Episode 39: Weave the Spider's Web

Starsha entered the dark passage at the back of the cavern. Starlight wasn't much help this far inside the world tree. Her comm illuminated her next few steps, but a yawning void lay beyond that small patch of light. Woven vines, roots, and bark comprised the corridor's rounded walls, and the scent of damp wood and earth infused the humid air.

Her boots gripped well enough, but as the floor sloped upward, she grabbed knots and small branches to keep from slipping.

For the better part of an hour, she forged upward through the darkness. Hopefully, Admiral Talan had found something useful. Her comm said she had over fifteen minutes before it was time to check-in with him.

Her legs and chest ached from the constant ascent.

She gripped a sturdy root protruding from the wall near her shoulder. It was cool, smooth, fibrous, and free of dirt. Using the handhold as an anchor, she temporarily relieved the strain on her legs and took long, full breaths. Sweat caked her face and neck and dampened her collar and waistband.

Maybe she should turn around. If she hadn't found anything by now, perhaps something was here.

The dull ache in her feet lessened at the thought of going downhill.

She eased her grip on the root and carefully made an about-face.

"Starsha. Come up here."

Though it wasn't loud, the voice rushed through the tunnel. She knew that voice. It was her childhood tutor, a woman she'd considered family.

A woman who'd been dead since before Starsha's coronation.

"Lazarus?" Starsha turned and called into the gloom.

"Climb," came the reply.

She pushed forward, up the incline. It grew sharper with every step until Starsha met a wall of twisted roots.

"I'm up here," Lazarus' voice cascaded from atop the wall.

Starsha slipped on thick gloves and grabbed for a handhold, thankful she could carry her comm around her neck instead of trying to hold it aloft and search for purchase one-handed. Her grip nearly failed a third of the way up when the alarm to call Admiral Talan sang for her attention.

She didn't dare let go. If she did, she'd lose her progress, and the steadily growing weakness in her arms, back, and legs warned she would not have a second chance to scale this wall.

Two minutes slipped past.

The Admiral called.

"A-answer," she choked out. But her voice was too strained, and her comm didn't hear her. She'd call back as soon as she reached the top of this wall.

By now, her arms shook with every inch of upward progress. Her shoulders burned. Sweat drenched her shirt and red-blonde braid, and salty rivulets stung her eyes. She reached for the next handhold, but she had no strength to pull herself up.

A familiar hand snaked from the gloom above and grasped her wrist, pulling her over a ledge.

Starsha heaved in deep breaths. Her comm illuminated a small hollow, and standing only steps away was her former tutor. The scent of aged leather still lingered around the older woman. The wrinkles around her eyes were identical, as was the faint kava stain on the collar of her dark green robe.

"It's been a long time," Starsha said.

"Thirteen years. Let me look at you." Lazarus rested both hands on Starsha's shoulders. "The crown weighs heavy, I see." She smiled, but it wasn't quite the way Starsha remembered it. The spark of love was missing.

"It does," Starsha said, offering no additional information. She wanted with all her heart to believe this was the woman she'd considered family during her school years, that Yahweh had done the impossible again and brought back to life someone she loved. But a deep sense of unease warned something wasn't right. "How did you come to be here?"

Lazarus let go of Starsha and retreated to the edge of the circle of light. "I awoke here some hours ago."

"And before that?"

"I have no memory of the time between my death and when I awoke." Lazarus studied Starsha intently. "You don't trust me."

The knife Starsha had slipped into a boot holster before leaving the palace suddenly seemed much too far from her hand. She flexed climb-weakened fingers.

"There will come a time when you cannot protect those who've come to you seeking refuge." Lazarus circled Starsha. "They will die at the hands of others, and nothing you do will save them."

At the edge of the pool of light cast by Starsha's comm, a flower the size of a small bird popped open. A cloying, sweet scent filled the hollow.

"I won't let the Mazone hurt anyone under my protection," Starsha said.

More flowers sprouted around her feet and burst open, releasing the same strong perfume.

Lazarus stopped directly behind Starsha. She had to be standing right beside the drop off. "How did you hear that name?" Her voice rumbled.

It seemed unwise to answer, but the thickening air made her head swim, and though she didn't want to speak, the words tumbled free. "I met one beneath the palace."

"Did you?" Lazarus slinked around Starsha. She wore a too-wide grin, and her eyes, once soulful brown, were now solid black orbs, reflecting the comm's dim light. Instead of light brown, her skin had turned pale green, and her hair hung in gray strands.

Starsha wanted to reach for her knife, but she couldn't move. "What are you doing?" she said in a harsh whisper, as her ability to speak also ebbed.

"Protecting our people," said Lazarus—or the thing that called itself by her name. "We cannot kill you. That would raise too much suspicion. But you will leave the name Mazone with us."

The creature's hand anchored to Starsha's forehead so tightly her vision blurred. The thing's breath was a more concentrated form of the flower's perfume. It billowed over Starsha, plugging her nose, mouth, eyes, ears, until all she sensed was the overwhelming need to obey.

"Surrender the name of Mazone," came the fierce whisper. "Give it to us and be free."

"No." The word came out a scratchy mess of sound.

The creature's face was inches from Starsha's. "Give it to us. Now."

"I… won't." The need to acquiesce grew, pulling every muscle and bone into tortured tension. "You're… one of… them."

"We are." It grinned. "Give us our name, and we will let you leave."

"Never."

"Then we will take it."

Fiery veins of agony shot through Starsha's face, turning her vision dark. Her own scream shattered the world.

She had to remember the Mazone. Had to hold on to that name, no matter what. She imagined holding it, sealing the name away in a box only she could open. But the moment she locked the lid, the box vanished.

Where was it? She had to find that box. It was vitally important she not lose it.

Her head pounded. Every muscle in her face seized until her teeth and jaw throbbed, and dancing patches of faintly colored noise plagued her clamped eyes.

"Starsha?" Admiral Talan's voice broke through the haze of pain.

She swayed toward his voice. Her knees failed.

He caught her before she hit the floor. "Are you all right?"

Starsha reached for her pounding head. She could move again. Her hand was cold, and her forehead blistering. Even the thought of opening her eyes made everything worse, but she cracked numb lids.

Her comm still hung around her neck, providing scant light.

"Why… why are you here?" Starsha's throat was so dry her words turned into an indistinct rasp.

"When you didn't answer my calls, I came to find you." He eased her into a sitting position and offered her water from a full flask. "It looks like someone else found you first. Did you learn anything?"

She took a grateful swallow of the water. "About what?"

The Admiral paused, brow furrowed.

Dread sat heavily in Starsha's chest. "You don't remember."

He shook his head.

"Neither do I." She held her face in her hands. "I don't even know how we came to the Levavets. Or why we're this far into the tree." Her headache still relentlessly beat the inside of her skull. "We should retrace our steps."

Admiral Talan stood and held out a hand to help her up.

She took it. The pain behind her eyes still stabbed.

They were at the edge of a steep drop off. There was no way to climb any higher, so they must have come in from below. Staring into the yawning dark sent a wave of fear through her.

"This place reeks of something foul." Admiral Talan climbed off the ledge and found a foothold. He motioned her to do the same. "I'll stay beside you."

Starsha nodded. The thought of climbing down a seemingly unending drop zapped what remained of her energy, but if she didn't take the first step, she'd never reach her goal.

Slowly, she eased onto the ledge and began the descent into darkness.


Masterson stood at the back of the bridge in horrified silence as Cometine ships swarmed the Gamilon fleet.

Tactical and Radar called out enemy ship classes, movements, weapons fire. The comm officer pressed one side of his headset to his ear. Weapons kept incoming ships at bay. Engineering and the helm maintained a constant stream of communication as the bridge officers pushed one another for more speed or power.

The captain's chair was gone, folded away. In its place rose a cylinder of light—a holographic interface containing all ship's systems and the ability to claim direct control over any of them.

Desslok stood inside the master control interface, orchestrating defenses.

"Tzafon is hit. Engines critically damaged. Heavy casualties," came the report. "They're drifting."

"Send Orishir to evacuate all surviving crew," Desslok ordered. "Then detonate the remains. Target Gorse's flagship."

Using his comm, Masterson quickly found Tzafon's casualty report. Forty-five men and women. Their lives snuffed out because he had lost faith in Adonai and taken matters into his own hands. Morta's betrayal might have been his choice, but Masterson had enabled him. And there was no way to take it back. His only option now was fight for the lives of his people.

He would tell Desslok the truth when this was over. If he was executed for treason, he would accept his fate. Death was no less than he deserved for such severe a trespass.

This would likely be his last battle. He would make it count.


Desslok tracked two Cometine destroyers. They had one of his capitol ships and several damaged escorts cornered. The ships were too far away to intervene directly, but he refused to allow more of his people to die because of a Cometine. "Send Hadar to assist."

Comms relayed the order, and the other ship shifted course.

"Engage that idiot, Gorse, directly. He cannot betray me without consequences."

Helm added a boost of speed, and they surged toward the Cometine flagship.

Masterson appeared at Desslok's side just as they were about to close with their target.

Multiple squadrons of fighters harried them, peppering the hull. Enemy escorts closed, cutting them off from the rest of the fleet.

Desslok separated defensive and offensive systems, and with the sweep of a hand, passed command of all defenses to Masterson. A holographic interface similar to Desslok's shimmered into existence in front of his second-in-command. "Be our shield, Talan."

The other man took immediate control, directing fire to incoming bombers and every Cometine ship that tried to target the bridge or other essential areas.

He'd never seen Masterson so entrenched in a battle, not even during the rebellion against his usurper brother. Fire and urgency burned in Talan's every word and action.

"Forward guns, target all screening ships," Desslok said. "That fool can't hide behind a web of cannon fodder indefinitely."

As ship after ship exploded, Gorse's flagship retreated.

Masterson's relentless waves of defensive fire eliminated anything attempting to approach. Within minutes, all enemy ships had pulled back, and now lurked just outside weapon's range.

"Cowards," Desslok hissed. "Ahead full. Pursuit course."

They caught the Cometine flagship at the Gate threshold.

A handful of enemy fighters attempted to intercept. Masterson shot them down the moment they were within range.

Gorse's ship tried to round the edge of the Gate, put the swirling barrier between themselves and death.

"Keep him here," Desslok ordered.

Helm corralled the Cometine ship, heading it off, and Weapons made sure it didn't make a run for it.

An enemy escort dropped out of warp between Desslok's ship and Gorse's.

"Cut it down."

In moments, the smaller ship was a cloud of debris, and Gorse had lost another pawn.

"Drive him into the Gate corridor," Desslok commanded. "Let them feel the wrath of every ghost and demon in the netherworld." Through the limited front viewport, he stared down the fleeing flagship.

In his periphery, a hologram of the battlefield displayed real-time status updates and a list of all remaining ships on both sides. Gorse's fleet dwindled to a quarter of its original size. But Desslok's ships were falling too quickly.

He had to end this now.

Targeting the enemy flagship, he sent a storm of laser fire streaking toward Gorse's bridge.

An instant before impact, the Cometine ship turned just enough to evade a direct hit.

Desslok's curse filled the bridge. "Hem them in," he ordered. "All ships, converge on our position. Shield formation Asiri."

The fleet clustered around the Gate entrance, creating a dome-shaped wall of ships, trapping Gorse against the event horizon. Three-quarters of Desslok's ships fended off Gorse's remaining ships, the other quarter peppered the Cometine flagship.

Within moments, Gorse fled into the Gate corridor.

"Follow them," Desslok ordered. "All other ships, remain in position."

Helm took them in.

All-too-familiar Gate corridor walls closed around them.

The screams of Desslok's former bridge officers assaulted him.

He pushed the horror away.

This time, he would prevail. He and his crew would come through this with their lives. And their enemy would suffer the consequences of their actions.

"Push them into the wall."

Helm stiffened. "Sir, I—"

"If you can't do it, I will." Desslok took control of the helm. His holographic interface shifted to accommodate the added functionality, and in less than a second, he had a complete copy of the pilot's station. Flashes of his youth spent in the wildernesses of Gamilon surfaced as he exercised skills he hadn't used in years.

This called for precision. If they made contact with the wall, it would tear them apart and fling their tattered remains into the far reaches of space. Like the incident at Gehenna's Bridge with those thrice cursed Eratites.

Desslok pushed his ship toward Gorse's. "For what you have done today, Cometine, your life is forfeit." Just before they plowed into their target, Desslok ordered, "Power to forward shields."

The moment after Talan fulfilled his command, Desslok rammed the bow into Gorse's starboard side, letting the shield take the brunt of the impact and knocking the Cometine ship across the corridor.

The wall loomed ahead and both Desslok's ship and Gorse's careened toward certain death.

Desslok righted their trajectory with seconds to spare. But Gorse's ship failed to regain control.

In an instant, the roiling clouds of the Aquarius network swallowed the Cometine flagship.

Silence enveloped the bridge. Several crew stared out the front viewport, eyes fixed on the spot the enemy ship had occupied moments before. Others scanned the bridge warily, likely waiting for the horrors of the Gate network to infringe.

They had two choices from here. Pursue the Eratites, as Desslok intended before Gorse's interference. Or return and fight alongside his fleet.

Desslok turned the ship around.

When they re-emerged inside the Gamilon fleet's shield formation, the Cometines were bearing down on the Gamilons.

"Open a channel to the Cometine fleet," Desslok said.

Comms nodded to indicate it was done.

"General Gorse is dead. A fate you will soon share." Desslok signaled to cut the call.

A few ships turned tail and escaped via warp, but the majority held their ground.

"At least not all of them are cowards," Desslok said. "Let none escape."


Invidia stood with Sabera around a floor screen in the war room. Nasca, Bleak, and Manic, present via hologram, stood beside Dyre and Beale. Manic's holo flickered as he paused his image to dispense orders.

"Where is Gorse?" Sabera said with sharp impatience. The absent general's fleet wasn't on the tactical map. At Sabera's question, the map highlighted a cluster of ships, lightyears away from its intended location. "That fool," she hissed.

According to Sabera, Gorse was supposed to hang back between Bleak's forces and Gatlantis, acting as an additional assault wave when they reached Original-controlled space. Manic had gone ahead to test the Original's defenses, and Nasca would soon join him.

Sabera hailed Gorse, growing more irritable with every second he didn't answer.

Invidia smirked. She'd never liked Gorse. He'd been Sabera's pawn from the beginning. Seeing him earn her fury was the best part of this little charade so far.

Pretending to comply with Sabera wouldn't last. It was just a matter of deciding when to shatter the ruse. Sabera knew Invidia had planned to kill Zordar, but she'd reinforced Invidia's lie and helped shift full blame onto Deun. Invidia was sure Sabera was trying to leverage knowledge of the assassination plot, use it to pave her way to the throne. She refused to let Sabera take what was hers, but for now, compliance meant getting valuable information, so she would act the meek little princess until it no longer suited her plans.

Sabera hailed Gorse five more times before giving up. "He had better be dead," she growled.

Gorse's fleet winked out a few at a time. Then his flagship vanished. A handful of ships reappeared on an escape vector, headed toward Gatlantis, but they quickly disappeared, followed by the rest of the fleet.

Sabera's jaw ground tight. "Report," she barked.

An AI messenger hologram appeared beside Sabera. "We received this communique from General Gorse."

A video feed of the absent general overlaid the tactical board, and a second iteration hung just above eye-level.

"—out of warp—Gamilons—This isn't—intended. Don't know how—happened." Gorse's bridge crew wore the same expression of horror as the general. "Ships—destroyed. We're being—into—Gate—Can't control—"

A chorus of terror-riddled screams drowned everything and then cut off.

The AI reappeared. "Gorse's fleet became entangled with Desslok's. The Gamilon ships have destroyed Gorse's ships.

"All of them?" Sabera said.

"Correct."

"That idiot! What possessed him to—"

"Your pardon, Prime Minister," the messenger interrupted, "but it appears the generals' fleet received false telemetry. They entered warp expecting to arrive at the prescribed destination, but they instead emerged mere seconds away from the Gamilon forces. There wasn't time to correct course, and they destroyed several ships. The Gamilons took it as a sign of aggression and acted swiftly."

Invidia hid satisfaction. Had she been alone, she'd have laughed at Gorse's stupidity. The man had always sided with Sabera, so she couldn't say she was disappointed at his fate. His demise at Desslok's hand was distasteful, but it served her, so she wouldn't complain.

A silent notice from her comm implant indicated an incoming message. Encrypted. She used her personal authorization codes to unlock the transmission. When Morta's face appeared, she instantly paused playback. She needed to hear this message, but of equal importance was making Sabera think she was being compliant.

Sabera's attention was fixed on the tactical map. "General Bleak, reposition your fleet nearer Gatlantis. Our warp to Original space will remain on-schedule, but without Gorse's ships to reinforce yours, we'll need to bolster your fleet and Manic's via other means."

Bleak grinned. "I'll expect the Forge."

"You have suitable designs prepared?" Sabera said.

"Of course," Bleak replied. "When the Originals face the might of Gatlantis, they will quail before it. They will have no other choice."

Invidia didn't much care what Bleak did, as long as his efforts were successful. Morta's face loomed in the corner of Invidia's vision, waiting for her to continue viewing the message.

While Sabera adjusted fleet placements on the tactical map and conversed with the generals about boring intricacies, Invidia cued Morta's message to continue.

"My Silver Queen." Morta bowed. "I've just escaped the Gamilon flagship, where I've been imprisoned these past weeks. I've redirected Gorse's fleet so it will intercept Desslok's. I can only guess what havoc this will cause, but I know neither Gorse nor Desslok are friends to you. I will continue to shadow the Gamilons and take any opportunity to recompense Desslok for how he humiliated you, my queen. I will keep you apprised."

Invidia closed and erased the message while hiding a grin. Her pawn had taken one of Sabera's, and the other woman was none the wiser.

With Morta maintaining close ties to Desslok, perhaps ensuring the Gamilon's demise was still possible. And what better way to do that than through the Original ship he was so obsessed with?

She had one remaining tie to that ship.

Deun.

She needed to speak with him. Find a way to take control. And ultimately, revenge.


Argo sailed out of the Gate corridor.

Derek eased his grip on his chair. No one said it, but especially after the incident with Dash a few hours ago, they were all glad to be back in normal space.

"Incoming message," Homer said. "From Captain Yamanami aboard Arizona. It read, 'Andromeda has taken heavy damage. We've lost a dozen ships. More fall as I send this. Gideon has faith Argo and the Star Force can turn the tide in our favor. I hope he's right.' He's included their coordinates and data on enemy ship numbers, armaments, capabilities. He gave us everything he had."

"Let's see it," Derek said.

Homer sent the message contents to Derek's computer.

Yamanami's report put the EDF and Gatlantean fleets just past Titan. Estimates on enemy ship numbers weren't good. The EDF was outnumbered four to one. And that was assuming there weren't reinforcements on the way. At this rate, Gideon, Yamanami, and what was left of the Earth defense fleet wouldn't last more than a few more hours. With every ship the EDF lost, the odds grew longer.

"Vasquez, all ahead, full. Watts, calculate a warp." Derek sent a message to the crew, telling everyone to prepare to engage enemy forces once they dropped out of warp.

They were only one ship, but sometimes one was enough.

The radio silence order remained in place.

Gatlantean forces wouldn't know Argo had arrived until she was tearing into them.


Sabera had just finished giving Bleak his orders when Invidia slipped out of the war room.

Instead of calling attention to the princess' departure, Sabera locked eyes with Dyre and tipped her head to call him to her side.

Dyre maintained a stoic expression, but flickers of suspicion and perhaps just a hint of fear sneaked through his otherwise flawless veneer. Did he suspect she remembered his and Invidia's attempt on her life? To keep one's power and position aboard Gatlantis was a game of wits and secrets. Dyre couldn't reveal his fear without risking his own skin. He wouldn't speak about the incident until he was sure it was either safe or advantageous.

Sabera savored every moment of his fear.

When the first bead of sweat rolled down his neck, Sabera said, "Remain with General Beale and monitor Manic's fleet. I will return shortly."

Sabera kept her pace slow but even as she left the war room. Observers might connect her exit with Invidia's, but she wouldn't give them any evidence of that.

Whatever Invidia was up to—because she undoubtedly was up to something—Sabera would find out. The princess was many things, stubborn, conniving, self-interested. But she wasn't overly intelligent, even though she thought otherwise.

Dyre would remain in the war room as she'd instructed, but every second he'd wonder where she'd gone.

Sabera smirked. Let him squirm. She'd take care of him soon enough.


Argo dropped out of warp just beyond Ymir, one of Saturn's small, outer moons. There wasn't much they could do to hide their incoming warp field, but Derek hoped Saturn's numerous satellites would conceal their presence from long-range sensors. At least long enough to allow them to get within weapons range undetected.

Using Radar or Sensors this close to the enemy fleet would alert them to Argo's presence. For now, they'd be flying blind.

Derek wished Mark were at the helm, but Sane refused to clear him for duty yet. Nova wasn't recovered enough to man her post either. The bridge wasn't the same without them.

Vasquez wove through the maze of moons, passing Thrym and Phoebe. He expertly hugged each orbit, dodging larger chunks of space debris.

When they reached Iapetus, Derek verified the coordinates Yamanami sent. If the battle still raged, Argo would be on them all too soon.

Just beyond Titan. He kept Yamanami's message up as they headed for Saturn's largest moon.

Argo had briefly landed on Titan during the Iscandar trip. Due to either oversight or battle damage—he couldn't recall which—they'd run out of Titanite and had to resupply. Thankfully, Sandor's refit had eliminated the need for the rare substance.

That foray had been the first time he'd felt the urge to protect Nova. It was brief, intense. He'd knocked her out of the way of a Gamilon automaton's fire. The moment had ended in an instant, but he still remembered that singular burst of purpose that had led to friendship and then… to love.

Now, he had to protect Earth. Not just for Nova, but for all humanity.

"Enemy fleet at twelve o'clock," Vasquez said.

Derek clicked on the ship-wide comm. "Radio silence is rescinded. All hands to battle stations." To the bridge crew, he said, "Prepare to engage the enemy. Watts, what're we looking at?"

"It's ten to one out there, sir." Watts switched to the Iscandarian radar unit. "Enemy numbers and classes are consistent with Captain Yamanami's report."

"Sandor, any sign of Gatlantean reinforcements?"

"None that we can detect, but even our long-range sensors might not be enough to forewarn us."

"That's a risk we'll have to take," Derek said. "Watts, where's Andromeda?" He pulled up radar on his console.

"She's fending off three enemy destroyers, but she's damaged. She can't hold on indefinitely."

"Can any of the surviving ships come to her aid?" Derek said.

"No," Watts replied. "All are either engaged or too damaged to move."

"Vasquez, take is in. Head for Andromeda. Dash, target those three destroyers. Sandor, keep an eye out for more Gatlanteans. We have one chance. Let's make it count."


Invidia kept a believably brisk pace as she threaded through dim halls and took private transports. Even though she'd been to Detention Area 13 far too recently, she consulted the map via comm implant.

The thought of returning to the scene of her humiliation at Desslok's hand sat in her stomach like soured wine. She'd been a dust-emboldened fool that night. If only she hadn't gone alone, she might have prevented Desslok's escape.

She slipped into the detention area unnoticed. The new Gatekeeper was at his post, rifle slung across his body, ready in case of another… mishap.

"13-52-19-4," Invidia said.

The Gatekeeper tapped the cell number into the computer console and stood still for a retina scan. "Your requested cell will arrive momentarily."

Invidia traversed the narrow walkway spanning the length of the prison building—one of thousands aboard Gatlantis.

The prison cell she'd asked for descended via metal cable and docked with the walkway. The cell door remained closed, awaiting authorization.

Most cells only needed a code to unlock them, but the higher-security cells also required retina scans from both the Gatekeeper and one of a handful of authorized individuals. She stepped in front of the scanner mounted beside the door, hoping her father hadn't revoked her privileges.

A violet light flickered above the scanner, indicating her credentials still worked.

The door whispered open.

Deun stood as far from the refresher as possible. The tamper-proof cuff around his upper arm ensured he didn't bolt out of the cell. If he stepped past the threshold, the cuff would inject sedatives into his bloodstream. He'd be asleep before he hit the floor.

All the precautions she hadn't taken with Desslok glared at her now. She'd tried to keep knowledge of Desslok's imprisonment from her father, so she hadn't employed as many security measures. Since Deun had purportedly attempted to assassinate Zordar, he'd earned stricter accommodations.

"You're the second person to attempt to cage me in the past month," Deun said. His tone verged on amusement, but it held a dangerous edge.

Invidia considered closing the cell and walking away. But if she did that, she'd never acquire the last available means of humiliating Desslok.

Entering this cell meant stepping into Deun's limited sphere of power. If he threatened her, she could trigger the sedative cuff. But if she acted too late…

To get what she wanted, she'd often walked into danger. This was no different.

At least, that was the thought she held onto as the door slid shut behind her, locking her in with the man she hadn't hesitated to betray.

Deun took a step toward her.

If she touched the cell door, it would open, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of intimidating her.

Invidia crossed her arms and peered at him haughtily. "If you were stupid enough to lose your freedom, that reflects far more on you than it does on me."

Deun took a half dozen slow steps toward her, cutting the distance between them to an arm's length. The air was thick with body odor and the reek seeping from the refresher. "Tell me, princess," he whispered the word. "Why are you here?"

Her hand itched to touch the door, open the cell, clear the air.

If she left now, no one would blame her. Deun wouldn't even know what brought her to his door. The Gatekeeper wouldn't ask questions. She could make up any story she liked.

But two needs burned brightly in her mind. Taking the throne of Gatlantis and humiliating Desslok. The first goal was still just out of reach, but the second could be hers if Deun cooperated.

It was a risk, enlisting Deun's help again. They'd never truly trusted one another. Gatlantis was not a place for trust. But they did have a grudging respect—at least, they had before she'd sacrificed him to save her own skin.

Deun leaned close. His fingers smoothed the underside of her chin, tipping her gaze upward.

"The source code and activation key for the Dark One virus," she breathed. "Give it to me."

Deun's harsh laugh filled the tiny cell and grated her ears. He let her go, shaking his head. "You think I'd willingly hand that over? You're dusted."

Invidia speared him with a glare. "Give me this, and I'll set you free."

His jaw tightened, and he eyed her with the same calculating stare one predator gives another.

Long minutes of silence crawled past. He was seriously considering her offer, but if Sabera's plans for overtaking Origin remained on-schedule, she couldn't afford delays. He had to give her his answer now. She had to force his hand.

Invidia turned her back to Deun. A show of confidence. Power.

"I should have known you wouldn't value an opportunity like this. No matter. The Imperial Star Gatlantis needs nothing from you." She raised a hand to open the door.

"I… will give it to you." Deun said it through gritted teeth. "But only if you tell me why you want it."

She didn't face him. They were both playing a dangerous game. If she revealed her plans and then let him go, he might thwart her out of spite. But turning him down outright could destroy her chances of getting what she wanted.

"I will tell you. But it will cost you two more days in this cell."

In two days, the conquest of Origin would be well underway and her plans for the virus irrevocably in motion. Not that Deun would object to causing his brother grief. But his unpredictable nature gave her pause.

"Then leave," he said, tone eerily neutral. "I don't need your charity."

She wasn't fool enough to believe he didn't care about his freedom. No, he was bargaining for something much bigger than a head-start to an inevitable manhunt.

Her last encounter with Desslok burned in her mind. He'd humiliated her, made her father think she was a useless idiot. She wouldn't allow such a transgression to go unpunished. Perhaps dealing with Desslok permanently would show her father even more just how much she deserved the throne.

"Then what do you need?" Invidia kept her voice even, matching Deun's seeming indifference.

He had her by the arms before she blinked. "Uphold our bargain." His breath warmed her cheek. "When you take the throne of Gatlantis, I will hold power alongside you."

"And why should I agree to that?"

"Do you truly believe you have a choice?" Deun said.

His grip was too strong for her to break free. If he moved too suddenly, he'd trigger an alert, set off his cuff. The Gatekeeper would be here in seconds. Surely, he couldn't kill her without the security measures' notice.

But what if he could?

This wasn't a game anymore. It was a bid for survival.

"Very well." Invidia didn't hide her disdain. "If you give me the virus, I'll honor our original bargain."

Deun didn't loosen his grip. "First, you'll remove this tranq cuff." His grip shifted to her wrists. He pried open one hand and pressed her palm to his arm for ten long seconds. The biometric sensors on the cuff read her involuntary touch as a command to disengage. "Now, rescind my comm restrictions," he ordered.

He'd just used her like a puppet. She'd never been treated with such disregard. "No."

"Then how do you think you'll get your virus?" he said.

"You'll tell me its location, and I'll retrieve it," she countered.

He laughed at her. "You think you can get to a file I've buried? Your arrogance truly knows no bounds, princess. Search for the virus yourself, and you risk infecting all of Gatlantis. Your precious worldship will burn. What will your throne mean to either of us then?"

He could be lying. The virus might be in his possession even now. Or it could be stowed in a repository lightyears away.

She was out of time.

With a few wordless commands, she restored his comm access.

"Very good." Instead of letting her go, Deun backed her against the door and pressed her hand to the cold metal. Like the tranq cuff, the door responded to her touch and slid open. "If you still want your virus, distract the Gatekeeper." He pushed her out of the cell.

She kept her footing, despite the unexpected shove.

The Gatekeeper was occupied with overseeing a violet-skinned maintenance worker as the man repaired a faulty railing near the entrance. When Invidia approached, he gave her a respectful bow. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Highness?"

After Deun's gross disrespect, the man's attitude was refreshing. She almost regretted having to deceive him. Once word of Deun's escape spread, he'd likely be executed. But she needed that virus, and her revenge was worth more than a few pretty words.

Invidia pulled the Gatekeeper's gaze toward the front entrance, away from Deun's still-open cell. "You serve the empire well."

The Gatekeeper's eyes widened. "You honor me, Princess."

Deun stepped out of his cell. His shirt was inside out, and he wore a different face. Dark hair replaced red-gold, and Cometine green skin covered his Gamilon blue. No one would recognize him like this.

Maintenance didn't seem to notice as Deun crossed the walkway and took an access stair into the bowls of the detention facility.

As Deun's cell returned to its place among the other suspended white orbs, Invidia waved the fawning Gatekeeper away. "Back to your duties."

"Yes, Princess." The man bowed again and turned to the maintenance worker.

Without a backward glance, Invidia strode out of Detention Area 13. Once out of the Gatekeeper's sight, she hurried to the nearest service access door and slipped inside.

Deun waited for her in the dim underbelly of the prison.

She stopped several steps away from him. "The virus," she hissed.

Deun held out an open palm. Hovering just above his hand was a small, holographic icon—a scorpio-drake surrounded by a crown of thorns. The creature had the body and tail of a scorpion and the head and neck of a dragon. It was a myth from Gamilon legend. A creature that spewed both poison and fire. Much like Deun.

Without moving any closer, Invidia accepted the file.

Almost as soon as he transferred the virus to her, Deun blended into the darkness. He would change his face again as soon as he could to avoid security—when they finally realized he'd escaped.

He wouldn't go far. When it was advantageous to him to find her, he would.

She hoped revenge was sweet enough to mask the foul taste left from renewing her deal with Deun.


Argo surged around Titan, heading directly for Andromeda. Multiple capital ships stood between them and Gideon. But surprise was on their side.

Derek periodically monitored radar as Dash and the gunnery crew targeted the nearest Karakrum class destroyer. Weapons fire concentrated on engines and weapons systems.

"One down," Dash announced before shifting focus to the next ship.

They shot down all three destroyers, then turned their attention to escort ships. Argo punched through each enemy, cutting a hole in their lines, wide enough to allow them to reach Andromeda.

"Wildstar, message from Captain Gideon," Homer said.

"Put it through."

Gideon's face appeared on the video panel. A stream of blood ran from a cut on his forehead and trickled down his cheek. "I knew you'd come." He said it with an almost-smirk.

"We received your message fourteen hours ago. The Cometine forces won't need long to regroup. We need to get Andromeda out of here. What's your engine status?"

"Not good," Gideon said, punctuating his remark with an order to adjust shields to intercept enemy fire. "I'm glad to see the Star Force. If there were ever one ship that could turn a tide, it's Argo, but we're still sorely outnumbered. Reinforcements are few and under equipped. Enemy fighters are faster than anything we've seen. Our sensors can't get a lock on them."

Derek checked radar. Gideon was right. Argo had forced through enemy lines, but the hole they'd made was quickly filling. If they didn't get out now, they might not be able to. "My XO put something together that will fix that problem. Homer, send all EDF ships the sensor software patch. Have all ships that are still mobile cover you, we'll pull Andromeda out of the combat zone and retreat."

"How?" Gideon said.

"The rocket anchor," Derek replied. "Andromeda has already sustained damage to its bow. We can use the anchor as a hook, and Andromeda will be our fish."

"That'll rip the hull to pieces," said Gideon.

"Yes. But it'll supplement your engines enough to get you and your crew out of here alive. Have your other ships evacuate crews from critically damaged ships, and we'll regroup at Enceladus."

Cometine ships converged on Argo.

"Sandor, how long will it take to secure the anchor?"

"If personnel are on-hand to complete the tethering, at least three minutes," replied the XO.

"Shield status," Derek said.

"Shields at 90% and falling."

"Captain Gideon, if we're going to do this, we need to act now."

Sandor crossed the bridge. "Wildstar, once we're near enough to Andromeda, we can join their shield with ours, create a much larger protected area. Both ships will share the power load, making the draw on both Argo and Andromeda at least thirty percent less, protecting the work crew and allowing us more time to clear the combat zone."

"Captain Gideon?"

"Do it." Gideon issued orders to seal off the bow, send a team to the forward deck, and prepare to receive the rocket anchor.


Sabera waited beneath Detention Area 13. Invidia's exchange with a man who appeared to be Cometine but walked with the self-assurance of royalty ended quickly. She already knew who the princess had met.

An interesting move, freeing Deun.

But even more interesting was what Invidia had acquired for freeing him. The scorpio-drake was a well-known symbol of destruction in Gamilon lore. But what had Deun given Invidia that could cause such havoc?

The princess would never tell Sabera, and it would take far too long to pry the information from her. Better to have someone Invidia trusted get that particular piece of data.

Sabera stole out of the detention area and took the quickest route back to the war room.

Invidia hadn't returned.

General Dyre was right where she'd left him. His gaze flickered to her, then back to the tactical map.

Time to leverage a convenient bit of knowledge.

"General Beale," said Sabera. "Prince Zordar wishes to see you in his audience chamber."

Beale was always ready to curry favor. Sabera was almost glad he was such a sycophant as the general scurried away, leaving her alone with Dyre.

Once Beale was gone, Sabera itched to grab her ceremonial dagger and spill Dyre's treacherous blood. But she needed him. If only for a little longer.

"I remember everything, old fool," she hissed so none of the guards overheard.

Dyre gave no outward sign of fear, but she could almost hear the quickening beat of his heart. He kept his eyes on the tactical map. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Prime Minister."

Sabera feigned interest in the map. "You know I don't believe that. But I could be persuaded to if you tell me what Invidia has taken from that Gamilon—the one imprisoned for his attempt on Zordar's life."

Dyre kept his voice low. "I know nothing of what you speak." His face was guarded, but Sabera knew lies when she heard them and, for once, this was no lie.

On the map, Manic's fleet lost a handful of ships to the Originals, but the power balance remained the same. It was only a matter of time before those simpletons were wiped out and the way to Origin cleared.

Sabera slipped closer to Dyre and whispered, "You may not have the answer, but you can get it, now can't you." It wasn't a question, and he knew it.

"I cannot presume to tell the princess to entrust me with her secrets."

Sabera curled lithe fingers around Dyre's arm. "You'll do as I say, or you'll discover yourself in the reactor chamber. Without a suit. You and the little princess have done enough plotting lately. It's time you cooperated." Her nails dug into his arm, crinkling his uniform sleeve.

Dyre's stare remained iron.

Sabera released him. "If a fiery death doesn't instill fear," she whispered, "perhaps something else will." She linked with Dyre's comm implant and played a video clip from a few weeks ago.

Gairen stood with Dyre inside the general's quarters, discussing how to ensure Desslok returned to Gatlantis. A failed endeavor, but Sabera didn't care about that. What interested her was the way Dyre kept not quite enough space between himself and the priest. The spared glances, tension in his posture, the way he almost called after Gairen when the other man left.

"Remind me who else was registered to your suite some six years ago." She paused the clip to showcase Gairen's face perfectly, half of it covered with a thick, metal band that hid his sightless eyes. The old priest's short, white beard came to a point a few inches beneath his chin.

Dyre's stoic veneer cracked. "My past… connection… with Gairen is public knowledge."

Sabera circled like a hunting cat. "I do not think it's entirely in the past. At least, not for you."

"Think what you wish. It will not change the truth."

Sabera chuckled. "The truth? What is the truth but what we make it? And the truth here is that you still have a deep affection for that old lunatic. Perhaps Gairen's time is over. He's become a danger to himself and others—as he proved only days ago when he killed a dozen men, some with his bare hands. Not to mention the poisoning incident in the gardens." She sent Dyre a report she'd have run on the substance used to kill her double. "You didn't think I was idiot enough to think you or Invidia synthesized that poison." She stopped circling, making sure to keep the guards at her back. "I know Gairen supplied you with it. I'm also not convinced Gairen was ignorant of that little incident with Zordar. We can't have the lunatic priest killing anyone important, and there's only one way to ensure that."

Dyre kept his poise. "If I may be blunt, Prime Minister. What is your point?"

She whispered it in his ear. "If you help me, Gairen doesn't have to die."

Dyre's posture tightened. The lines across his forehead turned to deep furrows.

"Are we in agreement?"

Dyre didn't meet her gaze. "Yes… Prime Minister." The hatred welling in his voice made her want to grin.

"Good. I suggest you leave now."

Without a word, the general used the same exit Beale had minutes before.

Manic's fleet still harried the Originals. Nasca's was in place, and Bleak's would be as soon as the Forge reached them. Aside from Gorse's foolishness, the invasion of Origin was going to plan. The only loose end was Invidia, and Dyre would remedy that soon enough. Or else, he'd pay the price.


Derek called Conroy. "Ready the Tigers for launch. Keep the Cometine planes off us while we retrieve Andromeda."

"Will do, Wildstar," Conroy said. "First wave will take off in sixty seconds."

To Dash, Derek said, "Weapon system status."

"We're keeping up," Dash said. "But we can't do it forever."

"Just give us enough time to get Gideon and his ship out of here."

"Aye, sir," Dash said. All hints of his ordeal during the Gate crossing had vanished. The anger he'd shown these past weeks was gone too, replaced by the old even-tempered Dash. Derek hoped the events of the last twelve hours never repeated themselves.

"Watts?"

"Enemy fighters are swarming, Captain. Radar registers fifty Scorpion-class targets. More incoming."

"Sandor, are we set to merge our shield with Andromeda's?"

"It'll be ready when we're within range."

An incoming comm message from Conroy. "Tiger Lead is away."

Conroy's plane, launched from the forward catapult, shot past the conn tower.

"Wave one, heading to engage the enemy," Conroy supplemented.

Feria spoke next. "Wave two, preparing for launch."

"Vasquez," Derek said. "Ahead quarter impulse. Prepare to come about on my mark."

Sandor's hands flew over his console as Argo approached Andromeda.

"Two escorts on an intercept course," Watts said.

"Targeting now," Dash replied.

"They've reached ramming speed," said Watts. "They're going to hit the bridge!"

Derek checked sensors and radar. One of the approaching ships exploded, but the second charged ahead. "Dash?"

"Can't get a lock on it. It's using the debris field to confuse the sensors."

"Vasquez, twenty-degree tilt to port. Now!"

The helmsman acted immediately.

Argo tipped to the side just in time for the Cometine ship to skim past the conn tower.

Derek prayed there wouldn't be any severe injuries as crew, unprepared for the evasion, skidded across rooms and halls.

"Coming around again," Watts said.

"Targeting lock," Dash said. "Direct hit. Enemy is listing starboard."

A notice flashed on Derek's comm. They'd lost multiple Tigers.

He gritted his teeth.

"Vasquez, level out and make a 180-degree turn."

"Yes, sir. Coming about." Vasquez pulled close to Andromeda and swung around so Argo's stern faced Andromeda's damaged bow.

"Sandor?"

"Shield merger in progress. Projected completion in twelve seconds."

"Vasquez, shut off the firing mechanism for the rocket anchor and release it. We don't want to create another hull breech for Andromeda."

A warning notice popped onto Derek's terminal, telling him the anchor wouldn't be able to travel far or with enough force to secure the ship.

He dismissed the message.

"Homer, notify Andromeda the anchor is away," Derek said.

Within two minutes, Homer received a reply. "They have it. Securing the anchor now."

"Conroy, what's your status?"

"Three planes down. One confirmed dead. Two unaccounted for, Gat and Mathison—Buddy."

"Noble?"

"Two down…" Feria paused. "Both dead. Wait! I have eyes on an ejector seat. Repeat, I found one of our MIAs. It's Buddy!"

"Grab her and head back to the hangar," Derek said. "All Tigers, keep a lookout for Gat, callsign Singer. Cometine comm signals could be jamming her distress beacon, so you might have to find her by eye."

"Shield merger complete," Sandor announced.

"Anchor is secure," said Homer.

"Vasquez, give Gideon's team two minutes to get below deck, then head for Enceladus."

"Aye, Captain." Vasquez started a countdown.

As the seconds raced past, Derek checked injury reports. A dozen minor. One major. None critical. All patients currently in the medbay were also all right. Including Nova and Mark.

When the countdown hit zero, Vasquez put on speed slowly, to keep from ripping the anchor out.

At the engineering station, Yamazaki adjusted for Andromeda's added mass.

"EDF ships converging on our position," Watts said. "They're covering us."

"All Tigers, continue searching for Singer, but once the EDF fleet is past our current position—" He'd hoped to never have to make this call. "—head back to the hangar."

The radio went silent.

They all knew what that order meant. Continuing to search without backup and under heavy enemy fire was suicide, and Argo would need every pilot they could muster for what was coming. If they had to leave someone behind, there would be no way around it.

They had minutes to find the missing pilot, and those minutes would disappear all too quickly.


Feria hauled Buddy, ejector seat and all, into the hangar. The low gravity kept the injured pilot from hitting the deck upon arrival.

She detached the tether line from Buddy's seat before the automated docking system stowed her plane.

The instant Feria's Tiger docked, she leaped from the cockpit and pushed off the wing, propelling herself down to the deck.

Hansen, from the medbay, was on-hand with another nurse to stabilize Buddy and get her to Dr. Sane.

Feria opened her helmet visor. "How is she?"

Hansen carefully pulled Buddy's helmet off while the woman with him put Buddy in a C-collar.

Bruises spread across the girl's forehead and one side of her face. She'd have at least one black eye when she woke up. If she woke up.

A steady trickle of blood leaked from Buddy's mouth and ran down her chin. The resulting stain blended with the black of her pilot suit.

"Not good," Hansen said. "But better than she'd be if you hadn't gotten her back so quickly." He took Buddy's vitals.

Feria silently counted the beats of the unconscious girl's heart. Each thud radiated through the gurney and across the deck, thrumming into Feria's boots.

"Pulse is weak," Hansen said to the other nurse.

"No, it's not."

At Feria's outburst, both Hansen and his partner stared at her.

"I can feel it through the floor," Feria added.

Hansen's attention returned to Buddy. "You're hyper aware from being in combat. That's just the automated docking system making the deck plates vibrate."

"No, it isn't. It's her heartbeat," said Feria.

"Well, whatever it is, we need to get her to Sane right now." Hansen retracted the gurney's wheels and engaged its anti-gravity function to give Buddy a smoother ride. "You all right?" he said to Feria before steering Buddy out.

"Yeah. Yeah, fine. Just take care of her, okay?" She flipped her visor closed. Singer was still out there, and they only had a few minutes to find her.

Feria pushed off the deck, heading for her Tiger. She had to re-join the search.


Invidia sat on her couch and examined the file she'd obtained from Deun. The analysis program she'd run on the Dark One virus marked it High-risk. Once released, the program was almost impossible to contain. It could even pretend to be quarantined and mask its presence, compromising little things here and there until it destroyed an entire network. It was crafty. Quiet. And perfect.

The activation key was a single word and could be delivered verbally or via hardware input.

She opened an encrypted channel to Morta. "I have a gift for the Original fleet. Make sure they get it, especially that ship Desslok is so fascinated with." A grin spread across her lips. "It would infuriate him to have someone else foil his juvenile quest for revenge."

Wicked glee lit Morta's face. "I'll ensure the gift is delivered."

The moment after Invidia ended the call, someone requested entry to her quarters.

Dyre.

She allowed him in, careful to hide all traces of levity. He didn't need to know about this particular endeavor. "What do you want, Dyre? I've had a long day." She made a show of pouring a glass of wine and looking quite put out.

"I noticed your absence in the war room."

"I'd had enough of Sabera's company, so I left. I don't owe you an explanation for my every action."

"Of course not, Princess, but in such a climate as this, one can't be too attentive to what transpires around them. Keeping track of allies is vital. Should one fall, it would be wise to know immediately."

Invidia swirled the wine in her glass. "Yes, it would. But, as you can see, I'm as well as anyone under Sabera's clawed thumb."

Dyre's eye twitched.

"Why General, has our illustrious prime minister finally trapped you?"

The man said nothing.

"What has she used to chain you?" Invidia set her glass on a low table and narrowed the distance between them until she was conspiratorially close. "My father may have sentenced me to work alongside Sabera, but I'm no longer her subordinate. Tell me what she's done, and I'll ensure her threats are empty."

Dyre maintained his silence.

"Don't you trust me?" She ran her fingers through his thick, white hair. "My father would be very interested to learn his prime minister was plotting against his own daughter. Now that we have something more than circumstantial evidence, we can bring the matter to him. Help me destroy Sabera once and for all, just as we've always planned."

"If it were my life at risk, Princess, I would not hesitate to do as you've asked."

Invidia leaned closer. "So, it's the priest. In light of recent events, I suspect Sabera would be hard pressed to even restrain Gairen, much less kill him."

"She's imprisoned him once." Dyre kept his voice low. "Do not underestimate her."

"I won't. And she shouldn't underestimate me." She picked up her wine glass and took a long drink. "The passage to my father's quarters, we'll take it now. If he isn't there, he'll be in the audience chamber reserved for nobles."

Invidia went into her bedroom and pried open the panel leading to the hidden passageways that threaded throughout this portion of Gatlantis. When Gairen told her about them, she'd been horrified, but thoughts of how she could use such a resource quickly smothered any lingering anxiety. After all, Sabera clearly had no knowledge of this hidden thoroughfare, otherwise, she'd have used it.

"Hurry up, Dyre. My father waits for no one." Invidia ushered the old general into the passage and closed the entrance.


Episode 39 Notes:

The title for this episode is taken from Isaiah 59:2-6:

But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.

For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue hath muttered perverseness.

None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity, and speak lies; they conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity.

They hatch cockatrice' eggs, and weave the spider's web: he that eateth of their eggs dieth, and that which is crushed breaketh out into a viper.

Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they cover themselves with their works: their works are works of iniquity, and the act of violence is in their hands.