Chapter 34 – The Diplomats

Admiral Thren Toranki mentally made a checklist of things needed to do before he left.
First, he was uncomfortable with leaving four of his people with just two small destroyers as a fallback. He wanted more firepower. So item one would be to reinforce the two destroyers with the Endeavor.
Item two was to get an update from the Aether Sentinel.
Item three was a final update from Marcus on their progress.
Item one was fast: an order to the Endeavor to join the two destroyers at Faglen.
Item two was accomplished at the same time: no further hostile activity was reported. But the apparent aggressor was building what appeared to be warships. The going was slow, but there were a significant number of them. Also, there appeared to be only one other planet in the system with intelligent life. There were electronic emissions, but no sign of space travel.
Item three was good news: excellent progress was being made. They were treated well, especially since the Navy had landed what he thought were their version of Marines, who provided an extra layer of security for the base. No hostile activities were apparent, but Marcus said he thought the soldiers guarding them seemed tense and always alert. Hearing Marcus's report, he felt that his decision to reinforce the two destroyers was the right one.
With those items out of the way, Thren had Sophia give the order to leave.
The arrival at Vel'Kira was a lot more welcome than his first one. The Odyssey II was greeted warmly by the top hunter and escorted to their home port with a lot of fanfare.
High Matriarch Sylara Vael'thira of Vel'Kira hailed him from her headquarters and invited them down. Thren hesitated, believing that bringing Samu'el and Ren'ora, their current enemies, may prove to be a bit awkward. Instead, he politely refused and asked if they would consider being the guest of honor at their dinner table—hoping that their auto-chef had a program of what the Cats could eat, and, as important, that they would enjoy it. He wasn't sure he should invite the top hunter. Seeing the two Cats may have set him off, so he wisely left him off the guest list. However, he did inquire if Captain Sael'vorr was available. He was informed that he was not, and would not be available for the foreseeable future. That set alarm bells in Thren's mind. He would put that on the back burner for now but would pursue it later.
High Matriarch Sylara Vael'thira graciously agreed to come to the Odyssey for dinner. She appeared somewhat reluctant but arrived with little fanfare, accompanied by two female aides, which Thren found very interesting.
After dinner, which it seems the Cats enjoyed very much, they moved to the conference room where both Samu'el and Ren'ora were waiting—very anxiously.
Thren expected a show of outrage when she saw the two Faerrie, but all she did was stare at them, then turn to Thren and inquire with a voice that would freeze water, "I suppose you have an explanation for this?"
"Yes, I do." He began. "I would like you to meet Samu'el. He is a former Captain in the Faglen Navy who was demoted and expelled for refusing to lead the attack that destroyed one of your terraformers. As punishment, he was sent to pilot an obsolete trash hauler—hurling junk into space toward the sun to be incinerated. And this young lady here is the daughter of the leader of the Pragmatists, one of the major factions, and was vehemently opposed to attacking you. She was given the task of making amends and possibly signing a non-aggression pact."
Sylara considered his words, was silent as she digested them, then turned to Ren'ora and asked, "What is your name, young lady?"
"Ren'ora," she said, "on behalf of my world, I humbly ask for your forgiveness and hope we can make amends. Just so you know, the leadership that ordered the attack has all been killed. The faction they led is no longer in control. My mother led the opposition party, and I am ashamed to admit she was powerless to stop it." She nodded toward Thren. "You can thank the Admiral for eliminating those evil bastards. Now, how would you like to proceed?"
Sylara seemed unconvinced by her explanation and gestured to her two aides. "These two are empaths. They can sense when someone is deceitful or not telling the entire truth. They will listen carefully, and if they sense a falsehood or omission, this meeting will end, and you will leave immediately."
Thren watched the two alpha-females, relieved to be a mere onlooker. He felt fascination mixed with concern, knowing things could go very bad very fast. He forced himself to relax.
Ren'ora carefully considered her reply, feeling as if she were on the edge of a cliff, where the slightest mistake could send her into the abyss. She decided on the bare-bones truth. "Our planet is severely overpopulated. The Hardliners, who attacked your planet, believed that the only solution was to seize another planet and transfer our excess population there. My mother believed we needed strict birth control—and to terraform the planet in our own system. The Hardliners had the radical military on their side and took control. With them gone, we can terraform our own planets. The problem is our terraforming equipment is not very efficient. What would it take for you to sell us yours? I am informed it is very good."
Sylara looked at her aides. They gave her a slight nod. The truth. Now the ball was in her court. "What do you have to offer?"
Ren'ora didn't hesitate. "Two things. A power source that is at least ten times more energetic than the ones you have now." She considered her next offer. She hadn't asked Thren if she could, but he had indicated she had a lot of leeway to gamble. "And Phase I engines for your ships." She glanced at Thren, expecting him to interrupt, but he just smiled and nodded. She almost lost her train of thought but quickly recovered, saying, "Just so you understand, Phase I engines cut travel time between planets to mere hours and days, not weeks and months."
Sylara checked her aides again; they didn't nod, only stared at her. She was leaving a detail out.
"What are you not saying? There is a catch. What is it?" she demanded.
"No catch. That power source I mentioned requires a special compound, as do the Phase engines. To our knowledge, it is only found in our system," countered Ren'ora.
"In other words, we need to come to an agreement, or we don't get the advanced power upgrades," replied Sylara.
"That is right. And we do not get access to your terraformers," finished Ren'ora.
The two stared at each other, two alpha-females locked in a battle of wills.
Then Sylara, starting with a small smile that gradually turned into a laugh, said, "I guess we should work towards some agreement. What do you want? A trade deal? A non-aggression pact? Or a peace treaty?"
Thren suddenly startled everyone when he spoke up with his commanding voice. "How about all three?"
Both women looked at him, then at each other, nodding almost in unison.
"Why not?" Sylara said.
Ren'ora grinned. "Why not?”
Instead of typical masculine or diplomatic behavior, they embraced each other, giggling like little girls.
But it still took them four hours to write up an agreement that both signed.
Everyone seemed pleased, except Thren, who wondered what his boss would say about giving the Phase I technology to the Vaelari without permission.
Sophia, reading the look on his face, said quietly, "Want me to draft the apology now, or wait until he actually finds out?"
"Draft it," Thren muttered. "I have a feeling I'll need it."
Chapter 35 – The Talon Marshal
Months had passed since the six completed warships returned from their shakedown cruise, and Svrath's patience — never generous to begin with — had worn thinner with every week the shipyards fell behind schedule.
He stood on the observation platform above the yards, watching sparks rain down the flank of the newest hull. Ten ships sat fully crewed and armed below him now, engines cold but ready.
First Stalker Zyr climbed the platform steps, his footfalls deliberately loud enough to announce him before he arrived — a habit Svrath had come to respect. Surprise was for prey, not for a superior.
"Ten complete," Zyr reported. "Six more within the month, if the yards hold pace."
"Assuming." Svrath let the word drop like something distasteful. "We have been assuming for six months. Run full combat simulations on all ten. I want to know if what we built was worth the wait."
"And the probes?"
Svrath's beak clicked once — not the low, hungry sound of appetite this time, but something colder. "Silent. Longer than they should be."
Zyr said nothing further. Reporting a failure that wasn't his to Svrath was a fast way to become a smaller commander than the one who'd walked in.
"Then we stop waiting for them to speak," Svrath said. "If the bears are sharpening their claws in the dark, I would rather see it with my own eyes than trust silence to tell me nothing is wrong."
The simulations ran clean. When the results came back, Svrath studied them the way a predator studies a wound it has already decided is fatal.
"Ten now. Six more soon enough." He turned from the display, the decision already settled behind his eyes before he said it aloud. "History does not remember the commander who waited for twenty when ten would have opened the door."
By the time the last of the six cleared final assembly, four more hulls had limped out of the secondary yards — older frames, patched and pressed into service ahead of schedule. Twenty ships. Enough.
Svrath addressed the assembled commanders in the main yard, his voice carrying over the wind.
"There will be no Talon Leader of Vorath remembered as merely a talon leader," he said. "When this fleet returns, there will be a Talon Marshal of Vorath. I claim that title now, before the victory, so that none of you mistake who claims the credit for it later."
Not one of them argued. Ambition, after all, was the one language every Vultari spoke fluently.
Of the twenty, thirteen carried the offensive missile racks that had armed the fleet since the first keel was laid. The last seven — the newest hulls — carried something better: the latest laser cannons, still warm from the forges, untested in anything but simulation.
Zyr raised the obvious question before the fleet embarked. "Refit the thirteen? Strip the missiles, mount the lasers. It would only cost us weeks."
Svrath considered it. Weeks he did not have — not with the bears fortifying and every day of delay a day closer to facing a planet that knew he was coming.
"No," he said. "We leave with what we have."
It was, he told himself, the only sensible choice.
He had no way of knowing yet how much that choice would matter — or that it would be the seven ships bristling with untested lasers, not the thirteen with their old, reliable missile racks, that would come to regret it.
Chapter 36 – Vorath Minor
The Eridanus Group
The advanced Borjigin scouting flotilla dropped out of transit on the edge of the Vorath system like wolves scenting blood. Five lean, dark-hulled vessels—fast, angular, and bristling with long-range projectors—spread into a wide hunting screen. At their head flew the Khar-Tengri, command ship of Hunt Lord Noyan.
On the bridge, Noyan contemplated what he would do in the time it took them to reach their target, a week away. Their advanced probe had reported a modest colony world that was still undergoing terraforming. It showed a single major settlement and scattered outposts. There was no meaningful defense grid—only merchant traffic and a few communication arrays.
His crew was inexperienced; young pups needed experience to become the killing machines that his clan was noted for. They needed blooding, but until he reached the colony, he would run sims.
One week later, their prey was in sight. “Stealth-probe archive confirmed,” the sensor officer reported. “Linguistic AI has compiled a working translation matrix for the primary Vorath dialect. Accuracy is above ninety-six percent.”
Noyan gave a single nod. “Open a channel. Wide-band. Route everything through the translator. Let every ear on that rock hear us in their own tongue.”
The transmission cut across every open frequency. The Hunt Lord’s cold voice was rendered instantly into the colonists’ language by the ship’s AI.
“People of Vorath Minor. This system now falls under the claim of the Borjigin. You will power down all weapons, open your ports, and submit to inspection. Resistance will not be tolerated. You have one standard hour.”
Silence stretched. Then a defiant reply came from the colony’s governor, the words automatically translated back into Borjigin speech on the Khar-Tengri’s bridge.
“This is sovereign Vorath territory. We kneel to no one.”
Noyan’s expression did not change. He watched the chronometer bleed away the final minutes. When the hour expired without compliance, he spoke quietly.
“So much the better. My ordu needs blooding.”
He turned to his weapons master. “Begin the Nerge. There will be no survivors. I want the destruction so complete that everyone in this system will tremble when they hear our voice or see our ships in their sky. Begin the Nerge.”
The five Borjigin ships accelerated inward on overlapping vectors in a classic encircling approach. Missile volleys of kinetic penetrators fell across Vorath Minor. Habitation domes ruptured. Atmospheric processors bloomed into fireballs. The central habitat vanished under overlapping strikes until only a glowing scar remained on the surface. Within minutes, the main habitat was nothing but a smoking crater.
Noyan watched the colony die with cold satisfaction, his attention locked on the hololith as habitation domes ruptured and the final life signs vanished. At the height of the bombardment, Vorath Minor’s remaining communication array managed to scream one last broadband distress call before it was silenced.
The sensor officer noted the transmission but dismissed it as irrelevant. “Local distress signal, Hunt Lord. No other vessels on the board.”
They were wrong.
Near Vorath Minor
The message reached Svrath's flagship garbled with static and panic, relayed twice before the translation matrix could untangle it into something coherent.
"Say again," Svrath ordered, already rising from his command chair.
The comms officer's voice cracked. "Vorath Minor is under attack, Talon Marshal. Unknown hostiles. The colony reports — " He stopped, swallowed. "They report they are being slaughtered."
Svrath felt a cold sensation settle behind his eyes. Someone dares to attack us on our own land. They will pay for this. We are not prey; they are the predators.
"Maximum speed," he snarled. Full military power.
The fleet surged forward, drives screaming past their rated limits, and by the time Vorath Minor's burning atmosphere bled orange light across their sensors, the twenty ships had already folded themselves into attack formation — a discipline drilled into them across six months of simulations that had, until this moment, felt like theater.
Svrath studied the tactical display, the enemy still oblivious, still focused on the destruction of the colony below.
“All ships, move forward," he ordered. “Lasers fire at optimal range. Hit them hard, and if anything remains, launch missiles.” He turned to Zyr. "Missile cruisers hold at the rear until my mark. I want to see if the improved lasers are as effective as the techs promised. Missile cruisers stand by.”
Zyr's beak clicked once, sharp with approval. “Either way, the fight ends here.”
Svrath didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The Borjigin
Aboard the Khar-Tengri, Noyan was still reveling in the colony's death throes when the sensor officer's shout cut through the satisfaction like a blade.
"Contacts! Multiple contacts, closing at combat speed!"
"Impossible," Noyan snapped, rounding on the display. "There is nothing in this system that—"
The first laser volley answered for him.
The Khar-Tengri bucked hard enough to throw Noyan bodily across the bridge. He struck a console on the way down, and smoke poured from a dozen ruptured conduits as systems failed in cascading succession around him. He tasted blood before he felt the cut above his eye.
He was on his feet before the deck had finished shuddering.
"Report!" he roared.
"Shields holding, Noyan! Their weapons are — " The officer's confusion was plain even through the smoke. "They're not penetrating. Repeat, they are not penetrating!"
Noyan wiped blood from his eye and allowed himself something close to a smile. Whoever those backbiters were, they had brought toys, not weapons.
“Educate them what a real weapon looks like," he said. "All batteries, return fire. I want those ships turned into flaming wrecks.”
The Borjigin's plasma cannons answered in full, and within minutes the seven lead ships of Svrath's fleet were burning, hulls opening like fruit, their lasers merely scorching the Khar-Tengri's hulls without ever breaking through.
Then the missiles arrived.
The Vorathari
Svrath watched his newest ships perish one after the other, and for the first time in a long while, he felt his hunger diminish and transform into something entirely unfamiliar—fear. He watched as the missiles he almost didn’t bring tear the enemy ships apart; he could only watch in silent satisfaction.
The Borjigin ships that had shrugged off laser fire without concern tore apart under the sheer weight of numbers, one after another, until only a single hull remained — drifting, dark, powerless.
"Hold," Svrath said, before anyone could give the order to finish it. “Send an abort mission command to the missiles. I want that ship."
He stood at the display a long moment, watching the wreckage of seven new hulls tumble alongside the smoking husks of an enemy fleet ten times more dangerous than anything he had prepared for.
"Tally the losses," he said quietly. "All of them."
He did not yet know the name of who he had just fought. He knew only that he had come looking for bears, and found something that made the bears look like sheep.
Though the Vorathari had won, the victory felt hollow. Of their twenty ships, seven were destroyed, five severely damaged, and the rest suffered varying degrees of damage. Interrogation of the prisoners revealed a troubling truth: the force they had just destroyed was merely a minor scouting unit.
For the Vorathari, every ambition of easy domination vanished. In the aftermath, they were forced to confront five life-changing realities:
They were not the apex predators of the galaxy.
They were outnumbered.
They were outmatched.
Their technology was inferior.
They needed allies.
The entire battle was captured by Stealth Probe 14 and sent to the Aether Sentinel.
The report would not be welcomed. There was a new player in town, and he had the biggest guns of all.
Chapter 37 - Protectors Of The Pride
The chamber in the Palace of the Matrocachs has the subtle smell of Vaelari incense. High Matriarch Sylara Vael'thira sat at the head of the obsidian conference table, her crystalline headdress catching the light like fractured starlight. Beside her sat Top Hunter Pumr'err, sleek frame coiled with restless energy, claws tapping idly against the arm of his chair.
Across from them sat Thren, calm and measured; Ren'ora, quiet but attentive; Samu'el, just as restless as his counterpart, the top hunter; Sophia, bright-eyed and precise; and Elena, her expression sharp with quiet confidence.
Thren folded his hands. "Membership in the Earth Alliance is structured in two tiers. Local membership tasks your forces with safeguarding your own solar system—defense of home planet, nothing more. Regional membership expands that mandate. You, along with other regional members, become responsible for monitoring and responding to enemy incursions throughout your assigned sector.”
Sophia leaned forward, a small smile playing on her lips. "For clarity and cohesion, I suggest local alliances take the name of their homeworld. In your case, the Vaelari Defense Force. Regional forces would carry the designation of their operational region. For the Vaelari and Faglen territories, that would be Beta Canum.”
Pumr'err's golden eyes narrowed. He shifted, the chair creaking under his weight. "And what, exactly, is the benefit of regional membership? Why risk more than our own system?”
Elena answered without hesitation. "Those forces receive upgraded systems—Phase II interstellar drives, advanced weapons packages, and full FTL communication arrays.”
Sylara tilted her head. "FTL communication… what is that?”
Sophia's voice was patient, almost gentle. "Faster-than-light communication. Instantaneous transmission between planets light-years apart. No lag. No delay. Real-time communications across the stars.”
Sylara's eyes widened, a rare flicker of open wonder crossing the High Matriarch's composed features. "Instant… across light-years?”
Pumr'err felt the words land like a lightning bolt to the chest. Phase II interstellar drives. Advanced weapons. FTL communication. Plasma cannons that could tear through hulls before an enemy even registered the threat. A warrior's dream made real.
I'm in.
The decision formed instantly, hard and absolute in his mind. Every instinct of the hunt screamed yes. Yet the final word was not his to give. Sylara Vael'thira was High Matriarch—his ultimate authority, blood and bond. He would not speak the commitment aloud until she decided. He waited, every muscle taut, golden eyes locked on her.
When the silence stretched, he turned fully toward her, voice low and rough with conviction. "Matriarch. This is no small gift. Instant communications across the void. Drives that let us strike before the enemy knows we have moved. Weapons worthy of the hunt. We cannot refuse this. Not if we mean to protect Vaelari… and more."
Pumr'err's claws stopped their idle tapping. He said nothing further, forcing himself to sit back, jaw tight, waiting.
At the Top Hunter's insistence, Sylara met his gaze for a long moment, then inclined her head.
"Very well," she said. "The Vaelari accept regional membership in the Earth Alliance. We will stand for Beta Canum.”
Sylara's gaze shifted to Ren'ora before Thren could speak. "You chose your words well during that negotiation. Your mother chose well.”
Ren'ora inclined her head. "I can only thank her for the wisdom she bestowed on me.”
A faint, genuine smile crossed the High Matriarch's face—the first Thren had seen from her that wasn't measured for effect.
Thren nodded once, then his face turned neutral. "There is one more matter that needs to be addressed. Not now, but in the future, the regional fleet will be merged into a combined fleet. They will still be responsible for their own region, but under the command of the Earth Alliance and, as such, be available should a large fleet threaten any region. As I said, this is in the future. We are currently assessing the threat in this corner of the galaxy. Hopefully, no major power will threaten our corner, but it is prudent to be prepared.”
Sylara blanched, visibly shocked. Not so Top Hunter Pumr'err, who seemed to be deep in thought.
Before Sylara could react, Pumr'err almost purred with his reply. "I agree, it would be a prudent move. However, I believe this is a matter that the Matriarch and I need to discuss in private. You may leave knowing that we will be pleased to join the alliance. We will talk later.”
The abrupt dismissal didn't seem to faze them as they filed out; Sophia fell into step beside Thren. "The Matriarch seems a little upset at the mention of Earth having command of the regional forces.”
Ren'ora added, "Yes, I think we all noticed that, but did you see the Top Hunter's face? It was as if he had just been asked to plan a battle—or plan a hunt.”
Thren mused, "I would like to be a fly on the wall to hear what they were saying.”
"At this point," Thren said, "I'll take what we got. Good job, everyone. Two alliances signed in one week. My superiors are either going to promote me or court-martial me—all thanks to the two of you."
Back at Sylara's chambers, she waited for the Top Hunter to explain. She was too upset to think rationally.
Pumr'err, in a reversal of roles, was the calm, measured, rational one as he explained his reasoning. Addressing her in a formal manner, "High Matriarch, I, as your Top Hunter, beg you to consider the circumstances we find ourselves in. This is a new era. There may be enemies out there who may do great harm to our pride. As the chosen protector of our pride, it is my responsibility to do my best as a hunter to do that; I cannot do that with the primitive ships we have.”
"Superior how?" Sylara cut in, some of her old sharpness returning.
"You have wanted better weapons since the day I gave you your first command. Every hunter wants sharper claws.”
Pumr'err met her eyes, unflinching. "Not like this. Not for a fight I can already see coming." He continued, "We need superior weapons to defeat superior enemies.”
Sylara looked at Pumr'err as if seeing him for the first time. She had been so used to controlling his seemingly irrational urge to attack first and think second. Now he was the rational one. Who was this hunter? Where had the old one gone?
Seeking an explanation, she tentatively whispered, "Where is the old Top Hunter? The one that always needed restraining? What has changed?”
The Top Hunter's smile displayed his teeth and fangs as he attempted to describe what had happened, and it shocked her to the core. "First, you must understand: we are not only hunters; we are the protectors of the tribe, and hunting was part of what we did. When our tribes became the dominant species on the planet, our primary function as protectors was gradually reduced, even though our desire to protect still burned in our souls. We needed to be controlled to keep our aggression in check, as you have done. Now, with potential enemies that can threaten all the prides on our planet, we have become relevant. Now we can be protectors again.”
Sylara listened and gradually began to understand. She had never understood the hunters, never known what they thought or felt. It was a revolution to her. She also knew he was right. It was the time of change, and she desperately hoped she would have the wisdom to lead them successfully to a new era.
Sylara was quiet for a long moment, turning the thought over and looking at it from every angle. Finally, she said, "Then we will need our protectors again. All of them."
She studied him a moment longer, something like respect settling into her expression. "Do not make me regret trusting the hunter in you as much as I trusted the one I could control.”
"You won't," Pumr'err said. "I swear it on the pride."
Chapter 38 – Making Room
Faglen – Crash Site
Marcus can feel the tension in the air. The guards seem to be getting more nervous as each day passes. He decides this must be addressed and asks to meet with Captain Soryn Valek to find out why everyone is on edge.
Marcus notices that even Soryn is on edge and asks him point blank. “All right, Captain, what is going on? The entire camp is acting like an enemy attack is imminent. Give.”
The Captain hesitates, takes a deep breath. “You are right. Word is out that the natives are restless. The local population is very upset that this wide-open space houses only a hundred or so people, when it could be used for more local housing. I am sure the remnants of the Hardliners are doing some of the stirring.”
Marcus considers what was said, then surprises the Captain by saying, “They have a point. I was told the crash wiped out a good twenty thousand residents. They have a point, wouldn’t you say?”
Soryn thought about it for a second, then reluctantly agreed. “You may be right. But so what? What we are doing is critical to the survival of this world. There really is no room on this planet to build a factory this big.”
Marcus hesitated, then responded. “What about the old Hardliner headquarters we flattened? It was a plateau, or something like that. Was it repurposed for anything?”
Soryn thought about it for a minute before saying, “If I’m not mistaken, it was never rebuilt. What I’ve heard is that it’s cursed ground — nobody wants to build there, or live there.”
Marcus frowned. “You can’t be serious. With space at a premium, it just sits unclaimed? I don’t understand.”
Soryn gave a sheepish grimace. “You’d need to understand the Faerrie psyche to know why. One of our greatest faults is superstition, belief in the supernatural. When a place is cursed, it makes reasonable people act like anything but. That’s what’s at play here.”
Marcus considered his next words carefully, unsure if Soryn was one of those reasonable people gone superstitious. “What about you? Would you build there?”
“Absolutely. The only curse there was those cursed Hardliner idiots, and a couple of your well-placed missiles wiped that out.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing. “You crafty devil, you. You’re hinting we should move our research facility there.” Another pause. “That solves a lot of problems — security being one of the big ones.” He looked at Marcus with a sly grin. “I’m going to steal your idea and present it to my superiors as mine. Maybe it’ll get me promoted from babysitting duty to something more exciting.”
Marcus had mixed feelings. Building a new facility and moving everything to it would take time — months longer. He sighed, then asked, “If they started tomorrow, how long until a new one is built and we relocate there?” He expected to hear at least a year.
Soryn just smiled. “Not very long. One of the things we’ve become very good at is building. They can probably have it up and running in less than two months. Shouldn’t take more than a week to move everything.”
Marcus, with a twinkle in his eye, asked, “Are you just going to sit there babysitting us lost souls, or are you going to call your superior and pitch him on moving this facility somewhere more secure?”
Soryn, with a big grin plastered on his face, all but yelled, “Get out, troublemaker, while I make diabolical plans to move your sorry ass somewhere more secure.”
An excited Marcus cornered the three Greys and told them of the coming changes, then laid out his plan. “I want to leave this planet as soon as possible. That means we need the auto-chef design perfected and a working Phase I engine ready for them to copy. I want it all finished before we move so that we can leave shortly after.”
He braced for pushback. Instead, Zhorak’s eyes brightened, and the others traded a look Marcus couldn’t quite read.
“Give us the deadline,” Zhorak said. “We’ll beat it.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “That eager to get off this rock?”
“More than you know.” Zhorak didn’t elaborate, and for once, Marcus didn’t push.
Chapter 39 - A Second Chance
A report from the Aether Sentinel arrived just as his comm chimed. The report was flagged as a yellow alert, indicating it was not an emergency. It could wait. When he answered his comm, he was surprised to see Top Hunter Pumr’err’s image appear on his monitor. “Admiral. Do you have a moment?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“It is about a former captain of mine - Captain Sael’vorr. He was demoted for what I believe was petty politics. His career as an officer in our Navy is over. Would it be possible for you to?” He paused, as if searching for the right word, then said. “Draft him into your service? Not as a favor for me, but for him. You will find him more than capable.”
Thren remembered the young Captain when he rescued the crippled Curiosity and towed it back to Vel’Kira. He was impressed with the way he handled a dangerous situation. When he heard that he had been demoted, he was appalled but decided not to get involved in local matters.
He answered the Top Hunter immediately. “I remember him. I thought he handled himself well. I would be more than happy to, as you say, “draft” him. How would that work?”
The Top Hunter gave a toothy smile. “That is the easy part. Since he still is technically a member of the Navy, I can assign him to your ship, shall we say, as a special envoy with duties to be determined by the Earth Alliance.”
“Top Hunter Pumr’err. That is absolutely brilliant - and a bit devious. Have you been hanging around Gor’Vath?”
A confused Top Hunter shook his head. “No idea who he is, unless you are referring to that giant lizard you keep around to scare people.”
Thren chided himself for even mentioning that giant pain-in-the-ass and finished the conversation by telling him to expedite the transfer. He was preparing to leave, he hoped, within the next 24 hours.
The problem he now had was what to do with him once he was aboard. Time to check with his number 1 problem solver.
He found Elena in her small office just off the bridge, reviewing duty rosters.
“I need your help,” he said without preamble.
Elena just nodded. When he finished explaining the situation, her expression shifted into the familiar, unimpressed stare he had come to know well—the one that clearly said You did what?
She let the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable.
“So have this former Captain, and you don’t know where to put him, is that about right?” she said at last.
“Yeh, that about sums it up.”
Elena leaned back in her chair. “Make him my Personal Aide.”
Thren raised an eyebrow. “That’s your solution?”
“It’s the only one that makes sense. He’ll learn how we actually operate, he’ll be under constant observation, and I’ll keep him too busy to cause trouble. Besides…” A faint smile touched her lips. “Just think what we could do with all the extra time I will have on my hands.”
Thren considered it for a moment, smiled, then nodded. “Yes, I like it. Let’s do it.”
With the matter of the heart settled, he sat down and began to read the latest report from the Aether Sentinel. His posture stiffened as he read about the attack on Vorath Minor. It was clear that there was a new aggressor in town and they were technologically superior. Not good. He updated Elena on the reports.
She posed the same question that he was wondering and asked, “Where are they located, and how far away? Do you think perhaps Vorath captured one of the attackers and discovered who they were and their location?”
He shook his head in discouragement and replied, “It wouldn’t do us any good. We really do need to find out where they are.”
Then it hit him, and he said loudly, “Leakage chronometry!”
Elena frowned. “Leakage chronometry?”
Thren turned to her. “It’s a method we used when exploring new star regions. By repeatedly observing the same system as our distance to it decreases, we can watch a civilization’s radio emissions evolve in chronological order. A clear decline in leakage, paired with increasing signal complexity, is strong evidence of rapid technological maturation—and therefore an advanced civilization.”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “That was a very Marcus-style explanation. So, basically, less leakage plus more complexity means they’re advanced?”
Thren gave a sheepish nod. “Yes. That sums it up. Since the Beta System is no longer under duress, I can recall four or five of the probes to meet us in the Eridanus Group. And have Gor’Vath reprogram them.”
The next day, Thren met Sael’vorr near the main lift. The former Vaelari captain was watchful, unsure how this would work out. His Navy was rigid and inflexible, strictly by the book, and nothing else.
“Captain Sael’vorr,” Thren said, offering a warm smile and a handshake. “Welcome aboard the Odyssey II. We hope this is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Sael’vorr inclined his head. “This is an unexpected honor. You have my thanks for this chance.”
“Come with me. There’s someone you should meet.”
Thren led him through the corridors until they reached a wide, open workstation where Gor’Vath was reviewing a holographic display. The large alien looked up as they approached.
Thren stopped beside him, kept his face completely straight, and gestured toward Sael’vorr.
“Gor’Vath,” he said calmly, “this is your next test subject.”
For a second the room was silent.
Then Gor’Vath threw his head back and let out a deep, rolling belly laugh that echoed down the corridor. When he finally caught his breath, he fixed Sael’vorr with a wicked grin and delivered a near-perfect Bruce Willis impression:
“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”
Sael’vorr froze. His ears flattened slightly. He looked from Gor’Vath to Thren and back again, clearly trying to decide whether to bolt for the nearest airlock or collapse on the spot.
The entire nearby section of the crew broke into laughter.
After a long moment, Sael’vorr’s rigid posture eased. A reluctant, almost embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as understanding settled in. He had been played.
He shook his head slowly, the tension draining from his shoulders.
This, he thought, is going to be nothing like what I’m used to.
Chapter 40 - Time To Leave
Thren was going over all the loose ends that needed to be tied up before he left for the Eridanus Group.
1. Marcus update: Marcus had updated him on their plans to move to the former Hardliners' enclave, along with his intentions of having the prototype for both the Phase I engines and the auto-chefs completed, tested, and ready for production in three months so that the three Greys and he could board the Endeavor and join him wherever his fleet was at that time. - Check
2. He had contacted Top Hunter Pumr’err and informed him that Sael’vorr was a welcome addition to the crew and had been assigned temporarily as the Personal Aide for Elena, his Executive Aide, and soon would begin training as the go-to relief member of his command crew - starting with the weapons officer’s post. - Check
When he got to number three, Call High Matriarch Sylara Vael'thira and formally thank her for her hospitality, he realized he was about to screw up. He was about to leave Vaelari after brokering three major agreements, and he was not leaving a Kaerns diplomat behind.
After giving it some thought, he realized there was only one candidate for the diplomat: Ren’ora.
With a deep sigh, he arranged a meeting with her. Elena is present when they meet in his ready room.
After greeting her warmly, he gets to the point. “You just helped broker a major agreement with the Vaelari. I think it would be prudent if there was a Kaerns diplomat here, maybe in the role of an ambassador. Any idea who would be a good candidate?”
If Ren’ora was surprised by his casual approach, she ignored it. “By any ideas, you mean me. Right? Stop playing games with me, Admiral. Just ask me. Here, let me help you. You say: Ren’ora, I forgot we needed an ambassador to represent the Kaerns. Would you accept the position? And I would say: Of course, that is why my mother had me come along in the first place. I accept.”
Elena couldn’t help herself and laughed out loud as Thren turned bright red. She had just one-upped him. It was fun to watch.
All the Admiral could do was grumble. ”Gor’Vath has way too much influence on my ship. I need to confine him to quarters.”
To which Elena replied. “Too late. He already has infected the entire crew with his nonsense - even you.”
Thren paused, then turned serious. “Thanks for accepting. One problem solved. Now you need a staff. Here is what I am proposing. I will assign Sergeant Reed as your head of security, along with five marines. They will be just for show. We can’t have the daughter of the leader of the Kaerns without security.”
Ren’ora looked surprised. “So why the Sergeant? He is an intelligence officer.” A light pause. “Oh, I get it. Forget I asked.”
Thren added. “Don’t underestimate Reed. He was special forces at one time. Tough guy.”
Then Ren’ora, with a little gleam in her eye. “What about Rachaol? She and Reed have been dancing around each other, each pretending nothing is going on. It would be a shame to separate them now. I am kinda curious about how it works out between them.”
Shaking his head slightly, “Can’t be helped; duty first. Maybe a little time apart may be a good thing. There is a saying: 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' Maybe we will see if that is true.”
If anything, that gleam turned brighter as Ren’ora replied. “How about I say Rachaol is my Mystic Counselor, and I need her for her advice?”
Thren hesitates, Elena laughs, and says. “You’re not being a matchmaker, are you?”
Her reply was “Maybe, a little.”
Thren shakes his head, thinking Reed doesn’t stand a chance, but agrees to include her in the diplomatic team.
The Odyssey was set to depart in four hours, and he was reviewing the latest reports from the Eridanus Group. There had been no significant activity since the attack. All ships had returned to their home port—except for those destroyed. He suspected the Vultari might welcome an ally. Perhaps he could negotiate a peace treaty between the factions and expand the Earth Alliance by two more systems.
Then he needed to find the location of the attacker.
Chapter 41 – Technosignature Hunt
Fifteen days after Gor’Vath transmitted new vectors to the reprogrammed probes, the main sensor suite on the Odyssey II glowed with cascading data streams pulled in over the FTL relay. Three holographic trajectories arced outward from the display, each marked with a faint blue icon representing a stealth probe already on station, light-years distant.
Thren stood at the center of the group, arms folded. Gor’Vath loomed over the primary console, while Sophia and Elena watched the display with focused attention.
Gor’Vath gestured at the first trajectory with one large claw. “Probe One reached full insertion two days ago—260 light-years out, oriented toward Ophiuchus. Thirteen days of sublight-shrouded cruising to get there, and it’s spent the time since cataloging residual broad-spectrum radio leakage—unfiltered, high-entropy industrial noise typical of early-stage technological civilizations.”
Sophia glanced at Thren. “In normal language?”
Thren gave a slight smile. “He’s saying the first probe listens for the messy, accidental radio signals that young civilizations pour into space without realizing it. The loud, clumsy stuff.”
Gor’Vath continued without missing a beat. “Probe Two has been on station at 180 light-years for six days now—it arrived four days ahead of Probe One, shorter leg. It measures the attenuation of those primitive emissions and the corresponding rise in narrow-band, high-coherence signals—encrypted traffic, directed power beacons, and structured carrier waves. The transition gradient is the key indicator.”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “You want to translate that one too?”
“Gladly,” Thren said. “As a civilization advances, it stops spraying raw radio noise everywhere. The signals become cleaner, tighter, and more deliberate. Probe Two is looking for that change—the drop in crude noise and the increase in sophisticated transmissions. The steeper the change, the more advanced the culture.”
Gor’Vath’s expression shifted as new data scrolled across his console. “Speaking of Probe Two… three days into its watch, it picked up something odd. An unusually clean, highly coherent signal—far cleaner than expected at that range. When it tried to trace the source further, the signal… stopped. Vanished. No gradual fade. No interference pattern. Just gone.”
He tapped a control, and a star map expanded. “I’ve spent the last two days running a positional check along the signal’s last known vector. The most probable origin system is empty. No planets. No debris disk. No residual heat. Nothing.”
Sophia stared at the blank system marker. “What does that mean?”
Gor’Vath gave a slow, exaggerated shrug, his voice dripping with casual indifference. “Who knows? It’s a mystery.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
Elena’s eyes narrowed. Sophia looked openly annoyed. Thren’s jaw tightened.
“Gor’Vath,” Thren said flatly, “if you value your continued presence on my bridge, you will stop being a smart-ass for the next thirty seconds and give me an actual assessment.”
Gor’Vath’s toothy grin only widened. “Fine. Possibilities include a highly mobile transmitter that relocated the moment it detected our probe, a deliberate signal cut-off designed to hide the true source, or something capable of masking an entire star system’s emissions. None of those options are comforting.”
Thren exhaled through his nose. “Noted.”
He studied the main signal cluster still glowing deeper along the Ophiuchus vector, then the empty system where the clean signal had vanished.
“Thirteen days of clean data, and it all points the same direction,” Thren said. “I have a gut feeling they’re the hostiles. Of our four probes, three stay on that gradient. Only one goes to chase the ghost.”
He pointed to the display. “Probes One and Two stay exactly where they are and keep listening. I want Probe Three prepped and sent to extend the gradient map another eighty light-years past Probe One’s position.”
Gor’Vath’s claws moved across the console. “New heading’s already relayed. Six hours to spin the drive up from standby drift to full cruise without redlining it. At that range, call it seventeen days to full insertion.”
“Understood,” Thren said. Then he indicated the empty system. “I’m diverting Probe Four to investigate the mystery signal. It’s the shorter hop—ninety light-years, give or take.”
“Five days,” Gor’Vath said. “Maybe six, if it has to thread the approach carefully instead of running in hot.”
Sophia nodded slowly. “So most of our eyes go toward the advanced civilization… and just one goes to the vanishing signal. And none of it happens fast.”
“Nothing worth trusting ever does,” Thren said. “Send the new vectors.”
Gor’Vath keyed the new vectors through the FTL relay. Light-years away, Probes Three and Four broke from standby drift and began their long, silent burns toward their new headings. It would be the better part of three weeks before either reported anything at all.
Thren noticed the intense focus in Sophia’s eyes as she continued staring at the empty system, long after its icon had scrolled off the primary display. He knew that look.
She was already calculating distances, risk factors, and mission profiles. Any moment now she would suggest a side expedition—almost certainly with herself in command.
The thought both amused and concerned him. Amused, because it was pure Sophia: curious, bold, and unwilling to leave a mystery untouched.
Concerned, because she was his second-in-command and he needed her on the Odyssey. The quiet tension between those two truths settled over him like a familiar, unresolved problem.
Chapter 42 – First Contact
While the probes continued to issue updates, the Fleet arrived at the Eridanus Group. It had been decided to head for the world that had just been attacked. If the translation was correct, it was called Vorath. The ship’s AI had deciphered the language with 96% accuracy.
When they were within a short distance of Vorath, Lt. Kael Vorran contacted a patrol ship and asked for permission to enter orbit around the homeworld. The request was forwarded to Talon Marshal Svrath, who considered the request, reluctantly agreed, having concluded that if they were hostile, they would have attacked first, and communicated second.
He was shocked when a pale, nearly hairless figure appeared on his monitor—it resembled the hairless ones from their ancient history, the ones they had slaughtered. Uncertain how to proceed, he answered hesitantly, “I am Talon Marshal Svrath, Iron Beak of the Vultari Flock. And you are?”
Sophia took it all in. An Alpha Bird—more like an “Avion Tyrant.” Great. Steeling herself, she spoke in a clear, strong voice. “I am Commander Sophia Hale of the Starship Odyssey. We are from the planet Earth, and are seeking to form alliances as a deterrent against aggressive invaders. It appears that you have encountered one of them recently. We want to open a dialogue and perhaps form an alliance.”
Many thoughts went through Svrath’s brain; the most troubling was that not only did this creature resemble the hairless ones of old that they had slaughtered, but it was a female—and a female warrior at that. No Vultari female could ever be a warrior—they nested the eggs and attended the hatchlings until they became able to hunt on their own. It was disturbing. Shaking himself out of his introspection, he hesitantly asked, “What do you propose?”
Sophia, taking advantage of what appeared to be his indecision—or was it something else?—answered firmly. “A meeting. Talon Marshal Admiral Thren Toranki and you.” She paused, then added, “Here—aboard the Odyssey. You may bring as many advisors as you need, plus your guards.” She was sure that as ‘Top Claw,’ his ego would not allow him to bring any advisors, and only a handful of guards. She was correct in her assessment as he answered. “It will be just myself and two of my most trusted claws. I will supply my own transport as soon as you achieve perch. May I ask how you can speak our language?”
Sophia smiled at that question. She had been wondering when it would dawn on him that she was speaking his native tongue. Her answer was direct, intending to make sure he understood their level of technology well below hers. “It is nothing, really. We have met many different species and have developed very good language translators. Let us know when you are in transit.”
Earlier, while the probes continued their long, silent runs, Thren had called Sophia and Elena into his ready room.
“So,” Elena said, settling into a chair, “how do we impress a bird warlord without humiliating him into doing something stupid?”
“Carefully,” Thren said. “He needs to understand his planet can’t defend itself alone—that part isn’t optional. But if he walks away feeling cornered instead of informed, we’ve made an enemy instead of an ally.”
Sophia leaned back, arms crossed, still turning something over in her mind. “There’s something else. Did either of you catch how he reacted to me?”
Elena raised an eyebrow. “Hard to miss. He looked like he’d swallowed a rock.”
“It wasn’t just the hailing frequency, or the fact that I don’t look like anything he was expecting,” Sophia said. “It was that I was giving orders. I’d bet my next paycheck no Vultari female has ever worn a rank on that planet. They nest eggs. They don’t command ships.”
Thren considered that. “So he’s already off-balance before he ever sets foot on the Odyssey.”
“Which we use,” Sophia said. “Let him meet me and Elena at the airlock. Keep it female, keep it calm, keep him guessing. Then walk him straight into a very large, very confident lizard who has absolutely no patience for his ego.”
“Gor’Vath,” Elena said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Gor’Vath,” Sophia agreed. “Then Sael’vorr—a Vaelari officer who used to answer to his own government and now answers to us. That tells him something about the balance of power before anyone says a word about it.”
“And only then do I walk in,” Thren said.
“Only then,” Sophia said. “By the time he reaches you, he won’t be thinking about how many ships he brought. He’ll be thinking about how many species just casually work for us.”
Thren allowed himself a small, tired smile. “And we don’t mention the other species waiting outside the conference room until he’s already sitting down.”
“Obviously,” Elena said. “One revelation at a time. We’re easing him off a ledge, not pushing him.”
Two days later, the Odyssey achieved ‘perch,’ or orbit. Shortly thereafter, a small, sleek transport docked, and Svrath came aboard, flanked by two silent claws in polished harnesses.
Sophia met him at the airlock, Elena a step behind her. “Talon Marshal. Welcome aboard.”
Svrath’s dark eyes moved between them, cataloging, calculating. “You are both… unarmed.”
“We don’t need to be,” Elena said pleasantly, and led the way.
They had not gone twenty paces before Gor’Vath filled the corridor ahead of them, all eight reptilian feet of him, arms crossed, grinning with every one of his teeth.
Svrath stopped walking.
“Something wrong with your legs, Talon Marshal?” Gor’Vath said cheerfully. “Or is it the teeth? Everyone stops at the teeth.”
One of the claws’ hands drifted toward his sidearm. Gor’Vath’s grin didn’t waver, but something in his posture shifted, and the claw thought better of it.
“What… are you,” Svrath managed.
“Vorrak. Reptilian. Used to build fleets to conquer places like this one, before I decided Earth was worth keeping instead.” Gor’Vath shrugged, an enormous, casual gesture. “Turns out ‘apex predator’ is a very small club once you leave your own solar system. Welcome to the waiting list.”
He stepped aside with an exaggerated, mocking bow, and let them pass.
The second stop was a slighter figure in a tailored uniform, standing at ease beside the conference room doors.
“Captain Sael’vorr,” Sophia said. “Formerly of the Vaelari Navy. Now serving the Earth Alliance.”
Sael’vorr inclined his head with military precision. “Talon Marshal. Your reputation precedes you.”
Svrath studied him—a fellow military officer, disciplined, clearly capable, and unmistakably not from this ship’s home system either. “You left your own people to serve here?”
“I was reassigned,” Sael’vorr said evenly. “I’ve found it agrees with me.”
He opened the door.
Thren rose from behind the conference table as they entered, offering nothing more dramatic than a level, measuring look.
“Talon Marshal Svrath,” Sophia said. “Talon Marshal Admiral Thren Toranki.”
Thren extended a hand toward the empty chair across from his own. “Thank you for trusting us enough to come aboard. Please—sit.”
Svrath remained standing a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the room, the varied beings present, and the calm authority of the man across from him. The carefully arranged introductions had already done their work. The certainty that his people were destined to dominate the stars had begun to fracture.
He finally sat.
After absorbing the presence of multiple species, female warriors, and the towering form of Gor’Vath, Svrath spoke more quietly than before.
“What do you want?”
Thren met his gaze evenly. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need—the ability to defend your world against hostile forces like the one you just faced.”
Svrath’s crest shifted slightly. “How does that work?”
“Join us,” Thren said. “We are the Earth Alliance. Our purpose is to organize defensive forces strong enough to deter aggression. In return for your commitment, we will upgrade your ships with advanced engines and weapons.”
Svrath was silent for a moment. “After what happened… that sounds necessary. What would I need to do?”
Thren’s expression hardened. “Sign non-aggression pacts with your neighboring worlds and agree to combine forces when any of you are threatened.”
If a Vultari could blanch, Svrath came close. “But they are our enemies.”
Thren leaned forward slightly. “When did they attack you?”
Sophia’s eyes flicked to Elena—just barely—a shared flash of satisfaction neither woman bothered to hide.
Caught off guard, Svrath gave a stiff shrug of his wings. “Well… perhaps they did not. But they are ungainly creatures, barely able to speak properly. It is uncertain whether they have the intelligence to understand an agreement—or the honor to keep one.”
Thren stood abruptly, his voice dropping into a low growl. “Then we’re wasting time. Perhaps I should begin by speaking with those ‘creatures’ instead. They may prove more cooperative.”
Svrath’s posture stiffened. He realized at once that he had overplayed his position.
“Wait,” he said quickly. “I may have assumed too much. Let us discuss this calmly.” He hesitated, then added, “I have one of the insects that attacked us.”
That stopped Thren.
For a moment he said nothing at all. Weeks of stealth probes crawling across half of Ophiuchus, and the answer had been sitting in a cell on Vorath the whole time.
“You have a captive?” he asked. “Can I see him?”
Svrath’s beak curved into a careful, calculating smile. “Perhaps. What would I receive in return for allowing it?”
Thren did not smile back. “A second chance to be honest and stop playing games. Nothing more. And the captive must remain alive and in a condition to communicate.”
Svrath weighed his options in silence. His position was weaker than he had pretended—perhaps far weaker. The captive insect had given them little of value so far. These newcomers, with their strange technology and calm confidence, might succeed where his own interrogators had failed.
A foreign thought settled uncomfortably in his mind: Perhaps it would serve me better to stop being deceitful and simply be honest.
The idea felt unnatural.
But maybe he could get used to it.
Chapter 43 – Reuniting
Marcus felt energized. After eighteen long days of little sleep and constant work, he and the three Greys had become a sharply efficient team. Together they had designed, built, and thoroughly tested two critical prototypes: the upgraded Phase I Drive and the new Auto-Chef.
The Kaern technicians had already installed the Phase I Drive in a test vessel and confirmed it performed exactly as designed. The Auto-Chef had performed even better than expected. Marcus and the Greys had gained noticeable weight during the endless rounds of taste-testing. Their part of the work was finished. Whether the Kaerns would receive the more advanced terraforming technology now depended on a successful peace agreement with the Vaelari.
For the three Greys, the moment carried a quiet weight. Only months earlier they had been tortured prisoners. Now they stood as honored engineers. The change still felt almost unreal.
Captain Soryn Valek was waiting for them at the space dock, along with nearly every technician who had worked on the project. The formal send-off came close to bringing tears to the Greys’ eyes. Almost.
“You three have done more for our people in a few weeks than most manage in a lifetime,” Valek said, his voice steady but sincere. “Safe journey. And thank you.”
Zhorak inclined his head. “We were given a second chance. We used it.”
A shuttle carried them directly to the Endeavor. Once aboard, the Greys stored their gear in their assigned cabins. The three of them stood in the small room for a moment, looking around.
Myrak gave a low, amused sound. “These cabins are tiny.”
Vylen smirked. “Tiny… and ten times more comfortable than the cells we used to sleep in.”
Zhorak nodded slowly. “We have become spoiled.”
Marcus left the Greys to settle in and made his way to his own quarters. As a senior engineer attached to the project, he had been given larger, private accommodations. He dropped his bag on the floor, stretched the stiffness from his shoulders, and sat on the edge of the bunk with a long exhale.
Eighteen days. Hard days. But they had done what they came to do.
He activated the secure comm and opened a channel to the Odyssey. A moment later the screen resolved, showing Sophia on the bridge of the Odyssey, the soft glow of the command displays behind her.
“You look exhausted,” she said, though there was warmth in her voice.
“I am,” Marcus admitted. “But it’s done. The prototypes work. The Kaerns can take it from here.”
Sophia studied him for a second. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” He leaned closer to the camera. “Next time, I’m not staying away this long.”
A small smile touched her lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Marcus gave a tired but genuine smile in return. “Good. I was counting on it.”
While Marcus settled in for the rest of the transit, still savoring the sound of Sophia’s voice, utterly unaware that anything had changed, a stealth probe sent a report to the Odyssey II.
Lt. Mira Solen’s console flashed red. She read the header once, then again, her expression tightening before she forwarded the priority message up the chain:
Urgent: Updated Stealth Probe Transmission
Stealth Probe – Status Report
Encrypted burst transmission received 18:42 ship time
Target volume: Ordu Reach (Ophiuchus vector)
Dominant technosignature profile: High-intensity, tightly organized
Industrial heat output: Extremely elevated across 11 systems
Emission pattern: Military-grade encryption + directed energy residual signatures
Orbital infrastructure density: Consistent with large-scale fleet staging
Planetary survey notes:
– Two planets show extensive surface bombardment patterns with no detectable biosignatures or residual energy activity
– Three additional planets contain large urban centers that exhibit clear evidence of high-yield nuclear detonation (thermal scarring, residual radiation signatures, and structural glassing)
Cultural indicators: Uniform signal discipline, rapid response to probe detection attempts
Preliminary assessment: Region under control of a single expansionist power exhibiting conquest-level coordination and systematic planetary suppression
Classification recommendation: Hostile-capable civilization – high threat potential.
-End-
Every instinct told her to notify the Admiral immediately, but he’d taken a shuttle down to meet the captured invader — this would have to wait.
Chapter 44 - The Survivor
Admiral Toranki was horrified by the prisoner’s condition, close to death but not yet there. He was outraged and demanded to contact the Odyssey. Once connected, he instructed medical officer Lt. Maelor Lirak to load the shuttle with a portable med-pod, take the shuttle, and pick up the patient. Fearing the worst, Lirak hurried to complete the task. All the way down, she kept wondering who the pod was for. Only the Admiral had gone down. Upon arriving at a dark, ugly byway, she encountered Thren and Sergeant Reed carrying a ragged, skinny individual on a makeshift stretcher.
She immediately took charge. “Get his shoulders,” she snapped at Thren. “Careful—could be cracked ribs, could be worse.” Together they eased the prisoner into the med-pod, and her hands moved fast over the diagnostic panel. Her jaw tightened at what she saw. “This one’s close. Very close.” She didn’t hesitate, urging the shuttle pilot to break every speed record on the books to reach the Odyssey.
He simply grinned and said, “Speed is my middle name.” Lirak asked playfully, “And what is your last name?”
The pilot smirked, “Crash.”
That was the last thing she was able to say as the shuttle launched violently toward the Odyssey. She didn’t know if he broke any speed records; she was just glad they made it back at all.
Once she returned, she rushed to her patient at the trauma med-pod and was relieved to find him still breathing. It wasn’t until later, after the patient was stabilized, that she noticed it. Smiling to herself, she knew the Admiral would be shocked. She decided to wait before breaking the news. She would tell him that the patient would live—but that was all.
Meanwhile, back down on the planet, Thren was grilling the interrogator, warden, or whatever he called himself, on what information he had gotten out of the prisoner.
Frowning, the interrogator mumbled. “Nothing.”
“Nothing,” a confused Thren asked. “You beat the absolute crap out of him, and he said nothing?”
Grinning like a maniac, he chuckled. “Oh, he talked alright. Screamed was more like it. We just couldn’t understand a word he said.”
Thren looked at him in disgust. “You think that would be the case, wouldn’t you, him being from another planet? Didn’t you try to learn his language?”
The interrogator looked at Thren in shock. “I am an interrogator, not a linguist. He should have known our language when he attacked us. It wasn’t my fault; I apply a judicious amount of pain to get them to talk. And he did. It’s not my fault he couldn’t speak our language.”
Then he added, with a giggle, “It would have saved him a lot of pain.”
Thren shook his head in total disbelief and thought to himself. ‘Do I really want these people as an ally?’ He called the Odyssey to send for a ride back up. He did get one piece of information, though. He needed to use the Neural Linguistic Interface Array—a non-invasive, quantum-entangled link established directly with the brain’s language centers, primarily Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas. At least that is what he was told. It worked; that was all that mattered.
The first thing he did was ask Lirak how the patient was doing.
“Better,” was all she said. “And before you ask, it will be two days before the patient is out of the med-pod. So don’t bother me till then.”
Well, he thought, she had never been known for her bedside manner—not for former captains, and not for admirals either, regardless of the respect they were owed. But she was one of the best medical officers he knew, so he decided to cut her some slack. He wouldn’t trade her for another doctor. Funny how one gets used to being treated this way.
Two days later, Admiral Toranki was chomping at the bit. Although any information the prisoner could supply would be out of date and not that important, he was impatient to take the measure of a new foe.
Lirak greeted him at the door. The first thing Thren asked was, “Can I talk to him now?”
And was surprised when she said, “No.”
He stopped, looked at her in a confused expression, and asked, “Why not?”
“Because,” said Lirak with a big smile on her face, “it’s not a him; he’s a she.”
Leaving Thren standing there, mouth wide open.
A dozen questions crowded in at once—chief among them whether Borjigin society drew the same lines the Vultari did about who was allowed to fight, or whether he’d just found proof they didn’t.
“Okay, you got me,” he said. “Can I talk to her?”
“Of course you can, Admiral. Right this way.”
And she turned her back and hurried towards the patient, Thren hard on her heels..

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