1.02

The resupply of the Dreadnaught at Erania took so little time that Rane did not even have the chance to go planetside on his own homeworld.

Not that he wanted to. The first priority in Rane’s mind was Thalassar and Vice Admiral Roland Scothern. The plan required a delicate balance and he couldn’t let Scothern blunder into a moment of accidental competence and ruin the whole operation. 

The details had been kept to a select few higher in the chain of command – outside of the Security Council, Fleet Admiral Hammersley of the Federation Space Armada, and the President and Vice President, only Rane knew how the Thalassar operation was meant to play out.

He liked it that way. 

So eager to move on that Rane left his paperwork to collect dust and instead helped ensure the Dreadnaught was ready to warp to Thalassar in record time – his prior experience as captain of that very ship no doubt streamlining the process. 

If anyone was going to bitch at him for not completing tedious busy work, let them. They’d forget all about it before the Thalassar mission was complete.

War was not about signing off on a form to account for how many fusion missiles were expended or how many roast chickens were eaten in the mess hall. Whoever thought to delegate any part of such mind-numbing bean-counting to the admiralty was no doubt higher in the chain of command than Rane had yet climbed. Shit rolled downhill, so Rane stepped aside and let those next in line figure out the numbers.

A better use of the brain of an admiral was for combat planning and execution – what war was actually about. Not tedium, red tape, bureaucracy…practices that were making the Federation too much like the PDR for Rane’s liking, and which got them no closer to their ultimate goal of total victory.

It was hard for Rane to hear all his life about the values of “freedom” and “liberty” without being granted the freedom to take liberties in the battlespace. Sharing in his old friend’s frustration, Duncan had often remarked that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Rane’s philosophy, however, was to fulfill his duties as Vice Admiral of the United Empyreal Federation so thoroughly that he would not have to beg for either one. 

“Let’s fuckin’ go!” Duncan roared as the Dreadnaught entered subspace. Destination: Thalassar.

Rane saw a familiar fire in Duncan's eyes. It was the same look he'd had at Cavus, a lifetime ago, when they were just junior officers staring down their first victory and Rane had the Dreadnaught’s helm. The memory was a warm ember in Rane's chest. Perhaps that’s why hearing Duncan’s gusto always made Rane feel like they could conquer the whole galaxy, if only they were given the chance.

He turned to the main observation window on the bridge, and found Cade standing beside him.

“We’re not waiting for the rest of the fleet?” the XO asked.

Without averting his gaze, Rane said calmly, “We don’t need to.”

“Ah, so we’re freelancing...” Cade’s smile evoked a fond familiarity for the situation.

Duncan strode up to the duo. “So, I guess the Council is going to tear us another new asshole when this is up? We’ve gotta have, what…fifty assholes between us at this point.”

“Fifty is not divisible by three,” Cade said, but Duncan waved off the correction.

Rane laughed to himself, then said, “Look, the top brass likes to pretend they’re in charge, but they’re not the ones doing the fighting – we are. And as long as we do what we know works, they can berate us all they want, I don’t care. If they were going to demote us for winning, we’d all be scrubbing toilets on Gordonia a long time ago.”

“But how do you know this will work?” Cade asked, less out of skepticism and more out of curiosity.

Rane draped his arms around the shoulders of Cade and Duncan, and with an exaggerated smile, said, “Because I’ve got you guys.”

“What about Scothern?” Duncan said. “Our three brains together won’t make up for what that dipshit is missing.”

“That’s why we’re going to Thalassar – to supervise.”

Duncan recoiled a step back. “Supervise? I thought I heard you boasting about how we’re the ones doing all the fighting just a second ago, but I must be hearing things.”

“Duncan, are you familiar with the phrase: work smart, not hard?” Rane asked.

“No.” Duncan’s reply was so direct and firm, it was difficult even for a lifelong friend like Rane Dryden to discern if he was serious or not.

“You should check it out,” Cade said, grinning. “It’s pretty great.”

“We need hard work, Rane,” Duncan said with unconstrained enthusiasm. “Sitting around thinking makes men soft. When the shit goes down, you’ve gotta be hard. I’m no PDR sissy. I want to work hard, and then I want to work hard again. You guys can do your equations and shit, but that’s not how wars are won. They’re won by killing everyone on the other side.”

“Well,” Rane said, “If my thinking is correct, we can get ourselves in a position where we won’t have to.”

Duncan scoffed. “What are you gonna do, ask them nicely?”

Rane returned his hand to his buddy’s shoulder. “We won’t have to.”

Moments after Duncan finished insisting that Rane buy the beers when the operation was finished, the Dreadnaught emerged from subspace with the cold blue world of Thalassar before them. A beautiful ornament hung in the cold black isolation of the Verge.

Instantly, Rane shook his head. “He’s got it all wrong. He’s got too many ships on the shadow side. Needs a more even spread.”

“That’s where the PDR scum is going to come from,” Duncan said. “You want them to think we’re not here?”

“They know we’re here.” Rane kept his eyes fixated on the main observation window, the PDR world looming ever larger in the view as they approached. 

Capturing an enemy world was no small task. The last occurrence of an inhabited planet changing hands had been when the Federation seized control of New Pallas – known to the PDR as Sevir. A decade had since passed. Rane had not yet graduated from officers academy at the time.

Losing Thalassar would not be taken lightly by the PDR, and Rane was counting on that.

“Get Scothern on comms,” Rane said to Duncan, who relayed the direction to the communications officer.

After, Duncan plopped down in the captain’s seat. “Wake me when we get to light this shit up.”

“We have to put up enough of a fight, but not too much...” Rane still stared at the formation and movement of the 11th fleet, his words distant, as if thinking aloud to no one in particular.

“One hundred and thirty primary weapons systems going to waste,” Duncan said with a head shake. “We could do the PDR garbage a favor and melt a lot of that snow down there.”

“...Just enough to draw in a large enough resistance…”

“Warm them up real quick.”

“...Enough to look sincere…”

“Rane,” Duncan called, trying to break the Vice Admiral’s trance. “Rane.”

“...And then the real party starts.”

“We won, Rane.” Duncan said. “War’s over. Time to hit the bar to celebrate, let’s go.”

Rane finally turned to Duncan when the comms officer announced an open line to the Vindicator. 

“Keep the main window clear,” Rane said. “Video on auxiliary screens only.”

“No video feed,” the comms officer said.

Anything to minimize the importance of others. Rane smirked at the pettiness.

“Mister Dryden.” The deep, haughty voice of Roland Scothern came through without any veneer of cordiality. “It appears you have forgotten your fleet designation. Again.”

Couldn’t even address Rane as Vice Admiral, a rank equal to that of himself. A man who preferred to look down upon others could not put himself on equal footing as those he deemed lesser, even momentarily. 

“We are just here for observation.” Rane spoke in a manner typically reserved for putting out fires before they started.

“Excellent,” Scothern said. “You can observe how adept the 11th fleet is at doing what the 6th could not. It is always nice to have a witness to history.”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Rane became suddenly thankful for the absence of a video feed. Witnessing macho posturing and bragging about tasks yet to be accomplished only made Rane feel second-hand embarrassment. If only Scothern knew how foolish he sounded.

Scothern continued, “This day will be remembered, Rane. Think of how lucky you are to be here in person. You can tell your future children that you had the incredible opportunity to witness the event that turned the tide of the war.”

Duncan made a jerking-off motion with his hand, which almost caused Rane to lose his composure but he held it together silently. 

Rane hoped Scothern was right about one thing – that this would be the turning point leading the Federation to victory. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Rane said, hiding the sarcasm as best as he could.

He had no children of his own, at least not yet, but Rane could not escape the feeling that managing Scothern was what it would be like dealing with a child.  

Chancing a suggestion, Rane said, “We can pick up the slack on the uncovered hemisphere.”

“No need to strain yourself, Dryden. Our formation is perfectly sufficient. Just sit back and take notes.”

The feed was cut off as if punctuating Scothern’s final word.

Cade stopped beside Rane. “That’s the thing they don’t tell you about working smart and not hard.”

Rane glanced at him. “What’s that?”

“When you’re the smartest guy around, sometimes you have to work twice as hard.” 

Unable to wipe the grin from his face, Vice Admiral Roland Scothern of the Federation’s 11th fleet stared at the many overhead displays on the bridge of the Vindicator with pride.

The punk kid Dryden came to claim his share of the victory. Scothern wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“If the Dreadnaught moves from their position, give them a warning,” Scothern said to Captain Mase Shipley. “If they do not heed the warning, make them stop another way.”

“You want us to fire on a Federation vessel?”

“We have no control over whether or not they might happen to move into the path of our orbital bombardment,” Scothern said coldly. “Accidents happen, especially when a ship not briefed on the plan of attack inserts itself into a highly specialized operation against orders. The entire future of the Federation is in our hands, Shipley. We cannot allow snot-nosed upstarts to seize defeat from the jaws of victory. Begin the landing operation.”

Scothern turned his attention back to the overhead displays giving him detailed information about the movement and position of each ship in the 11th fleet.

As long as outside agitators from a separate fleet did not ruin his plan of occupation, he knew this was his chance to mark his name in the history books. Perhaps even the sad fact that he had to contend with attacks from within as well as without might be written, marking an even greater accomplishment.

He was smiling so strongly that it almost hurt. 

This was the one, he thought. 

The one they would remember me by.

 

_________________________

Sorenna watched the last of her luggage dragged out of the lobby of the Thalassar congressional building to be stored somewhere safe. 

The security detail already had the windows reinforced and doors barricaded. Snowfall accumulated outside, whiting-out the streets and walkways, visibility limited as an opaque grey deepened in every direction. 

She wondered how much of a Federation fleet could conceivably prepare for blizzard conditions on her homeworld. How many landing parties could be sent down with appropriate subzero envirosuits? How long could their temperature regulators hold out in the freezing winds? Were their beam rifles even weatherized? 

Two dozen or more Wraith Reiters hung in stasis below the clouds, casting monolithic shadows across the frigid city. Sorenna could envision their contragrav engines seizing up when they sat for too long. She’d seen it in person before. But one small passenger ship falling out of the sky was nothing in comparison to a bombardment of Wraith Reiters plummeting down on top of her like some kind of a vicious avalanche of cold metal slabs, each larger than any building that stood on the surface.

This was not a long-term occupational force, it was a display of power.

She continued staring absently across the empty lobby. Her discontent at the snow’s arrival had vanished entirely. Now she hoped for what Thalassarians called “a real storm”. 

“That’s everything.” A member of the security detail was standing across the lobby, beam rifle held at the side of this red uniform.

Sorenna pivoted to face him. “Thank you. Is there any update on the weather?”

“Getting worse. Could have a foot within the hour.”

“Good.” Her voice remained soft and untroubled. “They’ll want to be here before then, so we’ll have to be prepared.”

The security guard raised his weapon ever so slightly. “I’ll get everyone armed up and–”

“No.” The single word froze him in place. “If we show too much resistance, they’ll incinerate us. Time is our ally, so we have to use it. Empty the weapons caches by half.”

The security guard still did not move. “But…”

“Disarming us is the first thing they’ll do,” Sorenna continued. “We’ll have to make it look like they can handle us easily. Store half the beam rifles and pulse grenades in the Assembly Hall, and make sure they’re out of sight. Spread the rest of the guards across the ground floor. Leave the metro line unguarded.”

“Comrade Tal…”

“Yes?”

A long pause as the guard struggled to piece everything together. Then he said, “You want to…make it easy for them?”

“Precisely, yes.”

“So, we’re surrendering?”

The faintest smile lifted on Sorenna’s face. “Not quite.” 

_________________________

The pure white sunlight blazing through the window was too much for Hollace to bear.

Her head throbbed from lacking her normal daily dose of caffeine, from crying every tear she had, from the thought of her closest friend taking his own life. 

Even the slightest glimpse toward the window felt like staring directly into Usona’s sun. She turned over in bed and buried her face under a pillow adorned with the pattern of tropical fish. Soon, the sun would set behind the taller surrounding buildings and spare her at least some of her torment. But the darkness was of no comfort. She could shut out the sunlight, but not the tormenting thoughts swirling around in her mind. 

Terrence had found her sitting on the steps outside the Times three and a half hours after she had sat down there, and kindly drove her home. She had sunk onto her bed and remained there ever since. It didn’t feel right to do anything else, to get up, walk around, eat, sleep. 

What she had to do was find her way out of the waking nightmare she had fallen into, unable to escape. But even attempting to do that felt wrong. 

Hollace startled awake in the dark.

Propped up on her elbows, her gaze jumped around the shadowed room, finding the clock on her bedside counter. Almost six in the morning. Her alarm would be going off in less than half an hour. 

She slumped back onto the pillow, pulling her moist t-shirt away from her heaving chest, sticky with sweat, as she sucked in big lungfuls of musty air. Her hair was messier than usual, her throat bone dry, and she stank. Whether her stomach churned from wanting food or wanting to vomit, she didn’t know.

With arduous effort, Hollace peeled herself off the bed, discarded yesterday’s wardrobe onto the floor. Under the shower’s stream, she began to awaken in both body and mind. Typically, she showered in a two-minute rush to keep the water bill low, but this morning she stood there until the hot water ran out, watching the grime of yesterday's sweat and tears wash down the drain in a cold swirl. 

She dressed in what she would have worn to work that day, then sat down quietly on the edge of the bed in the warm embrace of sunrise. The alarm sounded, then was silenced by her gentle touch. She couldn’t lift her eyes from the scuffed floor. There was nothing to do except go to work, but she couldn’t do that. Being there without Martin there would only make things real, and it couldn’t be real. Not yet. 

Hollace reached for her cell comms, instinct driving her to open messages with Martin – the one person in the world with whom she could confide in troubled times. He’d always been there for her before. Her hand hesitated over her cell comms before shifting to pick up the purple sea glass at her bedside. 

Betrayal gripped at her, a selfish desire to have her best friend returned. Whoever had robbed her of their friendship had struck a blow so deep, so remote, that emotions she had forgotten even existed now flooded her every waking moment from an unhealing wound. Suffocating. Drowning. Pulling her down into a place she had never wanted to revisit.

The closest she had come to this level of grief had been the news of her father’s death. It was her first week at college. Her father had dedicated his life to saving up for the education she had then pursued, working himself into an early grave so that she could have a diploma and seek a better life than he had ever known. His daughter would not have to work three jobs just to keep food on her table. 

But Hollace had seen the signs before ever leaving home for college. Years of her father working double shifts and weekends with rest a luxury and scarce time to heal an overworked and broken body resulted in the inevitable. Even a man as strong as her father could only take so much before giving out.

There had been no such warnings with Martin.

It all felt so wrong. Her mind could not wrap itself around the idea that a perfectly healthy individual with no desire for self-harm could just not be around anymore. 

No, Martin would have come to her if he’d been struggling. Of that, Hollace was certain. They kept nothing from each other. She had revealed things about herself that no one else knew. He had talked with her about his marriage, about the times he was doubting himself, both as a husband and professionally. He told her about the biggest scoop in his journalistic career during their last moment together. People who are about to break the story of a lifetime don't just...stop. 

Pressing herself up to stand, Hollace lifted her gaze to the window, hands still fidgeting with the smooth sea glass. The early light of dawn glimmered on the dirty old pane. Somewhere beyond, somewhere down within Usona City lay the truth, and letting a lie become Martin’s epitaph was a betrayal she couldn't allow. He would have done the same for her. 

Hollace grabbed her green leather jacket on the way out the door. There was work to do.

_________________________

“Can we do it? Scientifically speaking, yes.”

Kennon leaned heavily on the armrest while sitting in the chair at the astrogator’s console. “But should we do it?” he added with unbridled skepticism. “Scientifically speaking, no.”

Andar stood before the console, with Vae at his side. “Why do you say no?”

Through pursed lips, Kennon exhaled a giant breath which morphed into a short laugh at the enormity of the question. “All due respect, comrade, but we’re talking about an active galactic nucleus. It would be like walking straight into a blast furnace and hoping to walk out the other side. And that’s not counting the frequent supernovae, gamma ray bursts…the radiation models alone are theoretical, at best. The smallest miscalculation and we’re a smudge on the event horizon.”

“And why do you say yes?” Andar’s inquisitive affect did not change between the questions.

Kennon sat quietly for a moment before raising his eyes raised to the Rear Admiral. “Because it is technically possible, given the right circumstances, some of which are beyond our control.”

“What is within our control?”

“Flight path through subspace to hopefully avoid the event horizon…not exiting subspace too soon…exiting subspace too late and arriving at Liber a sitting duck…” He gazed about in search of more possibilities. 

Andar could see his mind working in a new way – toward solutions rather than listing reasons to avoid them. A brief glance to Vae revealed less outward conviction. And yet, as the captain of the ship and the one ultimately responsible for the wellbeing of both the ship and its crew, she had signed off on the mission.

He could not help but smile at the immense trust she placed in the crew.

“Diverting additional power to run shields at max strength through the core,” Kennon added. 

Vae interjected for the first time in a tone that evoked concern. “Is that essential?” 

“Can’t say for sure until we do it,” Kennon said. “The heat and radiation we’d be warping through and into are far greater than what we’re used to. Add in a combat engagement soon after and I would say it’s about as close to essential as we’re gonna get.” 

Vae shifted her attention to Andar. “Full shields through subspace will slow us down considerably.”

“That is perfectly alright,” he said with a grin. “No one is expecting us.”

“Okay.” She breathed a heavy breath to steel her nerves. “Let’s do this.”

After receiving a glance across the bridge from Vae, Ksenija raised her voice only slightly. “Listen up.” She did not repeat herself. 

A dozen heads turned in the direction of the XO, who diverted both her and their attention to the captain. 

Vae stepped to the center of the bridge, her bootheels echoing on the polished metal floor in the shushed silence. “The 17th fleet was ordered to Thalassar to provide support for the 9th. We will not be joining them. Some of you are already aware, but for everyone else: we have been given a separate mission that will help ensure the safety of our worlds and our people given the events at Thalassar. Comrade Vokler is here to ensure the success of that mission.”

Andar raised a friendly hand but refrained from speaking, yielding the floor for Vae to continue. He knew this was something the crew had to hear from their captain and not a stranger, but another part of him was curious to study how Vae worked, observe the interaction, and gain a better understanding of how the Chrysalis operated. 

“I can’t downplay the danger of this mission,” Vae continued in a firm and steady voice. “We will be putting the new trans-core subspace drive to the test. We are going to travel through the galactic core toward Liber.”

No one besides Vae spoke, but Andar could hear the change in the atmosphere of the room by the way breathing changed, how the weight in chairs shifted at the mention of the planet’s name.

He also noted, however, that the one sound which remained unaltered was that of Vae’s commanding voice. Presenting a proposal that was, quite literally, unprecedented in all of history with unwavering conviction, and in spite of her own fears of the very real danger of that proposal, told him that he had chosen the right ship for the job.

“The Federation does not know we possess this technology, so we will be taking them completely by surprise. We will strike the quantum fusion core production facilities on the planet’s surface, and leave as quickly as we arrived. Knocking out even one would set back the Federation’s ability to mobilize fleets at Thalassar and give us the advantage in retaking it. Knocking out multiple could potentially shift the course of the war heavily in our favor for years to come. Comrades…this is not a mission we can afford to fail.”

Andar was about to step forward at what he assumed was the conclusion of her speech when Vae said something he was not expecting. 

“This plan lives or dies on the details. We’ll need every one of you to help find the flaws that we’ve missed. Our analysis now is what will get us home later.”

Andar folded his arms and watched with curiosity. 

Dex spoke up: “This plan is…unorthodox.”

“That is indeed true,” she said. “But we have the best assurances from the Rear Admiral that we will succeed, and both myself and Ksenija share that conviction. Every safeguard and precaution is being taken to ensure our success. We’re going to have only one shot at this. Once the Fed knows we can show up on their doorstep, they will never invite us back. Therefore, we would like to hear any and all concerns before we hit subspace. We can’t afford to miss anything.”

Andar watched Vae field the bridge crew’s questions and concerns and respond with the information they had discussed in private with Ksenija and then with Kennon. He wondered if this was her method of solidifying the strategy in her mind so as not to forget any details. Or perhaps to chew it all over out loud to ensure the logic was sound while also delivering the info to the crew. 

The plan of action under debate had already been given approval by the Central Military Commission, so it was not as if the crew’s objection would have any impact on whether or not the mission would be undertaken. That much had already been decided.

He thought about phrasing the question the way she had, which was something he’d never experienced before on any other ship in the fleet. It appeared more like a common occurrence on the Chrysalis than a means of abating any fear of embarking on such an “unorthodox” mission. No doubt it helped each member of the crew feel more in control of their fate, and less like an expendable cog in the great galactic machine of war.

As Andar’s thinking turned to what the war would look like if some of the admiralty thought as keenly as Vae Rova, she turned her attention to him to say some words to the crew. 

“I think that just about covers it all.” He could not hide the fact that he was impressed. “If further questions arise, you can speak directly to myself or to Comrades Rova and Levik.”

Andar then stood watching the crew finalize the preparations of warping through the galactic core and into Federation territory for the first time in history, overcome with the unfamiliar sensation of being at a loss for words. 

If anything, it told him that not only would the Liber operation be a success, but that he had a real shot at seeing the end of the war. 

_________________________

When the door to Martin’s apartment opened, Taryn Tedesco-Webb hung herself on Hollace's shoulders and sobbed silently.

Hollace held Martin’s wife for a long time, her shirt growing wet from Taryn crying into it. The arms around her felt like someone clinging desperately to life itself, afraid to let go and plunge into the void.

She tried working up the courage to say something but couldn’t. Even the thought of opening her mouth and making it real had her eyes brimming and her heart galloping. 

Taryn eventually disembraced and welcomed Hollace inside where they sat in the kitchen drinking coffee. 

The air in the kitchen felt heavy with a silence that had absorbed all of Taryn's sobs. Every small sound – the clink of the mug on the tabletop, the chair creaking at every shift of weight – felt amplified and wrong. Hollace raised her mug to sip, the motion feeling as though passing through water. 

How could this be real?

She listened to Taryn lay out the entire experience of the previous day in a low and hoarse voice, ragged from mourning. She spoke as if defeated, no fight left in her. She had been conquered.

Hollace listened while saying almost nothing, frozen in place. She didn’t dare raise the mug to her lips again while Martin’s wife detailed how she was told what happened by the police when Martin didn’t come home, of having to identify the body, of being told he had taken his own life. 

For interminable stretches, Taryn gazed down at the tiled floor, at the curtains over the window softening the morning sun, at the coffee in front of her no longer steaming. Hollace noticed a cold meatloaf sitting on the stovetop, untouched. 

Taryn broke down again when she spoke of her fear of losing Martin’s health insurance from the Times, along with the income which was necessary for affording their apartment in the city. Her whole world was about to unravel. 

Hollace leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Taryn’s. “I don’t know how I can help…but I want to.”

“You have.” Taryn smiled through her tears. “If you want, you can take that…”

Hollace turned toward the small enclosed porch off the kitchen where a little television sat on a stand. 

Taryn continued, “GDI was here yesterday. They took all of Martin’s work material. For security reasons, they said, but I don’t care. I couldn’t stand seeing any of it. He liked working in there with the news on. I can’t look at it, Hollace.”

“Are you sure?”

“It will help. Take it, please. I need it gone. I can’t look at it.”

On her way out, Hollace wanted so desperately to ask if Taryn believed the story they’d been told about the circumstances of Martin’s death. There was no way she did, but bringing up the subject felt insensitive, and no one’s opinion could bring him back. Planting a seed of doubt might only deepen Taryn's torment. It wasn't the right time to be a journalist; it was the time to be a friend. 

So, instead, Hollace said, “If I hear anything about what happened, I’ll be sure to tell you, first thing.”

Taryn thanked her and hugged her again, awkwardly this time with the little TV clutched in Hollace’s arms.

As she shuffled back to the bus stop, the thought of Galactic Defense and Intelligence agents confiscating Martin’s work material could not leave the forefront of Hollace’s mind. Sure, he was actively working on covering the campaign of a presidential candidate, but the response felt disproportionate, almost extreme.

Maybe that was her imagination. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she was being paranoid. 

Hollace gripped the TV a little tighter and quickened her pace when passing through a half-dozen shabby tents set up on the city sidewalk. Unwashed hands reached out for change, for a hot meal, for a blessing.

Normally, she would not react so strongly and defensively, but when holding the last gift her closest friend could ever give her, a part of himself and his life, she’d be damned if anyone was going to take it from her. She considered herself a wimp, but in this case, she would fight.

Hollace rode the bus back to the closest stop near her tenement, arms encircling Martin’s TV like chains. The moments she glanced out the scummy window revealed substantially more election signs hanging than just a few days prior. 

 

The name most represented on the signs, however, had not changed. It was the name that surfaced every time Hollace wondered who could possibly have a vendetta against Martin. It was the name of the presidential candidate from the Progress Party to which Martin had been assigned to cover: 

Maren Whitlock.

_________________________

The crew of the Chrysalis had one last sleep before departing for the deep interior of Federation space.

Vae did not sleep.

She could not sleep, not with her father’s last words echoing through the silent corridors of the Starlancer-class battleship: 

Go back to your war.

For the entire year since those parting words first cut into her, every time she closed her eyes on the night before a deployment, Vae saw only his disapproving face staring back. But this night was different. 

Tomorrow, they would attempt the impossible, and all she could think is that he might finally be proven right – that leaving the safety and comfort of Vinsk to insert herself in a war that could never be won was the biggest mistake she would ever make. 

So, she walked, as she always did on the eve of an engagement, tracing the familiar paths of the enormous vessel. 

The Chrysalis held 518 personnel. She had passed through the halls so often on her solitary pre-mission routine that she knew the location and occupant name of every individual quarters by heart. She must have walked through every corridor on the ship more than two dozen times, but refrained from calculating how many hours of sleep were lost in the effort.

Vae shuffled absently along, allowing her fuzzy-slippered feet to lead the way, the textured soles worn smooth.

The soft hum of the ship’s vital functions – its breathing – began to feel like an electronic lullaby. She yawned. Her pace slowed. She turned to the nearest door signage to better orient herself so she could drag her tired body back to bed now that slumber was inviting.

A pained grunt jolted Vae fully awake. 

The source of the sound, somewhere ahead. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to focus on what appeared to be ambient light spilling into the hallway from the ship’s primary conference room.

Instinct to help drove Vae toward the light, adrenaline pushing her soft slipper soles as fast as she could move. 

She collided with the conference room doorjamb in a skiddering stop, holding her breath without even realizing. 

Doubled over the large grey table, Andar leaned heavily in acute agony, uniform jacket unzipped to his bare chest. 

“Andar!”

Vae sprinted to his side, but he thrust out a halting arm before she could reach him. 

He lowered his fist back to the table in a deliberate, agonizing motion, bracing his trembling form. Vae could only watch, mouth open, her mind conjuring ruptured arteries, a failing heart, a dozen more horrific possibilities. She tried to recall the AED procedure from the last medical training. 

Slowly, Andar’s pose softened. All appearance of pain subsided, and he sank back into his seat in an exhausted slump.

Vae had not moved at all. Frozen. Still staring, agape and confused.

Andar turned his sweaty face to her, and his palm relaxed open so a small autoinjector could roll onto the table. 

“The initial injection…can feel…extreme.” He barely sputtered the words out between heavy breaths.

He concluded with a weak motion for Vae to sit. 

Her thoughts still raced, lost in the suddenness and intensity of the moment. His gesture did not even register. 

“Please,” he said, motioning once more across the table. 

Her mind still on high alert, Vae cautiously rolled out a chair and lowered herself to sit. Electric energy coursed through her limbs from tiptoes to fingertips. She wished she could shut it off as quickly as it had come on.

“You will have to forgive me,” Andar said quietly and zipped up his uniform jacket. “I did not think anyone would be down here so late.”

Vae’s focus remained locked on the autoinjector.

“The only treatment for gastrophagy at the moment,” he said to answer the question Vae had not asked. “Compliments of a Federation chemical attack.”

She pulled her gaze up to meet Andar’s ironic little grin. 

“I suppose you could also not sleep,” he said to change the subject.

Vae struggled to find the right response. Well, I certainly can’t now. But she couldn’t say that, not in the vulnerable atmosphere.

Perhaps because she was taking too long to form a reply, Andar added, “I am quite alright, Vae. This is a daily treatment. I had simply lost track of the hour.” 

“It’s good to keep the strategy fresh,” she said of the tablet on the table before him. She breathed easier at seeing how dedicated and focused he was on preparing for what awaited them. 

“And the mind settled,” he said. 

Her eyes fell to the old t-shirt and pajama pants she wore – hardly the image of combat readiness.

“I like to walk the halls before a deployment,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as uncomfortable as she felt. “It helps clear my head.”

“The unsettled mind is a tactical liability.” Andar took the tablet in both hands and drew his attention to the screen. “We all have our own methods and rituals for settling the anxieties of combat.” 

He turned the tablet, its screen now facing her between them on the table – an invitation, not a demand. After a hesitant moment, Vae leaned forward, her hands remaining folded in her lap.

It was not strategic notations on the screen, but a half-written letter addressed to the name Voit – a name that faintly rang a tiny bell somewhere in the far recesses of Vae’s memory.

She’d heard of an admiral by that name, who spearheaded many decisive battles. But not in several years. “Is that Voit Tovok?” 

Andar nodded with pride. “My husband. A tactical genius. And a great man.”

He left the tablet before Vae so she could read more of the letter. She saw no mention of Liber, no admission of combat anxieties, no account of battle tactics. It was only a declaration of love, of gratitude. 

“The Federation’s gift…the treatment does not affect everyone the same. He is on Kerakla.”

Reflex lifted Vae’s eyes at the mention of the planet’s name. Kerakla was the final destination, where combat veterans went when nothing more could be done. 

It’s where people went to die. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet voice. She sat back in her seat. Reading their private correspondence suddenly felt intrusive.

“We came from the stars, and to the stars we shall return,” Andar said as if reciting an axiom for the thousandth time. He retrieved the tablet and set it aside. “I plan on completing that journey without regret. With nothing left unsaid.”

They shared a quiet moment together as the realization came to Vae – the message could never be delivered so far out on the Verge before they warped to Liber. It was not for Voit, it was for Andar. And should he not return, it could be passed on, nothing left unsaid.

The weight of the realization hit Vae like the gravity of a gas giant. She pressed her palms against the armrests of her chair for leverage to draw a breath deep enough. Her lungs felt too weak.

“I feel good about the mission, knowing that.” It was a lie, something to say to avoid thinking about what she would write if she were in his place. 

“And I feel better knowing that you have a method of your own, Vae. Clarity of mind…it is essential for every Federation engagement.”

“Can’t allow tactical liabilities.” She wrestled for a breath, hiding it with a fake yawn. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it is late. And I do not want to keep you from ensuring your mind is clear.” 

Vae pressed herself up to her feet when Andar stood. He gathered his things. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vae asked.

With his trademark friendly smile, he said, “As good as I can be.”

After saying good night, Vae began her long walk back to the captain’s quarters. The dust in the corners of the floor suddenly no longer felt important. Rusty rivets went unnoticed. The old ship hummed her nightly chorus, but Vae was wide awake. 

Vae shuffled to the small desk in the corner of her quarters, slippers softly brushing against the hard metal floor.

She pulled out the chair and sat, lowering her eyes to the tablet in front of her.  

She opened the subspace comms application, entered the officer’s passkey, and stared at the blinking cursor. 

Nothing she wrote would be delivered anywhere until Federation stars gleamed outside the Chrysalis’s viewports. She might even return before the message was relayed through the appropriate uplink stations and cleared decryption. 

It almost felt silly, writing down what she wanted to say to her father’s face. Everything she had not said a year ago. Every new counterargument that came to mind only after the fact. Every accomplishment she had achieved in that interval as a Starlancer captain. Every shred of evidence that fighting this war was the right choice, that hiding in the safety and comfort of Vinsk helped no one. Every possible word and combination thereof that would finally convince that stubborn old bastard that he was wrong.

She closed her eyes and found that disapproving frown waiting for her there in the darkness. 

When her eyes opened, she set her fingers on the digital keypad and wrote exactly what she would tell him:

Daddy,

I love you.

♡ae

That night, Vae Rova cried herself to sleep.

The circadian dimming of the windows had been turned off, bathing the Chrysalis bridge in the warm light of the Karidiev star zone.

 

Taking their stations, the crew exchanged only glances instead of words. All preparations had been made. All systems checked and re-checked. All departments confirmed their readiness. Engineering, reactor officers, maintenance, weapons officers, medical personnel, Strix pilots. 

When Dex relayed ship-wide confirmation of readiness to Vae, there was nothing left to do except engage the trans-core warp drive and see what happened next.

Vae stood with her back to Karidiev’s sun, facing a dark abyss of empty space.

The silence lingered. The bridge crew waited for her signal.

Under normal circumstances, Vae would close her eyes and breathe deeply, taking a quiet moment to let her heart rate slow and her fear subside. She would wipe her sweaty palms against her pant legs and draw a finger across her brow to dry the perspiration, hoping it appeared as if brushing hair away from her face. 

Without words and without movement, Vae stared in the direction of Federation territory, searching somewhere far beyond the black, trying to see through the void and find what had driven her fear before every prior engagement with the enemy that awaited her there. 

Her heart beat steadily. Her palms were dry. 

“Vae…is everything okay?”

She found Andar by her side, and said, “It will be.” She then turned to Ksenija and gave the order: “Okay, let’s do this.”

All stations began the procedure for opening a subspace channel. Reports of confirmation of the sequence from across the ship flooded onto the bridge, the silence driven away by a dedicated coordination of call and response. 

Kennon announced the subspace channel opening, course plotted, no obstacles en route. 

A microsecond after the status was relayed, a brilliant burst of light exploded before the ship, windows dimming in synchronicity with the blinding flash. 

The soles of Vae’s boots hummed against the polished floor panels, not from the engine or reactor buried deep within the ship but from the force of the subspace channel holding itself open. This was not typical of traditional subspace travel.

The next thing she knew, and before anyone had a chance to second-guess whether this was a good idea or not, the Chrysalis’s thrusters engaged, plunging the battleship headlong into the burning channel of cosmic fury. 

As quickly as the aperture to subspace opened, it blinked into nonexistence, taking the Chrysalis with it.