Chapter 12 - Welcome To The Team
The meeting took place in the cafeteria of Odyssey II two days later. The five greys walked in, looking as if they were about to face a summary execution.
All five stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the giant Vorrak Gor'Vath and his lifemate, Kai'lith. Never missing a moment to display his weird sense of humor, he deadpanned, "Welcome, little ones. Please be seated while we decide who becomes our meal for today."
Kai’lith immediately slapped him in the head and said, “Behave, or you will be sleeping with the Marines tonight.”
This interplay was so unexpected; the five greys just stared, not knowing what to do next - sit or run.
It was Sophia who broke the spell. “Don’t mind them. They are just savages who are learning proper protocol. Please be seated. We already ate, so you are safe - for now.”
Unsure what was coming next, each took a seat and waited. Thren looked at the five, then spoke in a cold voice, getting straight to the point. “Was it your ship, the Reaper, that attacked my unarmed exploration ship, the Verya, without cause?”
All five hung their head, and all just nodded, sure that the next words were how they were going to die.
Instead, Thren said one word. “Why?”
Zhorak blinked, hesitated, then said in a whisper, voice gaining strength as he spoke, “We are not clear on that. We are just technicians. They do not inform us of such matters. But the rumor was they wanted your ship disabled so they could study your hyperdrive engines.”
Mira Solen, surprised, burst out: “I thought the greys were the most advanced civilization in the galaxy. Why would you want to study our hyperdrives?”
Zylor, one of the Hyperdrive technicians, spoke up. “Not true. The rumor was that the Kaeliths had a superior one. After the run your ship just gave us, I agree. Yours was much faster than ours. We could track you but couldn’t keep pace. If you hadn’t slowed down to enter that system’s gravity well, we would never have caught you.”
Sophia, intrigued by where this was headed, decided to redirect it even more by asking. “Knowing what you know now, would you do it again?”
The question hung in the air like a wet, smelly fart: nobody was willing to acknowledge it, but eventually, Zhorak intervened. “No. But we had no choice; disobeying orders is a fatal mistake. Let me say this: we learned a lot during our captivity.
“The five of us bonded like brothers. We had only ourselves to rely on. No one cared whether we lived or died. No one.”
Zhorak took a deep breath and continued. “We recognized that our system limited our potential by restricting the information available to us. To endure, we had to cooperate and work together toward a common goal: surviving each day, then the next. This became the core of our existence. We also took a lifelong oath: whoever rescued us from the nightmare we faced would earn our loyalty for life. All of us.”
Silence filled the cafeteria until Sandra Burke unexpectedly broke it, her voice soft but thick with emotion. "I've spent hours talking with them," she said, looking around the table. "Hours. And there are two things they keep coming back to, over and over." She paused, her eyes glistening. "Gratitude. They're grateful—truly grateful—that we rescued them. And loyalty. That oath they took? It's real. They mean it."
Her voice cracked slightly. "I know sincerity when I see it. When I woke up from my coma and saw Raj staring down at me..." She glanced at him, then back at the greys. "I knew in that moment how much time I'd wasted, how wrong I'd been about everything. These five—" she gestured toward them, "—they have that same realization. I believe them. Completely."
Thren absorbed everything. Whatever he anticipated from this meeting, it wasn't this. Then he took a leap of faith, locking eyes with each of the greys. “If I asked each of you to join us, what would you say?”
It was Zylor, the most cautious of the group, who whispered, “You would accept an enemy in your midst?”
The tense atmosphere was shattered when Gor’vath spoke in a booming voice. “Why not? He accepted me, a Vorrak Warrior, after my entire race was building a fleet to conquer or destroy Earth.
“If he can allow Vorrak’s greatest warrior to join this band of misfits, why not a few puny greys?”
All five of the greys had no idea what to think of the giant Vorrak’s statement. When they looked around, all they saw were smiles.
It was Colonel Whitaker who brought the meeting back to reality when he asked. “Welcome aboard. Now what can you guys contribute to the cause?”
It was Sophia who translated his question: “What the Colonel is asking: do you have any information that can be of use to us in fighting your little devils?’”
Every grey smiled, that expression when their thin lips curl upward, and Zhorak responded, “What do you wish to know? We can provide any available electronic information about their planet, from military and government details to publicly available information. We need to establish a connection to our communication unit.”
Saying that was a shock was an understatement, but it was a very welcome one.
Then Zhorak added. “When do you want to start?“
Chapter 13 - Cleansed
Zhorak’s revelation gave everyone pause. Intel was always valuable, especially when it was in real-time.
Sophia Chen changed the subject, her voice tight with emotion.
“Why are the devils attacking Vaelari and not Elysia?” she demanded. “Elysia has no defenses, while the Vaelari are well protected.”
All eyes turned to Zhorak. He glanced at the others before answering.
“Of the two planets that have civilizations,” he said. “The Vaelari’s was attacked first because it was the only one the devils could reach with the primitive hyperdrive engines we were forced to build. We deliberately made those engines flawed so they could not exceed four light-years. But they threatened to kill one of us if we didn’t improve them. We made some upgrades that allowed them to reach twelve light-years.”
He paused before continuing.
“They sent a probe to Elysia. When it returned with the data, they immediately decided it would be the planet they would cleansed.”
A concerned silence fell over the room.
Sophia’s voice was sharp. “What do you mean by ‘cleansed’?”
Zylor answered this time, his voice trembling slightly.
“It means they plan to wipe out all life on the planet,” he said. “The devils constructed three specialized ships, each armed with racks holding two hundred missiles. These missiles are designed to destroy all organic life within a one-mile radius of the impact point.”
Sophia’s face paled. “Why kill everyone?”
Zylor looked down at the table. “You saw their planet. It is dangerously overpopulated. They want a new world for their excess population… and they do not want any of the current residents left alive to compete for the space.”
Colonel Whitaker stood up, the sudden movement drawing everyone’s attention. He walked over to Zylor and looked down at him.
“You said they built three missile ships. Have they been deployed?”
Zylor’s already pale skin seemed to lose even more color. His voice came out as a strained hiss.
“Two days before we were rescued.”
Whitaker’s expression hardened. “And how long will it take them to reach Elysia?”
“Three of your weeks,” Zylor replied. “If I have the translation right.”
Whitaker nodded, then turned to Sophia.
“We have two weeks to stop them,” he said firmly. “Don’t worry. We’ll blow them into atoms before I let them touch your people.”
The five Greys exchanged confused glances at Whitaker’s words, unsure why he referred to the people of Elysia as “her people.” Still, they were relieved to see the tension in the room begin to ease.
Captain Thren stood and looked at Sophia.
“Sophia, arrange quarters for the Greys. Double units, next to each other. Then set up a dedicated work area and staff it with the necessary personnel. Make sure Marcus is included, and bring in the two Vorraks as well.” He glanced at Gor’Vath with a faint smirk. “Maybe he can do something useful for once instead of testing my patience.”
Gor’Vath gave a low chuckle but said nothing.
The five Greys looked at one another in quiet surprise. The situation was dire—the lives of an entire planet hung in the balance—yet the Captain spoke with calm authority and even a touch of humor. They had expected fear, anger, or cold calculation. Instead, they were met with decisive action and dry remarks.
What sort of group, they wondered, had they just joined?
Chapter 14 - The Price of Survival
The Planet Faglen - Neutrality Station
Neutrality Station was a heavily armored orbital platform that hung between Faglen and its largest moon. Neither faction trusted the other enough to meet on the surface or in their respective strongholds.
High Executor Vi'tin of the Hardliners sat at one end of the long obsidian table, flanked by three generals in crimson uniforms. Across from him sat Director Tai'na of the Pragmatists, accompanied by several senior administrators in elegant gray robes. Both groups were served by silent attendants who poured dark wine into crystal glasses. Through the reinforced windows, the curve of Faglen was visible far below — a world covered in endless towers and smog, its surface glowing with the light of billions of lives crammed into too little space.
High Executor Vi'tin spoke first, his voice sharp and commanding.
"The missile ships were launched for Elysia three days ago. We will have cleansed land, ready for settlement. That is what our people need—not theories."
Director Tai'na leaned back in her chair, her expression calm but cold.
"And when Elysia is gone? We will still have the same problem—too many people and not enough planets. You want to repeat this cycle with every world we can reach? We will create more enemies than we can fight."
"We create fear," Vi'tin cut in. "Fear works. The Vaelari is learning that. Elysia will learn it too."
Tai'na's voice sharpened. "And what happens when we run out of weak neighbors? Or when one of them fights back effectively? We have already seen what happens when we rely on stolen technology. Those technicians in grey intentionally provided us with lower-quality drive engines until we persuaded them to produce a superior one."
She gestured toward the viewport, where the endless city lights of Faglen could be seen even from orbit.
"Birth control is the only real solution. Strict, enforced, and immediate. One child per couple for the next three generations. We stabilize our numbers while developing colonies within our own system. We have three viable planets and two large moons we can begin terraforming within the decade."
Vi'tin's laugh was sharp and dismissive.
"Birth control. Would you ask starving people to stop having children? They will burn the government down before they accept it. The only thing keeping them docile is the promise of new land. Take that away and watch what happens."
Tai'na's eyes narrowed.
"So your answer is to murder the population of planets so our people can live better? You speak of strength, Vi'tin, but you only offer slaughter because you lack the will to make hard choices here at home."
The two leaders stared at each other across the table. The attendants continued to move silently, refilling glasses and clearing plates as if the fate of worlds was not being decided in the room.
Finally, Tai'na spoke again, her tone quieter but no less sharp.
“You live in your walled city on the surface, surrounded by guards and gardens, while the rest of the planet chokes. I live in the orbital rings, where there is clean air and open space. Neither of us lives among the masses we claim to serve. Perhaps that is why we can speak so easily of their future.”
Vi'tin’s expression darkened, but he did not deny it.
For a moment, neither side spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the station’s life support systems and the distant, mechanical movement of the attendants.
At last, Vi'tin stood.
“The missile ships continue to Elysia,” he said. “There is no stopping that. If your people wish to waste time building colonies that will not be completed for decades, that is your choice.”
“When Elysia falls, we will have new land available right away, while you plead for people to stop breeding and wait years before they can live under a dome on another world.”
He turned and left the room, his generals following.
Director Tai'na remained seated, staring out at the glowing world below. After a long moment, she spoke quietly to one of her aides.
“Begin accelerating the terraforming schedules on the inner moons. And double the surveillance on the Hardliner leadership. If they succeed with Elysia, they will come for us next.”
She reached for her wine glass, but her hand hesitated halfway. When she finally lifted it, the tremor was barely perceptible—a single ripple across the surface of the dark liquid. She held it there, watching the light refract through the glass, as if the answer to Faglen's future might be hidden in those fractured rays.
Below, the planet rotated in its slow, indifferent orbit. Billions of people down there, breeding and dying. She had built her entire career on the belief that reason could prevail, that logic and long-term planning could save them all. But after Vi'tin walked out of this room with the military at his side, her careful arguments were negated by the missile ships tasked with cleansing an entire population.
She set the glass down without drinking.
Across the station, in his private chamber, High Executor Vi'tin was already dictating to his communications officer. His voice was steady, almost conversational, as he outlined which sections of the meeting recording should be isolated, which of Tai'na's words could be recontextualized, which pauses could be edited to suggest hesitation or weakness. He smiled as he spoke—not a smile of humor, but of satisfaction. By the time this recording reached the public feeds, the director would look like a fool clinging to failed ideology while the Hardliners offered real solutions.
He dismissed the officer and turned to gaze at his own reflection in the viewport. The man looking back at him was already victorious. All that remained was the formality of the announcement that they had an entire planet available for colonization.
Chapter 15 - The Dilemma
Something one of the Greys had said earlier continued to bother Thren. It sat in the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach. Then it hit him, and his eyebrows rose. How could they possibly know that?
He made his way to the work area he had assigned to the Greys. When he entered, Zhorak looked up as though he had been expecting him.
“Figured it out, did you?” Zhorak said calmly. “Took you long enough.”
The room fell quiet as the other Greys stopped what they were doing and turned to watch.
Thren didn't waste time. "Out with it. How did you know the Kaerns had launched three missile cruisers? How did you know when they left and where they were going? That's a lot of information for a group of captives to have."
Zhorak leaned back slightly. "It's a bit complicated," he said. "To simplify, the Kaerns wanted us to upgrade their computer systems. Their technology is primitive—they still use analog components alongside digital ones. They demanded we convert everything to fully digital."
"We did that, but we designed it to be barely functional, then persuaded them to connect it to their entire network—public, private, and military—so we could test and refine the system and its capabilities."
Zhorak's smile sharpened. "Once everything was connected, we introduced a second layer—an advanced system of our own that could monitor and, if necessary, control their network. It can be accessed remotely with the correct frequency and password. Would you be interested in knowing the frequency and password to access the system?"
Thren went very still. For a long moment, he didn't speak—couldn't speak. The implications crashed over him like a wave. They didn't just have intelligence on the Kaerns. They had access. Complete, remote access to an entire civilization's military, government, and infrastructure networks. It was the kind of advantage that could shift the balance of power across the entire sector.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think past the shock. This changed everything. Not just tactically—strategically. The Kaerns needed to never find out about this backdoor.
Thren met Zhorak's eyes, and he could see the grey understood exactly what he was processing. "You're telling me you've had this capability the entire time we've been holding you."
"Yes," Zhorak said simply. "We were waiting for the right moment. For someone we could trust with it."
Thren stared at him for a moment, then turned to Gor’Vath. “Have you been coaching him?”
Gor’Vath gave a toothy grin. “Maybe a little. But he’s a fast learner. Besides, I like staying ahead of you.”
Thren’s expression darkened. “And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this?”
“As soon as the communications equipment was ready,” Gor’Vath replied. “It’s not relevant now. We need to be close to Faglen—preferably in orbit.”
Thren glared at Gor’Vath, "Do we at least have those hyperwave devices built yet?”
Thren's glare had no effect on Gor’Vath as he casually answered, “We tested them already—twice, to be accurate. We recalibrated after the first test, and it tested perfectly afterward. If you want to know, the long-range scan shows they are seven days away, in a staggered formation, three hours apart.”
Thren was surprised, and it showed. “They are that accurate?”
It was Zhorak who replied. “No. We improved them, something that was never encouraged by our superiors. Innovation was frowned upon and could even get you demoted.”
Thren stared at him a moment longer, then exhaled slowly. They had seven days to prepare for the interception. Now, the question was whether to challenge them first or to blow them into atoms. This was more than his call; he wanted options and other perspectives.
He left the work area without another word and headed straight for the bridge.
“Elena,” he said as he stepped inside, “call a meeting with the command crew. I want everyone there—Sophia, Tira’len, Colonel Whitaker, Mira Solen, Maelor, Gor’Vath, Kai’lith, Raj, and Sandra. This can’t wait.”
Elena nodded and immediately began issuing the orders.
An hour later, the command crew gathered in the briefing room. The five Greys sat along the far wall, watching quietly. Thren stood at the head of the table and activated the central display, bringing up the three Kaern missile cruisers on their current trajectory.
“In six days, these ships will reach Elysia,” he said. “Each one carries two hundred nuclear missiles—six hundred in total. Their mission is to wipe out the entire population. Four hundred thousand people.”
He let the number settle before continuing.
“We have a choice. We can attempt to warn the cruisers and demand they turn back. Or we can destroy them before they reach the firing range. No warning. No negotiation.”
Zhorak rose slowly from his seat. His voice was quiet but steady.
“They will not turn back,” he said. “They have their orders. Their orders are absolute. Even if you contact them, even if you threaten them, they will launch every missile. That is how they operate.”
Nethar nodded beside him. “They have already committed. There is no other path for them.”
Thren studied the Greys for a moment, then looked back at his officers.
“If what they say is true,” he said, “then warning the cruisers only gives them time to launch those missiles. But if we strike without warning, we become their executioners.”
He folded his hands behind his back.
“I want your thoughts. Do we give them a chance to stand down, or do we remove the threat before they can act?”
The room remained silent, the weight of the decision settling over everyone present.
Chapter 16 - Elysia
Ultimately, the only viable option was to obliterate them as they entered the Elysia system. Sophia observed Thren hesitating over the decision and signaled for him to head to his ready room.
Not waiting for him to say anything, Sophia launched, “Those killers are planning on killing 400,000 people - my people - without giving them a chance. Anyone who is that soulless does not deserve pity or one second of your thoughts of remorse. Got it? You are not an executioner; you are saving my people - and I, for one, am grateful.”
Sophia didn’t wait for him to respond. She stepped forward and pulled him into a firm, unexpected hug.
Thren stiffened for a fraction of a second, caught off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had offered him comfort rather than respect or obedience. The warmth of the gesture cut through the cold weight he had been carrying since the meeting.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to accept it. His shoulders, usually held with rigid discipline, eased slightly as he exhaled. When Sophia pulled back, Thren didn’t immediately speak. He looked at her with an expression that was rarely seen on his face — open and quietly vulnerable.
His voice, when it came, was lower and rougher than usual. “Thanks,” he said, the words quieter than he intended. He cleared his throat and tried again, managing a small, genuine smile. “I needed that more than I realized. Where would I be without your voice of wisdom?”
Sophia gave him a faint but warm smile in return. “You’d pretend to be the hard, stoic captain without feelings,” she said. “But I won’t tell anyone that you really have a soft heart.”
Thren let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh. He glanced away for a second, composing himself, then looked back at her with quiet gratitude. For a moment longer, he stood there, allowing the weight to settle back onto his shoulders—not the crushing burden it had been before, but something he could carry. He straightened slightly, drawing in a deeper breath, and when he exhaled, the vulnerability receded. His jaw tightened just enough. His eyes cleared. The Captain returned.
"Come on," he said, his voice steady and measured once more. "Let's get back to the bridge before Elena thinks something more than a pep talk is happening."
As they stepped out of the ready room, Thren's posture had returned to its usual composed state, but there was something different now—a quiet resolve beneath the armor, as if the moment of honesty had given him something solid to stand on.
Back on the bridge, Elena didn’t even look at them when they came back, but she was smiling.
With a little over six days to kill, Thren decided he would let Sophia “talk” him into checking on the status of “her” people.
He watched as she approached and pretended he was deep in thought, while attempting to keep from letting a smile spread across his face. He was almost successful.
Before she could say a word, he said, "Let me guess. Elysia? Right?”
She shot a quick reply, "Of course. We have more than five days to do something other than run simulations. This might be our only chance to visit."
Still trying not to smile too much, he replied, “Ours, or yours."
Catching on, she said just loud enough for him to hear, “Stop teasing me, Double T, and give the order before I become insubordinate and have the helm set course without your permission. Then you will have to throw me in the brig and find a new first officer.”
Feigning outrage, he turned and ordered the helm to set course for Elysia, as a smiling Sophia went back to her station.
Four hours later, the Odyssey II slipped into orbit around Elysia, and a quiet stillness settled over the bridge. Sophia calmly read the sensor scans from the bridge. There were no indications of military activity, but a message was being broadcast.
The message was playing on a loop, and though she had heard it twice, she asked Marcus to play it once more.
“Visitor from the stars,” the voice said, steady but warm, “we greet you with good news. Our people are united in purpose. We have established systems of law, order, food distribution, and medical aid. We are forming a formal government, and while the process is still ongoing, we are cautiously optimistic. We are grateful for your suggestions. You will always be welcome here, and we hope that one day you will return to speak with us. Until then, the people of Elysia will keep watch for your return from the skies.”
Sophia didn’t speak right away. She listened, her expression unreadable. When the message ended, she exhaled slowly, as if releasing something she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“They sound… hopeful,” she said at last, her voice soft.
Marcus glanced at her. “They do. It’s more than we could have reasonably expected.”
Elena watched Sophia carefully. There was something fragile in the way she stood, as though the words from Elysia had reached a part of her she usually kept guarded.
Sophia turned to them. “I think we should answer. But I don’t want to say too much. Just enough to let them know we’re still with them.”
They spoke for a while, weighing the right words. In the end, Sophia recorded the message herself, her voice calm but carrying a quiet weight:
“People of Elysia. We see you. We hear you. And we are pleased with your progress. Stay the path. Someday, we may return.”
Marcus gave a small nod. “That’s good. It feels right.”
He returned to his station and began programming the satellites. “I’ll set it to broadcast every hour. Four repetitions, then a pause. They’ll hear it clearly.”
Once the transmission was scheduled, Elena stepped closer to Sophia. She had assumed Sophia would want to go down to the surface—to meet the people she had helped put an end to the never-ending war. But when no such request came, Elena finally asked, “You’re not going to meet with them?”
Sophia turned, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—something between pride and sorrow. She offered Elena a small, wistful smile.
“No,” she said gently. “They’re finding their own way. If I went down now, I think it would change things. They might start looking to me for answers instead of trusting their own. I don’t want to become something they feel they need.” She paused, her voice growing quieter. “This way, they know I am with them in spirit. Spirits do not make mistakes. I might.”
Elena studied her, struck by the wisdom in Sophia’s words. She remembered her as the negative member of the crew who only wanted to go to Mars to study rocks, not to investigate the mysterious object Marcus had detected. She was shy, uncertain, more comfortable with rocks and data than with people. That version of Sophia would have never spoken like this.
Watching her now, Elena felt a quiet swelling of pride in her chest. Sophia had grown into someone steady and wise, someone who understood the weight of influence and chose, deliberately, to step back from it. Elena had been on the same journey, and in that moment, she felt both proud and strangely humbled by how far Sophia had come. And she felt honored to have been a part of that growth. It was fun to watch.
Sophia looked back out at the planet, her reflection faint in the glass.
Elena stood beside her, sharing the silence as Elysia continued to turn below them, carrying its people forward.
Chapter 17 - Scratch Three Cruisers
Watching his two favorite women, Thren took a deep sigh. Time to get back to his Captain’s mode. He set course for the outer system. Hours later, called Sophia into his ready room and asked her how she would plan the encounter with the Kaern cruisers.
After a moment, she said, “According to the greys, we can destroy the cruisers as they exit hyperspace, but we must stay close, following them instead of intercepting. Since we haven't done this before, I recommend having all the Fenrir on patrol in case they launch missiles. I also wonder: Do the Kaerns communicate with each other? We need that information.”
Thren immediately checked with Gor’Vath, who asked one of the greys, then told him that they cannot communicate when in hyperspace. One problem solved.
Sophia nodded. “Good, so we just need to pick them off one at a time. Any suggestions on how we can position the Odyssey II to trail the cruisers and hit them when they drop out?”
Thren thought about it and gave her his opinion, which agreed with hers. It would not be that difficult since the Odyssey II has a major speed advantage over the primitive Kaern cruisers.
The plan was in place. Now all they had to do was execute it. He asked Tira'len for an ETA of the three cruisers.
She responded immediately. “The lead is forty-eight hours, twenty-seven minutes, and thirteen seconds out, with the other two trailing, each with a three-hour spacing.”
Thren nodded. “Ok, everyone, we have two days. Get some R&R, and be at our stations two hours before the lead cruiser is projected to drop out.”
Forty-four hours later, the stations were all manned, and the Odyssey II was in the ideal intercept position.
Sophia Chen sat in the command chair while Thren observed from the seat beside her. Her jaw was set, her hands gripping the armrests just a fraction tighter than usual. Four hundred thousand people. That number had been running through her mind since the briefing.
"Status," she said, her voice clipped and precise.
Tira'len checked her console. "Hyperwave detection has a solid lock on the lead cruiser. Nothing has changed. The second is three hours behind it, and the third is another three hours behind that."
Sophia grimaced. Three ships. Six hundred missiles. All aimed at her world. "Understood. Bring us in. I want a clean firing solution. Weapons, stand by on the forward batteries."
The Odyssey II moved into position using the hyperwave detection system. The lead Kaern missile cruiser never had time to react. A concentrated plasma barrage tore through its engines and hull. Secondary explosions ripped through the ship until it broke apart in a silent flash of light.
"First target destroyed," Tira'len confirmed.
Sophia exhaled slowly, a brief moment of satisfaction crossing her face before her focus snapped back to the tactical display. One down. Two to go.
“Move back into position for the second cruiser," Sophia ordered, her voice carrying a harder edge now. "Same approach. Damage control, what happened to port battery three?"
"The capacitor overload," Mira Solen reported. "Engineering is running emergency bypasses now. They estimate three hours before it's back online."
"Understood. Shift power to the starboard and forward batteries for now. We'll proceed with what we have." Sophia leaned forward slightly in her chair, her attention locked on the approaching target. She thought of the cities below Elysia, the people waiting, unaware of how close death had come. Not on her watch.
Three hours later, the Odyssey II closed in on the second cruiser. Once again, the element of surprise worked in their favor. The ship opened fire and scored multiple direct hits. The second Kaern cruiser broke apart under sustained plasma fire.
"Second target destroyed," Tira'len reported.
Sophia's shoulders relaxed just slightly—a brief acknowledgment of progress—before tensing again. Two down. One remained.
"Damage control, report," she said, her voice steady but carrying an undertone of urgency.
"Port battery three is back online," Mira replied. "We had to reroute through secondary power conduits. It's at seventy percent capacity for now, but it should be fully functional within the hour."
"Good work," Sophia said. “We are way out of position. Helm, get us back on track. Let's finish this." The words came out with quiet intensity, each one deliberate. This was personal now. These were her people.
The third and final Kaern missile cruiser had come out of hyperspace and had detected the destruction of the first two ships. The cruiser was accelerating hard, trying to gain distance, trying to buy time as it prepared to launch its missiles.
"It's running," Tira'len said, her voice tight. "Increasing velocity. Estimate they'll be in firing range in—" she paused, checking her calculations, “—four minutes."
Four minutes. Sophia's jaw clenched. Four minutes for a ship about to launch two hundred missiles that would rain death on four hundred thousand people.
"Full speed," she ordered. “I want full military power plus 10%. Starboard and forward batteries, continuous fire. I want that ship dead."
The Odyssey II surged forward, closing the gap. The third cruiser had a large lead and was turning, getting ready to clear her missile racks.
Sophia leaned forward, her eyes locked on the tactical display. The distance was closing, but not fast enough. Time was running out.
"Tira'len, give me a firing solution. We cannot miss. Make it good.”
"Working on it," Tira'len replied, her fingers flying across her console. "Their engines are showing an extreme heat bloom - they are overheating, but they're angling away from us. The missile racks are being powered up. Got It! I have a firing solution!”
She didn’t hesitate. "Fire," Sophia said sharply.
The Odyssey II unleashed everything—starboard batteries, forward plasma cannons, all of it converging on the fleeing ship. For a moment, it looked like the cruiser would launch its 200 missiles. Then the topside missile launcher exploded, tearing the ship almost in half just as the bulk of the Odyssey’s ordnance slammed into what was left of the cruiser. There was a brilliant flash, and a giant glow formed where there was once a ship, but now only atoms filled the space, scattering across the void like a million fireflies.
When the last explosion faded, Sophia checked the board one final time.
Sophia turned to the bridge. “Damage control status?”
“Port battery three is holding at seventy percent,” Mira reported. “No other issues. The ship is undamaged.”
Sophia nodded, then looked at Thren.
“Mission complete. Minor issue with one battery during the second engagement, but we maintained combat effectiveness throughout.”
Thren gave a small, approving nod.
“Well handled,” he said. “You adapted quickly and didn’t let the misfire affect the rest of the operation.”
Sophia turned back to the crew.
She glanced once more at the debris field on the main display before adding quietly,
“Nobody messes with my Elysia.”
Chapter 18 - Zhorak's Surprise
“Plot a course for Faglen as soon as we’ve recovered the Fenrir,” she ordered quietly.
Stopping three missile cruisers had been straightforward. Preventing an entire planet from carrying out the same plan was another matter entirely. Without solid intelligence, any solution would be little more than guesswork. Thren decided it was time to speak with the Greys directly.
It was a small gathering in the ship’s lounge. Present were Thren, Sophia, Elena, and the five Greys. Gor’Vath had invited himself without asking, while Marcus Hale had joined them with the excuse that he should occasionally see his wife. Thren didn’t object. He valued their perspectives and suspected the conversation would benefit from a wider range of opinions.
He looked across the table at the Greys. “I’d like to know more about how Faglen is ruled. What can you tell us?”
Zhorak took the lead. “The root of their problems is their long lifespan. Their average age is around five hundred of your years. Because of this, their planet is severely overpopulated. We estimate roughly fifty billion Kaerns live there.”
He paused before continuing. “They have no form of birth control. The older generations hold most of the power and get the best housing, food, and positions. The younger generations are forced to wait for the elders to die before they can advance. Many of them resent this and will go to great lengths to attain higher status. Because of this, they have become deceitful, untrustworthy, vicious, backstabbing, cruel, and heartless. And those are their good qualities.”
Zhorak glanced at the others before continuing. “There are three major factions with real influence on Faglen. The Hardliners believe conquest and cleansing other planets are the only real solution to their overpopulation. The Pragmatists, on the other hand, push for building space habitats and colonizing planets within their own system, along with enforcing strict birth control. The Military are a force unto themselves, but seem aligned with the Hardliners and favor expansion by force. I should mention the Mystics—a religious group that preaches morality, self-control, and birth control as a moral duty, though they hold far less power than the other three.”
When Zhorak finished, a tense silence settled over the room.
Gor'Vath broke it with a low chuckle. "For a former slave, you seem to know an awful lot about your captors."
Elena's eyes narrowed slightly. She leaned forward, her hand resting on the table. "That's a fair point," she said quietly, her tone carrying an edge of skepticism. "How exactly did you gather all that?"
The room seemed to hold its breath. Zhorak met Elena's gaze steadily, and when he spoke, his voice was calm and measured.
"We had little to do except pretend to upgrade their systems and plan their eventual demise, assuming we ever get rescued. We gathered as much information as possible on their politics, military, and social issues. Keep in mind, this is only what I can remember. When we are in orbit around Faglen, we'd be able to access all the information we have collected about them over the last few years, plus real-time data."
Sophia’s eyes widened slightly. She leaned forward, clearly intrigued by the offer. “You said that earlier. How does that work?”
Zhorak smiled. “We can pull data, monitor communications, scramble their network, and even broadcast a worldwide message. It is also very likely we can locate the leaders of the Pragmatist faction.”
Thren studied Zhorak for a long moment, then glanced at Sophia. Her expression made it clear she understood the value of that access. He turned back to the Greys.
"That intelligence changes everything," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of someone already calculating three moves ahead. "When we reach Faglen orbit, we'll have full access to their systems. But first, we need to understand the Pragmatist faction's reach—how deep their influence runs, who their key players are, and whether they can be isolated or turned." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. "Then we decide how to proceed.”
Chapter 19 - Information Overload
The Odyssey II had been orbiting Faglen for four days. During that time, the Greys, along with Marcus Hale and Gor’Vath, had built the necessary equipment and established a connection to the multi-purpose computer they had constructed at the crash site. The connection worked perfectly, but the overwhelming amount of information baffled Marcus as he examined the gigabytes of data. He shook his head and said, “I have no idea how to organize this, mainly because I don’t know what is important and what isn’t. We need experts to handle this.”
Gor’Vath nodded and responded, “Time to call in the cavalry.”
Marcus glanced at Gor’Vath. “Have you been watching old westerns again? ‘Call in the cavalry.’ Who is it this time—John Wayne?”
“Maybe,” Gor’Vath deadpanned. “But we do need an analyst, and I believe the Colonel has a couple on staff. We need them to find the nuggets of information and shitcan the rest.”
Marcus shook his head and groaned. “You are permanently banned from those old videos. It’s getting to where even I don’t know what you are saying half the time, but yes, it’s time to call in the cavalry.”
Colonel James Whitaker wasn’t exactly cavalry, but he agreed that specialists were necessary and arranged a meeting.
The Odyssey II’s secondary briefing room had been turned into a makeshift analysis hub, with holographic displays already flickering with streams of Kaern data. Colonel Whitaker stepped forward as the five Greys watched warily from across the table.
“These are the analysts who’ll be handling your data,” he said. “Captain Aria Kane, lead intelligence officer. She’ll be coordinating the analysis. And this is Staff Sergeant Jamal Reed—he’ll be digging through the raw feeds with her.”
Reed gave a flat, biting smile. “Oh, fantastic. Can’t wait to dig through the Kaerns’ dirty laundry. This should be a real delight.”
Kane shot him a quick look before turning back to the Greys. “We’ll start with the priority channels you flagged.”
Whitaker crossed his arms. “They’re the best we’ve got. Use them well.”
Captain Aria Kane stood near the main console while Staff Sergeant Jamal Reed leaned against a table, arms crossed, eyeing the incoming flood of information as it might bite.
Thren Toranki entered with the five Greys—Zhorak in the lead, followed by Nethar, Vylen, Zylor, and Myrak. The analysts turned as the group filed in.
“Captain Kane, Sergeant Reed,” Thren said, “these are the Greys who’ve been pulling the data. They’ll be your primary contacts. Focus your efforts on the major factions—the Hardliners and the Pragmatists—and the Military, especially any signs of dissent within the ranks. We need to know where the fractures are.”
Zhorak gave a small nod. "We can prioritize those channels. The data is already segmented."
Kane turned to the displays as another wave of files populated the screens. "We'll start pulling patterns on leadership communications and internal reports. Anything that shows cracks in the command structure could be useful."
Myrak stepped forward, his voice measured and careful. "Some in the Military faction are… not happy in private channels. The Hardliners push for immediate action. The Pragmatists prefer building colonies and enforcing birth control. They seek to avoid war. There is friction—significant friction."
Kane nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of what he was revealing. "That's exactly the kind of detail we need. Military dissent could be the key to everything."
Thren folded his arms, watching the analysts take in the sheer volume of data. "One more thing—if time allows, see if the Mystics have any real power. Could be useful to know if anyone's actually listening to the morality lectures."
Reed blinked, then gave a short, surprised laugh. "Moral decay reports. Of course, they file those. Perfect."
Zhorak's expression remained serious, but there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his large eyes. "Their influence is limited, but we can check. They do file regular reports on 'moral decay.'"
Kane allowed herself a small smile. “Prioritize the two factions and the Military first. Mystics are a low priority—a side mission if we get bored.” She glanced at Thren. “We’ll start pulling the initial reports within the hour.”
Thren gave a short nod, clearly satisfied. “Good. Keep me updated. We need to develop a plan of action based on that data, so nothing happens until your analysis is finished. No pressure.”
“That’s usually the way it is. We will get right to it,” replied Kane, then added with a little smile. “After all, that’s what they pay us the big bucks for.”
As the Greys began transferring more filtered data streams, Reed leaned toward Kane and muttered under his breath, “If the Mystics turn out to be the real power brokers, I’m putting in for hazard pay. Dealing with zealots and data overload on the same day feels like punishment duty.”
Kane didn’t look up from the console. “Focus, Sergeant. And try not to get too attached to the morality files.”
Reed sighed dramatically. “Too late. I feel their ghosts gathering, waiting for me to go to sleep so they can haunt me.”
Chapter 20 - The Plan
Two days later, Captain Aria Kane had completed her analysis. She sat in the briefing room with Thren, Colonel Whitaker, Elena, and Sophia.
“To sum it up,” Thren said, “the Hardliners are locked into their position, and there is no reasoning with them. The Pragmatists’ position makes sense, but they lack the power and technology to achieve their goals. Meanwhile, the Military is divided.”
Kane pulled up a series of encrypted communications on the display. "The Hardliners control approximately sixty percent of the military leadership, with their support concentrated in just the command sector. The Pragmatists have very little influence with the military, so their agenda is never implemented. But here's where it gets interesting." She turned to face the room directly. "The lower ranks and enlisted personnel actively oppose mass extermination. We found evidence of significant resistance in private channels. They're not openly defying orders, but they're questioning Hardliner doctrine."
She let that sink in before continuing. "What's more, we've identified several starship captains and an admiral who appear to oppose the mass extermination policy. All of them have been demoted in the last six weeks—removed from positions of influence before they could organize resistance. The Hardliners are actively purging dissent from the command structure."
Kane pulled up another file. "So we have a picture of widespread military resistance being systematically suppressed. The enlisted ranks don't want this war. The Pragmatist leadership is disconnected from its own troops. And anyone in command who questioned the policy was being neutralized."
She turned to Whitaker with a knowing look. "So… what are you planning to do about it?"
Whitaker glanced at her, then at Sophia, before answering in a flat, deadpan voice. “Eliminate the Hardliners and those in the Military who agree with them. Make a deal with the Pragmatists. Stay clear of the Mystics. Clean our guns and get a little R&R.”
Thren had expected that answer. “Good. Have a detailed plan on my desk by tomorrow.” He paused, then added with a faint smirk, “Let’s go have a beer and discuss how big the guns should be.”
The officer's bar on Deck Seven was nearly empty at this hour. Thren and Whitaker claimed a corner booth, away from the handful of enlisted personnel nursing quiet drinks at the counter. The bartender knew better than to hover.
Whitaker took a long pull from his beer and exhaled slowly. "You know this gets messier before it gets cleaner, right? The Pragmatists won't roll over. There'll be collateral."
"I know," Thren said quietly. He appreciated that Whitaker didn't soften it. Never had. That was why he trusted him.
"Good commanders lie to themselves about that part," Whitaker continued, signaling for another round. "They tell themselves it's necessary, it's justified, it's the only way. And maybe it is. But they don't feel it." He looked directly at Thren. "You feel it. That's the difference."
Thren didn't respond immediately. He watched the condensation bead on his glass. "Does that make it better or worse?"
"Neither," Whitaker said. "It just makes it real. And real is what keeps you from becoming the kind of commander who orders mass extermination without blinking." He raised his bottle. "To feel it."
They drank in silence for a moment. Somewhere around the third beer, Thren felt the weight shift—not disappear, but feel lighter—bearable. Shared. That was enough.
"The guns should be big," Thren said finally, a ghost of humor in his voice.
Whitaker's laugh was genuine. "Damn right they should."
The next morning, Whitaker placed the completed operation plan on Thren’s desk. He looked well-rested. Thren, on the other hand, looked slightly pale.
Perhaps I should stick to the non-alcoholic options, Thren thought.
The plan was divided into three parts.
Part A focused on eliminating the Hardliner leadership. Gor’Vath suggested using the Odyssey’s AI to generate a visual of the three missile cruisers being destroyed and leaking it to the Military through the back door. Since the cruisers were not expected to return for another two days, the sudden proof of their destruction would create panic. Once High Executor Vi’tin and his senior staff gathered in one location, a precision missile strike would eliminate them in one blow.
Part B was more subtle. Sergeant Reed had accessed Vi’tin’s plans to embarrass the Pragmatists. The AI altered the documents so that, instead of simple embarrassment, the Pragmatists would be arrested and charged with sedition.
Along with the fabricated footage, a direct message was prepared:
“To the Pragmatist leadership of Faglen: We destroyed the three ships that were sent to Elysia. This must stop. Further attempts will result in severe punitive action. If your faction publicly vows never to attack another planet, we are prepared to share technology that will allow you to colonize habitable worlds within your own solar system and a method to implement full birth control. The choice is yours.”
Part C contained a list of demoted Military leaders who had opposed the cleansing operation, along with the recommendation that these officers would better serve Faglen if given greater responsibility.
Thren reviewed the plan, signed it as the Aegis Task Force, and added a secure contact link. Now all that remained was execution.
The countdown would begin once the Hardliners moved to meet with the Military. Zhorak and Nethar monitored separate channels—one for the Military and one for the Hardliners. It was Nethar who delivered the first report.
“The devils are in a panic,” he said. “They have no idea how there was footage of their three ships being destroyed, but they’re taking it seriously. They’re requesting that High Executor Vi’tin meet with them at their base headquarters.”
Zhorak looked up from his console. “That would be ideal. Their headquarters is remote, with only senior officers present. Wait…” He paused as a new message appeared. “Priority transmission. It’s marked urgent for Vi’tin.”
He glanced at Whitaker. “Vi’tin and his entire staff are preparing to depart for the military base.”
The clock was ticking.
Chapter 21 - The Aftermath
They knew what he would do, but turned to Colonel Whitaker. “What would be the cleanest option? A missile strike on the compound, or direct plasma fire from the Odyssey?”
Whitaker didn’t hesitate. “Put a missile up their butts. Make it two. We need to make a point—that attempting mass murder has consequences.”
Thren nodded. “Agreed.”
A surveillance drone was sent to monitor the Hardliners’ arrival at the remote military headquarters. There would be no delays and no warnings. Thirty minutes after High Executor Vi’tin and his staff landed, the base was gone. A pair of precision missiles reduced the headquarters to a smoking crater.
Thren waited a full hour before ordering the three-part message to be transmitted to Director Tai’na.
Director Tai’na stared at the report in shock. Base Shield is gone? How?
Moments later, an encrypted transmission arrived on her secure line. She played the message in private. First came the footage of the three Kaern missile cruisers being destroyed. Then came the altered documents revealing the Hardliners’ plan to arrest and charge the Pragmatist leadership with sedition. Finally, the warning from the Aegis Task Force.
She sat in stunned silence for several minutes before summoning her inner circle. It took over an hour for most of them to arrive. She began the meeting without the three members who were still missing.
After the message ended, the room remained quiet. Tai’na looked around the table and asked, “Does anyone have a suggestion? Any idea what we should do next?”
One by one, her advisors avoided her gaze. They stated that the decision was hers and that they would support whatever she chose.
Tai’na felt a cold realization settle over her. Surrounding herself with yes-men had been a mistake. In a crisis, she needed people willing to speak uncomfortable truths.
She made her decision.
“We will contact this Aegis Task Force and see what they want,” she said. “At the same time, I want each of you to reach out to the military personnel on this list. Determine if any of them are willing to join us in negotiations with these aliens.”
After the meeting, Tai’na steeled herself and placed the call.
There was a brief pause before a calm voice answered.
“This is Admiral Thren Toranki of the Aegis Task Force. To whom am I speaking?”
Tai’na took a steadying breath. “You are speaking to Director Tai’na of the planet Faglen. Why did you launch those missiles at our planet? You destroyed our main military base. Our top military leaders were present, along with the leader of the Hardliners and his entire staff.”
The voice that replied was cold.
“Didn’t they send a fleet of ships to wipe out an entire planet’s population? Actions have consequences. Now, I warn you—so will yours. Stop posturing, and perhaps we can reach an agreement.”
Tai'na closed her eyes for a moment. Well, so much for small talk.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"What I want," Thren replied, "is never again to see a regime that would callously kill four hundred thousand people for its own purposes. Is that something you could live with?"
The question hung in the silence between them. Tai'na's hand trembled slightly as she gripped the comm unit. This wasn't a threat. It was an offer—a genuine offer—and the implications crashed over her like a wave. He wasn't here to conquer. He wasn't here to punish. He was asking if she could choose a different path.
She thought of the Hardliners' cold calculations, the bodies that would have fallen if they'd succeeded. She thought of her own complicity in a system that had made such horrors possible, even if she'd opposed them. And now, standing at the precipice of everything changing, she had to decide: defend the old way, or step into something entirely new.
"We were never in favor of that," she said, her voice steadier now. "We were powerless to stop them."
"But you would have benefited if they had succeeded, wouldn't you?"
She hesitated. The honesty cost her something. "Yes. Our population is out of control, and it could have provided space to expand. But I found the idea abhorrent. I would rather cut my own veins than gain territory that way."
Thren was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone had softened slightly.
"If you had the power, what would be your solution?"
Tai'na gathered her thoughts, steadying herself. This was it—the moment where she either retreated into old patterns or spoke the truth of what Faglen actually needed.
"First, we must gain control over our population. The only real solution is birth control, but enforcing it would be nearly impossible. Second, we have several planets in our system that could support life if they were terraformed. The problem is that we lack both the technology to terraform those planets and interstellar ships that are too primitive to enable colonization within a reasonable timeframe."
Thren considered her words before speaking.
“If we provided the technology to terraform those planets within fifty years, equipped your ships with an efficient propulsion system, and helped you address your population issues… would you be willing to join the Earth Alliance Republic?”
On the bridge of the Odyssey II, several officers turned to look at Thren in surprise. There was no Earth Alliance Republic.
Tai’na was silent for a long time.
“Why would you do that?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Thren’s answer was simple and direct. “Because it is the right thing to do.”
He continued, his tone firm. “Before we begin negotiations, I want to make one thing absolutely clear. We will not tolerate dishonesty or deceit—under any circumstances. There is the letter of the law, and there is the Spirit of the Law. The Spirit takes precedence. If anyone attempts to circumvent the agreement through technicalities, we will consider the entire deal invalid. Honesty is not negotiable. Some would say this is a morality issue. It is more than that. It is the glue that keeps everything held together.”
Another long silence followed.
She was uncertain, but thoughtful. The weight of what Thren was proposing settled over her like a physical thing. He was asking a civilization that had abandoned morality to rebuild itself on moral foundations. He was asking them to trust in virtue when their entire system had been built on pragmatism and power. The silence stretched, heavy with the implications.
When Tai’na finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. “There will be many who will try to bend the rules. It has been a long time since morality was considered a virtue here.”
Thren’s reply was cold. “Then you should deal with them swiftly. And if you are serious about change, you will need to restore virtue to its place as something worth valuing. Is there any group on Faglen that preaches such values?”
Tai'na hesitated before answering quietly, "Yes. The Mystics. It is one of their core beliefs—that all are equal in the eyes of Harmis, the deity they worship.”
From somewhere on the bridge, Sergeant Reed let out a low, audible groan.
Several people laughed, easing the tension in the room.
Thren allowed himself a small smile before continuing.
“Director, before we can begin formal negotiations on the three proposals I mentioned, there is something you must do first. You need to form an interim government. Once that is in place, we can sit down and hammer out an agreement. Time is of the essence. How long will it take?”
Tai’na was quiet for a few moments, considering his words.
“Our government structure is largely intact,” she replied. “The Hardliners were only one faction, though a powerful one. Without them to intimidate and coerce the assembly, I believe we can move forward more constructively—especially once I present the three things you have offered. I can organize a negotiation team within three days. Where would you prefer we meet?”
Thren paused. The thought of stepping onto Faglen did not sit well with him.
“How many people would be part of your delegation?” he asked.
“No more than ten,” Tai’na said. “Including myself.”
Thren nodded. “Then the negotiations will take place aboard the Odyssey II. I will not bring my people into a potentially unstable environment.”
Tai’na inclined her head in acceptance.
“Before we proceed,” Thren continued, “I strongly suggest you consider inviting the Mystics to participate in the process. Their perspective may prove valuable. Inform me when your team is ready, and we will set the time.”
“I will,” Tai’na replied. “You will have my answer within three days.”
The channel closed.
Thren remained standing before the dark screen, his hand still raised toward the comm unit. The weight of it hit him - he was attempting to build something from the ashes of a civilization that had made cruelty into policy? That was a different kind of war entirely, and he wondered if he could pull it off.
On Faglen, Tai'na was already moving, already believing this could work. Three days. She'd have a delegation ready in three days, and then the real test would begin—convincing a people to choose morality when their entire system had been built on the opposite.
Both Tai’na and Thren felt that the future of Faglen rested on their shoulders. They did not sleep well that night.
Chapter 22 - The Path Forward
In the Odyssey II’s briefing room, Admiral Thren, with his “Lucky 11” - Sophia, Elena, Colonel Whitaker, Sergeant Reed, Gor'Vath, Kai'lith, and the five Greys - was feeling confident about what they needed to accomplish. His “Lucky 11” would be the architects of what came next. Sophia, who could negotiate with anyone. Whitaker, whose tactical mind had saved them more than once. Elena, steady and unshakeable. Gor'Vath and Kai'lith, proof that enemies could become family. And the Greys—five people who'd chosen loyalty over survival. This room held the people who would carry this forward and build something from the ashes of the Hardliners' cruelty. He took a breath and began.
He began without preamble. “If we reach an agreement with the Faglen government, we will be providing them with three critical things,” Thren said. “First, the technology to terraform habitable planets in their system. Second, improved propulsion systems can drastically reduce interplanetary travel times. And third, a method of distributing a birth control formula across their entire population.”
He looked at the Greys. “Zhorak, I want your people to begin simplifying the terraforming data. It needs to be broken down to a level the Kaerns can understand and eventually replicate.”
Zhorak nodded. “We can do that.”
“As for the birth control formula,” Thren continued, “distribution will be straightforward. We’ll introduce it into their food and water supplies.”
That left the most difficult piece.
Sophia leaned forward slightly. “What about their interplanetary drives? We can’t just hand them advanced technology.”
Marcus looked up from his notes, already sensing Sophia's move. She turned to him with an innocent expression.
“Marcus,” she asked, “what’s the difference between Celestream and the material we found on that asteroid—the one the Kaerns call Merclean?”
Marcus stared at her for a second, then sighed. He knew that tone. She was setting them both up.
“What?” he asked weakly.
Sophia smiled faintly. “After one of the stealth probes bumped into the asteroid, it left a bit of it in the probe. I took an interest in it. Being a former geologist, I wanted to know what it was made of. With Gor’Vath’s help, we discovered it’s basically a second- or third-cousin of Celestream. It’s much less concentrated, which means it came from a very small star—or something close to one.”
One of the Greys, Zylor, suddenly sat up straighter.
“Excellent,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice. “If it is as you describe, we can use it to construct what you would call a Stage I power plant. That would be perfect for interplanetary ships. We can modify their existing engines with minimal changes.”
The room went quiet as the implications sank in.
Then Gor’Vath, with his typical mischievous grin: “What if the Greys taught the Kaerns how to build these upgrades themselves?”
Everyone turned to look at him.
Zhorak and the other Greys stared at Gor’Vath in stunned silence. The idea of returning to Faglen not as nameless captives referred to only as “Grey 1” or “Grey 2,” but as technical specialists who would be teaching the Kaerns… it was difficult to process. For the first time, the Kaerns would have to learn their actual names. They would be giving instructions rather than taking them. They would be treated as equals, not prisoners.
All five of them immediately volunteered.
Thren held up a hand. “Only three of you will go. The two drive engineers and one other. I need the remaining two here to continue monitoring the Kaern networks through your backdoor access.”
The Greys appeared disappointed but accepted the decision, feeling that having three of their own rubbing the Faglins’ noses in their new status would suffice. They encouraged the three to deliver a few blows for their benefit.
Thren looked around the table at the five Greys, at Gor'Vath and Kai'lith, at Sophia and Whitaker. In this room, he'd just done something that went beyond tactics or strategy. Five people who'd walked in as prisoners—nameless, disposable—were walking out with their identities restored, their purpose reclaimed. They had their lives back. That was worth more than any intelligence advantage.
"We have a direction," he said quietly. "Now we wait to see if Director Tai'na is willing to move forward."

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