Chapter 16 - The storm that breaks the calm

Adam. 11

Jasmine Mavinda was a striking woman; there was no way to deny it. Tall, only a few inches shorter than Adam, with silky black hair that was tied back into an elegant style that made him think of Lucy. She would have been enthralled by her. There was a regal elegance about her, a quiet confidence that somehow managed to draw people in while simultaneously keeping them at arm's length as well.

She was the sort of woman who commanded a room as soon as she stepped into it, who was often found in the upper echelons of planetary governments and corporate hierarchies, not just because of their intelligence or ability - it was doubtless that Minister Mavinda, the head of the ministry for health and education, had both - but because of their charismatic presence and sheer... well, there was no other way to really say it. She was beautiful, she was classy, she was successful, and she looked the part. Although he didn't doubt for a second that the Minister was an extraordinarily capable woman, he also didn't doubt that what set her above all the other capable women out there were her looks.

There was also the way she was looking at him. Adam had spent a very long time in the cutthroat world of internal security. It may not have been as glamorous as the work done by the boys over in the Foreign Ministry's espionage branch, but it was arguably more ruthless. To be a spy, you needed to learn how to lie, to play the part, and to know what information was valuable. You also needed to be able to actually get it. To be a spy hunter, on the other hand, meant having to size up and evaluate - sometimes at a single glance - almost everyone you came into contact with.

You had to know every single weakness in the society around you, every single person who could be a weak link, every single angle that could be taken to exploit those things; you had to be able to spot anomalies in the quickest of glances, assessing if they were a threat and, if so, how to contain them. A spy only had to succeed once to get access to information that should be kept secret. Spy hunters had to be successful every single time, and to be successful every single time required a certain degree of ruthlessness. Counter intelligence was where Adam had cut his professional teeth before he had moved over to investigations. Still, that ability to size someone up was a skill that he never allowed himself to lose.

That was precisely the look that Jasmine Mavinda was giving him now.

That look came with a hard, almost aggressive edge in men, but in women, it could take on a whole myriad of other forms. His female agents were arguably much better at this than the men were because they could use this exact tactic against the weaker-minded males. But Adam was anything but weak-minded, and her tricks were washing over him like water off a duck's back.

She was flirting with him.

She brushed herself against him as he gave her the tour of the ISD compound outside Carracus. She let her hand linger a little too long on his arm as they spoke. She held his eye with an unusual, almost fierce intensity. Her tongue would dart out to wet her lips as she listened to him talk about something that, under normal circumstances, would make her eyes glaze over. She adjusted her top - just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse at her impressive, supple cleavage - when they were alone in the elevator, and every time he found himself walking behind her, she would glance over her shoulder with a playful, almost daring smile at him and make sure to add an exaggerated sway into her admittedly impressive ass.

More than that, she laughed at him. Adam had his alter egos; he needed them to be able to survive in this world with his sanity intact. His home life, his good Adam, was - at least in his own opinion - hilarious. Dad humor was something that he genuinely enjoyed torturing his kids with, and he and Jenny would throw quips back and forth with almost savage speed. His work alter ego, however - his bad Adam - was not funny. Not in the slightest. Bad Adam didn't make jokes, he wasn't personable, he had exactly zero charisma, and he made sure that everyone knew it. He had found himself, more than once, on the receiving end of a joke being told at work and stared at the comedian with a completely stoney face after the punchline was given, not even showing the slightest hint of a smile, then walked away as if those were 30 seconds of his life he would never be able to get back, only to go home that night and tell the same joke to his wife, laughing riotously along with her at the punchline.

So, for Minister Mavinda to act like she found him even slightly amusing, let alone funny, was so absurd as to be dismissed out of hand. She wanted something, and she was trying - poorly - to ingratiate herself to him in order to get it. Adam was a decent-looking guy; he had never been exceptionally popular with the ladies back when he was single, but he liked to think that he had aged well. He knew there were women out there who found him attractive; Jenny would often grin teasingly, making Adam feel incredibly awkward when she would point them out. So, there had been an infinitesimally small chance that the Minister had genuinely been interested in him, but that idea was quashed when she kept laughing at jokes he wasn't making.

Now, it was taking all of his considerable willpower not to roll his eyes every time she made one of these increasingly transparent attempts at seduction. But it did raise the question: what was it that she wanted?

That being said, it was a nice ass, and it did look good in that emerald green saree that she had wrapped around her. He wasn't entirely opposed to watching it while waiting for the Minister to get to her point.

Mavinda had asked to visit him at the ISD compound during his appearance at the Imperium high council; it was a request that had surprised him even then. But what had surprised him even more was that three days later, she had actually turned up. That was the first of a few red flags that were currently waving around in Adam's analytical mind. For her to request a visit to an agency that was in no way associated with her ministry was one thing; maybe she did it to raise a few eyebrows at the council, or maybe she was just trying to show support in a council chamber on the receiving end of some pretty bad news, one that could - in theory - be coming after his job... and his freedom. But for her to actually turn up, on the first attempt, with no fucking around with rescheduling or any such nonsense, was the sort of thing Adam had learned to pay attention to.

Not making, then breaking, three or four prior appointments meant that Mavinda had an important reason to be here, one that couldn't wait, but also one that only occurred to her once he had made his appearance before the council. She would have arranged this visit before then if it had. Then, for her to turn up and try every trick in the book of feminine wiles to get him to like her was red flag number two. And red flag number three was the fact that despite this pointless little tour having gone on for the past three hours - and even he had to admit that three hours of a Minister's time was an extremely precious commodity, let alone the value of his own time - she still hadn't actually told him the reason she had visited at all.

The tour was, thankfully, coming to an end, though. As the flagship department of the agency and the place where his office was, the tour predictably ended on the 91st floor, the headquarters of the ISD's investigation branch. Ben's desk was empty, with his effeminate and exceptionally effective gatekeeper off in parts unknown, keeping Adam's family safe. Adam had to consciously and deliberately force his jaw not to clench every time he looked at that empty desk-Mavinda was an observant woman; she would have spotted it instantly. Ben's desk was a stark, visceral reminder of the danger recent times had brought to his life and the threats still looming over them. More than that, those thoughts dredged up every carefully concealed feeling of disgust, disdain, and betrayal he now felt toward the Imperium, the Emperor leading it, and the council that had so callously signed off on the deaths of millions of people.

For all her charm, wit, intelligence, beauty, and flirting, Jasmine Mavinda was certainly included on that list, and Adam was under no doubt. If the rebellion he had conspired with got their way, if he got his way, the Minister for Health and Education would join her friends in front of a firing squad and that pretty face, that seductive body and everything else about her would be ripped apart in a savage, totally justified hail of laser fire.

He was also under no doubt that he would be next.

And, for the things he had done, he was pretty sure he would deserve it.

Finally, after hours of working, and after hours of showing the Minister around an office that he doubted she had even the slightest modicum of interest in, he finally led her into his office.

"Can I get you anything to drink, Minister?" He asked politely, while still keeping the gruff edge of his evil alter ego in his voice. He was getting better at playing politics, but he still hated it.

"No, thank you, Mr. Doncaster," she smiled back at him, moving to his desk and taking a seat in front of it before he had offered. "However, for council security reasons, I would kindly request you activate your privacy systems."

Audio scrambers built into the walls and the desk, internal sensors switched off, a pulse of power into the windows that gave Adam a clear view to outside, and into the bull pen turning them into a white, opaque wall, and an ultrasonic emitter that would fry the microphones of any device that had managed to get past the building's security and into the citadel of his office. It was basically a larger, more complicated, and more effective, built in version of the little black box he had slid onto the conference table for his meeting with his team a week or so ago. Adam nodded, rounding the desk to sit down into his own chair without another word, reached under the closest edge of the desk, and pressed a button to activate the system. The windows suddenly clouded over, and a soft, but quickly fading whine echoed around the room for a moment before rising beyond the spectrum of human hearing range.

He waited a few seconds before nodding to the Minister. "The room is secure, you can speak openly."

"Thank you," she smiled again. "I suppose you have been wondering why I asked to meet you."

"The question had crossed my mind, yes," he replied, his face carefully stripped of any form of emotion.

"Sanda White and I were close," Mavinda started. There was no force on earth observant enough to pick up on the way Adam's heart suddenly jumped into his throat, but he kept staring at the Minister with that same stoney expression, as if waiting for her to get to her point. "Well, I should clarify; we were close in that 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer' kind of way." She paused, apparently waiting for Adam to comment. He didn't. "So I would like you to tell me what really happened to her."

"I already told you what really happened to her."

"Mr Doncaster, I can make life very difficult for you. Or I can make it much easier," Adam's one eyebrow arched in a way that spoke volumes, the sort of things that Minister White should have paid attention to. Jasmine Mavinda, however, proved to be just as observant as Adam had predicted. "Please, that is not meant as a threat. I just happen to know you are lying."

Adam tightened his grip on his own body, refusing to let it show even one shred of the tension that was currently coiling inside him. "I'm sure you will tell me in your own time, Minister." He cooly said.

"Well, let's start with the fact that I know her bodyguards didn't kill her," Jasmine smiled, leaning back into her chair a little further. "I know this because they worked for me, and they were under strict orders not to kill her until I told them to."

Adam felt his lips part, the closest thing his alter ego would allow to his jaw hitting his desk.

"Sandra White was an evil, calculated and disgusting excuse for a human being. All of them are." Mavinda shrugged, "So when my men got the information I wanted out of her, they were going to put her out of our misery"

"I feel obliged to remind you of the seriousness of what you are saying. This is conspiracy to commit treason."

The Minister chuckled. "But if my men didn't kill her," she went on as if Adam hadn't said anything. "And you are insinuating that they did, that can only mean one thing. You killed her, and I would like to know why. Now..." Mavinda stood up, slowly walking around the desk until she was standing right next to Adam's chair, and hoisted herself up to sit on the edge of his desk. "...we both know you are a very clever and resourceful man. I have no doubt that you know how to circumvent the privacy systems in this room and are recording this conversation right now. Anything I say to you will incriminate me as much as you, and I have already said enough to be tried and executed for treason, I would like you to show me the same trust and respect as I am putting into you." She parted her legs a little, her saree riding up her silky smooth things in just enough of a way to draw Adam's eye for a moment before they snapped back to hers. Her smile grew a little wider.

"If you are trying to get me to confess to a crime, Minister, you are going to have to do better than that." Adam finally said, surprising even himself with how level and calm his voice sounded.

"Which part?" Mavinda asked as her eyes sparkled. "I'm sure you've noticed that I'm not wearing any panties. Do you mean I should do better than a little tease? Would you like that? Would you like an Imperium Minister to hitch up her skirt, bend over and offer herself to you?"

Adam said nothing, he held her eyes with an almost laser focus.

"No, of course not," She grinned back. "You are a happily married man, and a little bit of fun wouldn't sway someone with so much to lose..."

That sounded an awful lot like a threat. A very heavily veiled one, but a threat nonetheless.

"...so that can only mean that 'do better' involves me telling you properly how I planned to kill the evil, conniving little bitch and mount her head on my bookshelf. Or, perhaps, you want to know why?"

"Let's start with the why."

Mavinda's smile grew even more. It wasn't smug, it wasn't even predatory, it seemed like she was genuinely enjoying this teasing back and forth. "I will give you an answer, but a cryptic one. If you know what I suspect you know, you will understand my reasons. If you don't, then I will explain it properly after you have given me yours."

"Then, by all means. Continue," Adam said.

"To be on the Imperium council," Mavinda started, hopping off the desk and starting to wander around the office, talking as she studied the bookshelves and display cases dotted throughout the room. "You have to be constantly aware of what all of the other ministers are doing. We work together, in a manner of speaking, for the good of the Imperium, but every member is secretly - or not so secretly - plotting the downfall of every other member. Take the esteemed Joseph Bird, for example, the Minister for Public information, he has a rather disturbing predilection for the company of intoxicated young boys. Isagora Doukas murdered not only his wife's lover, but her brother too, and she doesn't know. Each of these are enough to cause a scandal that would see either of those bastards removed from the council. Up until recently, that would have been enough for me, but then I learned of a rather insidious little plot between some members of the council that my spies in the military have recently confirmed for me...a plot that, for honor's sake... demands a higher price than their public humiliation."

"And what plot would that be?" No, it couldn't be happening. Could Jasmine Mavinda really be about to admit to the entire conspiracy?

"All in good time, my darling man," she winked playfully at him. "The test first. One of my spies was recently stationed aboard the ISS Lincoln." She tilted her head at him. That was her clue, and she was watching to see if he picked up what she was putting down.

Adam frowned. The name rang a bell, but he couldn't quite place where he had heard it. It took a few moments for the piece to slot into place. The ISS Lincoln was part of the Goliath battlegroup, a destroyer, if he wasn't mistaken, fitted for orbital bombardment duties. If his picture of the real events at Vallen - and the massacre of the 381st - was correct, the Lincoln would have been one of the three destroyers providing orbital fire support for the Marine landing forces.

She knew. And she was choosing to share this information with him, albeit cryptically. That on its own was enough to have her publicly crucified if the rest of the council found out about it, but she was looking at him with an expectant arch to her eyebrow.

"Vallen," he finally said with a nod, it was enough to confirm her suspicions, but not enough to throw him under the bus if his answer became known to people it shouldn't. Her smile widened massively.

"So you know."

He nodded.

"And was that why you had her killed?"

Adam almost answered, but held himself in check. He wasn't ready to believe this wasn't an elaborate plot by the minister just yet, and Mavinda, ever observant, spotted it immediately. "You are no fool," she chuckled. "So let me see if I can piece together the truth for myself. Then you can decide whether I am someone you want to work with, if not trust." She turned to face him properly before she started to speak.

"Benjamin Chambers, Ben to his friends; your loyal secretary and personal assistant. Ex-special forces, and known for having an immaculate attendance record while working for you, is not here. He hasn't been here for almost a week. Since, conveniently, the day before Sandra White's death. Your wife hasn't been seen at her place of employment for the same amount of time, and your girls - Natasha and Lucy - haven't been to school either. And then, of course, there are the reports of a body or two being found very close to your home in Norway..." She paused and held up her hand. "Don't worry, those reports have been buried and the bodies disposed of. Nobody will ever know. But it is my guess that Ben dealt with some very unsavory people at your home, on your instruction, and now has your family hidden somewhere where pieces of human filth like Sandra White can't find them. So, my guess is that you found something you weren't supposed to find, and when Sandra White couldn't silence you, she went after your family. You neutralised the threat to them, then dealt with the Minister. How am I doing so far?"

"Let's say you are as astute as you seem to think you are. What would you do with such information?"

"Well, I'd thank you for a start, you saved me the hassle of dealing with her. I was planning on thanking you by doing something I haven't done in a very long time..."

"And what is that?"

"Sucking your dick, to start," she smirked. Adam stifled a hard gulp. "Then letting you take me in anyway you wanted." She licked her lips. "But I can tell that you are committed to your wife in a way I could never break, so I will have to offer something altogether more valuable."

"And that would be?"

"My help."

"You assume I need your help."

"Oh, Adam... May I call you Adam?" she didn't wait for a response. "There are things going on that are so much bigger than the dearly departed Minister White. Things that go straight to the heart of the Imperium, things that I know that could undermine the very fabric of..." Her eyes finally reached his and her speech started to slow as a realization formed in her mind. "...how our society... functions... A treason that could turn the Imperium on its head... You already know, don't you?" Her eyes widened a little. "You didn't just kill her, you broke her!"

Adam raised his eyebrow to match hers.

"Orpheus," She almost whispered. Adam just nodded.

"Jesus." Mavinda huffed out a laugh. "I am about to use two words that I have seldom had cause to use in my entire adult life: I'm impressed. So you also know about 16 Lyra?"

Adam nodded again.

"And a certain Admiral being less dead than the propaganda would have you believe?"

Another nod.

She laughed again. "Well then, it seems those two words barely scratch the surface. Your reputation doesn't do you justice."

"I also know about the council meeting in which you voted in favor of the Orpheus operation." Adam retorted. It was time to put the Minister on the back foot. She was starting to look a little too pleased with herself and she needed to be reminded who she was dealing with. "And you have mentioned my family twice... in a way that could easily be interpreted as a threat."

"Of course I voted in favor of the measures," Mavinda waved a dismissive hand. "Every other council member voted in favor of it with an almost psychopathic enthusiasm. Do you think I would have been allowed to live if I had been the only voice of dissent? They're planning on killing millions of civilians, to fight a war that will kill even more people, after already sacrificing thousands of their own troops and lying to the people about it. What is one more death to them? Especially if that death would ensure the operation's secrecy."

Adam blinked. That outburst contained enough classified information to ensure that the Minister wasn't just executed, but her entire world and anyone associated with her purged from existence with the sort of zealous drive that would have made the ancient earth witch hunts look like a schoolyard game. The minister was one of two things: she was either extraordinarily stupid and reckless, or she was very very clever. Clever to a point that even Adam had underestimated.

"And as for your family, I have no intention of threatening them," The Minister said as she sat herself back onto her seat. "They are innocent, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that they are never found by our enemies. Even if that means getting them off world and out of the reach of the Emperor."

Adam nodded, but there was a certain part of that little speech he needed some clarification on. "Our enemies?"

"Yes, Adam, Our enemies. Make no mistake, you have chosen a side in this war, and we are at war. The only thing that remains to be seen is which side of history our side comes out on."

The two of them just stared at each other for a few minutes before Adam sighed. He was taking a risk, he was taking a fucking enormous risk. But in the grand scheme of things, he had already crossed that bridge. If Jasmine Mavinda - a comparatively lower ranked Minister within the High Council - had worked out his involvement in White's death, then it wasn't impossible to conceive of a reality that someone else could too. She was offering him something he never thought he would have in this fight, an ally. A powerful, connected one at that. It wasn't enough to make him trust her, it wasn't even close, but it was something.

"Then what are you proposing?"

The small, playful smile that had graced the Minister's face since this conversation had started - the one that said she thought she knew more than he did, and was teasing him with the full story - faded away. "In about a week, four million innocent lives are going to be thrown away in an attempt to ignite a war that will make that number seem almost trivial. We have to stop it."

"How?"

"I don't know." she sighed, her posture seeming to deflate as the truth of those words, and the desperation of the sentiment behind them, rang around the room. "I... I need your help."

Adam clenched his jaw, and then let another sigh of his own escape from his lips. "Measures have already been taken."

"What? What measures?" Mavinda's eyes shot up to his in a flash. Hope and astonishment replacing the hopelessness that had been painted into them only a second earlier.

"I contacted Valdek, and told him what was happening."

"What??" The Minister seemed to choke. "You found him? I have been trying to get word to him for weeks, I couldn't even get close. How did you contact him?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. I need to earn Valdek's trust, and keeping our avenue of communication a secret seems like a big step on that very long road."

Mavinda's face was a mask of thoughtfulness as she nodded. "Yes, yes, that's a good point. I understand. Do you know if he's going to act?"

"I don't know. The last I heard he was handing the information off to the rebel leadership..."

"Cornelius Crow," Mavinda was still nodding. "He's a good man. He should be able to come up with something."

Adam didn't know that name, not yet, but he filed it away for later. "Valdek said that he wouldn't pass on any information about their decision until after it had been made and carried out. He doesn't trust us."

"Unsurprising, and a sensible precaution," Mavinda agreed. "Do you think you got the information to them in time?"

"I don't know." Adam shook his head. He knew nothing about where the rebel fleet was, or if it was powerful enough to stop a full battlegroup, only that it existed and Valdek was on it. He had no idea what the rebels would, or could do with the intelligence he had provided to them.

Mavinda just let out a long, quivering breath. "So we have to just wait, and hope then."

"It certainly appears that way."

Mavinda nodded again and lifted her eyes back up to Adam's. "Sure you don't fancy a fuck?" She smirked.

"I'm sure."

Mavinda chuckled again "Jenny is a very lucky woman,"

"Debatable. I've put her in a whole world of danger. My girls too."

"Yes." Mavindas eyes turned sympathetic. "You have. So we need to start thinking of what we can do to protect them in the long term. We can't guarantee that we won't be discovered. It's a great advantage that you would be the one to hunt for leaks like this, but we would be fools to assume the ISD is the only tool the Imperium has at its disposal for tasks like this."

"You're talking about the Foreign Ministry."

Mavinda nodded again. "We need to start crippling the council, one member at a time. All of them are guilty and they need to be stopped. And the Foreign Minister is our best next target."

Adam thought about this for a moment but nodded. "Taking out council members isn't something that can be done without some serious questions being raised."

"True, except you have just given the council the perfect scapegoats."

"The Dardanelles Syndicate?"

Mavinda smiled and nodded. "I happen to know that the esteemed Foreign minister uses the same security contractors that White did, except White's security was also on my payroll, Dawes' isn't. They failed with the plot to kidnap Sandra White, so tried again with the Foreign Minister, or at least that will be the story."

Adam considered this for a moment. It wasn't a bad plan but it would need some fine tuning. "I doubt we would be able to use the same excuse again afterward though. Which means we only get one more shot at this. Are we sure Zenya Dawes is the best idea? It is my understanding that Isagora Doukas was the man who suggested the plan. He's the one I want."

"Oh, I feel the same, trust me. But his security is drawn straight from the military. You aren't getting anywhere near him with the same tactics. Dawes is our best option. Besides, once she is out of the picture, there will be nobody incharge of either one of our intelligence branches." She had that smile on her face again. "Meaning someone new will need to be appointed..."

Adam frowned for a second before her meaning dawned on him. "Me?"

"Who better?" Mavinda shrugged with a grin. "The head of the ISD, a man with a ruthless reputation and a long history of investigative, counter intelligence and espionage experience under his belt. You've managed to impress me from the outside, Imagine what you could do from within."

She was right, Adam knew she was right, but this was a change on a fundamental level that he wasn't sure even his bad Adam alter ego could keep up with. He would need to think about it before making a decision. He would also need to talk to Jenny.

Maybe about everything.

"Who else knows?" Mavinda asked, seeming to read his mind. "Does your wife know anything?"

Adam shook his head. This was information he wasn't willing to give out yet. "No, she knows nothing. Ben knows that a credible threat was made against my family, but not by whom. Other than that, nobody knows."He purposefully kept Dom's name out of it too.

"So you were going to take on the entire Imperium by yourself?"

"If necessary, yes."

Mavinda sighed again, like a shudder ran through her body. "Such a shame you're married," she joked. "Sure you don't want to fool around with an Imperial Minister. I could make it something you'd remember forever, and your wife would never need to know."

"I would know," Adam smiled back. "I'm flattered, really. But my answer is still no."

"I never understood women drawn to bad boys," Mavinda chuckled. "Good men are so much rarer, and so much more attractive. Add in a bit of power and phew," she fanned her hand in front of her face

"You never told me the reasons you had for wanting Sandra White dead." Adam tried to pull the conversation back onto track.

The Minister shrugged. "Isagora Doukas first tabled the idea of the attack on Orpheus, but White seconded it. I also have a suspicion that she was the one who first suggested the 16 Lyra operation to the Emperor. She needed to pay, and she was the easiest target."

"The Emperor ordered that?"

Mavinda nodded. "Yeah, not the heroic leader of the Imperium we thought him to be, right?"

"And what sort of information were your men trying to get from her?"

"I wanted to know who else was involved with the planning of it. Doukas is a vicious piece of shit, so him coming up with the Orpheus plan is true to form, but White wasn't bright enough to come up with the 16 Lyra op on her own. I wanted to know who else was involved. I'm guessing she didn't tell you that part?"

"No, people will tell you the truth with the right encouragement, but they will still skip details that make them look bad, or to get the whole thing over with faster."

"What did you do to her?"

"Enough."

Mavinda nodded, taking that for the lack of an answer it was meant to be. Adam didn't need to brag about the things he had done to Minister White, nor any of the other people he had interrogated over the years, and to say something crass like 'I burned the skin from her body' would achieve nothing.

"Your reputation as a dangerous man is well earned, Adam," Mavinda smiled as she pulled herself to her feet. "I'm glad that was how she experienced her final moments."

Adam stood up as well, sensing this meeting had come to an end.

"Can I ask you something, Adam?" she asked, her voice suddenly and unexpectedly somber.

"Of course, Minister Mavinda."

"You thought I was involved in all of this, you thought I had voted with the council voluntarily, you thought I was complicit, didn't you?"

Adam paused for a moment before answering. "I did, yes."

"And you were going to deal with me the same way as you dealt with the late Sandra White?"

Adam held her eyes. "Are you asking me if I was going to have you killed?"

"No, having me killed is so impersonal. I am getting a read on you, Adam. You don't get other people to do your dirty work. You were going to kill me yourself, weren't you?"

Another pause, another pregnant moment between them. "Yes."

"Good. I need a partner not afraid to go the distance with me in this. What about now?"

"Assuming all of what you have told me is true, and I will be checking, I think you're safe."

"You think?"

"We are never going to be safe, Minister. What we are doing is the highest form of treason, and there is always someone watching. You need to remember that. We have both taken an enormous risk today, one slip up, one wrong move, one misstep, and we will be made to watch as everyone we love is tortured to death in front of us, we will be made to suffer a fate so much worse than death, and they won't kill us until we beg them to. If you're looking for 'safe,' you're in the wrong line of work."

She nodded thoughtfully a few times before sucking in a deep breath and resetting her posture-back straight, chest pressed out a little, and head held high. The mark of a person of power within the Imperium. "Next time you hear from anyone in the rebellion, please tell them they have my support in any way I can give it, and I wish them the best of luck."

"I will, Minister."

"Please, I think if we are trusting each other with our lives, you can call me Jasmine." she smiled. "Now, for the official reason for my visit. The council has ruled that you should start rounding up and arresting anyone involved in the death of the Minister for Internal Security," she said in an authoritative voice, but one hidden behind a thinly veiled smile. "The council doesn't want you to dismantle the entire syndicate, at least not yet, but you should take any and all action you feel is necessary to eliminate this threat and bring those responsible for this heinous crime to justice." She finished with a roll of her eyes.

"It will be done, Minister... Jasmine. But one more thing before you go, if I may be so bold."

"Of course."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," she smiled with a deep exhale, "and because I'm in a position to be able to do it. And because, as far as I knew, nobody else would."

********

Bethany. 10

She drummed her fingers against the panel of her shiny new helm display. From the Captain's chair of her new freighter, she could access and control any of the vast array of ship systems or none of them. There was, in theory, room for a crew of six on this bridge, each of them with a station assigned to a particular one of the ship's functions. There was Helm control in front of her and offset a little to her right. Sensors and comms beside it and to her left. On the far left wall was navigation and astrometrics, a fancy name given for the ship's ability to plot courses outside of the commonly used space lanes. On the far right wall were internals, the system used to monitor and maintain conditions in the cargo hold. This was rarely used for all but the most delicate and atmospherically sensitive cargos - livestock, for example - and she wasn't hauling any. Still, it was a handy capability when it came to ferrying the often much more lucrative cargos around the galaxy. And right up front was tactical, the console that controlled the ship's weapons.

The Long Haul had been modestly armed, it could hold off an attack by fighters, and maybe a few corvettes, but anything bigger than that would have been a problem. The Horizon Blue, on the other hand, was a different beast altogether. This thing was armed to the teeth! It wasn't ever going to be a threat against a fully equipped Imperium squadron, but against a few hobbled-together pirate destroyers? Yeah, this beauty could hold its own, maybe even against something as big as an older model light cruiser if she was good.

Of course, none of those consoles were active, their screens dark and powered down; Bethany flew alone. That wasn't to say, however, that she was alone on the ship. She was currently carrying three enigmatic passengers, and Bethany wasn't sure how to feel about that. Captain Smith, the commanding officer aboard the Sys Def destroyer ISS Hendrix, had docked with her the Horizon Blue only a few hours after their last conversation, offloading the three passengers with a nervous smile, wishing her luck, and sending her on her way. Those three passengers were now huddled around the navigation terminal on her left, watching the main display screen at the front of the bridge.

The Lees.

Traditional Chinese nomenclature was a rarity these days, with the more Western method of having the given name first and surname second in a person's name being the norm in almost all of society. There were still, however, some remote holdouts that stuck to the old ways. The Lees, apparently, hailed from one such place and used the ancient Chinese model for their names, placing the family name first and the given name second. Lee Han, or just Han, was the patriarch of the family. An older man, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, who had a dusting of thinning grey hair on his head and a set of very keen grey eyes. He watched everything; the slightest flicker of movement from her or on the view screen immediately grabbed his attention. He was a man very obviously looking for threats in every shadow, threats he abjectly refused to discuss. If Bethany were to be honest, his nervousness made her nervous.

His wife, Lee Min, or just Min, was sitting in the nav station's chair. She looked frail; that was hardly surprising considering the ordeal they had been through. Those stasis pods hardly looked like the most comfortable way to travel at the best of times, but each of them had been put into those pods close to death's door. The crew of the Hendrix had brought them back to something approaching full health after their release from their pods, but the strain of it all was painfully apparent in the way the matriarch of the family held herself. She looked drawn, haggard, and with a bone-deep weariness. Her eyes, however, were just as alert as her husband's, but whereas his glances darted to anything that could be a potential threat, hers stayed locked on her son. She literally wouldn't let him out of her sight.

Mike. He was the only one of the family who insisted on using the Western method when he introduced himself to her: Mike Lee. He had studiously ignored the look of disapproval from both of his parents when he had done this and had shaken her hand enthusiastically. Mike was a big guy, easily six foot tall and built like he should be a Powerball player or a lifelong dock worker. He was huge. But he was also friendly. He was the only one of the Lee family who had engaged Bethany in anything that could be considered conversation. But unlike his parents, whose eyes seemed filled with fear and worry, his were full of wonder. They slid over every icon on every terminal, every maintenance hatch, every display, and every piece of the working parts that turned the Horizon Blue from a bunch of pieces of metal into a sleek, top-of-the-line freighter. It made Bethany smile, if only to herself. She knew that look; she had seen it in the mirror more times than she could count.

He was in love--not with another person, but with her ship. Space travel, starships, the endless expanse of space--it held an allure that had dragged her from her home at an age not much younger than Mike's, and he had well and truly felt love's first sting.

Their conversations, if they could be called that, were not idle chit-chat; they never passed the time of day, and Mike seemed as utterly incapable of small talk as Bethany was. No, they talked shop. Mike wanted to know everything. How the systems worked together, what certain consoles did, how she plotted her courses, how she teased the engines into performing intricate maneuvers that something as enormous as the Horizon Blue had no business being able to do. How gravity wells affected space lanes, how FTL engines worked, everything. She may have been worried about his motives if he had shown even a modicum of interest in the weapons systems or in accessing systems he wasn't supposed to be in, but he didn't; he just wanted to learn. Of course, his parents had been firmly opposed to any interaction at all between the two. She knew what it meant to have stern, disapproving parents, so had smiled to herself again when Mike had outright ignored them, but in his case, she wasn't so sure that was the case. They had gone through something that had almost gotten them all killed, and Bethany didn't know if they really were being stern and disapproving or if they had genuine reason to fear for their son's safety. She had no idea what had happened to them to have them end up in those pods; neither had Captain Smith. Whatever it was, it was either bad enough for the Lee parents to be concerned that the danger was still present, or they were involved enough to see them implicated in something larger. Either way, they didn't want Mike spending time with her, and he was doing his level best to defy them at every turn.

She was starting to like him.

At that moment, when his father's eyes were flicking from one passing ship to another, studying each of them for any sign of hostile intent, and while his mother had her eyes firmly locked onto the back of his head, Mike just stared in wonder as the shape of Caledonia - with its clear blue waters and lush green continents - grew ever larger on the main screen.

Caledonia wasn't one of the crown jewels of the imperium, but it was certainly up there. Being only the eighth planet colonized by humanity, its terraforming process had not only been completed centuries ago, it had been perfected. To Bethany, terraforming was something of a mystery, having spent most of her life in space, but even she had to admit the planet was beautiful. There wasn't a single ounce of pollution in its skies or in its vast oceans. Its waters were crystal clear and clean enough to drink and swim in. Its flora had been largely replaced by species native to Earth, and the few that remained had been meticulously selected to be both beneficial to the ecosystems and have absolutely zero harmful effects on its new human population. Pharmaceuticals had counteracted the very few bacteria that still proved toxic to people, and not a single species of the planet's wildlife could do anything more than provide a pretty backdrop to humanity's assimilation of the world. Bethany couldn't even begin to imagine how many species had been wiped out of existence just so the Imperium could expand onto this once rugged planet. Still, those that were left were either stunning to look at or served a function that Earth-native species couldn't.

Having been established some four hundred years ago and deep within the Hudson Expanse, the original colony had exploded into a thriving hub of human activity, now numbering close to two billion residents. Dozens of pristine cities - thoughtfully and carefully located and laid out - proved a stark contrast to the haphazard, evolutionary way in which Earth's own cities had been founded. Each of them was a monument to Imperium engineering and technological prowess, and, as they had been for centuries, each of them was continuously growing. Earth, with its rampant over-population, had been hemorrhaging people for generations; hundreds of millions of citizens looking to escape the cradle of humanity and seek out a new life in the cosmos. A not insignificant proportion of the upper-middle classes had found their way here, and, as such, the planet was now a thriving beacon of mankind's growth.

Ringed by orbital platforms and satellites that handled everything from communication to weather control, the air-space - so to speak - above Caledonia was one of the busiest in the Imperium, needing a traffic control center that could almost rival Earth Spacedock. It was a hive of activity for all thirty-three hours of the planetary day: colossal colony ships, massive freighters, enormous Sys-Def battleships, countless smaller shuttles, liners, cargo haulers, military vessels, and pleasure craft, privately owned, imperium operated, or flag-flyers of the ever-present Merchant's Guild, all of them were here in droves. It was one of the few planets in the Imperium that was busy enough to make it take longer to traverse the agonizingly slow traffic-controlled space than it did to sub-light travel through the entirety of the system to get here.

The Horizon Blue, with Bethany at its helm and Mike watching eagerly, was still two hours away from the outer ring of traffic control buoys and planetary defense platforms when her comms system lit up like the unity day firework display. Pulling her eyes away from the main screen to send her identification credentials to the Sys-Def force and to planetary control, Bethany was surprised to look back up and find Mike standing right behind her.

"Leave the Captain to do her job, Mike Xiǎo," Min hissed across the bridge.

Mike, flashing a quick, questioning glance to Bethany, paid her no mind. "Was that the traffic control?" He asked enthusiastically.

Bethany nodded. "That's right. We have to identify ourselves, our cargo, where we are headed, and where we have traveled from."

"So... three human passengers and some rum, along with the ship's name, registration, your Merchant Guild identification, and... wherever our destination is?"

"Got it in one," she smiled back up at him.

Mike nodded, either not noticing or not understanding Bethany's approving smile.

"Érzi..." Han said warningly, seeming to be growing tired of his son's refusal to obey his mother. "...come here, now."

Mike sighed and rolled his eyes before turning toward his parents. "You want to hide away from the galaxy for your own stupid choices, that's your call," he barked back firmly. Both parents flinched as if they had been physically slapped by his words and his tone. "I'm not you, and I will be leaving all this bullshit behind as soon as I possibly can. Now, if you don't mind, I am trying to learn something. You did always say education was important."

Han, apparently now distracted from his constant vigil for danger, just blinked, his jaw hanging open. "How dare you..."

"How dare I what?" Mike growled back. "I swear to all the ancestors, if you spout some shit about respect, we are going to have a big problem. I almost died because of you! My sister, Mèimei, did die because of you, because of your greed and your stupidity. My respect for you is gone; if you want respect, take it up with your triad buddies. That seemed to work out so well for you before! I've said it before, and I will say it one more time, just so we are clear: I wish she had made it out of those pods, and you were the one to die in there. Now, leave me the fuck alone!"

"I am your Father!" the older man puffed his chest out and took a step forward.

"Oh please, do it!" Mike held his gaze, easily towering over his father without needing to make himself look bigger. "Nothing would make me happier. You are not my father. You are a drunk and a fool. She may be stuck with you," he nodded to his mother, "But I'm not!" There was another tense few seconds before Han seemed to deflate a little and stepped back next to his wife. Min, for her part, said nothing; she just hung her head, refusing to meet the eyes of either her husband or her son. Bethany couldn't tell if it was shame or grief that made her look that way; maybe it was both. Either way, her eyes finally rose back to Mike.

He turned his back on his parents and faced Bethany again, the anger and the pain in his eyes flaring briefly before he took a deep breath and gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Captain, please, I would like to learn."

Bethany, neither used to, nor particularly interested in being in the middle of a cryptic family feud, flashed a quick look over to the boy's parents. She hadn't missed the triad reference, and her mind instantly jumped back to the conversation she'd had with Captain Smith a few days earlier. It would seem that the Lees had gotten themselves mixed up with some of the more unsavory elements of society, and their son, apparently their only surviving child, wasn't happy with the situation in the slightest. She was about to suggest the family leave the bridge. Caledonian airspace was not the sort of place you wanted to enter while distracted, but the imploring eyes of the young man, a man no older than twenty, made her let out a sigh of her own and nod. "I'll have to make contact with the local Merchant Guild rep soon to see where we are picking up our cargo," she explained.

"Wait, so what did you put for our destination when you sent our details?"

"Waiting for instructions," she shrugged.

"Ah, makes sense" Mike nodded thoughtfully, the anger of only a few seconds ago seeming to have vanished from him entirely. "Oh, is this the Bob Geldof you were telling me about?" Mike laughed suddenly.

"You know who Bob Geldof was?"

"Of course, who doesn't?"

"Well, apparently he doesn't," she smirked. "But no, it will be the local representative."

"Understood Captain. Then what?"

"Then we will follow the instructions given to us and make our way there, " she said with a smile before something occurred to her. She turned in her seat to look over to the Lees. Han had his hand on his wife's shoulder, and her own hand reached up to hold it, but neither of them was looking at the other. Han had his eyes fixed on the main view screen while Min was staring hauntedly at the deck. "Have you given any thought about where you would like to go?" she asked them. "Caledonia is as good a place as any."

Han looked like she had just jumped at him from out of a maintenance hatch, jumping a little before composing himself and shaking his head. "No, too close, nowhere inside the core territories, please."

Bethany nodded, although she wasn't particularly happy with the answer: "The passenger we are picking up here has paid extra for a direct journey to... wherever they are going. I don't know where that is yet, though. It could be weeks before we make landfall again."

"I understand," Han answered simply, "We will have an answer for you by the time your new passenger has reached their destination."

He wasn't taking the hint, and Bethany didn't have the heart to push it. "Okay," she said plainly before turning back to her terminal. "Time to make contact, I guess."

She tapped out a few commands into the comms system. A few moments later, a channel was opened to the local planetary office of the Merchant's Guild, and a portly, spectacled woman answered the call. "How may I help you today?" She asked in that tone that only weary customer service workers can muster. One that said she had to be polite on a call but was too damned tired to put any effort into it.

"Good afternoon," Bethany smiled back, more than used to dealing with that tone. "Captain Bethany Jenson of the Horizon Blue, contract number..." She looked down at her terminal and read off the number. "... alpha echo four two eight five niner seven zulu alpha bravo, checking in for further instructions."

The MG rep typed in the number as fast as Bethany gave it to her and then paused as she read her screen. "Contract has arranged for a private shuttle to meet you at waypoint eighty-four. Please make your way there and wait for their arrival. They will contact you on approach."

"Wait," Bethany frowned. "They? There was only supposed to be one passenger."

"There are five passengers," The rep said as if she were giving out the weather. Bethany's frown deepened. They had the room; she would have had problems on the Long Haul just from the three passengers she already had, but the Horizon Blue could fit in another five without issue; she just wasn't particularly happy about having eight strangers on her ship. She was a self-confessed and unapologetic loner even before Dick's mutiny attempt, and that hadn't helped her become more sociable; another five people would make this the single most crowded flight she had been on in decades.

"They're all going to the same destination?"

"That's what the contract says," the rep gave an uninterested shrug.

"Okay, well it is what it is," Bethany sighed. "Waypoint eighty-four. Received and confirmed."

"Have a nice day." The rep ended the call with another insincere drone before Bethany could say another word.

Mike looked down at her and arched an eyebrow. "They all that friendly?"

"Actually, she was one of the more friendly ones."

"Bob isn't like that, is he?"

"No," she chuckled. "Bob is my personal contact. He gets a cut of whatever I make, so it's in his best interests to keep me happy. She was just a bureaucrat. Red tape and monotony do strange things to people."

"Trust me," he snorted. "Excitement makes them worse," he glanced over his shoulder at his parents before looking back to Bethany. "So, Waypoint eighty-four..." his eyes flicked up to the main viewscreen and the mind-boggling dance of ships and satellites moving about the area before arching an eyebrow. "...how the hell do you go about finding that?"

Bethany chuckled again and tapped the terminal. "We ask for directions."

"Psssh," he teased. "Christopher Columbus didn't need to ask for directions, and neither do I."

"Maybe, but I do," Bethany grinned as she typed the nav point details into the computer and waited for a second before a small blue ring appeared on the main screen around what was presumably waypoint eighty-four.

"There, found it. See? No directions needed." Mike teased.

Bethany rolled her eyes playfully and switched her terminal to helm control. "How did I ever manage without you?" She smirked. "Okay, let's get moving. Ten percent power should do it."

An hour later, the Captain of the Horizon Blue was watching Mike from the other side of the bridge. She had decided that considering the kid wanted to learn, and she couldn't answer every single question he had while piloting through the utter chaos of the Caledonian port lanes, she would just pull up a few basic navigation lessons on one of the terminals and leave him to learn at his own leisure. That had been forty minutes ago, and she was pretty sure that Mike hadn't moved a single muscle since. He was hunched over the screen on the Con station, reading intently enough to suggest that this was the most interesting thing that had ever fallen before his eyes.

His parents hadn't moved much either. Han was still watching every moving light - each one bolted onto the hull of a passing ship - that floated past the view screen. His wife, Min, only took her eyes from the floor for long enough to check that Mike was still where she last saw him, and he hadn't spontaneously vanished from his seat. For his part, Mike hadn't spared either of them a single glance. She wanted to ask what had happened; she wanted to understand what had caused the intriguing young man to become so hostile toward his parents, or at least his father. She wanted to learn about the series of events that led to them being put into those pods and their paths crossing. But experience told her better. Curiosity could kill a hell of a lot larger prey than cats.

Suddenly, a chime from her comm system pulled her attention back to her terminal. She pressed an icon to accept the incoming channel. "This is shuttle one eight five niner, on approach to the Horizon Blue. Permission to come alongside."

Bethany looked down at the screen in time to see the shuttle's identification credentials, along with the contract number, being received. "This is the Horizon Blue, permission granted. We will meet you at the starboard side airlock."

"Confirmed, Horizon Blue. Eta: twelve minutes. See you soon."

The channel closed. "So, erm, which side is starboard again?" Mike was looking back at her.

"Right side of the ship."

"Our right, or their right?" He frowned. That was actually a good question, a simple one, but one that showed he was already thinking in terms of perspective. It was a vital skill when it came to space travel: the ability to think in three-dimensional terms, pitch, roll, angle of approach, and so on.

"Our right, as we face out from the bridge." She answered.

He nodded, looking like he was filing that information away for later before his eyes rose to hers again. "Want some company?"

"Mike, Xiǎo..." His mother spoke softly, but Mike's withering glare silenced her.

Bethany sighed. "Sure, why not."

"I'm coming too," Han declared, the first time he had spoken since his altercation with Mike earlier.

"For fuck sake..." Mike groaned.

"No. You don't know those people," Han said resolutely. "I do. If any of these new passengers are one of them..."

That seemed to take the wind out of Mike's sails, and he nodded, turning to Bethany questioningly. "Well, I guess it's a group outing," she said with a weary smile." Come on, it's this way."

It took ten of the twelve minutes for the trio to traverse half of the length of the Horizon Blue to the airlock, but exactly twelve minutes after ending the call, the Captain of the shuttle attached the docking sleeve to the hull of the Horizon Blue and pressurized it. Another minute later, Bethany listened to the sound of the shuttle's outer doors being opened and the sound of footsteps coming across the gangway. The new arrivals, six of them in total - her five new passengers and the shuttle captain, presumably - entered the airlock, and Bethany, using the Horizon Blue's new security package for the first time, scanned them.

No explosives, weapons, or contraband were present. That was a good start. She hit the button and the inner door swung open. Mike gasped loudly.

Stepping through the hatch was a formal, severe-looking man, at least in his mid-sixties. The way he held himself just screamed former military. There was a formality about him, a pride in his posture and an appraising look in his eyes. His back was hull-beam straight, and his hair was coiffed to the side in a manner that suggested it had been combed the same way for decades. Beside him was a woman, about the same age as the man, just shorter and more casual-looking. Her eyes were anything but formal; they seemed... excited? Apprehensive, maybe, but in a good way, as if she were just about to receive a surprise she had been teased with all week. There was a definite spring in her step. But behind her, and presumably, the source of Mike's gasp, was a much younger woman, maybe in her late twenties, and - even by Bethany's neutral standards - she was stunning. Long, flowing blonde hair, a petite figure with curves that even Bethany couldn't help but admire, and a dazzling, radiant smile.

Each of her hands held one of the small children pressed in tight against her legs. A boy, maybe around ten, and a little girl, who looked to be about six. Both of them looked around with an air of wonder. This was clearly their first time in space. Stepping forward, however, was a middle-aged guy wearing a silver jumpsuit and a smile. "Captain Jenson?" The shuttle pilot said.

"That's me," Bethany smiled back.

"Your passengers," he looked back at the group. "If I could just get your mark." He held out a datapad, and Bethany pressed her thumb to the relevant part of the document on its screen, accepting possession of her cargo. "Thank you very much," he smiled politely, then turned to the others. "Safe travels, all of you. Nice to meet you, kids." He smiled at the children, offered another nod to Bethany, and exited back into the airlock.

The older man of the group watched him leave and let the airlock door swing closed before he turned back to her; then, stepping forward, he offered his hand to her. "Thank you for accepting the contract, Captain. My name is Mark Taylor, and this is my family."

********

In the comms room of the rebel battlecruiser Hyperion, hundreds of light years away, Silvia West nodded with a smile as the heavily encrypted notification came through onto her screen. She had her doubts as to whether the Merchant's Guild could get Stevo's father off-planet without raising any alarm bells, but they had delivered everything they promised and more. War was good for business, and the rebellion would be in need of a lot more of their services before too long, so making good on this contract was a good way for the Guild to sweeten the pot, so to speak, and ensure future business. She didn't like the guild, they were slimy, untrustworthy, manipulative bastards who she was fairly convinced had a part in the treatment of the people of the Spiral Arm long before the rebellion freed it, but they were an essential part of their logistical network and sometimes doing the right thing meant dealing with people who weren't.

Stevo was currently running more simulations with her father and the other officers. The thought made her smile; she was more than aware of what the man she had fallen in love with was capable of, but he still had his doubters. She had no problems whatsoever imagining Stevo wiping the floor with them in one simulation after another and having a grand old time doing it. But as good a mood as he would be in when he got back to her quarters tonight, it would be nothing compared to how he would feel when she told him that Mark Taylor - his father, his mother, his sister, and her children were finally on their way. His mood over the past few days had been lighter; it had been almost buoyant. He had seemed as happy with their relationship as she was, but the pain and darkness of the 381's losses still haunted him. The reconciliation with his father, or at least the first steps on that very long road, seemed to have given him something more than just her to be excited about. This was the second step, and it was a big one.

Her smile grew wider as she sent back the confirmation. They should be arriving at the border of the spiral arm around the same time the rebel fleet did. Things couldn't have worked out any better, and she knew just how to celebrate the event with her lover.

********

Laura. 14

Laura couldn't help but marvel at how quickly things seemed to keep changing in her world. Of course, things always seemed to happen quickly in the normal life she'd had before meeting the pair of Ancients, but recently, things had become ridiculous.

Take the last few days, for example. Three days ago, she had just been finding her feet on the Atlas. She had been saying her goodbyes to an utterly thrilled Lycander and his Mariner council, all of them positively giddy at the prospect of a fully powered Primus, Then welcoming aboard the Mariner observers, ten of them to be exact, two for each of the fleets controlled by each of the Five of Seven. That was a pretty big shift in her reality already. Of the ten, there were only a handful she recognized and only two that she knew personally. The first was Ellie. Ellie was the same age as Laura and they had come up through the Mariner education system together, but whereas Laura had specialized in piloting and ship command, Ellie had gone down the engineering route. She was good at her job, with a sharp mind and a keen intellect, but that didn't show whatsoever in any of her outward appearances or mannerisms.

Ellie was one of those infuriating women who thought it was cute or attractive to act stupid. Laura knew that Ellie wasn't dumb, yet she insisted on acting like it at every opportunity she got. She spoke in a voice that was at least an octave higher than it needed to be - another part of her character that Laura knew to be an act - wore clothes that clung far too tightly to her artificially enhanced breasts - because boob jobs were a thing in the Mariner fleet, for reasons that made no fucking sense to Laura at all - and generally acted like a ditz when Laura knew she was anything but. She and Ellie had been friends, of a sort, when they were younger but had grown apart as the much more serious Laura tried to distance herself from a woman she considered to be the worst kind of idiot: A fake one.

Still, if anyone had a chance to come up with an idea of how to redesign an interface between the Ancient control helmets and the Mariner computers, it... well, it probably wasn't going to be her, but she had as good a chance as any of the engineers in the party. Ellie was more likely the one who would spot a problem and then come up with the stupidest way possible to bring attention to it while studiously trying to avoid sounding intelligent. God, she fucking annoyed Laura.

But what annoyed her more was the fact it seemed to work. Not a single member of the male portion of the species seemed to notice it was all an act; they all thought she was cute, harmless, and nice to look at. Okay, even Laura had to admit that Ellie was pretty, maybe even hot, and she was an asset to the observer team. Still, the fact that she seemed to be on the team just so she could shake her ass, bounce her tits, and giggle too much seemed to be a slap in the face to Laura, who had worked fucking hard for most of her life, just to get the chance to get to where she was now. Ellie had the mind and the ability to have made it here through good old-fashioned hard work and determination, she was brilliant enough to be an asset to the team on her own merit. But no, apparently, tits and ass was an easier way to get there.

Ellie was an annoyance but not a surprising one. The person on the team who had really gotten Laura frazzled was the second of the people she recognized: Ambrose fucking Dayton. Jesus, even his name made her flush.

Ambrose was technically a Xeno-anthropologist; his job was to study the cultures of alien species to see if they could be an asset or a hindrance to the greater Mariner mission. If a species was unreasonably hostile to unknown peoples entering their territory, then it was probably wiser to avoid it; if a species could be appeased or even swayed by offering gifts and platitudes, then that is what the Mariners could do to keep them friendly; if a species was inexplicably repulsed by the color red, then a lot of ships would need a new paint job. Whatever, it was his job to work that sort of shit out, and his role here, predictably enough, was not to study the Atlas but rather the pair of Ancients crewing it. That wasn't the part that had Laura flustered, though.

Nope, it was the fact that they had spent the last decade and a half on-again-off-again fucking. She would have liked to have called it a relationship, but it wasn't one, not really. Ambrose had made that abundantly clear to her the last time she had brought it up. Laura couldn't really say she was in love with Ambrose, but she'd had a crush on him since the first time they had met as teenagers, and that had grown into something... more. He, apparently, had felt the same way about her. Her first, well, everything had been with Ambrose. Her first crush, her first kiss, her first time, her first orgasm, her first pregnancy scare, her first morning of regret afterward, her first walk of shame, the first time her grandmother had looked at her as if to say she was less than impressed with her choices, and all of her first heartbreaks.

Things between them always went the same way: an intense and burning passion for each other that inevitably ended in the closest thing a human relationship could come to a supernova. No, not a bright and beautiful wonder of the cosmos, but an explosive collapse of the fundamental building blocks of existence and a generally messy place to be around for a decent amount of time afterward. The last such time had been the impetus Laura had needed to apply for a ship of her own, which had led her to take command of the Seren. The Seren had eventually led her to find the Atlas and the Ancients, and that had brought all of them here.

So in a way, all of this shit was Ambrose's fault.

She had spent the rest of that day, and most of the next, getting the observer team settled and showing them how to use things like the sleeping platforms and the transporter rooms. There had been lots of oohs and aahs and far too many giggles from Ellie. Throughout it all, Ambrose had been giving her that same look he had been given her for the last sixteen years, one that was filled with the promise of all the things he wanted to do to her, things he knew she would love, things she knew she would love, and things that would start that whole vicious cycle all over again. She had tried to stay professional, she had tried to ignore him, and for the most part, she had succeeded, but she would be lying if she said the temptation wasn't there. Not a single one of the twenty-seven kilometers of the Atlas had seen any fucking since before humanity had pulled itself out of the primordial soup; she wasn't entirely opposed to being the first person to re-christen as many of its rooms as possible. But she was a big girl with big girl panties, and she wasn't naive enough to think that this time, with her newfound success and good fortune, would be any different from any of the dozens of times that had come before them.

In fact, she wouldn't put it past him to use her new position as Mariner Liaison to advance his own mission. Getting her back into the sack was a good way to do that, and as much as she was tempted, she was equally determined to put some distance between them. Dayton fucking Ambrose was a distraction Laura really didn't need right now.

More than that, she knew. She knew who he was, she knew what sort of man he was, deep to his core. She knew how he would treat her, she knew he COULD make her happy, but made the intentional choice not to, over and over again. She knew she would be left hurt, miserable, and depressed, just like all the other times. She knew he wasn't worth it. But she had known all of these things before and had stupidly let herself be dragged back into their little... Whatever it was. She had watched the roll of the eyes of the people around her when she had tried to give them the 'it will be different this time' shpiel, she had felt her own mind doubting those words even as she said them. Dayton fucking Ambrose was a very flawed and selfish man, she knew, with absolute certainty, that she could do better. She could do better even if she stayed alone. But there was something inside her, something she knew not only to be stupid, but also toxic and dangerous. She knew it would be a struggle not to go back.

Laura was a strong, independant, accomplished woman, but deep down she knew. She was just as weak and pathetic as the child she had been when she first met him. Some people never changed, and it was becoming clear that Laura would be one of them unless she pulled herself together and grew a damned backbone.

It was, surprisingly, Wu who had rescued her. He had spotted the tension between the two of them in a heartbeat and had been smirking teasingly at Laura for days. But then, Elijah had interrupted their orientation meeting with a cryptic message for Wu which saw him dart out of the room in a manner that suggested something important had just blown up and was currently still on fire. Laura, neither summoned nor invited to join him, had just frowned at the door behind him and distractedly gone back to her work with the Observers. They were all smart people, even Ellie - especially Ellie - and most of them had picked up the basics of the Atlas pretty quickly, although a few of the linguists had spent far too long staring at the icon panel in the transporter room trying to decipher the language.

Laura hadn't seen Wu for the rest of that day. It was early the next morning that he reappeared, looking uncharacteristically stressed. Something was bothering him, and it hadn't taken long for him to give her a highly sanitized version of what it was.

"We're going on a field trip," he had said to her, his face an uncharacteristic mask of seriousness.

"Sorry, what?"

"Something has come up."

"Well, obviously. What is it?" she rolled her eyes, playful, but curious.

"I've received another message,"

"From one of your other studs?" She had smirked at him.

"Yes," he answered without taking the bait. This, on its own, had made Laura pause. Wu had never, in the entire time she had known him, missed the opportunity for some banter. The fact he hadn't bitten back in the slightest meant that this was something really serious. "We need to split our forces, and I need you to come with me."

"Split our forces?" she gawked

"We need to take one of the ships in the hangar and make a little detour," He wasn't really giving her a lot to work with, but she had gotten the impression that this wasn't really a request. She wasn't being asked to go with him, she was being ordered.

"What about the observers?" She had asked.

"You've shown them around, haven't you? Shown them how things work?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then they'll be fine."

"And if they're not, or if they get lost?"

"Then they'll be less fine; it's not important."

Not important?? They could starve to death if they get lost."

"Did you put the post-it notes in the transporter rooms to translate the icons?"

"Of course."

"Well then, if they can't follow simple instructions and die as a result, we can simply call it a case of natural selection. Like I said, it's not important."

"And where we are going is?" It wasn't a challenge, just Laura trying to get her head around the rapidly changing and ever-cryptic situation. She was getting the impression that she was only ever being told the bare minimum of what she needed to know.

"Yes," Wu answered simply.

"Why do you need me to go?"

"Because Elijah needs to fly the ship, I will be busy with... something... when we get there, and you are better with people than either of us."

"Wait, what? People? What people?"

Wu had spun around and looked at her. "Can we stop pretending that you aren't bouncing with excitement to be taking a destroyer or a cruiser for a spin?" It was the first time he had grinned at her that whole day, but he wasn't wrong. "What does it matter what we need to do when we get there?"

"Is it going to be dangerous?"

"Probably not."

"Probably?"

"As amazing as I am, not even I can see the future."

"How long will we be gone?" she was becoming aware that she had asked a hell of a lot of questions in the previous few minutes, and still didn't have the first idea what was going on.

"All going well, no more than a day or two. We should be back before the Atlas reaches the refugee fleet. Oh, that's what it is, you are afraid we're going to miss the fireworks when the Atlas reaches the evacuation fleet."

"Well, yeah, kind of."

Wu had just nodded and smiled. "No need to worry; I have no intention of missing that either. I already have the popcorn."

She had no idea if that last part was a joke, but a part of her was already preparing herself for Wu to eat popcorn while Elijah did his thing.

Well, that had been the day before. She'd been given just enough time to say goodbye to a few members of the observation team, pack a small bag, and meet Wu In the Atlas's massive hangar bay. She had given her ship, the Seren, a nostalgic view as they walked right by it. Life had been so much simpler when she lived on her, flying from one recovery mission to another. Instead, She was led a few hundred feet further down the metallic walkway and up the gangplank of one of the Valiant Class Destroyers that filled that part of the bay.

"Destroyer XM10452," Wu had frowned up at the looming hulk of the craft. "Not the most poetic of names, but it will have to do. Come on, 452, open up." Laura had blinked at him, but her jaw practically hit the gangplank as the door on the destroyer had suddenly, as if on command, started to open.

"Did it just... listen to you?"

"Much better than the alternative, don't you think?" He grinned and stepped inside.

The Valiant class destroyer looked nothing like the Atlas on the outside; it reminded her more like a bird: a long central hull that flared out at the tail for the engines and a large, curved protrusion on each side that looked a lot like wings. There were some pretty menacing - and interesting - looking weapon barrels poking out from beneath those wings too, and Laura immediately regretted never coming down here for a closer look at them before now.

Inside, however, was another story: if she didn't know better, she would have sworn she was just on a massively smaller version of the Atlas. Even the layout - sans the hangar bay - was exactly the same, meaning Laura instantly knew how to get around the ship. Wu had strolled up to the bridge, dropped into the Captain's chair, and put a helmet on his head - ignoring the groan from Laura at her realization that the command interface helmets the Mariners had been searching for for years were literally right under their noses the entire time - apparently dropped in a couple of commands, and then went to stow his gear.

Laura had only stood there and watched through the main viewscreen as the ship, seemingly entirely of its own accord, released itself from the docking clamps, rotated within the bay to face the hull, and then powered forward. The hull had folded open on itself in that same rolling sequin effect it had done to let the Seren and the other ships inside, and before she had time to even take a seat, the 452 was out in the inky blackness of space. Within less than a minute, it had jumped to hyperspace... or whatever the hell the Ancients called this vastly superior form of it.

Laura had been flying starships of varying size for her entire life; in all of them, she had felt that she was firmly in control, precisely and deliberately inputting commands into the helm to direct the ship where to go. But this was different, this Ancient destroyer seemed to have a mind of its own, and all she could do was sit down and try to hold on to the damn thing for dear life. It was exhilarating, confusing, and terrifying in equal measure, and she could only watch as entire star systems zipped past the screen in streaks of varying colored light.

It was breathtaking.

She still didn't have the slightest clue where they were going; she still couldn't decipher the Nav console to find out, and the leader of this little expedition seemed more interested in putting away his socks. All she could do was sit, watch, and wait.

"Okay, where are we going and why all the secrecy?" She asked as Wu stepped back onto the bridge about an hour later.

Wu glanced down at Laura's bag, still at her feet, then back at her. "We are getting a few more passengers." His reply was as unhelpful as it was surprising.

"Who?"

"I'm not sure," Wu frowned. "At least not entirely." Laura felt her eye twitch. Wu sighed. "Okay, for a long time now, a few of us have been seeking out other Ancients. As you can imagine, with the Imperium's vastly larger surveillance network and apparatus of the state, they find newly joined children long before we do, and it's much too late for us to reach them. Most of them are killed, but a few are kept alive; Elijah was one such example. Before you ask, we don't know why. Over the years, I managed to get myself into the Royal Academy on the ruse of being a martial arts instructor, but obviously, it was only an effort to get Elijah out of there, but also to make some long term contacts in the process."

"Like that rebel general?"

"Exactly. One of my compatriots, however, takes a more direct route; he hunts down the ones who have fallen through the Imperium cracks, and he has found someone. We are on our way to pick them up."

"We will have another Ancient on board?" Laura gasped.

"Well, two more, to be precise."

"He found two of them??"

"What? No, pay attention. He is one, and the person he found is the other."

"Oh, right, yeah, of course," She frowned at Wu's lopsided grin. "So why do you need me? I don't know anything about the Ancients, not in a way that could help."

"It seems she has a human friend..."

"It's a girl?"

"That's what 'she' usually means, yes. Anyway, it seems she has a human friend..." he repeated, "...and it also looks like the Imperium had found her at the same time my comrade did. There was... violence. The human friend is being very protective of our new sister and we need you to calm them both down so things can be explained to them properly."

"Can't your friend do that?"

Wu snorted out a laugh. "No."

"Why not?"

"You'll understand when you meet him," he chuckled.

"So, are there many more of you?"

"Ancients?" Wu asked, waiting for Laura to nod. "There are a few, but not many, and most of them are currently in hiding. Their... purposes - in that, I am a Guardian and Elijah is a Marshal - don't really make them suitable for warfare. For now, we just keep them safe and tucked out of sight where the Imperium won't find them."

"What is your friend's purpose?"

Wu looked at her and seemed to swallow hard. "Milnius is... a Wraith."

"What's a Wraith?"

"Part bodyguard," he started before pausing. "... and part assassin." He sighed. "The History of our people mandated that such men were needed. Whereas the Marshal commands fleets of battle and armies of our soldiers, the Wraith is needed for far more intimate and interpersonal matters. We learned long ago that a single blade, wielded by a man of skill and purpose, is just as effective as an orbital bombardment. This is why we discipline ourselves in the Uhmwaan; it centers us, it focuses us, and it gives us the skills we need to defend ourselves when needed. The Wraith has the ability to turn that defensive discipline into an offensive one. Milnius is such a man, and he is very good at what he does."

Laura felt a shiver curl its fingers down the length of her spine. She'd never heard of an assassin talked about in this way. Wu seemed as much frightened by the man as he was proud. "Do you... do you know him well?"

Wu shook his head. "Milnius prefers to work alone. Our networks send him targets, either ones responsible for hunting our kind down, or ones that require his protection and extraction. In fact, this would be the first time in many decades that I will see him, and - as far as I know - it's the first time he has asked for help."

"So what's different now?" Laura frowned. "Why is he asking for help this time?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. It could simply be a case of needing the extra firepower to get his charge to safety; there may be something different about her that requires my intervention. Perhaps some sort of technology has come with the girl that needs me to understand, I don't know. I was asked if I would be able to help, and when I said yes, I was just given some coordinates and told to get there as soon as possible."

Laura nodded slowly. Maybe this explained why Wu was being so cryptic about things, he simply didn't know the answers himself. "I always got the impression that you were in charge, like, an officer or something."

Wu chuckled again. "Unfortunately, that isn't how it works. The person most qualified for the task is in charge, so the person commanding one mission could find himself at the bottom of the chain of command on another; it all depends on what is needed. When Elijah is flying the Atlas or is commanding a battlegroup he is in charge of that because he is the best one to do it, I answer to him. When it comes to maintaining the ship, he becomes my subordinate because he is not as good at that as I am."

Laura nodded again, trying to follow and not being entirely sure if she was being successful. "And what about now?"

"I'm not sure." Wu shrugged. "Milnius is in the best position to judge the situation on the ground; he has determined he needs my support. There is no real reason to refuse his request, so I go. If we get there and it is a field in which I am superior to him, I will take command; if it's not, he retains it."

"That sounds very... confusing."

Wu snorted out another laugh. "Oh, it is. But it's also very effective."

Laura smiled. For a brief moment, she found herself thinking that this information was exactly the sort of thing that Dayton fucking Ambrose was brought onto the Atlas to uncover. A command structure, or at least an idea of a leadership hierarchy, was - if she remembered correctly - one of the most important questions to answer when first dealing with an alien species. She shook the thought loose as quickly as it had jumped into her head. Ambrose was the last person she wanted to think about.

Him and that infuriating fucking smile

And those charming fucking eyes

And that thing he could do with his fucking tongue...

Urgh, nope. Dayton Fucking Ambrose was not getting into her panties this time, not unless it was on her terms and after she'd had some time to get over the shock of first seeing him again. Until then, she was on a different ship, traveling at absolutely insane speeds away from the Atlas, that annoyingly enigmatic hunk of a man, and his complete inability to be a grown-up. He and her increasingly damp panties were a problem for another time.

Fucking Dayton. This was still all his fault.

"Alright, what do you need from me then?" She asked with a deep, steadying breath.

"For now? Nothing, just make yourself comfortable. We should be there in about eight hours. After that, I don't know; I guess we will see."

********

Adam. 12

"I have created FIRE!!" He yelled, holding both of his arms triumphantly into the air.

"Yes, dear," Jenny rolled her eyes with an affectionate, amused smile.

"I am the conqueror of the elements of nature!" Adam continued. "I have tamed mankind's most ancient and feared enemy, the harbinger of death, and turned it to my own needs! Bow before me and call me God!"

Natasha rolled her eyes with the sort of vigor only teenagers can manage, but Adam continued regardless.

"I am neither hunter, nor gatherer, nor farmer, nor herdsman; I am the keeper and controller of the almighty flame!"

"You lit the barbeque, darling," Jenny tried to stifle a chuckle that threatened to match their daughter's. "Let's not get carried away."

"How dare you question the magnificence of my... err... magnificence!" he spun around and growled playfully at his wife, making sure to flash a quick wink at Lucy - his youngest - who was filling the air with peels of laughter. "Where there hath been no flame, thereth be now FIRE! Behold, all ye who doubteth me and despair!"

"Well, yes," Jenny's smirk grew a little wider. "You're going to cook; how could we do anything but despair?"

Adam blinked at her before clutching his hand to his chest. "You wound me, madam. There be-eth no hot dogs for you... eth. Now, who wants some elephant burgers?"

"Elephants are extinct, Dad," Natasha, his eldest daughter, rolled her eyes again, trying and failing to act too cool to smile at her father's antics.

"Of course they are," Adam grinned at her. "It's 'cause I keep turning them into burgers. I guess you want rat burgers instead."

"Gross," she huffed.

"Cool, rat burgers with a side order of snot for you. Nothing for your mother. That leaves the princess Lucy and I to consume the last members of an entire species."

"Wait," Lucy suddenly looked concerned. "Are they really elephant burgers? I don't want to eat an elephant."

"Why not? They would want to eat you?"

Lucy blinked. "No, they wouldn't. They ate plants."

"And what does mom always call you?"

Lucy's mouth dropped open, and her head spun around to face her mother. "She calls me flower!"

"Exactly," Adam grinned. "She calls you that so elephants want to eat you. She is devious and cunning. So it's only right if you eat the elephants first and we deal with your mother later! The only problem is..." He frowned and pretended to look down at the burger packaging on the side of the table. "... elephants died out two hundred years ago, so I'm pretty sure these have gone off."

"See? I told you he'd give us food poisoning," Natasha said to her mother, having long ago mastered the teenaged look of utter disdain, even when she was playing along with the rest of the family.

Jenny snorted out a laugh, trying to take a sip of her wine as her shoulders bounced uncontrollably. Ben chose that moment to round the corner of the house and step into the garden, a happy, content smile on his face despite the seriousness of what he had just been doing. He flashed a quick look at Adam, one that only he was able to decipher as "all clear," before he meandered over to join the rest of the family at the table. "Uh oh," he grinned, "the boss is cooking. Any idea what's on the menu?"

"Elephant burgers," Lucy said thoughtfully, still unsure if her dad was being serious.

Ben frowned. "They'd be gone off by now."

That was it. Jenny snorted so hard and so loud that Natasha found herself covered in a spray of white wine after it was forcefully ejected from her mother's lips. Natasha's hand shot up to protect the screen of her treasured holopad, knocking her drink glass over in the process, and the wave of water washed over the table to land squarely in Lucy's lap. Lucy, ever the playful one, was too busy laughing at her sister to care.

Adam chuckled loudly, slapping a few more synth-meat burgers on the grill. He was one of the few people on Earth who had actually tasted real beef, and he honestly couldn't tell the difference, but this was perfect barbeque weather, far away from the bitter cold of Northern Norway, and he was determined to make the most of it.

He took a long, quiet moment just to himself, just to look at them: his family. They were safe, if only for now.

It had been a long week since his meeting with the High Council, three days since his meeting with Jasmine Mavinda, and the lingering echoes of that conversation weighed heavily on Adam's mind. The silence since then had been both a relief and a source of anxiety; he refused to let his guard down. Deep down, he was almost certain he had managed to cover every base and tie up every loose end, but two questions still haunted him and every step he had taken. The first was how likely it was that anyone else had uncovered the truth of his involvement as Jasmine Mavinda had? The answer was difficult to estimate. The only reason she had worked out he was even lying was because she had those executed guards on her payroll. He would have to be careful with that one in the future, there was no telling if future Minister's staff were being observed, or controlled by other members of the council. And without that insider information, would Mavinda have been able to piece everything together?

The second question was just how far the posthumous influence of Sandra White extended. The council, and by extension, the entire Imperium was oblivious to the truth, believing his carefully constructed story about the crime syndicate's involvement. Yet, shadows lurked in every corner, and he couldn't shake the gnawing worry that someone might have been put on his tail by events set in motion before he could eliminate the danger posed by the Minister White.

Still, he had managed to escape from the scene of the crime relatively unscathed, and no matter how anyone wanted to look at it, it was a crime. That was a victory unto itself. One he knew couldn't be taken for granted, nor undervalued as a win. In a galaxy and an Imperium based on power and corruption, the line between justice and revenge was often too blurred to see. Adam had always prided himself on staying on the right side of that line before now, but he was acutely aware that he had crossed it in spectacular fashion. Yet, the fact that three other people - Ben, Dom, and Mavinda - were aware of what had happened was three people too many. It was not the clean getaway he would have liked.

Over the days since Jasmine's visit - having given him license to bring the full weight of the ISD onto the Dardanelles Syndicate, and it was a hell of a lot of weight to bring to bear - he had spent his time playing the role of diligent investigator and merciless instrument of the Emperor's justice. The Syndicate had been thrown into chaos, with hundreds, perhaps thousands of criminals - guilty of crimes ranging from racketeering, piracy, slave trading and murder - had been ruthlessly hunted down as a reaction to the assassination of Minister White, probably the only crime they were innocent of. Dozens of them had been gunned down while resisting arrest, their bodies torn apart in shoot outs against forces they could never hope to match. Adam felt absolutely no remorse for them, or for framing them for his own actions. They were guilty of far worse.

In three days, he had traveled to almost every corner of the planet, and that is without considering the teams he had sent to inner core worlds and even to distant colonies. But with every step he had taken, he had one eye firmly fixed behind him, warily scanning for any sign that he was being followed, for traces of anything set in motion by Sandra White before her untimely death, or for any hint that - like Jasmine Mavinda - someone, somehow had caught onto a whisper of the truth. He felt the thump of every metaphorical footstep behind him, every familiar, yet unknown face, every glance leveled against him that lingered a moment too long, every transmission signal that emanated from a position a little too close, any sign at all that he was being watched or followed.

Even something as simple, expected even, as Minister Mavinda's people keeping tabs on him was something he found himself searching every flickering shadow for. Assuming she wasn't setting him up - and that was an assumption he was still hesitant to make - he found it inconceivable that she wouldn't be watching him, tracking him, monitoring his actions, his investigation and his life. It was a possibility too absurd to consider. She had put an extraordinary amount of trust in him, or at least it seemed like she had, yet it didn't appear that she had expended a single resource to keeping an eye on him to make sure that trust wasn't misplaced. He sure as shit would be looking for ways to monitor her. But those were two mutually exclusive possibilities: either she really did trust him that much and was letting him get on with things without her feeling a need to keep tabs on him, or, equally as worrying, her spies - the people she had working for her - were so good that he hadn't spotted a single one of them even once.

His instincts, every one of them crafted from decades of loyal service, screamed at him to maintain his vigilance, that the paranoia was justified, that people expected him to act in a certain way, that behaving in any other manner could raise some very unwanted concerns. And that "way" meant releasing the monster Adam again; being ruthless, detached, and utterly without mercy.

Expect he wasn't detached. How could he be when failure would mean such unimaginable consequences? It was a charade, but charades and personas were something Adam was very familiar with. Still, it had been starting to drain him.

So Adam had done what he did best. Not the investigation, that was his job, not his purpose in life. He saw himself as a protector. At one time, not too long ago, it had been the Imperium itself he had protected. He had protected its values, its integrity, its security, and its people. Part of that was still true, but now he saw himself as someone who had to protect those things from the Imperium. But more than that, he was the protector of his family. He had always had a theoretical notion of what that meant, he had always known that there were few limits to the lengths he would go to keep them safe, it was something he had always held to be true without ever having to put that sentiment to the test. Things were different now. Now he really did know that he would - as Minister Mavinda had put it - go to war with the entire Empire just to keep them safe.

He felt nothing for the death of Sandra White, there wasn't a single ounce of remorse, regret or guilt in any one of his thoughts, just a sense of morbid pride at his actions. It was one thing to say you would burn down the world to protect your loved ones, but to actually go through with it without a single hesitation was something else entirely. So instead of spending too much time and effort thinking about that, he had, instead, dedicated every ounce of his energy to the task at hand. Scouring the world for any trace of the Syndicate, and maintaining his ever vigilant watch behind him.

Now that the initial roundups of criminals and terrorists were wrapping up, and he had satisfied himself that he was either not being monitored, or was at least being monitored by forces beyond his ability to counter, he had to start resuming his normal life.

So, after a whole torturous week since he had last seen his family, he contacted Ben and rejoined them.

It never ceased to amaze him how many uncharted and unnamed islands still lingered, forgotten or never found, in Earth's ancient oceans. A reminder that despite the age of terran exploration being over centuries ago, there were still parts of it that were completely unclaimed and untamed. Each one of them held a sense of mystery, a small slice of the unknown, and to Adam, that translated into the prospect of a fresh start. Something new and untouched; perhaps the most elusive of mysteries. It had been a long time since Adam had really considered a change as monumental as he was now, but the recent revelations about the Imperium had made him completely rethink his life within it. Only two options seemed to present themselves to his mind. Either he rose to the position of Minister of the council, and tried to enact the change he demanded from within - a notion he hadn't considered until Minister Mavina's suggestion - or he would have to leave it altogether. It was a new, burgeoning idea that managed to achieve the rarest of things: it had surprised Adam.

But what truly astonished him was the revelation that Ben owned one of those hidden Island gems. The idea of his friend possessing a private island--a sanctuary untouched by the complexities of modern life--filled Adam with a fleeting sense of longing. It could be a place where time ceased to dictate terms, a refuge where the harsh realities of the imperium did not intrude, and where he could find solace amidst the simple pleasures of family life. A fantasy, perhaps, but one that became tantalizingly close due to the fact he was currently standing on it.

With hundreds of miles of empty ocean stretching endlessly in every direction, this little slice of paradise - dotted in the middle of the mighty Pacific - offered a remarkable sense of security, a rare sanctuary amidst a world rife with danger and hidden threats. Adam felt a profound relief wash over him as soon as he came ashore, the soft sand beneath his feet contrasting starkly with the turmoil and paranoia that lay beyond the horizon. It was about as secure a location as one could hope for, rivaling even the most fortified underground, military-hardened bunker. Here, the cacophony and the alter egos of the outside world faded into the distance, leaving behind only the gentle lapping of waves against the pure white sands and the distant song of seabirds wheeling through the sky.

Yet, there was more to this island than peace, serenity, and the promise of a better future.

Ben had always shared Adam's cautious nature--or, perhaps more accurately, his paranoia, his knowledge that monsters were very real and very willing to get you. Every inch of this island paradise was planned for a worst-case scenario. The thought made Adam smile wryly; it was a testament to their shared experiences in a world where trust was a dwindling commodity. Ben had spared no expense and overlooked no detail in securing this haven. The water's surface shimmered invitingly in the sunlight, but beneath it lay a carefully orchestrated network of surveillance sensors, ready to detect even the most inconspicuous movements. The same vigilance extended into the skies above. Nothing larger than a minnow or a songbird could approach from any direction without being spotted, and if they tried... well, this island had more than just sensors to defend itself.

The air above the island, the surface of the shimmering turquoise waters, and even the silent depths, all of it was watched over by more than sensor nets and alarm systems. If any potential threat dared to venture too close without Ben's specific approval, they would find themselves tagged and targeted long before they realized the danger they were in. Hidden among the lush greenery of the island, nestled amongst the rocks, and buried in retractable chambers beneath the sand and water, were dozens of automated weapons emplacements. Heavy lasers, fast tracking turrets and shield generators, each of them sleek and deadly, ready to unleash fury onto anything approaching the island that wasn't supposed to be there. It wasn't so much a fortress designed to deter intruders, that would imply they knew the risk was there, this was altogether less subtle. A threat would be dead long before it got close to the island or its precious cargo. The amount of ordinance that those turrets could put onto a target - an actually astonishing number of simultaneous targets - beggared belief. A raiding party trying to attack the island using boats, dropships or submersibles would be eviscerated in seconds. Even a fully shielded Imperium destroyer would struggle to penetrate the Island's defenses, and would suffer extraordinary amounts of damage - perhaps even face destruction - long before the Island defense grid started to falter. The reason for this was simple: ground based turrets and shield generators were always more powerful than those on a ship because they could have larger, more powerful reactors powering them. A ship was limited on space and mass, an island had no such concerns.

For a hundred miles in every direction, this was Ben's world, and anyone trying to come into it better damned well have an invitation, or they wouldn't live long enough to understand the consequences.

The sheer audacity of it all was overwhelming--so illegal that it made Adam's eyes water. Ben had gone beyond the bounds of both convention and law, carving out his own little kingdom on humanity's ancestral homeworld, a sovereign enclave where the rules of the imperium held no sway. This was not merely an island; it was a silent statement, a secret declaration of independence bluntly mocking the very authorities that dominated this part of the galaxy despite the fact that Ben, like Adam, worked for that very empire. The thought alone sent a thrill coursing through Adam, a mingling of admiration and disbelief. Not even the Emperor himself could breach this sanctuary if Ben decided he wasn't welcome. There was simply no way to reach this island without being detected.

The only way, In Adam's estimation, that the Island could be attacked was from space. An orbital drop insertion made by special forces could, in theory, land on the island and neutralize the turrets, overwhelming them with the sheer number of drop pots descending at high enough velocities to dive through the turrets' cone of fire - of course, they would have to bypass the security measures, dodge the land mines, and other boody traps when they got there, not to mention the fact that both Ben and Adam would be hunting for them while they tried. But the island was tiny, less than three-quarters of a mile at its widest point and that was a daunting proposition for even the most seasoned Marine commander before the issue to drop was ever given. Landing any more than a few drop pods on this tiny sliver of land would cost the lives of hundreds of men. It was theoretically possible, but it would be incredibly costly for them to dive straight into the canopy of pure hellfire that those turrets could fill the skies with and hit their mark with anywhere near enough men to be effective.

The only other option was an orbital bombardment, but there was nothing that could be done about that. If the Imperium went that far, he and his family would be dead before they even knew what was happening. No pain, no fear, just instant vaporization. If his girls had to die, if there was nothing he could do to prevent it, then instant and painless was the next best thing. Having them taken alive was not an option.

But those were thoughts that, for some reason, didn't bother Adam right now. The island was small; there was some underground infrastructure that he hadn't been shown - food stores, water filtration, the security system hub, and the aforementioned power reactors - but otherwise, the only structure on the island was a large, 'L' shaped wooden cabin. With four bedrooms, it was easily big enough to house his whole family and Ben as well, and nestled within the inside corner of the 'L' was a small garden with the barbeque he was currently layering with burgers. But everything else on the island was sand, bushes, rocks, and palm trees. It really was its own tiny slice of paradise.

For the first time since this entire ordeal began, the smallest flicker of hope, or perhaps relief was the better word, seemed to blossom inside him. The weight he had been carrying felt slightly lighter, the looming shadows of his burdens pushed back by the shimmering sense of safety that surrounded Ben's island retreat. Adam took a deep breath, inhaling the salty tang of the sea air and barbeque smoke that filled his lungs--each breath felt like a small victory against the tension he had been living under for so long. The secretive operations, the relentless pressure of maintaining appearances, the specter of his own actions--it all seemed miles away from this moment.

Out of everything, however, it was the ability to finally drop the act that seemed to ease his burden the most. Adam had long feared that maintaining the facade of the ruthless, terrifying ISD agent for too long would cause it to leak into his real world, blurring the lines between him and the monster he was forced to be at work. It had been years since he'd been forced to maintain appearances this long, and never had he been forced to do it under the threat of such catastrophic loss. He had felt like a spring coiled too tightly, like an elastic band ready to snap, but the moment he laid eyes on his girls, bad Adam had vanished like a puff of smoke on a stiff wind. He was himself again, and he couldn't be more grateful for it.

Standing at the edge of this self-contained and well-defended little part of the world, Adam allowed himself a moment of reflection. Here, amidst the tranquility of wave-kissed shores, the creaking of the wooden constructed house, and the rustle of palm fronds in the warm breeze, he could envision a life unburdened by the weight of secrets and treachery. It was a dream, almost entirely unattainable-at least not attainable yet-but for now, it was enough to savor the simple beauty of the landscape and the simple pleasure of having his loved ones close--an oasis of calm where he could momentarily shed the armor of suspicion and vigilance that had become second nature to him and simply enjoy being home.

Because to Adam, home really was where the heart was. It wasn't the frigid, frozen north of Norway; it wasn't the sun-kissed beach of an unknown Pacific island; it wasn't the compound in Caracas. It was wherever his wife and his daughters were... his girls. Nothing else mattered, and more than that, it was the only place he ever really felt like he was safe to be himself and give bad Adam that well-deserved rest.

Still, though, there were things playing on his mind. Ben was checking the security systems every hour, even though he didn't need to. The system would send an alert to his wrist-mounted computer at the slightest hint of trouble, but the man did it anyway. That was where he had just returned from. Adam trusted Ben, that was evident enough by the fact he had turned his family over to him for protection when the threat had been at its worst. He knew Ben would keep them safe here, too. That wasn't what was bothering him.

It was the looks he was getting from Jenny.

Adam had been working for the ISD for a long time before he met his wife, and he often found himself being reminded of how she had saved him from the worst parts of the world in which he lived. She had no idea about that, though. She didn't have the smallest comprehension of the things Adam had been asked to do in service to the Imperium. In the beginning, before the girls were born, she had asked a few times. She wanted to know everything about him, and he had wanted to let her in. But he could see the look in her eyes - the fear and the revulsion of the person he had to become to work at the ISD - whenever he had come close to giving her details about his life. When Natasha had been born, Jenny had pulled him into the living room one night and asked him if their daughter was safe, if the people that he protected the Imperium and its people from would ever come to harm them.

He had hesitated. He had wanted to say no, he had wanted to reassure her; he had wanted to do the same thing that every husband and father had wanted to do for their families since the beginning of time; he wanted to make her feel safe. But he couldn't lie to her, and he had hesitated. She saw it, and she had made him promise, there and then, that his life in work would never come to haunt the lives of their children. For fourteen years, that is exactly what he had done. Of course, Jenny was no fool. She knew there were things he didn't tell her; she knew there were things she didn't want to know. But she had also understood that things could happen despite Adam's best efforts, and contingency plans had been made. The code he had used to warn her, how ready she had been for Ben's arrival, and the willingness she had shown to put her faith in her husband via Ben were all testament to that. But despite the laughter, despite the jokes, despite the joy that they all felt for being reunited, there was no escaping the fact that they were here, that something had happened, and that this was the first time their family, their children, had been in a real enough danger for them to have had to leave home.

Jenny wasn't stupid; she was a remarkably intelligent woman, and she was the love of his life. But he was under no illusions; she would be a fucking warrior in the face of anyone threatening their girls. Someone had, and those little glancing looks, those quiet sips of her wine, those subtle, silent, almost imperceptible little gestures that only he would recognize, all told him one thing.

She was pissed.

And she would want answers, even if those answers scared her.

So the question was, how much did he tell her? Did he lay it all out? Did he tell her the full scale of the reason why he had been forced to pull the girls away from the only home they had ever known? Did he tell her that the Emperor, the one person they had all been brought up since childhood to revere without question, was murdering millions of his own citizens, and his family would barely be a blip on the radar? Did he tell her how close they came? How many men Ben had dispatched outside their home? Did he tell her who was responsible? What he had been forced to do to the person behind it all? What he was planning to do going forward? What about Jasmine Mavinda? What about the possible promotion to the high council? What if it all went wrong? Would she be willing to not just abandon her home, but her entire planet just because her husband had an over inflated sense of right and wrong? It was very easy for someone to say they would do the right thing until the true cost of those actions became apparent to them. Then, most of them crumpled like a paper bag in a monsoon. Principles were cheap when they didn't have to be defended.

Or did he keep this to himself? Did he shoulder this burden alone? Did he ask her to trust him as she always had in the hopes that the love that still shone behind her eyes - despite her simmering anger - would still be there when the dust settled? Because even though he had no idea how she would react to being told everything, there was one thing he knew with absolute certainty...

She would never see him the same way. Some part of her would finally see beneath the mask, she would finally understand the things that Adam had been ordered to do in the past, she would know what he had done only a week ago, she would know why he was considered so good at his job. She would, after twenty years of knowing him, finally meet the monster within him.

And the thought of that broke his heart.

********

Michaels. 8

This was how he liked to see his friend.

Serge Michaels had to admit that he had been worried about the usually stoic Admiral Valdek since he had learned of his son's death - no, murder - at the hands of the same Imperium bastards who had killed so many of his Marines, not to mention countless other men and women over the years. Recently, the normally impeccably composed Valdek had seemed... well, he wasn't sure how to describe it. He would normally call it a variation of the word 'distracted,' except he wasn't, if anything, it was the opposite. He was hyper vigilant, almost like Valdek was using any excuse he could to keep his mind from the insurmountable grief of a loss that must have been weighing him down at every waking moment. But at the same time, Michaels seemed acutely aware that his long-time friend wasn't hiding from his reality, he wasn't looking for distraction in unhealthy places, he wasn't putting off dealing with the pain, he was just... focused. Incredibly, worryingly focused. But focused on things that he had no hope of controlling.

He had spent days, literal days, pouring over flight plans and intelligence reports for the battle that would soon rage around the Orpheus evacuation fleet, trying to find any shred of advantage that could sway the violence in their favor. There was nothing he could do, only Crow had the ability to contact the so-called ancients and Valdek never seemed interested in passing on anything he had come up with anyway. It was almost like he was fighting the battle in his mind, over and over again, as some form of mental exercise to fight away the demons that doubtlessly plagued him. Michaels knew that this wasn't healthy, he knew that there was no escaping the moment where Valdek would need to really confront the pain, but he just didn't have the heart to say that to him.

It's not like Michaels was one to judge, he had done exactly the same thing after the battle on the beach and the loss of his Marines, but that was different. That was a re-evaluation of his own choices and actions, a "shoulda-woulda-coulda" so to speak. It wasn't an idle fantasy designed to keep his mind out of the present, it was tactical, it was learning, it was what made a good soldier - a good leader - better. Hell, maybe that is what the Admiral was doing for all those hours he was hunched over his terminal. Maybe he was just keeping his mind sharp by wargaming out a battle he couldn't hope to win, in his own mind.

A small smile pulled at his lips as the thought reminded him of the way Captain Taylor, Stevo, had systematically butchered his opponents over and over again with the exact same mentality: Not to win, but to not-lose. Perhaps this perspective was what kept Valdek awake for days at a time, a fresh mindset with which to fight the war to come.

But for now, all of that seemed like a problem for another time, Valdek looked... not happy, but content. He was where he belonged, on the bridge of a starship, in command of a fleet of vessels and thousands of lives, gracefully, seemingly effortlessly guiding the hunking, lumbering fleet through the treacherous waters of Imperium space.

It was pretty amazing to watch. Valdek's eyes were glued to one of the two screens before him, the main viewscreen being one of them and a collation of the sensor grids of every ship in the fleet on the terminal next to his armrest. His eyes would flick between each of them, then - every now and then - he would type in some instructions into the command terminal and, as one, the entire fleet would make a slight course correction while staying perfectly in formation. Michaels had spent a lifetime leading men and machines into war, each of them infinitely more agile and maneuverable that any one of the ships on the Hyperion's sensors, and yet never, not in his entire military career, had he managed to choreograph their movements with such unerring precision as Valdek was doing now. It was, in a word, remarkable.

It also seemed calming to the aging Admiral. Like this was his happy place, it was where his purpose lay. It was impossible to say whether sitting in the command chair and conducting this grand ballet of movement was enough to make him forget about Danjiel or Danica - his now dead son and wife - or if maybe he simply found the job calming enough that it settled his mind in a way that let him deal with things in a more healthy way. Michaels didn't now, and at that moment, he didn't really care. For the first time in the weeks since he had been reunited with his friend, he was seeing the man he used to be.

The man he used to be. That was an apt turn of phrase coming from a man who had lost any functional use of his legs. He wasn't technically in a wheelchair, although the contraption he was sitting on was still generally called one. The technical shortfall of the name came from the fact that it didn't have any wheels, instead being held aloft by a combination of magnetic field generators and miniaturized versions of the anti-grav engines commonly found on tanks. The technological combination of these two components meant that he could not only move around effortlessly, but could - like now - fix himself firmly in place against the gentle rocking of the Hyperion - a motion that would almost imperceptible to the members of a crew with legs, but was proving to be a massive pain in the ass to the one old bastard on board who didn't have any. Seriously, he had lost count of the times he had been casually gliding down a corridor, minding his own business, when a subtle change of the ships course sent him jerking into the nearest wall, or - as one one occasion - into the ass of a rather portly, female ensign.

For now, he had work to do. When he wasn't watching Valdek lead the merry dance of the rebel armada, Michaels was reviewing the training footage from Stevo's last bout with the boys and girls in the intelligence bureau. There was a certain, prideful swelling of his chest each time he read the statistics from the latest battle. Captain Taylor was being quite thorough in the task assigned to him, varying between a systematic dismantling of the head-shed defenses, to an overwhelmingly shambolic obliteration of their entire forces. One holographic exercise after another, over and over again, days of it, it was relentless, and - no matter how long the intelligence boys had to prepare, no matter how much of a handicap placed on the Marine captain, and no matter how much of an advantage given to the holographic rebels, Stevo still beat the shit out of them. It was a testament to his training, his experience, to all the things that not only made him a Marine, but made him the best choice to replace the semi-retiring colonel as commander of rebel ground forces. Michaels may not have been personally responsible for Stevo's abilities, but it was like a father watching a son throw the winning powerball, or cross the finish line in first place, or get named on the honor-roll, he was still incredibly proud.

But there were still more exercises to run. To be fair, there were always more exercises to run, but these were more important than the standard, run-of-the-mill mock battles that soldiers ran all the time. These had a very distinct sort of relevance, they were determining how best to arrange rebel ground forces as they were rebuilt around Stevo's leadership and the abilities he had passed onto the massive clone army currently being grown in the distant Spiral Arm. The make up of individual squads, how many squads to a platoon, how many platoons to a company, and so on. Many people assumed that these numbers were down to logistical concerns and organizational charts, and - historically - that was mostly true. But this was going to be a new sort of war, one where numbers of soldiers on the ground would be determined by the speed at which they could be grown to maturity, rather than recruited and trained. It would be about arms and armor, about supply chains and chains of command, and all of that was being assessed in these training exercises.

They weren't training Stevo - he was just providing the exhibition - they were training everyone else around him.

The small smile on his lips and the furrowed brow of concentration was interrupted by a slight, almost imperceptible vibration in his chair. He frowned and looked down at it, leaning to the side, trying to get as good a look as possible at the anti-grav cyclics, but it was no use. He was an old man, and old men weren't bendy enough to contort themselves around wheelchairs while sitting in them. He huffed loudly and called over to one of the engineers.

"Ensign?" He waited for the man to look up. "There seems to be a problem with this fucking chair again. Mind giving me a hand?"

"Of course, Sir." the young man sprang to his feet, apparently excited to be helping one of the rebellion's newest and most prestigious members. "What's the problem?"

"It's vibrating. As much as some people may like that sort of thing, it's getting on my..."

"What?" Valdek interrupted him, spinning around in his command chair and staring at him. "It's vibrating?"

"Err, yeah."

"Since when?"

"I don't know, a few minutes ago, maybe?"

"Is it getting stronger?" Neither Valdek's tone nor expression left any room for questioning the reason for these queries.

The ensign was slowing down as he approached, his eyes darting to the floor with each step. Apparently he got the point of the question that Michaels was missing, but now that he thought about it... "Actually, yeah it is. What's going..."

"Scan for gravity wells!" Valdek barked out, interrupting him and spinning back around to face the main viewscreen. Michaels glanced over to the now frozen Ensign.

"I feel it too, Admiral," The young man said cautiously.

"Shit!" the lieutenant at the con growled loud enough to snap every eye to him. "Gravity well, dead ahead, Sir. I think it's an..."

"Interdiction mine!" Valdek shouted before slamming his hands down onto an icon on his armrest. "All hands, battle stations, this is not a drill! We are about to be pulled out of hyperspace by an unknown force. I want scans and reports as soon as we are clear of the bow-wave. This is what we trained for, people. Get it done!"

His voice was broadcast out of every announcement speaker, in every room, on every deck, of every ship in the fleet instantaneously, but Michaels was only vaguely paying attention to the chorus of affirmative replies that flowed back to Valdek through the comm, his mind seemed to be fixed on the now-rapidly growing rumble that no longer appeared to be coming from his chair, but from the deckplates beneath it. The Ensign who had been halfway across the bridge turned and bolted back to his seat, strapping himself in - just like every other member of the bridge crew, an action that made Michaels acutely aware that his chair didn't have seatbelts - and turned back to his console. Col. Michaels let his eyes drift to the main screen.

The corona of light filled the screen; the leading edge of the hyperspace bubble was a tiny pin prick of brilliant white light in the center of the vista, with a wash of color - blues and violets - flowed outwards to encompass everything in sight. Silhouetted against the mosaic of light was the rest of the fleet: the hulking masses of the three colony ships, the dozen or so cruisers maintaining their screening positions ahead of them and the Hyperion, and beyond them, the picket of destroyers, frigates and other smaller ships leading the formation. There were more ships behind the Hyperion, but Michaels couldn't see them from this vantage point.

What he could see, on the other hand, was as intriguing as it was terrifying. The tiny spec of light at the center of the bow wave started to flicker, each iteration sending a pronounced rumble through the fleet and through the deckplates. The subtle vibrations in his chair were a forgotten memory, now the whole ship seemed to be suffering a permanent vibration, one that was amplified incrementally by that flickering light.

Until, suddenly, it went out.

The whole coronal wash seemed to shatter. Michaels had been inside a ship leaving hyperspace countless times, each one marked by the same spectacle: the wave just seemed to 'open' and deposit the ship into normal space on the other side of it, like water being let out of the end of a hose. This was horrifyingly different, this was more like a glass pipe fracturing and then shattering, the water - or ships - inside being launched, at pressure, out of the end with terrifying speed and an abject lack of control. Claxons wailed, red lights flashed around the bridge and alarms seemed to be sounding from every console as the ship banked hard to the right, the helmsman grappling heroically with the controls. Every other ship in the fleet appeared to be having the same problem with vessels spinning, rolling and spiraling out of control as the hyperspace bubble around them burst. How none of them collided, Michaels would never know, but he suddenly had a marrow-deep urge to buy every helmsman in the fleet a goddamned drink!

Throughout it all, Valdek barked orders into the comm. "Archer, come about to 269, correct your roll. Huntsman, watch your port quarter. Frigate group four, maintain your formation. I want all ships at action stations with guns up in thirty seconds... and where the hell is my sensor report?!?"

"This is the Archer, returning to position," a voice came back through the comms, "Sending sensor data now."

"Frigate group four rejoining formation, adding sensor data to the net." Came another.

"Contact Contact!" the con officer suddenly yelled out. "Enemy ships in defensive formation, dead ahead!"

"Put them up." Valdek answered, his voice eerily calm amidst the chaos surrounding him. A moment later, the viewscreen shifted its orientation and magnified onto a group of predatory looking Imperium warships.

"Is that... one of the battlegroups hunting for us?" The Con officer asked.

Valdek shook his head, his eyes leaving the screen to glance down at his terminal. "There aren't enough of them. Either that, or the battlegroups weren't at full strength when they were deployed." He gave a pointed look to Michaels, that was the exact intelligence that Adam Doncaster had provided them a week earlier. His eyes quickly moved back to his terminal. "Six heavy cruisers, fourteen light cruisers with destroyer and frigate escort. Damn, there are two escort carriers too."

Michaels wasn't well versed in fleet composition theory, but he knew enough to know that the Hyperion, a battlecruiser, was an order of magnitude more powerful than a heavy cruiser, several heavy cruisers, in fact. But carriers usually meant bombers, and with no rebel fighters to counter them, they were going to be at a significant disadvantage in the upcoming battle.

"I think this is a Sys-Def fleet," Valdek finally said after a few moments of tension-filled silence.

"Sir?" The ship's XO said.

"Their ships are all older classes and none of the ships have fleet insignia on their hulls," Valdek mused. "They're also not in a combat formation, they're in a containment one. They think we are going to scatter like common pirates and they have positioned themselves to stop us. Only Sys-Def fleets group like that."

"But, Sir, Sys-Def squadrons don't have carriers in them." The XO said, clearly trying not to sound like he was questioning a superior officer.

"No, not usually, not unless..." His eyes suddenly widened. "Scan the flanks! Check for boarding craft! Sys-Def uses carriers for large scale ship or station seizure, but they only have boarding shuttles!"

"There's nothing," The con officer said after checking, "Just some random background..." he froze, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer to his terminal. "Contact, contact!" he almost screamed. "Boarding craft inbound, all flanks. Jesus, they've just powered engines, there are almost a hundred of them."

Michaels' gaze snapped back to Valdek, expecting to see the same worry on his face that had taken up a permanent residence in Michaels' chest. But instead, there was a smile, a wry, cunning grin with a hunter's glint behind his eyes. "It was a nice try, commodore," Valdek said to nobody in particular, or at least to nobody on the ship's bridge. "And maybe it would have worked, if I wasn't the one who had come up with that tactic." The grin spread a little wider as his fist slammed down onto an icon on his armrest. "Corvettes and frigates, assume a defensive posture around the colony ships, don't let anything board them. Colony ships, head hard to starboard and get out of range of the big guns..."

A series of affirmatives sounded back as Michaels watched the smallest of friendly ships on the screen start to immediately move towards the largest.

"But, Admiral," the XO was looking pleadingly at Valdek. "That leads us wide open to being boarded!"

"That's the idea, Commander," Valdek grinned back. "The Hyperion and our heavy cruisers outclass anything they have in that fleet. They think they have us on the defensive, they won't expect us to attack. They will try to board the largest ships first: The Hyperion and the cruisers, then, while we are fighting to keep control of the ship, they will hit the colony ships from range. But we aren't going to let that happen... We are going to attack!" He slammed his fist back down onto his terminal. "Cruisers and all destroyer squadrons, form up behind the Hyperion and follow us in. Pick your targets and rotate to the center of the formation to recharge your shields as needed, maintain a permanent roll to make it harder for the shuttles to attach to your hulls, but be prepared to repel boarders! All ships, on my lead... Charge!"

"Powering up engines!" The Helmsman called back, the hunters glint from Valdek's eyes seemed to be contagious, because now every officer on the command deck seemed to be sporting it too.

"Shields at one-hundred percent!" The Tactical officer called out. "And all guns reporting ready."

"Target the largest ships first!" Valdek answered him. "Strip their shields and pick off as many of their weapons and engines as possible, then leave them to the destroyers!"

"Roger that, Sir!"

"All ships!" Valdek called into the comms. "This is our baptism by fire, our first crucible of combat. I know what you are capable of, and I know the lion's strength that beats in your hearts, now it's time to show that to our enemy. They have woefully underestimated us today, and for that, they will be made to pay in fire and blood. Let's see this done and get back home. This is the Hyperion to all rebel ships..." the gleam in his eye was as much that of a starving shark as it was of a composed leader of men. "...Give them hell and happy hunting!"

Michaels was not a man easily roused by speeches, but even he felt himself cheering along with the other members of the bridge crew. He spun around to his own terminal and typed in a frequency he now knew by heart.

"Captain Taylor here," the voice came from the terminal

"Stevo, This is Michaels."

"Yes, Sir. What are my orders?"

"Rally the Marines, Captain. You are going to have a very busy day."

Stevo's hungry smile was as predatory as Valdek's was, maybe even more so. "Outstanding, Sir. I will get it done. Marines!" he called over his shoulder just before the call ended. "ON ME!!!"

********

Histories and Lore.

Ever since the days when one ancient human hit a prehistoric adversary in the face with a rock, or took part in the hunt of a larger, more dangerous prey, tactics have been a vital part of any battle plan. The development of spears, then swords, then slings, javelins and bows gave man an incremental edge in warfare. This eventually gave way to ballistics, then finally, to energy weaponry, but the need for a tactical edge is as essential now as it has always been.

But that is not to say that tactical acumen has been a linear progression, one that incorporates one new piece of technology after another. In fact, modern naval tactics has much more in common with the age of sail than it does with the last years of mankind's terrestrial conflicts.

The mid part of the twentieth century, for example, saw the dawn of missile technology and what became known as "over the horizon warfare." Simply put, this meant that aircraft, launched from carriers, could strike at enemy naval or ground assets long before they could even be seen by the naked eye, and long before they came into range of the standard, non-missile weaponry carried by ships. This tactic became so prevalent that by the end of the twenty-first century, naval vessels didn't carry conventional guns at all. Battleships, once the pride of any nation's navy, were relegated to near obsolescence by their inability to either combat this new type of warfare, or contribute to it in a way that other vessels couldn't do without them. In other words, the entire way in which navies fought each other became a matter of technology and less about strategy.

This all changed when humanity first ventured into space.

Missile technology, hitherto the backbone of any self-respecting military force, finally started to show the limits in what it could achieve. This was for a number of different reasons, but for the sake of brevity, it can be summed up in a single simple concept: mobility. Or more accurately, a crippling lack of it.

Movement in space, as any child knows, is very different to movement within atmosphere. The conservation of momentum - a scientific theory dating back a century before the first missile was designed - was, during humanity's terrestrial years, just that, a theory. No matter how fast something traveled, no matter how powerfully it was launched, or how hard it was thrown, it would eventually stop and plummet back to earth. The only way to keep it moving was by maintaining a constant source of thrust. It needed fuel to keep going. This was as true for missiles and bullets as it was for cars, planes and spit wads. As soon as it ran out of power - power needed to fight against other scientific principles such as gravity and air resistance - it simply stopped moving.

That doesn't happen in the vacuum of space.

With no gravity and no air to provide a slowing force to an object, it will simply keep going until it hits something. Forever, in some cases. What this meant in practical combat terms, was that the 'range' of a weapon became a concept that almost immediately lost its potency. Ships could sit a million miles apart - literally - and still expect ordnance that it fired to hit its target unless its target did something inconvenient... like move out of the way. Enemy ships tended to do annoying things like that when they were being shot at.

Of course, this is not a huge amount different from how it had always been, if the 'range' idea was ignored for a moment. But one must think in terms of how a missile would need to work in space for the reasons for their demise to become clear.

Let us propose a theoretical battle with the standard engagement range of ten-thousand miles. Ships would face off against each other and unleash swarms of these missiles into the void, each of them traveling toward their target at breakneck speeds. Now, there is - as always with movement in space - a trade off to be made between speed and maneuverability. The missile could achieve a colossal speed - rather quickly, in fact - but at the expense of not being able to turn to track the movements of its target. Or, it could preserve some of its fuel, maintain a lower flight speed, and then use its remaining fuel to increase its agility and ability to track a target when it got close enough.

The obvious side of this choice to come down on is that latter one: maintaining fuel to track the target. That is what made missiles so potent a weapon back on Earth, after all, and modern conventional weaponry, like MAC guns, for example, could do the job of launching a round down-range much better, at much higher velocities, and much cheaper than a missile, its rounds carried a much larger payload, too. So having a weapon that could be launched at a target, then let it track it autonomously, was as good an idea now as it always had been, even if it meant it made a smaller dent when it eventually got there.

But this is where the problems lay. Missiles on Earth didn't use fuel to turn as they would need to in space. They used fins on their sides to redirect airflow, but... again... there is no air in space, so they would need to turn in the same way that every other man-made object does, by redirecting fuel exhausts through retro thrusters. But this is another choice that needed to be made, either increasing the size of the missile to make room for these thrusters - which would also increase the missile's mass, therefore making it less maneuverable - or making the payload and the fuel reserves smaller, which would give it less ability to turn to track a target, and would mean it would make a smaller bang when... or if... it got there.

The obvious solution was to reduce the range from which it was launched. Strap the missile to a smaller craft, launch that at the enemy, and then when it was at a close enough range, the missile could be fired. Except that technology already existed. They were called torpedoes, and the dangers faced by bomber pilots trying to get those things to their targets is a subject that we have already examined.

Okay, so what about leaving bombers and torpedoes to their near-suicidal missions and re-purpose missiles to a role they excelled at for years on Earth: anti-strike craft operations - that is, after all, what most military aircraft on Earth were, and shooting them down became the hallmark of at least one branch of missile technology. But again, we have to look at what they were being asked to do in space. With no air to slow down enemy fighters or even bombers, they could reach a speed and level of agility that missiles simply couldn't match, let alone hope to beat.

The latest, and last, iteration of modern missiles was used for one purpose only: anti-corvette duties. Fired from fighters to take down the larger, lumbering anti-strikecraft vessels, these missiles were an incredibly expensive alternative to a function that any moderately trained gunner on a Frigate could manage. More than that, with turrets designed to counter fighters, bombers, and torpedoes, missiles proved to be just as easy for corvettes to simply shoot down.

By the time humanity had developed the technology it needed to traverse the Hudson Expanse and leave the confines of what is now known as the core worlds, missiles had been rendered completely obsolete and phased out of service amongst all of mankind's military forces.

What remained was more akin to the conventional 'dumb' weaponry that mankind thought it had outgrown centuries earlier, although they were now controlled by incredibly sophisticated targetting computers. Instead of smart munitions - like missiles - whose intelligence was mitigated by the environment in which they were used, humanity reverted back to weapons that would not have seemed particularly alien to military observers in the 18 and 1900s, but with this regression also came a backward shift in tactics.

With the range and intelligence of missile technology, naval and air warfare had become increasingly reliant on stand-off distances. The ability to fire at an enemy and reliably hit them at ranges far beyond conventional guns had become the backbone of military tactics. This was a good thing; being able to hit a target before they could hit you meant few losses of men and materials. It meant the PR nightmare of having to explain the loss of thousands of men on a single ship had become a thing of the past, and it also meant that investments in anti-missile defenses no longer worked. Naval battles in modern times were as savage and costly as they had been during the Napoleonic wars - the last time humanity could accurately argue that they had engaged in this type of warfare. Yes, the battle of Jutland in the First World War was technically the last time, but the scale of that battle was tiny in comparison with those of the previous century, and naval battles of the later Second World War were already showing the shift to over-the-horizon warfare.

Modern tactics showed a remarkable similarity to those used in the age of sail and the early twentieth century, based around the concentration of fire, the exchange of broadsides, and massed formations of ships relying on armor, rather than defense systems, to combat incoming enemy fire.

But before we dissect that, we must define our terms in what we mean by 'tactics.' Tactics are plans and actions taken on a specific battlefield, as opposed to strategy, which looks at movements and actions over a larger, campaign-level overview. Tactics can simply be explained by thinking of the difference between an order telling a ship in a battle to move to a specific position and open fire on a specific target rather than strategy, which tells an armada to move to a particular planet. It's smaller, more detailed, and, in most cases, much more immediate. Cause and effect are much more fast-paced on any tactical map than on a strategic one. Tactics deal with split-second decisions in a battle that can last hours, whereas strategies can take months, if not years in some cases, to show any real progress.

Tactics on a battlefield, however, are more than just the commands that are given, and this is where the real genius of those with high tactic awareness comes into play. It is the dance between attack and defense, the ability to size up the enemy force - not just in terms of their numbers and formation, but of the way that individual ships are positioned and how that can be exploited - and also an ability to read this information, at a glance, and be able to predict what they enemy are trying to do, how they are planning to do it, then come up with a plan - often in a matter of seconds - to counter that and turn the battle to your own advantage. This is not a common skill, and it is undoubtedly not something that can be taught in a Naval Academy classroom. It is something you are either born with or you're not.

Of course, it is not possible for every commanding officer to be a tactical genius. There simply aren't enough of them to go around, so instead, navies rely on training. Potential officers are taught a set of standard formations to use depending on the needs of the battle. A simple set of "if you want this to happen, do this" rules that are drilled into every ship captain and fleet commander. Do you want to obliterate an enemy formation? Then, you need to position your ships in such a way that they can maximize their firepower in a certain direction. Do you want to make sure that the enemy fleet is kept from escaping? Then, you need to spread your fleet out to cut off the means of retreat while also keeping enough of your guns trained on them to inflict damage and force their surrender; this is the formation you use to do that. And so on.

It is far from anything that could be described as either imaginative or foolproof, and they are predictable enough to let anyone with even a tiny amount of tactical acumen overcome, assuming, of course, that someone on either side actually has any.

So, let us return to our fictional battle. Two fleets enter the area of battle, and the goal of both - in a strategic sense - is the same: Destroy as much of the enemy fleet as possible while simultaneously keeping as much of your fleet from being turned into scrap metal and floating corpses as possible. Strategy is the goal; tactics are how you achieve it.

Once they have arrived, both fleets immediately size up their opponent. Scanners and Con operators rapidly identify the classes of the ships aligned against them and their positioning and pass that information to the fleet commander. It is then the commander's job to compare that information to the composition and positioning of his own fleet and come up with a plan on how to proceed.

This is more than a matter of attack or defend... of fight or flight. As already discussed, larger ships take an extraordinarily long time to make the intricate maneuvers to get into position, so re-positioning a fleet while in range of enemy guns is always a risky option, but sometimes cannot be helped. This can also be used to a tactician's advantage. A battleship, for example, has incredibly thick armor and extraordinarily powerful shields, more than that, if you try powering your ship straight into the firing arc of one of its broadsides, you will quickly find yourself without a ship. But at their rear, where the long bulk of its powerful hull is taken up entirely by the massive engines needed to move it, they are almost defenseless. Those ships, too, take a long time to move, so getting behind them would be a quick way to take them out... assuming you can get there and the enemy formation hasn't been set up to defend the battleship's flanks.

For that reason, fleet commanders spend an enormous amount of their time studying the strengths and weaknesses of every class of ship known to their respective militaries. Not just to exploit them if they ever face them on the battlefield but also to protect those same vulnerabilities in their own fleets. A talented tactician can do this in mere seconds from a single look at a tactical map.

So our theoretical commanders have sized up their opponents and given their initial orders, and the battle commences. Fighters fight, bombers bomb, particle beams ribbon their way between the colossal masses of stellar warships, and ballistic rounds, traveling at mind-numbing speeds, rip through the space between the fleets, smashing into anything they hit.

More importantly, the fleets start to move.

This is where real tactical genius shines the brightest. In 333 BC, Alexander the Great won a battle against King Darius II at Issus, fighting a force almost three times his number. He did this by spotting a single, tiny gap in the Persian lines, large enough for only a handful of his companion cavalry to squeeze through, but one that gave them a direct path to the Persian king. Seeing the danger posed by the charging Greeks, Darius was forced to flee, and seeing their king and commander leaving the battlefield, the majority of the Persian army quickly decided to do the same, at which time, the rest of Alexander's army attacked en masse and his enemy was slaughtered. This staggering victory came from a single look, a single moment where the young Greek king spotted a single tiny gap in the Persian's lines and the singular brilliance to take advantage of that single error. A tactical genius is always watching, always looking for that weak spot in the enemy force, and a means to exploit it for maximum effect,and then having the confidence and the courage to take advantage of any mistakes they spot.

A ship moving out of position or facing the wrong way is the modern variation of the weakness that Alexander saw at Issus. A mistake or a miscalculation in the enemy commander's plan - for example, assuming a fleet is going to try to escape rather than fight - would mean that there is not a single gap but dozens of them, leaving an avenue of escape open when assuming a fleet while trying to carry the field would mean an enemy could live to fight again another day. Weapon technology, ship construction, the firing arc of thousands of individual turrets, all of these things are important, vitally so, but tacticians look deeper than that. They look at the human psychology, mentality, training, and reasoning for fighting this battle, then work to use those plans against their enemy.

It is a dance as old as war itself. Some people are simply told what steps to perform in that ballet, others conduct it for themselves, and the outcome of a battle can often depend almost entirely on who performs the dance best.