RDF accommodation complex, Rhyus

  The Rhyus System, Karbay Nolan Sector

  Date: Zeran 30, Year 4731

  Garen pulled on the collar of his shirt, the fabric damp sweat. The mirror offered no illusions—just a face caught between who he was and who he used to be. The lines had deepened, the eyes heavier. He didn’t linger. He already knew what he’d see.

  He rubbed at his beard. Still not quite right. Being back on Rhyus made it feel out of place—like it didn’t belong. But after a moment’s thought, it wasn’t the beard.

  It was him. He was the one who didn’t belong.

  The workout had helped. Enough to shake off the stiffness. His knees ached—they always ached these days—but the movement brought his muscles back to life, made them feel like they still belonged to him. Rest never helped—no matter how much they complained.

  He needed to stay active—it gave him something the waiting never could: focus. And he needed it now more than ever.

  After a long shower, he returned to the suite. The clothes he’d ordered sat folded neatly on the chair. He dressed slowly.

  The room was silent.

  He listened, closing his eyes for a moment.

  In the distance, faint beyond the walls, he could hear the city—ships arriving and departing, the low surge of traffic lanes shifting overhead.

  But he missed the sounds of home—the rhythm of the forest, the stream, the quiet that brought him peace.

  On Chiex, silence had depth.

  Here, there was no true silence, no true peace—just background noise that did little to comfort.

  A city filled with memories he’d rather forget.

  His eyes snapped open. He looked around the room.

  What am I doing here?

  He poured himself another cup of coffee and activated the room’s display. News, commentary, and political chatter cycled past, but he absorbed none of it. It was all too much.

  He shut it off, staring into his coffee.

  A soft ping broke through the quiet.

  He glanced at the comm panel.

  MESSAGE — AMAR LAVONT:

  Report to RDF Headquarters rear entrance. Departure imminent. General Anteia will meet you there.

  Garen exhaled through his nose. "Not wasting any time, Amar."

  He opened his REM Link and added the two contacts for a three-way video transmission. Both answered within seconds, already awake and expecting him.

  "Ready to get started?" he asked.

  "Ready to depart, General," Conus replied. He’d already been up, waiting for Garen to contact him.

  "Been awake for hours. Had the most wonderful breakfast—you should have seen it. I think I ate enough for three," Said Klamarez.

  "That’s surprising, Klamarez," Garen replied. He looked like he wanted to smile—but wasn’t ready to show his hand.

  "Really?"

  "You’re cutting back. Usually, you eat for five," he said with a full smile.

  Klamarez laughed. "I should’ve known."

  "I’ll meet you both downstairs," Garen said.

  "Understood, General. I’ll see you in the lobby."

  “Be there in a moment Garen." Said Klamarez

  Conus was already waiting when Garen stepped into the lobby, standing straight-backed, his posture rigid.

  Garen joined him, and moments later Klamarez wandered in, scanning the space with casual interest. The lobby was spacious. Murmurs drifted through the space—constant and calm—as the gentle aroma of brewing coffee mingled with something spiced and savory drifting from the dining hall.

  Guards stood at the entrance, their eyes following movements as pale morning light spilled across polished floors and plush seating areas.

  Klamarez’s nose twitched as he caught a familiar scent. He glanced toward the dining area, lips tightening.

  "Don’t tempt me," he said in a whisper, rubbing his stomach. Maybe I should grab some for later... no, no, no. I’m sure they’ll have plenty of food at this RSIA base. Humans always have food.

  Garen caught the way Klamarez’s nose was practically following an invisible scent trail.

  "Still hungry, Klamarez?" Garen asked.

  "I’m stuffed," Klamarez replied.

  "I can hear your stomach growling," Conus said flatly.

  "Don’t be listening in there," Klamarez said, quickly covering his stomach with both hands, as if that might block the sound from reaching Conus’s augmented hearing. Conus hesitated, momentarily unsure if he'd overstepped—until Klamarez flashed a playful grin, the tips of his fangs showing.

  Conus had always struggled with friendly banter—feeling like he always came across awkward, never quite landing the way he intended.

  Garen let out a quick, dry laugh. "Come on."

  He led them into the crisp morning air. The courtyard was already active—Glidercraft drifted past, hovering a couple of feet above the ground.

  One touched down near them, and a group of officers climbed inside the enclosed craft, which would transport them to RDF Command HQ.

  Wheeled vehicles rolled up with no roof and rows of seating available to take personnel to the entrance of RDF HQ or around to the landing pads on the far side. Some officers moved with purpose, walking through designated pedestrian lanes.

  Garen’s eyes swept the perimeter. The automated turrets atop the fence shifted subtly. The courtyard was heavily guarded—smaller turrets scanned the ground while others covered the air.

  The RDF Headquarters stood in the distance. Garen took note of the section where he believed his old office had once been. His time there—brief as it was—had left a mark, though now it barely seemed to matter.

  Beyond the outer wall, Rhyus City was alive, a city that never stopped.

  Conus tilted his head slightly—his augmented hearing catching distant chatter, tuning it out as best he could.

  They made it to the security checkpoint inside RDF HQ.

  Conus and Klamarez passed through without issue, but when the officer scanned Garen’s ID, his face pinched ever so slightly as he read the name. The screen in front of him blinked and flashed.

  "Is there a problem?" Garen asked, his voice gravelly.

  "Just a moment, Mr. Rivers," the officer said, his tone firm. He leaned in and spoke in low tones with his superior after waving them over.

  The silence stretched a little too long.

  Conus watched and listened, quietly observing the encounter.

  Beside him, Klamarez’s ears twitched—uncertain what the issue was.

  Garen rested his hands on the counter, seeming unbothered outwardly. They’d been here just yesterday—without a single problem.

  Then the screen cleared. The officer straightened. “You're all clear, sir. Apologies for the delay.”

  Another officer turned toward his colleague. “He’s a retired general. Proper etiquette says to still call him General.”

  "Sorry, General Rivers."

  Garen gave a small wave. "All fine with me. Have a good day."

  They moved through the building in silence, following a long corridor that cut through to the other side. Hallways branched left and right—doors closed, personnel passing without notice.

  "What was that all about?" Klamarez asked.

  "Just a system malfunction," Garen said with a shrug. "Or something else," he muttered.

  "The RDF flagged you. Tracking your movements," Conus said quietly.

  "Like I said. Something else."

  "You caught that?" Klamarez asked, his ears twitching upright.

  He sees everything. Hears everything. Are telepathic augments a thing?

  He glanced at Conus—who was already looking at him—and thought of the filthiest joke he could muster, watching closely for a reaction.

  Nothing.

  Ahh... nothing.

  "Reflection of the terminal in his eyes," Conus answered, his voice even, but not relaxed.

  "Remind me not to play cards against you," Klamarez said with a smile, the tips of his fangs peeking out. "I'd end up owing you everything—even my tools."

  Conus tilted his head to the side and blurted out, "Your tools would be safe. I prefer things organized."

  He kept a serious look on his face before slowly allowing a smile to form.

  Klamarez laughed. "I’m actually fairly organized—for a Camerian."

  Conus remembered not being allowed to play cards during his days at the academy. He had never attempted to since. Most wouldn’t allow augments in card games—especially when credits were on the line.

  Still, Conus was beginning to feel fortunate he’d accepted the assignment. A lot of bad had happened—he’d lost his crew—but meeting Klamarez felt like something good.

  He was starting to think of the Camerian as someone he could consider a friend—or at least hoped Klamarez felt the same.

  Friendship, he thought, was fragile—especially when new. Perhaps this mission could turn it into something lasting. And maybe even General Rivers. If not a friend, then perhaps a mentor.

  Either way, he’d have the chance to get to know them both better over the course of the mission.

  They stepped out into the open again, emerging onto the landing pad.

  General Terra Anteia was already waiting for them, looking into her PDA before she noticed their approach.

  "Morning General Anteia," Said Conus

  "Morning, gentlemen. General Rivers," she said with a quick smile to Garen. "Colonel Taylen. Klamarez," she added, nodding to each of them.

  Garen returned the gesture. “Morning, General Anteia. Been waiting long?”

  The breeze caught a strand of her hair, and the scent hit him before her voice did. She deserved better than I gave her. He didn’t let his eyes linger.

  "No, but longer than I expected,” she said.

  “You always liked pushing meeting times."

  "To be honest with you," Garen said, "I need to get used to keeping time again."

  "Didn’t tell time on Chiex?” she asked, half-teasing.

  "I got used to Camerian timekeeping," Garen said, just as Klamarez perked up.

  "Camerians don’t keep time in the traditional sense—morning, midday, night. ‘I’ll see you later in the morning.’ That sort of thing. The real problem is, no one agrees when ‘later’ is—or when morning ends and midday begins." Klamarez gladly explained.

  "I didn’t know that," Terra replied, genuinely curious. "I’m not sure I could function like that—or how an entire society could."

  “They don’t have time for it,” Garen added in a dry tone with little effort, not expecting the joke to land as he said it.

  Terra groaned. Klamarez laughed. Conus gave a polite smile.

  "I see your humor hasn’t improved," Terra said, laughing despite herself.

  "Did you think spending years alone in a forest would make me funnier?" Garen asked.

  "I suppose not."

  "There are actually a lot of interesting ways of telling time across the galaxy," Conus began, launching into a rundown of cultural systems used by different species.

  Klamarez, intrigued, immediately started firing off questions, and the two fell into a quiet back-and-forth behind them.

  Garen stepped a little closer to Terra.

  "When are we getting underway?" he asked.

  "Just waiting on a few others from the crew," she replied. "Your pilot, chief engineer, and communications officer," she added. "I’ve picked them myself, Garen."

  "So if they’re not up to par, I know who to blame."

  "I’ve assembled quite the team. I’m proud of it. Getting the crew I felt I needed wasn’t easy," Terra said. She had called in several favors—and now owed several more—for the shifting of some personnel.

  As if on cue, a new figure approached.

  Veeda Soren stepped onto the platform. Terra turned to greet her, then introduced her to the others.

  "This is Veeda Soren, our senior engineering officer."

  Terra observed her for a moment—confident posture, yet relaxed. She carried herself with calm, let nothing shake her, but cared deeply for those she worked with.

  Veeda had been her first choice—not just for her technical brilliance, but because she handled pressure like she was born for missions where discovery meant death.

  Veeda’s uniform, dark navy-blue fabric, stretched with movement, reinforced at the shoulders and elbows. Over it, she wore a lightweight vest lined with tools and devices. Slim cargo trousers completed the look.

  "Veeda, this is General Garen Rivers, our mission commander," Terra began. "Colonel Conus Taylen, our executive officer—and Klamarez, part of our engineering crew."

  Veeda examined them all, noting each face. She had never known of any Camerians in the RSIA.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Conus she recognized immediately.

  Then her eyes settled on Garen.

  She crossed the space between them and held out her hand.

  "Pleasure to meet you, General Rivers," she said.

  Garen shook her hand with a firm grip, though his expression remained reserved. "Good to meet you, Veeda. Looking forward to working together."

  Conus stepped forward next, extending his hand. "Glad to have you with us." They knew of one another casually, but not well—this was their first mission working together.

  Then Veeda turned toward Klamarez. She quickly took in the Camerian’s distinctive features—the fine layer of fur, pointed ears that subtly twitched at every sound, and the confident smile that revealed a hint of sharp fangs—before he spoke.

  He stepped up, flashing a grin. “Looking forward to working with you in engineering,” he said, clearly enjoying the moment.

  Veeda raised a brow at his casual confidence. “Nice to meet you, Klamarez. So... how long have you been with the RSIA?”

  "First time, actually. Technically, I’m not with the RSIA," Klamarez said, grin widening.

  "You’re not?" she asked, surprised.

  "Nope," he said, cheerful as ever.

  "What’s your training?"

  "I’m just an amateur—a bit of a tinkerer,” he said with a casual shrug. "But I’ve worked on countless crafts over the years. I guess that would be my training.”

  Her surprise was obvious—but so was the curiosity. “Just an amateur... tinkerer,” she repeated, a bit of skepticism slipping into her tone. She glanced briefly at Terra, trying to read reassurance from her expression. Veeda wasn't trying to be rude, but something about Klamarez's casual confidence and vague credentials felt out of place. She had hints about the mission, far from the full picture. Having someone with no formal training on a mission this sensitive felt off.

  Klamarez responded with a happy nod, seemingly oblivious to her hesitation.

  If Terra trusts him... then it is what it is. Still, she made a mental note to keep a discreet eye on him—just in case.

  Terra, meanwhile, eyed Garen’s attire.

  "We need to get you into uniform, General."

  And shave that beard. She kept the thought to herself.

  Garen faintly smiled, the expression reserved, almost hidden. “I brought my own.”

  She realized then—he was serious. She knew he wouldn’t return to the old uniform—not in the way she hoped.

  "I made a purchase," Garen said.

  Terra raised an eyebrow. "I see. Very well. I’ll have to see what this new ‘uniform’ of yours looks like."

  "Might need an extra hand, so I picked up a few upgrades to suit my more... seasoned age. Some extra protection."

  "It doesn’t hurt to be careful," Terra replied. "But don’t forget you took down six Vorcons—two bruisers just days ago."

  "We did that," Garen said, motioning to Conus.

  This caught Veeda’s attention. She looked at the two of them, wondering if it was true—but she knew Terra wouldn’t make something like that up.

  "I wasn’t in the picture yet," said Klamarez, offering a nod and a smile, trying to make it clear why he hadn’t been involved in the fighting.

  It caught Veeda off guard. She found herself smiling in return, unsure what to make of Klamarez.

  "You sprang into action after ten years of gardening and took out Vorcons. Just like that."

  "Ten years of gardening," Garen echoed with a quiet, amused laugh.

  He kept busy on that remote world—gardening was part of it, yes, but only a small part.

  He suspected Terra would think him crazy if she ever learned why he’d truly chosen Chiex.

  They waited. Two more crew members were expected.

  "The others should be here soon. Once they’re here, we can head out," Terra said, glancing down at her chrono.

  Rayvo Oswin entered with a casual swagger, eyes flashing with assured confidence. He offered a cocky salute to Terra.

  "General Anteia," Rayvo called out, his grin hovering at the edge of playful irreverence.

  "Hope you haven't changed your mind about trusting me with the helm," he said, a familiar cocky grin appearing as he cracked his knuckles, a racing habit he never quite left behind.

  "There’s still time to change my mind." Terra gave him a look of mild disapproval, but it softened as Rayvo returned a confident smile.

  He’s lucky he’s a skilled pilot.

  Terra had used Rayvo as often as she could when she needed someone reliable at the helm. He was one of the best the RSIA had—maybe the best. When it came to piloting, he was focused and locked in. Despite his attitude, he took the job seriously—something this mission would absolutely require.

  She introduced him as the ship’s pilot and navigator. Rayvo exchanged warm handshakes with each of them.

  When he shook Conus’s hand, he took in the sight of the Colonel’s augmentations but didn’t linger. Rayvo had heard plenty about Taylen’s enhancements, but seeing them up close—he could barely tell where flesh ended and tech began.

  Jeson Kaius—Jes—joined just behind, their newly appointed communications officer. Her greeting was light and polite.

  As she reached Conus, her eyes paused briefly on the augmentations as Rayvo had. Jes wondered, just for a moment, if they ever caused him pain—but pushed the thought aside. Everyone in the RSIA knew who Conus Taylen was. Being the only augment in the agency made sure of that.

  A Camerian? she wondered, as she met Klamarez.

  And then her eyes found Garen—and her expression shifted.

  I know you.

  She’d heard the stories. Knew the name. Garen Rivers wasn’t someone you expected to meet—let alone serve under. If they’d pulled him out of retirement, then this mission wasn’t routine.

  Holy Goontee, she thought. Her pulse quickened slightly. She'd studied his tactics, memorized his maneuvers, even admired him. But standing here now, seeing the man whose name had practically become a forbidden whisper—she wasn't sure if she felt awe or anxiety. She quickly tightened her expression into controlled neutrality, grateful her initial surprise hadn't slipped beyond the briefest glance. Admiration was acceptable—but on this mission, discipline mattered more. She straightened slightly, deliberately shifting her attention to the ship in the distance, grounding herself back into the present task.

  With everyone now assembled, Terra turned to the group.

  "A GliderCraft is coming to transport us," she said.

  "That's Garen Rivers," Jes said quietly, a note of awe in her voice.

  "Yes," Veeda replied, her expression shifting as the realization settled. "They said that."

  Rayvo blinked, finally connecting the name. "That’s Garen Rivers? The one who opposed the peace treaty?"

  "No. I mean—yes, he is. But it’s not that simple."

  "Well, from what I’ve heard, he was a badass during the war. Got my respect. Doesn’t bother me—I don’t care about politics. You can’t believe half of it anyway. I care more about what he did during the war."

  "Wish I could turn it off like that," Jes said.

  "It’s not hard," Rayvo replied.

  "That’s why his name sounded familiar," Veeda said with a nod, indifferent.

  They had all worked under Amar Lavont—he was a war hero too. So was General Anteia. She had known a few others as well.

  As she thought about it, maybe General Rivers’ feats were more impressive than most. He’d spent more time on the front lines than nearly anyone. Yet to Veeda, it barely registered.

  Jes leaned in slightly. “The Academy may have erased his name from our lessons, but his strategies and tactics are still studied. Core curriculum, even now.”

  "Seriously?" Veeda asked, clearly intrigued.

  "It depended on the instructor," Jes said. “Some highlighted his contributions. Others barely mentioned him at all.”

  "Was he the pilot leading the Vantilgar mission?" Rayvo asked.

  "Yes!" Jes confirmed, her excitement rising.

  Rayvo exhaled slowly. “We’re in the presence of a legend.” Then he added, after a glance toward Terra, “Well—two legends.” Neither responded.

  Jes adjusted her collar, the reality of it all settling in. "This feels overwhelming."

  "Just stay focused," Veeda said calmly, motioning for them to follow.

  "What’s this mission all about? Where we headed?" Rayvo asked, turning his attention to Veeda.

  "Why you asking me? I don’t know," she replied, though her tone held suspicion.

  "Isn’t it obvious?" Jes said.

  Rayvo and Veeda both turned to her.

  "What do you know?" Rayvo asked.

  "They brought back Garen Rivers. Why else would they bring him back?"

  "Vorcons?" he asked.

  Jes simply nodded.

  Rayvo took the news seriously before doing his best to shrug it off.

  Veeda shot them both a stern look. "We have a briefing. Let’s go. Stop gossiping."

  She walked on ahead while Rayvo and Jes exchanged a look.

  A GliderCraft approached across the landing pad, slowing to a halt nearby. The driver, an RDF NCO, stepped down with a welcoming expression.

  "General Anteia," he greeted warmly. "It’s been too long."

  Terra returned the smile. "Emryn. How have you been? How’s your family?"

  "All well, thank you. My eldest’s enrolling in the academy next term," Emryn said proudly.

  "That’s wonderful news," she replied, her voice genuine.

  The GliderCraft had an open-top design, built for fast boarding. They climbed aboard. The GliderCraft accelerated smoothly down the runway, heading toward their assigned vessels.

  As they neared the Seeker, another RSIA transport came into view. Its pilot and co-pilot—one male, one female—stood outside, deep in quiet conversation. Both were clearly seasoned. They were ready. The transport was waiting to escort Terra and her assembled crew to the Rhyus Moon.

  Terra exchanged a brief look with Garen before leading the group toward the transport. Inside, the pilot and co-pilot performed a quick but thorough check of the systems—standard procedure, but still essential.

  Meanwhile, Garen, Conus, and Klamarez boarded the Seeker. Klamarez immediately turned to the ship’s systems, already powering up and running checks. He linked with the RSIA transport and confirmed their coordinates and approach path.

  "Conus, would you like to take the helm this time?" Garen asked.

  Without hesitation, Conus moved to the pilot’s station. “Thank you, General. Yes, I would. Who knows what the future holds—this might be my only chance to operate the Seeker.”

  "It’s hard to imagine after. I can barely imagine now," said Garen.

  While the Seeker had a very standard layout, Klamarez had definitely added some uniqueness to the helm’s design. It had taken Garen a moment to adjust, but it wasn’t hard to get used to. During the trip, Conus had taken note, watching closely as Garen operated the Seeker—especially during ascent, landing, and docking. He already felt like he had a solid understanding of how to fly it. Still, it varied greatly from standard Seven Worlds fleet designs. The ship contained tech from all over.

  How does he figure it all out? he thought, glancing toward Klamarez.

  Garen gave a nod from his station. Klamarez checked all systems one last time, confirming everything was ready.

  With pre-flight complete, the transport lifted off from Rhyus.

  The Seeker rose behind, gliding upward on engaged thrusters. As they ascended above the landing pad, the landing gear retracted, and the ship fell into position behind the RSIA transport, sliding smoothly into the designated sky lanes above the city.

  It banked gently, aligning and merging precisely into the crowded flow—lanes not physically marked, but clearly displayed on his forward console.

  As Conus guided the Seeker, he internally noted the ship's exceptional responsiveness. It handled smoothly and felt balanced. There were minor adjustments needed—small refinements here and there—but overall, Klamarez had clearly done impressive work.

  They climbed in formation, soaring above the sprawling urban skyline until the planet’s curvature took hold and the atmosphere began to thin.

  Through the main viewscreen, they glanced back—Rhyus already shrinking behind them.

  Ahead, the Rhyus Defense Station came into view—massive, active, its traffic lanes crowded with ships awaiting clearance. Hundreds of vessels lined the queue.

  The Seeker kept pace, trailing behind the RSIA transport as they drifted farther from the capital.

  Conus watched the transport on a forward display, tracking distance, speed, and trajectory.

  Nearing Morelus, their route carried them past RDF outposts and patrol vessels. The moon was ahead. A smaller star base orbited above it, serving as a final checkpoint for arrivals requiring clearance.

  The transport neared the station, sending credentials from both itself and the Seeker to the clearance station before beginning their descent.

  The surface of Morelus came into focus—a patchwork of settlements and terrain. Where Rhyus had been dense and towering, Morelus was spread wide: civilian enclaves, industrial zones, ocean crossings, and vast agricultural regions—much of it open and unoccupied.

  Their path cut across a broad sea, the reflection of their ships rippling across the water. Ahead, a mountain broke through the clouds.

  Near the summit, a cluster of structures and communications arrays crowned the peak. Further down, built directly into the mountain’s side, stretched the base itself—its dark steel and architecture carved into the rock, rising above the ocean far below.

  Large hangar bay doors lined the mountain face, seamlessly integrated into the structure. As the Seeker and the RSIA transport approached, control relayed precise docking instructions. Conus confirmed the nav coordinates flashing across his screen.

  The Seeker was directed toward one of the sealed bays. Nearby, another set of hangar doors parted, allowing the RSIA transport through.

  The hangar doors opened wide, swallowing both ships into the mountain. Inside, floodlights bathed the hangar in stark illumination, the deep shadows of equipment and docked vessels creating an atmosphere both welcoming and ominous. Garen felt a familiar tightness in his chest. His pulse quickened slightly as a metallic clang echoed somewhere deeper inside the hangar—an everyday sound, yet now ominously amplified by his heightened senses.

  The mission suddenly felt all too real.

  Inside, the Seeker touched down. Once powered down, the crew stepped out into the shuttle bay—an expansive area capable of housing multiple ships of its class. Around them, vessels of varying designs rested in place, some under repair, others ready for launch.

  The transport that had carried Terra made its descent into the next bay over, completing its return to the docking zone it had departed from.

  Garen, Conus, and Klamarez were met by security the moment they stepped off the Seeker. Four officers stood waiting in standard RSIA uniforms, their sidearms holstered, their posture formal but not rigid.

  The check-in process was routine—at least for Garen and Conus. Klamarez, however, had to present the digital ID card he'd been issued back at RDF Headquarters.

  One of the security officers, his tone friendly, offered a suggestion. “If you'd prefer, we can register you for a dermal implant. It would make re-entry into the Seven Worlds much easier.”

  Klamarez glanced at Garen, unsure.

  Garen shrugged. “It’s up to you. But it could simplify things for you.”

  Conus added, “You’d have unrestricted access across the Seven Worlds. You can visit on your return—no more clearance holdups.”

  Klamarez gave it a moment, then nodded. “Sure, then. I’ll get the dermal implant. Sounds handy.”

  He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought came quick: The Syndicate’s grip is weaker in the Seven Worlds. I could always hide out here if I had to.

  The lead officer turned to his subordinate. “Take Mr. Klamarez and get him registered and implanted.”

  "Yes, sir."

  Klamarez eagerly followed the younger officer, questions spilling out before they’d even left the shuttle bay.

  "So how do these implants work exactly? Couldn’t someone just modify one? So, do you calibrate these implants individually, or is it standardized? Can you choose where it's implanted? Oh! And how does it handle power distribution—does it need recharging?"

  The officer didn’t seem bothered. “Any attempt to alter one would make it unreadable. The data gets corrupted. The implants use quantum encryption—any unauthorized tampering scrambles the embedded matrix. Essentially, it becomes useless without proper reauthorization. You’d need an authorized scanner to reset the encryption—otherwise, it won’t work at all.”

  Klamarez absorbed every word, considering all the ways the system might be misused—not with bad intentions, just... possibilities. The conversation continued as they exited, Klamarez already halfway into a new line of questions.

  Back at the bay, Conus looked over at Garen.

  "I’m glad he’s with us, sir. I wouldn’t have felt right leaving him behind. I wouldn’t want the Syndicate to get their hands on him."

  Garen nodded, a heaviness settling in his chest. "Me neither, Conus. But let’s not pretend this is a safe place for him. It isn’t."

  He paused, eyes following the direction Klamarez had gone.

  "I need to help him get out of this mess when we’re done,” Garen said quietly. “Out of the Vanicktus business. It’s not a way to live."

  Conus didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

  "It might take some convincing," Garen added, knowing full well how deep Syndicate ties could run. Though he was under no illusion it would be easy—it could get messy, fast.

  "Anyway, that’s something I need to worry about later. We’ve got work ahead of us, Conus. I’m curious to see how this ship actually handles masking. Signal dampening, trace suppression—how it really functions.”

  "It’s a prototype," Conus added. "At least, that’s what they’re saying."

  Conus could recall several RSIA ships—capable stealth vessels among them. But none seemed fitting for a mission like this. He assumed it had to be one of the new vessels—unless they had heavily enhanced one of the older ones.

  "Who told you that?" Garen asked.

  "I accidentally overhear things sometimes," Conus said.

  Garen gave a half-smile. "Keep your ears open while we’re here. You never know what else you might catch. The higher-ups always leave out the important intel."

  "On purpose?" Conus wondered.

  "It’s like this," Garen said. “The job is the job. And sometimes, being a general means following orders without ever seeing the full picture. They don’t want you thinking or feeling one way or another. You get what you’re given. That’s the version they want you to believe. You act based on that. You command your crew based on that—and it keeps going. Didn’t ask why back then—just thought how. How to get it done. No time for doubt. No room for questions."

  He remembered countless missions where blind obedience had cost more than any victory could justify. It was a part of leadership he had never made peace with—and probably never would.

  "You think they intentionally left you out of important details?" Conus asked.

  Garen gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yes."

  He left it at that. For now.

  Conus processed the response. If you can’t trust the chain of command, then why even serve?

  "Let’s hope this ship does its job so we can do ours," Garen said.

  Stealth ships weren’t new—but they were always evolving. But perfection was impossible. Even the best stealth systems left a trace—for those who knew where to look. The trick wasn’t being invisible—it was not being noticed.

  As stealth tech improved, so did detection tech. And then it came down to who was running the ship.

  Within the Seven Worlds fleet, the RSIA now controlled most stealth-class vessels. The RDF focused on strength and force. The RSIA had invested heavily since Garen’s time—expanded their reach, built their own small fleet, recruited aggressively. They were growing fast—and not everyone in the RDF was thrilled about it.

  Garen could see it clearly now. With every new encounter, the divide became harder to ignore.

  Before long, Amar Lavont greeted them in the docking bay.

  "Welcome, gentlemen. General Rivers, Colonel Taylen."

  His posture was sharp, his voice calm, composed—but it commanded their attention.

  If Amar had doubts, he buried them beneath the same ironclad certainty that had steadied others for decades.

  What they didn’t know was that Amar had a lot on his mind. The RSIA was now involved in many areas—too many, some might say. There was much he needed to keep on top of, and this mission was just one of many.

  This threat was one of many.

  The mission was a risk—but one Amar had already accepted.

  Garen could easily recall that Amar always had the ability to deliver the worst or best news with the same steady demeanor.

  And just for a moment, it felt like the last ten years hadn’t occurred—that he was here, serving under Amar, just like he had years ago.

  He laid out the schedule: senior officers would meet in Briefing Room B within a couple of hours.

  "In the meantime, I’d like to introduce the two of you to the Preyon," Amar said. "Follow me."

  "The Preyon?" Garen muttered. "That’s gonna have to grow on me."

  Conus was eager to see the ship—to take on his first mission as executive officer. He hoped it would help earn him a command of one of the RSIA craft down the line.

  This was his chance to prove he was ready for command.

  Garen couldn’t place it, but something shifted inside him as they walked toward the hangar.

  Once they launched, there’d be no turning back. No reinforcements. No room for doubt.

  The mission was already dangerous. But beneath it, something else was forming—bigger, unseen, waiting. And it wasn’t just the Vorcons.

  Focus, he told himself. Stay sharp.