1.01

Executing a new mission had always been Rane Dryden’s favorite part of being Vice Admiral, with its preparation and planning coming in a close second; it was like putting together a puzzle whose final and completed form revealed another victory for the United Empyreal Federation.

His least favorite part was what happened after. 

Mountains and mountains of paperwork. After-action reports, priority logistics and resupply requests, chronological logs, performance evaluations, fleet damage assessments, and the casualty and loss report, worst of all. 

Often, it felt like punishment for succeeding, a student given homework after having already aced the test. Such was the nature of war, something Rane never claimed to understand. 

He’d already submitted a new proposal before starting on the paperwork from the last operation in the Cavus star system, so now was the time to close up shop on the old before moving fully on to the new. No hurry. The Security Council seemed to be taking their sweet time with the new authorization, which, given the unusual nature of the proposal, Rane was expecting. 

He had his feet up on the desk as he typed up the most important of all reports first. He was already half-way finished:

…and all ships accounted for. All in all, a fantastic success. We are rendezvousing for resupply at Erania before hopefully embarking to Thalassar. Still no official word yet, but I think approval may be coming soon. Afterward, I’m going to press for bumping up my leave so our schedules align. I believe a successful Thalassar operation will grant me enough favor. It’s been too long and I can’t wait until next year to see you again. Even though we may be far, I hope these letters keep us close in your heart. I will fight through the entire PDR armada if that’s what must be done to hold you in my arms again. 

All my love,

-Rane

His comms were sounding an alert as he encrypted the letter. It wasn’t an emergency alert, so Rane ignored it. The encryption changed every character on the tablet screen to a jumbled mess of meaningless abstraction that only the Federation’s finest codebreakers would be able to decipher. 

“Hey, brainiac. Don’t you answer your fuckin’ comms?”

At the sound of Duncan Burne’s voice, Rane spun around. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“I guess the top brass liked your proposal because they’re doing it. Right now.”

Rane jumped out of his seat. “What!”

Duncan jerked a thumb toward the Dreadnaught’s bridge. “The 11th fleet just took Thalassar.”

The paperwork from the prior engagement would have to wait.

The Dreadnaught’s bridge was buzzing with activity when Rane entered closely behind the ship’s captain, Duncan. They found Executive Officer Cade Gables at the central command console, who appeared understatedly impressed. “We just took Thalassar.” He spoke as one still wrestling with belief.

“They gave it to Scothern, if you can believe that,” Duncan added. 

Dumbfounded, Rane stared at the report on the green hologram screen. The Thalassar operation was his idea. He’d figured the Security Council would at least let him know they were proceeding with the mission, regardless of which fleet they assigned it to. But more importantly, he couldn’t believe they actually went through with it at all.

“Scothern…” Rane spoke absently, unsure if he was even giving voice to his thoughts or not. 

“It must have been a good plan if that dumb bastard could pull it off.” Duncan slapped Rane on the back. “A shame. I was looking forward to throwing out more PDR trash.”

Cade shrugged. “Who cares? We got the planet, and we didn’t even have to lift a finger to do it.”

“I would assume our boy who drafted the plan cares very much. How's he going to get full admiralty if the Council is giving our plans to another fleet?” Duncan squeezed Rane’s shoulder and shook him violently. “That should be our fleet at Thalassar!”

Rane just sighed. Duncan was thinking about it all wrong. It didn’t matter who got the assignment, and it didn’t matter if he landed a promotion from it or not. What mattered was that his plan was in motion, and in all likelihood, it was going to work. 

“This isn’t about climbing a ladder,” Rane said. 

“How is it not?” Duncan asked. “You don’t think there will be rewards for this? Rane, they’d be giving you a reach-around while putting the medals on your neck for taking Thalassar. That was your idea. A dipshit like Scothern couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a team of brown-nosers. You want him stealing your glory?”

Cade leaned both hands on the console and spoke calmly. “If Scothern is as dumb as you say, there’s no way he holds the planet with one fleet. He drops the ball, we shoot in to clean up his mess. He does all the hard work while looking like a fool, we get the easy pickings and maybe even a promotion out of it.”

Rane toppled a lazy finger toward Cade. “Bingo.”

Gaping at the two of them, Duncan’s arms fell to his sides in disgust. “What are you, a bunch of cowards? You don’t think we could hold Thalassar without Scothern’s help?”

“I’m telling you why they gave it to Scothern.” Cade’s voice remained undisturbed. “If it doesn’t work out, they scapegoat him while the author of the strategy saves face. Then it’s not the plan that failed, but the guy put in charge that failed the plan.”

A long, still moment passed among the trio, broken when Duncan snorted a quick laugh and threw his hands up in surrender. “You brainiacs are too much for me sometimes,” and he was walking away, muttering aloud from across the bridge, “I thought this was a warship!”.

As if expecting this outcome, Cade and Rane shared a grin.  

“Some things never change,” Cade said, and went about his duties of preparing for subspace travel to Erania. 

After resupply, Rane suspected they would get word of the developments at Thalassar. And then some real change would begin.

Stepping away from the command console, Rane could not suppress his smile even if he tried. The indignation brought on by the Security Council not informing him of the plan’s approval had been washed away by the unexpected masterstroke of delegating the task to Vice Admiral Roland Scothern of the 11th fleet. Rane even felt a touch of regret for not having thought of it himself. 

That Scothern had no idea what he was getting himself into only further guaranteed the mission’s success. 

Rane had concocted more stratagems than he could count, but the Thalassar operation was shaping up to be his masterpiece. The one he would be remembered by. 

_________________________

“Be honest,” Hollace said. “Do you think I’ll get assigned?” 

She was sitting on top of Martin’s desk and munching on a bag of pretzels from the break room vending machine. Everyone else on the 7th floor of the Usona Times had gone home for the evening, and most of the lower floors had cleared out hours prior. 

Martin stuffed his laptop into his messenger bag and stood, snatching his jacket from his seatback. “Trust me, you’ll get assigned.”

Hollace stared into the bag of pretzels, picked out the second to last one, and held it in her hand. “How can you be so sure? Nolan’s been here a lot longer. I mean, I’ll even settle for third-party, I’m not gonna be picky.” Her husky voice was accented with a rural croon uncommon for Usona City. 

“That’s probably why the last election was Nolan's first, and maybe the only one he’ll get. He’s not too bright.” Martin stood ready to leave, fixing her with a grin. “Don’t worry about it, Kirbs. You’ll get it, trust me. The big man would be stupid not to give you an assignment.” He hefted the messenger bag over his shoulder and continued, “Hell, you might even get mine.”

Hollace mumbled a startled response around a mouthful of pretzel. “Whitlock?”

“If I’m right, I’ve got something even bigger than the election.” 

Hollace offered him the pretzel bag, but Martin shook his head. She swallowed. “What could be bigger than the election?” Her arm was still outstretched with the pretzel bag. “Last one.”

Martin ate the last pretzel. “Something that will shake the foundations of the world.”

Unsure of what to make of his statement, Hollace simply threw the empty pretzel bag between her legs in the trash under his desk, and cleared her unkempt brown hair from her eyes with a quick flick of her head. 

“Gotta go,“ Martin said. “Taryn is making meatloaf and baked potatoes tonight. Not something I want to be late for!”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going to shake the foundations of the world? Martin, come on…”

“Top secret,” he said with a wink and started for the elevator. “See you tomorrow!”

Hollace leapt off the desk and hurried after. “Wait wait wait wait wait, you can’t just leave me hanging! Should I even be asking the big guy about the election if the world is going to shake off its foundation? Martin!”

He pressed the elevator button as she caught up. “I can’t spill the beans just yet, but I promise that I’ll run it by you before anyone else. All I know, Hollace, is that it’s going to be big.”

“How big?”

“Big.”

Hollace studied him with a sly look. “You’re bullshitting me…”

“I am not bullshitting you,” he said laughing.

“See! You’re laughing!”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true! I’m allowed to laugh.”

The elevator dinged and the doors parted. 

“No laughing allowed,” Hollace said, fighting to stifle a smile. “But seriously…what is it? What is so incredible and amazing and fantastic and…?”

A silent moment stretched out between them. Hollace Kirby was still in high school when Martin Webb had been hired at the Times as the new political reporter. He’d covered everything imaginable by the time Hollace was brought on board three years back. Whatever could possibly be of greater importance than what he’d already experienced, including the election, Hollace could not even fathom a guess. He just had to be joking.

Martin stuck his arm out to stop the elevator from closing. “I’ll tell you, but not here.” 

H emerald eyes lit up.

He continued, “On lunch, tomorrow.” The playfulness of his tone had diminished, his words now taking on an almost conspiratorial character.

“On lunch? Tomorrow? You’re sure? For real?”

He nodded, and Hollace threw her arms around him in a tight hug. 

When Martin was in the elevator, he gave a little wave in Hollace’s direction. “Be good, Kirbs.”

“Bye, Webby.” Hollace returned a little wave of her own.

She lingered until the elevator's whirr faded into silence. A cold knot tightened in her stomach, unrelated to the fact that she’d only eaten a tiny bag of pretzels since lunch. Sure, they always fooled around with each other with typical office shenanigans, but it was unlike Martin (or Hollace) to treat what might be framed as world-shaking with anything but sincerity and professionalism. And if not related to the election, it had to do with the war. 

Hollace shivered as she strolled over to her desk and plopped down in her chair, absently swiveling in large semi-circles while staring at nothing at all, seeing only a vision in her mind’s eye of her meeting with Martin the next afternoon at the fountain in the park while he told her of something her imagination was only able to render as frightening. 

She took a small piece of smooth purple sea glass from atop a stack of old sticky notes and rubbed it between her thumb and fingers, a quiet habit for quiet unease.  

As her fingers played over the soft surface of the roughly heart-shaped keepsake, the phrase ‘shake the foundations of the world’ in the context of the war had Hollace’s pulse quickening, even for a lifelong resident of what was viewed as the most safe and secure planet in the United Empyreal Federation. Not once in the quarter-century that she’d been alive had the war come anywhere close to touching the Federation’s capitol. 

Hollace spun to the small fish tank in the window beside her desk where a black betta swam. She dropped in some food, wondering what the fish equivalent of meat and potatoes might be. “Whatever it is, it’s not this,” she said of the dry, bland-looking, foul-smelling flakes that lazily floated on the water’s surface. “But it’ll have to do.” 

Or maybe that was as good as it got for a fish. She didn’t know.

“You’ve got my vote, Slick. Best Fish. Fish of the Year. President of All the Fish. Best Dressed.” She traced the curve of a black fin with her fingertip on the tank’s glass where Slick was devouring his evening meal. “I’ve at least got your campaign. As long as I keep feeding you, though, right?”

Leaning back in her chair, she sighed, gazing around the office where she spent more of her time than any place else. There wasn’t much to do at her apartment, and not much more to do at the office so late. 

Hollace stood and snatched her green leather jacket from the back of her chair, slipping the purple sea glass in the right side pocket. “Four more years, Slick! Give me at least four more years. Okay, little buddy?” She kissed her finger and touched it to the aquarium glass. “Get some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

The Usona City nights were warming as springtime settled in. By the time Hollace got back to her studio apartment on the outskirts of the industrial sector, sweat dripped from her face and hair. It was a walk of four blocks from the Times to the bus stop, and an additional six blocks home after that. 

She had saved up enough in wages in the past two years to put a down payment on a brand new pearl-white X1 Viperride motorbike, but did not trust leaving it unattended twenty stories below – not that there were any designated parking spaces at her tenement, anyway. The idea was to use the bike to get to and from her assignments quicker, lane-splitting during the gridlock hours so as not to miss the scoop at wherever her job would take her that day. She kept it locked in the Times parking garage, safe and sound.

A quick shower to wash away the sweat and Hollace was then searching her near-empty fridge for a late dinner, wrapped in a towel with damp hair slicked back. She found a takeout container of something unidentifiable, and two apples she had brought home from a conference room at the Times building earlier that week. Nothing more.

“I guess it’s healthy eating tonight.”

She dumped the dodgy leftovers in the trash and sat in the large round window, her favorite spot in the tiny apartment scarcely sufficient for one. Downtown, she could not escape the cacophony of honking horns and random shouts from sources unknown. Where she sat in the window, a rhythmic cadence of machinery and industrial trucks played a consistent beat late into the night, every night.  

The apple tasted okay. Not her favorite fruit. But it was free, so she couldn’t complain. She wanted to sleep but her mind was teeming with thoughts about the upcoming election and the role she hoped to play within it. The future brimmed with promise.

Opportunities. 

Possibilities. 

Spring was a season of growth, and Hollace welcomed it.

_________________________

The uniform jacket felt too tight. 

It must have shrunk in the laundry, so Vae Rova pulled another from her closet and tried it on. The fit was more to her liking, but wear on the elbows shown in the mirror before her. That wouldn’t do. 

A thorough inspection of a third revealed no visual flaws, and the leather conformed comfortably around her when she pulled it on. She’d been meaning to place an order for fresh uniforms to be delivered on the next resupply shuttle, but the sudden news of the Rear Admiral’s impending arrival had disrupted her longstanding schedule.

Vae straightened her uniform, wiped her sweaty hands against her pants, tightened the jacket belt, tugged the zippers on her boots until they sat flush, and gazed into the mirror once more for a final inspection. A thin lock of hair fell misplaced across her forehead, so she licked her fingers and smoothed it back into her violet crop. 

There was no such thing as perfection, but her mother would have said she looked perfect no matter what. Her father would have frowned and said nothing. 

That had been the expression Vae remembered most. It had been waiting for her at the front door of her childhood home, a month after her mother had been lowered into the Vinsk soil. You’re too late, Vae. Go back to your war. His departing words. In the year since, he’d said even less.   

Vae smoothed her hair again and straightened her uniform jacket in silence before turning away from the mirror.

She patrolled the still-sleepy corridors of the Chrysalis before much of the crew had awakened, her searching gaze cataloguing offenses: the dusty corners of the hallway floor, the squeaky maintenance panels under her glossy black boots, the overhead lighting not uniform in its brightness. Even if the Rear Admiral took no notice, that which was wrong still had to be corrected.

Vae approached the door to the bridge and pressed the manual button without thinking twice. The door opened but she could not step forward. Her critical eye fell to the button beside her. 

That particular door to the bridge had been faulty for longer than Vae could recall, at first driving her mad until she learned to accept that it was likely not going to function as it should. None of the ship’s mechanics could ever figure it out. They could refit a quantum fusion core half-asleep, but that damn door… 

With a quiet sigh, Vae stepped into the bridge of the Chrysalis.

No voices greeted her, as they would have on a regular day. She heard only the low hum of the electronics of the consoles, hologram screens, and the ship’s oxygen-supply and recirculation systems – sounds that typically went unnoticed behind the near-constant chatter of the bridge crew at work. But this morning, still early, she stood on the bridge alone.

A dark scuff on a floor panel grabbed Vae’s attention. Most wouldn’t have noticed it, but she saw it like a crack in the hull. 

Rubbing at it with the toe of her boot did nothing, so Vae took cleaning solvent and a rag from a supply closet and got down on her hands and knees to give it some elbow grease.  

Dex Orden, Head of Operations, entered through the faulty door and halted at the unfamiliar sight of the ship’s captain performing janitorial duties. 

“Vae…?”

“It has to be as close to perfection as we can get.” She looked up only when no sign of the blemish remained. “I know it’s early, but we need to page Nvona about the door.” Even when flustered, her rich, smoky voice retained a smooth character, rounding off any sharp edges. 

Dex strolled across the bridge and went about his standard routine of switching on monitors and screens and running diagnostics, while also fitting in a moment to page the Chief Engineer. 

As the Head of Operations, Dex was the central nervous system that kept all critical functions of the Chrysalis operating together in harmony. A man of few words and a stoic disposition, Nvona once joked to Vae that he’d probably had more conversations with himself than anyone else.

One by one, the bridge crew of the Chrysalis trickled in for their daily duties. Communications officer Aspen Banks, already wearing her earpiece, took a cheerful seat at her console, wishing everyone a good morning. Kennon Lor returned the greeting with a yawn and a hand raised in recognition from the astrogator’s station.

Nvona Domatis came next, strolling in with enough energy to make up for those still groggy from sleep. “I’m telling you, Vae, all you have to do is hit it with a hammer. If that doesn’t work, use a bigger hammer. And if that doesn’t work, then it’s broken and you need a new one.”

She leaned on the central command console opposite Vae. It was the rarest of occasions to spot Nvona wearing clean clothes and not covered head to toe in grime from the bowels of the ship. Her lazy black hair tumbled over the shoulders of her freshly-laundered maintenance coveralls and down to her waist. 

“We just need it to work at least once, when he steps onto the bridge.” Vae lifted her eyes from the hologram screen to the Chief Mechanic. “Let’s put in the effort.”

“Who is this admiral, anyway? Some kind of hard ass? Is he Ksenija 2.0?”

“Rear Admiral Andar Vokler.”

“Woah!” Nvona pushed herself off the console dramatically, hands lifted in comedic protest. “Woah. In that case, I’ll get right on it! For the Rear Admiral.” She circled around to throw a friendly arm over the captain’s shoulders. “Vae, you’ve gotta chill once in a while. Get yourself loose. You’re stressing out like he’s gonna shitcan us out the airlock if the napkins aren’t folded right in the mess hall.”

“Having an admiral on board is a big deal, Nvona.” 

The words came out sounding like Vae was trying to convince herself more than anyone else, as Nvona’s silent tilted smirk relayed. 

“It is a big deal!” Vae said.

“Not that big, Vae!” Nvona stepped behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “Do you know what helps me relax?”

“Yes. I hear it every time I walk by maintenance quarters at night.” Vae glanced back to Nvona. “I’m pretty sure all of maintenance quarters can hear it.”

Nvona shrugged at the comment and kept massaging Vae’s shoulders. “Well, I can’t help it if it’s good. Look, if a cutie says hi when I’m fitting new pipe, what do you want me to tell them? Nope, this is the only pipe I’m fitting today, sorry!”

Vae laughed in spite of herself just as Executive Officer Ksenija Levik marched up to the command console to hand her a steaming mug of arabica tea. The XO then went about her morning routine without a word spoken.

Nvona leaned closer to Vae and lowered her naturally bright and boisterous voice. “One day, I’m going to make her laugh.”

Vae spun to face Nvona directly. “You do that and I’ll give you the ship.”

A guffaw from Nvona echoed around the bridge, but drew the attention of no one. They’d heard it ten-thousand times before. Just another morning on the Chrysalis.

“Do what you can with the door,” Vae said to get them back to business. “Just one more time, for me.”

Nvona saluted. “That son of a bitchin’ door will work one more time if it’s the last thing I do.”

Vae thanked her and Nvona departed to gather the necessary tools and help. The tea was still too hot to drink, so Vae breathed in the aroma of the steeping coffee leaves and let herself exhale deeply. As much as she knew taking a moment to decompress was the right thing to do, there was still so much to get done before the admiral’s arrival.

Banks wished good morning to Ksenija as she passed the communications console, but Ksenija said nothing in return. Just another morning. 

The daily report on fleet patrols came through and Vae studied it over the rim of her mug. “A lot of Federation activity in the Austral Corridor lately,” she said to Ksenjia. “Fleet movements between Portannis and Vordelix, and it looks like Erania had fleets shifting down toward Ombra Prime yesterday...”

“Fed bastards.” A natural vocal fry gave Ksenija’s voice an abrasive character to match her stern demeanor. 

“What do you think is going on?” Vae asked, wondering if the Rear Admiral being sent to their old ship had anything to do with it.

The intensity of Ksenija’s wordless stare could have burned a hole through the hologram. 

“Shuttle inbound,” Banks called from across the bridge.

Mid sip, Vae yanked the mug away from her face in shock, splashing tea across her chest. “Dammit! Shit!” Her free hand tried desperately to wipe away the spill but it was already penetrating the uniform material. She darted for the door.

“Security checks cleared.” Banks took the mug when Vae hurried by. “Ten minutes until docking.”

“Dex, you have the bridge. Ksenija, I’ll meet you at the docking bay. Someone clean up that spill!” Vae almost ran straight into the broken door. She jabbed the button and disappeared. 

Captivated by the aroma wafting from the mug in her hands, Banks leaned down for a closer whiff and came away wide-eyed and wearing a huge smile. “Anyone know what this is?”

Vae dashed through the ship’s corridors, hoping not to work up a sweat by the time she arrived at the docking bay. Thundering heartbeats pounded her chest, not from physical exertion but the stress of the PDR admiralty stepping on board the Chrysalis for the first time.

She rounded a corner and skidded to a stop, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a window - wild-eyed, hair tousled. She leaned close, squinting at the glare of the Karidiev star system beyond, and smoothed her hair down, palmed her forehead dry, and straightened her uniform jacket - the one that felt too tight across the shoulders.

A heaving breath did little to calm her nerves. “Okay,” she told her reflection. “Let’s do this.”

Ksenija was already standing at attention in Docking Bay One when Vae appeared beside her and fixated on the doors through which Rear Admiral Andar Vokler of the Planetary Democratic Republic’s 17th fleet was about to enter.

Vae’s fingers rubbed against her sweaty palms nonstop.

Ksenija looked at Vae with only her eyes, chin-length brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears. “Relax.”

Vae tried. The air felt thin. She has faced down fleets of Federation Wraith Reiters while maintaining composure, but the anticipation of standing before the PDR admiralty had her nerves frying. This was a different kind of stress. Maybe it was because the hundred other ships in the 17th fleet were not gathered around to back her up.

The next moment, Andar was smiling before her, hand extended in greeting. 

“You must be Vae.”

His black uniform was spotless, his facial hair perfectly trimmed with only a touch of grey, his head shaven completely. The red star insignia pinned to his chest glistened as if recently polished. Vae felt frumpy and disheveled in his presence. 

With a swift and hopefully clandestine wipe of her palm on her pant leg, she shook his hand. “Commander Vae Rova,” she said in a thankfully steady voice. “Captain of the Chrysalis.” 

“Andar Vokler, Rear Admiral. It’s a pleasure to be welcomed aboard.” His grip was neither soft nor firm. A measured balance that achieved perfection.

“This is Commander Ksenija Levik, our XO,” Vae said.

He shook Ksenija’s hand with the same courtesy. “Comrades,” he said, his smile fading into focused intensity. “We have a lot to discuss, and not very much time.”

Even as he spoke of the Federation driving back the PDR 9th fleet and seizing orbital supremacy of Thalassar, Andar’s voice remained smooth and unhurried, with an even cadence. It appeared to Vae that nothing bothered him, that he somehow already knew the solution to any problem before it occurred. 

“Are we being deployed to Thalassar?” Vae asked, as that was the logical conclusion that could be drawn from his arrival. 

“We are being deployed, but not to Thalassar.”

Vae’s gaze shifted to Ksenija, who sat beside her in the ship’s primary conference room, and then back across the table to Andar. “You said the 9th fleet was driven back. Who is going to keep the Federation ships from beginning a landing operation?”

“The remainder of the 17th fleet is going to meet with the regrouping 9th. Our mission, however…is different.”

A pregnant pause lingered.

“Solo?” Vae said to break the excruciating silence.

“I am afraid it will have to be,“ Andar said. “Our destination is Liber.”

Vae shook her head in confusion. “I’m sorry, I thought you said Liber…”

“Are you clinically insane?” Ksenija’s question for Andar left no room to be interpreted rhetorically. 

Vae shot her a look that would have been accompanied with discouragement of criticizing a higher ranking officer had she herself not agreed with the sentiment. Proposing a solo expedition to the Federation’s largest penal colony was surely a jest, nevermind that it stood on the opposite side of the galactic core.

A soft little smile graced Andar’s face as if he’d been anticipating the reaction. “Do you recall the replacement subspace drive equipped on the last maintenance leave?”

Vae nodded. “It’s a tremendous upgrade. Been working flawlessly all year. Why do you ask?”

Andar folded his hands together and calmly set them on the tabletop. “It is one of six such drives in the entire armada. Those six replaced the six oldest drives still in use. With the new technology, we can send a ship through the galactic core – safely.”

“I thought that was only theoretical,” Ksenija said.

“Theoretical, not hypothetical. We have tested it, and it works.”

“On a Starlancer class battleship?” The skepticism in Ksenija’s voice came through unhindered. 

Andar remained unphased by her opposition. “No, we have not yet sent a Starlancer, which is part of the purpose of this mission. Not only do we strike the Liber production facilities and severely debilitate the Federation’s refinement of quantum fusion cores at the source, but we also study the effects of trans-core subspace travel on a ship of this size. Such knowledge will be crucial for any future trans-core engagements.”

“I’m sorry...” Vae could no longer hold her thoughts in. “We are going to be the first human trial on trans-core subspace travel?”

“That is correct.”

“To launch a one-ship attack on Liber’s production facilities?”

“That is also correct. Strike as many as we can.”

Vae hoped she did not sound insulting when she said, “Again, I’m very sorry…but this has all the hallmarks of a suicide mission.”

Andar’s gaze dropped to his hands on the table in the stillness that followed. Ksenija simply sat there, seemingly comfortable in the tension. Vae studied Andar’s face which betrayed no disbelief in the proposal despite its absurdity.

“Comrades,” Andar said, “I understand your concerns, and they are not without warrant, as they are likewise not without extensive analyses of the material conditions of the voyage and every threat we might encounter thereon. We have conducted myriad tests, simulations, a thorough examination of every critical fact and factor involved in this unprecedented undertaking. It would not have gone through the hierarchy and found its way to you without the most rigorous scientific understanding of precisely what could go wrong, and preparing in such a way as to mitigate as many of those factors as we can. I say this to you with no skepticism, that I believe our mission will be successful.”

“At killing ourselves?” Ksenija’s question was more of a statement.

Breathing out through her nostrils, Vae threw Ksenija another look, this one with unmasked disapproval. Ksenija did not react.

“You’ll have to forgive our skepticism,” Vae said in an attempt to preserve the positivity of their first impression to the Rear Admiral. “We are only thinking of the safety and wellbeing of the crew. This mission is a rather big ask, to be quite honest, and I don’t feel that we can properly present it to the crew without first being convinced, ourselves.”

“Of course,” Andar said. “Naturally, the crew is going to be hesitant to believe something never before accomplished can be undertaken at all, much less by them, and so soon. But we have to remember that everything that was ever done was, at some point, done for the first time. And this includes even the simplest space exploration. At some point, believe it or not, no one had ever traveled into space. That sounds difficult to believe, but it is true. I suspect those ancient travelers once thought it was impossible. I can envision them gazing up to the twinkling stars dusted across the night sky and assuming those celestial bodies were simply too far away to ever be reached by humankind, as so many today look at the Verge as an impossible barrier, as if no one will ever reach another galaxy, just because we have not yet done so. Or how we look at subspace travel through the core. Comrades, this is idealist thinking, and we must reject it outright. I believe it is our duty as passengers through the cosmos to carry on the legacy of our forebears, to reach further than they ever thought possible, to keep learning, to always keep striving to understand more about the universe. Because the more we learn about the governing systems of science and the cosmos, the more we evolve, and the greater chance we have to preserve the life we have built here. But if the Federation gets to that knowledge before us…we will lose the war.”

A grave finality settled over the room. Vae looked to Ksenija. The XO’s stern expression had not changed, but the fire in her eyes had – her skepticism was now fused with a cold, vengeful determination. 

Vae sat with her own thoughts quietly, weighing the risks versus the reward – high likelihood of death against a small likelihood of winning the war in some potential future. 

She raised her eyes to Andar but saw her father’s judgmental glare staring back, questioning her need to continue fighting their ancestor’s battle. 107 years gone and neither side had come close to a decisive victory over the other.

What do you think you could do, Vae?

Her eyes fell to the table, the memory too cutting to face head-on. She’d sooner face the Fed at Liber, and do what no one thought was possible. If there was a path through the war leading to a PDR victory, that was the path Vae Rova had chosen. Was it insane? Yes. But it was also necessary.

With as much confidence as she could muster, Vae looked to Andar and said, “Okay. Tell us everything we need to know.”

“I have to ask,” Vae said on their walk from the conference room to the bridge. “How long did it take for the CMC to convince you to go along with this?”

Andar gave a hearty chuckle. “Oh, no, you misunderstand, Vae. I had to convince them. This operation was my idea.”

She studied his face, looking for any lack of conviction. “And you are certain we will be successful?”

“Of course. The science says so.”

“There’s something we’re leaving unaddressed,” Ksenija said. “You said there are half a dozen ships equipped with the same drives. If the purpose is to strike Liber’s production facilities, why are we not increasing our firepower six-fold by sending them all?”

“An excellent question, Ksenija,” Andar said as the trio stopped just before the door to the bridge. The door Nvona was supposed to repair. 

Vae’s heart dropped. Her eyes darted to the manual button, but Andar’s body blocked the path. Any move would be too obvious.

Andar, seemingly oblivious, continued. “Sending all six ships to Federation territory would certainly aid in the destructive element of the mission. However, it would also increase the possibility of the Fed getting their hands on one of the trans-core drives, which is not an aspect of the proposal that sat well with the CMC. Minimization of such an outcome is of paramount importance.”

As he spoke, Vae could only watch him, waiting for the inevitable moment he’d notice the malfunction. Her mind raced through potential excuses: We’re prioritizing combat readiness... It’s a scheduled maintenance…

If they couldn’t get something as simple as an automatic door functioning properly, what business did the ship have going through the galactic core?

“So, this is a suicide mission,“ Ksenija added to give voice to the thought they all shared.     

Andar glanced between Ksenija and Vae. “I believe that with the right preparation and execution, we can avoid the necessity of such an outcome.”

When he finished speaking, Andar simply pressed the manual button himself and extended an arm toward the bridge as the door hissed open. “Comrades, please, after you,” he said with a pleasant smile.

_________________________

Hollace had been meaning to replace her little TV. It had accompanied her from her dorm to her apartment, previously belonging to an old college roommate who dropped out and never came back for it. First, the sound went, so Hollace used subtitles. It wasn’t a big deal. She only ever watched TV briefly before and after bed, in the few hours she was actually home each day, and always the news. 

Then, the image started to get fuzzy, and digital streaks of distortion cropped up, casting horizontal defects across the entire image. Only a few at first until they eventually covered the subtitle area, rendering the unit unusable except as a nightlight. She had pawned it for fifty dollars, hardly enough for a replacement.

Had she owned a working TV, she might have learned of the events at Thalassar before leaving for work in the morning. 

Traffic seemed lighter than average as she crossed intersections heading to the bus stop. The city felt more still, and yet more alive at the same time. On the bus, she noticed gatherings outside passing storefronts, and conversations undertaken with some intensity. It wasn’t until she got off downtown and started on foot for the Times that she came to a series of billboards all displaying the same breaking news report.

The Federation had gained orbital supremacy over planet Thalassar. 

Hollace gradually slowed to a reluctant stop as she stared at the report with dozens of gathering strangers. The general mood was one of jovial surprise, a gift no one had been expecting to receive that morning. 

“Fuck yeah, it’s ours now, baby!”

“Take that, you red bastards!”

Similar expressions of favor arose from the excited crowd. 

Hollace just stared quietly. Thalassar was half the galaxy away, a place she could not remember ever crossing her thoughts. As a bulwark at the edge of PDR territory and a neighbor to the neutral planet of Ombra Prime, it was never thought of as a potential target, lest the operation upset the diplomatic ties between Ombra Prime and the Federation. 

She couldn’t make up her mind just yet if this development was good or bad. 

From the perspective of the election, she pondered as she continued onward, it would likely boost President Halden Thorpe’s dwindling approval rating. The people liked winning, especially by show of force. If the occupation succeeded, Thorpe would almost certainly defeat Maren Whitlock in the primary and secure a second term. And no one at the office was yet assigned to Thorpe’s pending re-election campaign.

Hollace quickened her pace as a smile broke across her face and a crisp breeze danced through her unkempt hair. Her prospects were looking up. She decided just then that the turn of events was good. Now it was time for the most important meal of the day – coffee. 

She had hurried into the office later than usual that morning, held up by the gathering crowds in the streets and unusually slow service at the coffee shop. Her intention was to go straight into the big man’s office and ask for the Thorpe assignment, even though he had not yet officially announced that he was seeking a second term. 

The big silly grin on her face froze as she was greeted by solemn looks shared by the entirety of the 7th floor staff, eroding her expression into an awkward and hesitant gape. The jubilance outside contrasting with the uncomfortable silence inside both confused and frightened her. 

“Hollace…” The photographer who often accompanied her on assignments, Terrence, approached with a wounded look. “The big man needs you in his office.”

Hollace’s heart beat ten times stronger than before. “Am I that late? It’s only–” She winced with a sharp intake of breath when she saw the clock. 

“Just…go talk to him,” Terrence said. “Don’t wait.”

More frightened than confused now, she shuffled to her desk to take off her jacket and set her coffee down. She tried three times before managing to draw a deep enough breath to push down the rising tension in her chest, and then walked to the corner office with Oscar Connor – Executive Editor stenciled on the window.

The door was ajar, so she leaned in. “Oscar,” she said, trying not to sound terrified of losing her only source of livelihood. “I’m sorry I’m late. The crowds outside–”

“Close the door.” He looked up from behind his shiny cherrywood desk and set a stone-faced glare directly on her. “Sit down,” he added in his trademark gravelly voice that never once came in contact with humor.

She obeyed, folding her hands in her lap and saying nothing. 

With a short exhale, Oscar said, “Martin’s dead.”

Confusion replaced fright and Hollace responded, “No he’s not,” shaking her head slightly. “Why would you say that?”

“He was found this morning down the block from his apartment,” Oscar continued. “It’s confirmed.”

“No,” Hollace said firmly. “We just spoke last night. We’re getting lunch later.” She said it as if Oscar should have known, as if it had been carved in granite, unerasable. They were getting lunch later.

“Hollie, he’s dead. Martin is dead. I’m sor–”

“No! I’m telling you, I just saw him last night!” Her insistence brought forth an anger she was not anticipating and could not control. “I saw him get in the elevator. He was going home for dinner. We said goodbye, and…” 

She had to stop talking to breathe, and once her mouth closed, her jaw quivered. She tried to stop it but couldn’t. Her vision blurred with tears. 

We said goodbye…

The phrase repeated in her thoughts until her head fell into her hands and she wailed in anguish. 

“Taryn confirmed it with me this morning,” Oscar said after some time had passed and his naturally thunderous voice could be heard over Hollace’s heaving sobs. “I’m sorry I had to tell you this. It sucks. It just sucks.”

Hollace lifted bloodshot eyes to Oscar, snot dripping from her nose. She wiped it away and rallied every bit of strength she had to whimper, “What happened?”

“At this point, they’re saying he died by suicide.”

“He would not do that,” Hollace insisted, constantly wiping the tears from her face. “Oscar, he would not do that!” Every muscle in her arms craved to pick something up and hurl it straight through the nearest window in a violent rage. “He wouldn’t do that to us. He wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t d–”

“I’m only telling you what I was told.” Oscar could see her shaking uncontrollably. “Take the rest of the week off. Go home, get rested. We’ll regroup on Monday. I’ll text you the number of a grief counselor…”

His voice trailed off as Hollace heard nothing more, lost in a nightmare. She couldn’t move from her seat, couldn’t think of anything to say, couldn’t believe what she was being told. All she wanted to do was wake up. She had wiped her eyes so much that the skin on her face was burning. 

Oscar got up from his desk and helped Hollace to her feet. She looked up at him once more, hoping to find some indication that what she was hearing was not true, that a terrible mistake had been made and Martin was going to be joining her for lunch after all. But there was none.

“Hollie, go home.”

On her way to the elevator, she thought she heard Terrence telling her not to worry about Slick, that he’d feed him until she got back.

Nothing felt real as she exited the Usona Times building and began wandering down the steps to do something she had never done in her three years of employment there – go home early.

The celebrations for gaining orbital supremacy over Thalassar had tripled in size, with everyone on the street partying like they didn’t know what just happened to Martin Webb, the closest friend Hollace Kirby had ever known.

She collapsed in a slump on the steps, squeezing her head to keep her mind from spinning any further out of control. She felt numb inside and out. “It’s all wrong.” Her trembling whisper was barely audible even to herself. “Why is everything wrong?”

_________________________

Sorenna Tal had planned to depart before the winter came. 

Growing up on Thalassar had done nothing to make the winters bearable. At age 45, the cold affected her bones in a way she never felt in her younger years. A deep, throbbing ache that lingered. 

Temperatures would plunge to -105º on the worst days. The extreme climate made growing food locally an impossibility outside of some indoor farms situated around the perimeter of the city, although it was scarcely enough to feed the +300 million residents of the icy world who relied on substantial imports from Volos, Vordelix, and the neutral territory of Ombra Prime. 

Sorenna had the last of her belongings packed and stationed in the lobby of the Thalassar congressional building. All she had to do now was wait for the high-speed train to arrive and deliver her to the cosmodrome. From there, the transit ship would return her to the Planetary Democratic Republic capitol of Kaal – a planet now almost as familiar to her as her homeworld. 

She’d thought it over a thousand times but had not yet come to terms with the idea of leaving nothing behind in the place of her childhood, nothing to return to. It was at first the only home she had known, and then became a second home as her duties and status on Kaal increased and required her to take residence there. It was not long after that Kaal demanded her constant presence.

Amiably, she exchanged goodbyes and well-wishes with friends, acquaintances, and total strangers alike as the first sign of snowfall sent many home early. Some of the folks waving goodbye, Sorenna had never seen before in her life. As a member in good standing in the Politburo, and the former Minister of Public Relations for the entire PDR, she knew quite a lot of people, but everyone knew her.

Watching the snowfall gently accumulate, she hoped the train would not be delayed. 

An alert chimed from her cell comms. Her heart sank. The universe seemed determined to make her goodbye as agonizing as possible. A snow delay meant she'd be stuck there for another week. She just wanted to get it done with, pick up her last roots and make Kaal her permanent home. Dragging out the process only made it harder to say goodbye to the one friend who could not say it back. 

Devana Trava of the Thalassar Planning Committee was racing into the lobby before Sorenna had a chance to reach for her cell. She skidded to a halt, shoes squealing against the polished floor. “Sorenna, you’re still here?”

Sorenna slowly rose from her seat, wearing a look of confusion. “What’s wrong?” Her voice was comforting even in its uncertainty, with an almost feline warmth.

Devana’s look was one hovering between amazement and terror. “The 9th fleet…”, she panted between heavy breaths. “…They’re gone.”

Not sure what Devana was on about, Sorenna was unsure of how to reply. The 9th fleet was permanently stationed at Thalassar – surely they did not abandon their duty.

Devana strode up to Sorenna and squeezed her with both hands. “Sorenna, Federation ships are inbound!”

Sorenna broke away and dashed to the nearest window. No longer interested in the snowfall, she gazed up at the grey blanket obscuring the sky, looking for some truth to the claim and hoping to find none. 

“They came out of nowhere,” Devana said as if trying to justify it to herself. “Full fleet strength. Didn’t you see your comms?” 

Sorenna continued staring upward as if she didn’t hear, but she’d heard every word clearly; she just couldn’t believe them. In its 57 years of settlement, Thalassar had not once been the target of a Federation attack. Doing so would jeopardize the Fed’s relations with Ombra Prime. Thalassar had no strategic resources of its own. Stretching supply lines out to the Verge from Erania and Portannis left attacking fleets vulnerable.  

But to launch an offensive at the start of Thalassarian winter was tantamount to suicide. 

Sorenna exhaled deeply, understanding there was more going on than she could comprehend at that moment. She shifted those uncertainties aside and focused on what was within her control. 

“What about the city garrison?”

“They’re twenty minutes out.”

Sorenna turned to face Devana and said, “Delay the train.”

Steadily overcoming her fear, Devana nodded, still unsure of what was happening but willing to do what needed to be done to ensure their safety and survival.

“The garrison won’t get here in time,” Sorenna continued, her tone steady and determined. “Tell them to board the train at the nearest station and hold their position. If they march into the city now, they’ll be wiped out in the open. They must wait for our signal to advance.”

“What’s our signal?”

“They’ll know.” Sorenna hoped the ambiguity did not leave Devana thinking about what could and could not be revealed to occupying Federation interrogators. “Do we still have a full security detail on site?”

Devana nodded more assuredly than before. “They’re securing the outside.”

“Good. We’ll need them.” She advanced to where Devana stood and spoke softly. “We’ll make it through this. I promise.”

Devana sucked in an enormous breath. “Okay,” she said with an equally enormous exhale. “I’ll get in touch with the train and the garrison.”

“Use the communications center. They’ll shut down our comms first. And stay up there. Put out a message for Vordelix and Volos to send aid.”

“But the Fed will be here long before–”

“Just do it, and don’t stop. If you get through, stay on the signal for as long as you possibly can.”

With a final departing nod, Devana started back the way she had come. She stopped suddenly, spun back around. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry,” Sorenna said. “I have an idea.”

The response was good enough for Devana, who sprinted away to her task, leaving Sorenna standing alone with her only accompaniment being the artifacts of her youth stashed away in luggage meant for Kaal. 

As Sorenna returned to the window, the realization settled in that, one way or another, this was likely to be the last time she would see her homeworld. 

She gazed up at the storm-heavy clouds just as Federation warships broke through.