Gamma,” Teril instructed. Though his face was partially obscured by a white helmet and dark visor, Techy gestured agreement. One can never be too careful when dealing with the unknown. The pair worked together quickly and quietly, setting up chemical and air microscanners, ultramagnetized triggers, and automated energy field emitters from multiple vantage points, first in the decontamination area, then in the lab itself. One set of invisible barriers surrounded the lab, one set surrounded the decontamination room, and a third set surrounded both. They also diverted the area’s life to a localized backup. Finally, all entrances to the lab were triple sealed physically. Only one physical path was left available, through the decontamination room. DC Gamma was the second most severe quarantine procedure officially listed among Bilian military protocols. Only Code Omega was more stringent, and that usually involved the same safeguards, plus a few

more physical and energy barriers and an expanse of at least a few hundred kilometers between the focal point and any sign of civilization. Omega had been implemented several times in the early days of intergalactic travel. In those instances, the involved studies often had been quarantined to their own planets. As understanding of the universe outside of Gitral and the Bilian home systems had grown, the use of Omega had grown exceedingly rare. There had been only one well-known case in the last hundred cycles. Even Gamma was falling out of favor, though most scientific and military vessels still had the needed facilities, just in case. There simply wasn’t much in the galaxy anymore that couldn’t be dealt with through far less obtrusive means. As they finished their work, Techy finally broached the subject. “Sir, I am… concerned.” “Why? Have you discovered something?” Teril asked, a twinge of concern in his own voice. He, too, preferred the enemy he knew, an enemy with weaknesses, rather than the unknown hazards they now faced. “Not exactly, sir. It’s Commistre Warich.” “What do you mean?” Teril sounded cross. “Ever since we got back from our first trip to Sanctuary, the commistre has seemed a little off. Less energetic, less exuberant. It’s like he’s, I don’t know, a tired old man all of a sudden, not our courageous captain.” “Hold your tongue, Techy,” Teril barked. “The commistre has a lot on his mind. These… Prowlers. It’s been years since we’ve charged into the truly unknown like this. Warich is simply being cautious. He has every right to be.” In truth, Teril had begun to notice the same change in persona, but with the monumental task ahead of the team, the last thing they needed were ill rumors about the man who had always led them through the worst of times to victory “I suppose… It just seems odd to see him like this.” “The calls from Gitral have been becoming more frequent,” the commis reminded his subordinate. “Micromanagement, it has potential to wear anyone down, especially someone as accomplished and as used to operational flexibility as Commistre Warich. I can’t say I’d want to be in his shoes. Constantly having

to file reports, having every action second-guessed.” “I suppose not. I just find this whole turn of events incredibly odd, sir. A raid to acquire some strange alien cargo? And then we’re whisked off to Sanctuary with no real explanation, finding the station trashed and crawling with Prowlers? There’s been nothing on official channels. Not even on the encrypted channels used by Hebroni military. You know, my late-night, presleep readings? Sometimes there’s some really juicy stuff in there, but there’s been nothing about Sanctuary since the Fevros attack. It was a Hebroni station! Why aren’t they sending commando squads to investigate? How did command back on Gitral know there had been a situation when the Hebroni themselves didn’t seem to?” “I know what you mean, Techy, I really do, but we’re Paridic. We’re the ones Command goes to when they need something done in a hurry, when they need something done no one else can know about. We may have been diverted to Sanctuary exactly because Command doesn’t know what’s going on. what happened on Xyter?” “Yes, I suppose… I just have a bad feeling is all.” “If the job didn’t cause bad feelings to creep up in the stomachs of Bilians everywhere, some other team would have been assigned to do it.” The commis grinned. “Fair point!” exclaimed Techy. “But it seems like the commistre is concerned about Gitral as well. He ordered that we stop sending analyses in full detail back to command.” “Hmm… I’m not sure how this is different than other missions, but if Warich’s instincts tell him that this is the best course, I trust his judgment.” The commistre really has been acting strange, hasn’t he? With the discussion put to rest for the time being, Techy changed focus to more immediate concerns and began reviewing the latest batch of test results. In their military capacity, Warich was higher up the food chain. In science? He couldn’t touch Techy and slipped into the role of lab assistant, retrieving tools, resetting systems, and reviewing preliminary data while his counterpart actively engaged in the more technical aspects of the lab. Many minutes ed in this fashion with scarcely a word uttered between the two men. They communicated mostly through gestures while training and computer clocks dictated the rest. Techy

nearly jumped out of his chair when Warich broke the silence with a sudden yet cautious question. “Techy… where are the Ovich-Yyger by-products… ?” “I put them in a sampler case to keep them fresh in case we need to take another look.” It was standard procedure given the circumstances. “Where are they?” The commis stood, sudden concern ringing in his voice. Unsure of what exactly had riled up the officer, Techy calmly got up, slowly walked across the room, and tapped a white button in the wall, which all but blended in with the surroundings. A moment later, a two-by-two white box ejected from its hiding place in the wall. The scientist brought it over to where Warich sat and unlatched the lid. “No, wait!” the commis cried, but it was too late. What Techy saw made his jaw drop as he stumbled backward. His companion tried to slam the box shut again but to no avail. Something unfathomable was loose. “What… how… ?” Techy stuttered in shock as Teril scrambled for his sidearm. The blob of tissue reared back and let out a hideous screech from unseen vocal cords, the likes of which chilled even the elite, special ops veterans to the core. The Bilian scientist leapt over to slam an alarm built into the wall, while Teril opened fire to kill the creature. Neither succeeded.

CHAPTER 15

The two humans arrived at Camp Nordstrom with no fanfare. That was fine by Peters, though not having to enter the maximum security POW jail unescorted would have been far better. The camp was protected on all sides by a powerful energy dome in addition to other security precautions. The primary walls were high, thick, and well maintained. He’d expected to see a massive complex on the other side but instead was greeted with just a few small buildings. I guess I’ve spent too much time in Prax Prime… The meat of the complex would all be underground, he quickly realized, to make escape especially difficult. Having few exits could also be a substantial fire hazard, but that issue was not likely high on anyone’s list of priorities. The guards had their own means of rapid emergency transportation should the situation call for it, and prisoners were considered expendable. The location was loathed by the two human officers instantly. The complex was chilly. Compared to the constant ideal temperature they’d experienced at the government complex, the cold was impossible not to notice. It was more than just the temperature though. The air itself felt damp, which made the atmosphere that much colder. A dull yet incessant hum permeated every room they ed. Looking around, Gonzalez strained to determine the source, but to no avail. The lightly armed officers looked out of place next to their near-silent escort, who was himself decked out from head to toe with heavy armor and weapons. The man’s battle helmet covered his head entirely aside from his mouth. If not for that, they’d have had no true way of knowing his species or gender. Peters counted at least three guns—a heavy-duty explosive launcher, a battle rifle, and, of course, a sidearm. The razor knives, one tucked away in each boot, were designed to blend into the uniform, but Peters still managed to spot them. Looks like six-inch blades, with fitted, curved hilts. Very nice. The escort said little outside of initial introduction, his name was simply “Greg,” and a curt request to, “Follow me.” The complex was massive—much larger than the aboveground buildings would have indicated. The enormous walls surrounding the place suddenly seemed

much more appropriate. On their walk, the group ed guards occasionally, but there were far fewer than Peters had expected. They’d eventually traveled what Peters supposed to be three stories into the bedrock of Praxis. The humming sound grew in intensity the farther down they went. It made Gonzalez shudder. Peters instantly noticed and pulled her close. Enjoying the comfort of the moment, several seconds went by before she straightened up and nudged him away. Their guide either didn’t notice or didn’t care. They continued to walk in near silence—aside from the humming sound—for several minutes. Then, without warning, their escort stopped and motioned for his companions to do the same. “The device,” he stated, while motioning around the corner as if those two actions explained everything. The group slowly proceeded to a reinforced door up ahead. If not for the thin outline of the entrance in the wall, it would have been impossible to see that the door was there at all. Such was the camouflage of Camp Nordstrom’s inner sanctum. Pressing an unseen hinge next to the door, an intricate tumbler sounded as the door unlocked. A slight hiss could be heard as a door popped out from the wall by a few inches. Snatching a small handle, which was now protruding from the previously hidden door, Greg slowly forced the entrance open. The sight of a small room greeted the humans, with an especially sterile, almost eerie feel to it. Were it not for the door, which remained open a crack, there would have been no break in the ocean of white from floor to ceiling save for a small light built in the center of the room, built into the ceiling itself. The walls, ceiling, and even the floor seemed to reflect the light every which way, completely illuminating the room. It felt like solitary confinement at an insane asylum. It made Gonzalez’s skin crawl. In the center of the room, no doubt protected by a series of invisible energy barriers, stood a white pedestal. The stand’s color matched that of the room, practically camouflaging it from view. Atop sat what looked to be a small shard of glass, or perhaps crystal, which had a dark red and black hue. Every few seconds it forced back the imposing whiteness by pulsing red before fading away once more. “This is the thing Cold Squad is obsessed with?” Peters asked to no one in

particular. Greg nodded in silence. After a moment, the captain realized a verbal response would not be forthcoming, so he turned around and looked back toward Greg and the door. Greg nodded again. “Why?” he finally asked. Greg shrugged. “No one knows. We were hoping you would.” “What does it, I mean to say, does it do anything? Besides sit there pulsing colors?” Living up to his reputation as a man of few words, Greg said nothing, only shaking his head slightly. Because the men were having by far the dullest conversation Gonzalez had ever heard, she decided to be a little more proactive. Slowly approaching, she got within arm’s reach of the pedestal. The air around it seemed warmer by just a touch. It was a pleasant warmth, especially in the damn cold complex. Reaching up, she cupped her hands on either side of the crystal. With each pulse, she felt warmth beam out and engulf her hands before fading away again. In the face of the dreary cold climate they’d experienced throughout the rest of the base, this unexpected warmth on her skin felt good, almost nurturing. Without realizing it, she inched her body and her hands ever closer until being zapped by an unexpected spark of energy, as if a buildup of static electricity had just been discharged. “Ouch!” she muffled a surprised cry. Stupid me. I should have known better. “Angie! Are you all right?” Peters shouted in surprise from across the room as he suddenly noticed that she had stepped away, and he moved swiftly to her side. Gonzalez barely heard. That much was obvious from her face. “Angie! Angie! What is it?” Peters shook her gently. Only at the second shake did she come to. Even Greg took note and approached cautiously, though he still remained at a healthy distance from the woman. “I… I was somewhere… else,” she started shakily.

“What do you mean? You’ve been here, right here with me.” The concern in his voice would have been impossible to hide, even if he had attempted to do so. “I don’t know… I… It’s fading so fast, I’m not sure. I saw a forest, a lavish festival, dancing. Jubilant aliens, humans too. And… a light… and a man in the light. The host of the feast. It must have been!” Her voice exuded sudden excitement as the pieces fit together. Then her expression turned sour as she closed her eyes and the recollection continued. “There are shadows, slowly creeping across the carnival. No one notices at first. As it closes in, the shadow kills everything in its path. The guests, they rise again, but different, like shells, zombies. Everyone is cowering… ,” she murmured, shuddering as she relived the memory, eyes forced tightly shut. “Everyone is running in panic, but the shadow surrounds them, closing in. There is no escape.” Peters and Greg looked at each other, uncertain what to make of any of this. For the first time their escort indicated a strong emotion, perplexed confusion. As Gonzalez relived a sudden, unbelievable event, what else could one feel? Paying no heed to the confusion of the men, Gonzalez continued, almost as if in a trance. “The lord of the feast, his light is shining. It’s holding back the darkness but only just. The crowd is around him. They are cowering under him like frightened kittens, trying to hide. Everything is quiet now. There’s a voice. It sounds like thunder. ‘I am… I am…’” “What is it? Who is the voice?” Peters pleaded, hoping the identity of this mystery visionary person would provide some clue. “‘I am…’” Gonzalez’s eyes suddenly shot wide open. “‘TREMBLE, MORTALS! FOR I AM DARIUS AND THIS WORLD IS MINE!’” she shouted in Peters’ face with a voice that was not at all her own. Sweat poured down her forehead as she blinked rapidly, trying desperately to regain her bearings. It was as if she had just awoken from a terrible nightmare. “Chris, I… I don’t know what is going on.” She trembled. “It all felt so real.” She began to crumble, falling into his arms. “I feel so… exhausted all of a sudden. Can we… can I sit down for a bit?”

“Come on, let’s rest for a little while,” Peters agreed, as he practically carried her out of the room. In his first and possibly only sign of comion, Greg placed an arm around Gonzalez’s other side to assist. The two men gingerly moved her from the room and over to a cushioned bench in a small office down the hall. “Whatever measures you have in place securing that room, double them!” Peters commanded. Greg offered no argument. “Sir, I will personally have them tripled. If it pleases you, remain here until I return. I shall not be more than half an hour.” Their escort wheeled around and marched swiftly down the hall in order to make good on his promise. Within moments of lying down, Gonzalez was fast asleep. Peters sat next to her in silence, glancing around the room every so often, but his eyes inevitably settled back on his love. His mind and emotions were completely on edge. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours. Where is Greg? Surely it had been well over half an hour. Yet he had not returned. In fact, no one had come or gone save for the receptionist, who had excused herself some time ago for a meal, or to use the restroom, or both. He’d barely paid her any mind. That crystal needs to be destroyed. Peters noticed his companion waking up once more, looking none worse for wear, if a little groggy. “Can it be destroyed?” “I don’t know… ,” she itted. “But I saw it all. The destruction… It’s what Gem described, just condensed way down… I felt him. Darius. He’s alive.” “What do you mean, Angie? You felt him?” “Think of the moment you were most angry, most prideful, most jealous in your life. Then put all those moments together and multiply that by a thousand. That’s what Darius’s presence felt like coupled with power enough to shatter worlds, power enough to bend billions of lives to his will. That’s what I felt in the… thundering voice…” She averted her eyes, staring at the ground. Peters scooted over, giving her a tight, comforting hug. “Whatever Darius is, he must be stopped, destroyed. He is a demon of pure malice, of pure evil. The devil himself maybe, from religion.”

“We will, Angie. We will find a way to destroy him. There has to be some—” Peters’ voice was cut off midsentence as camp-wide alarms began blaring over what had to be every intercom in the building. Gonzalez shot up like lightning with such surprising intensity that she knocked Peters back. As if on cue, the entire building jolted as if a massive explosive had gone off nearby. “We’ve got to stop them!” shouted Gonzalez as she charged out of the room, pistol drawn. “Stop who?” asked Peters in tow. “The insurrectionists! They’re after Darius. They don’t realize what he is!” she cried. The pair had barely gotten up one level before being greeted by a squad of heavily armored aliens. Bilians? Peters was shocked, having expected to see a band of human savages bearing down on them. Ducking back around the corner from whence they’d come, the two humans barely avoided getting blasted. Where’s the damned security? The next few minutes was a running battle. The humans got a few shots off at each corner, then fled to the next before the Bilians could get closer and bring their considerably heavier firepower to bear. They’d managed to fell two, but it took half a dozen shots to bring each enemy down on of their heavy armor. These were not green mercenaries. Though their armor bore no official insignia, the truth was obvious. These were seasoned commandos. Even against a pair of skilled human veterans, there was only one way a pitched battle could end, so Peters and Gonzalez did their best to avoid that scenario. We can’t run forever… but hopefully Nordstrom security will show its face before it’s too late, considered Peters solemnly. Rounding another corner, Peters instantly recognized it. There was the door beyond which sat the Darius crystal. If they’re after the shard, maybe they’ll completely miss the room. “That’s what they want,” stated his partner flatly. “They know it’s there. We can’t let them!” she urged. “Angie, we can’t hold. They’ll kill you!” “Chris… ,” she implored. “We have to. For their sake as much as our own. They don’t know… They don’t realize what they’re about to do.” The humans

resolved to take up the best possible defensive stance at the opposite end of the hall, which intersected with another path, forming a T. Taking up positions on opposite sides, they both had cover and could get clear shots at the Bilians for nearly a hundred feet. The fact that there was no cover for the approaching enemies here provided an additional stroke of good luck. The commandos didn’t charge haphazardly though. Knowing that the terrain favored the defenders, they first lobbed a flash bomb down the hall before sending a scout around the corner. He was greeted with twin laser blasts, one of which grazed the alien’s shoulder armor while the other hit him square in the helmet, knocking him backward. Without his armor, the shot would have been fatal. With it, the shots still shook him up easily enough. The running assault quickly muddled into a stationary battle. The long, narrow hall allowed the significantly outnumbered humans to slow the Bilian advance to a crawl. They felled several more enemies, but the aliens kept pouring reserves forward. Slowly but surely, using portable, heavy-armor planks, the hostiles were able to create artificial cover and inch around the corner. Pistol fire was useless against such defenses. Before long, the Bilians made it to Darius’s chamber. As if they’d known its location all along, one of them used a device to deactivate the lock and pressed the hidden button, enabling access. Flinging the door open wide, he entered the room wearing a smug, satisfied expression that could be seen clearly all the way back at the human defensive position. Peters stepped out to get a shot. The blast missed, barely, instead slamming into the door itself. The Bilians immediately returned fire, scoring a solid hit in the human’s shoulder. His light armor kept the blast from completing an amputation, but only just. Peters’ left arm was now, for all intents and purposes, useless. Good thing I’m a righty! He thanked his unusually fortunate luck even as the impact dazed both his body and mind. Out of nowhere, there were cries of inhuman anguish coming from behind him. Turning around in surprise, he saw a horde of frenzied monsters that looked like a cross between zombie humans and the beasts on Sanctuary. They could only be Cold Squad. They charged, practically knocking Peters down as they stampeded down the hall. The Bilians, so confident, suddenly looked in complete shock as they turned their guns on the horde. Gonzalez caught the lesser of it and was able to dodge, but the dazed Peters was pushed and jostled, the raging horde forcing him to stumble forward.

The solitary Bilian emerged from Darius’s sanctum holding the crystal in his armored hand, expecting to see his fellows preparing an organized retreat, their target secured. Instead, he found them terrified as a mass of frenzied humans charged, virtually oblivious to the shower of incoming laser blasts. Direct hits barely slowed them down, their bodies rapidly sewing themselves back together almost as fast as they took damage. Sight of the pulsing red crystal turned Cold Squad’s assault from a frenzy into a berserker rage. They slaughtered every Bilian in their way, shredding the formidable trooper armor with their razor talons as if it were made of tissue paper. Only the heavy armor planks seemed to offer adequate protection, though the squad simply leapt up and over those barriers. To make matters worse, the Bilian with the crystal began to flee, leaving his fellows behind to delay the horde. Gonzalez never lost sight of Peters. He couldn’t get his bearings. He fell in the stampede. He’ll be trampled! Emotions began to well up inside her—anger, rage, and something else. In her mind’s eye she saw the nameless humanoid from her vision, his arm outstretched, his expression pleading. As his hand grazed her own, she snapped back into the present. Without thinking, she jumped out of her hiding place. “NO!” she screamed, instinctively reaching up her hands. A massive bolt of pure blue energy shot like dreadnought’s cannon from her palm, cutting a swath down the hall, felling zombie and Bilian alike as if they were mere pins in a bowling alley. As she stared at her hands in shock, waves of exhaustion began flooding over her. Gonzalez collapsed on the spot. Well, that was unexpected, Commis Bartri instantly assessed. The whole mission had gone exactly as expected. Intel on the layout of the building and the location of personnel, both security and istrative, had all been both thorough and precise. In a few hours, the locals would all wake up none worse for wear, completely oblivious to the fact that they had been incapacitated. A chemical agent slipped into the water supply a few months earlier had catalyzed with a fast-acting airborne compound called Xycon 12 and placed everyone present in a state of suspended animation. They’d wake up with vague, false, but altogether realistic memories based on hodgepodge of their recent activities at the camp. The application of the waterborne chemical worked wonderfully so long as there was enough forethought. The water-soluble compound was harmless on its own but extremely expensive to produce, which was why Qerbellic did not lace every important installation with it, both foreign and domestic.

The introduction of Xycon 12 an hour prior to the mission should have made the entire thing a cakewalk. Still, the team had come heavily armed just in case. It was a good thing too. Two unknown humans had been on the base, humans who were clearly newcomers as they were unaffected by the Xycon 12. They had been well-trained but lightly equipped. Bartri’s team could have quickly overpowered and overrun them if needed at the cost of a few more injuries and deaths. They’d had plenty of time to complete their mission before the locals woke up, so engaging in a more cautious confrontation had seemed the better option. As Bartri looked around at his fallen comrades, another death or two in the opening encounter in exchange for a quick victory suddenly looked like the smarter option. Frantically diving back into the isolation chamber was all that had saved him from the massive energy blast that had vaporized everything else in the hall. A smoldering crater sat in the wall where it had landed, incinerating the durasteel and pulverizing some of the bedrock behind. Those it hit directly, more than half the Bilian team and all of the former human prisoners save one, had been instantly incinerated. Little more than a few boots and fragments of other military hardware were left too as evidence. So much for our secondary targets, he grumbled to himself, knowing the unexpected casualty count dramatically limited his options. “Come on.” He helped a teammate get up. The blast had shaken the veteran, but he was beginning to regain his awareness. “Gather up everything, eliminate any evidence that we were ever here,” Bartri barked while placing the shard in a multishielded protective case. “What about the humans, Commis?” asked another comrade, trying to come to grips with the reality that so many of his companions were gone forever. “Take the docile one.” He motioned toward the lone human male lying motionless on the floor. “And…” Looking around, he saw his suddenly small team was already almost loaded beyond encumbrance. I’d love to get my hands on the woman… , he considered, noticing that this mystery woman was of an exceptionally attractive shape, especially rare for a human, and the power she wields… As he considered his options, one of his comrades slowly stepped forward to check the woman for identification. The air around her inexplicably sprung to life. In a flash, a blast of lightning surged out of her unconscious frame, appearing as if from nothing, to knock the shocked Bilian backward

through the air. Bartri and another team member rushed forward and helped their comrade back to his feet. On second thought, better not risk it. We can’t afford to have our light recon ship get blasted to pieces in another episode. It will be better, instead, to take her friend and make the woman come to us in a heavily fortified, prepared position. There will be time enough later… though my command armor is designed to protect against electrical surges… The commis glinted a selfish grin, losing himself in his thoughts but for a moment. An extremely thorough and not particularly expeditious check revealed that whatever weapon the woman had used, it had either been disintegrated by the power of the blast or was somehow biological in nature. Based on how things had played out, it may not have been an entirely voluntary action; otherwise the attack would have been used much, much earlier in the battle. It was unclear what powers, if any, she would have upon waking. With so little knowledge, how can we prepare for future encounters? Blood was the key to life. Biology’s highway. Even an artificially implanted or inhaled agent would show signs in the blood. Before setting off, Bartri, being the only one with armor adequate for the task, personally took a blood and DNA sample from the mystery woman. Oh, the perks of command. In their next encounter, he and his team would be far better prepared. She will fall into our trap. Humans are so impulsive, it’s almost too easy. As future scenarios flashed in his mind, Bartri grinned menacingly. It will be, as a human might say, like taking candy from a baby. Complete control was once more in the commis’s hands. Within fifteen minutes, his team was off the base. An hour later, they were off planet. No one planet-side, save for the woman, would have any recollection they’d been there at all.

CHAPTER 16

“No… ,” moaned Gonzalez as she slowly came to. The last few hours seemed like a hazy dream. It was impossible to tell the difference between what was real and what had existed only in her mind. The woman’s entire body ached like the end of her first day at basic and the morning after shore leave combined. Slowly but surely, she picked herself up off the floor. The hall before her was empty. No bodies, no equipment. Was the whole thing a crazy dream? A cursory glance turned into a jaw-dropping stare as she noticed a massive gash in the durasteel across the room. A sudden vision, a flash of blue, blotted out everything else in her memory. Something had happened here. A battle. How long ago? It was impossible to tell. All blast residues had been cleaned up, if it had ever been there at all, except for the giant gash in the wall. Then a frantic thought crept into her mind. “Chris?” she called. “Commander Peters!” Panic began to settle in. Where did they take him? What are they going to do to him? Her mind instantly gravitated toward the most heinous tortures that would have turned the stomach of even a tenured member of Qerbellic. As cold sweat began pouring down her forehead, she broke into a panicked run. Where had they gone? Where was security? The shard and Cold Squad were now the furthest thing from her mind. She was nearly back to the ground floor before she stumbled across the first sign of human life. A groggy-looking was slowly making his way down the stairs. “Where are they?” Gonzalez demanded, grabbing the man with both hands. “Where is who, ma’am?” asked the , clearly befuddled as he tried to blink the tiredness away. “The Bilians. The squad of Bilian commandos. They came charging right through here and they took Captain Peters.” “If there had been a firefight, I think I would have heard it,” the officer tried to reassure her, but in his tired state he only succeeded in making her more agitated.

“Useless! I nearly died, and now an Alliance officer has been taken hostage. Why wasn’t security alerted?” “Ma’am, you’ve been through a lot. The war has made life here miserable. Come on,” he said, putting an arm around her, “let’s get you somewhere safe, where you can—” “No!” She pushed him away. “You don’t believe me? Why don’t you…” Then a thought struck her. “Why don’t you check for Cold Squad. They escaped in the attack. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you check their holding cell. Then you’ll see!” The looked more annoyed than anything else but reluctantly agreed after calling into his communicator for a security detail. A few minutes later, a team of four guards appeared on the scene, each looking groggier than the last. The party proceeded to move at a brisk pace—though it seemed like a crawl to Gonzalez— back down the twisting hallways and into the depths of Praxis, even beyond the crystal’s chamber, until they reached a wall beyond which there appeared to be no path. A solitary pair of guards stood at attention at their journey’s end. The quickly typed a code into a hidden keypad, and the wall shifted from solid gray to transparent. Just beyond this camouflaged door was a cell similar to the one that had held the shard, except this one was far larger and instead of a pedestal, it contained several beds, beds that looked like they’d scarcely been used. A small puddle was in the far corner. What it was, Gonzalez could only speculate. The sterile-looking room was entirely devoid of life. “Huh… ,” mumbled the , rubbing his scruffy beard. Clearly, the possibility that the female officer had actually been more aware of reality than he himself had not crossed his mind. “Well?” asked Gonzalez, though her tone was more a proclamation of, “See, I told you so,” than anything else. “Recall the… the security tapes from the last four hours,” he stuttered to one of the guards who had accompanied them. “You two!” he barked at the soldiers who guarded the hidden chamber. “Care to explain how Cold Squad escaped under your ever-watchful eye?” “Well… uh… I… I mean we…” The guards could barely get out a coherent

sentence. They knew they were made. “Arrest them,” the ordered the three remaining of his security detail. “We have a security breach. Code Red, HC Omega,” he called into his communicator frantically. Within seconds, the second camp-wide alarm of the day began blaring as two dozen heavily armed security personnel flooded into the area. Every guard and security officer stationed on the floor was rounded up and herded into Cold Squad’s former home. With the faulty security imprisoned to be questioned at a later date, the went on a tear back through the complex. He was a good six inches taller than Gonzalez and moved with a wider stride. Even so, adrenaline allowed the Alliance officer to easily keep pace. Within minutes, they met half a dozen more soldiers decked in heavy armor from head to toe—looking very similar to that worn by Greg—outside the shard’s holding cell. The had to punch the code in twice, his fingers having slipped on of nervousness the first time, but eventually the door opened. The shard was gone! “Captain!” shouted one of the officers. “Yes? What is it?” the answered, panic rising in his voice. How does this get worse? “Look at this!” The ’s eyes followed the soldier’s finger toward a mysterious impact crater in the wall, a crater Gonzalez knew well—at least she was pretty sure she did. Some parts of her memory were still a bit fuzzy. “What in the hell… !” the exclaimed. Gonzalez, doing her best to look equally surprised, opted to keep her mouth shut. “I want a diagnostic sample of the impact site, immediately! And why in all the hells of all the worlds didn’t our alarms go off after an energy blast like that?” Then, turning to Gonzalez, “Was this the result of some sort of experimental Bilian technology?” “I’m not sure, possibly.” She shrugged, trying her very best to look both innocent and perplexed. She didn’t feel especially convincing, but the didn’t pick up on the lie.

“I’m sorry I disbelieved you, Madam Commander,” he apologized. “This facility is extremely secure, one of the most solid anywhere on Praxis. This situation is… uh… We will find out what happened to your captain. I swear on my honor.” “Sir,” a voice came in over the ’s wrist comm. “Yes? Do you have something?” “Yes, sir. The security tapes, all of them, beginning approximately two hours ago, they start looping. We’re seeing the same twenty-minute segment repeated over and over. The real footage picked up again fifteen minutes ago. The forgery is virtually seamless. We never would have noticed if we hadn’t been looking.” “So there’s no visual record of what happened over the last two hours from any of the surveillance feeds!” the shouted. “We’re poring over them, but so far it’s the same story with every system,” came an apologetic response. “Great… ,” he grumbled. “Commander,” he began, turning back to Gonzalez, “the Bilians, do you anything about them? Their insignia. Who they were with?” “They had no distinguishing company patches,” she advised. “They were Qerbellic, I’m sure of it. They were too well-armed, well-trained, and wellfunded to be anything else,” she concluded. “Qerbellic?” The blinked in surprise. “Bilian secret intelligence? Are you sure?” Gonzalez nodded, her stare resolutely even. “It certainly… well, it would explain a lot. I can’t say I know how even they could manage to infiltrate Nordstrom, but if there’s any outfit in the galaxy that might have the tools, they might… possibly.” Turning back to his communicator, “Lieutenant, start conducting electromagnetic sweeps. I want a detailed report of any electronic and radioactive residue signatures that don’t belong to our equipment. Pay special attention to anything that could be of Bilian origin.” “Bilian?” questioned a surprised voice. “Yes, sir. I’ll have a report ready for you within the hour.”

“Make it half an hour, Lieutenant. Time is of the essence.” “Understood, sir. I’ll send it directly to you when complete.” Wasting no time, the turned to the soldiers. “You two, guard the entrance to this floor of the compound. Nobody comes or goes without my expressed approval, understood? The rest of you, form a squad and initiate a search and rescue. We’re looking for an Alliance captain… ?” He trailed off, turning to Gonzalez. “Captain Christopher Peters of the HAS Meridian.” “Yes, Captain Christopher Peters of the Meridian. You can pull up his Alliance profile in your portable modules. Take a scanning team with you. We may have an alien kidnapping on our hands. If you find his captors, you are authorized to use any means necessary to extradite him. No one invades my planet, steals my prisoners, and kidnaps of the Alliance military. NOBODY.” If Bilian intelligence thinks it can prick and prod Praxis, they’re going to learn a very grim lesson.

The minutes dragged on as if they were hours. The local teams eventually confirmed the faintest traces of residue in the air and on the walls indicating a firefight had transpired, further corroborating Gonzalez’s memories. The impact crater, oddly enough, showed no residue of any kind, neither electromagnetic nor photonic nor of any known weapon. The search team had expanded from the planet’s surface to orbital, but they’d turned up exactly zilch. For safety, the had formally requested Gonzalez to stay on base. As the hours ticked by and no evidence of a remaining Bilian presence was discovered, he reluctantly approved her release, albeit with a pair of heavily armed escorts to ensure her safety on Praxis. Though they stayed out of her way and did their best to remain in the shadows, she couldn’t avoid feeling their ever-watchful eyes constantly on her. All the way back to Prax Prime, they’d sat on opposite sides of the tram in complete silence, ever alert. As much as their presence annoyed her, the young female officer couldn’t help but ire their resolve. They’d nearly made it back to Prax Prime when a communiqué came in, a high-priority message from Ruggar. She’d insisted on taking the message privately in the tram’s small secluded bedroom. Had it not been from the Council itself, she doubted her armed escorts would have permitted that she leave their sight even for this trivial task. At least there’s one benefit to having the Council around. Ruggar had looked as frazzled as Gonzalez felt. “What do you mean? Bilians attacked Nordstrom?” It was clear he didn’t quite believe the report. “Yes, Councilor. They took the artifact. Cold Squad is gone. Captain Peters is missing. The surveillance tapes were altered. This has Qerbellic’s fingerprints all over it.” “Bilian intelligence? Are you certain… ?” “Peters and I had a firefight with them trying to protect the shard.” “Can anyone else corroborate your story?” the governor asked skeptically. “Well… not exactly. I got knocked out. When I came to, everyone else on-site looked groggy as hell. The place was scrubbed, and that takes expertise not readily available on the mercenary thug market.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t

believe me? the base ,” she challenged. “The entire camp is on full alert. The guards in charge of keeping Cold Squad secure? They’ve been rounded up and imprisoned. The isn’t playing games.” “Yes, I’ve heard.” The councilor was not entirely convinced, but he was not yet willing to dismiss her story outright. “Are you safe?” he finally asked. “Yes, for the moment anyway. The assigned me a security detail,” she advised. Then she muttered sarcastically, “Security which was ever so effective earlier today.” “When you get back to the city, make haste for the Council Chambers district. It’s the most secure place in the entire city. No one, and I mean no one, can access it without the Council’s expressed permission. Not even uninvited security details.” “Councilor, with all due respect—” “We will track down Captain Peters, but as the only person with any wherewithal, there’s a good chance that your life may still be in imminent danger. You’ll be safe in the Council Chambers district.” “While we talk and discuss, Qerbellic gets farther away!” she shouted at the holographic image. The guards outside had most certainly overheard. She didn’t care. Unperturbed, the councilor thoughtfully stroked his chin and calmly continued, “I’m calling an emergency council session for later this evening. Meet with us, and our full resources will be placed at your disposal to find Captain Peters.” Knowing that he had the power to keep her planet-side indefinitely if he chose, the commander reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Excellent!” exclaimed a grinning Ruggar, not acknowledging her dissatisfaction even for a moment. “The session will be set for an hour and a half from now. You can leave your security detail at the entrance to the Chambers District. Oh, and feel free to grab a bite to eat before proceeding to the tower. It could be a long meeting.” At that, the councilor disconnected. Gonzalez sat alone. She wanted to scream in frustration. What good would that do? Aside from making the guards charge in, thinking I was in some kind of mortal danger? For the sake of keeping those eyes off her a little longer, she stayed quiet.

Tapping a small device on her wrist, the most executive, nonincapacitated officer of the Meridian initiated a priority communique to her crew. “This is Lieutenant Commander Gonzalez. Everyone, get back to the Meridian on the double. As soon as we wrap up business with the Council, we’re getting off this rock.”

If you don’t have enough problems, call a Bilian. If you want your problems solved, call a Hebroni. Why they’d ever been allowed to get involved was beyond Malek la Tesh. The little gray ones were too much trouble. What’s more likely, she considered, is that they’d found out about it and leveraged that to inject themselves into the project. There were too many hands in the pot now, too many people who wanted too many different things and too many would-be puppet masters. The loss of Sanctuary could have been prevented. A Hebroni-dominated plan never would have allowed such a sacrifice. The races? None of them cared one bit for the installation. It was just another petri dish to use and be discarded. Now the other shoe was starting to drop. Increased chatter along the volatile human-Fevros border, but not in the way she’d expected. The bugs were in a frenzy, but no more along the human border than anywhere else. No. The border chaos was almost entirely on the human side. They were mobilizing. The bugs had been kept largely in check. The Bilians had suggested—and Hebroni Command had agreed—to a small but noticeable buildup of capital ships in an obvious staging point for a strike against Fevros territory. The operation was covert, but cleverly leaked so that the bugs would be aware of both its existence and the fact that it was a “secret” buildup. This would prevent them, it was believed, from actually attacking the humans. That was the theory anyway. events were anything but certain. The attack on Sanctuary had been far swifter and stronger than expected, yet there had been no other major attacks since. Perhaps the Bilian plan is actually working? There were no contingency plans in the event the humans elected to strike preemptively, however. The slender redhead chuckled. It was just a matter of time. With the Bilians? Their plans always involved hidden agendas, and those hidden agendas involved ever more secrets and ever more plans. While not adverse to subtlety, Malek found their way of doing things far too complicated. In her experience, the more complicated a project, the more things could go wrong. Her new strategy going forward was easy enough. Watch for what trip up came next and bend it to her— and Hebroni command’s—advantage, wedging the grays out a little bit more. She’d been musing about dozens of different paths current events could turn when she was suddenly pulled back to the present by an alert from Hebroni

command. Hmm… that’s interesting. The title read, “Praxis. Human camp attacked. Prisoners and Alliance officers missing. Alien involvement suspected.” Those humans, always so racist. So quick to blame aliens for problems of their own making. Yet there was something about the situation that drew her attention. Opening the alert further, it became evident that perhaps the humans had not immediately jumped to conclusions after all. The base was a max security installation. Either there were major security breaches—always a possibility when it came to humans—or a team with extremely advanced infiltration tech was involved. The Hebroni had the tech, certainly, but their only presence in the area was a well-publicized consulate in the city. So long as the humans kept a strong hold on the area, the Fevros couldn’t push through. If the humans were willing to front the manpower and resources to maintain such a shield, the Hebroni wouldn’t need to. The arrangement worked well, and it made no sense to rock the boat over a handful of unimportant human officers and prisoners. Besides, there were no orders following the message. If Hebroni special forces had been behind the prison break, they’d only be informing her if they needed her to get involved. No, this was a general purpose, advisory message, not a request for services. The humans may have the technology needed, but would the backwater rebels on Praxis be able to obtain it? It didn’t match any of the reports she’d seen about their capabilities thus far. The more details she read, the more certain she was that the Bilians had botched an operation. But why attempt such an action at all? Before she’d even finished reading the briefing, Hebroni diplomatic service had issued a public statement condemning the attack and offering assistance, if requested, to the human colony. It was an offer the humans would likely refuse but was meant to establish goodwill and, more than likely, triangulate against the Bilians should the true culprit prove to be the move obvious one. That was all political, diplomatic work though, the kind of thing that bored Malek to tears. She’d only taken the temporary position on Sanctuary to appease her higher-ups and monitor the escalating situation, albeit far more rapidly and violently than she’d expected. Malek was far more interested in something else. What was so valuable to the Bilians that they’d risk inviting an intragalactic incident with the Human Alliance?

Poring over everything she could find, there was little in the way of explanation. It was a max security prison camp. Hmm… postoperation, a number of rebel prisoners were missing, which meant the Bilians probably have them. No names were listed for the abducted human officers, but with the right access, notable arrivals and departures from the planet could be checked easily enough. “Hmm… ,” she mumbled through tight lips. Ah, here we go. Let’s see… the Exceltor, the Morbus, the Trafalgar, the… Meridian? Way out there? Given their recent experience with the Fevros, perhaps the Meridian’s presence wasn’t all that surprising. Still, to see her old… friend/lover/nemesis/annoying pain in the neck turning up at the same location where Bilians were botching secret operations gave her an unexpectedly eerie feeling. Christopher, what are you doing?

An extremely frustrated Lieutenant Commander Gonzalez marched purposefully into the Council meeting room. It looked much like it had the first time, though this go-around, she paid no heed to the imposing lights and strode straight in until she was front and center. Spotlights be damned. The other councilors, as was their tradition, ignored her entirely and continued on with the conversation they had been having. Ruggar politely nodded toward her as she entered; he was the only one of the bunch. Who would have thought my presence at this meeting was so critical it was worth delaying the search for those Bilian bastards… “Given recent events, I find placing trust in old alliances to be a more and more regrettable action,” one of the councilors was saying. “We still haven’t confirmed that off-world intervention was involved at Nordstrom,” countered another. “It couldn’t possibly have happened any other way. That kind of technology, that kind of expertise. There are three intragalactic intelligence agencies who maybe, maybe could pull something like that off. One is our own, and why would Earth try to destabilize Praxis?” “Maybe they heard your clamoring for independence all the way back home!” jabbed another. “You’ve underestimated the rebels countless times before. Have you forgotten Balyr?” “Lord Thomas has a point,” offered a fourth councilor, his tone indicating the desire to cool tensions and examine the situation more rationally. “Let’s consider what we know. We have underestimated the rebels times in the past, but even so, this attack proves they must have a powerful benefactor. Arms, even small ships are easy enough to come by through weapons dealers. Basic training is easy enough as well, but this incursion was far too advanced. There’s no way they could have gotten the supplies and training needed on the black market. I’m sorry, Councilor Ruggar, I do not see how they could have achieved this without outside help.” “What do you suggest then?” Ruggar asked the reasonable one. “That leaves the Hebroni or the Bilians,” the councilor postulated. “The Hebroni immediately condemned the act and offered to place their own resources and

intel at our disposal should we request it.” “They sure found out quick,” pointed out another councilor. “And when have they ever been so open with helping us or any human colony for that matter? If you ask me, the Hebroni are involved somehow. Mark my words!” “That makes sense,” remarked a councilor on the far end of the room. “The Bilians have no presence in this sector. The Hebroni have long cast an envious eye toward Praxis. Stage a jailbreak, then swoop in to ‘help’? It isn’t implausible…” Ahem. Gonzalez cleared her throat to get their attention. She got a few looks, two cocked eyebrows, and a glare from Kreg, who had up till now been silent, but that was all. She practically had to shout to get their attention. “Excuse me, noble Councilors,” she practically gagged on the words. “Ah… um yes. Our Alliance representative. You were…” Wheeze. “Present during the attack… were you not?” the First spoke up, somehow looking and sounding even more tired than last time. “Yes, First Councilor, I was. And I can speak from my own experience, this Camp Nordstrom was attacked by Bilian forces. The entire team I encountered, all gray little men.” For once, all eyes were on her. “For… what purpose?” asked Lord Kreg, for a moment less than completely confident for the first time since they’d first met. “That I cannot say, but I believe Qerbellic is involved. How else could—” “You don’t know!” cried Lord Kreg. “Because they obviously volunteered to sit down calmly and discuss their intentions with me,” shot Gonzalez snidely as the sound of stifled snickering rang throughout the chamber. She was in no mood for condescension. “This is… grave news… ,” began the First.

“This is exactly what I have been saying would happen!” Lord Kreg began what sounded like a would-be long-winded tirade. “The Alliance will not us. The Alliance cannot protect us. Their incompetence and apathy grow with each ing day! The Bilians grossly violate our sovereignty. The Bilians release enemies sworn to Praxis’s destruction. Even the Hebroni offer their . Have we heard word one from Earth? From our beloved Alliance?” Nearly all participants in the discussion shook their heads, though some more ionately than others. Gonzalez stood still. If she’d been in Kreg’s position, she’d be outraged too, but there was far more to the situation than he was letting on. Corruption and decadence on Praxis ran so deep that it was a wonder the people living in Prax Prime hadn’t ed the insurrection themselves. The Council was also quick to demand resources from others but was slow to act anytime Alliance Command needed them. Gonzalez hated the hypocrisy. “Let us suppose we cast them off as you propose, Lord Kreg. What then? Do you think aliens will be any quicker to provide aid? Any slower to cast us aside when the going gets tough?” argued one of the councilors, Ruggar’s only definitive ally at this point. “The Hebroni and the Bilians, they’re two sides to the same coin. They play the game. They plot and sneak, deny and misdirect.” “For as much as you rail against the Alliance, they stand a head taller. They act with greater conviction and are more straightforward in action than the Hebroni and especially the grays,” suggested Ruggar’s ally. “And yet, they scarcely lift their little finger in response to a Bilian attack on Praxis!” countered a Kreg surrogate. “We need true allies. Allies not paralyzed by indecision. Allies not distracted by subterfuge!” “You’re delusional!” cried Ruggar. “There are no other civilized races in the gala —” Heavy doors at the chamber entrance suddenly slammed shut, cutting off the young councilor midsentence. Everyone’s gaze instantly shifted toward the newcomer. I wish it had been that easy for me to get their attention, Gonzalez grumbled to herself as she turned around. What could aptly be described as a living tank marched in her direction. The nearly eight-foot-tall biped was covered from head to toe in some of the heaviest armors Gonzalez had ever seen.

From the looks of it, even the strongest human would have struggled mightily to just shuffle around in it, saying nothing for the less robust Hebroni and Bilian species. Despite its bulk, the protective gear appeared to have ornamental flourishes and intricate designs carved into every square inch. The humanoid giant paid Gonzalez no heed, nearly trampling her as it confidently approached the councilors. At the last moment, she dodged to the side, annoyed at the creature’s rudeness but thankful that she’d avoided being stomped. “Ah, my guest has arrived!” greeted Lord Kreg, though it was more of an acknowledgment to his fellow councilors than an actual greeting to the giant. “Lord Kreg?” asked one of his ers, clearly not aware that a foreigner would be ing them. It seems Kreg even keeps his own people in the dark. “Fellow Councilors. Those of you who doubted the Tetriarch’s intention and their willingness to lend us aid, let me direct your attention to my new guest. This is Ark Tyronus, an envoy of the mighty Tetriarch!” A smug grin spread across Kreg’s face, clearly visible even behind his thick beard. “His people were unaware of the events at Nordstrom, but when I shared the details of our recent… mishaps, he was eager to assist on behalf of his people.” “You’ll see us enslaved!” shouted Ruggar. “One soldier will enslave us all?” Kreg laughed. “You are a fool, Ruggar. My friend, why don’t you explain why you’re here?” The tank took another step forward. Even from several yards away, nearly all the councilors save Kreg and the First looked at least a little intimidated. Despite not being entirely comfortable herself, Gonzalez smiled on the inside at their unease. “I am Ark Tyronus of the Tetriarch.” The creature’s voice was so deep and rich, his words took a moment to soak in. “You will see the will and strength of my people as I destroy those who dared threaten our Praxis friends.” “I, for one, welcome you, Ark Tyronus, and the friendship of your people,” began Kreg’s ally, the same one that had seemed so surprised just a moment prior. “If you mean to hunt down those who attacked Camp Nordstrom, we can supply you with weapons, men, and—”

“No.” A single word cut the councilor off midsentence. Had the interruption come from anyone else, a vicious rant about insubordination would have flown from the councilor’s lips. No such tirade was to occur this time. If anything, the councilor looked even more in awe than before. “This task will be completed by me alone.” “As… as you wish,” stuttered the councilor. Kreg beamed, saying nothing. The giant reacted with a slight tilt of his helmet—a salute perhaps—then wheeled around with military precision and marched out of the chamber. The sound of his heavy metal boots pounding into the floor continued to echo throughout the silent chamber even after he had departed. It was several minutes before anyone spoke. The one who finally broke the silence was none other than Lord Kreg himself. Figures, thought Gonzalez, only half paying attention, only hoping that she would finally be excused. Let Praxis solve its own damn problems. They’ve caused us a big enough headache as it is! I just want to get off this rock and out of this bureaucratic toilet bowl before something else goes wrong. “We shall… uh… see if your… plan has any merit.” The First wheezed. Yes, fine, whatever. Just finish this up so I can get the resources Ruggar promised and be on my way. The only thing her internal pleading seemed to do was cause the First to talk slower, if that was even possible. “While everyone else talked and complained, Lord Kreg took action!” exclaimed one of the councilors. “The rebels have pushed too far. We’ve waited far too long on the Alliance!” shouted another. The dignified, sage-like councilors were in danger of turning the room into an uproar. “If Ark Tyronus should fail, we’ve lost nothing. If he succeeds, we will have our planet back as well as a powerful, reliable ally.” Even the rational one had been won over. “I am sorry, Councilor Ruggar. I cast my lot in favor of Lord Kreg and Ark Tyronus… for a probationary, evaluatory period.” How very wishy-washy of him. Ruggar, for his part, looked completely at a loss for words. He’d scarcely been able to squeak out a full sentence since Ark Tyronus had left the chamber. If Kreg’s face shone radiantly with smug victory, Ruggar’s dour expression showed nothing but dejection and helplessness.

“Then… uh… it’s settled. We shall… provide the Ark with… any reasonable assistance he requests. If complete victory is… is… assured within the year, Lord Kreg’s alliance… shall be ratified. If not—” “There is no ‘if not,’” interrupted Kreg. “The Tetriarch wins. It’s what they do.” The chamber erupted in applause. Everyone cheered, everyone except Ruggar— and Gonzalez, who was getting more impatient by the second. Finally, the session was dismissed. Of course, by the time the many councilors had taken their opportunity to individually congratulate Lord Kreg and avoid eye with Ruggar, the latter of whom seemed to have instantly devolved into a social pariah. He did nothing but sit there silently, staring into nothingness as the entire chamber slowly emptied. In the end, only he and Gonzalez remained. Still, he said nothing. “Ahem,” the commander attempted to get his attention. No response. Only when she stepped toward him, gently grasped his arm, and gave the man a good shake did he seem to regain his wherewithal. “Oh… yes. I am sorry, Commander. That did not go… as I had hoped,” he began. “You promised me resources.” Gonzalez was in no mood to discuss how the session had gone. “Oh… yes, so I did,” he responded as if he had completely forgotten his vow. “I’ll put through the order to have your ship polished and refueled, on the house of course.” Polishing a ship is hardly priority. Sure it makes the Meridian look nice for shows with the Alliance brass, but is that really the most important thing right now? Her thoughts must have shown, for Ruggar replied in kind, “The whole thing will be done before you get back to Wyvn.” He pulled out a small data pad, sending through the order in an effort to reassure her. “The security results from Nordstrom are being transmitted to your ship as we speak. Any new information, along with accompanying analysis, will be transmitted directly to you on Priority Channel Zeta Nu 05.” “Zeta Nu 05,” she repeated back, making a mental note. “Got it.” “I understand that you have been running with less than a full crew for some time?” the councilor revealed.

“Yes, sir, ever since the Fevros tried to steal the ship.” My ship? It didn’t seem right to think of the Meridian that way. She was the de facto commanding officer for now, certainly, but to think of it as anything other than Captain Barinton’s seemed like it dishonored his memory. “Then, if you will, allow me provide you with our brightest and best. You know Lieutenant Swast?” “With all due respect, Councilor, a ditzy blonde tour guide is not exactly the type of person I need on the Meridian.” Ruggar tried to stifle a chuckle. “A ditzy blonde tour guide. I’m going to have to that one. Lieutenant Swast is one of our most decorated GRIDD agents, though don’t go spreading that around. It’ll destroy her cover.” “Swast? An intelligence agent?” Gonzalez could hardly believe it. “Oh yes. It was her intel that ultimately led to the capture of Cold Squad. For all the prejudice against us, humans as a species are often considered the most attractive in the galaxy, after the Hebroni of course, and Swast knows how to play that ticket all the way to the bank.” “Huh…” Gonzalez was completely taken aback. Had she been fooled by the ruse? I never would have guessed, not in a hundred years… “Truth be told, I’m not sure if blonde is even her natural hair color,” Ruggar mused, “but she must have met great success with it to keep it that color for so many years.” “Wait… so you were spying on us?” The shocking realization hit the commander like a brick wall. “Not as such, no,” he assured her. “Many of the other councilors do not trust undue interference from the Alliance. They insisted on sending someone, so I picked an agent I knew I could trust not to ruffle any feathers, a who also had more than enough credentials to put the rest of the Council at ease. It worked pretty well… not that it matters one bit anymore… ,” he recounted gloomily. “Okay, fine, color me impressed. I’ll take her, so long as she understands who’s in charge.”

“I will personally ensure that is crystal clear, Angela. Besides, she’s been wanting to run a few missions off-planet for a while now. This is as good a time as any. Now, do you require security personnel as well? We can restock all of your arms and ammunition and assign a decorated security detail.” “I apologize, sir, but with all that has happened recently, having a dozen or so unfamiliar faces with untested allegiances having the run of the Meridian is not what I had in mind. Qerbellic may have s embedded within Praxian forces,” she reminded him. “Oh… yes. I suppose you’re right.” Apparently the thought that traitors might be among his own people hadn’t occurred to him. “Then we will provide you with security bots along with override codes. It’d be a shame if the Meridian got captured again.” His attempt at lightening the mood fell flat. “Swast is incorruptible. I’d trust her with my life.” “I’m sure.” “She will meet you at Wyvn. Now, you have a captain to catch.” He grinned.

CHAPTER 17

True to his word, Gonzalez entered pod C71E to the sight of her ship sparkling and shining like starlight. Already at the on-ramp stood Lieutenant Swast and half a dozen large rectangular security bots, each of which had four stubby legs. The devices could barely move any faster than a slow shuffle. Their bodies were essentially heavy weapons fused into durasteel blocks with only rudimentary mobile functionality buried deep beneath. Once they anchored themselves into position, they were virtually impossible to move by force save for serious firepower. The lieutenant was all business this time. Her hair, luster somehow toned down, was pulled back tightly and buried almost entirely beneath her Alliance cap. She sported a gray and black military uniform with standard colors highlighting rank insignia on her collar and the end of her sleeve. She looked fully the part of a female Alliance first officer, which was to say the same as a male executive officer except with a few tucks and uniform adjustments in the appropriate places. The woman offered a perfect salute as her new commanding officer approached. Gonzalez returned the gesture slowly. It feels so strange, having people salute me… “Lieutenant Marietta Swast reporting for duty, Captain.”

The order, or rather suggestion, had not been entirely unexpected. Given her recent diplomatic experience, Malek la Tesh would have felt nothing short of insulted if she’d not at least been consulted. What are the Bilians up to? In the back of her mind, she felt an inkling that the answer was already known. The Bilians may have blown not only their own cover. The ensuing investigation could cast a far wider net. If her suspicions were correct, then her job would suddenly become a lot more complicated. Damage control… ugh. The thought of making nice, apologizing, and begging for forgiveness to all those inferior races disgusted the redheaded alien to her core. First, though, she wanted to make a quick stop at Sanctuary to see it for herself. The station had seen better days. From the looks of it, no real repair work had been done. Worse? Scans showed no signs of life on board. Only a small Bilian science vessel presently disengaging from a docking port on the base’s far end showed any signs of intelligence. The research team, Malek concluded. They’d better have answers. But where are the other of the expedition? That ship is far too small for everyone… Her thoughts were rudely interrupted as a glaring red warning flashed in her face. The science ship was… Powering up disruptors? Did it even have… Her small private ship shuddered in response to an oncoming energy blast. Fortunately, her ship’s main computer had automatically engaged preliminary defensive barriers. Frantically dodging a second blast, the woman slammed her fist on the comm, opening a channel to the opposing vessel. “This is Malek la Tesh, Hebroni envoy. Call sign Tesh Zeta H371. The sky is always calmest before the storm.” Her name, military call sign, and first half of the project code. There could be no question as to her identity. The Bilians had every right to be cautious. Collateral casualties to ensure secrecy were acceptable in small numbers, small enough to be hidden and swept under the proverbial rug. Attacking an unknown entrant was understandable, extreme but understandable. I would have preferred more of a misdirect strategy, but to each her own. The Bilians would stand down now. There would be a formal apology. She would begrudgingly accept in return for a little more information than she was technically entitled, maybe even a little more still if the Bilian commander had been without good female company for a while. Then she’d be back on her way. She shuddered at the thought of it. Bilian anatomy is so… odd. Flexible, but in

all the wrong places! A little too squishy all around too. Oh, the things I do for my people. Lost in her own thoughts, seconds ticked by before she realized her message had not been greeted with the second half of the project code nor with any message at all for that matter. Rather, the Bilian vessel had done nothing but accelerate its intercept trajectory. Magnifying the visual, she saw that this was not in fact a science vessel, though it was clearly modeled to take on the guise of one. The ship had hidden disruptors, and lots of them. Primary and secondary shields too, with reinforced armor plating. This was no science team. These were Bilian special forces! But if they’re here… She barely dodged another shot from the enemy ship. Whoever they were, they wanted her gone. Against a sluggish science vessel, her ship’s tight defenses and sleek agility would have been more than a match, but against phantom special forces? From the looks of it, they have more than enough power to take out a frigate, maybe even a cruiser, and who knows what other surprises they’re hiding? My chances of surviving one-on-one against them when they’re fully charged is nill. Frantically punching the ship’s controls, her tiny vessel dogged and weaved its way around but took several glancing blows in the process, the second of which knocked her defensive barriers down completely. Another hit and I’ll be dead in the water… or worse. The Hebroni took a deep breath and slammed her hand down on the FTL controls, rocketing herself and her ship out of the sector. A millisecond delay and an incoming disruptor shot would have speared the length of her ship, splintering it into a dozen pieces. Only after confirming that the Bilians were not in hot pursuit did the full realization of what had happened finally begin to sink in. In less than five minutes, she’d nearly gone from Malek la Tesh, prominent diplomat, Hebroni spy, elite operative, and famous celebrity ired by all, to Malek la Tesh, a small pile of space dust ed by no one. It shook the woman to her core. Absentmindedly, she unpinned her hair, slowly running her fingers through the thick strands. The ritual usually calmed her in moments of extreme frustration. Today, relief was particularly slow in coming. After nearly an hour at FTL, Malek finally fully regained her composure. The alien began developing a new plan, but first she needed to make a call.

After a few taps on her control , a small holographic image appeared of a Bilian at a desk. “Malek la Tesh? To what do I owe the pleasure?” came a pleasant, if fake, voice. Malek wasted no time. “Get me Mitrich,” she demanded. “Malek, I’m afraid he—” “Get me Mitrich NOW!” Malek did not appreciate the simple secretary speaking to her in such an informal tone, nor the attempt at delay. “Unless you want a diplomatic incident on your hands!” “I uh… yes, ma’am. Right away.” That’s more like it.

“Enemy target dispatched, sir. It has fled the sector,” Navigator Frit informed the bridge. “Shall we pursue?” “Negative,” ordered Commis Teril. “We have bigger fish to fry. Take us back to Sanctuary. Continue our operations.” “Sir, only two more of Paridic Squad have yet to go through ascension. We’re almost whole again!” Techy exclaimed cheerfully. “Good. Begin the process. Then we will bring the captain on board with the operation. Speaking of which, how is Warich?” “He’s been sleeping comfortably, sir. Same as twelve hours ago.” “Good. He wouldn’t understand what needs to be done. Not yet anyway, but he will in time. Just like me.” “Just like all of us!” Navigator Frit grinned. “Then he’ll see the full picture.” Teril leaned back in the bridge command chair, fully content. Paridic Squad was good before, one of the best. And now that they’d found a way to tap into their hidden potential in ways years of training, service, and comradery never could? We are invincible! Yet all was not perfect. The captain had fallen quite ill. He should not be disturbed, not yet. Not until the ascension of the rest of the crew is completed. Then we will raise the commistre from his slumber and lead him to the inevitable next step. It had scared Techy. It had scared Teril too at first, but down in the lab their minds had been opened to the universe. They’d given that same gift to the rest of the crew. Sanctuary, Bilian politics, military tradition, warrior honor? The true nature of all these things, these former priorities, was clear. They were nothing more than trivial distractions from the real work that lay ahead. He knew. His crew knew. Their faith was unshakeable now. Any other future was inconceivable. There was nothing they couldn’t accomplish, now that they could hear the universe’s thoughts.

Much to the reluctant Gonzalez’s amazement, Swast was a model of military efficiency. She’d handed over her full personnel profile to Gonzalez for review. It was a résumé an inch thick! Impressive, especially for someone of her youth, considered Gonzalez. Her new, temporary first officer had a list of accomplishments that rivaled even her own. More than rivaled, she pondered thoughtfully. Not fully trusting the expert spy, she’d also used her new authority as acting captain to research some classified information on Swast. Everything appeared to check out, though she still didn’t entirely trust the woman. The lieutenant had undoubtedly noticed the robust security systems on board, though she’d made no mention of them or, as far as Gonzalez could tell, made any attempt to circumvent them. Swast had volunteered to pilot the Meridian out of the system. Normally, Gonzalez would have fervently objected, but right now her mind was swimming. Once they were out of the system, Swast set the ship to autopilot on a swift but sustainable pace toward Bilian territory. Since that point, the pair had spent hours in a small conference room poring over all the intel Ruggar had provided. Occasionally, small discussions ensued, but for the most part they read and analyzed in silence. “I want to thank you,” Swast began after some time. Gonzalez eyebrow shot up at her blonde counterpart’s unexpected comment. “Oh? What for?” “Praxis. Thanks for giving me a real chance. I’m sorry that I had to mislead you, Commander. Praxis is, well, it’s a dangerous place. Now more than ever. If we let our guard down, act without fully understanding the consequences, it could result in disaster. Experiencing the fall of Prax Prime firsthand isn’t an opportunity to which I had been looking forward.” “I’m sure the Council will come up with some way to turn the tide,” Gonzalez remarked, though not truly believing it herself. She wondered if they sounded as hollow as they felt. While she didn’t like being taken for a fool, especially when there was so much uncertainty to recent events, she also understood the task with which Swast had been charged. “I hope so.” The lieutenant let out an emotional sigh. “I just… Commander, have a look at this!” Gonzalez edged over, her gaze following Swast’s pointing finger

to a single line of text on her data pad. “Oh, hold on, let me…” She fumbled around with her keypad. A moment later, the information was projected on a much larger viewer embedded within the wall. “Here!” She got up and tapped a select locale on the screen. A slight anomaly had been detected a few months back at the edge of the Praxis system. Within seconds it had disappeared, but that wasn’t all Swast had noticed. Something was wrong with the record itself. The overwrite bore a striking resemblance to the doctored security recordings at Nordstrom. Until now, they’d thought direct Bilian interest in Praxis had been limited to Nordstrom. This suggested something far worse. “That’s got to be the source of Bilian activity in the sector! It’s too small to be a station…” “Maybe a cruiser, or a dreadnought? Hard to believe they could have hidden an entire dreadnought out here though. Shall I send word to Ruggar? Ask him to check it out?” inquired the eager junior officer. “I… no. Any probe he sends could have its information erased just as easily as that recording, and the Bilians will see any manned ship arrive from half the system away,” Gonzalez explained. “We check this out ourselves.”

Ugh… where am I? wondered Peters. Struggling, he finally managed to force one eye open, then the other. Everything was black. It took a second before he realized that a covering over his head, not a lacking lighting, was the cause. His arms, like his eyelids, felt heavy. He was locked into something, securely fastened by the wrists and ankles in what he could only assume was a chair. What… I uh… His mind raced. I was… on Praxis with… the Council. The camp… Greg… I … an attack… trampled. The fact that he was still alive was reassuring, though he was hard-pressed to think of any situation in which being locked to a chair with a bag over one’s head was a good thing. After some time, he finally detected another presence, the unmistakable sound of a heavy door flung open followed moments later by a loud thud that echoed through the room. Must be a small room, he realized from the sound. Standard interrogation chamber. His mind raced, though he said nothing as the solitary pair of footsteps slowly tapped its way over to his location, stopping at what seemed like just a few feet away. Six steps. Probably a twenty-by-twenty room, give or take a few feet. The image of a small white room with a pedestal at its heart flashed in his mind, but an unfamiliar voice instantly flushed the image away. “Glad to see you’re awake, Captain Peters.” The words cut through the silence of the room like a knife. The voice sounded kind, almost sympathetic, though the bound officer was willing to bet that his captors were anything but comionate. “Thank you.” Might as well play along. “Forgive me for not shaking your hand, sir.” “You’re forgiven.” The visitor chuckled. “And forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. You can call me Zenith. It is truly an honor to meet you. It isn’t often I get to meet distinguished Alliance celebrities in my line of work.” “Out of curiosity, what is your line of work, Zenith?” “I’m a doctor, like my father before me,” the voice explained. “I’m here to help keep you well.” The sincerity in his voice was almost convincing. The subtle sound of small medical devices being shuffled on what must have been a nearby stand betrayed the doctor’s intention.

“So I’ve gotta ask, what’s with the bag?” inquired Peters, trying to keep the conversation nonchalant in the hope of lulling his visitor into subconsciously divulging small bits of important information. “I am afraid”—Zenith sighed—“that my employers, well, they are concerned that you mean trouble for them. I know that’s not true.” A lie for sure. “I’m here because I’ve devoted my life to helping people and I want to help you too. They thought you should be left for dead, but I wouldn’t let them. You may feel a slight pinch in your right arm, just a heads-up.” “Ouch! What are you… ?” “Blood sample,” Zenith explained. “Your body has seen a lot of trauma. I want to check your white blood cell count and make sure your nano healers are working properly.” Nano healers. Zenith was most likely not human, at least not one that grew up in human-controlled territories. The standard human slang was nanobots. Hebroni maybe? Or Bilian? Bilian made sense given what he could about recent events, though the doctor spoke slowly and deliberately with a deeper voice than any Bilian he’d met. Hebroni male seemed plausible. “Well, Doctor,” he said after a moment, “do I have a clean bill of health?” “You’re recovery is going incredibly well, considering everything you’ve been through,” Zenith explained in a clinical tone. “I’d say that you…” The doctor’s words began to mix together in the human’s mind. Blood sample, ha! Peters thought as the realization rapidly sank in. He’d been drugged; his mind was quickly becoming a fog. While he’d suspected this would be coming, he’d still hoped to garner more clues first. The speed of the operation suggested his captors meant business. Zenith’s words began to echo and overlap themselves until Peters could scarcely make out any of them at all. Gradually, the echoes came to a stop, and silence filled his mind. Then new words came like thunder, rattling around in the commander’s mind as he strained to comprehend them. “Captain Peters, do not be concerned if you should begin to feel relaxed… Can you hear me, Captain?” Peters slowly nodded his head. “Wonderful!” The voice was pleased. “I knew… help… each other.” The words ran together. “You have… strange injuries… How… ?” the thunderous voice

asked. “I was… disruptors… heavy disruptors… Fevros,” he struggled to get the words out. “Yes, we know… them… More recently, Captain, please. If you tell me… go home.” Going home was the last thing Peters expected from his captors. Once they’d gotten what they were after, he’d be lucky to get out alive. He began with denials, but the thunder kept pressing. He resisted. With each ing question, even misdirects were getting harder and harder to come by. Peters struggled to provide answers that contained enough truth that they would seem plausible without divulging anything classified. The voice changed over time, becoming both more pleading and more impatient with each new question. Throughout it all, there were still no clues as to what the voice was truly after. Eventually, a few more voices ed that of the doctor’s. Gruff voices. Angry voices. Two, maybe more. Their words were a low rumble, impossible to make out. Then, cutting through the fog, he heard the doctor once again. “I am sorry, Captain.” Something blunt and hard smashed into the back of Peters’ skull with such force that he’d have fallen completely out of the chair if he’d not been strapped to it. Another few pricks on his arm, but he barely noticed it. Then everything went dark.

A prisoner? Interesting, Mitrich pondered. In truth, he had been wanting to meet these humans who always seemed to be in the right place at the wrong time, though with such a tight schedule he doubted he’d ever have the chance. Today is my lucky day. It would still be some time before he would meet this human leader face-to-face. The brutes were careless. They left behind clues, but at least the operation wasn’t a total loss. The artifact had been recovered after all. I suppose I should be grateful. “Commistre.” Further pondering of the day’s events would have to wait it seemed. All of his direct subordinates knew better than to call in unannounced. Mitrich made a note to see this foolish upstart severely disciplined for this grievous infraction of established protocol. “Sorry to bother you, sir.” It’s too late for apologies, fool. The voice blathered on. The commistre was just about to disconnect when the idiot on the other end finally said something remotely interesting. “We just received from Paridic Squad and—” “Oh?” interjected Mitrich, his first comment the entire conversation. The rambling Bilian on the other end finally paused in surprise before continuing again. “Yes, sir.” Interesting. I hadn’t expected to hear from them for another few cycles. “Well? What did old Warich have to say?” “Commis Teril, sir. He advised that several of their squad fell during the Sanctuary investigation. Warich fell ill. Shall I arrange a ceremonial funeral for the fallen tomorrow?” Too much to consider, no time. “No, not tomorrow. Put arrangements in place ten cycles from now. What of Teril?” “He said they had secured their objective and are making haste for base camp. He asked that I stress the team’s eagerness to re their brothers-in-arms as quickly as possible. Their ETA is less than two cycles.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s time Paridic Squad was finally one big happy family again.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Mitrich shuddered. It was a human saying. Infectious human influence had spread its corruption even here. “Have Teril me as soon as his team is in system.” “Yes, si—” The commistre cut communications before the rambler had a chance to finish his sentence. Without wasting a single instant, Mitrich tapped a code into his desk transmitter. An instant later, a holographic projection of a hallway appeared, at the end of which was a heavy, reinforced door. Two standard Bilian guards stood at attention on one side. On the other side, viewable to the commistre via holographic display, were four elite Bilian soldiers. The Paridic Squad insignias gave their affiliation away. Two stood in full attention by the door. One sat in a far corner cleaning dozens of various weapons. The fourth was standing in a relaxed position, calmly gazing into a small round sphere on a pedestal at the room’s center. There’d been no time to install color filters, so the entire hologram carried a bluish tint. Even so, the image was clear as day. The orb was pulsing intensely, releasing light energy throughout the room. Each pulse seemed to breathe life into the surrounding area. With each pulse of light, the four solders inhaled. As the light faded, they exhaled. All were contently under its spell. It almost seemed a shame to disturb the group. After taking the scene in, Mitrich tapped a button, alerting these remnants of Paridic Squad that he wanted to speak with them. “Attention, my fellows,” Mitrich began as the four hastily formed up in a twoby-two formation in front of a small audiovisual transmitter so as to offer the commistre proper attention and respect. “The other of Paridic will be here shortly, roughly two cycles. Prepare for their arrival.” “Yes, Commistre,” replied the sphere gazer. “We can sense their returning.” Such an eerie, unexpected phrase would have rattled many, though not Mitrich. Still, the soldier’s nonchalance combined with the glazed-over look in his eyes— clearly visible even through the holographic display—gave even the commistre a chill. All the other soldiers had the same look. Gradual exposure had paid huge dividends. It had proven far more effective than the initial, more invasive tests. How fortunate, considered Mitrich, the caliber needed for Paridic Squad is so hard to find these days. It would have been a nightmare trying to refill their ranks had things gone as awry as on Sanctuary.

“Good. Make sure the necessary preparations are in order.” The other Bilians just stared back. Only their speaker nodded in acknowledgement. Satisfied, Mitrich closed the channel. Finally, everything is starting to come together.

CHAPTER 18

Fully staffed, whatever we find will probably house hundreds of personnel. Getting what we need will be tricky . . . The idea of storming what promised to be a sizable hostile vessel was causing Gonzalez a good deal of concern. Yet she never wavered, knowing it must be done. Thanks to some quick thinking on Swast’s part, they had acquired a schematic of standard Bilian cruiser design while on their way to the mysterious anomaly. Gonzalez dreaded the idea of navigating an enemy ship by such primitive means, but it was far better than nothing. “The most direct path to the bridge is through here,” the acting captain observed aloud after reviewing the schematics. “With good timing and a little bit of luck, we may be able to get out ahead of the masses heading that way, avoiding a firefight altogether.” It was a direct and practical approach, but Swast had some concerns. “Wait, what about this?” she questioned, pointing to what looked like two narrow corridors each leading to a lift shaft connecting the bridge with the rest of the ship. Each lift connected to the Bilian bridge on opposite sides. “Those elevator shafts are the only way to the bridge as far as I can tell. We can take either, and the Bilians will have no real way of knowing which we choose until it’s too late. They’ll have to divide their forces.” “But if they did know, somehow…” “We’d be bottlenecked for sure.” Gonzalez sighed, realizing the layout was as much a predicament as an advantage. “We’ll need to move quickly to maintain the element of surprise. Every able-bodied Bilian officer will probably head to the bridge to secure key systems.” “Then should we head there too?” the lieutenant questioned. “What do you mean? That’s the control center, the nerve center of the Bilian

ship. If there’s information anywhere on board to confirm what they’re up to on Praxis and where they’ve taken Chris…” We’ll never make it, Gonzalez slowly realized. Even with a head start, and war bots from Praxis in , the two women wouldn’t be able to storm a Bilian cruiser, fight their way to the commistre, and subdue the ship’s executive leadership. Yet as she chewed over that unfortunate realization, a new idea took shape in her mind. “I’m not sure we can subdue their crew so we can then take their ship without serious backup,” Swast itted glumly. “We won’t need backup, Swast,” her captain replied matter-of-factly, a new plan taking shape in her mind as a smile slowly crept across her face. “I think they’ll be more than willing to accommodate our requests.” “I have a hard time believing they’ll cooperate…” Swast didn’t see it. “I have a feeling they’ll be more than willing to see reason when we’re waist deep in all their ship’s systems…” Will she figure it out? If not, she’ll just have to wait in suspense. “Engineering? We’re heading for engineering?” Not bad, Swast. Maybe you are half as smart as you believe you are. “Think you can use your programming know-how to control power flow? Monopolize and lock access before primary security protocols come back online to stop you?” “Completely bying the need to understand aspects of every major system…” The fuller implications hit the junior officer like a dreadnought’s broadside. “Yes! Yes, that’s possible! We’ll need to act fast while they’re still focused on the bridge.” “A gamble, but also our best bet. With everyone racing to protect senior leadership on the bridge, engineering should be a riper, easier location to secure.” “So we let the Bilians think we’re headed for the bridge… ,” Swast began.

“When we’re actually heading in the opposite direction,” Gonzalez finished. “All we need to do is seize engineering and then barricade ourselves in. Then we send an ultimatum to the bridge. With Ruggar’s bots entrenched in place, we should be able to last a while. Besides, we can signal Ruggar for more backup once we’re aboard.” It seemed elegantly simple for what was, in reality, still a monumental undertaking. It was their best option. Gonzalez knew that. The challenge before them had Swast almost giddy with excitement.

As expected, a Bilian cruiser slowly appeared on the horizon to the backdrop of a clear midnight-black void of space. LR ive scans yielded no results, evidence that the ship maintained some sort of stealth system similar to that of the Meridian. The antidetection systems over there have to be strained to the limit, mused Gonzalez, to hide something that size. Close-up, they could still see it even if their scanners couldn’t, and if they could get close enough, their shortrange scanners would finally be useful. Against Swast’s protests, Gonzalez had taken manual control of the ship, approaching the cruiser with the system’s star directly at their back. It’s the least likely place for someone to casually look out a window and spot us, she’d explained. The Meridian slowly coasted toward its objective, hidden both from sensors and visual recognition. Gonzalez gently settled the ship into position ten meters directly above an aft cargo hold. “Engage ive scans,” she commanded. “Acknowledged,” Swast responded, activating sensors once more. “Hmm… skeleton crew. All Bilians. I’m… I’m not detecting any humans aboard, sir.” “Like hell. If he isn’t here, they’ll know where he is. They must be clearing out after Nordstrom.” “This is our only real lead so far… ,” agreed the lieutenant. “In an hour or two, we may not even have this. A skeleton crew may even make our job easier. Any sign of shard energy signatures?” “Faint traces, similar to the readings Ruggar provided, just weaker. Whatever is here isn’t nearly as powerful…” “Or it’s already been removed,” Gonzalez countered. Then, thinking to the next phase of their plan, “Where are the Bilians located? Any in the cargo hold?” “None, sir. Closest hostiles are nearly fifty meters away, and on another deck. This locale is probably the best we’ll see.” The acting captain nodded and, with the tenderness of a mother stroking her newborn, maneuvered the Meridian into docking position but did not engage the locks. Not yet. Doing so would have immediately alerted the Bilians inside to

their presence. Thus far, there’d been no indication that the aliens were even remotely aware of the Meridian. It was all going according to plan. “Start prepping the bots, just in case our cover is blown and we need—” “Sir!” Swast interjected. “The Bilian ship is powering up engines. They’re trying to hightail it out of here!” Damn it! The humans had hoped to gain more insight before attempting overt measures. After all, boarding a Bilian cruiser, let alone half-blind, was not an opportunity either woman relished. “Activate EMP!” “Sir? It hasn’t been positioned. It’ll knock out the Meridian too!” “There’s no time, Lieutenant! If this cruiser gets away, the condition of the Meridian won’t matter,” she argued, getting up to activate the disabling weapon herself. Her move was unneeded; Swast had already jumped up to comply. The EMP itself took nearly half a minute to fully activate. At T minus ten seconds, Gonzalez activated the docking clamps. Here goes nothing… Both ships rocked with force as a powerful electromagnetic wave shot out from the Meridian in all directions. Lights flickered and then went out completely. Emergency life , minimal artificial gravity, and a few sparsely placed emergency lights kicked back on after a few seconds as the women partially floated out of their chairs. Even with emergency gravity, their movements were awkward at first. “Well,” began Swast, “shall we?” “After you.” Gonzalez motioned toward the lift at the far end of the bridge, taking the chance on what could have been a very unusual-looking movement. To her pleasant surprise, the gesture looked and felt almost natural. Stumbling forward, Swast made way toward the exit. The lift had to be operated manually. One advantage of the unusual gravity was that the manual crank took less effort to operate. Even so, it was hardly a quick or easy task. After five minutes and four sore arms, the women had finally reached the appropriate deck and made their way to disembark.

The women were met on the way by three uncertain crew . The Meridian was still running with minimal staffing; the five personnel present made a majority. “If anything happens to us, it’s up to you to warn Prax Prime,” Gonzalez advised after explaining the situation. “But, Commander!” one had objected. “It’s too dangerous.” “Allow me to go in your stead. We’ve already lost Captain Peters. We can’t lose you too,” offered another. In a different scenario, Gonzalez might be tempted to agree, but when it came to rescuing her captain, she would have none of it. She couldn’t. Swast would come too, as there was a good chance her secret agent training would be needed. Everyone else, she explained, should focus on getting critical systems back up and running and ensure no wayward Bilians venture onto the Meridian uninvited. The crew was reluctant but eventually acquiesced to their commander’s orders. Manually unsealing the ships had been no less difficult and time-consuming than getting the lift to move. Fortunately, there were no longer any automated systems enabled on the other end to lock them out. It was impossible to know what the Bilian response had been, or how they were now positioned on the other side. Thanks to the EMP, Ruggar’s bots were now useless. I wonder if this is how all captains feel…

CHAPTER 19

It hadn’t even been a full day since the main complement of commandos and equipment had packed up and shipped out. The mission had been compromised, and the team was cleaning shop and heading home with all the intel they could carry. The most sensitive items had been removed, but still some supplies had been left behind. It would take two, maybe three es to remove it all. Were they not still trying to hide the operation, the entire thing could have been completed much more rapidly. Despite the gradual withdrawal, their mission was still officially to monitor the Praxis insurrection, ensuring it continued developing to Bilian advantage. Such a shame, thought the young Bilian ensign who was now unexpectedly the most senior member of the Traktma’s crew. As often as Hedrig had dreamed of his own command, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he and the skeleton crew had been left to their own demise rather than for “valuable on-the-job experience,” as his superiors had suggested. Hedrig knew better, but it was the game that was played. The only way to rise through the ranks was to muscle through ridiculous situations pushed by command. Many failed. Given some of the perilous situations thrust upon others, this one actually seemed relatively tame. Still, the humans might send out scouting probes to investigate unsanctioned alien activity in the sector. The whole thing put Hedrig on edge. After no from Bilian Command for nearly a cycle (none at all since the last evacuation), the ensign finally decided to take action. “Take us home,” he ordered. “Sir?” his navigation officer questioned. “You heard the order. I’m tired of waiting out here for the humans to stumble onto the Traktma. It’s only a matter of time if we keep sitting around. The next evac won’t be here for hours. It may even be another day, who knows? Besides, we’ve gathered all we can. Further interference in the insurrection is too risky.”

“Understood, sir. Powering up engines.” Despite being asked to go against their overarching directive, the navigator made no attempt to argue with the ensign, a fact for which Hedrig was especially thankful. “Sir,” called out one of his subordinates, the faintest hint of surprise in his voice. “Yes? What is it?” came Hedrig’s annoyed reply. This better not be an argument. “I’m picking up something unusual. Some sort of energy buildup.” “Those would be the engines…” Hedrig sighed. “It’s coming from… outside?” “Outside? What do you mean? I don’t understa—” It that instant, the entire ship jolted as if hit by a massive energy wave. All noncritical systems failed. Only a few lights, partial gravity, and emergency life remained. Lift controls went out as did sensors, communications, engines, the works. Well, that’s just great… “Everyone, ready your arms,” Hedrig called out to the bridge, the sudden maximum limit of his control. “As of now, we must consider ourselves under attack. Our immediate goal is to restore systems and prevent our assailants from gaining control of the Traktma. Seal the bridge and get our internal sensors working!” he barked, only hoping that he was able to hide the deep, foreboding sense of panic and dread that was quickly shooting through him. “Understood, sir!” came a unified reply from every corner of the bridge. Perhaps I’m better at maintaining a confident facade than I realized… or perhaps they are. Unsure of the truth, Hedrig rose from his command chair to those who were moving physical barriers in front of the lifts in an effort to do everything possible to physically seal off the command center. His training had been that of command not technical science. Getting the sensors working was best left to others. When satisfied that the bridge was as sealed as practical, Hedrig commanded four of his team to do nothing but monitor the lifts, two assigned to each with weapons ever at the ready. Confident that this was the best possible defense given the circumstances, he turned to the more tech-savvy of his bridge

crew. “What’s our ETA on sensors?” he inquired, optimism rising given how quickly they’d secured a strong defensive posture. “We’re looking at a few hours minimum, best-case scenario.” The ensign’s morale came crashing down once more. Great. Just great…

When Peters awoke, his head throbbed with searing pain almost to the point that he didn’t notice the aching ts all over his body. That is, at least until someone grabbed his left arm and in one swift jolt dislocated his shoulder. “Aaaargh!” All his military training and discipline suddenly meant nothing as he screamed like a child. The agony was beyond description. “Now TALK!” demanded a menacing voice. The speaker was decidedly not Doctor Zenith. This new interrogator had dropped subterfuge in favor of more direct methods. “Where… where am I? Who are… ?” Another blow came to his temple, cutting off the man’s stuttering. “I know you are a simple people, human, so let me give you some advice. Your only concern, if you have any intelligence in that ridiculously shaped head of yours, should be to stay alive. The doctor was too soft with you. I’m not so accommodating.” A jab of something sharp and hot penetrated Peters’ flank. Still trapped in the chair, he could do little but flinch away. Almost instantly, an eerie feeling consistent with hundreds of small insects crawling just beneath his skin flooded out from the source of his latest injury. It didn’t hurt as bad as his other injuries, but it was unnerving, like a dozen nails scraping against a dozen chalkboards. “Where did you take it?” demanded the voice. “Take… what? I don’t…” A faint chime sounded from somewhere in the room accompanied by a ticking sound. It reminded Peters of the sound a setting dial might make when slowly turned. All at once the chalkboard insects turned ablaze. It felt as if his entire body was somehow burning from the inside out. Then slowly it subsided. “That, my dear human, was the lowest setting. It’s reserved for disciplining pets. This unit has had some, well, modifications. I’m curious to see how the new, enhanced settings work. Let’s find out!” At first, there was nothing but pain and his captor’s sadistic laughter as he

soaked up every minute of the torture. Then there was only the former. Then there was nothing as the human’s body went into shock and consciousness slipped away.

“You really should be more careful,” chastised a voice that broke through the clouds of darkness like the sound of morning birds cutting through a long sleep. “He’s no use to us dead.” Peters did his best to grit away the lingering pain and remain completely still so as not to alert the voices that he had awoken. He could still feel those things underneath his skin, though they no longer scurried to and fro. “He’s no use to us alive,” snarled the angry voice. “I was just having some fun before the opportunity ed by.” “The human body is frail. It isn’t capable of adapting so quickly. Why do you think they fear the Fevros so?” “If they’re so weak, why are we wasting our time with this one? What’s the life of one human worth beyond a little entertainment?” “It isn’t his body that’s important. It’s the secrets hidden away in his mind.” “You’re just a filthy human-lover! I oughta turn you in!” “My credentials are well-established, my friend,” came the other voice. Friendly words in a cold tone, noted Peters. “How far do you think your words will go against mine? How long do you think you’ll live if the commistre finds out you killed a key resource?” Commistre! So they are Bilian! Or maybe freelancers reporting to the Bilian federation… “How does he even know this one is a key resource?” “Intelligence confirms both he and his companion have had with the artifact,” the cold but rational one remarked. “Manifestation has already begun. It’s only a matter of time now.” He spoke calmly, as if he were describing a normal everyday occurrence. “You mean to tell me…” “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean to tell you!” he exclaimed. “I knew you’d get it!

So please.” He walked behind Peters, placing his hand on the tortured human’s shoulder. It took all of Peters’ discipline not to scream out as the pressure of the man’s hand, however light, came down on his raw shoulder. “Try not to kill this one like you killed the others. The commistre may not give you many more chances.” With that closing, Peters heard faint noises, most likely footsteps heading out of the room. It was impossible to tell precisely how many sets. The door slammed shut, followed by the sound of multiple clicks belonging to an intricate locking mechanism. Waiting several minutes to see if any sounds—even that of breathing—would loft through the air, Peters heard none. Certainly he was being observed, probably by holographic projection. Hopefully, that meant he was at least safe from immediate harm. Taking advantage of the situation, he drew in as deep a breath as he dared and tried to calm his thoughts.

Communications had been lost with the Traktma. The loss of physical resources meant little to Mitrich. Even so, something about the recent turn of events shook him to the core as few other things had since his childhood. What was worse, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Virtually all of the valuables had been evacuated. All personnel of any real value had been extracted. Most, Mitrich included, now worked on-site at his current location, though a handful had been divvied up into other critical projects. All according to design. Much of the equipment on board had been pushed to the limit over the last few months. It was entirely possible that the intricate systems on the Traktma had simply burnt out due to their extended, intense use and the green recruits they’d left behind did not have the skills to swiftly address that deficiency. Eventually, communications would be reestablished. The left-behinds did possess at least rudimentary technical skills; they weren’t completely useless. Even they would be able to react and escape should a human vessel approach. Besides, the cruiser’s weapon systems and antiship countermeasures were sufficient to make a seasoned crew the match of most enemy cruisers. With inexperienced recruits, the chance of disabling an enemy long enough to run still remained high. Only an enemy dreadnought could serve as a serious threat, and Bilian Command maintained constant tracking of all battleships in the galaxy, their own as well as those belonging to all rivals. None were within a day’s travel of Praxis. Throughout his career, Mitrich had become considerably adept at using information, not feelings, to guide his plans. He’d exploited it at every opportunity. This approach had served him well. Still, somehow he knew something more had occurred than a simple systems malfunction. He could feel it.

She’d worked in government long enough to know when she was getting the runaround. Suddenly, Commistre Mitrich was impossible to reach. Either something has gone very wrong, or he’s decided the price of Hebroni cooperation is too high. He’s cutting us out! fumed Malek. The latter possibility was somewhat surprising seeing as it had been the Hebroni, not the Bilians, who had footed so much of the bill and felt so much of the pain thus far. Yet the attempt on her life left little room for doubt. Either there’d been an insurrection within Bilian ranks or they were trying to tie up loose ends. The Bilians, for all of their propaganda about secrets and espionage, were not flawless. Still, there’d been nothing about any usurpation, attempted coup, or even organizational restructuring that would have in any way impacted the operation on any communications channel, not even on the encrypted ones. Even so, the fact that Mitrich would not speak to her all but confirmed their traitorous actions. The time had come, the tan alien decided, as she slowly, deliberately typed her personal Hebroni Command code into the ship’s secure comm terminal, after which she provided audio verification as to her identity for the transmission. “Tesh Zeta H371, MK83 Tesh Sigma Lock Omega Omega Alpha 3.” As the purple diode that controlled her communications system changed to a green color matching the color of the woman’s eyes, she began. “This is Agent L1M6, initiating Protocol Epsilon. The fox is in the henhouse and the door remains locked.” Malek shivered as she spoke. Partially because of the firestorm that was about to be unleashed and partially because Hebroni Command had insisted on using such a bland human metaphor as code to begin their sudden but inevitable contingency plan. At first, there was nothing but silence over the intercom, just long enough for Malek to wonder if her transmission had somehow been blocked. A few seconds later, a reply cut through the silence like a hot knife through butter. “Acknowledged, L1M6. Protocol Epsilon initiated. Implementing farmer assistance.” The voice spoke with such calm, it was a little unnerving. Then the channel was severed. Something seems… Was that X51A’s voice? It had been weeks since they’d last spoken. Surely it was her; she must just be a little under the weather. An uneasy Malek leaned back and, taking a deep breath,

slowly began to stroke her hair. Then the bridge lights flickered out as critical systems inexplicably began failing throughout the ship.

CHAPTER 20

Paridic Squad had arrived just in time, for other avenues of research were at last beginning to bear fruit. The human captive had proven less a fountain of knowledge and more a stubborn rock than had been hoped. Due to the incompetence of his charges, no doubt. At most other points in his career, Mitrich would have seen both his torturers tortured themselves if nothing else than a learning experience. However, if not for Doctor Zenith, the human would have died outright, and all associated opportunities would be lost. For that reason, he would not suffer the same fate as his companion. His would be marginally better. It had become clear that gradual, prolonged exposure to the artifact produced many of the same benefits while allowing the subjects to retain their mental capabilities, at least for those strong-willed enough. It was time to see if such results could be duplicated in individuals without the discipline and strength of Bilian commandos. The human’s torturer will serve as the first test subject in this round of experiments. Zenith will observe and tend to his needs during the transition. His companion’s transformation will serve as a warning on the price of failure. Where their foolishness had failed, other assets had made a return. Earlier that day, the Meridian had experienced an unexpected systems failure, a failure that knocked all of their recently acquired state-of-the-art cybersecurity systems offline. That software had truly been an annoyance in that it prevented the Bilian tracking system secretly installed by an agent on Praxis from gaining any real information on this ship and its crew. Fortunately, whatever had disabled the ship’s security systems had not impacted the small shielded spying device. The ship’s sensors were down, so hacking into those to determine the human vessel’s current location was a useless endeavor. Fortunately, bits and pieces of archived data over the last few weeks could be pieced together, albeit slowly. The device had begun to use its internal protocol, using its own power to energize the Meridian’s database functions for a millisecond here and a nanosecond there, durations too small to be noticed by all but the most advanced

scanners but still long enough to snag small bits of data and then piece them together. It was from here that Mitrich had finally discovered what he had longed to learn for some time—the location of the other artifact. It was on a human dreadnought, the Hastings—a command ship for an arrogant human named Schilinton. A quick skim of his profile indicated that he had advanced far beyond his prime, though the Alliance still held him up like some sort of icon, maintaining his access to important records and classified information, giving him personal command of a dreadnought, and so forth. That’s what makes… one of the things that make you humans weak. You hold on to your relics out of sentimentality when you should prune them off to make room for the strong.

It had been well over an hour. There’d been no storming of the bridge. There’d been no indication, in fact, that there was any kind of outside influence at play aside from the simultaneous ship-wide systems failure itself. Such a system shock was virtually impossible without malignant intentions. Internal treachery was always possible with High Command, though that scenario appeared unlikely in this particular case. There was nothing worth stealing and no one worth killing on the ship anymore. No, I don’t think Bilian Command is behind this. Besides, that kind of subterfuge is usually the pastime of the higher-borne and well-connected further up the hierarchy. Those with hundreds of loyal fans, followers, or pawns, those with money and resources to pull the strings, those who can expect to wind up ahead when the smoke clears. All such personnel and then some had been evacuated already. As far as those who remained, Hedrig had the highest standing in Bilian military society, which said far more about his current company’s low social status than his own. Internal sabotage seemed incredibly unlikely. Yet there’d been no indication of any approaching ships—hostile, neutral, or friendly—since the evacuation ships had left. The only unusual reading was most likely the flare of an EMP just before detonation. It had to have come from the outside, but from where? A mine? Impossible. The Traktma had scarcely changed its location by more than a pector (similar in length to a human meter) in months. Nothing had been detected by the ship’s scanners. The transports hadn’t mentioned anything either. Something would have had to place the mine there… unless… Suddenly, Hedrig’s thoughts turned from external mischief to a threat he knew all too well and hated even more. Their operation was being liquidated. All critical individuals, equipment, and information had been removed. It was indisputable. As he sank with despair into his newly acquired command chair, the Bilian wondered if any other of the crew had, too, realized the unfortunate truth. The Traktma and its remaining crew were now nothing but a liability. With their key assets secure, Bilian Command was eliminating loose ends—namely, Hedrig, the inexperienced young crew, and possibly even the Traktma itself.

Commistre Warich awoke to an intense migraine running the entire length of his elongated skull. Ugh… I should have stayed in bed. His room was dark, but in seconds the lighting would begin to come on as the room’s sensors detected he was awake. To his bewilderment, nothing happened. Attempting to get up, pain shot from his head down through his arms and legs. What in the… The alien could barely move; his whole body felt heavy, like he was weighed down by an extra hundred pounds. Gritting his teeth, the commistre willed his muscles to operate until he managed to get into a sitting position. As the aged Bilian’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, one thing was clear. This was not his room. This was a prison cell, the same kind he’d used to hold countless enemies over the years. There were minimalist surroundings—a small stiff bed with a single sheet for warmth, a small sink (which likely provided access to only cold, barely sanitary water), and latrine in this small chamber. One of the walls was likely a one-sided viewer in disguise to allow for outside monitoring. It was virtually impossible to distinguish which was which unless someone on the outside allowed it. The extra weight and discomfort are probably due to increased atmospheric pressure and augmented gravity. From his experience, such a precaution was overkill for the typical prisoner. Only for the most athletic, clever, and ingenuitive captives was such a measure truly necessary. I suppose I should be flattered. Warich’s mind raced as he tried to piece it all together. He’d been on his ship but hadn’t been feeling well. Before that, Paridic had secured Sanctuary. They’d encountered unusual creatures—Prowlers—but had been successful in eradicating the menace. They’d brought back some samples, and Techy had been poring over them. How did his report go? Something about strange nanites… His mind felt like it was in a fog. He’d undergone a full bioscan and decontamination after leaving Sanctuary. It hadn’t picked up anything that a little rest couldn’t take care of. He’d left his right hand, Commis Teril, in charge and gone to bed expecting to be fully refreshed by morning. There were glimpses of something else too. Is it memory or a dream? He’d been at a feast on Bathra, the luxury resort moon of the Bilian home world. Mostly Bilians had been present, though smaller packs of other species had been in attendance, even a few that Warich didn’t fully recognize. He’d gone outside of a casino to catch a breath of fresh air. Everyone was chitchatting, smiling,

laughing, and having a great time in the cool evening air. Spotting Itir, sipping a green-tinted drink at a nearby table and observing the crowd, Warich meandered over to the promising trainee. Things soon took a turn for the worse; the commistre was the first to notice. A dark shadow slowly swept across the landscape, though there didn’t appear to be anything in the sky above to cast it. Curious, he’d risen, taking a few steps in the direction of the slowly engulfing shadow. Only at this point did others begin to take notice. You’d have thought the end of the universe was coming the way peoples of all nations jumped up, shrieking as they ran in terror. Awestruck by the sight, Warich had simply stood motionless as he tried to analyze the nature of this apparent threat. If these people were in danger, it was his duty as a soldier, a commistre, and the head of Paridic Squad to protect them and inspire all other brave Bilian troops to do the same. Itir was on his feet by now, weapon drawn. His drink had gone flying, but neither officer paid any heed to the spill. While Warich took in his environment as a whole, looking for clues and searching for the nature of the threat, Itir was not nearly so cautious. Without a second thought he charged, firing shots into the blackness as he ran toward the all-encoming shadow that blotted out everything like a massive rolling cloud of evil. “Itir, wait!” Warich had shouted, but it was too late. The result was almost unmistakable. A muffled flash just beyond the shadow line. A crackle of thunder. A scream of agony. Itir was no more. Only now did Warich begin to back away. Retrieving whatever was left of Itir would have to wait until this menace could be forced into a retreat. Without having a target or weak point in sight, wasting power by blasting into the cloud seemed like a fruitless endeavor. “I can stop it!” shouted Techy, racing to his commistre’s side. “With this!” he exclaimed, holding up a small portable box. A field shield generator! Good thinking, Techy! “It can block the cloud’s energy. We can get inside long enough to stop it.” With Teril and the other of Paridic running up alongside, the squad followed Itir’s fateful charge. Just before breaching the threshold, the shadow lashed out with a bolt of energy. A lightly charred Warich flew backward, feeling like he’d been struck by lightning. The rest of the team was flung forward beyond the veil. A telltale hum and a flicker of green energy confirmed the

protective barrier had been activated. A familiar flash of light, or rather several flashes of energy attacks showed that the entity was fighting back. This time, there were no screams of agony, quite the opposite. Warich even heard Techy cackling in victory over the booms of thunder, followed by Teril’s swift command: “All right, boys, we have work to do. Step to it, on the double!” The cloud slowed. The cloud stopped. The cloud, ever so slowly, began to dissipate back to its weaker shadow form and retreat to whence it came. The entire battlefield was completely deserted now, aside from the commistre himself. Then figures slowly formed in the distance, the beleaguered yet successful of Paridic Squad! “Aha! When the galaxy needs heroes, there are none finer than Paridic! Great work, all of you!” Warich exclaimed as he strode forward to meet his successful team, grinning with pride even as the last remnants of shadow faded away into nothingness. Silently, the team approached. Only Teril nodded respectfully toward his commander as Techy deactivated the protective force dome. “What did you see in there? What is the nature of this monstrosity?” Warich inquired curiously. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before,” recalled Teril wistfully. “Like the galaxy itself revealing a glimpse of its past, present, and future,” continued Techy. “The secrets of the universe revealed in flashes of color, emotion, and song,” announced another with a strange hint of longing in his voice. Something isn’t right. From the sound of their voices, from the fond ways in which they recalled their experiences in the deadly crowd, from their stuttering and almost involuntary movements, from the way they looked. What is that glint in their eyes? Warich took a cautious step back. “Do not run, Commistre,” came a soothing female voice. Turning to identify the source, the Bilian laid eyes upon the most beautiful Hebroni woman he’d ever seen. “Embrace the advancement of your species,” she pleaded. The sound of her voice could ease away a mountain of tension, and the sense of her words seemed to penetrate into the deepest recesses of his mind. The commistre nearly lost himself in them. Wait, this isn’t right. She

wasn’t even there a second ago. No one was here! “Embrace your destiny!” menaced Teril, though the voice was not entirely his own. Looking back at his squad, their forms were morphing away as they changed into fanged, beastly creatures. Prowlers! They lunged at him from all directions at once. Not one landed on its target. Out of nowhere, an all-encoming blue light seemed to beam down from heaven itself. The Prowlers were knocked back in every direction. The energy was like the shadow, except it felt warm, not cold. Comforting, not suffocating. Perhaps most importantly, the Prowlers couldn’t, or wouldn’t, approach it. Quite the opposite, they backed away practically cowering. I don’t think I ever saw a Prowler cower on Sanctuary… The beautiful Hebroni scowled, her face changing too, morphing from the personification of beauty realized into a withered, fanged creature of rotting flesh that resembled an animated Hebroni corpse—the humans would have called her a zombie—more than anything else. Yet not even she approached the blue embrace. He was safe, for now. It was here that the details of the vision began to get foggy. The commistre had a vague recollection of being grabbed, pushed, shoved, and flung onto some sort of cold surface though no images accompanied these memories. The events on Bathra almost assuredly were more fraught with emotionally driven imagery than anything else. The rest? It was difficult to say. It didn’t matter much anyway, not right now. As the elder Bilian focused on what memories he could access, the ache in his head paled slightly, just enough to notice something else. The room should have been completely and perfectly silent aside from the sounds he himself made. It was another of the more subtle attributes of these cells, silence designed to slowly drive the resident insane. Yet here pure silence was not quite reality. A faint yet incessant hum permeated the entire room. Hobbling around slowly, Warich moved along each wall and investigated every corner of his cell, attempting to determine where the noise was coming from. No luck. No location was louder or softer than any other, like well-orchestrated pink noise designed to subtly drown out all other sounds. This wasn’t pink noise though, not exactly. I need to figure out where I am so I can get out of here. The Bilian flung himself back onto his cot, cursing himself after hitting his head on the hard surface, and began going over all of it again.

CHAPTER 21

The silence was deafening. The whole time they’d stood on guard, hair-trigger, there’d been no sign of any assailants. Sloppy work, thought Hedrig. He’d been sure they were in their final minutes of life half a dozen times in the last hour. Long ago, the Bilian had dismissed any possibility that the system-wide malfunction was anything but a deliberate attack. Yet they were all still alive and power would be restored any minute. As soon as they’d regained control of the ship, Hedrig had one plan. Get out of the system. “Sir!” called one of the technicians. “Yes?” So lost in his own thoughts, Hedrig practically fell out of his command chair. Straightening up, he glanced around the bridge. Good, no one noticed. “What is it?” “We should have auxiliary power back online in just a few minutes, sir.” “And that will restore control over all the core systems? Sensors? Weapons and defenses? Standard gravity and life ?” “Yes, sir. Peripheral systems will take longer, but we’ll be able to see, move, and fight again.” Finally, some good news. Maybe we’ll make it out safely after all. Hedrig slowly rose in his best attempt to represent an imposing, commanding presence. For most other races, there was little such a small, slender Bilian could do to pull that off, but right now he was not surrounded by giant Fevros, muscular humans, or charismatic Hebroni. He was surrounded by young Bilians, most just as scrawny as he. The commander took a few marching steps toward the main viewer, which presently showed nothing but black. It should come back the instant power is restored. Then we’ll leave and never have to look at that cursed planet again. Seconds ticked by. Hedrig became more and more nervous. Would they see the star system as he and his crew had memorized it during their stay? Would they

see an enemy fleet? Perhaps Paridic Squad had come to assassinate them. The screen flickered. Hedrig jumped. Then the full view came back on. It was, to his relief, just as he’d ed, the same visual he’d seen hundreds of times before. “No signs of physical damage to the ship, sir,” called out one of his crew as if reading his mind. Perhaps it really was a system malfunction? “All this ado about nothing.” Trying to sound confident, Hedrig mocked his own nervousness as he turned around. “Helmsmen, get us out of—” “Hey, get over here! I think this is on… ,” came an unfamiliar voice over the bridge comm system, interrupting the executive officer’s thoughts. Spinning around, the Bilian leader’s face went white, or rather, whiter. Larger than life, two human females decked out in Alliance uniforms appeared on the viewer. The backdrop was impossible not to notice; they were in the Traktma’s engineering bay. “Let’s talk, Commistre.” The slightly shorter, slightly thinner brunette was straight to the point. “Who are you, human?” Trying to snarl with menace, Hedrig felt frightened as a mouse. The result was a tone that fell somewhere between the two. The humans seemed less than intimidated. The blonde smiled warmly in a way that would have instantly disarmed most men of any species. “My name is Jillian. This is my friend, Amy.” Jillian and Amy. Common names for human females. Fake for sure. “We found your ship, drifting aimlessly. We came to help you get back on your feet again. My associate and I have been hard at work getting your systems going again.” Hedrig turned to the nearest tech, who quickly began tapping away at his screen. Seconds later, he slowly looked up back at his commander. “It appears that… minor… repairs have been made in engineering,” the Bilian spoke with undisguised disbelief. “And why would you help us?” Hedrig asked, turning back to the viewer. He was having a hard time maintaining his seething anger looking at the beautiful blonde, so he opted to avoid eye , instead focusing on her counterpart, Amy. She was no less beautiful, but in a more rough-and-tumble kind of way. In

any case, the brunette is less skillful about employing her physical appeal. There was something familiar about her though. That’s it! Hedrig realized. She’s the one that was involved in the tizzy on Praxis. Her companion was a male and he was captured, but… who is the other woman? Regardless, her successful capture will all but assure my career ascendancy. A plethora of potential future scenarios exploded in Hedrig’s mind. “Because,” began the blonde, jolting the Bilian leader from his thoughts, though he still didn’t dare take his eyes off the brunette, “Alliance directive A3S7 calls on personnel to make all reasonable efforts to assist friendly races whenever possible. Your ship was adrift. It was prudent for us to assist.” She shrugged. “Where is your ship, Jillian?” “It should be circling back around to get us later today,” she sang cheerfully. “It was hard to say how much time it’d take to patch your ship back up, but Ol’ Cap had things he had to do, you know how it is, so he dropped us off with some equipment and said he’d be back later. Men, go figure.” She chuckled. “The plan was to drop off additional supplies and personnel at that point if needed,” added the brunette. “But it sounds like—” “That won’t be necessary,” Hedrig barked, surprised by the sudden control he had over his tone. “Allow us to treat you,” he began again, calming his voice, “for the great service you two have provided us. We do not have much here, but if your captain will allow you to accompany us on a slight detour back to Bilian space, I would see you properly rewarded.” “That sounds wonderful!” the blonde exclaimed with bubbly exuberance. “I’m sure the captain won’t mind. Do you think he’ll mind, Amy?” “There’s one way to find out. I’ll try to raise him.” The brunette tapped her wrist communicator as she shuffled out of view. Swast began making small talk— questions about where they would be going in Bilian space, how long they could stay, complaints that the Alliance kept them on a tight leash and it had been forever since she’d had any real fun. That last item of conversation instantly attracted the attention of all but the acting commistre. Hedrig did his best to play along. Eventually, the brunette came back into view. “Captain can spare us an extra couple days as long as we’re back on Praxis and

available for pickup in seventy-two hours.” Gonzalez was all business. “That’s amazing news! I was just telling the commistre that it’s been aaaaages since I had a vacation, even a short one! I really need this, you know, we never —” Jillian was practically exploding with emotion. “Where should we stay during the journey?” interrupted the brunette. “You can… ,” Hedrig considered. “As a matter of fact, we will be at our destination before the day is out. I trust you’ve already made yourselves at home in engineering? If you’re comfortable, why don’t you stay settled in the area. I’ll send a few techs down to help you fine-tune the systems. I’ll be along shortly thereafter to see you personally after I tend to a few things here,” he finished, motioning toward the bridge around him. “I can’t wait.” The blonde grinned. The brunette merely nodded. “Commistre out.” With that, communication was cut. Nodding to the four Bilians who had ensured lift security until now. “Secure engineering,” he ordered. “Weapons to stun. Consider the humans dangerous, but do not do anything to alert their suspicions if they do not act aggressively.” “Hostages?” asked a subordinate. Hedrig nodded but said nothing. “But try not to cause alarm. I don’t know what condition High Command will need them in. They could be valuable, especially the brunette.” “The brunette?” asked the helmsmen as if this was the first time he’d noticed anyone but the blonde. “Well, they’re both valuable…” Hedrig grinned wickedly. “Just in different ways. Don’t forget, as your commistre I have first rights.” The bridge erupted in a unified groan.

Gonzalez eyed her companion with a look mixed with equal parts awe and annoyance but said nothing as she strapped her holster back on. “What?” questioned Swast, unwilling to stay silent for long under her superior’s gaze. “I just can’t believe that really worked. Can you… just turn it on like that?” It truly was a remarkable sight to behold. The commander was a little jealous, though she’d never it it. Gonzalez had spent her whole career focused on being the best. Using her looks and some well-placed flirtations had scarcely ever crossed her mind. It was beneath her. Then again, without Swast there’d be a security team banging on the doors right now. I suppose it does have its uses. “When I have to…” Swast sighed. She almost sounds sad about it. “Espionage is all about deception. I learned that early on. If I hadn’t, I’d be dead ten times over. Speaking of which, ugh. Bilians? Can you even imagine? I mean, really! Did you see the way the entire bridge crew was drooling at me the whole time?” “I was too busy getting creeped out by that squinty-eyed commistre. His eyes were glued to me! I hope you don’t intend to be a plaything for the Bilian B Team.” Gonzalez made a show of withdrawing a fully charged heavy rifle from her back holster. “The welcome wagon will be here soon. Time to roll out the red carpet.” “I’m right behind you, boss.”

Dispatching Paridic Squad again so soon was an event Mitrich had hoped to avoid. Unfortunately, the situation demanded it. Over the years, Qerbellic had developed many s in the Alliance; a few even penetrated the higher echelons of the organization. Humans are a greedy, self-centered people. They rarely consider the long term. That’s what makes them so easy to manipulate. A few well-placed bribes and a few more money transfers here and there had turned the loyalty of many rank-and-file Alliance officers. Still, well-placed informants on the Hastings were hardly the same thing as an elite commando team. Even with promises of substantial bonus compensation, extraction, and immunity in Bilian space, most of the agents hadn’t been willing to cross the line between their ive, covert operations to aggressive, overt action, but Mitrich knew whom to lean on. He’d always had a knack for reading people, even through holographic interfaces. It’s almost as if I can read heightened levels of personal greed on their stupid, primitive faces. There was a medic, two techs, a soldier, and, surprisingly, a civilian who had answered the call. If they perform well, they may get all the things which were promised to them. Perhaps more. Should they fail, I’ll leave them to rot like garbage. Mitrich grinned. There were few things he enjoyed more than having ultimate power. How they completed the job was up to the team. Their Bilian puppet master couldn’t have cared less. Revealing the identity of spies to others, even other spies, was bad for espionage. The less this ragtag team knew, the better. Unfortunately, they’d have to at least be aware of each other for the operation to work. Could each one be trusted not to backstab the rest? Nothing was ever guaranteed, but Mitrich trusted his instincts. With so many unknowns, he should have been nervous. Yet the Bilian leader was completely calm. It almost felt to him as if this rushed ad hoc plan had been meticulously coordinated down to the smallest detail, as if all the pieces had been intricately put into place like finely crafted circuitry. Elegant. Beautiful. Like a perfect plan coming to fruition.

The signal had been loud and clear despite the fact that there’d been no verbal message. Malek la Tesh had stopped reporting in, and they were no longer able to track her ship. Shortly after she’d reported getting attacked by a mystery Bilian vessel at Sanctuary, she’d attempted to send an ultrasecure encrypted message. Within minutes, the interstellar tracker installed on her ship by Hebroni Command went offline. Following la Tesh’s signal, Hebroni leadership had placed its entire military force on high alert. Rescue ships had been dispatched to investigate and retrieve la Tesh, if she yet lived, along with any and all information that had been in her possession. As many ships as could be coordinated without alerting external suspicion were being mobilized to allow for a surgical strike into either human, Fevros, or Bilians territory. War seemed likely. The only question was with whom? Would the Fevros take advantage of this rare Hebroni uncertainty and try and seize some easy territory? It was impossible to tell when it came to the insects. Most of the Hebroni ships along the border with the bugs were forced to remain in place as a deterrent. The Fevros were no match for the might of the Hebroni Empire. Still, not even the Hebroni relished the idea of fighting a two-front war against the Bilians and the Fevros, or even against the weaker humans and the Fevros. The humans and insects were hardly on friendly , but human history was riddled with tales in which archenemies had become friends in the face of a mutual threat—England and , and , the United States and Japan, the list went on. Humans were an emotional people. They were also extremely opportunistic. War seemed all but certain with at least one major power, which meant Command would want to call on the other major power for . If this could not be secured, the galaxy would be in for a long bloody war the conclusion of which was anyone’s guess. Should the Bilians and humans ally with each other against the Hebroni, the outcome would be disastrous. This potentiality had to be avoided at all costs. Hebroni Command had taken care to understand this fact. It was why they’d been the first to condemn a recent assault on Praxis and offer aid, though thus far the humans had dismissed all offers to pool resources. Ultimately it was their prerogative, and Command was not keen to apply the diplomatic pressure needed to gain more information about events that were

obviously sensitive to the Alliance. Relations with the Bilians had been good lately. They’d been good for decades in fact, though underlying suspicions had always been present. The grays had efficiently exploited suspicious events more than once to subtly increase their galactic influence and power. Nothing large and flashy had occurred; the encroachment had been extremely subtle. It worked well because it seldom attracted the attention of Hebroni Command. While local leaders did tend to notice, their influence and knowledge scarcely extended beyond a few sectors. Still, in the back of many Hebroni minds was the dreadful belief that someday, sooner or later, they’d have to put the Bilians in their place. Most just hoped it wouldn’t happen in their lifetimes.

Tirach had been in the business of interrogation and torture long enough to know something was wrong. Just as he’d begun to get good intel out of the human weasel, he’d been called off the case. Now he spent his time in a small new residence elsewhere on the same deck, though residence was an extremely generous thing to call it. He was essentially in quarantine. The reason, whatever it was, had not been shared. Tirach thought he’d noticed the faint hum associated with decontamination protocols. Zenith was his most frequent visitor. Tirach didn’t particularly like the guy, but they seemed to be stuck together for now. Perhaps he’s visiting so much because he’s stuck in decontamination too? Still, the doctor never seemed at all uneasy. Maybe that little geek is made of harder stuff than I thought. For Tirach’s part, his orders were to remain in this room, or the small area immediately outside of it, until further assignment. As much as being cooped up made him want to punch something—or someone—disobeying a direct order frequently led to severe and unpleasant results. Bucking orders was hardly worth the risk. The incessant humming sound was getting increasingly annoying though. At first it seemed soft, like that of the decontamination fields running. Within an hour, the sound had managed to bore everything else out. During his decades of service, the Bilian had heard all sorts of the normal dings, buzzes, hums, and alarm sirens. He’d been on this station long enough to identify each one instinctively. This sound was something different. It existed in the background almost like an afterthought, yet it was ever present. After a few hours of subtle torture, he had decided enough was enough. I’ll leave this room and seek out Zenith as a distraction. Perhaps the sound isn’t so intense outside? And then he didn’t. Instead he continued to sit. Then, without a second thought, got up and slowly walked to the opposite side of the room, away, where he stood pondering. Where is that sound coming from? The more he began to listen to the strange sound instead of trying to shut it out, the more pleasant it became. He could almost hear different notes mixed in. What is that… ? Is that a voice… ? Is someone talking to me? He was sure of it! The torturer stopped everything else and devoted his full attention to the song, listening intently like an infant listening for his mother’s voice. Slowly but surely, more words came. Tirach understood them all.

Their plan had worked so far if for no other reason than the Bilians having left only the B Team or possibly C Team to manage the cruiser. If they’d noticed Swast’s hacking device locking down all primary systems and shifting control over to engineering, they’d made no sign of it, though it was possible that they were simply hiding knowledge of that discovery. The women would know soon enough. In any case, control of the ship’s primary functions was still possible from the bridge for the time being. Swast’s device needed a little more time to work its magic, but they could monitor every command being transmitted through the ship. So far no alarms had been sounded, not even silent ones. No attempts had been made to activate energy barriers around engineering to seal them in either. So far, so good. The women had gathered most of their things while leaving the heavier weaponry out of sight nearby. They each maintained possession of a hidden sidearm in case of trouble—not enough to alert the Bilians if noticed—and tried to look as innocently perky as possible. Swast did a far better job, and the two had unanimously decided she should take the lead in “negotiations.” As they stood a few meters out from the lift’s doors, the lieutenant stood in center a step and a half forward while Gonzalez stood slightly back and to the left, still in full view of the lift, but their chosen positions made Swast the default choice for the initial conversation. Of course, her chosen posture—which served to make her breasts even more prominent than usual—didn’t hurt either. Then the lift doors opened, and it was showtime. Four Bilians who looked more like scrawny security than engineers filed out of the elevator shaft. Instantly, all eyes were on Swast just as the women had intended. One Bilian, the team’s leader, tried to speak, but it came out more as a stutter as he ogled the blonde. Swast never missed a beat. She smiled. She laughed at what Gonzalez assumed were meant as jokes, though the various utterances were barely intelligible. It was hard for the commander to make anything out among all the stammering and stuttering, made even worse by the fact that Bilians tended to speak rapidly and slur their words when they were excited and speaking in a foreign tongue. As embarrassed as Gonzalez was for Bilian males at the moment, she could easily see Swast’s techniques working on both human and Hebroni men too. For a few seconds, the commander felt dirty for asking her subordinate to employ such tricks. Though to be fair, this whole thing was Swast’s idea… Besides, these Bilians could be the ones responsible

for Chris’ kidnapping. She shuddered. All options, including seduction, were now unquestionably on the table. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice one of the Bilians staring at her. Only when his stare finally caught her attention did he speak. “Are you… are you all right, Miss… Miss Amy was it?” This one speaks slowly. A little stutter, but at least his words are clearer than the other three. “Oh, sorry, yes. I’m just a bit tired is all. It has been a long day.” “That was quite a shudder. Are you sure you’re all right?” Genuine concern was sounding in his voice. “That… oh, thank you for your concern. I’ll be all right. I just feel a little cold.” Not a lie. “Atmospheric controls have been restored,” the Bilian reported. “We have a med bay nearby. The Traktma’s normal doctor isn’t on board right now I’m afraid, but I do have some basic medical training. I can check you out if you want.” The alien’s tone indicated nothing but sincerity. Still, his proposition to “check her out” especially in light of the current situation with Swast meant Gonzalez had to stop herself from slapping the gray-skinned alien across the face. For his part, he didn’t seem to notice as he peered into Gonzalez’s eyes with curiosity, eagerly waiting for a response. A few seconds of silence turned curiosity into an uncomfortable awkwardness, and the alien averted his eyes, looking away instead. Back toward Swast, naturally, thought Gonzalez. And why not? That’s where all the action is right now. “No, thank you,” she finally grunted and then immediately regretted her action as the words served to jolt the alien’s attention back to her. “Suit yourself.” The alien shrugged. “But if you change your mind, we have some of the best medical equipment available. It’s just… we’re short on doctors right now. I wish we had more to offer. I think that…” The alien started rambling on. His eyes look a little dilated, I think. Maybe blondes just aren’t his style. Wait, is he apologizing? Is that what es for fine pickup artistry in Bilian society these days? Wow, I’m glad to be human. I wonder how Swast is holding up…

A pause in his rambling suggested that a response of some kind was needed. His expectant look indicated that more than likely he had just finished a joke of some kind. Taking a note out of Swast’s playbook, Gonzalez grinned and let out a giggle that she pretended to try and hide. That must have been an appropriate response as the alien in front of her grinned widely and began his ramblings anew. I can totally do this. Smile and laugh at the right parts. Nod here and there. Pay attention once every minute or two, just long enough to comment or to ask a question. This isn’t so hard! Within minutes, the two women had absolute control over the situation. Swast with three and Gonzalez with one. The aliens were putty in their hands.

What is taking so long? Hedrig fumed. Security had been gone over thirty minutes without reporting an update. Surely, two weak human females couldn’t have put up that much of a fight. Tapping his slender gray fingers on his chair impatiently, he finally made a decision. “Comm, get me engineering.” What the hell has been going on down there? “Yes, Commistre,” came a prompt reply. “I’ll connect us now.” Moments later, the crystal-clear image of engineering materialized on the main viewer. Everything was just as it had been before, except no one could be seen. There are no signs of combat . . . If anything, there were faint sounds of merriment and chitchat out of frame. What in the five hells… “Engineering, report!” Hedrig barked, anger rising to explosive levels. As acting commistre, making full use of their female company was his prerogative alone. The security team clearly needed to learn its place. He would see to it personally. After a muffled conversation lasting no less than half a minute, the security detail finally appeared on the viewer. “Engineering, reporting in, sir,” came a clear and crisp response as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. As much as he wanted to verbally rip into his insubordinate crew, saying anything to alert the women would ruin the whole facade. Hedrig took a deep breath to calm himself and then began, gritting his teeth through each and every word “What is the operational status of engineering?” “Primary systems are online. Main power restored.” “Good work,” Hedrig faked congratulations. “Now if you don’t mind—” “It was the human women, sir,” the spokesman interrupted. “Jillian and Amy. They had everything pretty much ready to go before we arrived.” The cheeriness in his voice made the commander’s blood boil. “Then what has been your delay?” He nearly snapped. His counterpart looked taken aback. Perhaps he’s just now realizing the trouble he is in.

Slowly, carefully, the fake engineer responded, “We were attempting to… build positive working relations with our guests.” Then in a quieter voice, “They appear exceptionally friendly.” Hedrig rolled his eyes. The circumstances were suspicious at best. If anyone could pick that up, surely a trained security detail could. Trained may be too strong of a word for these incompetents. “Good.” He faked a smile. “However, I think they would be pleased to have more proper company, don’t you?” “Well, I…” “Bring them to the lounge on deck 3. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” “Yes, sir,” came a dejected response. Hedrig smiled at his victory. The Traktma would be back at HQ soon enough, and the women would be handed off to Qerbellic. He needed to have his fun while the opportunity was available.

“The commistre wants to meet with you,” came a sorrowful voice, as the Bilian delegation’s leader returned from the comm terminal. “But we were having such a lovely time!” cried Swast. If Gonzalez hadn’t known better, she would have thought her companion was being genuine. “Do you have to leave?” Wow, her eyes are giant all of a sudden! How does she do that? Gonzalez couldn’t help but be impressed. “Old Hedrig thinks he’s big stuff,” complained another member of the team. “A week ago, he was just a regular guy like the rest of us. Something about getting command, what is it you humans say, served up on a platinum platter? He’s changed.” “Silver,” corrected Gonzalez without thinking. Instantly realizing what she’d done, she followed up, smiling. “But platinum works just as well, better even. It’s a more…” Modern? Contemporary? What had Swast said? Use descriptive words meant to apply to the sensual parts of the brain… “Spicy way of expressing such a boring, droll saying.” Spicy? Really? Is that the best I can come up with? She glanced over at her counterpart, fearing an eye roll. If anything, Swast’s eyes twinkled as she grinned over her commander’s verbal fumbling. “Totally!” she exclaimed in agreement as if Gonzalez had uttered the most logical phrase she’d ever heard. “I’m so glad we don’t have to worry about that. Climbing the totem pole is so hard. I’d rather have fun down in the lower levels. Those are the people who really know how to show a girl a good time.” She said it all in such a suggestive manner that Gonzalez was certain this wasn’t the first time Swast had used the line. “He was fine until he got placed in charge. I don’t know this new guy, but I hate his guts.” “Will you have a new commistre soon? Maybe he’ll go back to normal then,” Gonzalez consoled. The Bilians were completely unaware that she had a better idea than most about the stresses that came with sudden command elevation. She could almost sympathize with this Hedrig guy, even though he did sound like an asshole.

“Maybe…” One of the Bilians sighed. “But for now, we have to pay at least a little homage to him. He is this ship’s acting commistre, even if the number of crew who respect him can be counted on one hand.” This was an especially telling statement, considering Bilians had fewer fingers than humans. “He can technically have us punished, imprisoned, or whatever when we return to HQ. You know, for insubordination. Bilian Command is not forgiving, even if leadership is temporarily placed in the hands of a rookie.” “You must be so brave to enlist in the Bilian armed forces! Knowing what you will have to endure,” Swast sympathized, slowly stroking the shoulder of the Bilian. “Is the Human Alliance so different?” he asked, hopeful curiousness in his voice. “The lines of hierarchy are there and maintaining discipline is important, but most of our commanders are cut from the same cloth as crew, and they don’t forget it. Our captains lead as much from mutual trust, respect, and iration as from rank,” Gonzalez explained. “That must be nice… ,” mumbled another Bilian sullenly. “Say, you don’t have any room for aliens among your crew, do you?” All—every single one—Bilians stared at Gonzalez expectantly. Even Swast was waiting silently, curious to see how her commander would respond. “Well, I… I’m not sure,” Gonzalez stuttered, surprised at how readily these aliens were willing to defect. “The Alliance prides itself on being an inclusive organization. We have not had many Bilians our ranks, ittedly. I’m not sure of the process exactly, but I’m sure High Command would be willing to consider—” “Intriguing!” interrupted Swast. “Maybe you could us when we head back?” she suggested gleefully. “I may take you up on that,” answered a Bilian, a surprising level of seriousness in his voice. “But for now, I’m afraid we have to follow orders. And I don’t want any of us,” he motioned to both his fellows as well as the women, “getting thrown in the brig on of Hedrig’s paranoia. We better get moving.” “Just lead the way!” exclaimed Swast with complete enthusiasm. I wonder if she’s as nervous about leaving engineering—and our leverage—as I am,

wondered Gonzalez. Heh, maybe she’s sure she can manipulate their commistre just as easily as these would-be defectors… For the sake of the mission, I hope that turns out to be true…

CHAPTER 22

The women arrived at the lounge a minute behind schedule. It was hardly an egregious offense. Still, those extra sixty seconds did not go unnoticed by Hedrig. The security detail looked sorrowful as they arrived with the women, who, themselves, contrasted the men sharply with looks of cheerful obliviousness. “Thank you for ing me,” began the commistre as he rose as gracefully as he could muster from the couch. “Engineering.” He waved his hand dismissively at the security personnel. They didn’t budge. They’ll pay double for their insubordination, Hedrig mentally threatened. Still, he didn’t want to have an incident on his hands. That would ruin everything. Instead, he took a quick measure of the situation. It was clear from their glances that the group knew what was about to happen. It was also clear that the group as a whole favored the blonde. “I would speak with you first,” he finally said, motioning toward the brunette. “Amy, I believe?” The brunette nodded. “You may escort Jillian back to engineering. I’ll send for you soon, my dear.” The security team looked distrustful, but allowing them to maintain company with their favored woman seemed just enough placation. Each one slowly turned and escorted Jillian out. It was just as well. Hedrig favored Amy’s less bubbly, yet more intense persona anyway. This is going to be fun. As the doors slid swiftly shut behind Swast and her gray-skinned groupies, Gonzalez stood alone, face-to-face with the ship’s acting commistre. Just what I always wanted. Oh joy, she thought sarcastically. But if anyone on the ship could tell her where Chris was, it would be this scrawny creature, who looked particularly frail in his oversized commistre’s uniform. Clearly, not tailored with him in mind… In a way, this B Team commistre reminded her of the First back on Praxis. Well, it’s showtime. Gonzalez said nothing as she tried, as inconspicuously as possible, to arch her back and stick out her chest. The change in the Bilian’s expression was sudden and not particularly subtle.

If Gonzalez didn’t have his full attention before, she most certainly did now. I’m getting good at this! The way he carelessly dismissed his personal attendant with a hoarse, “Leave us,” the way he stepped forward with a glint in his giant eyes like a beast about to capture its prey, the way he never took his eyes off her suddenly made the whole situation feel far more unnerving than it had back in engineering. The pair was now alone in a dimly lit lounge. The couches looked rather comfortable, but after catching a glimpse of a dagger handle tucked away in the Bilian’s clothing, sitting was the last thing on the human’s mind. Pretending to be completely oblivious to the infatuated alien’s clear intention, Gonzalez continued the role of actress, though she found it harder and harder with every ing second. Her pistol was still hidden. The fact that a firearm was readily available was a comfort, though snatching it would blow her cover, and who knew what weapons the commistre had hidden away in his cloak or elsewhere in the room. This alien said little and didn’t hesitate for a moment. Never taking his eyes off Gonzalez, he tapped something into his wrist computer. Did he just receive a message from the bridge? Did Swast’s cover get blown? Looking down, Gonzalez was horrified to see a flare of yellow encircle her feet. Stasis field. Damn it! As movement in her arms and legs locked down, the commander franticly considered her options. Her body felt like it weighed ten times its normal amount. The shock must have shown through her facade because the commistre whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, my dear. Tomorrow, you won’t a thing.” Were the situation a little less dire, she may have pondered why the Bilians had hidden stasis fields in their lounges. For now, that was the last thing on the captive’s mind. With the subtlety of a starving tiger digging into its first real meal for weeks, the Bilian began tugging at the woman’s clothes. Clearly unfamiliar with standard human design, his first efforts were utterly in vain despite the intense energy he poured into the task. Slowly though, he figured it out and practically tore off her uniform. He said little, aside from uttering a few grunts here and there. For all the ferociousness of the attack, he took surprising care not to damage the clothes themselves. After he wipes my memory like he did to the personnel at Nordstrom, he doesn’t want any evidence left behind, realized Gonzalez. The alien was disgusting. When she regained her ability to move, assuming she still

had her memory, she’d beat the information she needed out of him, cover be damned. The thought of this possibility gave Gonzalez a small amount of hope for the future. The present bore no such optimism. She hated everything that was happening. Then the Bilian took off his clothes, or rather just his pants. “Don’t worry, darling, this is going to be fun.” He smiled evilly. “Well, for one of us anyway.” Right in her face now, the words pulled Gonzalez out of her future planning and forced her to deal with the present. “If I… You won’t… get away with… this.” Even her mouth was difficult to move. The words came out slowly, each one slurred with the next. “Oh, I’ve been extremely thorough, Amy. Getting away with this is exactly what I’m going to do, and you’ll be on your way none the wiser.” Had she been able to move, she would have smacked the alien, flipped him over, and pinned him to the ground with his own dagger. Unfortunately, that wasn’t presently an option, and the little gray creature knew it as he flippantly added, “What is it you humans say? This isn’t my first… rodeo?” If she was a good judge of these things—and she usually was—this was, in fact, the creepy Bilian’s first “rodeo,” at least with a human. Gonzalez found it surprising—yet also somehow typical—that this man about to initiate the rape of a literally defenseless woman would pause to exaggerate his prior sexual exploits. Her only possibly response was a glaring stare. If looks could kill, the icy daggers she was sending would have done the job twice over. As he imposed his body onto hers, she could feel his hot, unwelcomed breath on her neck. Her invisible restraints showed no sign of weakening. Thoughts of future vengeance were no longer enough. She couldn’t take it anymore. Oh God… somebody help me! His arm flew out, seizing her neck in a show of physical domination. Out of nowhere, something shot through Gonzalez like a lightning bolt. Then she saw it. A faint blue light glittered all over the room. Then she heard it. A faint but familiar voice. “Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez? Can you hear me?” Hedrig had noticed the sudden convulsion and stepped back, an expression of shock and fear showing on his face as bright as the noonday sun. He must be afraid that the stasis field wore off prematurely. I don’t think he heard the voice… Gonzalez answered mentally, Gem? Is that you? Help me, please!

Residue, came the matter-of-fact mental response as if this single word explained everything. Another Py-Roxi must still be alive, and recently must have been residing at your current location. All of my kind share a bond. It is faint, but I heard you through the void of silence. Where are you, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez? What is your status? I’m being raped! she shrieked mentally. Her eyes flickered with each mental transmission. Though she remained perfectly still and quiet otherwise, it was enough to give Hedrig pause. His intention hadn’t changed, but he was more cautious now, checking his wrist computer with every unexpected twitch. “You think you can scare me? Confuse me?” he began shouting. “I have the power here. I have the control!” Gonzalez barely heard him above the conversation playing out in her mind. “Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez, you should extract yourself from the situation immediately.” Slight concern wafted through Gem’s voice. That was quite nearly the most emotion she’d ever managed to express thus far “Thanks, Gem,” Gonzalez spat back. “I’m kind of frozen by a stasis field at the moment!” “That is grave news, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez.” “Understatement of the year,” Gonzalez grumbled inwardly. Then realizing that Gem probably heard that, being that they were communicating telepathically, followed with, “Got any other bright ideas?” “Please relax your mind. Our bond is active, but your environment is barely visible to me. Our connection is clouded due the strain on your system, but if we can secure a stronger connection, I may be able to render more tangible assistance.” “Relax! You want me to relax? Are you insane?” “My apologies, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez. I was simply attempting to determine the best way to render assistance.” Furious, Gonzalez steamed. It was clear to even Hedrig that the focus of her attention was somehow no longer on him despite the tantrum he’d been

throwing. Taking a second to cool down, he stepped back, slowly looking over his target from head to toe. Maybe human women are easily distracted when they’re sexually aroused, as most certainly she is right now. His removal from her immediate proximity was enough for Gonzalez to reconsider Gem’s words. Taking as deep a breath as her heavy lungs would allow, she tried to will a slowing of her heart. It worked, marginally. “Thank you, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez. The connection is quickly becoming clearer. Scanning. Please stand by.” “Make it quick, Gem!” “Acknowledged.” After a few seconds of complete and utter silence, “He is a hideous creature,” she concluded. “Were you to be taken in by a seductive ploy, I had suspected it would be by someone far more physically charismatic. Even so, I suspect he will be even less pleasurable to view after Captain Christopher Peters responds to this one’s attempt to violate your integrity.” “I thought you were going to help!” she shouted in her mind with such intensity that the words managed to escape her mouth as a whisper. “Don’t worry, Amy. I will help you. I will help you experience true bliss.” Hedrig approached again, more confident now that the human was, apparently, begging. “Yes, Lieutenant Angela Gonzalez, I apologize. I see now the nature of the system holding your physical form captive and have determined an effective way to mitigate that restraint. Our connection is presently strong enough that I can give you a temporarily boost from the energies which bind us together, providing you with the ability to break free and dispatch your aggressor. The surge will, unfortunately, be limited to just a few seconds. Another transmission of such power won’t be possible in the near future. In all likelihood, sending this volume of energy will immediately sever our connection.” “What do you mean, boost the…” As if in answer to her unfinished question, Gonzalez suddenly felt a familiar tingling sensation as power welled up inside of her right arm, pumped into her torso, and trickled down into her hands and feet. The light was intense; she could barely look at it. Hedrig, from what could be seen on the other side of the glaring brightness, didn’t appear to notice. Why is she squinting? Is this some sort of human fertility custom?

Instantly, the weights were gone. Stepping forward, all the remaining energy was filtered back into the commander’s right hand, which began to glow with such intensity that even the Bilian could see it through his suddenly mortified expression. He backed up, but it made no difference. Gonzalez smiled sweetly. Now that she was free, they both knew this could only end one way. Extending her arm with immense satisfaction, a massive bolt of blue energy erupted from her open palm, blasting Hedrig across the lounge and slamming him into the bulkhead a good thirty feet away. “Now, Commistre, let’s chat.” He was still alive, conscious but barely; that had been her intention after all. She could feel the energy fading away, but her smoking opponent had no way of knowing that she was a one-shot wonder. Before the alien regained his bearings, his former prey hastily redressed and produced her sidearm. Tossing the Bilian’s pants—and hidden dagger—far out of his reach, she stepped toward her enemy, pistol drawn, and commanded, “Get up, worm!” “Uhhh… ugh… ,” came the whimpering response as he struggled to comply. “Not good enough.” She stepped forward and pistol-whipped the alien across the face, causing him to fall over backward. It felt good to be back in control. No more playing nice. He’ll give me the information I needed, or die slowly and painfully. If he complies, maybe he’ll die quickly instead. “I’m done playing games, Hedrig.” Struggling every step of the way, the alien finally managed to sit upright. He looked like he’d been hit by a freighter. “Take off your jacket.” The alien looked surprised, then got a glint in his eye. Perhaps human women prefer to be the aggressors in sexual encounters. The look did not go unnoticed. Gonzalez’s response was an even swifter strike across his face with the hilt of her gun. The alien doubled over and struggled mightily to get back up once again. The inevitable delay in getting information almost made Gonzalez regret doing it… almost. “What are the Bilians doing in the Praxis System? Where did you take the prisoners from Camp Nordstrom?” she demanded answers. In the back of her mind, she was glad the power transfer had severed the connection. The always calm and collected Gem wouldn’t understand what she may have to do.

There’d been some commotion. He must really be enjoying himself, mused Hedrig’s personal security officer as he sat lazily just outside the lounge’s door. He’d been assigned the annoying task of making sure the pair was not disturbed. Until just recently, he’d been apprentice to a member of the real commistre’s security team. When they’d packed up and left, that technically made Gritmi the highest-ranking security officer still on board and, by default, a commis in rank and the new thoughtless, undisciplined, and inexperienced commistre’s personal bodyguard. Gritmi could think of a number of less flattering words to describe this young commander. The man had been somewhat unpleasant as a peon. As acting commistre, he was insufferable. With the biggest surprise of the day being the massive systems failure, the second biggest occurred when the crimson light on his wrist communicator started flashing, alerting him to a personal emergency. How much trouble could he have with a frail human female who has no weapon and is held captive by a stasis field? He sighed. He’s even armed! I bet he just can’t figure out human anatomy and she’s not being forthcoming. Gritmi would have to respond eventually, but he made no haste. Let the commistre stew in his own juices for a few minutes. The gods know we’ve put up with enough from him. He deserves a little embarrassment. After some time, the alert signal still hadn’t stopped flashing. Enough time had ed that standard everyday excuses would no longer be adequate to explain away further delay. I guess I’ll see what that little twerp needs. With a grunt, Gritmi slowly struggled out of his chair. Taking a deep breath, he tapped a small button to the right side of the door, preparing to be embarrassed by the carnal pleasures his acting commistre had most assuredly inflicted on a woman who, by all s, belonged to a race allied with their own and who had only been trying to help. He’d felt sorry for her from the moment she’d first caught Hedrig’s eye. Stepping into the room, he instantly focused on the area where the stasis field should have been. No one ensnared. As the security officer began to take in the scope of the long lounge in totality, the scene displayed before his eyes was beyond anything his imagination could have foreseen. A half-naked commistre cowered, trembling in a crumbled mess against the far wall. Beaten with bruises all over his face, he possessed a telltale black char on his hand indicating the impact of a low-powered laser weapon. There was

nothing but unbridled terror in his eyes. The afflicting pistol still aimed at him point-blank in the air just a few feet away was held by the steady, unflinching hand of a dainty feminine arm. The arm belonged to a female looking more enraged than any Gritmi had ever seen in his life. Hedrig let out a howl as the pistol blasted him in the leg. So awestruck was the security officer at the unexpected scene that he made no move. A small amount of satisfaction at the recent turn of events caused even further hesitation. After handicapping Hedrig’s leg, the woman wheeled around with eyes glaring as sharp as razorblades and stared down the newcomer. She looked more like a fabled fire priestess of Bilian legend than human, fueled by rage as raw, unbridled energy practically crackled around her. She is far from the frail woman who’d been led into the lounge. Had he been thinking clearly, Gritmi would have made a mental note never to provoke the wrath of a human woman. As it was, he could barely his own name. The two stood in silence, staring into each other. Finally, the Bilian croaked out a few words. “Are you going to kill me?” Gonzalez regarded him for a little longer, maintaining her silence. Then without adjusting the aim on her pistol by even a fraction of a millimeter, she uttered a firm, confident response, “That depends on you. Your commistre won’t tell me what I want to know. If you do, maybe I won’t kill you after all.” “He is no commistre. This is an intolerable fool. He’s only in command because all the Bilians of any real caliber packed up and left.” “So you’re not a Bilian of any notable worth either?” she spat, not lowering her pistol. For his part, Gritmi made no effort to retrieve any of his own weapons from their respective holsters. “I’ve been training in the real commistre’s personal security detachment,” he exaggerated. “But I’m still technically apprentice level. In security, we’re taught discipline, training, honor, fairness… These are the things that drive good men to be great men. Indulging in fantasy, harming others for personal gain, these are the workings of weak men, cowardly men.” His eyes slowly drifted over to the commistre. The deformed Bilian had muffled his sobs and was slowly trying to crawl away. Gritmi knew a small compartment was hidden nearly within the commistre’s reach, probably containing a weapon of some kind. The woman didn’t seem to notice, but Gritmi did. Hedrig was in no position to fight, even if

he managed to arm himself. His feeble provocation would get them both killed. I’m not going to die for you, Hedrig. With hands slowly raised in what Gritmi had come to know as a general human sign of surrender and compliance, the Bilian slowly closed his large eyes and, taking a deep breath, stepped forward. Not toward the woman, but toward the commistre. Though never lowering her weapon, she made no effort to stop the security officer either. Soon he towered directly over the commistre. Hedrig looked up at his chief security officer wide-eyed, not sure what would happen next. Slowly, so as not to alarm the human, Gritmi reached into his holster and withdrew a pistol. Hedrig grinned at first, thinking Gritmi was about to save him, before his eyes practically popped out of his head. His subordinate’s focus did not shift to the woman but instead remained squarely on him as he charged the pistol to full strength. What will you do, Hedrig? Gonzalez wondered. How will you choose to live your final moments? Will you let loose a string of profanities? Will you call down vengeance upon your traitorous subordinate? Do you have a backup security team hidden somewhere? The commistre did none of those things. Quite the contrary. He did nothing, except stare back at Gritmi, whimpering. Then he broke down into a mess of sobs and tears. Had he been less disciplined, Gritmi might have been moved by the pitiful display despite how insufferable Hedrig had been until now. Fortunately, as a security officer he was used to putting empathy aside for the sake of doing what needed to be done. Leveling his aim, he uttered the last words Hedrig would ever hear. “I suppose, in the end, we all get what we deserve.” Then he pulled the trigger. The close-range blast seared a hole through Hedrig’s torso, leaving a black mark on the bulkhead behind and ensuring a quick death. With the grim deed complete, Gritmi slowly placed his pistol on the floor. Then, raising his hands once more, he turned around to face the crazed woman, hoping that she would be true to her word and not kill him. To his relief, she had lowered her weapon, though it still remained firmly grasped in her tiny hands. Her glare softened, albeit only slightly. She was looking at least a little more like the innocent brunette who’d first entered the lounge and less like a fiery goddess of fury. “You killed your leader?” she stated flatly. “He may have been our commistre, but he was no leader. This fool gave no respect to his crew and in return received none. His recent activities, his

intentions toward you and Jillian, friends of the Traktma, human allies of the Bilian people, were treasonous. The crew of this ship, what’s left of it, is better off with him dead.” Though Gritmi felt he was speaking truthfully, outright killing a superior officer was against the Bilian martial code no matter the situation. Present circumstances required those regulations be damned, he reasoned. The alien only hoped it was enough to gain the goodwill needed to ensure his personal survival. “Remove your weapons and armor,” she commanded. He complied with no argument, even removing his hidden armaments as a sign of good faith. She’d nearly killed the commistre when he’d had multiple weapons on his person and a stasis field to boot. Gritmi doubted very much a hidden pistol or dagger would do much to ensure his own safety. The woman seemed satisfied, finally reholstering her weapon. Seeing that his life was secure, at least for the time being, Gritmi began. “All right, Amy, what would you like to know?”

CHAPTER 23

Lord Kreg walked through the Council Tower amused with himself. Years of secret negotiations had finally borne fruit. The final execution had been flawless. The Tetriarch had been ambivalent to the embrace of Praxis. Yet something had changed recently; they’d become much more amenable, almost eager, the last few weeks. He’d had his ers, certainly, though few had been willing to fully embrace his plan. That was, at least, until the unprecedented attack on Nordstrom. Had it been the insurrectionists? Had it been the Bilians? It didn’t matter. Such a brazen assault so close to their seat of power had the other councilors quaking in their boots for the first time since, well, as long as Kreg could , and he had a very, very long memory. The other councilors, all except Ruggar of course, now welcomed Tetriarch assistance. Ark Tyronus was just the beginning. Yesterday had been the first time Kreg had actually met the alien. From his observation, this member of the hierarchy was just as large and disciplined as all the others, though he seemed specialized somehow, more a hunter than a warrior. Perhaps he’s their version of an assassin? the councilor mused. Sneaking around must be difficult when your steps shake the ground. Perhaps he was simply a warrior like many of the others. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Still, Kreg’s plan was not yet quite complete. One more domino to tip over, he thought while silently creeping through the dark marble hallways of the tower. Normally, deliberate footsteps easily echoed up and down nearby halls, announcing the coming and going of important men. Tonight though, subtlety was far more important. Off in the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of a firefight elsewhere in the city. Another stroke of luck. It had seemed small at first, a riot here, a mob there, the normal sort of thing that happened from time to time in the impoverished parts of the sprawling megalopolis. It had spread quickly though. The insurrectionists had somehow infiltrated the capital itself, where they had sown the seeds of chaos. It reminded Kreg of the old Tet Offensive in Vietnam. Ultimately, that insurgent assault had failed just as this one would. Unlike the United States of old, he would not lose his resolve.

The sheer weight and coordination of the attacks from dozens, possibly hundreds of places throughout the city had overwhelmed the localized police forces. The military had been called upon to put down the rebellion and hard. With armies in the field, they had few resources to spare, but they had still been sufficient for the task. By sunset, they’d inflicted scores of casualties for each military death. Necessary losses. Unfortunate, but necessary. Despite the insurgent death count, the flames of destruction only seemed to spread. If the army eventually did fail to quell the attacks, it made no difference now. Dozens of Tetriarch military personnel would be landing soon with supplies and armaments. Nearing a heavy, ornately decorated oak door, Kreg sighed silently. He’d waited his whole life for this, moving pieces around the political board for years. Everything led to this moment. In a way, it seemed like it was all happening in a sudden flash of light. In another, it seemed like reality had slowed down to a ridiculous measure. He could feel every heartbeat. He could feel sweat slowly forming under his brow, trickling down his temple. It was now or never. As quietly as he could manage, the statesman reached for the golden handle, slipping a lock deactivation device around it designed especially for this occasion. After a moment, he heard the sound of a double click and a faint, highpitched whizzing noise. When the sound faded, he opened the door and crept inside. The chamber was large, elegant, even more so than his own, which, as the second eldest of the councilors, was more lavish still than any of the other councilor chambers. It had been years since he’d last been here; councilors rarely visited each other in their own quarters. He’d practically been a child when his uncle, a councilor himself, had fallen mysteriously ill. Spacers’ disease they’d said. Easily treatable today, but confusing and terrifying back then, much like leprosy had been more than a millennia prior. His uncle had left no living heir, so the Council seat was ed to his eldest male relative—Kreg, a man scarcely forty at the time, not much older than Ruggar was today. The First had invited him to his chamber as a welcome and to teach him about his new responsibilities. The young councilor had taken it all in—every detail, every nook and cranny, every feature of the room. The First had been a kind old man, wily and clever. He’d teased Kreg incessantly to the point of making the young man feel like a mere child. It had infuriated the young councilor. Kreg glanced over the various medical apparatuses that hung over the First’s

bed. As he swiftly crept closer, it was clear that the massive bed with its pillars, curtains, and canopy were themselves parts of a more elaborate, camouflaged series of devices designed to slow the deteriorating health of the man sleeping within. He was a great leader once. But now? Now, he’s but a hollow shell of a man. Kreg hated him, but he also pitied him. What kind of life is this? Without breathing a word, the lord pulled out another small device. It had also been developed with a singular purpose in mind. Reaching out to initiate his plan, he instinctively reeled back before execution. What was that? He thought for sure he’d seen an oily figure convulse in the corner, yet how could such a thing be? The room was practically devoid of all light. Lord Kreg stood frozen for a moment, eyes darting back and forth, searching the darkness, listening for the faintest sound. After more than a full minute as a statue, he saw nothing unexpected and heard nothing aside from his own shallow breathing and thudding heartbeat. More time ed. Finally, he dared to reach out once more. This time there was no movement in the shadows. The First didn’t stir. The whole act took just a few seconds; then the deed was done. Kreg retracted the device and placed it back into his cloak pocket. In less than fifteen minutes, the entire device would completely disintegrate. In the meantime, the tiny electromagnetic bots would do their nasty work before they themselves dissolved without a trace. Such a shame, Kreg thought coldly. Complex medical equipment is always so prone to occasional inexplicable failure. Objective complete, he slipped back into the cold hallway, swiftly traversing the most direct path back to his own chamber. Tomorrow would be a big day. Tomorrow he would become the new First. Tomorrow he would finally put Praxis back on the right path and drag the planet, kicking and screaming if need be, back to greatness. The other councilors would either fall in line or be deposed. It was as simple as that. As his own chamber door shut behind him, Kreg finally let out a smile.

CHAPTER 24

Something is wrong. Lieutenant Swast was worried, though she made no outward indication. Having parted company over an hour ago, she’d not heard so much as a peep from her counterpart. “You don’t say?” she interjected, smiling at a Bilian as he told an obviously exaggerated yet ittedly hilarious story about one of his supposed exploits. She doubted the story truly belonged to him. More than likely, this is something he overheard from one of his betters, she concluded, as she placed her hand gently on his arm. “What did you do next?” She gasped. Regardless of to whom the story truly belonged, this young impressionable soldier sold it well. It was a good story. A good bit better than average at least. It involved the daring rescue of some of the most advanced scientific minds in all the sector who were being held deep in an enemy camp. All had gone well at first, but an unexpected betrayal had blown the hero’s cover, and the whole thing devolved into a desperate firefight lasting, if the storyteller could be believed, three days and three nights. The team was in desperate straits, and they were nearly captured themselves at least twice. Only some last-minute quick thinking and improvised action on the part of the Bilian before her single-handedly saved the day. In the end, all of the prisoners had been rescued, and all the main characters survived. Even so, the story had its own tragedy. The captors had inflicted terrible tortures on the prisoners. Their minds were gone. The best minds in all the sector lost forever—that is, at least until that same heroic Bilian came up with an idea that once again saved the day for the good of Bilian people everywhere! Swast couldn’t help but note the similarities between the less likely embellished parts of the story and the reports from Camp Nordstrom. Either it was a complete coincidence, this Bilian was an undercover elite operative who had frequent lapses in judgment while around beautiful human women, or he’d heard whispers while doing something far more menial on board the Traktma. The fact that the details seemed to get vaguer and the delivery less polished suggested that the source material had run out of a few plot twists back. This storyteller

was running on fumes. She’d heard enough tall tales to know; the signs were obvious. Still, she let him continue. Maybe a few more grains of truth will slip through the cracks. A brief pause in conversation was all it took. “No, no, no! That isn’t how it happened!” interrupted another member of the security-poorly-posing-as-engineering team. “You forgot the part about his best friend who…” And another round of stories began. This one picked up where the last one had started going downhill and involved a Bilian inventor who had been overlooked and scoffed at by his peers. It turns out that a device he’d designed years ago was somehow the key to restoring the minds of those lost scientists. Who knew? But it did more than that. It allowed them to expand their minds and envision greater possibilities. It ushered in a new, golden age for the Bilian people, which, if clues to the overall story timeline could be believed, began within the last few weeks. Swast chuckled, though she made sure to time her response such that it would appear that she was amused by the story and not by the absurdity of it. There were, mixed in the tales, small snippets here and there about High Command. The Human Alliance was rumored to have its own problems with corruption and backbiting. If the snippets in these stories could be believed, Bilian High Command made the Alliance look like an aww-shucks, happy-golucky, charitable, nonprofit mom-and-pop outfit. Deep-seated corruption was present at all levels. Assassinations, coups, and cover-ups were frequent occurrences. From the sound of it, there was both significant distaste and yet general acceptance among the populace at large that this was the natural order of things. The whole setup seemed much more like Ancient Rome in its dwindling years than the governmental workings of a civilized galactic power. How they managed to accomplish anything, let alone become one of the most powerful races in the civilized galaxy, was nothing short of astonishing. The fact that they’d been so effective at hiding it bore testament to their robust intelligence agencies. That is, at least, if these Bilians could be believed. Swast didn’t entirely, but she suspected there was far more truth here than in the Bilian media. Defection seemed like it may actually be a legitimate recourse for these men, so disheartened were they with their commanders and government. They’d already inquired about it several times with great interest between the various stories.

Finally, her chaperones received a priority message. It’s about time! She’d gathered some useful intel and further enticed these Bilians toward defection, but as the minutes ticked on, she’d grown bored and concerned about her counterpart, fearing that her identity and purpose had been compromised. Surprisingly, it was not the commistre’s squeaky voice that sounded over the comm—Swast had instantly committed that voice to memory—but the quiet, grizzled voice of an unknown Bilian. Were it not for her training, the lieutenant would have had an impossible time making out the words. Fortunately, she’d grown quite accustomed to listening with one ear while feigning attention elsewhere. Reaching over with her left hand, she lightly rotated the cuff of her uniform around her right wrist in a fairly natural, nonsuspect movement. In reality, the action served to activate an internal cochlear implant she’d received years ago as part of her agent training. She could now hear any conversation in the room as clearly as if she were standing right there taking part in it. “I need a full security detail to the lounge on deck 3 immediately,” the muffled voice of the unknown Bilian commanded. “What’s going on, sir?” asked Swast’s former companion, sounding more annoyed than concerned. “The commistre is dead. The Traktma is in great danger. We all are.” “What is your status, Commis?” the security officer inquired, sounding professional for the first time in hours. “Well, I’m alive… for now. Future status is uncertain. Residents Amy and Jillian are to be considered armed and highly dangerous.” Had she been looking at her guard, she would have seen him glance at her and then roll his eyes. “Understood, sir,” he replied, utter dismissal settling into his voice. “And what shall we do with this one?” After a brief pause, “Escort her to one of the standard quarters, one recently vacated during the evacuation of the leadership. It should still be somewhat furnished, so she won’t be alerted. Then seal the room. We’ll deal with Amy first, then Jillian.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll send one of my team to escort Jillian. The rest of us will rendezvous with you immediately.” “Good. Make it quick.” With that, the conversation ended, and the Bilian stepped back over to the rest of the group. Interrupting the ongoing story, he began, “Gentlemen, I think it’s about time we find Miss Jillian a more accommodating residence. She is to be our guest for the next couple of days after all.” He avoided Swast’s gaze altogether as he spoke, looking at the ground instead. Unlike his superiors, he clearly was not entirely comfortable with outright lying and deceit and did not appear to particularly relish his assigned task. “Aww! But he was just getting to the good part! Can’t we wait just a few minutes longer?” Swast pleaded, flirtily flipping her hair more so as a test of the security team leader’s resolve than because she was actually interested in the story. “I’m afraid not. Proper Bilian hospitality requires that we provide you with your own quarters. I am embarrassed that the commistre has taken this long to coordinate proper housing, but now that this has been done, it would be… what is the word you humans use? Rude? It would be rude not to immediately furnish you with these accommodations.” “That’s fair.” Swast smiled. “I’m sure whatever you have lined up will work wonderfully! It was not our intention to intrude or overstay our welcome.” In truth, she would have rather stayed in engineering. Fortunately, she knew this moment might come and had covertly established a connection between her hidden electronics and a hidden hacking device attached to engineering controls. While hardly optimal, it did secure a rudimentary set of possible options. The signal could be cracked and blocked easily enough by trained cyphers. By this Bilian B Team? It could take them up to an hour, assuming they even detected it at all, plenty of time to come up with an alternate plan if one was needed. “Retrich,” the leader announced the name of her escort, finally removing his stare from the floor and directing it to the Bilian standing closest to the human female. “Please help our guest to the vacated crew quarters on deck 4, section 2. The residence should be fully equipped. If it is not, see to Alpha Epsilon furnishings.”

The sudden surprised look on Retrich’s face immediately revealed to Swast that Alpha Epsilon was more than likely code for sealing the room afterward. She pretended not to notice; she was not especially concerned. Unless Alpha Epsilon stood for killing her instantaneously with pinpoint, high-powered lasers, frying her to death with a sudden radiation pulse, or jettisoning her out into the void of space, she felt supremely confident that she could wriggle out of whatever these alien trainees threw her way. “Well then”—she grinned, throwing an arm around her escort and pulling close enough to make him blush—“Retrich, let’s get this party started! Where’s deck 4?” He opened his mouth but said nothing. Then, placing a slender arm around the small of his charge’s back, they began slowly making their way out of engineering. His light caressing the entire way was a little unnerving, but Swast did nothing to discourage the alien. If anything, she did exactly the opposite. It’s all part of the game after all. It was hardly the most uncomfortable position she’d ever been in. With her implant still active, she honed in on the group they’d left behind. Disappointingly, they stood in silence. Swast could imagine them looking back and forth at each other dumbfounded, perhaps at their leader or perhaps at Retrich as their comrade walked away with the woman who had so effectively seduced the lot of them. Upon arriving at the lift that would take them from engineering to the appropriate deck, the pair turned around. Waving good-bye, Swast could clearly see disappointment and jealousy plastered all over their faces. Only their leader was turned in the opposite direction, with only the back of his slender, wiry frame visible. As the lift doors were closing, he finally spoke. “All right, everyone. There’s been an incident.” The closing doors ended any further eavesdropping. Well, I guess that settles it. As soon as she was deposited and Retrich left to attend to whatever business he was called off to next, she’d make her getaway.

The commander didn’t like it. Gritmi claimed that he had ed engineering to call off the security team that was occupying Swast’s attention, leaving her free to operate with impunity. He’d talked for scarcely a full minute, but that had still been far too long for Gonzalez’s liking. While he’d been far freer with information than his deceased superior, he had little information regarding the actual Bilian plan for Praxis. Apparently, it was far above his pay grade. Still, he had provided useful intel. The initial plan had been little more than the standard real politicking, expanding behind-the-scenes influence over some strategic real estate. However, more recent events involved fantastic tales of foreign artifacts, ancient technologies, and secret experiments. The details of each were few and far between, though it was enough to start piecing things together. Combined with her own experiences and what she’d learned from Gem, it sounded like Qerbellic—or at least a silo of the intelligence organization—had stumbled upon remnants of the Py-Roxi usurper, Darius. They were trying to harness the influence of his corruption, not in any real measure understanding the danger. They believed the artifacts they’d uncovered were nothing more than tools. But tools didn’t have minds of their own. More importantly, tools could be controlled. If Qerbellic and Bilian High Command truly believed this was the nature of their artifacts, they were all in grave danger. The virtually inevitable result threatened to overflow into all facets of galactic civilization. No government would be untouched. No society could be assured of its safety if Darius was allowed to freely spread his tentacles once more. “The team is leaving your counterpart, Jillian, as we speak.” The Bilian’s voice cut through her thoughts, drawing her attention as he beamed with pride. “They are a model of efficiency, as is all the crew presently residing on the Traktma. Say what they do about years of service and tradition, it’s the trainees that have something to prove. They operate best of all because they don’t worry about who’s backstabbing whom and how to best and most take advantage of the fallout.” Ironic words coming from the man who just offed his commander. An act which coincidentally elevated this same man to the highest-ranking official on board, Gonzalez considered the alien’s blatant hypocrisy, though externally she maintained her stone-faced expression. “Good,” she interrupted his rambling, making no effort to hide her lack of interest. Though all of Gritmi’s former armaments lay nearby, Gonzalez

maintained a firm hold on her Alliance pistol, ready and able to blast Gritmi away should he try any funny business. He’d done nothing overtly suspicious so far. As the lounge doors opened and a security detail swept in, battle rifles drawn, his attitude unsurprisingly changed. “Ah, that’s better,” cried Gritmi gleefully. “Now, incapacitate our guest. Use whatever means necessary.” Rather than attack, the Bilians looked at Gonzalez, then at the charred, halfnaked corpse across the room, then back at Gonzalez, then finally to Gritmi, whose face was contorting with frustrated anger as second after second ticked by without the sound of a single shot. “You fools! She killed the commistre. I order you to make her pay for her crimes!” he roared into the face of the nearest trainee, the youngest of the lot. The target of his wrath winced under the verbal assault but did nothing. None of the soldiers moved or even lowered their weapons. Instead, they peered at Gritmi with bewildered confusion, trying to understand what was going on. Finally, the enraged alien tried to seize one of the battle rifles. Only at this point did the young Bilian physically resist. The two struggled back and forth, as if completely unaware of their surroundings. To be fair, nothing else was happening in the room aside from standing and watching. After a momentary struggle, Gritmi got the better of it, acquiring full control over the weapon and forcing the security officer to the ground. Without giving it a second thought, he blasted the defenseless young Bilian with the fully charged weapon, instantly killing him. “Let that be a lesson to all of you should you even for a moment contemplate not obeying direct orders from—” “No… ,” interrupted the leader of the security team, the same one Gritmi had spoken to on the comm in engineering. “Excuse me?” Gritmi demanded. “The death mark, the one on the commistre, it came from one of our weapons. That came from your weapon,” he pointed out. Then another officer ed in. “We will no longer be part of the hierarchy. We will not be part of a society

where corruption and assassination is accepted.” “We want a better way. We’re ing the Alliance, Gritmi.” “You… how dare you! Traitors! All of you!” he bellowed, raising his gun on the commander. His target was too quick. Gritmi toppled over, a gaping hole in his upper chest, causing instant death. “Consider this our resignation, sir,” the alien said dryly as he and all the others tossed their weapons to the side and turned toward the brunette human, who had done nothing but watch as unexpected events played out before her eyes. “Amy of the Human Alliance, we formally surrender into your custody and request asylum. After such a time as determined by your government to be proper and necessary to show our loyalty, we hope to eventually in service to the Alliance.” Gonzalez could scarcely believe what her eyes and ears were revealing. Not only had her would-be violator been assassinated by his personal guard, that assassin had attempted to win her over, only to show his true colors and likewise be liquidated by his subordinates. Are Bilian ships always run like this? She had a feeling it was truer that anyone would care to it, though the greenness of these troops and the circumstances at hand may well have been an effective catalyst to the process. They’d come aboard looking for answers by any means necessary, holding the ship hostage from engineering if needed until reinforcements from Praxis could arrive. Now she and Swast practically had command of the ship itself. Wait… Swast! “Jillian… ,” she began. “If you’re all here, where is she?” “Retrich is with her, having the time of his life!” moaned one Bilian remorsefully. A sharp glare from Gonzalez crushed him into a stuttering fit. “Well… err… what I meant… Amy… is uh…” The security chief came to his aid. “Gritmi ordered that your friend be escorted to more comfortable quarters. That is what Retrich is doing right now. After which he will report to me. I assure you, regardless of what the commistre and Commis Gritmi had intended, you and your friend are safe with us so long as you treat us as we have come to believe the Alliance treats refugees seeking asylum.”

“Bring Jillian up on the comm,” she commanded. “Yes, of course, Commistre,” responded the youngest still-living Bilian. “Er… I apologize. Yes, Captain.” A moment later came Retrich’s cheerful voice. “Yes, Yri, what’s going on?” he asked gleefully, muffled giggles that could only belong to the lieutenant in the background. Sounds like she’s the one having the time of her life. “There’s been a change of plans, Retrich. Can you put Jillian on the line?” “Yes, sir, of course.” A moment later, Swast’s soft voice rang over the comm. There was no picture, but Gonzalez could practically see her there, back arched, occasionally biting her lower lip. “Hello, my friends!” she greeted. “Retrich and I have been having the most wonderful time. I hope you’ll all be able to us soon.” “I hope so too, Jillian,” began Yri, trying to keep his emotions in check. The other Bilians did little besides look at the floor. “Your friend, Amy, wanted to speak with you.” “Amy is with you?” She sounds surprised. Where else did she think the security team had run off to? “I look forward to talking to you again, ma’am, but she’s asked to speak with you directly.” “Okay. We’ll chat later! Amy dear, are you there?” “Hi, Jillian, this is Amy.” Why in God’s name did I introduce myself? She obviously knows it’s me. “We’ve run into some unexpected developments. The engineers have requested refugee asylum with the Alliance.” “Then… wait, what about the commistre? Isn’t this treason? Won’t he punish them severely?” Gonzalez couldn’t quite tell if the shock and concern in her voice was genuine or an act. Ultimately, it didn’t truly matter either way. “The commistre is dead,” called out one of the Bilians, temporarily forgetting his place. Before Gonzalez did so, Yri shot him a gaze, which caused the young

officer to shrink as small and as far into the background as he could manage. “The commistre is dead,” Gonzalez repeated flatly. “Assassinated by his personal guard, who then tried to put me in chains. These fine engineers came to my aid.” “Well, how about that! There are few finer gentlemen in all the Alliance than those who would help a young foreigner in such distress!” she crowed in iration. “Yri, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for the hospitality you’ve shown me, and also for helping my friend Amy stay safe from danger.” “Think nothing of it, ma’am,” came a polished reply. “As the highest-ranking member of the current crew, I formally surrender the Traktma into your custody.” “What about the other of the remaining crew?” inquired Swast. “Are you kidding? They hate Hedrig’s lunacy and paranoia as much as we do, probably more, not to mention all the backstabbing and jockeying for influence among our leaders while the rest of us get herded and slaughtered like animals.” “They’ll follow Yri,” offered one of the other Bilians. “He’s a good man. A respected man. Far more than Hedrig or even Gritmi. He’ll make commistre in no time! Er… well, he’ll go far in the Alliance military. That is… if allowed. I’d follow him if given free choice.” “I believe that the rest of the crew will follow our lead,” the new Bilian leader announced. “If not, then I’d like to have them transported back to Biliancontrolled territory as soon as it is reasonable and proper to do so. They’ve done nothing wrong. They shouldn’t be forced to defect if it is truly against their choosing.” “And should they disagree, violently?” How far are you willing to go for your freedom, Yri? “If it comes to that, and I pray that it won’t, 90 percent of this ship’s personal firepower and formal combat training is in this room. I hope that the need does not come, but what’s that saying you humans have? Freedom isn’t free. We will do what we must.”

In all truth, Gonzalez agreed. Life wasn’t fair, but the situation was far grimmer than the Bilian spokesman realized. “That is an honorable proposal, Yri. As a token of our newfound friendship and on behalf of Jillian, I accept your proposition. Those who wish to seek asylum will be delivered to an Alliance refugee-processing center. Those who wish a return to Bilian territory will be allowed to go back as soon as is reasonably possible.” It’s a good thing “as soon as is reasonably possible” is not a set date. Gonzalez planned to stretch it out as long as possible given the slim possibility that any of these Bilians could slowly be turning into Ing-styled monsters.

CHAPTER 25

Jamison was having one of those days. It was a day when the mind just did not seem to work quite right. He thought that he’d left his suite unlocked halfway to work, a five-minute walk on the Hastings. Upon return, he discovered that he had indeed locked his door after all. Normally, the tall, gangly, slightly darkskinned man would have chalked it up to lack of sleep followed by an early morning. The problem was he’d not been up particularly late, and aside from feeling incredibly spacey, he was reasonably well-rested. He arrived at his post a few minutes late. Hopefully nobody will notice. They didn’t often have unexpected guests. The command, combat, engineering, and diplomatic sections of the ship were all far off elsewhere. Jamison joked that the brass feared research might accidentally blow a hole in the side of the ship, so they’d placed their sections as far away as possible. Either way, it was still a bit unnerving to be tucked away in the deep recesses of a massive ship, but the work was something Jamison loved. Ever since he’d been a child, he’d dreamed of applying practical science to develop new technologies and make the galaxy a better place. Strangely, the iral had been spending a great deal of time in the area recently. I think I’ve seen more of him the last few days than the previous 365 combined! he considered. Slinking into a cushioned gray chair behind his personal terminal, Jamison took a chance and glanced around research room X2. The room was a small, almost cramped, circular shape. A dozen cramped square ivory-colored desks that looked more like they belonged to schoolchildren than true researchers were packed tightly around the room. Only two others were present today. The fair-skinned, ruby-haired Ashley, who looked more like a model than a scientist. She’d caught his eye all the way back at the academy, though wonder as he did that she was part Hebroni, he’d always been too shy to really get to know her. Ever since getting stationed on the Hastings together, they’d developed a friendly though solely professional relationship. The only real time they ever spent together outside of work was at the occasional department holiday party.

Matthias, Ashley’s young, fresh-faced intern, who had ed the research group roughly a month ago, was also hard at work. He was in many ways her exact and polar opposite. She was confident; he was self-conscious. She was tall and thin with good complexion; he was short, a little pudgy, and had a face covered in zits and pimples. Her voice was steady, soft, and soothing; his voice was rough and an octave too high and cracked frequently, especially when he was nervous about something, which, unfortunately for him, happened often. In a sense, he looked like a quintessential young scientist. In a way, he reminded Jamison of himself back in his academy days. Toward the center of the room sat a few larger curved desks, which belonged to the two research leads. Occasionally, a containment unit in the center of the room would hold an item of some kind, which served as the team’s short-term focus. These artifacts ranged drastically—they could be strange biological samples, some previously undiscovered bacteria, an ancient tablet of unknown age and origin, an object of uncertain and/or unstable properties, or even a piece of alien technology they were trying to reverse engineer. There’d been an alien artifact ing through recently, or so Jamison had been told. It’d happened on his day off. By the time he was back in the office, it had been whisked away to research center X1—or as they liked to call it, the A Team. Truly, they weren’t better scientists, at least not as far as Jamison was concerned, but they typically hailed from well-to-do families with money and connections. The A Team had a far more spacious lab, more advanced equipment, and more interns than they could possibly need. Most of the equipment in the X2 lab had been ed down by X1 when the A Team received new upgrades. Jamison tried not to think about it too much; it only made him jealous, and jealousy led to mistakes. The experimentation wing, or X deck, was the most prestigious scientific and research operation on the ship, and X1 was at the pinnacle. To work in X1 on a capital ship was something most scientists only dreamed about. For Ashley, it was a dream very near reality after years of drudgery in lower postings. Promotion to X1 was now very nearly in her grasp, and Jamison’s complaining about them could only end one way, in an argument. For the first few minutes, the young male scientist scrolled absentmindedly through files and reports, the results of automated processes that had run overnight. Nothing particularly groundbreaking—results from preliminary tests

on a new brand of nanite designed to heal more efficiently. As an added bonus to its programming, it could potentially enhance speed, endurance, and agility. He wasn’t sure who had developed the tech, but the designs were far more advanced than anything he’d seen before. Unfortunately, something had rendered the little buggers inanimate. They weren’t dead, just dormant. He’d been tasked with kick-starting them again. So far all attempts, including those that had run the previous night, had proven ineffective. Sighing heavily, he began lazily programming his computer to start a new round of tests. This time, I think I’ll introduce live biological tissue with injury infused with standard nanites. Maybe the new guys will learn by example… His thoughts trailed off as he felt someone watching on him. Looking up, he saw a pair of huge almond-shaped eyes thoughtfully gazing in his direction. Ashley’s. “Are you forgetting something, James?” she asked with emphasis, seeing as she now had his attention. Oh… “Good morning, Ashley.” He faked a smile. “No, not that. Today is a very special day. You do , don’t you?” Shoot. What’s today? She’s not moving, is she? No, I’d that. Inspection day? No, nothing on the calendar. “I give up. What is it?” She looked disappointed. “Really, James? It’s our one-year anniversary of getting posted to the Hastings!” she exclaimed. “Oh, uh, right! I knew that.” Her eye roll indicated she did not believe him even a little. “Right. Well, I see how important it is to you,” she spat. Oh great, what did I step in this time? “I’m… just not very good with dates.” It wasn’t the first time the topic had come up between the pair. “Yes, clearly not,” came the annoyed reply. For his part, the intern took care to look busy, though he was almost certainly listening intently as his superiors

bickered. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t even here at all!” Jamison opened his mouth to reply but was cut off. “Not another word. I’m too mad at you right now!” “Ashley, come on, I just… ,” he started to plead but didn’t get far. The lab doors flew open, and one of the team leads marched in. “Kira won’t be in today,” Alexia announced without stopping. “She’s been temporarily reassigned. There’s something in section B1 that infected their team lead. Nothing serious, but she’ll be out of commission for at least a week. In fact”—Alexia paused—“this is your annual anniversary, isn’t it?” Why does everyone that except me? “Why don’t you two take the day off? Matthias, no sense in you piddling around here by yourself. You can have the day off too.” “Yes, sir!” The pimple-faced intern grinned and fled the room faster than Jamison had ever seen him move. The two scientists simply looked at their lead, then at each other, then back at their lead, dumbfounded. Days off were rare occurrences. For informal events like work anniversaries, it was unheard of. “Sir, there’s still a lot of work to be—” “Take the day off,” Alexia commanded. “You two work harder than any other scientists of your level, harder than most in X1 in fact. You deserve an extra day off, and it’s in my authority to allow one. If anyone gives you a hard time about it, you can send them to me, and I’ll send them to Director Fridick.” “Yes, sir,” Ashley replied, sounding uncertain even as she got up and headed toward the door. Jamison followed. Once outside, she was the first to break the silence. “Well… that was weird,” she observed, evidently no longer furious with her counterpart. “You can say that again,” he croaked with all the courage he could muster. An awkward silence followed, leading Ashley to quickly check her wrist computer. “Well, don’t want to let this free day go to waste. I better get go—”

“Say, Ashley,” he stopped her. “Seeing as we both have the day off and it is our work anniversary, do you want to, well, why don’t we hit the strip, the big one with the lounge scene, dance hall, you know, go to the casinos maybe?” “Oh, James!” She grasped his shoulder. “That sounds like a lovely idea!” He could scarcely utter a word; such was his shock at her exuberant acceptance. She whipped around and marched in the direction of the closest lift, her companion close in tow. Wow, our first date! Who would have thought it would be so easy. “I heard that Markus frequents the Emerald dance hall. You know Markus, right? Lead researcher at X1? This’ll be the perfect chance for me to seal the deal. Thanks so much for reminding me!” And with one flippant comment, Jamison’s hopes and dreams shattered into a million pieces.

Commistre Warich could hear it. It had been a faint, dull hum at first. A constant monotonous sound, a primitive yet effective interrogation technique designed to slowly drive the target insane, he recounted. It was not his preferred method, but still one he had employed on occasion when the situation demanded it. The Bilian war hero had done his best to ignore the droning, concentrating instead on sorting through recent events and dealing with memory fog and a dreadful migraine. Yet the sound almost seemed to become louder, more imposing, and more insistent with each ing moment. It was becoming almost impossible to ignore, so the Bilian statesmen tried a different technique. He began listening to the tone and oscillation in frequency. If anything could be learned regarding the melody’s nature, his location, and by extension his captors, he would learn it. The sound unexpectedly backed down as if out of genuine respect. That’s when the visions started. The commistre blinked, and suddenly he was once again on Bathra with every luxury and pleasure within his grasp. It all looked so real! Opening his eyes once more, he was back in the cell. He listened and observed the vision but resisted the temptation to fully withdraw into its fantasy world. In each rendition, the black cloud would return. Sometimes his squad would return. Other times, he imagined himself organizing the resort’s successful defense. A few times, he was deep inside one of the buildings, only hearing murmurs of the commotion taking place elsewhere. Every scenario involved an ominous presence and a seemingly divine assistance from an unknown source. It was a dangerous game. Yet there was something hidden in the droning hum that seemed to transfer visions directly into the Bilian’s mind. He did not yet understand where he was. He did not yet understand why, but the answer was out there if only he could find it in the mysterious repeating scenes. More than once, he almost lost himself. Each time it happened, he resolved to do a better job of keeping one foot anchored in reality. Then it happened. His willpower failed. For how long was anyone’s guess. He bolted back to reality, shot his eyes open, and, breathing heavily, took a short walk around the room. Despite everything, he was falling more and more into a trance. Have I really learned anything? he wondered. To his utter dismay, he couldn’t think of any useful discovery despite hours of analytical probing,

despite feeling all the while that he’d been on the verge of a breakthrough. Was it all just a trick? Consciously clearing his mind for the first time since he’d first started listening, he was faced with the stark reality. For all his efforts, he’d accomplished next to nothing, aside from nearly being taken in by the hypnotic sound and its enticing visuals. Slowly hobbling over to the sink, he turned the rusty brown faucet on high. A moment later, a brownish trickle began to flow. That’s the extent of it, I guess, the Bilian thought mournfully. He strongly preferred better plumbing and sanitation, but given that he was imprisoned, this thin stream of questionable fluid would have to suffice. Most other times, he would have simply waited for a better supply to come along. This was not, however, like most other times. He cupped his hands under the stream, quickly splashing the dirty water onto his face. It felt soothing, almost satisfying despite the off-putting color. More importantly, it helped him awaken. Walking back to his stiff cot, the gray alien sat down. Okay, time to consider what I know so far. He was still piecing things together hours later when his eyes began to grow heavy. Doing his best to force the sounds and visions away, the old general allowed himself to lie down and try to get some sleep. It worked, for a time. Then like a flash of lightning, it was back, except this vision was noticeably different. Bathra was destroyed. Charred remains of buildings and animals and men and women of all species littered the ground. Raging fires enclosed him like a giant ring on every horizon. Decked out in his full dress uniform fit for military marches and parades, he felt a faint tugging on his pant leg. Looking down with horror, he saw a lone female, a human. She was the only living being in sight, though given her condition the commistre knew he’d once again be the sole living creature very shortly. She was a young woman, strong and in her prime. Where he imagined perky locks had once been, there was now nothing but scorched flesh about her head. Everything below her torso was gone, blown away as she lay covered in a pool of red. Her other arm lay motionless at her side, hand smashed to a pulp, arm broken in multiple places. The woman looked up at him, pleading with shining, clear brown eyes that seemed strangely out of place next to the dust and ash that covered her from head to torso. She coughed as she tried to wheeze something. Instinctively, Warich knelt down and grasped her one good hand. He steadied her head with

his other hand so she didn’t have to struggle so hard to look at him. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll get you patched up in no time.” He attempted a smile. If I can ease her mind, even just a little, it’s better than nothing. No help was coming. She’d be dead in a matter of seconds. Her crystal eyes bore into his as she wheezed her desperate message, but despite his best efforts, he couldn’t make out any words. Leaning in closer, he tried to console her. “It’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to…” “I’m sorry…” Finally words I can understand! “No, no, it’s all ri…” “We tried… I did… my best…” “I know. You’ve saved us all. You’re the hero of Bathra. But now you need to rest.” “Be… ware!” she exclaimed in between coughing fits. “Thought we… understood… No one… no one is safe! We were…” She trailed off, her eyes fluttering to a close. “Come back to me!” Warich shook her very lightly. “What were we?” For a moment, he thought she was gone for good. Then the lids of her eyes slowly lifted, and she spoke for the last time. “Deceived.” The word came out monotone, completely devoid of emotion. With her last testament delivered, the woman’s life winked out forever. Warich slowly laid her down, her brown eyes lifelessly staring up at him. Gingerly, he closed her eyelids. He’d lost many soldiers throughout his career. Some commistres shrugged them off easily enough, but every loss had been tough for Warich; he’d fought hard to protect every soldier under his command. Even so, this one felt different. He didn’t know the mystery woman, but it somehow felt as if a piece of himself had just shriveled up and died along with her. It was like losing a friend for the first time. A lifetime of sorrows and regrets began flooding over the commistre like a thousand tsunamis in quick succession. The old warrior fell to his knees, a physical manifestation of the emotional weight pushing him down. He saw

flames springing to life from the pavement below, charring his legs. Ever growing in ferocity, they would soon reach his head. He scarcely cared. Then as if by some miracle, the Bilian’s conscious mind once again seized control, yanking the alien back to reality with all the grace of a lifeless doll on the end of a tether as he fell out of bed and hit the hard floor with a heavy thud.

CHAPTER 26

A few s in the right places, mused Mitrich, could accomplish more than armies. Evidently, among his conspirators on the Hastings included a team lead already loosely associated with the artifact. He’d used his authority to clear many of the labs through a variety of seemly coincidences and well-placed halftruths. The other tech had played along, assisting in the ploy where needed. The others—soldier, medic, and civilian—all played their parts. To a degree, Mitrich was surprised at the apparent ease with which they’d acquired the priceless object and whisked it off board, leaving a dummy replica in its place. The replica may have been good enough to fool a civilian but wouldn’t mislead a halfway decent scientist. Leave it to human security to astonish and amaze, thought Mitrich sarcastically. It’s amazing they ever managed to get out of their own system. At least they’re good for a laugh now and then. The biggest slipup had occurred when the informants had felt the need to crudely dispatch two unwitting dock attendees in order to make their getaway. Fortunately, the task had been done in the early hours of the morning before most officers had reported in. Hastings’ security hadn’t been fully alerted. The mission was successful enough, though by this point their identities are surely plastered on terminals all over Alliance space. Mitrich knew there was no way they could return in the future to serve as agents. It doesn’t matter anyway, so long as I finally get my hands on the other artifact. After that? Well, what happened to the conspirators is their affair. There’d been a few small crystals scattered across the galaxy, half a dozen shards, and finally, after decades of searching, he was about to acquire the central foci of it all. The two ancient orbs would finally be his, and all the secrets of the universe would be unlocked. Mitrich closed his eyes. He could see it as if it were yesterday. He’d never been especially interested in politics as a child. That was before being challenged for supremacy by a physically larger boy, Marduic. Mitrich had been the leader of all the other kids in the neighborhood. It was the natural order of things.

Marduic, a foolish newcomer, had pushed him down on his way to capture the flag during a game of soldiers. It was a game young Mitrich frequently played. Even then, he got great pleasure from being in command. As he fell to the dusty ground from the unexpected shove on this critical day, his outstretched hands did little to save him as he tumbled over and skidded across the dirt. Scrapes and bruises all over him, the newcomer paid him no heed; he was already gone halfway down the path. Two other children stopped for a moment. Would they help him up? No, they only scoffed and ed on by. “Marduic, wait up!” they’d called, the words echoing in little Mitrich’s mind. “Wait… I… I command… ,” he’d called in vain, but it was too late. They were already too far away. Slowly but surely, the young Bilian struggled to his hands and knees. As he pushed up off the ground to get to his feet, his longest digit scraped against something that didn’t feel quite like it belonged in the dirt. Cautiously, he peered closer. Much to his surprise, he found a small red crystal no larger than an average coin. In fact, at first that’s exactly what he thought it was, but as the dirt was removed, the truth revealed itself. This strange rock was no coin. It even seemed to emit a faint glow. No one was around now. Where had the other boys gone? This question, so critical earlier, was now the furthest thing from Mitrich’s mind. What is this thing? He’d never heard of anything quite like this before in any adventurer story. With the crystal fully unearthed, he held it up, peering closely. Then he felt it. The crystal began to warm in his fingers. Then without warning, energy shot through his body like a bolt of lightning. In that instant, he saw the embroidering of the universe like a master seamstress might examine the quilt of a rank amateur. He saw events taking place on thousands of planets in hundreds of systems. He saw a million tiny gears working together, pushing the universe from past to present and present to future. For the first time, everything made sense. Then he saw two strange orbs pulsating to the tune of creation with unfathomable, unquantifiable energy. He saw it all in a flash of light… and then it was gone. What the hell was that… Peering once more at the crystal, it had somehow

transmuted. No longer hard rock, it was now nothing more than fine powder crumbling in his hands. No, no, no! Try as he might, none of his efforts could save the dust from the very first gust of wind. Just like that, it was gone forever. “Wait!” he pleaded. There was no answer. He had seen it all. He had understood it all. And then it was all gone. Feeling dejected, Mitrich flopped back down on the hard ground. “Oh great, now I’ll have even more bruises… ,” he’d mumbled. “Wait… why don’t…” In astonishment, he realized he felt no pain, not on his fresh scrapes nor the ones from his fight the previous days. Getting back up in a hurry, he looked at his arms and legs in astonishment. They were completely healed! A feeling welled up inside him, equal parts certainty and ambition. Mitrich marched down the path with newfound purpose. Then the march turned into a jog, and the jog turned into a sprint. Though like most Bilian children his muscles normally ached under extended physical exertion, this felt like little more than a casual stroll. In under a minute, he’d caught up to the group. “Oh great… ,” Marduic had grumbled loud enough for everyone to hear, evidently already confident in his usurpation as group leader. “It’s little Mitrich. This is a man’s game. Why don’t you go run home to your mommy?” Strange, he doesn’t look nearly so big anymore. Most of the other kids avoided making eye , though a few openly ed in the jeering. Given that his confidence had been shattered for the first time moments ago, young Mitrich might have cowered; he might have run in the face of this, his first real adversity. Yet thanks to the strange rock, the only thing he felt toward Marduic was curiosity the way a scientist might curiously examine bacteria under a microscope. After a short stare down, the bully and his lackeys quickly lost interest. “Whatever. Come on, guys, we have a job to do.” Marduic turned around, concluding the group’s insults with an obscene gesture from behind his back as the would-be usurper began to strut away. Slowly, calmly with almost regal serenity, Mitrich bent down and picked up a hefty rock almost too large to fit in his long fingers. He’d never been especially athletic; he’d never had particularly good aim, but he launched that rock like he’d been doing it all his life, hitting Marduic square in the head from nearly fifty feet away. The usurper stumbled, then fell to the ground. Two of his entourage charged at Mitrich. A moment later, they, too, were on the ground. It

was nearly ten cycles before Marduic got out of the infirmary, and by then he’d lost his station. Mitrich was the unquestioned alpha leader once again, the one all the other kids looked to and followed. With newly discovered purpose as inspiration, he knew it was only the beginning.

CHAPTER 27

It didn’t take long for a formal security team to board the Traktma and take all of the Bilians into custody. Shuttle after shuttle of crew and supplies quickly followed. All but two—Yri, the de facto head of security, and Retrich, the eager and bright-eyed recruit—had happily left. These two had begged to stay. Yri had insisted that before the Alliance take him under their protection, he first provide a show of loyalty. Retrich had emphatically agreed, though whether it was out of genuine agreement or the desire to spend more time with Lieutenant Swast, Gonzalez wasn’t sure. She suspected a little of the former with a good deal of the latter. In the back of her mind, she felt a little sorry for the naïve alien. In either case, they had been allowed to stay for the sake of their operational knowledge should it be needed. For now, they were largely confined to the med bay. The new human crew and its bots practically overflowed the Bilian ship. They’d wanted to quickly dissect the ship for any and all valuable Bilian technology, especially the stealth components. Ruggar had wanted the same, but when pressed he’d agreed that “a promise is a promise.” Even so, while the crew made themselves familiar with their new stations, terabytes of data flowed back to Praxis. Even a three-dimensional holographic map detailing every centimeter of the ship was among the files. The whole thing felt like little more than an annoyance to the newly pronounced Vice iral Angela Gonzalez of Praxis. It was a ceremonial title Ruggar had insisted on bestowing. She had seized control of an enemy cruiser after all. “Besides,” he’d argued, “many of your new crew are lieutenants, commanders, and I’ve event sent you a captain for logistical and organizational . He’s one of my best and most loyal officers. He’ll follow you, and the crew will follow him. It’s only fair that you outrank the man.” He’d elevated Swast, albeit temporarily, to the rank of commander, though everyone on board knew she served as Gonzalez’s right hand. There are too many unknowns. Gonzalez was unnerved by it all. Or rather she would have been, if not for the sheer sense of purpose she felt, the likes of which she’d scarcely known before. Data mining the Traktma had quickly borne fruit. They now knew where the Bilians had relocated. They also knew both Chris and a strange Fevros artifact had been transferred there as well. She fully expected

that the artifact was the elusive Darius orb. No effort on the part of the Bilian government had been made to retrieve the Traktma, though they had discovered some inbound encrypted messages. A few inquiries as to their status. Nothing had come in after the first two messages though. More than likely, they suspect the ship lost… or captured, considered the iral. Her new team had tried sending a garbled message back, suggesting a systems malfunction, but had received no response. Before the day was out, everything was in place. The Bilian cruiser, with the Meridian much more thoroughly locked and docked into place, hurled itself at full speed into Bilian territory. There would be no more delays. The Traktma was making a beeline straight for its target. Weapons were armed and defenses were up, at least to the maximum extent possible without alerting Bilian suspicion. Security details were readily outfitting themselves. The Meridian itself was fully armed with heavy infantry and combat bots. The ship’s supplies had been fully replenished and systems restored. Even additional countermeasures against EMPs had been installed, albeit hastily. Ruggar had wanted to be more thorough, but his newly appointed iral had overruled him. The fate of the galaxy was on the line! There was no time for needless delay. Upon entering the target system, the Meridian would detach with stealth systems already active and head toward the enemy installation. In order to successfully counterattack, the Bilians would have to know they were coming and have a response plan capable of rapidly dealing with two independent targets. It would need foreknowledge, precise planning, and a small miracle for the aliens to take out both ships before at least someone was able to board the station. Still, Swast had advised caution. “Bilians are as paranoid as they are meticulous,” she’d warned. “If anyone would have a contingency plan tucked away on a dusty shelf for just such an occasion, it’d be them.” Begrudgingly, her superior officer had agreed. Though instead of taking more time to outfit the Traktma and Meridian, she’d ordered a few of the smaller shuttles be equipped with countermeasures, bots, and a live personnel to further increase the odds that someone would make it through. True to his word, Ruggar had supplied her with everything she’d asked even to the point where she began to wonder from where he’d been able to so quickly and so readily acquire such a force.

“I’m a councilor of Praxis.” He’d grinned coyly. “I have many resources at my disposal.” She’d broached the Tetriarch topic during one of her several requests for personnel and supplies. “Don’t worry about that.” He’d smiled, though the tone in his voice proved that the matter very much bothered him. “I will concern myself with Lord Kreg’s intentions, but something even more troubling has recently occurred. The First, after decades of service guiding the good people of Praxis, has fallen deathly ill. I fear he will not live to see this hour tomorrow.” “I am very sorry.” Those were all the words she could find. The First had been a personal mentor to Ruggar as he had at one point or another for all of the other Council Lords. He was loved and ired all over Praxis, even if rumors of his failing faculties were widespread. As it was with the American FDR in his twilight years and the elderly queen of England in the early 2000s, so too would the men and women of Praxis recount the First. Ruggar was right though. It was up to him to worry about Praxis’s fate and the consequences of undue Tetriarch influence. That situation could boil over, certainly, but a major incident was at least a few months down the road. In any case, whatever happens planet-side is trivial compared to the fate of the galaxy, Gonzalez reasoned. Besides, I have a wayward commander to save. I wonder how he’ll react, now that I outrank him. She chuckled to herself. Hold on, Chris, just a little bit longer.

PART 3

Out of the Shadows

CHAPTER 28

Lieutenant Swast was concerned but not about the mission. She’d been in countless life-and-death situations during her career; it was what she’d trained for. A few physical and emotional scars notwithstanding, she’d made it out of every last one none worse for wear. There was very little that threw her emotions into a tizzy, but this particular mission was giving her unusual anxiety. It came down to the commistre’s injuries, not the ones consistent with his security chief’s timely assassination and a few pistol whips, but the others, which could not easily be explained away. A mysterious bruise, deeper than the others, had practically encomed his entire body as if he’d been hit by an old train in the Wild West. There were no weapons capable of wreaking such damage that she could see, even after doing a thorough scan after proper equipment had arrived. Then there was her commander’s stature. Gonzalez did not possess the same finesse at meticulous emotional control that Swast had honed over the years. Love for Captain Peters had pushed her a great deal in of the risks she was willing to take in seizing the Traktma, but she’d still been tactically and strategically cautious like a timid mouse intent on getting crumbs but not certain how best to avoid being squashed underfoot. She was different now, more sure of herself, more confident. It was clear by the way she talked, even by the way she walked. On the positive side, it made Swast’s task of retrieving the hidden information from the Meridian’s data banks a bit easier. Rumors had been floated from reliable sources that Peters and Gonzalez had recently acquired top secret Alliance information regarding a secret Fevros superweapon the Bilians had stolen. The secret agent had dared not even attempt to access the logs until fully earning her captain’s trust. The details weren’t quite as juicy as she’d hoped, but they had definitely proven worth the wait. Despite her long-awaited triumph, Gonzalez’s sudden inexplicable change in demeanor was a bit unnerving, even for Swast. In a way, it was a positive change. Confidence was contagious. The crew didn’t know the newly minted iral. Most didn’t fully understand why their given

assignment had suddenly been exchanged for work on a captured Bilian cruiser. They didn’t understand, but they had no trouble following a leader like this new Gonzalez. After Nordstrom, the capture of a stealth Bilian cruiser elsewhere in the sector only seemed to inflame the desire for retribution. Many of these officers were eager to get payback on the gray aliens. Swast knew the iral was eager to give that opportunity. They were making record time recalibrating systems and modifying controls for ease of human use, which was no small feat. It had scarcely taken a day for what normally would have required a week or more, a testament to both Gonzalez and the capable, eager crew Ruggar had assembled. When Gonzalez wasn’t spending all her time swaggering around, commanding people to and fro, she’d practically become a recluse. That fact did not go unnoticed by her second in command. Fifteen minutes here, twenty minutes there, the iral would ask not to be disturbed or simply disappear without warning, only to reemerge later on. Intelligence was Swast’s business, and being out of the loop, even among friends, drove the agent crazy. At one point, she’d tried to track the iral down using internal scanners. Her efforts had been fruitless. She’d returned to the command deck empty-handed, only to find Gonzalez already there barking orders at an ensign. Feeling like a failure, her eyes lit up an hour later when Gonzalez said she needed to “take care of something.” Trailing is always easier than tracking anyway. Easily hiding her excitement, Swast had nodded with understanding and assured that she would make certain no one bothered her superior officer. The iral had then slipped away quietly. This time, Swast followed stealthily at a distance. Gonzalez dotted and weaved throughout the ship. It all seemed random on the surface, but the iral clearly knew where she was going. After a few minutes, they arrived at the deck 3 lounge. Why would she want to return to this place? Swast wondered, though the room did offer some shielding against scanners. So the commistres can enjoy their privacy. She snickered. Fortunately, the shortrange personal sensor unit she carried—gear she had substantially modified herself—would do the trick. It couldn’t read far, but after activation she’d be able to see everything on the other side of the door despite the shielding. The system could take some time to set up. Fortunately, the lieutenant had ample practice. She had it activated in less than a minute. On the other side of the door

in the middle of the room sat the iral. Her heat signature looked normal. She was under no duress, though there was a slight increase in blood flow to her brain, an indication that she was hard in concentration. After a few minutes, the flow went back to normal. It won’t be long now. Swast scurried to pack up her device. Okay, she doesn’t seem to be in any danger, which is good… but I need answers. It isn’t important for the crew to know, but my assignment was to protect her, not follow her orders. In the nick of time, the agent’s equipment was fully retracted and hidden just before Gonzalez walked back out the door. She practically jumped backward upon seeing her counterpart. Quick to recover, the senior officer was first to speak. “What are you doing out here?” she barked. Unlike the ensign earlier, Swast was not intimidated. “What were you doing in there?” she retorted playfully. “It’s none of your concern.” She tried to push past. Swast swiftly stepped in to block the way. “You keep disappearing. The crew may not notice, but I do. This isn’t like you…” She trailed off, only to pick up again a moment later. “What happened in there?” “What do you mean? The commistre tried to rape me. Key word, tried. I stopped him. Now we have his ship, and we’re going to put an end to this madness. What else do you—?” “Yes, of course, and it is all more than we could have ever hoped for, really. But why keep coming back here?” Does it have something to do with the commistre’s injuries? Maybe she’s studying them… but she was here when it all went down. What could she need to study? “It’s… complicated.” Gonzalez sighed reluctantly. “Why keep disappearing? Please… I want to help.” “You can’t.”

“I fear I must disagree with you, my dear iral. My career has been built on making a difference when no one else can. It’s what I do.” She grinned. “It’s about the shard at Nordstrom. Well, not just the shard exactly,” she finally itted. “There’s more going on than just an assault. More than just the rescue of Chris. The shard you found, it’s a piece of a larger puzzle.” “What do you mean?” I knew there was more do this! Why else would the councilor have taken such a keen interest? “There’s an ancient race, the Py-Roxis, I don’t really understand all of it, but we encountered a blue orb named Gem, which claimed to be one of them. She’s helped us, helped me plenty of times since we met.” “Fascinating! Where is Gem now?” Swast pretended that this was all news to her. “Oh, uh, on the Hastings, with Schilinton’s men I believe. They’re trying to learn from her. But the problem is there’s another Py-Roxi out there. One that started a devastating galactic war thousands of years ago. Gem believes he’s still in hibernation, but his presence can still corrupt those nearby. We didn’t realize it at the time, but if you’ve heard about the situation on Sanctuary…” Swast nodded but remained silent. The travesty on Sanctuary wasn’t public knowledge, but being a top intelligence officer meant access to certain rumors long before the public. “Well,” she continued, “we couldn’t have known. It was before Gem first spoke anyway, but looking back the beasts that roamed the station bore strong signs of corruption from… The name of the Py-Roxi warlord is Darius, at least that’s the name Gem uses for him. And I’ve seen… visions in my dreams of jubilation and destruction, and a blue light that forces back the darkness. I think that’s where Gem comes in. I don’t know how, but there’s some sort of mental link between the two of us. She’s a healing Py-Roxi, and back when we were in close proximity on the Meridian I could heal too. Not through medicine and nanites, but through touch. If not for that, Chris would already have… If not for Gem, he’d be dead…” “Maybe we should get Gem before assaulting the Bilian research facility? Those healing powers are bound to come in handy.” Swast smiled.

“Plus Chris might… if he isn’t already…” I need Gem. In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t only for Chris’s sake. Ever since her encounter with the commistre, she’d felt hollow and weak. Her connection with Gem was the only thing that seemed to help. “Hey… don’t talk like that.” The lieutenant put her arm around the iral, only now moving out of her commander’s warpath. This time, Gonzalez made no attempt to run and get out of the conversation. “He’s going to be all right. The commander’s resourceful. He’s one of the best field officers the Alliance has. If anyone can make it just a little longer, he can. Besides,” she teased, winking, “he has a hell of a reason to stay alive.” “True…” Gonzalez chuckled. “So why come back here, though?” Swast circled back around. That’s what I really want to know. “Oh… when the commistre had me in his trap, he almost… well, he didn’t, which is the important thing, but my thoughts and emotions, I was pleading in my mind for the strength to overpower the stasis field or for someone else to enter the room and intervene. Gem heard me. I hadn’t heard her voice in my head since we left the Hastings, but in that moment I heard her again. We spoke. It’s because of her… Somehow she sent a surge of power through our telepathic link. That’s how I escaped the commistre’s trap.” “And that’s how you overpowered him?” Swast guessed. Gonzalez somberly nodded in confirmation. “The surge severed our connection though. Every once in a while since, I feel a tingling in the back of my mind. It’s the same thing I felt the instant before we connected here, in this room. I’ve been hoping that by returning to the same place and concentrating, I can reestablish the link. Whether to fight or to heal or even just for information on how to combat Darius’s influence, the link could be critical in the fight ahead.” “Any luck?” “None. Well, sometimes I hear a word or feel as if I’ve successfully transmitted a phrase, but it’s all very staticky. I’m not even sure it isn’t just my mind playing tricks. I thought I heard her say something about relocation, but that doesn’t

make any sense. What better place to run tests than on the Hastings? Its facilities rival any military research station, aside from perhaps those on Earth itself… no offense to Prax Prime.” “None taken. Keep trying to make ,” Swast encouraged. “The more aces we have in our hand, the better.” This is going to be even more interesting than I thought.

The conspirators had made good time. If encrypted Alliance communique intercepts were any indication, they had been several hours away before anyone noticed. Mitrich had dispatched the recently rehabilitated Paridic Squad on their command frigate to intercept. They would secure handoff of the artifact and take the conspirators on as engers. Then they would incinerate the shuttle, leaving no trace of it behind. The original plan had been to kill all the humans to eliminate loose ends. It was safer that way, more certain. Yet the Bilian commistre had changed his mind. It was not due in any sense to mercy or fairness. Something in the back of his mind told him that this handful of humans was not as expendable as all his other agents. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but when it came down to crunch time, he found himself, almost against his will, ordering that they be spared and returned to base with the rest of Paridic. “Heh.” He chuckled. Considering how easy it had been to acquire the orb, perhaps sometime soon he’d instigate a mission to steal a working piece of human stealth technology. This human tech, the kind employed in the Meridian, was impressive. Bilian scientists had focused predominantly on making larger but more stationary installations appear invisible to scanners. Imagine, an entire fleet of stealth ships, combat ships, espionage vessels, everything! Deployed from invisible installations! The thought practically made Mitrich giddy with excitement. It wasn’t long before Paridic and its human and material cargo returned. Under normal circumstances, he’d be too busy to care, but this moment was different. This moment was historic. Swiftly, Mitrich made his way down to docking bay Alpha, exuding an air of triumphant smugness as if he were on his way to greet a prestigious member of royalty. Arriving just as the team was unloading, the commistre pushed his way past the docking techs and was halfway up the disembarking ramp when Teril exited, accompanied by another Bilian, both in Paridic dress uniforms, carrying a large chest. “The thing needs some room to shine!” he cried. “Get it out!” Without speaking a word, the leader of Paridic and his counterpart placed the

chest on a nearby table. Then quickly, methodically, they removed the stabilizing straps. Then they efficiently unlocked each of the complex security mechanisms designed to keep undesirables from accessing the contents. Mitrich was glad Teril and his team were doing it. He was practically shaking with anticipation; he doubted he would have been able to hold his long slender fingers still enough to complete the task. Finally, the internal energy shield protecting the box’s contents was disabled. Even before the chest was opened, Mitrich felt the warm, welcoming glow. The rest of Paridic had disembarked and was, too, gathering around, peering at the mysterious object. The humans ed them. Mitrich could see it. He could feel it. The Bilians, the humans, they were all brothers in arms now. For a few moments, they all stood in silence doing nothing but gazing into the artifact. Finally, Mitrich broke the silence. “Welcome to Larchia installation. You’re finally where you belong.” Mitrich spoke as if greeting an old friend. “Take it to station Omega X1, with the other one. It’s time to see what happens when we have both in close proximity. Instruct the engineers to run the full gamut of experiments. Humans…” He paused. “There’s an unused security office near Omega X1. You may take up residence there until more formal quarters can be established.” Wait… what? The words had flowed almost unnaturally out of the commistre’s mouth. Why would we put free-roaming humans close to the orbs any longer than absolutely necessary? Why use a security office as a residence? Yet he said nothing, and neither did the humans protest. Not even Teril looked startled by the unusual order. In stoic silence, the commando team and accompanying humans left for Omega X1. As they left, the commistre activated his personal communicator. “This is the commistre.” “Yes, sir?” came a voice from the other end. “The human prisoner, he is no longer deemed consequential. Initiate a final round of information extraction. Then kill him.” “Understood, sir.” This human, his counterpart on Praxis, they’re both irrelevant now.

CHAPTER 29

Something had changed. Not in of his Spartan amenities. No, something more removed. The old war veteran could feel it. There was something different in the noise now, something new. It was quiet, barely a chirp, but it contrasted sharply with the obnoxious humming sound, like a blue bird on a bright spring morning during heavy construction. It was a pleasant tune, happier, more chipper but altogether far weaker. Slowly but surely, the old hum began transitioning into new tunes as if the source had somehow awoken from sleep to celebrate the beginning of a new day. Warich found himself smiling unexpectedly, like he’d just started listening to a favorite childhood song. Have I heard this before? Why does it sound so familiar? The young, vibrant melody itself seemed to gain strength from his focus. By the time the dull hum had been all but phased out, the chipper sound had taken on a more urgent, pleading tone. The transition had been gradual; Warich wasn’t sure exactly when it had started, but the change was unmistakable now. “What are you trying to tell me?” he whispered to no one but himself. As expected, no answer was forthcoming. Huh… figures… All at once, the music stopped. “Wait, come back!” The Bilian became unexpectedly frantic. Then the music came back but had a more somber feel to it. This was no longer a song designed to welcome a new day; this was a song mourning the lost. Warich could feel like someone or something was trying to communicate with him, but without words, understanding was virtually impossible. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way. I cannot understand you, he said, but this time only in his mind. Then he rephrased, I do not comprehend what you are telling me, and focused not on the words but on the meaning and tried to conjure mental images of himself in situations where he had felt uncertain. The sweet melody got quieter as if listening, as if attempting to soak in the information Warich was desperately trying to send. After a few moments, the

Bilian paused his efforts and waited to see what kind of response, if any, would come. The droll hum noticed the lull and attempted to force itself in, though it sounded strangely different—a little deeper, as if something had changed at the source. A sudden blare of sound and imagery ended the short-lived incursion. The music was trying to tell him something. Warich was sure of it now. He closed his eyes, and rather than attempting to fight back the visions, he embraced them. With his eyes shut tightly, he saw a world unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He saw a sky streaking with golden yellows and orange highlights dashing to and fro. He saw what looked to be a sea of soft vegetation. Though he couldn’t move within the vision, he could still feel the gentle cushion beneath his long slender toes. The cool air as it whisked past his skin reminded him of Bathra, though unlike the resort moon, all he saw for miles around was open countryside. Then they came, beings of light and energy. To say they existed in a consistent form would be a misnomer. Their means of movement eluded Warich as they floated quickly here and there. A sense of patience and contentment permeated everything they did. Yes, but what does it all mean? wondered the commistre. As if to answer his question, he could suddenly feel time begin to speed up. These creatures, whatever they were, began growing more and more numerous. He saw them leave the village, the continent, the planet and colonize others. The more they spread out, the more he could sense feelings of entitlement, jealousy, and strife. Moment by moment, he saw them take more defined but still generic humanoid forms. They were neither Bilian nor Hebroni nor human. Then it happened. It was impossible to say when, where, even by whom exactly, but an unknown catalyst sent a shock wave through the entire energy being civilization. Warich watched a million lives extinguished in the blink of an eye. He saw entire worlds literally crumble as these apex creatures, masters of the universe, turned their power on each other for reasons that were no clearer to Warich than those driving, feuding nomadic hunter-gatherer clans on prehistoric Earth could be to an anthropologist of the twenty-second century. As the galactic war went on, he saw what looked like armies of men march into battle against entire systems built up like fortresses, each planet a castle in itself that easily put the ancient Bilian fortress city of Ragtik to shame. Warich peered closer at one planet in particular. It was plain as day to even a rookie military

strategist. This planet was the linchpin in the sector’s defense, and the sector was a bulwark against further incursion by the aggressors. If the planet fell, there could be no hope of safety or mercy for trillions. Wanton slaughter would be assured. Both sides knew this and focused their attention on the lonely planet. Then he saw it, something like an enormous black dragon soaring through the sky of the world, taking command of the assaulting armies. He saw millions of the energy creatures and billions of other living beings marching under the shadow of its wings. The defenders resisted. They slowed the dragon and his forces but could not withstand its might. The defenders and their allies moved all their resources to the planet and slowed the aggressors. Enraged by the slow pace of victory, the dragon demanded all his resources likewise flow in. Entire species at the cusp of their own greatness were relocated and shuffled into combat and were mowed down into extinction. Warich scowled at the futility, shuddering at the loss of life. The dragon geared up for a final assault. The defenders prepared a last-ditch defense knowing full well that if they failed, it was all over. The galaxy quaked with the power of the onslaught. Warich watched in horror as the dragon swallowed its allies, increasing its size tenfold in the process. The defenders’ only hope was to do the same. Their forces ed voluntarily, forming a single entity, a knight of pure light mounted on a powerful steed. The dragon charged, and the knight charged back. In a flash, the two forces crashed into each other, and it was over. The dragon, the knight, and hundreds upon thousands of civilizations ceased to be. The planet and everything for light-years around had vanished into oblivion. Then Warich saw two small orbs, each channeling immense power. One seethed anger, hatred, and resentment. The other pain, sorrow, and regret. A handful of far smaller shards accompanied each orb, mirroring the same emotions. None of the objects, neither the orbs nor the shards, were capable of interacting with the world around them on their own. Warich saw them slowly become dormant, lost to civilization for thousands of millennia. He saw the entire image go black to the point where he thought the show might be over. Then a glimmer of light as if seen through a heavy curtain came into view. Then a few stray beams of light found their way through the darkness. It was as if he was looking up at a screen covered in dirt that was slowly, methodically being scraped away. After the right combination of time and

concentration, he was able to make out something more on the other side. Two people, maybe more. The precise physical features were impossible to determine, but the general shape was unmistakable. Then he heard a voice. Are they talking to each other? They must be! He couldn’t understand the words or even the language, but the sound of the voice quickly became recognizable. It was his own! As if scared off by this realization, everything went quiet. Wait… come back… Warich pleaded to nothingness, suddenly missing the company of the shadow creatures that spoke in his own voice. With eyes wide, he looked every which way for the creatures, only to be greeted with a blinding light emanating from somewhere beyond his view. Shielding his eyes with his slender hands, he squinted and made out a massive hand reaching in to seize him! As the bony fingers closed in around the commistre, he suddenly saw the galaxy as if from high above a massive holographic depiction. He saw the orbs, and he saw their shards. He saw them slowly regaining strength, gradually spreading the emotions they carried from system to system more by instinct than by strategic planning. The spread of hatred shone through in crimson red, while the other was visible in electric blue. The way they expanded reminded Warich of how bacteria might spread from one person to the next, one planet to the next. Conscious planning or no, the spread continued. How long was impossible to tell. Then the commistre felt like he was being tapped lightly in the side of the head to the sound of tink, tink, tink. It was faint at first but became clearer after a few repetitions. Each tinking sound brought a small flare of red or blue along the colored webs. Warich pondered what it could mean, and as he pondered, he started to hear a faint voice, a whisper, and then another voice even quieter than the first. He knew the voices instantly though he’d never heard them before. The stronger voice belonged to the dragon. It was a hoarse, rough sound that promised power, glory, and knowledge of forbidden secrets. It promised protection and safety for each and every tink but left only destruction and slavery for those who listened, all the while regaining its own strength. Completely enamored by the confident assurance with which the dragon spoke, the commistre almost didn’t hear the tiny voice of the knight. It was a softer tone, a feminine tone. She will need her strength back too. The galaxy needs to help her if it wants to be free from the dragon… Warich pleaded for more flares

on behalf of the female knight, which had quickly fallen far behind the dragon in strength. Yet as he listened he was astonished. The softer voice didn’t bribe, and it didn’t trick. It barely spoke to the nations at all. Instead, it sang, and as it sang, it prayed a prayer for deliverance not for itself but for the civilizations of the galaxy that they might find peace and harmony. It was a prayer that they not fall to the same bickering that had nearly destroyed the galaxy thousands of years before. A few heard its song and heeded its words for a time before they wandered or were enticed by the dragon’s promises. Warich was not so easily distracted. With each verse he felt better able to focus on her words. She prayed that one day all the people of the galaxy might be delivered from anger, jealousy, and destruction. She prayed for the day when the civilizations of the universe would band together and defeat the dark dragon once and for all. As the song continued, she began to prophesy about that day, the things that had already taken place, that were taking place, and that would take place as the climactic moment drew near. She sang of a leader who would spearhead the charge and usher in a golden age for all nations. “But who is this savior?” Warich asked the vision. Then he saw her. All the other visuals had been hazy, blurry, and impossible to make out in defined details. The savior was in ultrahigh definition. He’d expected either a Bilian or a maybe a Hebroni, an avatar from the strongest, most influential civilizations in the galaxy. Yet this woman was neither. Warich silently cursed his subtle racism. The female’s human features were impossible to mistake. She was fitted with a modern Alliance uniform, which suggested her coming would occur or perhaps had already occurred in Warich’s lifetime, though that piece of the vision could have simply meant that she would have military experience or backing. With visions, it was impossible to know for sure what was literal and what was symbolic. Unfortunately, the entity providing the vision seemed unable to narrate and clarify that point. This protector of the galaxy appeared to stand at an average height for a Bilian woman though perhaps was a little on the shorter side for a human. Her dark brown hair had an unmistakable red hue, which was impossible to miss. She looked physically fit enough but hardly cut an imposing figure. She wasn’t exactly what Warich thought of when he envisioned a galactic savior millennia in the making. She didn’t have a hard face. Quite the contrary, she had a common look to her. A little too pleasant for the fight to come.

Somehow she looks strangely familiar… It almost hid the steely determination in her frozen expression. In spite of her unassuming demeanor, her eyes shone with energy, looking as if they were about to burst forth with fire and engulf everything in their path. The light of her eyes illuminated everything around her. The light’s edge touched the farthest extension of the dragon’s domain, which, in turn, immediately receded. The interruption cut off the dragon’s latest swindle midsentence. The beast turned all its attention to the woman, the tentacles of its influence coming at her from all directions in an attempt to destroy the savior before she could bind the peoples of the galaxy together. The dragon was still weak, but its strength was enough to reach into the woman’s domain and slash at her, leaving a deep scar across her face and down her neck. The woman stumbled back, falling to the ground as the dragon crowed. To his amazement, she did not yield; she stood, the scar healing in seconds! Enraged, the dragon and his minions attacked again, but a bright blue light surrounded the woman, forcing the inky red arms of the dragon to retreat. The light expanded, blotting out everything in Warich’s vision. Everything—that is, except for the woman. Her face burned into the commistre’s vision before the blue shone so brightly that his eyes were forced shut. When he opened them again, he was back in his cold, damp cell.

CHAPTER 30

Ruggar peered glumly out his window. It was a real-time, full-color holographic display of course. An actual window would have been a structural weakness. The few real windows in the tower were made of a heavily reinforced material the exact composition of which was unknown to the councilor. They were also coated with a darkening agent that glistened in the sun, making them nearly impossible to spot from the outside. Sadly, the covering also had the added effect of tinting everything in shades of gray for the internal viewer. The gloomy grays were too tiresome, especially today. Prax Prime was burning, or at least much of it was. There are fewer fires today than yesterday at least, he considered, and those that remain look a little smaller. In truth, the councilor wasn’t sure if the glowing red, orange, and yellow parts of the city were actually smaller or if, perhaps, it was just wishful thinking. The statesman couldn’t help but note that the largest riots, and thus the most significant damage, had occurred predominantly in the most impoverished parts of the sprawling megalopolis. By the time the smoke clears, those districts will be completely leveled… It was an unfortunate fact. Those who had suffered most, those who rose up hoping to force change and create a better life for their families, would be the ones to lose everything. For the most part, those with power would still be in control. Situations like these could even serve to further the ambition of those domineering men and women. This was the truth that bothered Ruggar most. The First had been ill for some time. They all knew it, though the extent of his physical and mental deterioration had been largely hidden from public eye. Insurrection and constant bickering on the Council had taken a deepening toll on the regal sage. The Council didn’t entertain foreign dignitaries very often and had reduced their frequency even further over the last few years. It was unfortunate that the Alliance representatives had to see the First in such a state, but there was no other choice. Kreg was about to instigate something dangerous. Ruggar had needed to turn the tables. He’d needed to show his fellow councilors that the Alliance could be trusted to assist in times of need. Peters and Gonzalez,

they conveniently needed Praxis’s help with the Fevros threat and were just the showcase Ruggar had needed. He’d used every tool at his disposal to spin their arrival to his advantage. To the unobservant, the shift in influence would have gone unnoticed. The change was subtle, most power changes on the Council were, but by all s their timely arrival had moved sentiment on the Council slightly in his favor. That was, at least, until the attack on Nordstrom. A camp on the outskirts of the city had been attacked, not by rebels, but by a hostile alien power. The insult had occurred right under the Council’s nose and with the Alliance dignitaries present. Praxis was instantly humiliated, a laughingstock for the galaxy. This was the interpretation of many, both in the Council and out. Months of careful negotiations, a well-timed arrival by Alliance officers, and all the other work Ruggar had done to keep Kreg’s ambitions in check had been undone in a single afternoon by the grays. The power-hungry Kreg now had more influence than ever. In the aftermath of their humiliation, many of the councilors had flocked to him for confident, strong leadership. The riots only served to further the egoist’s cause. In most crises of significance, the Council would often defer to a member—either the First or a councilor designated by the First—to apply more direct, executive leadership so as to by the need for lengthy debates and arguments when time was of the essence. The temporary executive’s edicts could be overruled, but only by majority vote by the rest of the council . Given that debates on whether or not to overrule the executive could last for months, for all intents and purposes the executive was dictator in all but name. What had been a shift in influence quickly become an all-out power grab by Kreg and his minions. The First’s sudden and untimely turn for the worse had only exacerbated the situation. His serene presence was needed now more than ever. Ruggar sorely missed him. The fact that their elder had died early this morning made matters even worse. The Council needed a new First. By seniority, Kreg was the most likely choice, though longevity in the esteemed group did not ultimately guarantee elevation. Even so, Ruggar’s rival was in a far stronger position now than at any point in recent memory. His elevation to become the next First was virtually assured, which meant he could all but guarantee the subsequent acquisition of executive powers, giving him even more power to reshape Praxis. If Kreg pushes hard, all this might even come to before nightfall. Ruggar shuddered as he considered what was likely to occur in the days to come.

His own power would be largely limited, if he retained his concession seat on the Council at all. He’d been Kreg’s preeminent opponent in many debates, and it was possible his seat might be eliminated altogether. It would certainly help solidify his control… but would he go so far as to sack a member of his own fraternity? That this was even a plausible question was cause for a great deal of paranoia. If he thought he could get away with it, Kreg was sure to try. Whether or not he would succeed would depend on the rest of the Council. Right now, their junior member did not have a whole lot of faith in the group. He’d need to act quickly to secure his position so that he might lead the fight against the worst of Kreg’s ideas in the coming months and years. “Well”—he sighed, slowly getting up out of his oversized plush chair—“better get to work.”

There are too many unknowns. Lieutenant Swast was worried. The Bilians were stereotyped as the masters of subterfuge. In her dealings with Qerbellic over the years, she knew the reputation was not undeserved. They’d swept the ship for bugs and trackers as a standard precaution. Without Gonzalez’s knowledge, indeed she’d been off on one of her “séances,” Swast had ordered a second check, then a third after additional scanner calibrations. She’d even combed much of the ship with her own personalized equipment. Nothing had turned up. The possibility that Qerbellic would leave an entire cruiser full of advanced equipment behind with no way of keeping tabs, even if they had stripped much of it, was ludicrous. Yet the scans didn’t lie. A few Bilians remained, one or all of whom might be signaling their command. Yet they all seemed so young and fresh-faced. Bilian High Command would never leave such a critical task in the hands of such inexperienced amateurs. Unless… “Lieutenant Darcy,” she barked, jabbing her communicator barely fast enough for the channel to open before she spoke. “Yes, Commander Swast?” “Have our Bilian friends offered any resistance to your examinations medical or otherwise? Have you observed any kind of disagreeable attitude, however subtle?” “No, Commander. They’ve been models of cooperation.” “Has your equipment noted any biological abnormalities? Heightened blood pressure? Increased perspiration?” “None more than I would expect given that their ship is now securely under the control of a foreign power on a mission opposing their former superiors, sir. In fact, a bit less than I’d expect honestly. If anything, they seem fairly welladjusted to the idea.” “Any electromagnetic pulse signals or emanations?” “None detected. And if there were, the dampening fields would have run

interference and alerted us. I don’t think—” “Can you increase power to the dampening fields, increasing their strength and sensitivity?” Swast interrupted. “Well, yes, I suppose so, but—” “Do it. Activate our backups from Praxis too. I don’t care if we’ve already checked all the Bilian systems and subsystems for inconsistencies. Using their security systems to guard their own people is like having a fox guard a henhouse. And run full body scans of every one of those Bilians. Run a fresh round every four hours.” “But, Commander! At that rate, I won’t have time for any of my other duties!” “If even a peep gets back to Bilian Command about our location, our trajectory, our intentions… your other duties will cease to be relevant.” “I… yes, Commander. I see your point. We will expedite the setup of those additional precautions.” “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Feeling only slightly better, Swast disconnected. That’s the most that can be done, I suppose, without jettisoning them into space. The thought of having one less loose end caused a small smile to cross the blonde woman’s face. A smile followed by an immediate scowl. It gave her joy to eliminate as many unknowns as possible, but such a solution, however expedient, was simply too barbaric to consider. If there is a traitor among them, I’ll find him. No spy, however skilled, is flawless. He’ll slip up sooner or later, and then it’ll be air lock time.

The pieces were set. The plan was in place. Trillions of lives spread throughout the galaxy were all on the line. Yet only one life mattered. I’m coming, Chris. Just hold on… A strange sense of calm had enveloped Gonzalez like a warm blanket. It was comforting, even if it did feel altogether out of place. She’d been able to reestablish sporadic with Gem. Communication was hit or miss, and there was still a lot of distortion, but they’d managed to transmit a few valuable pieces of information back and forth. Though it had originally appeared that she was being relocated, Gem had since realized that she had actually been smuggled off the Hastings and had recently been deposited at an as yet unidentified location. In the last conversation they’d had, she’d spoken of a complex in deep space full of short dull-colored humanoids with elongated faces and bulging foreheads— almost certainly Bilians. Gem had reached out to touch their minds and gain greater awareness as to her surroundings but had met very limited success. “Darius’s presence is strong here. His consciousness is still somewhat dormant, but I do not know for how long that will continue to be the case. The entire vessel reeks from the smell of his corruption. I fear his awakening will come soon…” That had been how their last conversation ended. If Darius has awoken and Gem can’t keep him in check, we’re all screwed. Might as well be screwed with Chris, the acting iral reasoned as she pressed herself and her crew forward. From what the Py-Roxi had detected, the station was not heavily fortified. Secrecy required that only a chosen few knew of its location and purpose. This simple truth could and would be used to the human assault team’s advantage. No communication would come or go without first ing through her personal terminal. None of the crew was aware of this adjustment, not even Swast. The commander was far more vocal about the issue of secrecy and had essentially become the spokeswoman for such measures. The iral resolved to leave the more standard protocol to the crew and the implementation of additional safeguards to Swast. A spy or traitor would certainly be on the lookout for anything standard precaution and be able to by easily enough. An especially seasoned agent might also be prepared for Swast’s safeguards. Hopefully, they would be little prepared for a third and none-spoken-of layer of transmission

blocking. Even with the element of surprise all but assured, being cautious remained critical.

I can feel it! Mitrich exclaimed in his mind. The bug they’d placed on the Traktma had been disabled some time ago, which meant hostile occupants had either discovered it or the device detected that its scans were traceable and, for the sake of remaining undetected, had refrained from further processing. The Bilians aboard should have all gone down fighting. If there were deserters or traitors, or if they’d been cowards and let themselves get captured, Qerbellic would deal with them severely. In the end, none of these little details mattered. The commistre knew what would happen next. The exact moment was uncertain, but he could see that this chapter would soon be at an end, like the sands of time flowing through a galactic hourglass. He could almost reach out with his mind and feel the Traktma moving closer. They’ll be here within the day, and then I will usher in a new era. Even the stoic commistre was having a hard time maintaining his demeanor. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. Best get prepared for our guests. The lanky gray alien practically burst into a sprint as he made way for the Omega X1 lab. In every hall he traversed, his subordinates parted ways, giving him a wide berth and ever greater deference. One of the many perks of being me. Mitrich couldn’t have been more pleased. The others looked so insignificantly small as they made haste to scurry out of his path. Finally he arrived. Teril and a few of Paridic stood guard to greet him, though “greet” was perhaps not the right word. They stood at attention. They didn’t look away or flee like so many had in the halls. Quite the opposite. They looked nearly as imposing as Mitrich felt and made no motion or gesture acknowledging his arrival until he was practically upon them. “Unlock the labs,” he commanded. Teril slowly nodded to his subordinate, who turned and silently typed a lengthy code into a nearby wall . Ever since Paridic had returned, they’d been placed in charge of Omega X1 lab security. The encryption locks had been recalibrated to a new code so that they and they alone controlled access. Not even Mitrich had a cipher, though as commistre of the project he could ultimately override any security code on Larchia given adequate time.

So long as Paridic continued to comply, there was no reason to expend that kind of unnecessary effort. Should they prove unreliable, they would be disposed of like all the others. There was something in the glazed-eye look of the two Bilians that caused a small creeping bit of doubt to rise in the back of Mitrich’s mind. No, no, no, he dismissed, shaking his head. This batch has been fully compliant. The completeness of my control grows with every ing moment. By the time the heavy, reinforced doors opened, all doubt had been removed from his mind. Confidently, he continued on toward his destination. It’s kind of odd, he considered. The artifacts are so similar in design, in capability, in sheer power, yet clearly unique as well. The differences had surprised even the commistre himself. One was far more active, the other relatively dormant. One seemed to call out for attention; the other had to be probed. Both were critical to Mitrich’s plans, though the active one presented a far better opportunity for quick results. Rounding the corner, the Bilian took a quick glance at a monitor sitting on top of a currently abandoned security desk. A few days prior, this area had been a bustle of activity. Now it was restricted to only essential personnel, and as far as Mitrich was concerned, very few were truly essential. The monitor showed the current quarters of the torturer, the doctor, and the decrepit human, unconscious and dying though not quite dead yet. The doctor remained serene, though a tortured grimace was ever present on his face. He was resisting, but in the end he would succumb to Mitrich’s control. The failed torturer was screaming bloody murder and carrying on like a child throwing a tantrum. No one can hear you, fool, the commistre mocked. He, too, was struggling against Mitrich’s control. He, too, would succumb. Dismissing the plight of all three men, the commistre continued to his destination. Completely ignoring the safety hazard suit hung up outside, he entered the experimentation room without a moment’s hesitation. Warm light from the orb greeted him as if embracing an old friend. The Bilian could scarcely ever get enough. With every second, he could feel the orb’s power absorbing into his skin. It was a ritual repeated several times recently. All he needed do was bask in its warm glow and take in everything the device had to offer, making it his own. This time would be a little different though. The others had been cautious tests to understand the limits of the orb. This time was no test. He could feel another

infused with power aboard the Traktma, though the precise extent of her strength was uncertain. She may have scarcely scratched the surface… or she may have spent years, secretively securing more and more power. His knowledge of the human species told him the latter was unlikely. It was true that the humans had their own intelligence agents, though by all s her presence at Nordstrom had been a fluke. Emotion at her friend’s, possibly lover’s, near-death experience had fueled her power. Unless she somehow managed to gain far better mastery while at the same time raiding the Traktma, Mitrich would easily crush her before she developed into a real threat. The idea that this human, this woman, could have devoted any meaningful time to furthering her powers seemed doubtful. And yet as he syphoned more and more power, his certainty grew that he would need everything for the battle. He would soon be a god among mere mortals. The woman, for all her power, would be crushed like all the other living creatures who would not submit. The Hebroni would be brought to heel. The Fevros too. Bilian High Command would follow his guidance or be destroyed, same with Qerbellic. With the civilized galaxy brought tightly under his influence, they would finally do what should have been done hundreds of years ago. With the combined might of the civilized races, they would launch an unstoppable onslaught into Tetriarch territory, and the new god himself would lead the charge. The Tetriarch was a living symbol of everything civilized societies ired from a distance yet feared up close. Their power and technology were legendary. Given his newfound power, Mitrich himself would be unstoppable, but even he was just one Bilian. He would need the technology of the Tetriarch to ister his new empire. His subordinates would need power too. They would storm Tetriarch territory, crush any resistance they encountered, and liquidate Tetriarch leadership in one stroke. With command and control gone and the primary istrative hubs under his control, enemy coordination would become exceedingly difficult. Sheer numbers and quick Bilian reengineering of what would be a treasure trove of captured Tetriarch technology would tilt the balance of power all the way to complete and utter victory. Should any system prove especially difficult to seize, Mitrich would personally see the stubborn dogs put down. Thirty minutes later, he’d absorbed all his frail body could handle. Soon enough,

I’ll be back and take a little more, then a little more… “Soon enough, I’ll take everything you have!” he gloated above the silent orb. The feeling of ecstasy was greater than anything he’d ever experienced. Stepping away from the device, Mitrich suddenly felt as if he were floating. Looking down, he saw it was more than just a feeling. He was gliding across the floor in whatever direction he desired. His feet needn’t move as they were suspended ever so slightly above the ground. “I but will it, and it happens! And thus, the transformation to godhood begins.” The would-be god made his way back to Larchia’s command center. While he’d been ascending, he’d seen a vision of the woman from Nordstrom. Her arrival would occur within the hour. Had he not been gliding effortlessly, he would have noticed a slight jolt in the floor below. So deep within the installation was the Omega X1 lab that even minor rattling in the area could only mean one of two things—there had been a massive internal explosion somewhere on Larchia, or they were under attack. Opening the lab’s door, he found two Paridic guards and Commis Teril baring the entrance to what appeared to be a young executive officer in training. Mitrich recognized the trainee. He was one of the most talked about new agents in Qerbellic. The commistre had him pegged as his own protégé and apprentice, should he survive the rigors of his first few assignments. The trainee was frantic about something or other. Showing emotions, unless purposely and explicitly in such a way as to advance one’s own negotiation position, is a waste. It does nothing more than expose your own weaknesses. Perhaps this young Bilian is not as skillful as I believed. Paridic, for their part, were having none of it. The lad was not getting through, and that was that. “Commistre! Commistre! There you are. I must speak to you. These brutes—” One look at Mitrich stopped him midsentence. Only after stepping out from behind Paridic did the commistre acknowledge the child. “I am not to be disturbed by anyone when working in the lab,” he menaced the recruit. “I am sorry, Commistre…” The recruit avoided eye . “If I may ask, sir, your skin. It… is it… ? Pardon my stammering. Perhaps it is just the lighting.

But… I’m not sure how—” The yammering would not stop. The child would not get to the point. “What is it?” Mitrich demanded, cutting off the officer midstutter. “Oh, yes, that’s why, uh, I came down here to begin with.” He straightened up ever so slightly. “The station, we’re under attack.” Rather than concern, fear, or anger, the look that fell across Mitrich’s face was more akin to annoyance, as if their top secret installation being assaulted were no more serious than if the cafeteria had run out of his favorite dessert. “Who dares?” he thundered. Perhaps the woman was more efficient with her time than expected… “It’s an all-out assault by the Fevros, sir,” came the response, as the young Bilian instinctively flinched, expecting fiery anger to burst from Mitrich’s every pore. Much to the officer’s surprise, his commander’s reaction was quite the opposite. The Fevros. The pesky flies are no longer of any consequence. “See to it that they are dealt with,” he spoke calmly. “Sir, we do not have the firepower to withstand—” “You two”—the commistre ignored the junior officer, instead motioning haphazardly at Paridic—“Bring the new XT5 power converters online. Load the artifacts directly into the matrix.” “Sir, we have no idea if that will work, let alone what impact it might have on the—” “Sometimes it is best to learn from your betters, young one.” Mitrich’s tone sounded more like a spoiled child reprimanding a starving pet begging for a scrap of food than like a noble elder mentoring an apprentice. Even so, the young cadet offered no further objection, while two of Paridic slid behind the reinforced door to the Omega X1 labs. Only Teril stood guard now, completely emotionless save for a gaze that seemed to simultaneously approximate indifference. “The artifacts will make our defenses invulnerable. Just one emits enough

energy to keep our shields up for hours under their pitiful insectoid onslaught,” the commistre lectured. “And by then reinforcements will be here?” the officer asked hopefully, finally thinking he understood. “By then, they will no longer be of any consequence,” Mitrich responded matterof-factly as he strode past the confused officer, making his way to the command deck. Within a few hours a fleet of enemy ships will be of no consequence? What kind of secret weapons do you have tucked away, Commistre? the officer wondered. Whatever they are, they must take a while to power up. This is why he’s the commistre. Always two or three steps ahead! The officer beamed with pride as he made his way back to his station. It’s time to show these bug creatures what happens when you mess with the Bilian Federation!

CHAPTER 31

As news of Nordstrom filtered throughout the Alliance, the general reaction had been one of patriotism and for taking every reasonable measure to investigate the situation and bring the instigators to justice. What exactly reasonable was or who defined it was anyone’s guess. Was raiding a Bilian science facility in their territory, with a captured Bilian cruiser, reasonable? Should we fail, will it provoke war? And if we succeed? Galactic politics had always been a strange game. The Hebroni had already pledged nominal diplomatic for the Alliance. They were straddling a fine line between platitudes and hard commitment. “Should Bilian involvement be proven,” they’d said, “the Unified Hebroni Systems will take action, while coordinating with our human allies of course, to see justice is portioned in appropriate measure and peace and stability are maintained.” For all we know, the Hebroni orchestrated the whole thing, and now they’re stabbing their Bilian allies in the back. I can’t say that would surprise anyone. As much as the two lauded their friendship and circled the wagons whenever the galactic status quo was threatened, they were rivals through and through. Any event that served to weaken one was celebrated by the other. Usually this jubilation occurred over back channels to which only Swast and top agents like her had access. Sometimes the celebrations and mockings were more visible. Not usually, but sometimes. While governments diplomatized, the Meridian silently slid toward their destination. To ensure a stealthy arrival, the Meridian had detached a good ways and was slowly making its way to a scouting position out while the Bilian cruiser remained at a distance. The lower the engine energy output, the more effective the stealth system. Swast knew that taking things slow was a necessity. In fact, she’d been the one to recommend the precautions, but the snail’s pace with which they now moved was almost too much to bear. After assessing the situation, the Traktma would be called in for . Every crew member was on the edge of his or her seat as uneasy tension permeated the air. Everyone— that is, except for Gonzalez.

She had remained largely quiet ever since departing the Traktma. The acting iral appeared eerily calm and serene piloting the sleek ship, an activity she’d insisted on performing. Commander Swast wasn’t entirely sure which was more unnerving, the slow countdown to their raid of a secret Bilian installation on which unspeakable secrets and atrocities might be found, or the fact that her commanding officer seemed entirely unaffected. Finally, she’d had enough of the silence. “Angela, I—” The iral said nothing, cutting off her subordinate with a raised hand, motioning for silence. Without taking her eyes off the viewer, she slowly elevated her arm from its resting position and pointed. “Look.” At first, Swast saw nothing unexpected. The hidden station looked a little bigger than a small seed, its black color making it especially difficult to pick out. Then she saw a small flash far in the distance. Then came a second and a third. All faint, but definitively noticeable. At that moment something else, too, caught the commander’s eye. Tiny specks of something swirled about the station. A million thoughts ran through Swast’s mind. Gonzalez, once again, seemed unfazed. “Magnifying target,” she called out as if she’d anticipated the specks since the earliest stages of planning. The screen’s image and colors were highly distorted for a moment, followed by added clarity after exponential zooming and refocusing. Swast’s jaw dropped. For the first time all throughout the trip, even Gonzalez seemed surprised, albeit only modestly. The Bilian station was already under attack! “Are those… ?” “Looks like Fevros, a whole swarm of them. Did you pick up any of this in your info siphoning?” It was a term Gonzalez had coined for Swast’s acquiring, filtering, and absorbing millions of bits of encrypted data over very short periods. Disappointed, she regretfully shook her head. Access to Fevros communications was hard to come by even for Swast, given that they existed outside civilized space. Still, bits of information here and there were still possible to discover. A whole fleet buildup? An invasion of sovereign Bilian territory? She’d no reason to even suspect such a thing was coming. There’d been no indication on any of the Bilian channels either.

“Well, it’s a distraction anyway. Something we really could use,” she said, attempting to reassure her leader, though it was the speaker who appeared in greater need of reassurance at the moment. “Couldn’t have planned it better,” Gonzalez agreed, “though I’m still going to keep our approach nice and slow, at least until we reach the battle area. Then we’ll speed things up for the sake of maneuverability. There’s no way the Fevros can detect us, but I have no desire to lose both Chris and Gem because of a stray blast from a bug that can’t aim. Signal the Traktma to postpone their approach. No reason to put in range of Fevros weapons unless we really need it.” “Understood, iral.” “Begin prepping our boarding parties. Make sure the bots are powered up and ready to go.” “One moment.” Swast hesitated, tapping a few keys into her console. “I’m prepping the by codes we found hidden in the gray’s data banks,” she explained. “From the Traktma? Good thinking. So long as our shields are up, the station’s automated security protocol will identify us as friendly. We’ll be able to traverse back and forth through the station’s shield barrier as if it didn’t exist.” So long as the Bilians haven’t changed it yet… Swast had the same thought. “The Meridian was designed with making quick recalibrations in mind, and it still took us what, a day or so to get this code in the system and available for quick application? There’s no way they could have done the same on a station of that size that fast,” she reassured, secretly hoping that the Bilians hadn’t invented an unknown technology capable of performing the entire tedious process with a fraction of the normal effort. Regardless, the Fevros assault had been an unexpected boon. Given the stealth technology built into the Traktma, it was entirely possible the grays had at least some capability to detect stealth vessels. If so, the headquarters of their operation would almost assuredly be equipped with it. Even so, the Fevros attack would make the pinpoint scanning needed to detect the small stealth frigate virtually impossible. “So… why do you think they’re here?” whispered Swast as the Meridian slowly

crept forward. “Beats me.” Gonzalez shrugged, not for a moment taking neither her eyes off the viewer nor her hands off the navigational controls. “Maybe the Bilians kidnapped one of their people too, and they were tracked back here?” “That does seem like a popular thing to do these days,” Gonzalez joked dryly. “That’s why I like hanging out with you, Angela! You know how to go for what you want without starting a war. An entire fleet? That’s so uncouth.” They did, of course, have an Alliance fleet, albeit still forming, available to help with extraction if necessary. The vessels were still being coordinated and were a few hours out at best. Swast had wanted to wait until those reserves were prepped and ready. Gonzalez had overruled her. “I don’t know that the Fevros care if they start a war. It’s typical swarm-frenzy behavior.” “Or maybe they heard about the wedge between the Bilians and the Alliance, and they’re looking to settle some old scores.” “You think their attack here is more than just a typical knee-jerk reaction? That it’s part of a larger invasion? You give them too much credit, Commander.” “And you too little. This whole thing is, well, there’s something very unusual going on here.” “Maybe you’re right, but if it is part of something larger, surely you would have heard a peep, either through your Fevros lines or through communications from Bilian Command. You’ve still not intercepted any communication hinting about this?” “None. It’s like this whole thing is completely off the grid.” “Typical Qerbellic… ,” muttered Gonzalez. “We get what we came for, and then let the bugs blow the hell out of the station if that’s what they want to do. I won’t be losing any sleep over one less Bilian black ops installation spitting in the face of all that is good and decent.”

“You’re the boss!” Swast grinned. “And if there aren’t enough bugs left, we can always call in the Traktma to finish the job.” Convenience aside, the iral couldn’t help but wonder. What if… the Fevros are under Darius’s control and they’re trying to free him from Bilian imprisonment? No, that can’t be right. The Bilians have been using Darius’s power for experimentation. If anything, they’re allied with him, but then what are the Fevros doing here? In silence, the iral thought back to when it had all began. It had been the Fevros, not the Bilians, who had possessed Gem in her “sleeping” state. Perhaps they’ve been exposed to Darius as well? But are they working for him or against him? There were an infinite number of questions that could be asked, though in truth the answers were not of immediate concern. Straightening up, she resolved to focus only on what mattered most. First, rescue Chris. Second, retrieve Gem. Third, stop Darius for good. She’d need a lot more power from Gem to defeat the evil Py-Roxi, so it was imperative that objective number two be accomplished before proceeding to objective three. Anyone who got in her way was an enemy. Anyone who helped her was a friend. It need not be any more complicated than that. Her resolution couldn’t have come at a better time. Swast had just sent an encrypted message back to the Traktma, where it would be reencrypted anew and then beamed back to the still-forming Alliance fleet. With the status update transmitted advising that direct engagement was imminent, the Meridian boosted its engine power and flew into action, dodging and weaving as it catapulted forward. Skimming through space, Gonzalez took care to avoid the more chaotic parts of the battlefield in an effort to reduce the risk of getting hit by stray shots. Nearby missiles could be seen with the naked eye. Energy weapons, detectable via sensors, were virtually invisible to the naked eye in space. For most pilots, their hands would have been shaking and their brows dripping with stressinduced sweat. Not Gonzalez. The decorated pilot had little trouble guiding her sleek ship through the field of fire with not so much as a scratch. Within minutes, the Alliance frigate was in position to attempt breach of the Bilian shield array. It relieved both women to finally cover so much space so quickly. “Well, here goes nothing,” Swast whispered as she tapped a few buttons on her controls, recalibrating the Meridian’s shields to match what they all hoped were those of the station. Gonzalez slowed the ship, then nudged it forward. If the calibrations matched, it would be a smooth ride. If not, the ship would rock as it butted up against the station’s invisible defenses, unable to through.

The latter result would also undoubtedly alert Bilians to their presence. Both women held their breath and waited. “How long until—” “Oh shit!” Gonzalez grunted as she jolted the Meridian, narrowly missing a Fevros energy weapon, which harmlessly bounced against the station’s shields. “Whoa, good job, girl!” Swast patted her superior officer on the back. “They almost nailed us. Now back to busine—wait. Congratulations a second time, iral!” she exclaimed. “That fancy pants flying of yours just got us inside the shields. Nice work!” “So much for the easy part,” Gonzalez muttered. “We’ll get Captain Peters back, Angela,” the commander reassured. “Then we’ll blow this place to hell.” For the first time in what seemed like forever, Gonzalez smiled as she guided her ship to the nearest docking station. Hold on, Chris. I’m coming!

The Fevros attack is pointless. The fact they found this base at all is something of a surprise, but still unimportant all the same. They will soon come to realize how foolishly they squandered their chance at godhood. It fell to more advanced life-forms, to Mitrich, to realize the artifacts’ glorious potential, and now he had. Despite his network of spies and ties to shadow intelligence organizations spanning the galaxy, one final piece of the puzzle had gone unaddressed even by him. There was one final thing that needed to be done before unquestionable victory could be his. He’d had a vision, a vision of what had at first appeared to be an Alliance soldier but then turned into something else. Not just a soldier. An officer perhaps? She, too, wielded an artifact’s power, though a smaller, more childlike, and unrefined version of it. He didn’t have to check the dossiers; he knew. This was the same woman who had manifested power at Nordstrom and nearly disrupted Mitrich’s plan. Retrieval of the shard wasn’t entirely necessary, but he’d suspected it could serve to accelerate their research. This woman needed to be eliminated. He would have known it even if the artifact hadn’t told him so. It would take hours for Larchia’s cannons to fend off the Fevros, hours that would have been impossible without the orbs shoring up the station’s defenses. For every ten hits they took, they’d fire and score a few hits in response. Little pinpricks, but they added up. A few vessels in the Fevros armada had already been destroyed. As soon as we dust off this little incursion, I’ll equip my personal ship with invisible shields. We will hunt the woman down until… “SHE IS ALREADY HERE,” a voice boomed, echoing through the commistre’s mind, interrupting his thoughts. He didn’t have to guess where the voice came from. “Where?” Mitrich seethed aloud, startling his companions, who first looked to him, then at each other, then back at him in bewilderment, trying to understand what their leader was talking about. “Sir? Where is what, sir?” “HER MINIONS HAVE BREACHED YOUR DEFENSES. THEY ARE ON THE STATION.”

“Scan the station for hull breaches, hacked docking controls, unidentified personnel. Everything!” bellowed Mitrich, pounding his still-glowing fist on the console built into his command chair. His subordinates, still utterly confused, flew into a flurry of activity to carry out their new orders. Within moments, they had results. “Docking bay 2 hacked by unknown assailants.” “The Fevros?” asked another. “How could they get through our defenses… ?” “Whoever did this was no slouch on skill or hacking equipment for that matter. It’s practically Qerbellic quality. They didn’t do the best job covering their tracks though. They’re definitely in a hurry.” Mitrich didn’t partake in their idle speculation. He knew who was responsible. Abruptly rising from his command seat, he made way for the nearest lift. “Sir, where are you going?” A shocked subordinate gasped. Mitrich didn’t pause or even look back. “To deal with our guest,” he replied, not breaking stride. “Shall we send a squad?” “That will not be necessary. Keep swatting the gnats until I command otherwise.” With that he was gone, uncertain of what exactly faced him, knowing only the task that needed to be completed. “YOU WILL BE SUFFICIENT FOR THE TASK,” the voice assured, sounding pleased. “I will be sufficient for the task,” Mitrich repeated to himself slowly, then a second time, smiling.

CHAPTER 32

All things considered, Tyrin preferred that Mitrich leave despite how incredibly unusual it was for a commistre to personally see to the disposal of intruders. It was even more unheard of for a commistre to leave the bridge in the midst of a raging battle. Still, their defenses did appear to be holding. As long as their power source, whatever it was, stayed strong, they would easily outlast the Fevros swarm. How anyone had managed to get onto the station uninvited with the shields at full strength was a mystery, but the internal situation could be dealt with easily enough so long as the external defenses held. “Security, this is Tyrin,” he announced, opening a channel to the station’s chief of defense. “We’ve had an internal security breach in bay 2. Possibly Fevros shock troopers. Numbers unknown. May have one or more cypher agents.” “Understood, sir. Moving three squads to intercept, placing the rest of my team on high alert.” “One other thing…” He paused. “Commistre Mitrich has elected to see to the matter personally, so keep your men out of sight. Should the situation get out of hand, move in. Eliminate all the brutes. If you identify any agents, take them alive for questioning.” “Understood.” “Good. Tyrin out.” If Mitrich should die, then so be it. The old kook deserves it. Equally true was the fact that the commistre’s death would bring Tyrin one step closer to head of operations. That single death wouldn’t put him directly into the command chair, but it would place his immediate director there, a man far less erratic than Mitrich. Their current leader had them running on what humans would call wild goose chases with little to no explanation. With Tyrin’s director currently off-site overseeing another operation, Mitrich’s demise would effectively leave Tyrin in charge, even if just temporarily. Commistres in Qerbellic were always cryptic. The higher up the chain they went, the more secretive their orders became. Still, risking the instigation of an all-out

war by attacking the humans—a supposed ally—was beyond the gall of what most commistres at any level would be willing to authorize without official sanction from High Command. There’d been no coordinated reply orchestrated by Qerbellic. The incident on Praxis seemed to catch Bilian Command completely off guard. They were denying involvement of course, but the usual watertight alibi hadn’t materialized. What’s worse, even the Hebroni are outraged, or are at least pretending to be. Whether or not they truly care about Bilian involvement in the Praxis civil war is irrelevant. Humans were up-and-comers, though they hadn’t amassed the military, intellectual, or cultural significance of the Unified Hebroni Systems or the Bilian Federation, they had leapfrogged many of the other galactic races and were not a power to be trifled with. The Bilian had always found human history fascinating. Theirs was a story of war, conflict, and suffering—much of which had been of their own doing. Yet they always persevered. They made mistakes, but they always overcame the worst evils. Make no mistake, all the races of the galaxy had their own dark pasts, but few had oppressed and slaughtered each other in such great numbers save perhaps the Fevros. The insects though bore dozens of larvae children at a time. Their tenacity was irable. Despite all their advances, in a conflict between humans and Bilians the humans would be seen as the underdog. While the numbers showed the Alliance rapidly closing the power gap, general galactic perception was that the two species were still far from equals. The Hebroni government would likely throw its behind the humans to weaken their largest rival, and rather than look opportunistic, they’d be hailed as heroes. In a one-on-one conflict, casualties on both sides would be astronomical, and the winner was by no means a foregone conclusion. With the Alliance, arguably the third most powerful entity in civilized space on their side, there would be no better opportunity for the Hebroni to knock the Bilians down a few notches. Tyrin could practically hear the expansionists within the Hebroni government clamoring for war. If Mitrich dies, perhaps we can claim he went rogue and make amends before this gets too far out of hand… Perhaps he really did go rogue…

As Warich remained hostage in the same damp, dimly lit cell, he could sense change in the atmosphere. The visions had grown less extravagantly cryptic. They’d become more real, more representative of tangible things. It was as if the source had shifted from telling a long forgotten story to being his eyes and ears in the present moment. The new visions had been blurry at first; he’d not been exactly sure what he was looking at. As the picture became clearer, the veteran realized he was seeing the inside of a space station, but not just any station. It was a black ops Qerbellic command and research facility. As he reached out with his mind to embrace the vision, each deck and each room gradually materialized. The silhouette of every distinct individual on the station flared out of the backdrop as if he was looking through an infrared scanner. He could see a group of taller individuals packed together, making their way through the station. There was a ship docked not far behind them bustling with activity. A boarding party? But what would a team of Hebroni or Alliance officers be doing on a Qerbellic station… With eyes closed, Warich followed the team’s progress with great curiosity. Bilians who intercepted the wandering party stopped in their tracks. Are they talking or fighting? It was impossible to tell for sure. Then the old warhorse saw the life force begin to flicker out of a few on both sides. They must be a raiding party… but what are they after? On a Qerbellic intelligence station, the answer could literally be just about anything. Lost in thought, Warich almost failed to notice the extraordinary event that happened next. As the life force was leaving a raider entirely, a flicker of light energy from an unknown source rejuvenated the fallen. Whatever had happened, the raider’s life force was now back, shining as bright as ever. How could… ? Who… ? It took Warich a few moments to piece the clues together. Ultimately, he wasn’t certain if it was he who had made the realization or if the source of his vision had provided a gentle reminder. That must be the woman! It has to be! I must find a way to help her. Opening his eyes, the vision disappeared, and all he saw was his cell. Funny, I can see everything that’s going on, but only with my eyes closed.

“How did you do that?” Swast gasped. The iral had firmly laid her hand on the stomach of one of their security escorts, Ensign Alexander. He’d been scouting ahead and had taken half a step too far around a nearby corner. A closerange, high-powered disruptor blast greeted him in the stomach. Weakening his armor, he stumbled back, only to be hit by two more shots in the same spot, shattering his protection and searing a hole completely through his charred flesh. Death would have been virtually instantaneous, or rather it should have been. Now knowing that an enemy position lay around the corner, half a dozen of their security escort had taken up the task of slowly outmaneuvering the aliens and getting the team safely forward. Gonzalez should have stayed back. Swast saw her lunging forward for the fallen soldier. She’d reached out to intervene, but her superior officer had moved too quickly. “iral!” she shouted, but then something miraculous happened. Gonzalez touched the man, near death. Slowly, gingerly, she outlined the circle burnt through his chest and then placed her hand on it such that the hole was completely concealed from view. Swast watched in disbelief as the iral’s hand began to glow a strange bright blue color. In a flash, the light was gone, and Alexander was completely healed. Were it not for the hole in his armor and uniform, it would have been impossible to tell he’d received what should have been a fatal wound. It seems the iral has some more secrets of her own… , Swast mused. “Where’d you learn to do that?” the commander asked, trying not to sound nearly as intrigued as she felt. “It’s a long story.” That fire and determination Swast had seen in her commander on the Traktma paled in comparison to the look in the iral’s eyes now. The glint of steel had become a raging inferno. They’d had the element of surprise, but that advantage was quickly waning. Time was of the essence; they’d wasted enough of it. The iral was about to do something drastic. Stepping out from around the corner, much like the unfortunate scout but with far more self-assurance, Gonzalez charged through her security escort and pressed forward into the monotonous gray of mazelike corridors ahead. A triple blast of laser bolts greeted her. With one dismissive flick of her wrist, all three shots grazed off a shimmering energy barrier that seemed to appear out of nothing.

“We don’t have time for this,” she grunted, lifting her palm as a massive bolt of energy rocketed forth, leveling all in its path. The Bilians up ahead were instantly incinerated with not so much as ash left behind. The ball of energy flew into the wall at the far end of the hall, shaking the entire deck and creating a massive gash on impact. Nobody moved. Even the seasoned veterans committed to protecting their iral glanced at each other nervously. Interesting… , pondered Swast. “No time to waste then!” she cried, rallying the troops. “Onward!” The iral was already halfway down the twisting hall, practically leaving her entourage behind. The entire escort team had to jog just to keep pace. Nobody noticed Swast tap a few buttons on her tiny wrist computer. As the group rounded the next corner, she issued new orders. “Teams one and two, with iral Gonzalez. Team three… you’re with me.” She motioned down another path. “Yes, Commander.” After a display like that, the bulk of Bilian forces will be focused on the iral, though if she can repeat that display of power a few more times, it won’t matter how many soldiers are arrayed against her. If anything, Gonzalez seemed to be growing more powerful and determined the deeper they proceeded into the station. She was too distracted now, too engulfed in her personal vendetta. That part, at least, was progressing exactly as Swast had expected. The master spy would be back before the iral had a chance to notice she’d ever disappeared. As soon as they were off the beaten path, the commander slowed her team’s pace, taking up a defensive position in a side hall. Less likely to draw attention this way. As Gonzalez and her team got farther and farther ahead, the sounds of battle could be heard now and again. Anytime an encounter lasted for more than a minute or two, the telltale sound of Gonzalez’s energy ripping apart through the fabric of space could be heard echoing through the halls. Only when the sounds were nearly impossible to make out did Swast and her team emerge from the shadows. With any luck, this data won’t take long. I’ll snag all those juicy Bilian secrets. Then we’ll catch up to the iral, and neither she nor the Bilians will be the wiser…

He felt it. Even if he’d not seen it through his vision, he knew it from the tremor in the walls. The entire floor had shaken. The lights in his cell had flickered. A few minutes later, it happened again. Then again. The woman, this savior, was forcing her way through elite Bilian forces as if they were nothing. To them, she probably looked like a rampaging beast. To Warich, she looked like a mighty heroine vanquishing the forces of evil. Her approach signaled other changes as well. The incessant hum grew quieter as if somehow the source was focusing its attention elsewhere, while the musical visions in his mind grew clearer. It was as if he could almost make out the faces of each and every raider. He could see power pulsing through the walls too, the lines and tubes directing power to his cell, keeping up the illusions and sealing him in. They grew weaker with every jolt. Some of the tremor-inducing blasts had damaged power conduits. One more quake shook the room, and the lights went completely dark. Power to his cell had gone out. I’m free… Had he been able to see with his eyes, he would have seen the illusionary wall had flickered out. With his new vision, that was meaningless. Far more importantly, the systems keeping him caged and weighted down were also defunct, though backup generators might kick in at any moment. With eyes tightly shut, Warich used the vision as a guide, finding and forcing open his cell door. The heroic commistre of Paridic wasted no time dispatching the confused and bewildered guards. Their eyes needed time to adjust to the lack of lighting, but time was a luxury they didn’t have. He preferred not to kill at all, least of which his own people, but there was no wavering when it came to incapacitating them. The fate of the entire galaxy was at stake.

A squad, possibly more, was trailing him. They were doing their best to remain out of sight, but Mitrich could sense them like one can sense the buzz of an unseen mosquito near the ears. It made little difference. Let them witness my triumph, as I grind my only potential rival into dust. She was less than a deck away now, a minute’s walk at his current pace. His crew slipped to each side as he approached, cowering in awe. Aside from the shadow security team, no one was traveling in the same direction as the commistre. Everyone was fleeing. Fools. Nearing a corner, he knew the woman and her forces were just down the hall. Though he already knew her face —the artifact had revealed it—he relished the opportunity to finally look her in the eyes. His mind thought it best to pause and collect himself before proceeding. His body thought otherwise as he marched, or rather floated, around the corner without hesitation and right into the field of fire. What lay before the commistre was a sight to behold. The sounds of battle, the smells of charred uniforms, of burning metal alloys, and of bleeding flesh permeated the combat arena. One laser blast seared through the air, impacting an invisible field of energy that floated a mere millimeter in front of Mitrich’s form. Were it not for the faint pop sound that resulted, he would not have even noticed. Within seconds, half a dozen more shots hit their target. The effect was the same, negligible. The pesky primitives looked at each other with confused horror. He could see fresh sweat accumulating behind their armored face masks. He could feel their surprise, their fear, their despair. It was glorious. It fed his focus. As the Bilian’s eyes settled on the woman, the rest of the world suddenly faded out of focus. Nothing else mattered. She’d been hanging back, allowing her troops to acquire and leverage footholds. Only when they were unable to press their advantage did she plow them onward. He could see it, how their entire path of destruction through the station had played out. It ends now. “COWARD!” roared Mitrich. The woman stepped forward, almost in slow motion to press her own attack. Mitrich didn’t allow the chance. With one flick of his wrist, fist turned to open palm, unleashing a bolt of fiery vengeance, which incinerated everything in the hall, including two individuals in Alliance armor who unfortunately found themselves ahead of the woman. Their

destruction was instantaneous. The Bilian gloried in it. He saw her eyes grow wide as the blast tumbled end over end down the hall. She barely had enough time to raise both hands and defend herself. He could see a defensive barrier appear in the nick of time, protecting her from instant destruction. Still, the force was enough to knock his rival back, pounding her feeble body into a bulkhead like a vertical body slam. Her powers are even weaker than we expected. “BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE GODS!” Mitrich crowed in a voice that was not entirely his own as he marched forward, triumphantly preparing to give the deathblow. A return blast of pure energy was the only answer he received. It was smaller than his, less powerful. Even so, the impact of an unexpected counterattack forced the would-be god to stumble backward. Not quite so weak as we were led to believe. The thought streamed through his mind like a scrolling message as he found himself sadistically licking his lips. So much the better. The pair moved with superhuman speed as their battle raged. Energy blasts flew everywhere. Many were dodged or deflected by the respective targets, creating massive gashes and holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling. Every mortal withdrew —the Alliance and the Bilian security forces both—as they tried to find a safe minimum distance, every vaporization-inducing blast prompting another few meters’ retreat. Virtually impossible to make out with the naked eye, the titans of power wheeled and dodged, attacked and counterattacked as they continued their deadly dance. The alien had more raw power. The human had more finesse, but finesse could only last so long as the juggernaut forced his way closer and closer. Little by little, the human was giving ground. She fought with all her power. Her team did their best to assist with laser fire from the relative safety of their new positions, but the alien paid their feeble attempts no heed as he advanced slowly forward.

CHAPTER 33

Okay, now what? pondered Warich as he raced through the labyrinth. Having torn a piece of cloth from his tunic, he’d wrapped it around his eyes to block out the natural light. It made focusing with his mind’s eye easier. He could see the whole station now. He saw where the woman was fighting. She was strong, but her enemy was gradually gaining the upper hand. She needs my help! Yet for some reason, the vision directed him not there but somewhere else, somewhere deeper in the labs. Time was of the essence, yet he obeyed. As he neared what appeared to be the entrance to an elaborate testing area, little orb outlines of red and orange deep in the experimentation zone suddenly flared up in a blinding flash! He couldn’t see a thing. Scrambling, he tore away his mask. Expecting an incredible, overpowering light like the kind he’d seen in his mind, the commando was shocked to discover only standard lighting all around. Allowing only a few seconds for his natural eyes to adjust, Warich burst into the lab to find it abandoned. There was not one soul present, just elaborate pieces of scientific and medical equipment, most of which he didn’t recognize, though he was sure Techy would have been able to identify the devices immediately. That’s weird… Someone should have been guarding the place. His vision had shown a handful of soldiers prowling the area while he’d still been imprisoned, but now they were nowhere to be found. The rocking station beneath his feet served as a quick reminder of his objective. Looking around, peering into room after room, he searched fervently. That must be it! He knew it on sight. How fitting that it is blue, the universal color for tranquility. He sensed a weaker presence nearby. Perhaps remnants? Or maybe experiments designed to duplicate the orb’s power? Speculation best left for another time. The orb shone like a star, yet it felt cool to the touch, pleasant, almost soothing, and less weighty than expected. It couldn’t have been more than a few pounds as it practically floated into his arms. Now we have what we need! He rushed out the door, artifact in hand, to face destiny.

“Signal the fleets. Bring them in,” Tyrin finally ordered. He’d had enough. A Fevros fleet attacking Larchia and their only protection was an unknown power that might maintain itself or falter at any moment did not give him confidence. War provocations had prodded one of their biggest galactic rivals, and now an army of Alliance shock troops were tearing up the station. And for what? He couldn’t adequately answer that question. The way things were shaping up, any of them would be lucky to get out with their skin. Bilian Command wouldn’t care that Mitrich had been behind it all if he was dead. If Tyrin survived but Mitrich didn’t, the former would take the deadly blame. Simple as that. “Sir?” “Yes? Report!” “The fleets. They aren’t responding! I’m getting nothing but garbles!” “What do you mean?” Shock and horror melted Tyrin’s face in equal measure. “Are the Fevros jamming us? Impossible! The humans? Try backup channels!” “I am!” cried the communications officer. “The cause, whatever it is, it isn’t on our end.” Then who… “I think… I think I may be able to get us something. One moment. I can’t get a message through, but I think I can access the Ghirt’s shared viewer. We’ll be able to see what the command ship is seeing. The quality won’t be good—patchy at best with all this interference—but I’m forcing it through. Maybe we can…” The visual was covered in static, shrouding all but the most basic details. Every last Bilian on the command deck crowded around peering, trying to make sense of the phantom shapes and shadows that floated to and fro behind the veil of distortion. A sudden flash of sparks caused every last one to jump. The Ghirt, the fleet, they were under attack! How… ? Who… ? What he saw next caused Tyrin’s heart to sink into a new, up-till-now-unknown level of despair. Amid the sparks, he could make out one unmistakable image before the viewer signal cut out completely. The telltale shape of an elongated triangular ship,

unornamented, yet with piercing angles as sharp as the finest razor blade. The hallmark of the only enemy whom even the Hebroni feared. The Tetriarch had destroyed their extraction fleet. The fate of the station would be identical. It was only a matter of time now.

The woman was proving a more bothersome target than expected. For every shot that grazed her, several more missed completely. Against a mere mortal, even a galaxy-renown athlete, the battle wouldn’t have lasted more than a few shots. For his part, Mitrich didn’t bother expending much energy toward dodging. His personal barrier was emitting more than enough to protect him, even if the occasional direct hit did result in a stumble. Such impacts were little more than an annoyance. Progress was slow, though he was succeeding in pushing her back. A few more incoming laser shots bounced harmlessly off his invisible protective casing. The blasts were of no consequence, but they did give him an idea. Reaching out as if intending to fire another shot, the woman instinctively dodged to the right. Instead of firing from his open palm, the Bilian flicked his right forearm, telekinetically grabbing an Alliance soldier from his hiding place and shoving him directly into the field of fire. Surprised, the woman froze, studying the unexpected turn of events. Then she leapt forward to push the trooper out of the way. The whole thing happened in less than a second. Unfortunately for the humans, less than a second was all the time Mitrich needed to fly across the room, completely closing the distance. Gonzalez had just enough time to shove the soldier out of the way and roll to the left before a crimson blade of pure energy formed itself around the Bilian’s slender arm and came crashing down on her recently vacated position. The melee attack missed its mark but did leave a nasty-looking gash in the floor. Definitely do not want to get hit with that. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why the soldier had stood still, bewildered, so long. Gonzalez would have been glad that she’d been able to save his life if she wasn’t so busy worrying about her own. Gem was nearby. She could hear her. She could feel her. She was doing everything in her power to keep the human’s energy levels strong for the fight. The iral dodged another attack, then another. The Bilian was barely recognizable; such was the menacing energy that flowed around him. Light almost seemed to billow and swirl off this aggressor like steam, hiding the details of his physical features. He looked like an eight-foot-tall mountain of rage. Underneath it all, he was just a short, thin Bilian. If there’s any Bilian

left… “I’m going to try something… ,” came Gem’s voice inside Gonzalez’s mind. “Wait, what?” The distraction was only a fraction of a second, but the rage creature took full advantage, slamming down his two-bladed arms simultaneously onto Gonzalez. “Ahhhh!” she shrieked, throwing up both arms for protection, not knowing if her defensive shield would be strong enough to hold. It crackled. It groaned under the incredible attack, but it didn’t break. Every fiber of her being, all the energy she could redirect, was transferring into the shield. Enraged, the alien poured more and more of his own strength to force his blades down and through his enemy. She couldn’t dodge, not with so much energy tied up in her shield, a barrier that would shatter at any moment. “Ugh… you were… you were saying?” Even in her mind, she gasped for breath. “A major power surge. More than we’ve ever tried before. Like in the lounge but an even greater transference over a more stable connection on of our current proximity. It may help even the odds a bit, but I—” “Do it!” “iral Angela Gonzalez, I cannot predict with certainty the side effects. It’s entirely possible that—” “Unintended consequences be damned! They won’t matter if I’m dead, if Chris is dead, if the galaxy dies and Darius destroys everything! Is that what you want?” The pause felt like it lasted an eternity. “No. That is not what I want.” Gem’s flat reply eventually came through. “Charging. Here it comes.” A slight tingle ed through the iral. Then came a tsunami of power, gushing out of every pore. “Aaaaargh!” she yelled, forcing the shocked Bilian’s arms away, the magnitude of her energy output knocking him back. The power! Flooding her senses almost to the point of being overwhelmed, it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. With scarcely a thought, aquamarine scimitars of energy erupted from her hands, engulfing both her arms. All right, punk, time for round 2!

Lord Kreg had wasted no time. It had been less than a day since the First had died. Within the last few hours, he’d already called the Council for an emergency session. Much to Ruggar’s surprise, he did not move for temporary dictatorial powers. Perhaps such a move was too bold, even for his ers? All those carefully crafted speeches about democracy, independence, and freedom Ruggar had been honing suddenly looked like time wasted. Kreg’s imploring speech had even borrowed many of the same undertones. That is, until his primary objective filtered through the façade. Ruggar had been worried about temporary dictatorial powers, but what Kreg proposed was far worse. He had called for a full restructuring of the Council. Yes, he espoused the benefits of shifting more power to the First, but his proposal fell far short of dictatorial powers. Ultimate command over the military and armed forces would lay with the First, though the Council would be allowed to rescind commands after deliberation. Deliberation which will, assuredly, outlast all but the most extensive military maneuver. Even so, it was not this but rather the second theme that surprised Ruggar the most. Under the auspices of greater democratization, Kreg had proposed a radical change to the Council—hip rotation with replacements selected by popular election. The First would be exempt of course. “Those extraordinary powers must be preserved and protected in those with the most governing wisdom and experience for the good of the people,” he’d argued. Or for the good of the one wielding the executive powers, Ruggar had thought sarcastically. Every two to four years, depending on the need—In other words, depending on Kreg’s whim—half of the Council would be up for election in a citywide referendum. Individuals living outside city limit would not be allowed to participate. Those to be placed up for “review by the people” would be determined by as yet unknown metrics. Kreg had glossed over that part, which meant those “metrics” were surely going to be determined by him. The whole thing was a ruse so he could exact more pressure on council and, should that fail, remove them completely with the full credibility of law. After removing rivals, he’d use Council resources to bring in new who would be more malleable. Should he fail in using the splendor of the Council and his own powers of persuasion on new, wide-eyed commoners, he’d just get rid of them two years

later. Dictatorship by democracy. Ruggar sighed in silent gloom. More than once, he’d tried to interrupt the speech. More than once, he’d raised his voice to draw attention toward the ultimate consequences of Kreg’s proposals. Every time, he’d been shouted down. It seemed that every other member had fallen under some sort of mesmerizing spell. Even his closest allies sent dirty looks as if to say, “Sit down and be quiet. Stop making a scene.” Not one spoke in his defense. In the end, a vote decided it all. Only Ruggar had voted against Kreg’s proposals. He’d expected more from his fellows. There were a few he’d expected to at least abstain. Instead, they all voted for the radicalization of government. Perhaps they’re afraid Kreg’s proposals will anyway and by not ing them they’ll earn his wrath? Ruggar wondered in stunned shock as one by one, the votes were tallied. He had nothing new to fear. He had always been and would always be on Kreg’s enemy list no matter how he voted in this particular case. Might as well take a stand for what’s right, he reasoned. With a single vote made by a mere handful, Praxis transformed from an oligarchy led by municipal sages, the brightest and best, to a dictatorship in all but name. I wonder if we’ll start being called the People’s Republic of Praxis…

“Where’s Paridic?” Tyrin barked. The team was supposed to be guarding the Omega X1 labs, yet they were not responding to comms and the live feeds from the labs showed only static. Only the gods know why. Scrambling, a young ensign’s fingers flew over her security console trying to locate the missing security team. “Sir, I’ve found them!” “Where in the seven realms are they?” he demanded. “They’re… it appears they’re making their way to the docking area.” “Why? I gave no such command. Is there any record of the Mitrich ordering redeployment?” “None of which I am aware.” Surveillance had gone down from Mitrich’s location too. Even audio transmissions from the backup squads were barely discernable. Tyrin had been forced to resort to the incredibly primitive method of deploying runners to find out what was going on. So far, the first two had not returned. “Connect me to them,” he commanded, referring to Paridic. “Yes, sir… you are now connected to Commis Teril.” “Teril, this is Tyrin. What in the name of Qerbellic are you doing down there? You’re supposed to be guarding the labs? Get yourself and your team back—” “We have our orders, sir.” The firm reply cut through Tyrin’s tirade as if he’d been a complete fool for even thinking about questioning Teril. It took Tyrin off guard for a moment. “Whose orders?” he asked after regaining his composure. “The Master.” “Listen, I don’t know what Commistre Mitrich has you doing, but the Tetriarch is on its way. We need to evacuate. I need you and your squad holding choke

points open so the command team can get to—” “The enemy is upon us,” came the reply, though from the tone of his voice Teril did not seem the slightest bit concerned. “We shall delay them here.” Tyrin turned to look at the Bilian manning the station’s external sensors. The older, statelier officer peered down at his screens, then shook his head and shrugged but said nothing. “There’s still time. Yift, begin ing all our files to Qerbellic command. Double encryption. There may not be time for triple.” Then, turning back to his communicator, “Teril, the Tetriarch isn’t here yet. We must make haste. I’m activating my authority under the Harfigh Accord (an infrequently used and often forgotten accord that allowed a second-in-command to subvert his commistre if the latter had been afflicted by some sort of debilitating condition that made it impossible for him to command effectively). Forget whatever you were doing and initiate Evacuation Protocol Alpha. That’s an order!” Nothing but silence was the response. “Did you hear me, Teril? I command you to—” “Behold!” Teril exclaimed. “The time has come! The enemy approaches!” “Sir… ?” came the regal elder science officer’s voice. “Yes, Lieutenant? What is it?” “Unidentified ships appearing at sector’s edge. Three, no, four… five… they keep coming!” They didn’t need to be identified. The entire command team knew who they were. The only uncertainty now was how the Tetriarch would respond to the Fevros’ presence. Would they duke it out first? Or are they working in tandem? “How long until the is finished?” he asked, concerned about any needless delay. “Another minute. It’s almost like we aren’t the only person on Larchia attempting a massive file transfer.” “Who in the—never mind, there’s no time. Whoever it is will be dead soon anyway. Automate the transfer and link in my data pad as a backup transmitter.

That’ll have to be good enough. Whatever Mitrich has been working on, it won’t be useful to any of us dead. Take care of that,” he called, heading for the closest lift. “Then rendezvous with the rest of us at the commistre’s shuttle. I heard a rumor that he recently had experimental, mobile stealth tech installed. It’s our best chance for getting out of here intact.” “What about the rest of the crew?” asked the ensign. “Once we’re aboard the shuttle, we’ll signal for a station-wide evacuation.” “Understood, sir. I’ll be right behind you.” “We’ll keep the path clear. See you soon.”

The orb he carried no longer hindered his mind’s eye, which allowed Warich’s real-time visions to once more show the entire area as if laid out before him like blueprints. The sounds of battle were nearing with each step. The blinding energy outputs of the primary combatants were distorting his mental imagery the closer he got. Eventually, the commando had to remove the blindfold and use his biological eyes. Fortunately, the telltale sounds of combat led him the rest of the way. Only once did he take a wrong turn, an error that he realized almost immediately. Then he came upon the heart of the chaos. Their precise movements were impossible to make out. Everything seemed to meld together as clouds of energy shrouded their motions, two storm clouds of awesome power devastating and incinerating anything that happened to get too close. The hallway itself looked more like Swiss cheese than the hall of a stately space station. Thankfully, the battle was taking place deep within the structure, so the chance of a depressurizing hull breach was unlikely. Warich couldn’t make out the individuals; he didn’t have to. He could recognize them by their presence. One was the dragon, and the other was the knight. Only a small squad of Bilian security stood between Warich and the titans. So in awe was the veteran that he scarcely noticed the orb act upon the Bilian security detail that had been assisting the dragon. POP, POP… POP, POP, POP. In quick succession, the orb zapped each officer with a purple bolt of electricity, knocking them unconscious. The entire disabling attack took less than a second. In the back of his mind Warich recognized what had happened, but it did not fully in his consciousness. Then everything changed. The orb he was carrying, rather than repeat its emission of small discharges, now let off a blinding flash of energy, which shot up and down the hall in both directions, bouncing and reflecting off corners and traveling far beyond the immediate area. The flurrying fighters instantly froze in place, their energy clouds fading away somewhat as if they were actors in an old video that had been placed on pause. The woman was the first to recover. She reared back and blasted her adversary, a monstrous Bilian that to Warich looked more Prowler than anything else, with enough energy to blow a hole through the side of a dreadnought. The creature let out an unnatural howl as it flew backward, crushing on impact a bulkhead at the

far end of the hall. The air around the creature sizzled and sparked with energy. Surprisingly, the beast somehow managed to stumble back to its feet. Evidently concerned at its sudden change in fortune, the creature turned and fled almost faster than the naked eye could perceive. The woman, a calm, confident officer, strode forward as if nothing unusual had just transpired. She was a petite brunette human, skinny in a toned and athletic sort of way. Warich had never met her before, yet even if the swirling air around her not been crackling with energy he still would have recognized her instantly. “My lady.” He bowed. Uncertain of exactly what to do, he thought an old human ceremonial custom seemed the least offensive of all possible actions. She peered at him for a moment, saying nothing. At least she is not offended. That’s a start. “You retrieved Gem.” It was more a statement of observation than a question. “The artifact? Yes. I thought it would prove useful to you.” “Good. Keep it close.” She ed by as if all that needed to be said had been said. Her security team, which only now cautiously approached, looked at each other, then at the Bilian with the strange glowing orb, in complete befuddlement, before falling in line and following closely behind their leader. They gave Warich uncertain looks but said nothing. The Bilian veteran took up a position directly behind the woman, flanked on one side by an armed escort, with more security personnel trailing behind.

How did he escape? How did he retrieve one of the artifacts? Questions raced through Mitrich’s mind as he fled to the Omega X1 labs. I must ensure the other artifact is still safe. I must siphon more power. The unexpected turn of events had caught him completely off guard. It would not happen again. The battle off station still raged, he could feel it, but that was of little consequence. Bursting into the labs, he could sense Paridic’s earlier presence, yet they were nowhere to be found now. There was something else too, a weak lingering presence. It was offensive to the alien’s senses, like a foul stench. There was no time to think about the implications of any of it; there was work to be done. Moving faster than any mortal could travel, he arrived at the remaining artifact. Good, the other one is still here… Making every effort to relax his mind, he tried to absorb more power. It came slowly, much more slowly than before. I must recharge my power. I must… faster. The commistre reached down and lifted the orb from its resting place. As his energy met the energy of the device, the space between them erupted into a massive show of electricity, light, and energy. The flow of energy did not speed up as expected. If anything, it slowed even further. It resists? How dare you! he raged, pulling the orb closer. As he forced it in ever closer proximity to his gray forehead, the commistre expanded his own energy field, enveloping the device while pouring every ounce of remaining energy into unlocking its power. You will give me what I want. If not willingly, I will force you to give up your secrets. The effect was instantaneous. Now you understand your place… Mitrich gloried in his mind as he felt ancient energies once again wash over him. Only too late did he realize the truth of his error as the power assaulted his mortal body and mind, vaporizing the prideful alien into nothingness.

CHAPTER 34

Using a basic station schematic they’d hacked, Gonzalez could make her way through some of the structure without too much trouble. Still, having the Bilian along who’d introduced himself simply as Warich was a bonus. The others eyed him with suspicion, though something about the alien made him seem trustworthy. Gonzalez couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Even so, she’d made him give up his weapons, a demand to which he had not given any argument. The Bilian seemed to know his way around the station, though he had to close his eyes and concentrate for a few seconds at each intersection before wanting to proceed. A bit unusual, but if it gets the job done, that’s what matters. Gonzalez could sense that Bilian beast now too. The monstrosity would have to be dealt with in time, but that was a secondary objective at this point. She still didn’t know exactly where Peters was being held, but their adopted alien friend did claim to know where the cell blocks were. How exactly he knew was a discussion for another time. After a few minutes and only one wrong turn, they reached what looked like an elaborate maximum security area with six prison cells. “Qerbellic doesn’t like to take unnecessary risks,” the Bilian explained, almost apologetically. The power was out, or rather most of it. The heavy locks on the reinforced doors were still in place, but only emergency lights were active. All the observation screens had been knocked out. “Power conservation,” Warich explained. “Keeping prisoners from running wild is considered an essential service. Proper lighting and observation screens? Not so much.” “Which one is Chris in?” she demanded. Closing his eyes to concentrate, Warich slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I can’t tell.” I know I was in that one… , he considered, though purposely he did not mention that particular thought aloud. “Guess we’ll just have to open all of them. Stand ready, men,” she commanded the remnants of her team. It was down to less than half its original strength. And where is Swast? Hopefully, she didn’t fall earlier… Her companions took up

defensive positions, with their weapons trained on each of the six doors, unsure of what exactly resided behind each. “Chris, can you hear me? I’m here! We’re going to get you out,” Gonzalez shouted from the middle of the room, three doors to her left and three more to her right. There was no reply. “Okay,” she began, readying herself. “Open them.” Warich punched a lengthy code into the central security terminal. The sound of grinding gears echoed through the otherwise silent chamber as all those present waited for the six reinforced doors to slide open. With six simultaneous groans of metal scraping against metal, the deed was done, and silence reigned once more. The calm didn’t last long as an animalistic shriek cut through the air. Then a second one sounded in response from another chamber. Is it… “No, it can’t be.” Warich gasped in astonishment. Two creatures burst out from their chambers, one from a room on the left and one from a room on the right. They resembled hideous creatures he’d hoped never to face again. Prowlers? Here? One leapt at the security team, covering the entire distance in a single jump. Or rather, it would have had the team not been ready. Half a dozen laser blasts caught the beast in midair and knocked it to the floor. As it struggled to get back up to its feet, it was pummeled with another round of shots. The creature never got back up. With that threat eliminated, Warich looked up to see energy blades forming around the woman’s arms as she’d cut down the other beast. Prowlers were fast. Prowlers were agile too, more so than any creature he’d ever encountered. Yet from the looks of it, she’d managed to slice it to pieces as if it were standing still. No other creatures immerged. The room was silent again. “Check all the cells.” The woman didn’t waste any time as she herself raced from one chamber to the next. “What… were those things?” asked a shaken-up lieutenant. Clearly his first encounter with the beasts. “We call them Prowlers.” Warich tried not to let his voice betray the fear and uncertainty he felt. “I encountered them at Sanctuary.” “What are they?” asked another. “They look almost… Bilian. Qerbellic does this to its own people? How… ?”

“I don’t know,” Warich itted. “We weren’t able to determine where they come from.” Peering in the first cell, they saw no one. “I’m still not certain.” “Don’t be naive, Bilian,” contradicted another. “They could be a new life-form, some kind that Intelligence has been studying,” the Bilian suggested, though he himself doubted this was reality. “Whatever they are, they need to be stopped.” Warich didn’t disagree in the slightest. Some experiments just plain went too far. Approaching the next cell, he could feel something was wrong. Rushing to the head of the pack, he ran inside. In the center of the small room sat a human, badly beaten and tied to a chair, with splatters of blood covering everything. Near him sat a table covered with various barbaric instruments of torture. A small pool of blood sat lazily below the chair, trickling a few feet away into what would have been, had full power been active, an invisible drain. His body looked cold, lifeless. “iral!” called one of the soldiers. “I think we found him… ,” finished Warich. As if she’d been standing a few feet outside the entire time, the woman instantly burst into the room and flew past the rest of her team. “Oh, Chris… ,” she cried. “What have those alien bastards done to you? Hold on, just… hold on.” The rest of her entourage watched with uncertainty as their leader rested both hands on the man’s shoulders. At first, they saw nothing. Then as her energy output grew, a familiar blue glow began to light up the room. The other occupants could see clear pulses of energy run from her extremities, through her torso, down her arms, and into her hands as she poured the very essence of her life into her love. He didn’t move. “Come on… come back to me… You can’t quit on me now…” Tears slowly began to trickle down her cheeks as she realized that despite all her power, it was a futile endeavor. Suddenly, she whipped around and charged toward the artifact. Warich nearly jumped back in surprise. “Gem, what’s wrong? Why can’t I bring him back to me?” In an event that shocked and bewildered the rest of the team, the orb actually spoke back. “Commander Angela Gonzalez, Captain Christopher Peters is far

closer to death than you can heal in your current state.” “You can talk?” Warich gasped. “Then give me more power!” she demanded, completely ignoring the astonished looks of her companions. “We are straddling a dangerous threshold. Additional power is only possible via a more integrated connection. I urge hesitation…” “Do it!” Gonzalez demanded. “Are you certain? I cannot predict with certainty if—” “Do it, damn you! I have to save him. I can’t lose him!” “As you wish…” That tone… It was something Warich had heard a few times before during meetings, during interrogations. The words expressed reluctance, but there was a twinge of something else in the background, a tone that seemed anything but. For its part, the orb spoke no more as it beamed pure energy directly into the woman, visible for the entire room to see. The light was intense, yet she embraced it like one embraces the sun’s warmth. Such was the power of the light that the rest of the group was forced to avert their eyes. By the time the radiance had faded and they looked back, Gonzalez was once again at the prisoner’s side pumping life energy back into his crippled, unmoving form. Not content to just touch his shoulders, she wrapped her arms around him. Hugging her counterpart tightly, she engulfed him in energy from head to toe as she merged her life force with his. Their two forms, the chair he sat in, and everything around them became engulfed in a blinding light. Warich and the humans had to back out of the room to get away from the imposing energy field. Even outside the cell, they could feel the heat. “Gem, it isn’t enough. Give me more. I just need a little more… ,” they heard her plead. No response could be heard over the crackle of power. Finally, it faded. “Were you successful, iral?” cautiously inquired one of the security officers.

Hearing no reply, the entire team slowly approached the cell. The man did not yet appear to be conscious, though on the positive side he no longer appeared dead either. Warich could see his chest move up and down slowly, which indicated he was at least breathing on his own. The iral was lifting his stillunconscious frame to its feet. “So here you are!” shouted a voice familiar to all except Warich. He looked up to see a busty blonde woman in Alliance garb smiling as she approached with a full security detachment. “We got separated back there,” she explained. “Been trying to catch up for a while now. The Bilians are fleeing. They’re evacuating the station. Made it a lot easier to get around after that.” “Evacuation? Are they planning to blow up the station?” Warich was concerned. “Hey, who are you, new guy?” she asked suspiciously rather than answer his question. “He’s a friend. A Bilian prisoner named Warich,” Gonzalez explained, slowly immerging from the cell carrying Peters. “If you say so, iral.” Swast did not entirely believe in the Bilian’s innocence. “You’ve retrieved Captain Peters? . . . He’s seen better days, hasn’t he? Well, at least he’s alive. This station with its dreary, dull colors everywhere, it’d be such a terrible place to die.” Gonzalez nodded, too pleased with herself to be put off by Swast’s levity. “Let’s hightail it back to the ship,” her second in command continued. “Should be pretty smooth sailing what with the evacuation and all. Bilian security is fleeing the scene like a bunch of roaches caught in the light.” Warich didn’t entirely understand the reference, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t a flattering analogy. He considered objecting, though as the lone Bilian in a party full of armed humans he ultimately thought better of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed a glossy look in the iral’s eyes, but when he peered more directly, it was gone.

CHAPTER 35

“He isn’t healing like he should be… ,” Gonzalez mentally informed Gem, though she suspected the latter already knew. Their connection was far stronger now than ever before. She could almost feel the ancient life-form in her mind even as she was in its mind. “He is alive. That is one step in the right direction.” “He’ll be lucky to ever get out of this coma, let alone speak to me, hold me… ,“ the woman lamented. “I was able to heal him. Why can’t I fix him up completely?” To everyone else in the room, Gem flickered slightly but did nothing else. Gonzalez knew she was scanning the room. “Darius. His presence is strong throughout this station. He is here and is finally coming into full consciousness. I sense… his anger, not just at my kind, but at you specifically.” “Me?” “For defeating his avatar. For aligning with Light and Peace over Darkness and War. He hopes to exact the first drip of what will be a flood of vengeance by preventing you from being with the man you love, Captain Christopher Peters.” “Then we get Chris off station, simple as that.” “Get him out of here, NOW!” she commanded her entourage. “I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” Gem replied sorrowfully. “What about you, iral?” one of the team piped up. “Darius has afflicted Captain Christopher Peters with his corruption. A metamorphosis may take years given his level of exposure, but the seed is present.”

“There must be a way to purge it?” Gonzalez asked hopefully, completely ignoring the men and women under her command. “Darius was clever. He must have had this intent all along. The corruption is small, but it is anchored and well-protected. We will not be able to remove it unless Darius is…” “iral?” It was Swast this time. “Is everything all right?” The conversation taking place in their leader’s mind had lasted only a few seconds, though her blank stare and lack of response to their verbal inquiries were making the nervous team even more uneasy. Slowly, as if coming out of a dream, Gonzalez shook her head. “Chris is safe. The Bilians are fleeing. Head back to the Meridian. That’s an order. I’ll be right behind you. I just need to…” “Unless Darius is destroyed utterly.” “I just need to destroy Darius.” “Who’s Darius, sir?” one wondered aloud. “Maybe that crazy, monster Bilian?” suggested another. “Angela… ?” asked Swast cautiously. “What do you mean?” “Go! That’s an order!” she barked, seizing Gem. There’s no time! “Get Captain Peters back to the Meridian on the double. I’ll be right behind you, now go!” Only after a stare down with the iral did Commander Swast motion to the team. Two of them took hold of the captain and then hoisted him to his feet, with the rest forming a protective 360-degree perimeter. “We’ll keep the hangar doors open and ready for you,” she called behind as they left. “Acknowledged.” At least Chris is safe… Now it’s time for my date with destiny! Taking a moment to mentally prep herself, she charged down the hall with her glowing orb of light. Now that she was able to more fluidly communicate with Gem and had no other distractions, she could sense Darius’s presence more accurately and homed in like a mouse seeking out cheese. The galaxy has suffered far too much death and destruction at your hands, Darius. It

ends today! She’d been able to sense the Bilian monster earlier. That sixth sense had faded shortly after the monster fled, but she’d expected it to pop up again as they reestablished close proximity. So far, she’d not felt a trace. Sensing her thoughts, Gem offered an explanation. “I am not able to detect him either. Perhaps he evacuated with the others?” “Maybe… but I don’t know. That just doesn’t seem… I got the sense that his retreat was more of a tactical regrouping with a counterattack to follow,” Gonzalez warned. Bursting into what looked to be the entrance of specialized scientific and research labs, the iral noticed an unsuspected firefight just down the hall. Is that… ? What is Ark Tyronus doing here? Wait… damn it… All Tetriarch warriors wear the same concealing armor. That’s probably somebody else. But then… why is someone from the Tetriarch here? The armor-clad warrior noticed her a moment later. Diverting his attention and massive blaster in her direction, he prepared to fire. I don’t have time for this, Gonzalez grumbled as she charged forward, palm outstretched as she released a massive blast of energy toward the armored speed bump. At the same moment, the enemy’s hand cannon erupted in a countershot. It fizzled and popped as it rammed into her protective energy barrier but failed to slow the woman down one iota. The Tetriarch warrior was not so lucky. Despite his heavy armor, which must have weighed several hundred pounds, he was forced backward, crashing into a bulkhead and crumpling to the floor. Gonzalez didn’t know a thing about Tetriarch biology, but she could tell even without using her extrasensory Gem abilities that the alien was out cold, if not dead. That he’d not been incinerated was surprising, but there was no time to ponder that now. She ran past the unmoving pile of armor to her nearby destination. Preparing to incapacitate whomever the warrior had been fighting, she readied another energy pulse. Instead of finding a Bilian security team, she found no one. Reaching out with her mind, she sensed a few individuals nearby, but they were moving away and out of her direct path. “Perhaps they were trying to escape and the Tetriarch soldier was preventing them from doing so?” wondered

Gem. “Don’t know, don’t care,” came the iral’s gruff mental reply. Finally, they came to the door behind which sat Darius and whatever horrors he had prepared. “This is it,” warned Gem. “He’s preparing something… He is…” Without warning, Gem shot energy through her avatar, directly bolstering her shield. A millisecond later, a blast of energy shot out of the room, tearing the door off in the process. Despite her protection, the human woman was forced back. “Yeah,” she spat through gritted teeth. “I see that he is.” Swiftly rolling to the left, she dodged two more successive blasts. “Options?” “Darius is not fully in control of his powers, but that will change quickly. It may not be possible to defeat him if he reaches full strength.” “Is it possible to beat him now?” She gasped, dodging a blast that tore through the wall ahead. “He is far stronger than I had expected. I am… not certain… if—” “The longer we wait, the stronger he gets. Give me all the juice you’ve got.” “iral Angela Gonzalez, your physiology has acclimated itself well so far, but your human biology was not designed for a full energy transfer…” “If we don’t, Darius becomes unstoppable. Chris dies. Trillions die, you and me included. This is our only chance to stop galactic genocide.” “If you are certain… to succeed at this level, transference will require your full embracement. You must open yourself up entirely, holding nothing back.” “Do it! I need it!” “Very well.” Gem chuckled. Wait, was that a snicker? Gonzalez thought she picked up a strange tone in Gem’s voice. A moment later, the transfer was under way, and the human charged into the room like a lion. Two hits blasted her directly and bounced off. Though she felt

the power of her shields fading away with each impact, she didn’t slow down. She would not survive many more, but there was no time to stop and think. Rearing back, the woman gathered all the energy that wasn’t already devoted to her protective field and let loose. In her mind, suddenly she could feel them. Two voices. “Wait… you don’t want to do this… You can… you can still… resist…” The feeble voice faded as Gem’s presence grew stronger, as the entire room lit up like the sun and the orb converted itself into pure energy, irradiating everything as her full power was redirected and focused on Gonzalez. “You must give everything, Angela!” “AAAAAARGH!” The enemy artifact shattered in an explosion that shook even the farthest reaches of the station.

The explosion was so massive that it could be felt all the way back at the docking bay 2. A quick scan of the station indicated the explosion had occurred at the iral’s location. Swast had been keeping tabs on her commanding officer during their entire retreat. “No way anyone could have survived that… ,” she mumbled with sad realization. The iral’s medical readings had been off the charts. Now they were nonexistent. The Alliance team stood in shock. Even Swast sat silently wondering what to do next. Only the sudden emergence of a Bilian assault team pulled them back to their senses. “Where’d they come from?” yelled one of the officers as they took up defensive positions. Fight as they might, the Bilians were somehow faster, stronger, and more agile than any they’d faced, save for the behemoth itself. The Bilians were gaining ground every second. Inch by inch, the Alliance fighters were forced back as one by one they fell. “Retreat!” Swast commanded. The officers were ready to stand, fight, and die if needed, though none gave a single word of argument. Quickly forming a rear guard, they beat a rapid but orderly retreat. The Bilians kept up their pressure until all Alliance personnel were back on the Meridian and the ship had detached itself to flee. The iral is lost… Ruggar is not going to be pleased… Swast glanced over at her Bilian companion. He looks like he’s seen a ghost… Warich, the elder warrior, had not seen a ghost. In his mind’s eye he’d seen something far worse. The dragon had consumed the knight.

She stepped forward. The steps felt unusual, unnatural. The world looked so different now. “I AM REBORN!” Two Tetriarch warriors burst onto the scene, weapons drawn. “The galaxy will not bear witness to your affliction!” one shouted, in a voice that sounded more to the woman like a mewing kitten than a menacing threat. With but a thought, she incinerated him and then watched with satisfaction as the other was neutralized from behind by a team of elite Bilian soldiers. With weapons raised, they took one look at the woman and then fell to the floor, bowing their heads as they dropped their weapons. “Master,” Teril acknowledged. The woman said nothing, her eyes awash in yellows and reds as she marched forward, an evil, sadistic smile slowly taking shape across her face. TREMBLE, MORTALS. FOR I HAVE RETURNED!

EPILOGUE

It had been raging for nearly two years. The War. In a way, it seemed like he’d just been rescued. In another, it seemed like a lifetime ago. The media trumpeted every success and glossed over every defeat. Sadly, there had been far more of the latter than the former. The Hebroni had been slow to recognize the threat. The Tetriarch had not been so careless, though their version of war didn’t consist so much of tactics and strategy as it did obliterating and purging everything in their path. The Bilians for all their technical knowledge and skill were virtually powerless in the face of the Tetriarch onslaught, which had focused almost entirely on the gray aliens in the early months. Those few Bilians who remained had done their best to scatter throughout the galaxy. In scarcely a year, the once mighty Bilian Empire had crumbled. It still existed in name but in reality was nothing more than a shadow of its former self, a vassal of the reasserted Tetriarch. Officially, the Council still ruled Praxis. In practice, they merely rubber-stamped Lord Kreg’s every decree. Yet it was not he but rather the crimson-armored aliens who held true power on the colony. He continued to live a life of power and prestige, but only so long as his alien guests allowed it. After putting down the rebellion with a combination of brutal efficiency and utter disregard for civilian casualties, the Tetriarch had quickly set up the planet as a prominent base of operations. Like a castle from medieval Earth, they used the planet’s strategic location to dominate sectors in all directions. Few truly understood the threat now faced by every living being in the galaxy. Many believed it to be the Tetriarch itself. Yet for all their wanton destruction, it was the armored giants who were trying to save the galaxy… and meeting little success. Their brazen efforts, in fact, made it increasingly difficult for other civilizations to deal with the rising threat. Prowlers were popping up everywhere, and with those new hideous creatures, each was more powerful and intelligent than the last. The Tetriarch murdered millions of innocents without a second thought just to kill a handful of enemies. Yet despite their zeal, more and more monsters were appearing every day.

The source of all the suffering was nowhere to be found. Hiding like a coward, scowled Captain Christopher Peters. Darius, Gem, or whatever the entity’s true name actually turned out to be was a danger far greater than the Tetriarch. It was the one thing the Tetriarch feared, opposing it the sole reason they’d come out of seclusion. The whole thing seemed so obvious in hindsight. The entity had used Gonzalez as a conduit, concentrating its power into a willing host, and now it was using her as an unwilling avatar. Peters didn’t know where she was now or how much of her old self was buried deep inside somewhere, but he did know one thing. I will save you, Angie, if it’s the last thing I do!