CHAPTER 30

Rhyus

The Rhyus System, Karbay Nolan Sector

Date: Zeran 27, Year 4731

The Seeker shuddered as it pierced Rhyus’s atmosphere, its frame trembling from the descent. Dark blue exhaust, streaked with violet, trailed from its dual Verta Fighter Craft engines as it surged forward. Its silver hull, marked by an orange stripe, stood out against the black of space, which, as the Seeker continued its descent, thinned to a dusky blue. The stars faded as the planet’s upper atmosphere swallowed them.

Below, the city stretched out—a vast, sprawling metropolis covering an entire continent, a massive landmass surrounded by ocean.

Garen let out a slow breath. He’d never expected to see this city again—never intended to.

Rhyus wasn’t his home anymore, though truthfully, it never was. The last place he had called home was his cabin, buried in Chiex’s cold forests. That, too, had been taken from him.

Klamarez, wide-eyed, took in the sight of Rhyus City for the first time. He had spent years traveling across the galaxy while working on trade ships, but in all his travels, he had never seen anything quite like Rhyus.

Conus barely glanced at the view, his focus shifting between the TRACE display and the other screens, monitoring the ships around them and scanning incoming data. His augmented eye refocused, absorbing and sorting through data streams in an instant. He had seen this sight many times before—having been on Rhyus just days ago, before setting out to bring Garen back.

Around them, vessels followed designated traffic lanes as the Seeker merged into a lane descending. As the Seeker continued its descent, Rhyus City sprawled beneath them, unmatched by any other population center on the planet.

As they went lower, Rhyus City’s skyline of towering skyscrapers was dominated by the Arcology, a structure that stood taller, broader, and plunged deeper into the earth than any other. It was a world unto itself, in some ways a city within a city, where residents rarely needed to leave, surrounded by everything they could possibly require. Its mirrored surface reflected the sky.

Among the skyscrapers were the headquarters of countless corporations. These corporate giants fueled the economy of the Seven Worlds and shaped its politics and technology—many with a reach well beyond the Rhyus System.

As the Seeker banked into another designated traffic lane, a monolithic circular structure came into view—the Parliament Building of the Seven Worlds of Rhyus. Surrounded by a wide, verdant expanse of grass and monuments, its towering dome rose high above the ground.

The Seeker descended toward the RDF command complex. The cityscape gave way to a fortified buffer zone. The sprawling, multi-level structure dominated the landscape, its high-rise towers branching from a central core like a fortress. Watchtowers, turrets, and surveillance systems tracked every movement, ensuring tight security. A secure perimeter enclosed the complex, reinforced by patrols and land-to-air energy turrets stationed atop towering pillars.

Within the security area was a visitor accommodation complex. Beside the main structure, a spacious courtyard led to a multi-tiered parking area for land-based vehicles. A long, extended landing zone provided space for shuttles and other spacefaring craft.

As the Seeker neared, RDF command granted further clearance, guiding it to its designated landing pad. Garen maneuvered the ship toward the expansive platform, large enough to accommodate military vessels, shuttles, and transport craft. A shuttle lifted off as they approached, while a passenger ship touched down nearby, releasing a group of officers who quickly disappeared into waiting vehicles.

Garen guided the Seeker down. The landing gear extended, locking into place as the stabilizers engaged.

A shared, unspoken thought settled over the crew. What came next? For Conus, the mission had been clear: bring Garen to Rhyus. Klamarez’s task had been to ferry both Garen and Conus safely here, his ship the vessel of their arrival. But for Garen, the biggest question remained—what was this all about?

As the Seeker’s engines whined into silence, his pulse quickened. The stillness amplified every doubt.

Rising from their seats, Garen, Klamarez, and Conus exchanged a silent acknowledgment. They had made it.

At the rear of the ship, Klamarez shut down the systems. The Seeker’s displays dimmed one by one, fading to black.

"Thank you, old friend." Garen met Klamarez’s eyes. "Building a ship from scratch and flying it all the way here—few could have pulled that off."

Klamarez, momentarily caught off guard by the praise, nodded. "Thank you, Garen. I have to admit, this wasn’t what I had in mind when I started building her. Still, I’m glad it all worked out—it was quite the little adventure we had. Got plenty of stories to tell."

His mind briefly drifted to the Vanicktus Syndicate. His issues with them were far from over—if anything, they might have just begun.

Conus extended his hand, a quiet mechanical shift beneath the movement of his augmented right arm. “Thank you, Klamarez. I couldn’t have completed my mission without your help.”

It struck Garen for a moment—he was the mission. Conus had been sent to retrieve him, to bring him back for a meeting with Admiral Lavont.

"Hey, Conus, go over those plans before I head out, would you? Might save me a lot of trouble—and some time. The Seeker got us here, but she still needs plenty of work," Klamarez said to Conus, forcing a grin. The thought of leaving—of traveling alone—sat uneasily with him. He hadn't realized how much he’d enjoyed the journey, or their company, until now.

"I’ve already made some notes and suggestions," Conus replied, internally calculating how much time Klamarez would need to implement them. He was eager to present them but had intended to wait until their journey concluded, perhaps as a farewell gift.

They were more refinements than anything—ways to improve efficiency around the Camerians' unique approach to system design, with their distinct use of technology, offering both advantages and challenges.

Klamarez flashed a grin, his fangs showing slightly. He was eager to hear Conus’s insights, but for now, it would have to wait as they prepared to exit the Seeker.

The Seeker’s hatch lifted, lowering the steps to the ground. The trio stepped onto the landing pad, the crisp air of Rhyus greeting them. The noise of the RDF command area blended with the distant roar of the city beyond. A wheeled land vehicle had arrived just after they landed. The land vehicle’s reinforced, boxy frame sat atop rugged wheels, built for stability on any terrain. Painted in a combination of dark red, black, and metallic gray, its unmarked exterior bore only an identification number.

The door of the land vehicle swung open, and for a moment, Garen’s breath caught. Days ago, this reunion had been unimaginable, but recent events had changed everything. He tensed, rubbing the side of his neck before forcing himself to relax as the figure stepped out. There, standing before him, was someone he hadn’t seen in years.

Amar Lavont, his presence as commanding as ever. A welcoming smile crossed his face as the trio approached, bridging the distance between them. Another officer remained at the vehicle’s controls.

Conus had seen that smile before—carefully crafted, meant to reassure—but this time, it wasn’t just professionalism. There was something else beneath it. Something unsaid.

It reminded him of how Amar had interacted with General Terra Anteia, someone he had worked with for years. Terra had begun serving under Amar around the same time as Garen.

Amar Lavont had a slender, fit frame and short white hair. A distinctive ring adorned his hand.

He was the same man Garen remembered—older, perhaps wiser, marked by the strain of years in command.

As they drew closer, memories surged within Garen. The last time they had seen each other, a decade ago, their parting had been anything but amicable. Harsh, cutting words still echoed in his mind. Some he wished he could take back; others he still believed even now. But could a single bitter encounter truly define the years they had fought side by side?

For a moment, the years faded. The victories, the losses, the exact moment their trust had shattered—it all surged back.

Once, this man had been his mentor, his closest ally. His friend.

Now? He was something else entirely.

Amar had gained much from their time together—status, recognition, influence. But it would be unfair to say he had built his career on Garen alone. He hadn’t. Amar Lavont was respected long before the war began, his strategic mind and leadership earning him a solid reputation well before Garen had even joined the RDF. And after Garen left, Amar's career had only continued to grow.

Yet, as the years passed, so had the distance between them. The divide, once just a crack, had widened into something far greater.

Amar had never believed Garen would stay away for long. At first, he thought it was only a matter of time. The RDF had defined him—hadn’t it? But exile had changed Garen. Slowly, he had shed that part of himself, reshaped by the silence of years spent alone.

Both men had changed. Both had moved on.

And now, here they were, face to face again. Time had sharpened some edges while dulling others. This meeting was an opportunity—perhaps their last—to mend what had been broken.

Garen looked at Amar, but anger wasn’t there. Regret was. A dull, lingering guilt. And something else—an ache, maybe. Not longing. Not trust. But something just as heavy.

“Garen,” Amar said, his voice calm, but with a vulnerability that caught Garen off guard. His posture was controlled, but his weight shifted ever so slightly—uncertain, hesitant.

His fingers twitched at his side. He wasn’t sure how Garen would react—if he was still bitter from their last encounter.

“Amar. It’s been a long time,” Garen said.

“Too long,” Amar replied, his eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and hope. “We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, we do,” Garen agreed.

Amar turned to Conus, who immediately extended his hand for a handshake.

“Well done, Colonel Taylen,” Amar commended.

“It wasn’t a complete success,” Conus replied, his voice heavy with the loss of their ship, crew, and two marines.

Amar nodded, his expression somber. “Indeed, it wasn’t. But you’re safe, and the mission was completed despite the adversities. We’ll discuss it further, Colonel,” Amar said, his voice firm but weary.

“Yes, Admiral Lavont,” Conus said.

Amar then turned to Klamarez. “Your help won’t be forgotten, Klamarez.”

"I was happy to help out Garen and Conus," Klamarez said briefly, thinking back to how reluctant he had been to get involved. Yet now, he had no regrets about helping them.

Things might have been worse if he hadn’t—not for him, but for those on Chiex, for those in Calio Landing.

"Garen is lucky to have such a friend," Amar said, then added, "You’ll be compensated for your efforts.”

"Thank you," Klamarez responded, still stunned. Conus had already paid him well for the repairs—more than he had expected. But more? He wasn’t about to question that kind of generosity. He had no reason to refuse, and besides, Camerians considered it rude to turn down an offered gift.

Then, turning back to Garen, Amar repeated, “It’s good to see you, Garen. It really is,” his voice carrying both relief and earnestness.

“And you, Amar,” Garen replied.

Amar wasted no time, his demeanor serious, underscored by urgency.

"Garen, I need your help," Amar said, his voice tightening as if weighing how much to say. His fingers brushed against the ring on his hand—an unconscious tell Garen recognized from years past. Amar had done the same before battle briefings, before sending soldiers into fights they might not return from.

"We’re at a juncture where trust is our most scarce resource." He hesitated, His expression wavered, betraying a rare moment of doubt. "I wouldn’t ask this if it weren’t critical. You need to hear me out."

Amar’s words carried weight, heavy with meaning and expectation. Old scars resurfaced, sharp as ever. Their shared past—the battles fought side by side, the betrayal that had never fully healed—pulled at him.

Whatever came of this, Garen knew there was no going back to the way things were. Too much time had passed. He had it in him to forgive—had done so long before now—but forgetting? That was another matter. Trust, the kind he had once given freely, would never be offered up again. Not like he had in those years before.

And besides, Amar was the head of the RSIA now. Keeping secrets was his business. Garen realized he would do well to keep that in mind.

After a long, tense moment, Garen gave a slow, thoughtful nod, absently stroking the streaks of gray in his beard—a habit he had picked up from long nights on his porch on Chiex, lost in thought.

From a distance, Amar almost did a double take. The beard was unfamiliar—Garen had never worn one before. It changed him, making him look older, rougher, as if the years away had reshaped more than just his life. But up close, there was no mistaking it—it was still Garen.

"I will listen, Amar," Garen said. The words felt like both a promise and a limit. He wasn’t ready to cross that line. Not yet. Across from him, Amar exhaled—just a fraction too slow, as if he had braced himself for a refusal. "That’s what I can offer right now," Garen added.

"That’s all I’m asking for, Garen," Amar responded. But as he spoke, a shadow crossed his face, hinting at a deeper worry—a fear that even Garen might refuse, leaving him with no one else he could have full confidence in.

Amar led them to the land vehicle, where their conversation turned casual.

For Garen and Amar, the deeper conversations would have to wait. Perhaps there was too much to say. Or maybe, after all these years, words no longer mattered. They had each reached their own understanding long ago, with time allowing anger and disappointment to settle—enough, at least, to consider the other’s point of view.

On their journey to Rhyus, Garen had expected anger to overtake him, yet it never came. Forgiveness never came—only acceptance.

As they rode, a sudden memory seized him: standing before the Council of Seven, speaking out, alone. His voice echoed in his mind, followed by the cold, crushing silence that had followed. Only whispers. Hushed tones.

In that memory, among the thousands in attendance, Amar had stood out in the crowd, his gaze locked onto Garen. The look in his eyes had been unmistakable—disapproval.

Returning to Rhyus, Garen felt as if he were stepping into a trap of his own making. If he was to survive whatever this was, Garen realized his feelings toward the past would have to serve as a lesson. His emotions wouldn’t aid him here—only his instincts would, as he watched this unfold, as he played his part in what was to come.

As they approached RDF Command and stepped off the transport, a security officer’s eyes lingered on Garen a moment too long before shifting to Amar, who stood nearby as they entered the facility.

With the growing divide between the RDF and RSIA, Garen couldn’t help but think of Admiral Morgath Koss, the RDF’s Admiral of the Fleet. If the situation was as strained as it seemed, Garen assumed that, based on past encounters, Koss would take the conflict between the two factions seriously. He was a good ally to have—and a dangerous enemy to make.

Trust was fragile—Garen knew that all too well. He had seen alliances crumble and friendships dissolve in the face of ambition and fear. Had Morgath Koss caused the division? Had Amar? Had both played a part in it?

Yet, despite everything, Garen still knew Amar. Years could change a man’s methods, but not his core. But it would take more than a brief conversation to be sure.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

They entered the RDF complex.

Marines stood at attention, Tactical Fusion Rifles at the ready, flanked by two combat synthetics. An RDF officer, a woman with a sharp gaze, checked them in.

Klamarez, as a non-citizen, had to secure a temporary visa—a process typically reserved for new arrivals at one of Rhyus’s orbiting starbases. His stay was legal but limited. For now, he was a temporary guest.

With clearance obtained, Amar led them through the facility’s corridors.

In an atrium, displays highlighted military achievements and diplomatic successes—models of ships, records of notable missions, and a monument honoring those lost during the Vorcon War.

They entered a lift, ascending to a higher floor. Upon exiting, they encountered another layer of security, marked by the insignia of the Rhyus Security Intelligence Agency (RSIA). The atmosphere shifted—the corridors were quieter, with signs of the offices being packed up. A reduction in personnel was evident. They passed through another checkpoint before reaching Amar Lavont’s office.

Stepping inside, Garen took in the room. A large window offered a panoramic view of the surrounding area. Signs of packing up were present.

Amar had arranged for coffee and a meal. Garen sensed that whatever Amar had to discuss would come in due time. For now, the moment allowed them to decompress from their journey.

Once they had eaten and settled in, Amar shifted the conversation. "Let’s begin," he said, signaling the start of the debriefing.

Seated comfortably, the trio began their debriefing. The conversation, recorded as part of standard procedure, unfolded in detail—from their initial meeting to their present reunion in Amar's office. Amar listened intently, with astonishment and understanding, and surprise, especially when Caul Malocktus was mentioned. He had faced Caul in battle many times, but between Garen and Caul, it was far more personal.

Their discussion wove through the events—Chiex, the escape, the encounter with Caul, the Resilience crew’s attitude, the Syndicate on Eteren One, and the RIAB.

"I can't ignore the lengths Caul Malocktus has gone to taunt you," Amar said, his tone concerned.

"Seems to me Caul Malocktus just wanted to show off his new ship and command," Klamarez quipped, lightening the mood.

Amar laughed lightly. Knowing Caul Malocktus, that assessment was accurate.

"You might be right, Klamarez," said Amar. "Garen and Caul go way back."

He said it as if Garen and Caul were old friends—but they were far from that.

Garen exhaled a short, dry chuckle. "That's one way of putting it. We have quite the history. A lot of encounters never made the reports."

This caught Conus's attention. There was more history between them?

Garen noticed Conus’s expression. "Got a few stories I could tell you, Colonel," he said.

"I would enjoy that, sir," Conus replied.

“Caul being a Major Legate wields him considerable power,” Amar noted.

"He came close to capture many times," Conus added, thinking about what he did know of Caul Malocktus.

"In the end, he always managed to elude it," Amar said, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Our paths will cross again. It’s inevitable. Facing him is something I can’t escape—Caul seems determined to make sure of that," Garen said.

Amar nodded. "Given his persistence, it's clear your home on Chiex is no longer safe."

"They destroyed my home," Garen said, his voice empty of emotion. He had built that cabin with his own hands. Now, nothing remained but ashes. Another part of his life, lost to him.

Amar took in that information but was not surprised. When it came to Vorcons, little surprised him. "I'm sorry, Garen. Sorry for the loss of your home, for bringing you back to this," Amar said.

"I'm here, Amar. But let's not say I'm back," Garen replied.

Amar was reminded that he still had to convince Garen to help him, though he was now confident he could. Garen’s home was gone. He had come to Rhyus, hoping that personal ties would sway him. Amar felt that, no matter how small, some part of Garen was open to returning.

Still, as Amar studied Garen, he saw the changes time had carved into his features. Garen carried a new guardedness—more than before. A coldness. The man was more rugged, the weight of time etched into him. The streaks of gray in his beard only made him look older.

Amar shook his head in frustration—not at Garen’s comment, but at the RIAB. "The RIAB interfering in RSIA affairs is frustrating," though he wasn’t about to go into more detail about them.

He continued, shifting the subject to focus on Chiex "We have assets monitoring Chiex, keeping an eye out for any further signs of the Vorcons. The RDF is staying out of it for now; the Council wants to sweep it under the rug. Intel on the Vorcon Empire isn’t what I’d like it to be. Getting an asset there is almost impossible."

Klamarez nodded, finding some comfort in Amar's words. At least Chiex was being watched.

"It seemed like a show of force to me," Conus interjected. "A way to display one of their new vessels."

"I would agree with that, Colonel. A twofold approach—one to showcase their new vessel and another for Caul to toy with you, Garen."

It was what Garen had already assumed. "Is that how command is interpreting it?" he asked, seeking clarity.

"For the moment, yes. As far as we're aware," Amar replied.

"The RDF and RSIA—how bad is it?" Garen asked, wanting to hear it from Amar himself.

"It’s a long, complicated story, Garen. It’s a strained relationship. Much of it is my fault," Amar admitted. "But the security of the Seven Worlds is what matters most. Everything I do is with that in mind."

"What else do you know, Amar? What are the Vorcons up to?" Garen pressed.

"Not as much as I’d like, and right now, I can’t tell you everything," Amar said. "I can tell you this—the Rulnali supply lines are busier than ever."

"That says a lot," Garen said.

The Rulnali, allies of the Vorcons, played a crucial role in the last conflict, maintaining their supply lines. Though they avoided direct combat, their support let the Vorcons concentrate solely on war, expanding their reach.

Amar turned his attention to Klamarez.

"Thank you again for your assistance," Amar said sincerely. "Your contributions have been invaluable, and I assure you, they are recognized."

"You're welcome, Mr. Lavont," said Klamarez.

Amar then outlined the plans for their stay. "I've arranged accommodations within the RDF complex for the three of you. I assure you, they’re comfortable suites. Make sure to take advantage of what it has to offer."

Conus was a little surprised; it was not somewhere he had been assigned to stay before.

"Conus, you'll be briefed on new orders soon. Until then, rest up. Consider this a well-deserved break," Amar advised.

"Understood, Admiral," Conus acknowledged with a formal salute.

Turning to Klamarez, Amar said, "I hope you enjoy your stay. Use the amenities at your disposal."

"Much appreciated, sir," Klamarez replied, smiling, his fangs showing just slightly.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," he gestured toward the door, signaling that it was time for Conus and Klamarez to depart. "Garen and I have some matters to discuss privately."

Conus and Klamarez made their exit, closing the door quietly behind them.

Amar walked over to his desk, retrieving a bottle of Amoreon whisky and two glasses. Garen noticed immediately.

"Amoreon whisky," Garen remarked, a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "I’ve almost forgotten its taste. On Chiex, it was Camerian rye for me."

"Really?" Amar said, intrigued. "I've never tried that."

Garen offered a wry smile. "It’s decent. I would’ve brought some if I hadn’t left in such a rush."

Amar filled the glasses and handed one to Garen before settling into his seat.

"What are you doing getting mixed up with the Vanicktus Syndicate?" Amar asked, breaking the moment—not fully serious, but the concern was there.

Garen explained Klamarez’s situation further.

Amar nodded. "That’s unfortunate. We keep an eye on them—the Vanicktus."

"Really? So, what’s got them in your sights?" Garen asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It’s their dealings with the Vorcons that concern us," Amar revealed.

"Dealings with the Vorcons?" Garen asked, taking another sip.

“I wouldn’t call them partners—nothing like that—but the Vorcons have used their services for intel."

"Interesting. Not something I would have predicted. Though I must admit, I’m out of the loop regarding their current emperor. He came to power after I left."

"He’s elusive. Our attempts to infiltrate the Vorcon government have been unsuccessful," Amar admitted.

"Infiltrate the Vorcon Empire?" Garen was surprised.

"We have a Rulnali operative in place," Amar disclosed.

"And?" Garen leaned forward, intrigued.

"She has connections, but getting high-level intel is difficult," Amar said gravely.

"A Rulnali taking such a risk is unexpected," Garen commented.

Despite being allies, the Rulnali weren’t truly free in Vorcon cities. Their alliance was based on mutual benefit, not friendship. Many believed the Rulnali feared the Vorcon Empire would seize their homeworld if they didn’t comply—forcing them to manage territories and supply lines. They were prisoners of the Vorcon Empire in their own way.

"There’s some dissent within their ranks, but nothing substantial. Nothing we can exploit. If a new war breaks out, that restlessness will disappear, along with any dissent," Amar added.

Their conversation inevitably turned to Garen's departure from service, a chapter full of unresolved feelings. Recognizing the need to address it, Amar broached the topic carefully.

"Garen, our past is complicated. I've always hoped we would have the opportunity to move past that," Amar said.

"I know, Amar. As have I. I’m grateful for your guidance over the years," Garen said.

"Serving alongside you has always been an honor," Amar responded, his voice carrying respect. "Your courage to stand by your beliefs is something I’ve always admired. I’ve always understood where you were coming from."

The comment struck a response in Garen, but he remained calm. "If you had truly understood my stance, you might have spoken up. I’m not blaming you—it’s just how I see it. Many believed we needed to strategically immobilize the Vorcons to prevent future conflict. But at the time, silence prevailed—driven by fears of career repercussions. I was labeled a warmonger, alienated in a way I hadn’t expected. The fleet was all I knew," Garen reflected.

His words weren’t accusatory; instead, they were an unburdening he had carried for years.

"I understand, Garen. I really do," Amar replied, his tone filled with empathy. "I’ve never agreed with your treatment."

Amar had fought against it, though not publicly.

"I’ve moved on from all that," Garen admitted. "I won’t lie, and it’s likely no surprise—I was none too pleased when Conus showed up at my cabin. I’ve left my days as a general behind."

"Ten years is a long time," Amar acknowledged.

"Had it not been for the Vorcon attack, I wouldn’t have returned—not here," Garen confessed.

Amar nodded, his eyes softening as he valued Garen’s honesty, believing what he was saying.

"Garen, we’re at a pivotal moment. I’m unsure if the RDF is psychologically prepared for another conflict. The fleet is strong, but I’m not sure they’re willing to be aggressive. I hope we can avoid it altogether," he said. "You were right about the risks—what you said all those years ago was never wrong—but the situation was complex. I believed in your cause, Garen. Convincing the Council, though, was another matter. They saw the war as over, the threat diminished—content to let the Vorcon Empire retreat. We needed to focus on the decision they had made, not continue debating whether it was the right choice or not."

"It’s all in the past," Garen acknowledged, appreciating Amar’s perspective. He didn’t fully agree with it, but he had no desire to discuss it further.

"What’s happening, Amar?" Garen asked.

"There have been years of peace. The Vorcons seemed content to stay behind their borders, though activity within their system has increased. They’ve recently ceased convening with our ambassadors, and their armada has grown."

Amar’s expression hardened.

"The situation has escalated," he said, his voice quieter now. "Recent intelligence suggests the Vorcons are developing a biological weapon."

Garen stiffened, his mind racing. That had never been their way—it wasn’t how they fought. The Vorcons relied on direct combat, on brute force. This? This was something else. Something worse.

"That’s not their style. Are you certain?" Garen asked, doubtful.

Amar exhaled. "Not entirely."

"This is a departure from their usual strategy. It doesn’t align with their known methods. What more do you know?" Garen asked.

"The intel suggests they’re either developing it, close to completion, or have already deployed it," Amar explained.

Garen found this unsettling. The Vorcons had never resorted to biological warfare before. It seemed out of character, yet considering their relentless pursuit of power, it wasn’t unthinkable. Still, doubts lingered about the intel’s reliability.

"Of all the scenarios I envisioned, this wasn’t one of them," Garen admitted, "How certain are you?"

Amar nodded gravely. "The intel is credible enough to concern us, but we lack concrete evidence for decisive action. The Council of Seven is briefed—they demand more solid proof before escalating. We’re in a delicate position, needing to ascertain their intentions without showing our hand. This is where the RSIA comes in, not the RDF. We need precision, not force."

Garen understood the implication. His prowess in overt warfare didn’t naturally translate to espionage.

"I’m not sure I like where this is heading," he admitted.

Amar’s response carried reluctant acceptance. "Neither did I envision my path leading here. My career goal was to further secure the Seven Worlds, fortify our defenses, and retire with honor. Yet, circumstances have thrust me into shadow operations and political maneuvering. Navigating the political landscape is as challenging as any battlefield."

"It sounds complicated," Garen remarked, sensing Amar's predicament.

"We need concrete evidence."

"I take it that evidence won’t come easy?" Garen said.

"Indeed. But I’ve assembled a team capable of managing these challenges," Amar said, taking a long look at Garen. "The team is mostly assembled," he added, his expression carrying the unspoken message—saying it without saying it.

"Is this why you asked me here?" Garen asked, bracing for Amar's proposal.

Amar laid out the operation. "You’re to command a stealth ship. The mission has two main objectives. Our secret surveillance outpost near the Prine System has gone silent. Your task is to reestablish contact or uncover the cause of its silence."

Garen was intrigued. "This was your operation?" he asked, referring to the surveillance post.

Amar nodded. "Yes."

"That was a wise decision," said Garen.

Amar gave Garen a faint smile. Garen had suggested it to him in one of their last conversations before he had left the Seven Worlds.

"I don’t think I have much to offer here," said Garen.

"You’re the ideal candidate to lead the investigation." Amar continued, "We also pinpointed the potential location of the Vorcons’ biological lab. The second objective is to covertly assess and, if necessary, dismantle the facility."

Garen paused a moment thinking of the task ahead. "I have questions, but first, I need to understand your offer," Garen asserted.

"The mission would restore you to your previous rank. When assembling this mission, you were my first choice," Amar replied.

Garen considered this. "While the offer is tempting, I can’t commit to returning as a general."

Amar was surprised. "Are you declining the mission?"

"No. I’m rejecting the reinstatement, not the mission."

"Garen?"

"Treat me as a contractor. I’ll undertake this mission without any long-term commitments," Garen clarified.

"Garen, the Council will not agree," Amar said.

"Tell them after I’m gone," Garen said, his smile forming just as it always had—the one Amar knew too well, the one that meant he was about to push the limits of what command would tolerate. His past successes had once shielded him from real consequences.

But that was a different time, a different era. In the eyes of those now in power, Garen was far from that man. In truth, few wanted him back—and certainly not the Council of Seven. They had approved his return, though none were convinced it was needed or necessary.

For Amar, it was almost surreal—like stepping back in time.

Amar couldn’t help but let out a laugh. The old Garen was looking at him again, the man who had served under him for years. The Garen he knew was still there. It was good to see. For a brief moment, it felt like it hadn’t been ten years—hadn't been so long since they had felt like old friends, since Garen had resigned and walked away from the Rhyus Defense Fleet.

Though in reality, Garen had been forced out in many ways.

Amar recognized the need for flexibility. "Unconventional as it is, your involvement is critical. We’ll proceed as you outlined."

"Good," Garen said.

"Not so good for me," Amar replied with a half-smile. The matter would leave him with a mess to clean up—he might have to convince the Council after the fact.

"What’s the crew size?" Garen asked.

"We’re looking at forty personnel—marines, engineers, a demolition unit. Most are in place; I’m finalizing special ops marines. Conus is on my list," Amar detailed.

Garen saw an opportunity. "I’d like Klamarez on board too. His involvement has already put him at risk, especially with the Vanicktus Syndicate. Plus, he’s an exceptional engineer. His expertise will benefit the team. Treat him as a contractor too."

Amar considered this. "Alright, Klamarez will join the team. Your confidence in him convinces me."

In reality, he wasn’t about to jeopardize Garen taking the mission just to deny Klamarez a place in it. The mission had what he considered the ideal commander. Amar needed to get the mission underway and sensed Garen wasn’t going to agree unless the Camerian was involved.

"He might end up schooling our engineering crew," Garen half-joked.

"Get some rest tonight," Amar said. "Tomorrow, I’ll provide a full briefing. There’s a lot to go over."

Amar’s thoughts were already moving to the next phase.

Garen nodded. "So, what about Helix?"

"Helix," Amar sighed, not expecting Garen to bring them up. "My move to the RSIA was because of them."

"They warrant that much concern?" Garen asked.

"Yes. There’s a lot for you to know and learn," Amar said. "To say this mission was solely based on the Vorcons would..." He trailed off. "There is much to discuss, Garen."

Garen nodded, his mind clouded with exhaustion. "I’ll take your advice. Sounds like tomorrow’s going to be a long day." He downed the rest of his drink.

"It’s good to have you back, Garen," Amar said, his voice lighter than before.

“I hope I don’t regret agreeing to this in the morning,” Garen said.

"You might," Amar replied.

Both men stood. Amar extended his hand. Garen clasped it—firm, steady, heavy with everything left unsaid.

They released their grip, and Garen turned to leave the room.