“We are not monsters. Not yet.”— Herald, son of Jetu (later known as the first Elder of Hewshia), on the brink of Earth’s annihilation in the year 2106.

  The engine’s therapeutic hum is calming as I go through warp space on the shuttle, heading for Hewshia Nexus. Unlike a cruiser, you can feel every minor bump as the transport slews towards its destination, with only the seat belt saving my head from meeting with the overhead. Crates, fastened to the sides and the ship’s deck, are trying to break free. Somewhere, something is sliding, crashing against the crates. I shift my leg, but something slimy makes movement more challenging than expected. Now, it makes sense why I’m the only passenger here, and I think one cannot call this a favor. For this one, I owe Marwen nothing.

  My stomach growls. I cannot hear it, but I feel it. I don’t bother looking for food here, anyhow. Even if there’s something resembling food, I don’t suppose a human can digest it. Crates on both sides are pushing on me, and my elbow is shooting with pain after being pinned into the metal armrest for the past hour. The only bright side to this ordeal is I got some proper sleep while I traveled from the fleet to Yuricon’s shipyards in secret aboard one of the damaged cruisers. From there, Marwen directed me to this shuttle, where sleep flees me like one would a burning building. I kill time by swiping through the fleet updates with my other hand.

  All captains report the damage done to their ships and how battle-ready those ships are. I eventually turn off the screen and close my eyes. The hell Fraxon unleashed still haunts me. No amount of sleep washes that horror away, and I’m stuck in a loop. I replay all scenarios in my head, looking for anything I could have done differently to prevent those nukes from reaching their destinations. Asking myself over and over how we didn’t catch Fraxon building up a fleet and weapons of mass destruction (WMD). I still see those explosions with intense clarity. I repress my thoughts, but they reappear sharper, fueling repetitive prevention strategies.

  Nothing ever comes to mind. Nothing at all. Thought that no one could predict Poltr going this far doesn’t help either. Of course, someone within our spy network could play us for Fraxon’s sake. Marwen? Our spy master has the resources and opportunity to do so. If Conclave’s concerns shift anywhere near my train of thought, Marwen will be a prime suspect. But I shut that thought down. There was just no way. It is too easy. Too obvious if it is him. He knows I will question him first. The Conclave will also be all over him if, indeed, he is a traitor. We’ve known each other for too long, for crying out loud. I’d notice if something was off about him. I hope.

  Regardless, Marwen was secondary. Conclave is a bigger concern to me. News of what Fraxon has done should have reached them by now. One could count on Horus to deliver such news with haste to his favorite patron. Seeing as no Archon tried contacting me, I must admit that some of my threats and promises are still working on the Vise Admiral. Perhaps this news didn’t reach them yet, and that was preferable. Shock and awe. They could be powerful weapons within the Citadel.

  I look at my watch. The fleet will soon complete its withdrawal from the battlefield, moving out of sight. If everything goes according to plan, neither Marcoria nor Fraxon will know I left the fleet. Conclave’s enthusiasm may differ from mine.

  The ship rattles as we emerge from the warp jump. Shields open up from all the viewports. The ship stabilizes, and soon, we are gliding without interference. I produce my personal Holo and dial-up Horus.

  “How are things looking?” I inquire once he appears.

  “Not much has changed, Grand General.” He answers, his gaze as cold as his tone. His head tilts in confusion as he sees me in civilian clothing. A flicker of disapproval crosses his lips. “Much of the same,” He continues, returning to his usual stance, “Marcorians and Fraxes are going at it. But either Fraxes ran out of nukes, or they are planning something more sinister.” Shifting his belt, he adds, “No new losses on our end. Regrouping is going better than expected. Of course, we could have prevented most losses if we had attacked upon arrival.”

  I ignore him. Now was not the time. “Good,” I nod. “What about that vanguard vessel which used to be under Captain Nothe Abur?”

  “It’s moving, but I would advise to send it back to port for a proper diagnostic. I don’t trust it.” Horus looks away, his face unreadable.

  “No,” I shake my head. “Analyze the problem on site. A cruiser in its condition is at risk of being destroyed mid-warp-jump. What are you looking at?” I stretch my arm out, the pain subduing at the elbow.

  “Fraxes are assuming a rather aggressive stance against us… It’s almost as if Poltr considers us enemies already.” Horus sends me an updated map while continuing. “He is cautious. Half his fleet is sitting idle for no apparent reason other than a warning to us. Perhaps taunting us to attack him.”

  “What bothers me more is why he sent troops to the planet.” I get up, expecting smooth sailing the rest of the way. “Looking for something? Someone?” It made no sense to me. No one sends troops to the planet they nuked. Especially not in those kinds of numbers. “Any ideas?”

  “He is a madman.” Horus clasps his hands behind his back. “As far as our intelligence goes, I’m told Frax landed on the outskirts of Xugres, a possible nuclear testing site.”

  “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing to confirm them. Nukes are something all nations outlawed.”

  “Does Poltr strike you as a man needing proof?” Horus sneers. “Not all nations, as we saw. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Marcoria also harbors some nukes. I’ll bet they are more powerful. And Poltr’s strategy, then, is to disable Marcoria from activating them and using them against him. Perhaps he is there to take those nukes into his possession. Go for round two. Who knows?”

  I nod, pacing the narrow paths between the crates. “If we are to assume Marcoria has nuclear capabilities, it makes little sense to assume all of them are in one place.” I lean against one crate. “If Poltr is close to one potential site, and for the sake of argument, let’s assume he is. It disables Marcorians from striking Fraxes from other locations. If for nothing else, for fear of annihilating a chunk of their planet, if whatever they have at Xugres destabilizes.”

  A quick chime of the alarm indicates we will soon enter the planet’s atmosphere. I study Horus’ stoic face, his eyes looking more blank than usual. “Regardless of his intentions, Fraxon is not formally an enemy yet. Don’t engage unless fired upon first. Better yet, get the fleet further away to dissuade potential hostilities.”

  He offers a polite nod.“Horus,” I add. “No word of anything to the Conclave. Am I understood?”

  He nods again, slower this time. I disconnect the call.

  My shuttle makes its way to the planet, passing by the two DPPs. Their shape is thicker, and their movement is more gradual than their Marcorian counterparts. However, firepower-wise, they are not all too behind. With three cruisers backing them, they are not to be reckoned with.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Soon, we land at the civilian starport on the planet, and I put on my hood. Once outside, the sun hits me in the eye; I find myself at the cargo area of the starport. Only one tech is near my shuttle. He comes up; I pay him. He nods, smiles, and leaves, while I wonder who else could use something like this to get into our empire. Again, everything is at the hands of Marwen and his loyalty.

  I move quickly inside, trying to lose myself in the sea of people. There I am greeted by various smells, ranging from food to sweat to something strangely familiar, but I can’t identify it for the life of me. People run and shout here and there. Some walk too slow, and the shouting is being addressed to them. Footsteps echo against the marble floor, which I assume used to be white at some point. But: Time is unfriendly to all, causing the floor to turn yellow despite attempts to seal it. Vases filled with flowers and bushes sit in nearly every corner and along every separating wall, their fragrance permeating the air.

  Turning a corner, I bump into a rather large man with a covered head. “Excuse me,” I say after hesitating as he turns to face me. His eyes almost glow inside the hood, and there’s not enough light for me to discern any characteristics of him.

  “Three minutes late.” He whispers with a smile.

  I smile back, “they are your men, Marwen.” I motion for us to walk. “Next time, book me for first class.”

  “There’s a marketplace nearby,” Marwen catches up to me. “We could get lost in the sea of people there, perhaps in a bar.”

  “You? Getting lost in the sea of people?” I smirk, “Perhaps lose weight to look like them.”

  “Unnecessary rude.” He laughs and pats his belly, whispering, “He didn’t mean that.”

  We walk the rest of the way to the marketplace separately to avoid drawing attention. Starport and marketplace share similar distinct scents. The noise level here is higher, amplified by vendors’ calls and hollers. I have a momentary urge to shoot a couple of those vendors, with their pestering selling tactics, walking behind me, nagging me to buy something from them. This market is a relic, a point of interest within our empire. Build to offer people a taste of how things were back in the day on Earth. Tents cover most of the inner plaza. Vendors sell food, clothing, and other merchandise, while shoppers haggle over prices. Police officers make rounds, breaking up an occasional fight.

  I smile, how far away the war seems from here. Bitterness festers; I crave their world, free from death’s shadow. The biggest concern here is if a vendor drops the price, even slightly. The joy people express when they do. It’s a victory to them, a victory they deem hard earned.

  Finally, I saw the bar that Marwen mentioned. Close to the market’s center, beside the main plaza, white stone shops with blue roofs surround it. Entering, I pause, letting my eyes adapt to the darkness. Marwen waves me over from a darkened corner. I’m puzzled; he arrived before me and already has drinks.

  “Don’t ask.” He smiles as he sees my facial expression. “Whiskey?”

  “Yeah, it’ll do,” I mutter.

  “I assume the trip wasn’t too much trouble for you.” He gulps down one drink.

  “Apart from losing time, all went well.”

  “Ah, time!” He rolls his eyes and washes down another drink. “You’re here; Conclave knows nothing; can’t have it all.”

  “Traveling to Yuricon might have been excessive.” I take a sip of the drink, “But regardless,” I stop him from talking, “These things can wait. Actual business can’t.”

  “You must be fun at parties.”

  “I am. You must still remember our youth.” I chuckle. Marwen, whom I’ve known for years, rarely showed his true self. The moment jokes disappear, was the moment he was planning your death. “Fraxon dropped nukes on Marcoria.” I whisper but even I could barely hear my voice.

  Marwen continues to savor his drink, his face stoic, and gaze distant. “I know.” He whispers back. “I also know that you think we have a traitor. Between us missing Fraxon’s buildup of ships and WMDs, it only makes sense. It’s that, or you’d have to think us incompetent.”

  “Well…” I pause for a second. “I’d give you the benefit of a doubt if Fraxon built up at some remote location. But where would they get resources to build that remote location? If someone missed these inconsistencies…”

  He arches his eyebrow and leans over as much as his stomach allows. “My name must have crossed your mind.”

  “Crossed?” I set the glass down, yet my fingers toyed with it, rotating it. “I want to believe that I know you well enough, but I know no one who can hide their intentions better than you…” I lean towards him. “All points to you. Only thing missing is motivation.” I sigh, “all cards on the table, I don’t think you have that motivation. Money? You have plenty. Power? You possess an abundance. Respect?” I lean back and raise my glass to my lips. “Poltr won’t give you more than us.” Shaking my head, I finish the rest of my glass. “I’ll be cautious around you. How about it?”

  He offers a half-shrug, and relaxed into the chair, which screeched under his weight. “Yeah…” He drags his words. “Since I’m not arrested, I assume the Conclave doesn’t know yet. But they have their own networks, and news of this will reach them, eventually. I wonder if they’ll offer me the same courtesy as you.” Marwen’s gaze wanders around the room and I follow it.

  I assume he is being cautious, looking at everyone present, scrutinizing them, and deciding if they are just civilians or undercover agents. Few use tables; most bar patrons occupy barstools. If I know Marwen, he is considering his escape route, but he must also realize that he is hard to lose track of. I pour myself a drink.

  “Horus is under threat to keep silent. But you are right, Conclave will know.” I swish the drink in the glass, but don’t dare to bring it up to my lips. “Heads will fly, and we need to make sure it’s not ours.”

  His head falls into his hand, eyes closed. “There will be an investigation for sure. I can prove that the buildup wasn’t on any Fraxonnian planets. That amount of materials is hard to hide. So that leaves one option.”

  His head resting in his hand, he looks upward. “They likely constructed it elsewhere. Rich in resources too, and we missed it. Conclave won’t like this explanation, but it might delay some finger pointing for a couple of days.”

  “Will that be enough time for you?”

  “You sound like all the hookers I hire.” He chuckles, and another drink disappears.

  “What, you hire them a minute at a time?” I pour him a drink and shift the empty bottle to the end of the table, motioning for another.

  “It’s all I can ever spare, so why overpay?”

  “Also,” I return my gaze to him, “I’ll need you to come up with a good excuse why I’ll need two million troops ready by the end of three days.”

  Marwen spits out a part of his drink and gags on the other half. “How many?” He finally sputters, a bit too loud, and draws some attention our way.

  I clear my throat, “Yes, the bill is a bit much, but it’s fine; I’ll pay,” I say, loud enough for all to hear. The gazes of the surrounding people turn from us one by one, and I shake my head at Marwen.

  “And you are a spy?” I whisper.

  “Was. Fifteen years ago.” Marwen says, and I watch as another drink disappears. “Spy-Master now,” He continues, “And you know well enough that we never assembled a ground army that big. Not in the last century. Excuse me if that took me by surprise.”

  “We are at war.”

  “And the war, as you call it, should have lasted about five minutes.” Marwen counters. “It was supposed to be quick. In and out. Not you leaving the fleet in secret to beg for an invasion force at home.” With one move of his arm, he moved his glass and the bottle to the side. “What’s my role here? I don’t have the authority to give you men…”

  Marwen pauses for a second, his mouth slightly opened, eyes - calculating me throughout. “I’ll be feeding theoretical information as if it is one hundred percent accurate, so the Conclave will give you what you want. Is that it? Your desire for clandestine entry explains this. For this meeting. To make sure our stories align.”

  With a smile on my face, I nod.

  “You are paying for these drinks. And all the drinks for the foreseeable future, Varick.” Marwen smiles back. “If Conclave catches wind of this, we are both dead. Investigator or not.”

  “I’ll send you all the info on a paper-”

  “No,” Marwen interrupts. “No paper trail. You will tell me everything I need to know here and now. If documentation surfaces…”

  “Understood,” I say and pour myself a drink. “Will you remember it all?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Marwen gulps down his drink. “I swear, Varick, all your scheming will make me an alcoholic.”