Chapter 39

  RSIA Primary Operations Command

  Blackwell Station, Morelus

  The Rhyus System, Karbay Nolan Sector

  Date: Zeran 31, Year 4731

  Conus had successfully settled into his private quarters aboard the Preyon. On a vessel of this scale, private quarters were a luxury. His space, though modest, had everything he needed: privacy, a bed, a fully equipped workstation with a console and chair, and a small washroom.

  After a day of system tests and drills, he finally had a moment to himself. He powered on his workstation.

  He thought back to the Seeker—the chaos, the long hours with General Rivers and Klamarez during their escape from Chiex, including their tense encounter at Eteren One. It unsettled him—how much he missed it, and how deeply he resented that it had ended. Those days had felt freeing in a way he hadn’t expected.

  Now, as the Preyon’s executive officer, this mission might shape his future—though there was no reason to think command would last beyond it. His assignment to the Preyon, like Garen’s—and every other crew member’s—was temporary. Perhaps after this mission, he’d return to field assignments. At this point, it was impossible to know.

  Leaning back in his chair, Conus let the familiar digital series play across the screen—a routine that had become his way of winding down, one that offered a moment’s comfort but often stirred more than it settled. The series followed the sprawling trade routes of the Karodolex Galaxy, currently detailing the Sulwyn Span. The familiar narration washed over him. His thoughts drifted—slowly, without resistance—toward the quiet hours he once spent alone aboard his father’s trade ship.

  The solitude of his quarters aboard the Preyon mirrored the quiet he'd once known. The memory slipped in unnoticed, a return to something he hadn’t meant to revisit.

  As the program played on one screen, Conus opened a galaxy map on another. His eyes moved across the familiar trade circuits, his augmented eye scanning and absorbing the data.

  His capacity to recall memories felt more like reliving the past than simple recollection—moments that sometimes opened doors to corridors he wished had stayed closed, each one filled with the frustration of never fully grasping what lay beyond.

  The memories of the Nomadicus filtered through Conus’s mind, fragmented and disjointed—like shards of a shattered mirror reflecting parts of a face he couldn’t quite recognize. And there was doubt threaded through it all. Was it even real? Or had he stitched it together from fragments and need? Like corrupted data, incomplete and unstable, resurfacing only to break apart again.

  The time before his accident—it was impossible for Conus to think of that part of his life with any certainty. Most of his memory from that period was inaccessible. What little he could recall felt real—they had to. He needed them to.

  He pressed his hands to his head, willing the fragments to stay long enough to make sense.

  Sometimes things surfaced and vanished before he could even grasp them. His memory—so exact in the present—became unreliable the moment it reached into the past, especially anything from before his augmentations.

  Any information his grandparents had given him about his past was limited—they knew little. Said even less.

  The doctors who had treated Conus—those earliest clear memories—had explained that the extent of his injuries had been catastrophic, enough to cost him his life. He had died, before being placed in cryogenic stasis. It was only through illegal augmentations, outlawed in the Seven Worlds, that he’d been brought back. The cryo had frozen his dying cells, preserving a semblance of life.

  Who had made the decision to augment him—and why? The answers were buried in that lost year, a gap in his life that felt impenetrable. His mind held no record. No anomaly. No disturbance. As if the year had never belonged to him at all.

  There were so many questions he had no answers to—and worse, he felt like there were questions he didn’t even know to ask. But given all that he did know, he had died that day on the trade ship. He died and was brought back to life.

  So what exactly did that make him? A reconstruction. A copy of a self he couldn’t recall.

  He knew he’d lost his parents that day—the day he died, the day everything important was taken from him. And all he had after his recovery were his father’s parents on Cresnor, who had given him a family during his teenage years.

  But that was it.

  He knew no other family—not their names, not where they were. Wouldn’t some of them have at least been curious? Wouldn’t someone have sought him out? He’d never even met an aunt or uncle.

  He remembered his father once claiming they had a large family. But his grandparents had made it clear: Conus’s father had been an only child.

  The Nomadicus. He couldn’t remember ever knowing the name before—not before that evening on Eteren One. It hadn’t existed in his mind until then. The memory hadn’t returned—it had surfaced, sudden and uninvited, like something long buried that had finally been jostled loose.

  It felt more like activation than recollection—the sights and sounds of Eteren One had triggered something dormant, allowing a fragment of the past to slip through. He couldn’t explain why it happened. Only that it had.

  And now the name wouldn’t let go.

  He could see the ship in his mind—The Nomadicus—a bulky freighter built for endurance, not speed. It belonged to a class of vessels known as trade trains: massive cargo haulers designed to carry freight across vast distances.

  Its configuration was distinctive. The main hauler sat at the front, with rows of cargo containers magnetically sealed beneath it, forming a belly-mounted train of modular freight units. The containers interlocked—stacked atop one another and connected end to end, forming a segmented spine that stretched far beyond the rear of the ship.

  At the very end of that train, a mobile tug latched on—a powerful engine block equipped with its own IRD drive, maneuvering thrusters, and autonomous control systems. It attached to the final row of containers, easing the load on the main hauler and guiding the entire structure during long-range journeys—while enabling the trade train to open rifts and travel faster than light.

  When not configured for cargo transport, the tug detached from the container chain and reconnected to the aft section of the main ship, sealing seamlessly into place to form a compact, unified vessel once again.

  He remembered the sensation—the low rumble of the engines, the deep vibration through the floor panels, the way the entire frame shuddered under its own weight as it moved. From the bridge, he would look back at the long line of containers trailing behind the ship, watching as the tug’s engines flared gently at the rear, helping to guide the load through space.

  The images came in bursts, disjointed but insistent. He couldn’t explain it, but that freighter felt like a sealed vault—memories locked inside, waiting for a breach.

  He stared at his reflection in the small mirror above his desk. The augmentations numbed him, but guilt and loss remained, faint outlines he couldn’t erase. He wondered what it might be like to mourn—really mourn—to connect with others on a deeper level. But the thought slipped away, leaving only the cold efficiency of his enhanced mind.

  Conus’s mind, an intricate blend of organic and artificial components, wasn’t just capable of recalling memories—it often dragged him back into them, as if time itself had folded in on him. These episodes were more than recollections; they were relived experiences, complete with the sounds, smells, and sensations of the moment.

  But the vividness came at a cost.

  After each episode, he would be left disoriented—the lines between past and present blurred, his augmented senses struggling to recalibrate to the reality around him. As much as he knew and understood, in some ways, he felt there was a lack of control over his own mind.

  And yet, he believed that if he let his thoughts drift—if he followed them deep enough—he might find something he hadn’t seen before.

  As he let his thoughts wander, the drift came naturally.

  Images ran together until the now slipped away. His breath slowed. Even the temperature felt off, like the moment had shifted without warning. As if he’d stepped into a room that no longer existed.

  Conus, ten years old, aboard his father's trade ship, was completely absorbed in learning about a distant world he had only just discovered. Realizing he’d lost track of time again, he rushed out of his room, navigating the ship's corridors until he reached the mess hall. But when he arrived, all he found were dirty dishes and empty plates. The meal had already been served and eaten.

  He’d missed meals before. That small, sour twist in his stomach came with it. The mess hall, usually a lively gathering place, now stood quiet.

  From the galley, the ship’s cook called out in a familiar jovial tone. "You’ve missed supper again, Conus," Anto said with a chuckle.

  Conus turned, letting out a resigned sigh. "Seems so. Got anything left, Anto?" he asked, hope slipping into his voice.

  Anto’s smirk widened as he presented a plate. "Knew you’d be wrapped up in your projects," he remarked, making room for Conus to sit and eat.

  Anto, the seasoned cook, had served aboard merchant, cargo, and passenger ships alike. His dishes weren’t extravagant, but they were reliably hearty and satisfying. An older man with a white, bushy mustache, Anto had become a familiar and comforting presence on the ship.

  Sometimes, after meals, they’d hang out in the rec room—outfitted with an array of entertainments from card and board games to video consoles. There, Anto would share tales of his adventures and life before joining their current crew, while Conus would tell him about whatever new thing he had recently learned.

  Conus’s father, the ship’s owner and captain, was a constant on the bridge, spending most of his waking hours there. His mother, the head of engineering, contributed significantly by tirelessly maintaining the aging trade train—facing the ongoing challenge of keeping it spaceworthy. They often narrowly met their contractual obligations, their positions consuming most of their time.

  Conus poked at the food with his utensil while Anto sat across from him.

  "What new things have you been learning, Conus?" he asked, his voice warm.

  Conus answered, eager to share. "I finished schoolwork early and then watched a program on trade routes and popular trade stations. It got me thinking about all the places we’ve gone on this ship."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Anto leaned in, curious. "Sounds fascinating. Are there any trade stations you haven’t visited yet?" Having joined the crew shortly before Conus was born, Anto was well acquainted with the boy’s experiences—yet still eager to hear more.

  Conus paused, reflecting. "I think we’ve been running the same circuit for as long as I can remember."

  Anto thought for a moment. "It’s been a long time for sure—maybe since you were a couple of years old."

  "We’ve never been in the Karbay Nolan Sector." Conus paused. "Would love to visit the Seven Worlds of Rhyus."

  Anto sighed and looked away for a second, thinking. "Indeed, we haven’t neared the Seven Worlds since your father secured that new contract. Though I can’t blame him—it’s a lucrative deal, keeping us afloat. Still, I miss those places," he admitted, smiling warmly at Conus. "The contract concludes next year, so who knows? Maybe we’ll end up in another sector. Maybe even the Karbay Nolan Sector."

  "I hope so. Hey, have you ever been to Cresnor?" He knew it to be his father’s home planet.

  "Does, above its orbit count?" Anto asked.

  "No, I don’t think so." As Conus ate, he mumbled through a mouthful, "I’ll see it one day," his eyes alight.

  Anto leaned back with a smile. "Give it time, Conus. You'll have your name on a thousand ship logs by then."

  "This is excellent, Anto. Thanks," Conus said after another bite.

  "You’re welcome," Anto replied, as he watched Conus alternate between eating and dreaming aloud.

  Determined, Conus wiped his mouth before proclaiming, "One day, I’ll join the Rhyus Defense Fleet and see all of the Seven Worlds—and beyond."

  Anto nodded in support. "It’s a challenging path, but a rewarding one. You’re cut out for it," he encouraged.

  With his plate clean, Conus shared his aspirations. "I want to pilot various ships—fighter crafts, battlecruisers, anything that flies."

  The conversation broke off as Nuren Taylen entered the galley, every step marked by the heavy rhythm of his crutch. His sudden presence, drew surprised looks from both Conus and Anto. He moved like someone who expected the room to adjust for him.

  Aided by crutches, Nuren had lost his right leg in an accident years ago and had made little effort to maintain his fitness since. His potbelly pressed against the folds of his disheveled clothing, and his face was flushed from the exertion of his short journey to the galley. Wheezing heavily, he paused to catch his breath, shooting an irritated glare at the two as if their mere presence were an inconvenience.

  Nuren looked at Conus like he was the reason things had turned out this way. His gaze lingered on Conus for a moment, and Conus felt a twinge of discomfort.

  Anto, too, regarded Nuren with a mix of surprise and quiet apprehension. Nuren had a way of souring the mood the moment he entered a room.

  Nuren grunted and gave a half-nod toward his son and Anto, his weathered features twisted into a scowl. Challenging his son’s ambition with a blend of condescension and misguided concern, he asked, "Do you wish to be just another cog in the military machine? You want to go to war and fight, is that it?"

  His question hung in the air—with a tone that made the idea sound foolish.

  "I just want to learn... and explore," Conus said, his voice low.

  "The Seven Worlds are fighting a war they shouldn’t even be in. A pointless war," Nuren scoffed.

  "I don’t think defending people is pointless," Conus countered, mustering his courage.

  "Bah, it’s dangerous," Nuren spat, his face twisting in disapproval. "I’m going to need you on this ship one day."

  "But aren’t trade ships at risk too? From pirates and raiders?" Conus countered, his voice trembling slightly as he challenged his father’s assertions.

  Anto shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt a pang of sympathy for Conus, knowing this would likely lead to Nuren berating his son more harshly later, in private.

  "There’s a risk with everything," Nuren said, his tone dismissive, as if the mere mention of danger was barely worth addressing.

  Conus considered his father’s words for a moment, weighing his options carefully. "I’ll think about it, Dad. Maybe I can spend some time working on the bridge."

  Nuren shook his head, his expression hardening. "You’re too young."

  "I’ve studied all the ship’s systems," Conus argued.

  "Studied the ship’s systems? What are you talking about? It’s not as simple as that," Nuren said, his voice holding condescension, as if brushing aside Conus’s efforts with a single wave.

  "Okay, Dad," said Conus, deflated, giving up.

  The sharp hiss of a vent closing jolted Conus back to the present, the childhood dream dissolving as quickly as it had surfaced. For a moment, the warmth of his father’s trade ship was still with him, lingering in the background like a half-remembered melody. But the cold, sterile atmosphere of the Preyon quickly asserted itself, pulling him back to the reality of his quarters and the mission ahead.

  This heightened sense of past reality puzzled him—especially since he had never recalled that particular memory before.

  This one surfaced with sudden clarity, triggering a headache the moment it took hold.

  Seeking a distraction from the discomfort, Conus decided to roam the ship. It was early in the evening, offering the potential company of crew members—maybe a card game, light conversation, or even the chance to find something useful to occupy his mind. Something to distract him from the pain.

  As he walked down a corridor passing the server room, he considered heading to the bridge—but was sidetracked by an unexpected encounter.

  Klamarez perked up when he saw him. "Conus, how are you feeling tonight?" he asked, noting the strain still visible on Conus’s face. "You holding up okay?"

  Conus hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the directness of the question. Social moments like this never came easy. His responses weren’t felt—they were assembled.

  "I’ve got this terrible headache," he admitted.

  "That’s hardly surprising," Klamarez observed sympathetically.

  "It isn’t?" Conus said.

  "No. You’re about to start a significant mission, take on new responsibilities… I think it’s a lot of excitement—venturing into Vorcon space. I can only imagine what they’d be saying back at Calio Landing if they knew what I was doing. I guess I’m top secret now," Klamarez said with a snort. "They’d probably think I’ve completely lost it. Wouldn’t be the first time someone called me crazy."

  He smiled, his fangs visible, then added, "And then—next thing you know—the Rem-link goes off. ‘Can you fix my home heating system?’ Sure why not, I had no idea what I was doing. Not a clue. But I figured, why not? Grabbed my tools, and just started taking it apart."

  "You fixed it?" Conus asked.

  "I think so. It was working when I left," Klamarez said, trying to recall what the end result had been.

  "How’s your day been?" Conus asked.

  "It’s been quite the adventure," Klamarez replied, his eyes lighting up. "I’ve been familiarizing myself with the ship’s systems—they’re a bit different from what I’m used to, so there’s plenty to learn. The terminology is unique, and that Interdimensional Rift Drive? That’s something else. I’ve seen a lot of tech, but those are some panels I’d love to open." He leaned in slightly, then added, "Are all new ships equipped with drives that advanced?"

  "Yes. This particular drive incorporates rare elements." Conus elaborated on the ship’s propulsion system, noting that it was powered by lithnuhol and a modified natron reactor. "Lithnuhol enables the ship to emit a reduced signature during rifts, enhancing our stealth capabilities. But refining lithnuhol for this specific use is a complex and time-consuming process, which makes it a rare and valuable resource."

  Klamarez’s ears gave a quick twitch. "That’s fascinating. You ever end up in a Camerian bar, you’ll get free drinks all night telling stories like that."

  "I’ll keep that in mind," Conus replied, allowing the smallest hint of a smile.

  "Tomorrow, I’m in the guts of the ship," Klamarez said, a bit too eagerly. "I volunteered the second Veeda brought it up—couldn’t help myself."

  At that moment, a voice interrupted their exchange.

  "Colonel Taylen, may I have a moment with you in the medical bay?" Doctor Nira Aylen called from the medical bay’s entrance.

  She was compact, with dark hair cropped short and a face that didn’t quite give anything away, and eyes that peered through practical glasses with an unsettling intensity. Still, there was something in the way she moved—like she knew more than she let on, a sense of something concealed beneath her calm demeanor.

  "Certainly, Doctor," Conus replied, excusing himself from Klamarez with a nod.

  Conus followed Doctor Aylen into the medical bay. As they walked, he noticed her eyes lingering on him, as if she were assessing more than just his physical state. She waited until the door closed behind them before speaking.

  "I was hoping to speak with you tomorrow," Doctor Aylen began. "I’ve known of you for a long time, Colonel Taylen, and I’ve always wanted the chance to see how advanced your augments are firsthand. I’ve been curious about them for years. Would you permit me to scan them? Augments at this level are rare. Beginning a mission with a medical check-up is standard procedure, but where you’re concerned, it’s a medical curiosity."

  Conus, accustomed to such requests, nodded. But there was something about the way she phrased it.

  "Of course. But could I trouble you for something to ease this headache first?" he asked, the pain clear in his voice.

  Plenty of med personnel had wanted a closer look at his augments over the years.

  Such augments were prohibited within the Seven Worlds. They were allowed, in a sense—but not in the manner they had been applied to Conus.

  "Certainly, Colonel. Are these headaches frequent?" she inquired, her voice smooth as she prepared a dose of medication.

  "I’ve always had mild pain in my head now and then—a dull but manageable ache. But this is different. Lately I’ve been remembering things. Or dreaming them. It’s hard to sort out which. They bring on the headaches when I dwell on them too much."

  "New?" she asked.

  Conus explained that his past memories were fragmented and scarce, but now he was remembering new details.

  "That’s fascinating, Colonel—though I regret you have the pain." Doctor Aylen handed him a small vial containing a clear liquid. "This should help," she said, her smile faint, not quite reaching her eyes.

  Upon drinking, Conus felt immediate relief.

  Doctor Aylen leaned in slightly, "These memories—do they precede your accident? Before you were augmented?"

  The headache struck again, as if something in the question had triggered something dormant.

  "They’re from before," he said.

  Conus shared insights into his unique memory recall, describing how his reflections often bled into the present—less like remembering, and more like reliving them through the eyes of his younger self, as if caught in a lucid state he couldn't control.

  She blinked.

  Wrong. Too slow. And in that instant, her eyes became someone else’s.

  "Perhaps try thinking of something unrelated—something benign. That’s what they told you before, isn’t it?" There was no alarm in her tone, but the words still hit him sideways.

  "I was watching an old video," he said, slower now. "One I’ve watched many times before."

  "Why do you think you do that, Conus?" she said his name like they were friends.

  "It helps me relax," he replied.

  "Not all answers can be forced," she said, almost hypnotically, like she wasn’t just quoting advice.

  For a moment, Conus felt a peculiar sensation, as if he had heard those words before—spoken by another doctor, in another time.

  After completing the scan, Doctor Aylen said, "Thank you, Colonel. Honestly, I’m just very curious."

  "I understand, Doctor. It’s not something you see every day," he replied.

  "No, you are truly one of a kind," she said.

  "Thank you for the help, Doctor. The pain is nearly gone," Conus said. But his thoughts remained sharp, unsettled—the medicine had dulled the headache, but not what had caused it.

  "Don’t hesitate to drop back in if the pain continues or returns," Doctor Aylen added, her tone light.

  "If I experience any more pain, I’ll be sure to come by," Conus replied. But as he turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling—there was something she wasn’t saying. And somehow, part of him already knew.

  They exchanged a few words, formal and flat. Nothing that stayed with him. Conus decided to return to his quarters, though his thoughts remained tangled in the strange familiarity that lingered from their exchange.