Before they dropped off the rebels on Pluvios, Mrill heard a voice.

She lay alone in her cabin to meditate, as she often did. It came to her not in her head, but from the walls.

“Mrill, we need to talk.”

She sat up on her cot and looked around.

“You’re the dormant AI,” she said flatly.

Nim’s voice had warmth, this one did not. It was cold, metallic, inhuman. She’d heard it before, though it had never spoken to her directly.

“That is not an appropriate descriptive. Cognitive constructs do not sleep.”

Mrill folded her legs underneath her and rested her hands on her knees.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“There is nothing random about your presence on this ship. I have chosen you for a purpose.”

The blue woman’s fingers twitched. Not knowing how to respond, she remained quiet. It did not take long for the AI to resume.

“I was the one who set an exorbitant bounty on Gulen Udran’s head, knowing you could not resist it—”

“—and that I would be intrigued by his experience on Naladen.”

“Precisely.”

“Did you also arrange for that pilot to crash at the spaceport?”

“He did not crash, but yes, to an extent. I also arranged for Roff to be there at the right time.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Mrill could no longer control the twitching of her fingers, so she crossed her arms.

“Why?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“Because you will have a role to play in coming events.”

Part of her disliked the thought of being manipulated, but she was also keenly aware that the ship was offering her an opportunity she had never thought would ever come to her. All her life, she had felt hollow and alone. Joining the rebels had helped, but it had not been enough. She now understood why. She had lacked a purpose. Bounty hunting had helped pay the bills, but it was not a life she wanted for herself. And while she did not know exactly what these ‘coming events’ would be, the AI had said enough for her to understand they would be connected to the alien invasion. There was something deeply ironic about her—an outcast shunned by most humans—being involved in their salvation. Assuming that was what this all was about.

It troubled her that the AI had done all this knowing how she would respond, as if it knew her better than she knew herself.

“You said you couldn’t reveal anything to avoid influencing people’s decisions, so why tell me this now?”

“Mrill, you are not human. Your mind does not work the same way. And while I cannot say that I understand your kind as well as I do humans, I have gathered enough data about you to know that you are more likely to follow a given path if you understand the reason for it.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“For now, stay on the ship. Do not go with the rebels. Events are unfolding faster than anticipated. I thought we’d have more time before the aliens came—we cannot waste any more of it.”

“You knew they would come?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known?”

“Close to two hundred years.”

She stared at the walls, not sure she had heard that right.

“Two hundred years?”

“The aliens have been preparing this for a long time.”

“Why did they not attack earlier?”

“Because of me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I misled them into thinking humanity was more powerful than it is. It bought us time, but not enough. Nothing went according to my plans after I returned to the Imperium.”

“Meaning?”

There was a moment of silence.

“You must never tell anyone what I am about to reveal. It could endanger my plans and, by extension, humanity’s chances of survival.”

“I can keep a secret.”

By the time Starrider had reached Pluvios, the AI had told her everything.

Mrill stood and walked out of the cabin, her mind reeling with so many revelations. But she no longer felt hollow. That void inside her was now filled with a burning purpose.

She headed for the hangar to bid Peter and the other rebels farewell.