A Dark Time: The Chronicle of the Final Light, #5

By P R Adams

Heroes are tested in the darkest moments, and not all of them return to the light.

Private Avery Shetty has survived captivity on the alien world of Ferekon, but the experience has forever changed him. The scars of loss will never heal, but it's what's going on inside of him that presents the greatest danger. Originally, he had worried that his commanders would suppress the information he had on the untrustworthy Anirii. Now, being silenced is the least of his concerns.

As Shetty fights for his life, the war for Ferekon sees a new twist, with the Anirii revealing their true nature and designs.

With the diminished combined Kedraalian and League fleet at its most vulnerable, only the strong of will can bring humanity and its allies out of the darkness.

The fifth book of this action-packed hybrid of military science fiction and sprawling space opera ratchets up the suspense. Be sure to pick up A Dark Time and continue The Chronicle of the Final Light series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Promethean Tales
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224944040

Book preview

PART I

1

Ferekon

Falaru

As Falaru followed the escort group through the passageways of Ship 403 of Hygari, the diplomat barely noticed the echoes of the entourage’s passage—nails clacking on the hard deck, tunic fabric rustling, the deep breathing of the five Anirii hurrying along. The other four were warriors, proud and noble, chests thrust out, lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth.

There was no need for display. None would interrupt the procession. None would prevent the four warriors surrounding the Speaker from reaching the command deck and the bridge, where the ship’s commander waited. Scents came from compartments—the people of the family, those known as the Plasak. Aboard the massive warship, the blood of enemies would soon be washed away. For now, Falaru carried the enticing scent with each step.

The two warriors in the lead twisted around, studying both the corridor and the one being escorted. Once they completed that look, they climbed the steps to the command deck.

Falaru followed, head high, breathing controlled.

As they ascended, the lights grew brighter. On the command deck, there was a need for greater security. Vital systems produced signals that could be distracting, and those moving about were prone to miss things unless they were made obvious. Here also, the colors were brighter, an intense white for the most part but also tones that were less familiar. Studying the intricacies of diplomacy promoted by humans had become a way of life early on in more ways than one. While many children from the previous ruling family had been purged, Falaru had been given the opportunity to pursue other paths. Speaker eventually became not just a title but an assurance that the winnowing would not extend to someone who had eschewed the warrior way favored by those of the Speaker’s blood.

All of that had changed now. With the killings of protected warriors, Falaru had committed to a new path.

There would be no backing out.

Ahead, warriors protecting the bridge crew snarled at the escorts as the hatch to the bridge opened. The procession continued forward, coming to a stop in the center of the command space.

Ship Commander Kakatra turned from a projected feed of the engagement between Anirii vessels and those of the enemy—the League and humans for now. Like Falaru, the commander had dark-gray fur, but there was white mixed in prominently. As well, the older warrior had a modest stoop and a stiffness that spoke of injuries that hadn’t disfigured but had left another sort of mark, one not visible to the eye.

Kakatra motioned for a subordinate to assume the observation post before the flashing images. With obvious effort, the senior officer descended the raised section of the bridge to stand before Falaru. Other warriors positioned at various stations twisted just enough to see what would come next.

When the older warrior sniffed at Falaru, there was no doubt an intent to read the vinegary musk coming from the Speaker. Speaker Falaru.

It wasn’t condemnation or accusation, merely acknowledgment.

The Speaker bowed in response. Ship Commander Kakatra.

Feeds report killings—on the world of our home, in the space around Ferekon, and in the corridors of Ship 403 of Hygari.

War cannot exist without death.

Kakatra cast a look at the escort warriors. The record exists and cannot be undone. With each hour, more updates come of the struggle to establish the new ascendant to the seat of power. Many have died, including those of shared blood. The Hygari stand to gain significant influence, should the new order consolidate.

Deaths ensure consolidation.

The senior officer straightened his arms at his sides, palms down. As Third of Plasak, the Speaker wields influence already. As Vea-Kor of Tharol, the influence only extends further. A mere ship’s commander can only ask for consideration in the new establishment.

Kakatra wishes to step aside from command?

It is at the Speaker’s pleasure that any serve. This is not just within the fleet above Ferekon. The old warrior nodded toward the position where he’d once stood. Among the updates from our shared home is the official title of Supreme Military Commander. The Speaker’s father holds the greatest leverage among the aligned factions. Imperial titles follow. For the Speaker, the greatest honor has been given.

Only after absorbing the news did Falaru release a breath. Supreme Military Commander had been the position most desired when the scion of the family had accepted the proposal of a bold stroke to topple the family that had deposed the Plasak. Now, the title belonged to Falaru.

In only three generations, the toppled bloodline had engineered its return to power, all thanks to a scheme by a diplomat.

So many sacrifices had been made, so much had been endured, all in the name of stockpiling political capital.

Now came the realization of those efforts.

When Kakatra signaled one of his warriors over, Falaru straightened. In the flashing glow of the feeds, the emblems of prestige looked almost fantastical, like one of the human video recordings about magic. The ship commander presented the silver pin of a face raised in profile, then attached the emblem to the Speaker’s silver tunic. This declared Falaru the Vea-Kor of Tharol, the highest rank of success acknowledged for the region of Tharol, which included Ferekon. Then came the gold pin of a stylized claw.

Supreme Military Commander.

None could have seen the moment before now. None could have appreciated the studying required to understand not just the role of Speaker but the necessity of accepting it to enable the eventual coup.

Kakatra stepped back, resuming his posture of obeisance. The Commander has orders?

Heat bloomed in Falaru’s chest. The moment could be too much. It could lead to a disastrous collapse of all that had been accomplished.

Such would not be allowed. As Supreme Military Commander, the order is to shift complete focus to claiming the rest of the fleet for the new leaders of our people. Only when that is done will we destroy the League and human combined fleet.

The ship commander blinked, the only sign of surprise. Plans to attack the Oranian fleet?

Put such plans on hold.

Hiding the bulk of the fleet outside sensor range had been intended⁠—

Surprise has been realized, Ship Commander. Capitalization on that surprise must now be prioritized.

The Oranian fleet has yet to engage.

Timidity is a weakness for the ancient enemy. Until shots are fired, there will be no engagement from them.

Kakatra again blinked. The combined fleet becomes the target.

Once the alignment of our people’s fleet has been completed.

Only after.

This has been conveyed as the intent. Does the ship commander challenge?

There is no challenge to one so clever and wise. The old families have returned to power. That power must now be used to destroy not just the upstarts but those who plotted the coup that toppled the old rulers.

Such is a resolution to be observed.

The older officer glanced toward the raised section of the deck, and the warrior who had taken the ship commander’s position first showed obeisance to the new supreme commander, then returned to his station.

Falaru took the position before the feed of information, joined a moment later by the newly subordinate Kakatra. The supreme commander studied the flowing data, picked out two human vessels, and coughed. Before the current attacks against the combined fleet stop, there is more to do. These two present the most desired targets.

The flagship and human troop transport?

Those ships.

It is not a challenge of such decision, but there is a question⁠—

Why attack these ships?

Yes. The original doctrine dictated the planet should be the primary focus, and thus the ancient enemies should be as well.

There is no reason the planet cannot be attacked at the same time. Inform the units already on the surface to accelerate the timetable. Operations not requiring air support may proceed immediately.

As the military supreme commander orders. The old warrior passed along the commands, but there was an obvious curiosity unsatisfied.

Although Falaru was under no obligation to answer even direct questions, bluntness was a reward of its own. Political capital has been acquired through the years. Going back to ancestral decision-makers, the fate of the planet has never been properly addressed. The actions taken now will rectify such failings.

And the human ships?

Those in power will see the vulnerabilities of the humans and those they seek to manipulate into foolish decisions. With the stroke of bold actions undertaken now, the overwhelming power of the Anirii military will be made clear to the new rulers of the Anirii people.

As would be expected, Kakatra displayed his own subservience to his senior once again. There is wisdom in this approach.

It was a satisfying admission, but Falaru couldn’t help wondering if the statement was sincere. Ambition could be mistaken for many things, and many had fallen when such drives were left unchecked.

That was something the Speaker wouldn’t allow. To one day assume the role as supreme ruler, Falaru must succeed in all endeavors.

Such successes mattered most now. The ordered attacks could not fail.

2

Ferekon

Private Avery Shetty

At some point, Ferekon realized Private Avery Shetty was escaping. He could feel the planet waking, extending its reach to seize him, to dig its icy claws into his gut and squeeze. Curled into a frozen ball inside the cockpit of some flying ship, clutching Erin Flores to his chest, it took everything he had not to scream. Sour bile rose as the aircraft jerked and spun, and he nearly gagged at the horrible taste when he swallowed it back down.

He had to, though. No way was he going to mistreat his wife, not after all she’d been through before their separation.

She whispered reassurances to him as they climbed into a brightening sky. Things were going to be fine. All he had to do was persevere, tough out the pain, keep his eye on the objective.

Her words were so comforting, exactly as they’d been when they’d lain together in the abandoned LZ Foxtrot bunk. The feel of her, the scent of her, the sound of her⁠—

Laughter like a bright light filled his head. There was a husky quality to her voice when she laughed or teased.

And her hair, so soft to the touch.

When he looked into her eyes, the sparkle was nearly strong enough to drive away the agony the alien planet continued to inflict upon him. She cooed, cupping a hand to his feverish cheek. And you thought you were cold, buddy.

Shetty shivered. "I am cold—cold and burning up inside."

Only for a little while longer. It’s a small price to pay.

Blinding sunlight came through the canopy, and the strange ship continued its climb. Far away, a voice apologized for the rough ride, and it seemed like hands grabbed or pushed him. He had a vague awareness of himself mumbling that it was okay, that everything was okay.

Like Flores had said, it was a small price to pay.

That statement, the idea of a price being paid, seemed so open to interpretation, and Shetty couldn’t quite reconcile it with what was going on. He had the woman of his dreams in his arms, and they were heading home after giving a good showing in a hopeless struggle. Yes, he’d suffered some sickness and some injuries, but he’d come out of things alive, unlike so many, unlike…

In the bright light, the beauty and vigor of Flores’s face disappeared. The healthy bronze of her skin was gone, caked in mud and split from some terrible force. Her eyes were sunken, only a sliver of white visible on one side, while the iris showed in the other, angled down.

Pieces of her were missing, he realized, and the faint smell of death came from the broken form he held.

He sucked in a breath to scream, but his guts hurt too much. Spikes of fire radiated up and down, shooting into his upper chest and thighs. Just getting any air in at all seemed impossible.

The distant voice was there again, muffled, almost lost against the background rumble of powerful engines. Hey! You okay?

Shetty looked back at the ruin of Flores’s body, and tears ran down his face. His mind felt on the edge of shutting down. I…can’t breathe.

Shit.

Whoever was speaking—a female, he was pretty sure—started waving a hand in the air, no doubt touching virtual controls. She must think he wasn’t able to breathe the air in the cockpit rather than understanding that his lungs were on fire. That made sense. He hadn’t been clear what he’d meant, and they were high up, probably in the thermosphere. Why hadn’t he been more precise? That was something he prided himself on.

But even speaking was tough at that moment. Something more than escaping the gravity well was tearing him apart.

Once more, the muffled voice was there—definitely female—a little closer now, a little clearer, coming from behind him. The air in the cockpit’s okay. Is it… You, um, you were talking to someone earlier. Are you having trouble? Emotional, I mean?

What good would it do to tell the woman that Flores was dead, that the dream was over? He couldn’t even recall where dream ended and reality started, not with what was going on. I’m fine. Wounds. That’s all it is.

Oh, no. I’m sorry. I’ve got to push this ugly old Bulldog as hard as I can. There’s a lot of crazy stuff going on up there.

Bulldog. The big, powerful Kedraalian Republic Marine star fighter.

That meant the pilot was a fellow Marine.

They were past the cloud cover, looking up into the black of space. Colors seemed desaturated, meaningless. Faint twinkles stood out against the darkness, the first hints of distant stars.

He tried to relax, hoping that might help with the pain. When he did so, leaning back, he realized how soft the woman’s body was, giving as it did beneath what had to be a restraining harness. Sorry.

Don’t apologize. This is a rescue. If we get out of this alive, everything else is irrelevant.

The rumble of engines grew softer, and he began to feel…weightless, held in place by the thrust. Without thinking, he held Flores closer to him. Even that little action provided some small challenge to the force pushing him against the female pilot.

Her thighs pinched in tighter against his. I’m going to need to get through the gauntlet up here, so my hands are going to be full, and I won’t be able to concentrate on you. You need to grab on to my flight suit, okay? Around my legs. Put your…friend’s body between your legs, then hold on to me.

It felt like a betrayal of Flores nearly as much as it felt like an intrusion into this pilot’s space. There wasn’t that much loose material around her legs. He would have to⁠—

Something darted across the inky depths above them, a streak of fire chasing a colorless javelin. Strange sounds shrieked in the cockpit, and the flat display showing virtual instrument faces flashed red in one corner. As she had before, the pilot began stabbing at nothing, interacting with the virtual controls only she saw through her helmet’s heads-up display.

The fighter jerked hard to the left, throwing him against the frame to his right. His head banged against the curved material of the canopy, a stinging sensation that almost immediately dulled.

Once again, the instrument panel glowed, and through a foggy blur, he got the sense of something curling around in the black and stabbing toward them.

He pushed Flores’s ruined body to the floor, nearly floating free of the pilot’s thighs while trying to get his own legs over the corpse. Once he finally had his dead friend pinned, he crossed his legs to lock them in place. At the center of the instrument panel display, two red circles raced toward the static green triangle he assumed was the Marine star fighter.

Missiles, he realized.

Locking his legs around Flores was a major effort. He couldn’t get a meaningful grip on the fabric of the pilot’s flight suit. I can’t get a grip⁠—

Hook your hands under my thighs.

That was all Shetty needed to hear. He hung on for dear life, hoping the fire in his belly wouldn’t cause him to black out. No pilot was good enough to ignore a couple bodies banging around inside the tiny space of a cockpit, and this pilot apparently had two missiles coming after her ship.

The fighter pilot performed another maneuver, and Shetty had a momentary awareness of something firing, probably a rail gun, even as he smacked his head against the opposite side of the canopy.

Bursts of light flared behind his eyes, and he blacked out.

Flores looked up at him from between his legs, smiling playfully. Grabbing me out of my sleeping place, driving me through the snow—it was all about setting me up for this, wasn’t it?

His embarrassment brought welcome heat to his cold cheeks. I would never⁠—

It’s a joke, Avery. You’ve got to learn to take a joke.

I know, I know...

Are all engineers so serious and literal?

I’m not an engineer, Erin. I want to be, but⁠—

When we get back and you go to university, you’ll be an engineer. I know it. It’s more a state of mind than an education.

No, it’s not. The education is really important.

She gave him that bright, tolerant smile that told him he was doing it again, missing the point. I mean that you either have the right kind of brain for it, or you can’t become an engineer, silly. And no, I don’t mean someone can’t finish the classes and get a degree if they aren’t like you. I mean that to do what you do, you have to be…you.

Shetty knew what Flores was trying to say, even if he didn’t agree with her. Unlike Miranda, Flores had treated him like he was special from the moment they’d met. To Miranda, Shetty had just been someone who could help her with homework in classes she found boring. Although he’d thought the friendship that had come from spending so much time with her had led to a meaningful relationship, he wondered now if he’d simply been blind to how his high school classmate had seen him.

But he wasn’t special. If he’d been special, he would’ve made it into the Kedraalian Polytechnic Institute engineering program when he’d applied. I’m just someone who’s good with robots, I guess.

Flores pinched the inside of his thigh hard enough to make him yelp in pain. Her eyes narrowed. "I know what I’m talking about, Avery. Why do you always have to be so down on yourself? You are special."

Too many times, someone in his family had said that, lifting him up, and life had come along to kick him back to the ground.

He looked away, wondering why humans had come to the stars if they couldn’t escape all the mundane failings of the species. Someone who’d supposedly been special should have seen some sort of success by now, shouldn’t they?

Flores’s fingers rubbed along his inner thighs. Are you forgetting about me?

Never. You’re like a brilliant star, brighter than anything else.

I don’t think anyone would ever have called me that, but thanks.

I am. I’m calling you the center of my universe, and I mean it.

She stretched up between his legs and kissed him. And you were the center of mine.

‘Were’ is past tense, Erin. Are you already bored with me?

I’ll never be bored with you. Her eyes sparkled like stars again, and the sight brought with it a stinging ache.

Once again, Shetty could barely breathe. I was so stupid to fall for Miranda.

Nah. Flores looked away. She was really pretty. A lot of guys fell for her.

I…never told anyone about this… His cheeks burned. When I transferred to the school where she went, that first day?

What about it?

I was so happy. All I’d wanted was a stepping stone to improve my chances of… Shetty shrugged.

That polytechnic school, right? The big one where you dreamed of going?

Yeah. Something jerked him around, and for an instant, he thought he was somewhere else, far away and alone, without Flores. That first day of high school, I was walking toward the gate to get onto the campus. It was surrounded by a high brick wall—very pretty.

Sounds like it.

Well, I heard this really sultry voice call out, and I turned around to see who it was. There was no one else nearby, so I thought they must not be talking to me. But I saw these two girls walking across the street from the opposite side of the road, coming toward the gate.

Oh. There was a tightness to Flores’s face now, a mix of anger and pain.

One of them was cute, a little chunky. I think maybe she was Latina.

And the other was Miranda?

Shetty winced, the pain still raw even after the years and eventually becoming friends with that girl. She said she’d never seen me before and hoped I was a new student.

Oh, Avery. She was a monster. Hate burned in Flores’s eyes. I hate people like that.

I—I thought she was sincere.

Sincerely an asshole. What’d she do—compliment you?

Yeah. She said I was really cute, even though… Now that he had the perspective of an adult, he hated Miranda. We didn’t have the money for me to be there. It was a school meant for the wealthy. We barely qualified as middle class. My clothes were…cheap, you know? She and her friend were in very expensive outfits. I told her ‘thanks,’ and my head must’ve swelled to three times its size. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like, being that awkward outsider and having someone play you like that.

Flores kissed his hand. I went through something like that, sweetie.

I’m sorry. There’s no reason for it. It’s just cruel.

How’d you find out what she was really doing?

"A couple days later. I saw her on campus, but this time, she didn’t see me. I was trying to work up the nerve to approach her, you know, tell her thanks again for welcoming me. But she was with a bunch of other pretty girls, and she was laughing, and they were laughing, and I finally heard what they were saying, and…she was telling them what she’d done…to me. The ugly new guy."

I hate people sometimes. Flores’s face held so much pain just then.

All those years, I just wanted to belong at that school, and I thought she’d let me, finally, that our relationship was authentic. Now, I realize I was always that ugly new guy to her, even when we were supposedly dating, and I always would be.

And you think because you didn’t see through her that you’re not special?

I’m an idiot.

You’re not an idiot. You fell for a manipulator. That’s how people like Miranda make it through life, tearing down other people, controlling them. It’s the only way they figure they can lift themselves up.

Shetty squeezed his eyes shut. But⁠—

The sensation of shaking hit him again, and this time, his eyes jerked open. Alarms blared, and in the black of space, flashes of light bloomed before simply disappearing. He caught a medicinal smell mixed with urine, and when he looked around, he realized the Bulldog was speeding toward a big shape, a huge shape.

Abruptly, the alarms went silent, and the sound of muffled, rapid breathing became a muffled sigh.

Twisting around to check on the pilot spiked the pain in his chest and head, but he had to see her, to be sure she wasn’t wounded. With her visor down and the life support hose curled up around to the side of her helmet, there wasn’t much to see of her. What mattered, though, was that she wasn’t spurting blood or spilling guts out of an ugly tear in her flight suit.

She must have noticed him staring, because she snorted. I thought you were dead!

He wanted to rub the back of his head, to see if his skull had been cracked, but his fingers were pressed tightly beneath her legs. The close contact was uncomfortably intimate, and he once again felt as if he was betraying Flores.

The pilot moved the sticks on either side of the instrument panel lining the cockpit, and their angle of approach changed. When we get into the hangar tube, you’re going to need to climb the ladder first. You think you can do that?

I think so.

And he really thought he could. During his blackout after banging his head, the worst of the pain in his gut had faded. He had a terrible headache, but compared to some of what he’d endured, it wasn’t that bad.

The Bulldog headed into a dark tunnel, and lights woke, showing the way ahead. The pilot killed the forward thrust and built a steady reversing thrust.

Very quickly, Shetty corrected himself about how bad his gut felt.

Teeth gritted, he glanced down at Flores’s body. His whispered reminder that he’d promised to bring her back was lost in the rising shudder of the engines, but he didn’t need to see her face to know the smile would be there, and he didn’t need to lean close to her lips to hear her thanks for the rescue.

All of that was in his heart, where it would be forever, just like her.

3

Aboard the Sampati

Kara Goode

Years of hatred couldn’t be pushed aside, but that was exactly what Kara Goode had to do as she stood in the crowded bridge of the Sampati . She’d felt so alive after nearly killing her mother, but now the smaller woman who’d contributed the egg that had made Goode possible in the first place stood beside the short, stocky woman who had become the ship’s captain in all but title. The young officers stationed at key positions in the drab, gray oval of a compartment hung on Faith Benson’s every word, postures erect, voices crisp and loud as she put them through their paces.

It wasn’t fair. Goode had been the one to secure the ship. She’d come up with the idea and executed the perfect insertion. Now she was sidelined, breathing in the tired smell of the two old women—sour sweat and an almost medicinal reek that reminded her of mothballs.

How could the young officers not complain about being bossed around by someone old enough to be their grandparent?

As if sensing her daughter’s thoughts, Brianna Stiles turned her ancient, withered neck to fix a glare on Goode. In her dull-green flight suit, the once-respected old woman looked pathetic, pudgy. Wrinkles had turned the Genesis 3’s skin into an ugly, leathery cover that couldn’t hide just how much muscle tone she’d lost or how badly her hair had thinned. A bald spot had started to develop on the back of her head, and what remained was graying and dead-looking.

Without saying a thing, the old crone made clear her judgment of Goode: inadequate.

Goode sucked in a breath. She bit back a reminder that it had been her with a knife to her mother’s throat, not the other way around. Maybe finishing the job would have been the only way to prove to the old woman just how outclassed she was by her own kid.

Then the old Genesis 3 turned away, focusing again on the ship’s crew.

Just being so close to her progenitor made Goode’s skin crawl. She wanted to storm out of the bridge, maybe go to the brig where she’d thrown the real captain and let that stupid, old woman out. Better to put a real officer in charge than let the disturbed GSA assassin get everyone killed.

After congratulating the young officers, Faith Benson stepped back from the piloting console. The former prime minister was an even more sad sight than her washed-up sidekick. Age hadn’t been kind to the one-time admiral. She’d been a pretty woman once, with intelligent jade eyes, full lips, and impressive cheekbones, but she had acquired all the telltale marks of time. Now her beauty had fled, and her pale skin was networked by wrinkles even worse than the warm brown skin of her little attack dog. Worse, a paunch pushed out the front of the older woman’s dull-green flight suit.

Even so, the one-time admiral managed to project authority.

Faith turned toward Goode, shook her head in a way that might have signaled she was impressed or, just as possible, that she was confused. Kara Goode?

Yes.

I never could understand why they gave you assassins names like they did.

Goode tensed, anger rising. Being a Genesis doesn’t mean I’m not human.

Instead of apologizing, the old woman chuckled. I’m a Genesis, Kara. Genesis 2. My father used me to iron out some problems so the real perfect specimens—you and your mother—wouldn’t suffer.

It seemed an obvious lie…yet it didn’t. Goode couldn’t figure that out. Unless the former prime minister had some extremely advanced training that could fool a Genesis 5’s ability to read body language, she really was looking at a fellow genetically engineered human.

That might be the biggest surprise Goode had encountered since things had fallen apart. I had no idea.

We’re both learning things. Lieutenant Tuttle says you secured this ship all by yourself. That’s impressive.

Zane wasn’t on the bridge to contest that, and Goode really hadn’t needed him, but it seemed unfair to ignore him. My partner helped.

Partner?

Zane.

The former prime minister’s brow creased. How did you two meet?

That’s a complicated story.

We’re off Kedraal and headed for the safe distance to enter Fold Space. I think we have time⁠—

Tuttle, the tall, long-faced, dark-skinned black woman stationed at the helm, spun around from her position, thin lips peeled back to reveal the yellow teeth of a heavy coffee drinker. Admiral, we have a problem.

Faith moved to the tall woman’s side. What is it, Lieutenant?

In answer, the lieutenant’s fingers manipulated the rectangular console input panel, long fingers racing across the smooth surface. Something scanned us a second ago, and at the same moment, we received a tight burst of data.

What sort of data?

As Goode edged closer, the Navy officer shook her head. We’re still trying to decrypt it, ma’am.

The pudgy little round-faced man the ship’s commander had been chewing out when Goode had reached the bridge straightened. His puffy cheeks quivered, the bronze of his skin shiny as if slick with sweat. Decryption complete.

As one, the Navy officers and the former admiral leaned forward, nearly blocking out what filled the display before them.

But Goode could see what it was, even if she couldn’t understand it.

Her mother moved to her side, the bruise darkening the old woman’s cheek visible now. Brianna craned her neck for a better look before arching an eyebrow at her daughter. You know what that is?

Goode’s instinctive reaction would have been a dismissive snort and perhaps a comment about how she knew every bit as much as the Genesis 3, but that wasn’t appropriate, not here, not with so many people around. What was called for was an educated guess, even if that fed the cocky old woman’s uncanny need to feel superior.

Looking the image over, Goode had the impression of a scan, although not from a typical ship’s sensor array. The image had a choppy, segmented quality to it, and she realized it was a composite patched together from numerous sources. More importantly, it wasn’t detailed enough to have been produced by advanced systems, with more of a vague 3D outline enhanced by shoddy inference software.

She realized what she’d taken for noise in the image actually represented other bodies around the main shape, and the implication made her eyes bug out. It’s a vessel.

Faith and the two Navy officers whipped around in surprise, then the former admiral gawked at the image again. She’s right. The old woman pointed to the things Goode had at first considered noise. These are satellites. This is the atmosphere and the horizon. As she identified the objects, Faith tapped them on the image.

The long-faced lieutenant didn’t see it. That doesn’t make sense, ma’am. It would have to be at least twenty kilometers across.

At least. Faith nodded at Goode. Sharp eyes, Kara. Thank you.

A look of appreciation spread across Brianna’s face. Whether that was because she had fooled her child into performing a trick like a living computer or because she actually felt some sort of pride about her daughter’s accomplishment, Goode couldn’t say. She didn’t really care, either. The Genesis 3 would never live down the beating she’d suffered at her kid’s hands.

Although Goode wanted to pay attention to what was going on between the former admiral and the two young officers who seemed to worship the old woman, the Genesis 3 kept encroaching into her daughter’s personal space.

It had to be manipulation, an attempt to push the superior Genesis 5 out of the problem-solving situation.

Goode was having none of it. Was that the only thing that came with the transmission, Lieutenant Tuttle? Without context, it doesn’t seem to provide much value.

The pudgy little bronze-skinned man—Bertrand—returned his focus to his section of the console. Oh. Oh. I missed that. There’s more, Admiral.

After swiping whatever he’d found to the main display, the young officers resumed leaning in at the old admiral’s side to scrutinize whatever had been transmitted. It was an odd sight, the three of them struggling to piece together what, exactly, they’d received.

Prescience informed Goode of the inevitable next step: another probe from her mother to see if she could push her child to perform like some sort of human freak. It was unfair, like one of those twisted parents Goode had seen in entertainment programming who obsessed over how special their offspring were. Some lived vicariously through their little monsters, while others drew a sick need to elevate themselves from whatever performance their little organic machines produced.

Rather than allow the Genesis 3 to control the moment, Goode pointed to the obvious. Those are composite images. It’s a mixture of infrared, radar, and other feeds cobbled together. If you tear the data apart, you’ll probably find the sources range from weather satellites to defense sensor arrays.

The former prime minister looked from Goode to Brianna, apparently finding confirmation in something the Genesis 3 had done. Lieutenant Tuttle, you said we were scanned when this arrived?

I— The long-faced woman swiped away the image of the massive vessel and brought up a grid of gold-colored text. Not even three seconds after, ma’am.

For an old woman, Faith seemed alert. What kind of sensors do we have?

Tuttle straightened enough to tower over the pudgy old woman. I’m not familiar with the new systems yet, Admiral. We were undergoing training still.

Show me what you know.

The two junior officers conferred, bringing up a new interface and walking each other through what they could recall. As they corrected each other and filled in gaps, Faith’s mouth hung open.

Curious, Goode examined what the young officers were doing. Is there something wrong with the equipment?

Faith shook off whatever had stunned her. This equipment—when was it installed?

Again, the two junior officers conferred, but it was the pudgy little man who responded this time. About three weeks ago, Admiral. It was part of the rotation process. I, uh, I thought it was something classified.

His fellow lieutenant’s head bobbed up and down. Commander Hart limited the number of crew involved in the upgrades.

Something about either the equipment or what the two officers were saying seemed to really rock the former admiral. Her mouth worked as she looked to Brianna for support, but the Genesis 3 didn’t seem to understand whatever connection the older woman had made.

The former prime minister studied the console, obviously intrigued. Let’s do a scan of the space between us and Kedraal. I want to see what this system can do.

Even more intrigued by the old woman’s behavior, Goode focused on the two junior officers as they worked their way through the controls of the newly installed system. After a few false starts, the big display that curved around the narrower end of the oval before them lit up with the planet they were racing away from, its moon, the artificial satellites in orbit⁠—

—and the same faint outline of the massive ship that had been transmitted to them.

Tuttle drew back. That vessel, Admiral…it’s pursuing us.

Is it matching our acceleration?

Seconds passed as the two junior officers fiddled with their consoles, refreshing the sensor sweep. Tuttle made a surprised sound. It’s accelerating faster than us, ma’am. Closing.

That answer didn’t seem to surprise the old woman. She fixed her gaze on Goode. You and your partner ever hear anything about martial law being imposed on Kedraal?

Yes. We ran into quite a few security oddities.

Before the former prime minister could speak again, Brianna squeezed her daughter’s arm. What sort of oddities?

Goode jerked free of her mother’s grip. A bunch of different things.

Is that how they taught you to analyze? ‘A bunch of different things?’ How many? What were the details about what made these things odd?

If you didn’t notice, we’re being chased by an extremely large starship.

Brianna reached for the younger GSA operative again, only to have Goode lock her wrist. Just as the Genesis 3 brought her other hand up for a strike, the former prime minister stepped away from the station and closer to them.

Although more vulnerable than either of the two GSA assassins, Faith Benson showed no fear. If we’re really concerned about the ship pursuing us, maybe we should stay focused on the security abnormalities you ran into, Kara?

Goode released her wrist lock. I’m not sure how what we encountered could relate to this other ship.

Let’s start with our need to have a destination in order to enter Fold Space. Lieutenant Tuttle, how long to safe Fold Space entry?

Three minutes, eight seconds, Admiral.

The former prime minister raised an eyebrow at Goode. I’d like an idea of what sort of experiences you had compared to ours, which was garden-variety SAID wet-works teams trying to murder a former politician.

Zane said you ran an organization SAID was disassembling.

Rather than surprise, the old woman slowly nodded. You and I are going to have to chat about your partner soon. For now, yes, I’ve been running a clandestine research organization for several years now. SAID turned some of my people, then apparently received approval to begin a purge, murdering my people in cold blood. But they don’t seem to have gotten everyone, and that tells me they don’t know everything there is to know about the organization. I have a few places we could make a run for, but I want to know what you know, what you saw.

With that explanation, Goode understood. I was nearly killed by what I assume was an SAID action. They caused a plane I was on to crash into the ocean. Zane rescued me, and we’ve been on the run since. I discovered something strange going on at a Q-com relay center in the Red Desert, and I ran into some freaky security guards at a Kaelas Group facility⁠—

A what?

Kaelas Group. It’s a shell company for the Azoren Corporation.

The former prime minister and Goode’s mother exchanged a knowing look, then Faith acknowledged an update from Tuttle that they had one minute before reaching safe Fold Space distance.

Lieutenant Tuttle cleared her throat. Also, ma’am, that ship is closing fast.

Thank you, Lieutenant. Faith squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. I wish I had some idea what Victoria was up to.

Goode wasn’t used to hearing the prime minister referred to by her first name. Victoria Stressemann?

Yes.

Whatever it is, it involves some big, ugly brutes. There were some dangerous muscleheads at the Kaelas Group building I broke into.

Tuttle turned from her console. Muscular men? With strange faces?

At first, Goode thought the lieutenant had chosen a strange time to start talking about some fetish she had, then the other woman’s discomfort was obvious.

Goode recalled the men’s faces. Yeah. At first, I thought I’d run into a couple of twins when trying to escape the building, then I saw other guys who might be the same person. It hit me later, they were all very similar looking.

Tuttle’s concern had caught the former prime minister’s attention. The old woman put a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. What is it?

"It’s the situation, ma’am. After we were called back for training by Commander Hart, the ship started receiving strange and contradictory orders. The military command ordered the Sampati to remain on alert, and when I saw the actual orders, I thought there was something more implied by the wording, like the command higher-ups were contemplating something."

Lieutenant Bertrand nodded. She’s right, Admiral. It was, um, it was like they wanted to give us leeway to act on our own. But not the commander.

Tuttle stiffened. Commander Hart got other orders. She tried to hide them from us, but we saw. They were telling her to complete our training, then to stand down. We didn’t agree with her capitulation. It was like we were being set up to fail.

Bertrand bowed his head. Everyone was… We were afraid, ma’am.

Tuttle shot a look at Goode. When I was driving back to the starport to come onto rotation for training, I ran into units setting up barriers and checkpoints, I guess for martial law. They weren’t any units I’d ever seen before. Audrey—Ensign Delvayo—thought they might be like those militia units some nations back on Earth used to have, not real military. You know?

Faith’s voice took on a calming tone despite the big ship drawing closer. It’s all right, Lieutenant.

Admiral, we knew there was no way the government would allow something so chaotic to happen. These people weren’t Army, but they were using military vehicles, maybe old Marine ones. And they creeped us out, Audrey and me.

And why’s that?

Goode wasn’t sure if the former prime minister really didn’t understand or if she was trying to calm the lieutenant down, but Goode absolutely knew what Tuttle would say.

The tall officer swallowed. "They didn’t look right, ma’am. Like, they all looked the same. Even though they were mostly wearing balaclavas or hoods, I could tell they… Desperation contorted Tuttle’s face, as if she thought she might soon be joining her commander in the brig. This is crazy, Admiral."

A lot of things are crazy right now, Lieutenant. Go on.

Well, it’s like they weren’t quite finished. Like all of them had some sort of shared birth defect. And they were big. And I saw some of the pictures of these invaders people were talking about, and…and I could believe that’s what these people were: invaders.

Alarms sounded, and the round-faced Lieutenant Bertrand yelped like a kicked dog. Weapons fire, Admiral. The ship is attacking us!

That seemed to resolve the uncertainty at last, because the former prime minister squeezed in beside Lieutenant Tuttle and typed in coordinates, and a moment later, the nausea of entering Fold Space nearly sent Goode to her knees.

4

Fold Space

Faith Benson

With the Sampati now in Fold Space, Faith Benson could finally relax.

As soon as the thought came to her, she laughed at herself, causing the two junior officers operating the piloting station systems to turn around to look at the former admiral. Already lifted by the way the young spacers had treated her with respect, Faith blushed and assured her erstwhile crew that she was just enjoying the moment on the bridge of a Kedraalian Navy ship again.

An admiring look around the bridge reinforced that claim, causing the two lieutenants to stand even more erect.

Coming aboard had been part of a desperate plan for escape from the SAID killers, a way to escape the world and people Faith had dedicated her life to serving. After all that had happened, she would be happy if she could save the forty or so people racing through the pocket dimension along with her.

Her comment about enjoying being on the bridge was true, if also convenient. After years away from living in recirculated atmosphere, it would take her some time to adjust once more to the stale air of the small warship. Acclimating herself to the tight spaces that were part of starship life would be an entirely different matter.

When she excused herself to find a cabin to freshen up, she caught the narrowed eyes of not just Brianna Stiles but of Kara Goode, the Genesis 3’s daughter. Brianna whispered something to the Genesis 5 before following the former admiral into the passageway off the bridge.

Once the hatch closed, Faith leaned against the gray wall opposite and pressed a hand to her forehead, accepting that the narrow corridor was about as private as any space now. What did I do wrong this time?

Brianna rolled her eyes. That crew.

What about them?

They’re Navy. Spacers. Six hours ago, they were serving the same military command that jettisoned all your wounded veterans.

Faith held up a hand to stop the former GSA assassin. It’s the same military command that apparently contradicted the edicts coming from Stressemann’s people. And you heard your daughter’s assessment of⁠—

Don’t call her that. The Genesis 3’s voice had an edge to it.

Calm down.

I didn’t give birth to them. Your people sedated me and yanked my eggs out without consulting me.

The anger in the former assassin’s voice turned white hot. While before, she’d been dealing with the blood loss and discomfort from the bullet wound she’d suffered in the ambush outside the SAID facility, she now showed no effects from that injury.

Even a genetically engineered killer had limits, though. Getting through to the dangerous woman before she caused damage to someone or to herself was essential.

Faith patted the air and did her best to calm her own voice. It was a bad choice of word. Honestly, seeing the two of you standing next to each other, it was hard not to see you as her mother. The way you interacted with her, I thought you’d made a connection.

There will never be a connection. They’re all disappointments, but she’s the worst.

Pointing out that Goode had bested the Genesis 3 was a bad idea, although it was tempting. Instead, Faith lowered her arms and let her gaze drift to the hatch. You think we should have some of our people integrated with them?

I think we should eject them out the airlocks.

You’re not being helpful.

And you’re not thinking clearly. The Genesis 3 assassin closed her eyes and teetered, but she brushed away Faith’s hand when offered in support. I’m fine. I need some fluids is all.

Neither of us is fine. We’re old. We’ve been pushing ourselves too hard for our own good. And we’ve been off our meds.

Anger returned focus to Brianna’s dark-green eyes. Don’t act like we’re the same.

Is it too much to ask that we set aside some of the hostility for now?

Brianna tensed, momentarily appearing on the verge of attack, then she shrugged and relaxed as completely as she’d been while on the bridge. I’m telling you not to trust these spacers. Do what you want.

When the former GSA assassin spun away, Faith pushed her own annoyance down. You’re right. Thank you.

That got through to the other woman, who almost stumbled, muttered a half-hearted you’re welcome, then recovered her balance enough to storm off.

It was never easy being in charge of people, especially when they were high-strung. In her years as a ship’s commander and as a politician, Faith had dealt with plenty of people with an elevated sense of self-worth. At least Brianna justified such a high opinion of herself.

After connecting to the Sampati’s systems with her data device, Faith consulted the crew manifest and the room allocations. She connected to one of her more trusted people.

Shanna’s face appeared on the device, the grease now washed out of the younger woman’s curly gold hair. From the look of people gathered behind her, she was in a common space, possibly the galley. The wrinkles around her pale eyes might have hinted at relief, or they might merely have indicated she was on her last legs. Admiral?

Are you in the galley? It was an attempt at a social connection, the answer available with a few minutes of research.

The younger woman smiled. Yes, ma’am.

I’ll be right there.

It didn’t take long for Faith to regain her sense of place aboard the ship. The gray bulkheads, the hatches with practical rather than ostentatious labels, the way everything echoed hollowly—life aboard starships had many elements that changed in only minor ways.

At the entry to the galley, Faith hesitated, listening to the quiet roar of voices coming from within. Muted conversations merged into meaningless words as people tried to give each other space where there was none. So close, the fragrance of the soap provided by the ship was almost overpowering, telling her that at least her people had managed to clean themselves up.

Being human started with feeling human, and her people had lived like animals while hiding out.

She poked her head inside, felt the heat coming off the folks packed into the space like a pressure. Adults sat on white molded-plastic benches or tabletops while children