Susan Delacourt, leader of the Wayfarer forces and commander of the Concord, watched a solar system flash into existence around her.
She wasn’t actually watching the birth of the universe, of course. In fact, she wasn’t even inside one of the observation blisters that were located on the outer hull of the massive carrier. The images she saw were only projections, helpfully supplied by the OMNI system. Located deep within the hull of the Concord, the OMNI still had access to every scanning, communications, and computational device in the fleet. As the ships of the Wayfarer fleet left cascade, all of those systems were now striving to provide a clear view of the system they had just entered.
To see the fleet leaving cascade directly was a strange thing, even to someone as used to spaceflight as she was. Normally, all exterior sensors and instruments on a ship travelling through resonance drive were shut down, to avoid damaging them through exposure to the wild and chaotic particles a ship encountered during the cascade. Anecdotes she’d heard during her time with the Directorate of Defense said that attempting to view the extradimensional energies hadn’t done much good to the minds of the observers either, though she usually hadn’t trusted that sort of story. It felt too much like the kind of tale that grows when ignorance and idleness were combined for extended periods, one that served more to cause fear than to warn against an actual danger.
Perhaps there had been more truth to the stories than she’d thought, however, for OMNI had specifically modified what she’d been able to see. Instead of a chaotic swirl of strange frequencies, she’d only seen complete blackness until the fleet had left the cascade and appeared in normal space.
Not that there was much to see when the darkness vanished. There were six planets this time, far fewer than the last two systems. Four of them were gas giants, surrounded by splinters of asteroids or comets that had wandered too close and been captured by the pull of their gravity. Though the ring systems on one of them looked interesting, and the mineral deposits scattered throughout the moons on the outermost seemed to promise the possibility of mining for fresh ore, none of them were habitable.
Of the two rocky planets, one was completely and totally useless. It was a burning speck of stone, spinning in an orbit far too close to the local star. The other was little better, shrouded as it was with a toxic atmosphere and temperatures hot enough to melt lead. Neither was a possible refuge for a fleet full of people. If they wanted to find new sources of food and water, they would have to look elsewhere.
She sighed and glanced around at her more immediate surroundings. OMNI had placed her on a ledge overlooking the upper portions of the Concord’s hull, and for a moment, she considered dismissing the illusion entirely and returning to the blank, metal room where she actually stood. Unlike Gabriel, she’d never enjoyed venturing outside a ship in extravehicular gear. Even a rig flight had not appealed to her during her time of service in the Directorate ranks, and as a result, Susan had seen surprisingly little of the stars with her own eyes. Usually, she’d been forced to make do with sensor inputs and other images displayed on screens deep within the ship’s interior.
Now, however, she paused. Looking out at the constellations of this new place, Susan felt a measure of the wonder that Gabriel had always mentioned when he tried to describe how it felt to fly in a rig. The immensity of the universe stretched out in all directions, punctuated by the pinpricks of light from distant stars. Each of them was an unknown sun, a frontier that the Known Worlds had never bothered to explore after the conflict with the Wild Colonies had begun. There had never been anyone with the motivation to do so, not when the Known Worlds had already encompassed so many planets ready to provide shelter and safety.
At least, until now.
Among the bright lights of the stars, there were other objects moving. Susan traced some of them, watching the ships of the Wayfarer fleet trail after her flagship. Concord had dragged an entire exodus along with her, and the ships of the civilian fleet were being joined by an increasingly ragtag military armada. OMNI began to identify each distant ship with hull numbers, names, and recent reports, but Susan waved the labels away. The last thing she wanted right now was a situational update. She’d had more than enough of those from the Council and her other responsibilities already.
As if summoned by her thoughts, an alert pinged through her connection to OMNI. She glared at the bright red window that appeared beside her, as if the system could be intimidated into neglecting its programming. Then, with another heavy sigh, she gestured at it. “Acknowledged. What is the situation?”
“Captain Wong has requested a mediation session. He is standing by on the Achilles for your arrival.”
Susan barely stopped herself from heaving another sigh. She took a moment to brace herself and then nodded. “I will be there.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
The signal vanished, and this time she allowed herself one more sigh.
Then the stars vanished. The wonder of the galaxy was replaced by the bland grey bulkheads of a Directorate craft. As an organization, the Directorate of the Known Worlds was a rather bland, unimpressive group. Their only hint of ostentation was an occasional splash of color meant to direct crewmen along the corridors. Despite the boring surroundings, she felt a little more at home than she did in the more brightly ornamented Wayfarer ships. Her current employers were a little too chaotic for her tastes sometimes, and the way they painted their craft reflected that fact.
Unfortunately, the people she now shared the compartment with ruined whatever comfort she might have drawn from the familiar, orderly bulkheads. There were four people present; in fact, they were rather more present than she was, given that they were all physically in the room. Two wore the security uniforms that the Wayfarers used for law enforcement personnel, a generic mixture of body armor and blue cloth. Both Wayfarers jumped in surprise when they caught sight of her. No matter how many times she appeared out of thin air, it always seemed to catch the enforcers off guard.
The other two people in the room were far more used to it, however. They both wore the somewhat battered uniforms of the Directorate, a drab set of greys to match the bulkheads. Though the rank insignia had been stripped away following their capture, it was startlingly obvious at a glance which of them had once held the command. The way Commander Hummel glanced at the Captain she had served under made it more than clear, at least to anyone who had served with the Directorate.
Captain Wong stood up from the table and offered her a short bow. He had never failed to be courteous to her, despite their circumstances. If she had not recognized the anger and contempt in his eyes, she might have even mistaken it for respect, rather than military protocol. “Admiral Delacourt. Thank you for responding so quickly.”
Susan nodded politely. She could play at the game of protocol just as well as he did. “Captain Wong. Commander Hummel.” Then she turned her attention to the Wayfarers. Names and ranks flickered into existence as OMNI supplied the details. “Sergeant Ibarra, Corporal Yi. May I ask what it is that you need?”
Both Wayfarers seemed taken aback a second time. The sergeant recovered first. “These prisoners requested a meeting with you to discuss the treatment of some of their friends. They claimed that…”
Commander Hummel spoke up, the ice in her voice clear. “The Captain can speak for himself, Sergeant.”
Corporal Yi glared back at her. “He isn’t a Captain of much, right now, is he?”
Hummel and Yi continued to glare at each other, at least until Wong laid a hand on Hummel’s shoulder. She blinked and then settled back in her seat. He shifted his gaze to look at Ibarra, inclining his head as if to indicate that the man could continue. The Wayfarer paused for a moment, as if uncertain if he should agree to go forward or not.
He shrugged to himself and continued. “They claimed they weren’t being given adequate rations. Said we were starving them.”
Susan gave him a nod. Then she shifted her gaze to Wong, who was looking back at her with the same veiled contempt as always. “Captain, do you have any evidence of these claims?”
There was a moment’s pause, and then Wong spoke. His calm, measured words showed little of what emotions were lurking beneath his professional façade. “The laws of war provide a standard allotment of food and water each day for every prisoner of war. My personnel have not received that allotment since we have been captured.”
The hotheaded corporal opened his mouth to respond, but Susan silenced him with a look. She turned her attention back to Wong. “Did the Directorate declare war on the Wayfarers, Captain Wong?”
Her question hung in the air as the Directorate officers stared back at her. Hummel looked shocked; Wong simply seemed to pull back into himself, retreating behind a blank expression. It was Hummel who finally broke the silence. “So you think that excuses holding back food and water from us? This kind of disgraceful behavior is—”
“The Wayfarer fleet is providing you with the same level of rations and water that the civilian personnel are receiving. Due to material losses taken in the battles before now, it is all that we have available.” She left unsaid that much of that damage had been caused by Directorate personnel under Captain Wong’s orders. Corporal Yi managed to grumble something under his breath, but Ibarra was the one who scowled him back into silence again.
Wong spoke again, his voice neutral. “Military personnel are traditionally given higher priority for rationing than civilians under Directorate policy.”
“Then I am fortunate to no longer need to comply with Directorate policy. Your commanding officer saw to that long before he abandoned you here.” Susan waited for a long moment to make sure the message had been received. Hummel’s jaw clenched as if the junior officer was fighting the urge to shout. Wong merely stared back at her with quiet hatred in his eyes.
The reference to Admiral Nevlin had obviously put salt in an open wound, but she couldn’t help grinding things in a little more. “Do you have other concerns, Captain Wong? I’m afraid that, unlike you, I still have a fleet to command, so my time here is limited.”
This time Hummel actually growled. A flash of pure rage swept across Wong’s bland features before he could suppress it. He had to take a few moments to regain control, and even then, there was a gratifying roughness to his voice. “No, Admiral. I would not want to keep you here.”
“Very well then.” Susan turned to the Wayfarers, trying to hide her own satisfaction with the exchange. The corporal was grinning at her openly, and even the sergeant seemed pleased, but it still seemed that she had let Gabriel’s habits rub off on her a bit too much. A true Directorate officer would never resort to taunting an imprisoned enemy—but then again, she was a long way from that part of her life, now.
“Sergeant, Corporal, please see to it that Captain Wong and Commander Hummel are escorted back to their quarters.” Then she paused. “Also, please make sure that the rations are being evenly distributed. I don’t want any mistakes.”
The Wayfarers both nodded, their enthusiasm fading a bit. Susan turned back to the Directorate prisoners and nodded once again.
Then the compartment faded away once more, replaced by the grated floor and blank walls of the OMNI chamber. She waited for a moment, looking around at the blank, unassuming bulkheads and allowed herself one final sigh. Her thoughts drifted for a moment, wondering how Gabriel was doing. It had been too long since they had had time to speak. He, at least, could probably enjoy some peace and quiet.
“Angel Boy!”
Gabe came to a sudden stop. It was a reflex his father had trained into him, and he deeply regretted it as the owner of the voice registered a heartbeat later. The last thing he needed was another discussion with her.
He ran a desperate eye over the busy rig bay for possible escape routes. There weren’t as many people in the bay as there should have been; only the RSR scout rigs were being prepped for launch, and the rest of the pilots hadn’t wanted to be here to see them off. With no chance to lose himself in a crowd, Gabe spotted an opening near the fuel cannisters and ammunition crates piled up nearby. Trying not to look obvious about it, he started towards them. It was a pretty good chance that he’d be able to lose her there.
“Hey! Angel Boy!”
There was a bit of anger in that shout now, and Gabe grunted. No time for subtlety after all. He broke into a jog, turning the corner behind the nearest crate. The others formed a satisfying maze, and he let himself grin as he took a few turns at random. The sounds of running feet behind him faded away quickly, and his grin widened. He took yet another turn, and the exit to the rig bay yawned invitingly just a few meters away.
He was nearly out of the crates when a lean, determined looking woman swung around the corner and glared at him. She crossed her arms as he skidded to a stop in front of her. “Did you have a nice run, Angel Boy?”
Despite himself, Gabe glanced backwards. “How did you—?”
“It’s easy to track someone down if you know where they are headed.” She jerked a thumb back over her shoulder at the exit to the bay, and then leaned against one of the ammunition crates. “Of course, you wouldn’t be trying to get away from little old me, would you?”
Gabe gave her a weary look. Then he straightened his shoulders and tugged at the sleeves of his uniform. The son of the Speaker of the Way was expected to be steadfast, after all, even if the Lord did seem content to challenge his patience now and again. “Of course not, Ms. Nakani. Is there something I could do for you?”
Nakani smirked, clearly not convinced by the act. She still wore the clothes that identified her as a former member of Bennett Securities, a mercenary group that had surrendered to the Wayfarers shortly before they had left the Known Worlds. If she was bothered by the fact that she was now a prisoner, it didn’t show in the way she looked him up and down before she spoke. “The Directorate queen told us we wouldn’t be flying again this week. What gives, Angel Boy? Did we not save enough of you in that last battle?”
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The casual nickname she’d given Susan was immediately aggravating, but Gabe forced himself to look past it. “You did just fine during the engagement, Ms. Nakani. We owe you a debt of gratitude for the lives you saved.” As she opened her mouth, he continued in a slightly colder tone. “It will go a decent way to paying off the debt you earned when you tried to kill all of us before that.”
She paused, as if surprised. Then she grinned. “Oh, come on, what’s a little firefight between friends?”
Gabe gave her a steady look. “We’re friends now, are we?”
“The best kind. After all, we both need each other.”
He rolled his eyes and brushed past her. “Not everyone is as ready to forgive and forget, Ms. Nakani.”
“What? I thought you Wayfarers were all about that kind of stuff!” She started after him, settling into her typical, ranging stride. He tried not to notice the other Wayfarers in the bay nudging each other and pointing him out. Apparently, his attempts to evade the mercenary were at least entertaining some people. “Look, even if we aren’t friends, at least see us as a resource. If my pilots don’t fly, they don’t train as well. The next time you need us, we might not save as many as we could.” She reached out and shoved him slightly. “Something I think you wouldn’t take for granted, since I’ve saved you enough times already.”
He stumbled slightly and then glared at her again. She merely folded her arms again and waited. Then he shook his head and sighed. “Ms. Nakani, we’re trying to save fuel. We can’t afford to send out more rigs than we already are. In fact, only the RSRs can fly until we manage to salvage more fuel or reach a colony site.”
She grimaced. “Fuel rations? So the bug drivers can fly, but my guys can’t?” One of the aforementioned ‘bug drivers’ must have overheard the remark from across the bay; she gave Nakani a glare that would melt hull armor, but the mercenary didn’t seem to notice.
Gabe folded his own arms and looked back at her. “That’s correct, Ms. Nakani. If you want to remain flying at all, you’ll just have to be patient.”
Her disgruntled expression didn’t bode well for the chances of that happening. “I thought I remembered someone giving me their word on this. We put ourselves on the line, and you keep us flying.”
He gave her a level look. “You are still a prisoner, Ms. Nakani. I don’t have to follow through with anything if I don’t want to.”
Nakani tilted her head to the side and grinned, looking almost like a hungry fox for a moment. “But I’ll bet your Wayfarer sense of honesty wouldn’t let you get away with it, now would it? Come on, give a girl a break. Just one flight? Maybe just for me?”
The abrupt switch in tone left Gabe feeling a bit off balance. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost have thought she was teasing him. “Look, I can’t authorize training flights, not until we have more fuel cells available.” He held up a hand to stop her complaints. “Your rigs will be prepped and ready to go, though, if anyone runs into trouble out here. I can guarantee that if anything exciting happens, you’ll be one of the first pilots out of the bays to respond. That’s the best I can do.”
She studied him for a moment, her expression calculating. Then she nodded. “Fine. If that’s the best I can get, then I’ll just have to find something else to occupy my time.” A smile far too innocent to be anything but malicious grew on her lips. “You said that we’d fly in an emergency, right? Just what kind of emergency would that be? Maybe some kind of explosion…”
Gabe snorted. “If I find out that you’re involved in anything like that, I’ll just ground you permanently. Maybe you should just find a good book and settle in for a while. We’ll find a place to put down roots before you know it.”
“If you need any recommendations, I have a few you could try.”
Gabe glanced over and grinned. Derek Taurus, one of Gabe’s oldest friends, was walking across the bay with a grin of his own.
Nakani looked back at Derek, clearly nonplussed. “As if a book could beat flying through space.” She threw up her hands in obvious frustration. “Do you Wayfarers even do anything for fun, or is it all hymns and praises with you fools?”
“Time may tell, Ms. Nakani. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Gabe gave Derek a quiet look of gratitude. His friend gave him a wink in return.
“Fine, fine. Remember, first out of the bay.”
“I promise.” Gabe watched her stalk towards the exit for the rig bay, muttering something under her breath, and then shook his head. He glanced again to make sure she was far enough away and then lowered his voice. “Thanks for the assist.”
“No problem. That’s what friends are for, after all.” Derek threw an arm around Gabe’s shoulders and started walking him back towards the part of the bay where the scout rigs were waiting. “And as a friend…”
Gabe came to a stop, exasperation clear on his face. “No. We’re on fuel rations, same as everybody else.”
A plaintive expression crossed Derek’s face. “But Gabe, if we stay cooped up here, we’re—”
“Say one more word and I’ll send you for a flight without a rig.” Gabe slugged him in the shoulder, though not hard enough to mean it.
Derek merely rubbed the spot and chuckled. “Alright, alright, I get it. Sheesh, what a grump.” Then the humor faded a little. “Actually, I came down here to get you to go talk to IntCent again. They want some more details on those alien friends of yours.”
Gabe grunted, wanting to slug him again. “I’ve already told them everything I know already. There’s no use making me go through it all again—for the tenth time.”
“Oh please. The ninth time, at most.” Derek dodged another swipe and shrugged. “Hey, what can I say? They are a little nervous about how easily your buddies incapacitated half a Directorate assault fleet. Maybe they think we might be next.”
With a groan, Gabe rubbed at his eyes. “I told them they aren’t going to jump us like that. They have no reason to. We haven’t attacked them like the Directorate did. Besides, we haven’t even seen any sign of them since the battle.”
“Outside of a few cascade traces, of course.” Derek held his hands up as Gabe gave him a sharp look. “Hey, don’t blame me for the fact that the rumor mill is still alive and kicking. I know Delacourt wanted it kept quiet, but people are going to talk—especially when they are worried.”
He continued scowling at Derek for a heartbeat longer and then gave it up with a grunt. The information should have been contained inside of IntCent and the command personnel of the fleet, but he had known it would get out. His people were many things, but the Wayfarers were no Directorate drones. Like Derek said, people talked. “So, are there any other rumors going around then? Anything I should be worried about?”
“Nothing any worse than what you probably already know.” Derek shrugged uncomfortably. “There’s talk about the aliens, and the Directorate. People are a little worried that the Known Worlds will come after us again, especially since one of them got away.”
“Yeah. Sloppy of us, I guess.” Gabe grinned. It felt a little hollow. “Go on.”
“Some people are wondering if Delacourt’s going to go off the deep end. Plenty of people are talking about that teleporting thing she does. Some are even calling it forbidden tech, straight out of the Burning Times.” Derek snorted in amusement. “Not a lot of people give that one much credit, though. At least, not any more than the ones that are starting to say your dad has dragged us out here to die.”
Gabe grunted again. Not many people were willing to even whisper doubts about his father around him, a fact that both bothered him and made him perversely satisfied. At least they knew where his loyalties lay. “Okay, so lots of conspiracy theory stuff. About what you’d expect, given what people are going through.” He paused, looking at Derek a bit more. His friend looked a little uncertain. “So, tell me what they’re really worried about.”
Derek blinked, and Gabe tried hard to ignore the flicker of surprise in his expression. He knew he wasn’t much for deep thoughts, but he was his father’s son, and one thing Clark had tried to teach him was that whatever gossip people spread, it was rarely their real fears. The real things that scared them went unspoken; the rest was just a distraction, a smokescreen for the threats they were too frightened to say out loud. Gabe had learned that lately, especially in the past few weeks. So, he watched Derek and waited, giving his friend time to answer.
When Derek spoke, his voice was low. His expression didn’t show anything resembling the good humor he’d shown earlier. “Between all the rumors and theories, they keep coming back to the rations, Gabe. The rations, and the fact that we don’t know where we are going.”
He felt a brief burst of frustration bubble up. “The people on Surveyor are—”
“They know all about that, Gabe. There’s too many people going over the data there to keep that quiet, either.” Derek’s face might as well have belonged to a hangman. “And you know just as well as the rest of us they are working with data that might as well be a storybook. There are falsified records, incomplete surveys, bad technical data. The Surveyor took some hits in the last few fights; some of their instruments got damaged.”
Gabe shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “They are doing the best that they can, Derek.”
“I know that—but they can’t tell us where we will find our new home. Or if there is even a home out there to find.” Derek let out a slow sigh. He looked around the bay, as if to double check that there were no eavesdroppers close enough. “Things might have been better if Harvest and Fountain hadn’t been hit so badly, but with the supplies and water half gone…”
Derek trailed off, and Gabe found himself nodding slowly. Space was not a kind place. Without water and food, the Wayfarers would starve out amongst the stars. They had planned for that need, had stored up plenty of supplies for their journey. If they had been able to keep to their plans, the fleet would have had years to search for their new refuge.
As it was, the fleet was looking at starvation in a matter of weeks, if not days. Gabe felt the weight of that future settle around him, despite a part of him insisting that the Lord would never let them die that way. There had to be something they could do.
He brought his head up and met Derek’s eyes. His friend was watching him, a faintly worried expression on his face. Gabe forced himself to smile again, this time little more than a baring of teeth. “We need to work harder to give them something to depend on. Try to emphasize what we are finding out there; make sure every fuel source and promising sign get talked about more than how stuff is running low. This is an enemy; it’s our duty to fight it, just like anything else.”
Derek shifted slightly. “I know, Gabe, but I’m just a rig pilot. I’m nobody’s morale officer.”
“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I do.” Gabe reached out and grabbed Derek by the shoulder, making his friend look him in the eyes. “But that’s not all we can be—and it isn’t all that they need from us. We can do this. Alright?”
For a moment, Derek’s lips twisted. Then he rolled his eyes and groaned. “Alright, fine, you doofus.” He thumped Gabe on his shoulder as he pulled free. “I gotta head back to the rest of the pilots, and I’ll pass the word along. Make sure you stop by IntCent so I don’t get in trouble, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Gabe kept smiling until Derek disappeared through the hatch to the rig bay. Then he glanced at where the rest of the Wayfarers were definitely not watching him across the bay. He waved at them and called out. “Keep your eyes sharp out there today!”
The scout pilots waved back, and some of them seemed to relax a bit. He kept the smile on his face until he turned away. His mind was still troubled, filled with the reality of the situation. There had to be a way out of the situation—but how was he going to find it?
The man known as Mr. Grey stepped out of the side corridor and studiously wiped his hands with a damp cloth.
He studied the corridor as he cleansed himself, noting the cheerful paint and odd, swirling decorations. The ship was named the Faithful Heart, a former medical ship of some kind. Not a military ship, by any means; indeed, it was built by the standards of the AstroHealth Foundation, a defunct medical consortium that once provided care to indentured asteroid miners throughout the Known Worlds. The company had gone bankrupt following certain indiscretions. Perhaps that had been how the heretics had acquired the vessel.
Mr. Grey wiped the last of the blood clean and set his idle theories aside. It was time for more serious business. He started down the corridor, searching for the airlock he had noticed previously. He only paused for a moment beside a trash receptacle, where he shoved the filthy cloth before continuing on his journey.
What a journey it had been. The failure of the Directorate forces to dispose of the heretics had been an unforeseen problem, one that had compelled him to adapt his plans. It had taken some work to assume the identity of a Directorate crewman—one who, fortunately, he had been able to make sure had not survived the battle. From there, he had needed to identify a suitable secondary target, a sympathetic heretic guard. An arranged accident had injured a fellow Directorate prisoner, and the simple ruse that he was the injured man’s comrade had convinced the heretics to allow him to follow his ‘friend’ to the Faithful Heart.
While the heretics wasted their resources on a wounded enemy, Mr. Grey had disposed of the inattentive guard assigned to him, and then both the medical personnel and the prisoner as well. All told, it had been the work of nearly two days. Slow, compared to the expected pace for most operations, but the circumstances were extreme.
He had nearly reached the airlock when the Contact spoke. It took him by surprise; he had been lax in tracking the time since his capture. Sloppy, inexcusably so.
AGENT GREY-00295, ITERATION BETA. REPORT STATUS.
Mr. Grey paused, his heart hammering in his chest. Speaking with the Contact was never an easy experience, and the pain in his skull would take some time to fade. He knew better than to delay, however. It was better to endure the Contact’s voice than try to escape it. Those who failed to learn that lesson rarely survived for long.
He focused, concentrating on the mental training that had been drilled into him since his second birth. agent grey-00295 reporting all deference and respect secondary objective nonviable directorate task force no longer effective vector agent not compromised remain secure now proceeding on primary mission object—
His thoughts were still rushing through his mind when the Contact’s voice slammed through him a second time.
AGENT GREY-00295, SECONDARY OBJECTIVE RESULTS ARE ACKNOWLEDGED. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE UNFULFILLED. UNACCEPTABLE RESULT.
Mr. Grey felt his eyes twitch. He had heard it before, directed at other agents. They had not survived long. It was an effort to keep panic from his thoughts; focus was difficult in such circumstances. remain uncompromised mission capable already securing new vector for primary mission objective
ACKNOWLEDGED.
The silence that followed was deafening. For an instant, Mr. Grey wondered if it was a measure of how much distance there was between him and his Contact. He quickly banished that thought. No matter where he went, the Contact would follow. That was the way of things. It was how things should be.
He waited for a moment longer. When the Contact did not return, he let out a brief sigh of relief. Mr. Grey returned to his search for the airlock. Once there, he could arrange for an incident to—
AGENT GREY-00295, ASSET DATA RELEASED. UTILIZE LOCAL RESOURCES TO ACCOMPLISH PRIMARY MISSION. DO NOT FAIL.
The pain faded slowly, and he found himself leaning against the nearest bulkhead. His legs shook slightly, but he ignored it as a flood of data filled his mind. It was difficult to parse immediately, but he knew his subconscious was already hard at work, making sense of the information now seared into the meat of his mind. Something pattered on his hand, and he glanced down to find a small dribble of blood flowing from a nostril.
He sniffed, dabbing at the spot. Then he straightened and continued. He could see the airlock just ahead. It was a standard design, one that was common throughout the Known Worlds. There were no security devices installed on the opening—at least, none that went beyond the standard warning mechanisms meant to warn the ship in case of a catastrophic failure—and they would be quickly disabled.
Once breached, the airlock would cause a catastrophic amount of damage to the nearby area. Decompression would account for many of the heretics. It would be easy enough for them to dismiss the bodies he had already created among that mayhem. Now all he needed was the power to cause such a delayed rupture.
When the last alarm was disabled, Mr. Grey straightened up and pulled up his left sleeve. His lower forearm was revealed as having the same simple flesh as his face. Such comforting familiarity ended at the elbow, where the primitive meat and bone had been replaced by a complicated cylinder that mimicked a normal limb, but provided so much more. It continued up to his shoulder, where the flesh began again, but the arm would give him everything he needed.
He pressed a spot partway up the arm, and a compartment opened. Mr. Grey pulled out a small rectangular block that he could hold between two fingers and pressed it to the surface of the airlock. It adhered to the surface easily, pressing against the metal as if it were made of a child’s toy putty. A small cylinder with a miniature wire followed, which he stuck in the block with the wire poking out.
Stepping away from the airlock, Mr. Grey surveyed his handiwork. It was a crude arrangement, but it would do for the time being. He had work to do, and only a fool waited until things were perfect before making a move. Perfection had to be earned.
The thought made Mr. Grey smile. He walked away from the airlock, mentally tracking the distance between him and the device he had left behind. By his estimation, he would have to be about thirty meters from the blast to survive. It was his intention to be just barely further than that distance before causing the breach. In the resulting chaos, he could easily slip away, acquire a new set of clothing, and a new identity. From there, he could make his way to his next destination.
His smile grew as he walked. The failure of Admiral Nevlin and his underlings to destroy the heretics might have hampered his mission, but it had not stopped it. The Contact had declared that these archaic subversives would be destroyed, and so they would be. He would be the instrument of their judgement, and none of them would see him coming. Not until it was far, far too late.