SHAD POV

I was standing in the antechamber of an ancient progenitor structure with Patriarch Kvaltash and his team of archaeologists, arguing about whether I'd provided them adequate security, when the call came in. It was from Juana.

Shad, you need it back here ASAP. Problems with Proxima.

Understood, I replied, then turned back to the Patriarch and bowed. "Your Reverence, we've already escorted your team through multiple difficulties and gotten you to this antechamber. I'm going to provide two teams to stand guard while you investigate this place, with another ready to pop in if you disturb some ancient Progenitor spirits or some such. But I don't need to tie up more of my assets while you're digging into a museum. Nothing here has suggested a higher threat rating. When you’re ready to move on, we’ll reconsider.”

"One of your so-called security teams is clearly more interested in the study and archaeology of this place than in seeing to our protection," the Patriarch said stiffly. "While I appreciate that the children of Kronos share my interest in delving deeper into the secrets of the Progenitors, it should not be done at the expense of our actual security."

"Look, Henry's a Combat Archaeologist, all right," I snapped. "And Evie is an Unholy Reference Librarian with a specialization in Necronomicons. Their combat ratings are in the 80th percentile. Plus, they've got the Gunslinger and the Seedy Local Native Guide to back them up. You'll be fine."

I had picked the squad specifically for this mission. All of them had been academics back on Earth before being abducted at the start of the Kronos exploit. They had chosen classes related to their Earth specializations and then discovered they had to weaponize them, but their keen academic minds and class specializations made them perfect for this job. Kvaltash was right. We humans did want to delve into the secrets of the Progenitors, but that didn't mean Kvaltash wasn't getting his money's worth. The other squad were some of our best mercenaries, and I’d put them up against almost any threat without sweating.

I held up a hand. "Look, the third squad is on 24/7 standby and can be here four minutes after you send a distress call. If you miss any of your scheduled check-ins, we will be there."

Kvaltash grumbled, but he really had nothing to complain about.

"I've got to get back," I said and unceremoniously left.

This had been my last three days, constantly putting out fires and interfacing between my teams and people who thought they weren't doing their jobs well enough.

Colonel Marona had sent me a message complaining that not enough of my specialists were available to work with him. I pointed out that the mission timeline had been set months ago. We had always planned on doing these civilian-focused missions first.

Establishing our crafters and getting them up and running would be key to our long-term operations here at the rogue engine. We needed to be self-sufficient and not have to buy whatever scraps the Galactics would sell us. The EEF already had pre-empt contracts with most of our crafters, giving them the ability to buy up anything Dwight and his small army of workers could build. Colonel Marona was just one of the old-school army types who hadn't quite made the jump into how things work in the galaxy.

For the Galactics, the idea of any country or planet having its own government-sponsored military was ludicrous. They had militias for home defense and hired mercenaries to protect company interests. Proxima had enough warriors on its payroll to be an army itself. I didn't know what Earth society would look like in a couple of decades, and I wasn't eager for them to emulate the Galactics, but we'd already seen a lot of changes, and there would be more coming. We needed to be flexible and adapt. The line between civilian and military was getting blurrier by the day.

I left the Progenitor zone and returned to the Ad Astra. Grandpa met me in one of the small briefing rooms. A minute later, Juana and Major Armstrong entered.

"We lost multiple teams in the Elf Court War zone," Grandpa said without preamble.

"Lost? What do you mean?" I asked sharply. "I thought that we had a no-death-penalty rule set."

"Proxima's Dominator has been fighting against us for control of that zone," Juana said. "Coyote's been keeping our foothold open with the help of Leonardo, but when our teams got ambushed, Proxima's Dominator managed to snag their soul coins. Until we get those back under our control, we can't force a respawn."

"How many teams are we talking about?" I asked. "How do we get them back?"

"We lost four complete squads of EEF personnel and one of your special teams," Grandpa said. "The Gamers."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I closed my eyes. Another gut punch. Was this my fault because I had sent them in knowing they didn't have an effective commander? "So how do we get them back?"

"We're going to have to negotiate," Juana said. "I'm setting up a meeting right now. It will take place inside the zone. Proxima has given us certain guarantees that our envoys will be returned safely to us."

"And we're trusting them?" I spat.

"We don't really have a choice, Shad," Juana said quietly.

“Fine. So who's going?"

"They specifically asked for you and me," Juana said. "And it's going to be an elf ball, so we're expected to dress the part."

Major Armstrong cleared his throat. "I suggest we should refuse to meet. The two of you make much more compelling hostages."

"And leave our people in their hands?" I demanded. Not that I wanted to meet with Proxima, but I wasn’t ready to just turn my back on Colin’s team.

"Why not turn the tables?" Armstrong suggested. "Let's lure some of theirs into a region we control and acquire their soul coins. Then we can do a prisoner swap."

I liked the sound of that better than walking into negotiations with those assholes from Proxima. I looked at Grandpa, who shook his head.

"We're going to be here for a long time," he said quietly. "We need to get some ground rules established. Proxima is still smarting from what we did to them back at Ganymede. We don't want to escalate. Right now, they're playing by the rules, such as they are. They've invoked certain codes guaranteeing your safe return. If they break them, we can haul them in front of a council of adjudicators."

"And you think they'll rule in our favor?" I asked skeptically.

"I think I can make a compelling case for us," Juana said. She did have that galactic law expertise, after all, but I wasn’t expecting we’d get a fair hearing.

"Not if we're being held hostage.”

She sighed. "It's a risk, Shad, but I think it's one we have to take."

I subsided. It was clear the decision had already been made. I looked at Grandpa and saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Don't be petulant," he said.

"I'm not petulant," I said. I let out a long breath. "Sorry. It's been a hell of a week, and that's Colin's team they've got there. I feel responsible."

Grandpa nodded. "I know. Go get 'em, kids."

"I would really feel better if I could wear my drover’s coat," I said, tugging at the dress uniform jacket as Juana and I entered the Fae Court zone. My wife at least looked the part in an off-the-shoulder lilac dress that flowed around her hips and legs, shifting and sparkling with every twitch of the fabric. She wore a brilliant diamond necklace and a pair of matching bracelets. Diamonds and gold were just another thing reality engines could conjure out of raw matter. Diamonds had lost their value, but not their beauty.

"If we have to shoot our way out, it's in your inventory," Juana said comfortingly.

I was wearing my gun belt. Fashion be damned, but I wasn't going anywhere without my six-gun. We strolled along a lane between two rows of silver-barked trees. The branches arched overhead, covered in golden leaves. Not yellow, actually golden. They had a metallic sheen to them, and nestled amongst them were tiny white flowers that gleamed with light.

Elven guards stood at intervals of every ten feet or so on both sides of the path. They bowed as we went past. They were dressed in long red and blue patterned jackets, kind of like French palace guards in the reign of their opulent kings. They all had long polearms tipped with golden blades that were beautiful and yet, I was sure, very deadly. Both men and women had long flowing hair but no beards.

About a quarter mile away, the lane was blocked by a pair of golden gates. As we approached, the delicate-looking metalwork gates swung open. We were bowed inside by more guards and then met by a very snooty-looking elf servitor wearing a white and gold jacket in the same style as the guards.

"Your invitation?"

Juana handed him a card. He looked it over and nodded. "Guild President Lopez-Williams, Captain Williams, welcome. I shall announce you."

He preceded us as we entered the compound. The walls were pearly white with twinkling lights of purple and blue set in them. The enclosure was a garden with trees and flowering shrubs everywhere. Little paths meandered here and there.

Our guide led us along one path until it opened into a central court, still outdoors. White stones were fitted together to form a floor, and delicate golden chairs lined the edges. At the head of the room was a long table at which the elf royalty lounged. Guards were bringing them platters piled high with grapes the size of my fist, apples the size of my thumb, beautiful purple flowers that I watched one woman take and eat one petal at a time, and all manner of different food. It looked mostly vegetarian to me. A trio of musicians were tuning up stringed instruments in a corner.

Our guide led us down to the center of the room, then loudly announced, "Head of the Misfits Guild, Lady Juana Lopez Williams, and her escort, Captain Williams of the Earth Expeditionary Force."

There was mild applause, and then the music started up as Juana curtseyed and I made my bow.

"What are we supposed to do now?" I hissed.

"Mingle, and our contact will find us," Juana said as the floor flooded with dancing couples.

They weren't all elves. To my surprise, I saw several Talonians and a couple of orcs, clearly galactics by the way they were dressed. Then through the crowd, standing on the other side, I spotted someone I knew. I dropped Juana's hand.

"Where are you going?" she hissed.

"I have to speak to him."

"He's not who we're here to see."

"I have to speak to him,” I said again.

I strode through the crowd, not caring if I interrupted the dancers, until I stood in front of Mak'gar, First Warrior of the Firebrand Orcs. His eyes widened as he recognized me. I bowed my head to him and pressed my hands together in what I had learned in these last few years was a common galactic signal of respect.

"Mak'gar, let me convey my sympathies." It was as inane and inadequate as everything everyone had said to me over the last week, but at the moment I couldn’t think of anything better. “Your son was a good man. I am sorry.”

His face twisted. For a moment, I wasn't sure if he was going to rip my head off or weep. Then he reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me in. He patted me on the back, then stepped back.

"It is a shared sorrow, Shad Williams. We will see our vengeance before we are done here."

I wasn't really sure what kind of vengeance you could get on a fragment of a reality engine, but I nodded. Juana arrived. She nodded respectfully to Mak'gar. “First Warrior, I greet you. Shad, we need to—"

“So there you are," said a familiar voice.

I turned.