Weslan Genny stumbled as he ran through a cold mountain valley. The uphill slope stretched for miles ahead, but no matter hard he climbed, he never reached the top. The footing was loose, and shale and pebbles always tripped him up. Sometimes, he saw giant boulders on the path and he tried to hide behind them, but the creatures cowering there hissed and shooed him away.

She was hunting him again. Whenever he stopped, he saw movement in the shadows, and he raced to get away.

But she kept getting closer.

Weslan ran, and it felt like he would never stop running. A voice told him that if he could only turn once and confront what was behind him, he would be free of her. But he didn’t dare. He was doomed to run.

“Coward,” spat the shadow, as she closed on him, reaching out spectral arms to trap him.

Caught, Weslan fell to the ground where he was pinned by a horrific black shape. Now she had him, and she would eat his insides.

“Worthless,” she spat in his face. “Miserable wretch.”

“No!” Weslan screamed as claws tore at his face and stomach.

Sharp blades ripped through his flesh, as teeth bit into his arm. They ground down hard, shattering bone and ripping muscle and tendons. Weslan tried to shout again as his hand went numb, but another hand grabbed his jaw. He watched in horror as the limb morphed into a spike, and the shadow raised it over his face, poised to strike down.

“Weslan!” she called in a harsh voice, as cold as the void.

He awoke to a cold sweat, and bed sheets wrapped in knots around his legs. The clock on the bedstand read 4.a.m. A glass of water helped him calm down, though he kept the light on as he tried to get back to sleep. He probably wouldn’t. Some nights he would lie awake for hours, thinking of nothing while waves of electricity shook his body.

That was his life since the crash. He didn’t remember it, but a kindly female doctor had explained everything to him and his father. Weslan’s employer had been flying him and his colleagues through the mountains of Caldera, until their transport had suffered engine failure and attempted a crash landing.

Weslan and his fellow passengers, they were told, were all very lucky to walk away with mild cases of amnesia. Tragically, his former girlfriend, Rose Djallen, had been killed. There was barely enough of her left to bury. Strangely, Weslan didn’t cry at the news, but felt only calm acceptance. None of them could remember much about the several months they had spent working for a top-secret laboratory, sponsored by the Helvetic League’s military.

Once in a while, scraps of memory came flashing back. There were tunnels and caves, and crystals the size of a house. Weslan wasn’t able to make sense of the confusing images, but one kept flooding back to haunt his nightmares. The dark woman. She walked through his mind whenever she wanted, attacking him, laughing at him. Everything he did and thought, she watched, and judged.

The worst part was the constant sensation that he had to flee. To his father’s disappointment he left Caldera, finding work in a research lab on Raisa. Then he had provoked a furious argument by abandoning the field of biology, in which he had distinguished himself since his school days.

“You’re walking away from your destiny, you stupid boy,” his father had yelled at him through the video link. “Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve done for you over the years, and now you think you’re too good for it?”

Weslan couldn’t reply. There was no way to explain his decision. There were rationalizations, and guesses, but the only thing that mattered was that he couldn’t sit still. She would catch up with him. Instead, he chose to apply for a job in one of the League’s regulatory offices.

“You were always a troublesome child,” his father said bitterly. “I’m not surprised your mother left.”

Weslan wanted to hurt him then, and tell him that he was a cruel, miserable liar, obsessed only with his own legacy. But he couldn’t. He knew from experience that nothing he said would be heard.

After that call, Weslan began to read. He consumed everything he could about society, crime, politics and war. The knowledge brought him the conclusion he wanted to find. His willpower was nothing. He was like a mouse, watching the world from a hideaway, while clumsy, foolish humans stomped about in their pointless lives. In the near distance, the dark lady cheered his discovery.

When he didn’t feel fear, he felt spite. Cold, sneering, hateful spite. He couldn’t stop—it was like a disease. The dark lady told him that he was right to hate. He saw the truth that most people were too cowardly to see: the cruelty that formed the bedrock of their world.

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Then he received a call that stunned him. Hieron Djallen, Rose’s father, wanted him to travel to Earth. A private yacht had been arranged for a direct transit from Raisa. Weslan couldn’t even imagine the level of power and influence required to make that happen. Hieron was the most powerful fusion magnate in the frontier systems, but surely not part of the core world’s inner circle? And even if he was, what could such people want with his daughter’s much less distinguished ex-boyfriend? Of course he couldn’t refuse.

The flight took several days, which Weslan spent in his stately cabin, reading, when he could manage to calm his mind. When he had to get out, he paced the deck, deep in thought, and ignoring the dutifully servile crew. The staggering opulence of the vessel and its many entertainments meant as much to him as a cardboard replica, and his only concern was the eternal question of what he must do next.

Bypassing entirely the normal interstellar border controls, the Yacht landed outside Geneva. Vineyards and mansions sprawled across an undulating landscape. A classic electric powered vehicle drove Weslan towards an almost seamless mountain wall stretching from one horizon to another. The road took them through a gap that split the range in two, where a deep canyon wound its way through the imposing contours. High on the shoulder of one massif, a fortress jutted out over luscious green forests, and the vivid blue river below.

The silent driver led him over a drawbridge, and through the fort’s main gate where grim faced security guards took possession of him. They ushered him into a secure room where he was scanned and interrogated about anyone he met on his journey. Then, they showed him the way into a courtyard, where a smiling butler greeted him, and wished him a most pleasing visit to the Fort l’Ecluse, private home to the Cardinal of the Adjudicate.

Weslan’s mind went into overdrive. A military project had failed, and he had been involved. He had betrayed his father, and left Caldera. His flight from Rackeye, the fledgling capital of the League’s frontier presence, could only be seen as desertion from his duty as a Helvetic citizen. Now the Adjudicate’s cultural enforcers would want to make an example of him to the whole galaxy.

The butler led him deeper into the fort, and then the mountain itself, following a long tunnel that brought them to an elevator. Weslan fought for rationality to win out over his rising anxiety. They didn’t need to bring him to Earth with such expense to make an example out of him. They certainly wouldn’t want to involve Hieron, who had received an outpouring of grief and condolences from the galaxy at large over the accident. In any case, what good would fear do him when he was completely in their power? On Earth, a citizen couldn’t cross the street without being scanned by a dozen security checkpoints.

After a short wait, the elevator doors opened to reveal a hallway of sumptuous decoration. Gold-framed portraits lined the walls, interrupted by evenly spaced marble columns. Plants and flowers that were considered a luxury on Caldera blossomed from alcoves. The butler gestured to a large, well-lit room ahead, then left Weslan to continue alone.

Pulse humming, he stepped forward into a wide lounge that looked out on a breathtaking view of the landscape. In the distance, the gleaming towers of Geneva crowded the skyline, capped by the sharp mountain peaks beyond.

“Do you like it?” a voice said.

Weslan looked around to see a cheerful, middle-aged woman reclining on a sofa. She got up, smoothed her dress, then stepped towards him.

“The fort was renovated by one of my predecessors, Murayama the third. It used to be so dull and utilitarian. I imagine it had a historical use, but I don’t see what bland lumps of concrete have to tell us about the past, other than that people like to kill each other.”

“Uh…” Weslan stammered. “Madam Cardinal, it’s an honor to meet you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s Cardinal Crayland, actually. The title is gender neutral. I imagine you’re wondering why I brought you out here?”

“Yes, I can’t imagine… well, yes.”

“Mr Djallen will join us in a moment; I just sent him a message. I have no doubt that he will show his strong attachment to you. But I wanted to make sure you understood that I have no such interest. I serve the League, Mr Genny, and its hundred billion citizens. Their lives and prosperity matter much more to me than my own. And yours.”

Weslan swallowed. Her blunt introduction was almost reassuring, even if it foreshadowed a difficult future. Here at last he had found someone who talked sense, instead of denying the terror of existence. But she also obviously expected to do something about it, and he wanted to hear more.

“Yes, Cardinal Crayland. I understand.”

She smiled again, and ushered him into a chair, before sitting down opposite him.

“Your doctor has provided me with a report on your health. Insomnia, night terrors, and anxiety, he said.”

Weslan nodded, even as he suppressed a flush of anger at the violation of his privacy. It didn’t matter. Something was going to happen.

“Yet you refused all medication,” she continued. “Do you drink?”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

“Absolutely not.”

Crayland looked at him with curiosity and leaned forward. “Why?”

Weslan had to think for a moment before understanding. So many of his decisions now came through instinct. “I don’t like the idea that my mind is dependent on a chemical to function. It’s a weakness.”

“Indeed?” Crayland said as her eyebrows raised. “Are you Helvetic idealism personified? How about your fitness?”

“I run.” Weslan did his best to ignore the cackling of the dark lady in the background.

“What do you remember about Allana Rayker?”

A bolt of lightning seared through his mind, but left only shock and pain in its wake. The name meant something, even if he couldn’t grasp anything substantial. Even stranger, the dark lady’s cackling had ceased, and she was watching him in silence.

“I…” He stopped and thought hard, but couldn’t find any words that would be useful. “Nothing. I’m sorry—I recognize the name, but I don’t know why.”

Crayland watched him with cold, suspicious eyes. Then there was the crash of a door flying open, and Hieron Djallen was striding into the room, his face full of concern. Weslan stood and was shocked to find himself grabbed in a bear hug.

Hieron’s words flew quickly. “Weslan, by god, I am so happy to see you here; we’ve been so worried about you since the funeral. Awful to hear about you and your father—I tried to talk sense into him, but he can be such a damned fool. How is Raisa? How are you doing? Please sit down, let’s hear everything. Cardinal, can’t we get something to eat and drink?”