by A. K. DuBoff
“You were cutting within meters of the buoys. It wasn’t safe.”
“I knew I had the clearance.”
“You were in an unfamiliar craft,” he reminded her.
“Sir, you said yourself that they handle like the simulators. I’ve logged hundreds of hours in those.”
She had him there. He took a measured breath. “I’ll grant you that. However, there’s a difference between efficiency and being needlessly reckless. Generally speaking, you never have to get that close, even if you have the skill to do so. You have to find the balance between what will accomplish your objective and making sure you and your craft get home intact.”
Alisha nodded and looked down. “I understand. I’m sorry, sir.”
She still seemed annoyed, but Jason appreciated her willingness to concede. He bent his head to catch her gaze. “I should have been clearer in my instruction; it’s not all on you. But next time when I say to take it easy, don’t keep pushing it, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jason gave her a supportive smile. “It was solid flying, though. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”
Her face lit up. “Thank you, sir.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Jason resumed the walk to his quarters. With soft copper and deep red hues complementing the wood paneling and gray carpet, the residential halls felt like a cozy home rather than a military installation. After ten years with the TSS, living in the underground base seemed as normal as his childhood on Earth. He did miss being able to go into the countryside—and the rain, oddly—but his assignments to various planets offered a suitable substitute.
He was almost to his quarters when he spotted Gil, one of his former roommates and fellow Primus Elite, heading his way.
“Hey, what’s up?” Jason asked.
Gil rubbed the edge of his overcoat between his thumb and forefinger, a nervous tick Jason had observed many times over the years. “What do you know about the attack?”
Jason’s thoughts flashed to the dark presence he’d sensed during the flight lesson. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you knew. All I heard was a ship went missing, and they just found a lone survivor.”
That didn’t sound related to his experience. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“A friend out on remote assignment,” Gil replied with a shrug. “I thought your parents may have said something.”
Jason sighed inwardly. “Contrary to popular belief, I rarely get information before anyone else.”
Gil cracked a smile. “Sure, downplay it all you want.”
Jason waved him away with his flight helmet. “I need to change. I’ll let you know if I get any details.”
His friend started to walk away. “Oh, and are we still on for the match?”
“Shit, is that tonight?” The video game tournament had slipped his mind. He knew it was silly that they still indulged in such an unproductive diversion, but it had become a tradition. And, it was nice to do something with low stakes.
“Dude, you can’t cancel again.” Gil’s shoulders slumped.
Jason ran through the mental list of everything that would be delayed by attending the game. Despite the sizable disruption, his friend’s pleading eyes got the better of him. “All right, I’ll be there at 19:00.”
Gil’s face lit up with a grin. “Prepare to be slaughtered.”
“That’s all the trash-talk you can manage? You don’t stand a chance.”
“I haven’t even gotten warmed up.” Gil held his arms wide in challenge while he strolled away backward.
Jason shook his head as he placed his palm on the biometric lock to his door.
He’d been in the same quarters since graduating to Agent five years prior. The warm shades decorating Headquarters’ common areas carried into the living area, simply furnished to be both efficient and stylish—like most elements within the TSS.
Jason passed through the sliding door into the bedroom and tossed his helmet onto the double bed. He changed out of the flight suit and donned his standard black TSS Agent uniform, tailored snugly enough to show off his physique without being gratuitous. The t-shirt, slacks, and boots would fit with almost any outfit, but the knee-length overcoat with its narrow lapels and tapered waist gave the uniform its iconic look. Until recently, tinted glasses would have been a mandatory accessory—to hide the bioluminescent irises of those with Gifts. However, recent legislation to legalize the civilian use of those abilities had allowed the TSS and its Agents to become more accepted in society, no longer needing to downplay their abilities to set others at ease.
A quick check of his message inbox confirmed that there was no mention of the attack or any other crisis. Still, as a precaution, he decided it would be better to disclose his experience than not. Since his father was often in meetings as part of his TSS High Commander responsibilities, Jason opted for a text message: >>I sensed something odd during the flight lesson. It reminded me of what I saw in the nexus. We should talk when you get a chance.<<
With the message sent, Jason settled onto the plush couch in the living area to review some of his students’ written assignments. He was just getting into it when his handheld chirped.
A text message from Tiff illuminated on the matte surface of the palm-sized device. >>What are you up to tonight?<<
Jason knew from experience that it was a thinly veiled booty call. He slid open the handheld, which activated its smooth screen, and typed back, >>Stupid amounts of work, and Gil roped me into gaming.<<
>>Booo! I was hoping to unwind. It’s been a bomaxed day.<<
>>Same here, but can’t tonight. I’ll block out tomorrow evening.<<
>>Ugh, fine,<< she agreed. >>But only because I actually like Gil.<<
>>Your infinite understanding will be noted for future generations to admire.<<
>>I’m the best. Don’t you forget it!<<
Jason smiled. >>Never would.<< He paused. >>Hey, you didn’t hear anything about an attack on a ship, did you?<<
>>Yeah, actually,<< Tiff replied. >>There’s been some chatter this afternoon. Prisaris is handling it, I think. Why?<<
Prisaris is near the Rift, but… His brows furrowed. >>No reason. Just heard about it from Gil, and I wondered if there was more to it.<<
>>Not that I know of.<<
>>All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. Usual time?<<
>>Yeah, see you then. Now, get to work!<<
>>On it.<<
He closed out of the chat and frowned at the screen. Prisaris was the TSS base closest to the Rift, and anything having to do with the former war zone set him on edge. Still, the threat related to the Rift was supposed to have been resolved. Unless my vision all those years ago wasn’t about what I thought it was, and there’s something else lurking out there…
There wasn’t anything more he could do about it until he spoke with his father. Until then, plotting how to win the tournament would be a welcome distraction.
— — —
It wasn’t often that TSS High Commander Wil Sietinen found himself perplexed, but this particular set of information defied explanation. He had been studying the report from the Prisaris base for the better part of the evening and was no closer to understanding the strange incident.
“Wil, come to bed.” His wife, Saera, was standing in the doorway to their bedroom. Based on the scowl twisting her beautiful features, she wasn’t pleased that he’d brought work home to their quarters—not that she hadn’t done the same on numerous occasions in her capacity as TSS Lead Agent.
Wil leaned back on the couch with a sigh but didn’t close the report. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You can deal with it later.”
“I’m not so sure,” he replied with a frown. “This salvage ship attack is too bizarre to be a coincidence, given the proximity to the Rift.” Ever since the end of the Bakzen War thirty years prior, the Rift had been on his mind. The spatial tear
was formed when a planet was destroyed in a massive telekinetic assault. Despite the TSS’ attempts to heal the wound, a sliver of it had remained—and was slowly growing again. He and others had been keeping an eye on it from afar, hoping nothing more would come of it. I should have known better.
Wil gestured to the report on the viewscreen and waited for Saera to get the gist of the contents.
“This can’t be right,” she murmured.
“I can’t find any evidence of it being falsified. In the event it is genuine…”
“Stars…” She sunk down onto the couch next to him.
“We can’t take any risks with the Rift. We need to be ready to respond if this situation develops.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with what Jason alluded to in his message?”
If it does, we’re in more danger than I can imagine. He took a steadying breath. “This attack was days ago, though.”
Saera smoothed her hand over her auburn hair. “Have you spoken with him yet?”
“No, I wanted to finish going through this first, since I’d rather keep the conversation rooted in observable facts.” Wil knew firsthand how visions from the nexus were cryptic and difficult to interpret. Years ago, when his son had visited the nexus, they had interpreted what he’d seen to be a sign of the coming revolution within the Empire. At the time, it fit, but it could have meant anything.
Wil stared at the impossible report on the viewscreen. “I’ve always feared that what he saw was actually another impending threat. Though Jason has never said as much, I think he’s wondered the same. I don’t know why else he’d bring it up now.”
Saera groaned. “Because things can never be easy for us.”
“Hey, we had a few years without a galactic-scale disaster to worry about.”
“Not funny.” She continued reviewing the frustratingly sparse information—so far, only a transcript of an interview and a single image.
“Have you evaluated scan data from the area?” she asked.
“I was just about to.”
Saera leaned forward, fully engaged. “Then let’s figure this out.”
— — —
“We have a problem.”
The telepathic warning intruded into Jason’s mind, snapping him awake. Beyond his father’s mental presence, his bedroom was quiet and dark. Jason rolled onto his back and threaded his fingers through his hair, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. He’d only made it into bed an hour prior, after having quite the heated competition with Gil. “Can’t it wait until morning?”
“It’s about the Rift.”
Jason bolted upright, his heart pounding. “Is it related to that attack?”
“Yes, a salvage hauler was destroyed.”
“By what?”
“We’re not sure,” his father replied.
Jason’s mind raced. I’d hoped I was just being paranoid.
The sector around the sealed spatial rift had been unoccupied for decades. Salvage ships had been instructed to stay clear of the area, though it wasn’t a surprise that at least one had gone in search of valuable scraps left over from the Bakzen War. Perhaps a rival had attacked the ship, but he suspected that his father wouldn’t have woken him in the middle of the night if the explanation were that straightforward.
“Meet me in my office,” his father instructed. “The threat may have come through the Rift.”
Jason threw back the sheets on his bed. “I’m on my way.”
He hurriedly dressed and grabbed his handheld from the charging pad on his nightstand. Shit, we don’t need another conflict. He slid the device into the inner breast pocket of his black overcoat and jogged to the door.
The hallways in TSS Headquarters were all but abandoned in the wee hours of the morning. Sconces lining the paneled walls were dimmed to half-brightness for the night, giving Jason the opportunity to let his senses adjust to wakefulness. As much as he and the other Agents in the TSS liked to believe that the organization’s charter was now driven by academic excellence, alerts like this in the middle of the night were a reminder that their duty was to protect the Taran people, first and foremost. There would always be new threats to vanquish, and they needed to be ready for anything. Their skills were too unique for anyone to take their place.
The familiar comfort of the environment helped settle Jason’s nerves as he jogged to the central lift connecting the facility’s rings. He took the lift to Level 1—the administrative center for TSS Headquarters—and hurried to the TSS High Commander’s office down one of the four primary corridors radiating from the dark-tiled central lobby. For most, getting called to the office would either be a great honor or a sign of impending punishment for a major indiscretion. For Jason, being the son of High Commander Wil Sietinen, a veritable living legend, it was a place for a casual family get-together as much as anything else. Tonight, however, was definitely not a social call.
One half of the wooden double-doors to the office stood open. Jason’s father, mother, and three other senior Agents were waiting inside. All were dressed in Agent black, though many weren’t in their full uniform. The buzz of energy in the air was palpable, with so many of the most powerful Gifted soldiers gathered in one place. Jason’s skin tingled from the thrill of being in their presence—the extraordinary potential waiting to be unleashed. It wasn’t like that being around all Agents, but the close bonds between this group elevated them; they were more than the sum of their parts.
After Jason entered, his father telekinetically closed the door with a wave of his hand.
“What do we know?” Jason asked.
“Not enough. I’ve already been over the situation with everyone here, and we’ve agreed you’re the right person to bring in—especially considering that message you sent me.” The cerulean glow from his father’s bioluminescent irises stood out across the room in the dim light, the vibrant blue contrasting the shade of chestnut hair he’d passed down to Jason and his twin sister.
“It was almost like a flashback of my vision from the nexus. But it’s never resurfaced like that before.”
“A darkness on the horizon.” His father exchanged a significant glance with the others.
“Yeah.” Jason slowly closed the distance to the Agents gathered around the desk. He’d gotten used to his parents holding the two foremost leadership roles in the TSS, with their longtime friends occupying positions as Division Heads. The inner circle, responsible for the safety of the Taran Empire. Jason had had to earn his place as a trusted Agent among them, regardless of his pedigree. He took the position seriously, and he knew there were few circumstances that would necessitate an urgent meeting like this. He braced for the worst.
“It’s too soon to say definitively if your experience is connected to the salvage hauler attack,” his father continued. “What we have been able to establish is that the ship shouldn’t have been out where it was.”
“And there were no other ships in the area, which makes it more complicated.” His mother, Saera Alexri, was uncharacteristically solemn, with a tightness around her jade eyes, also casting a natural glow to evidence her advanced Gifts. In her role as Lead Agent, she’d always maintained grace and levity, even when faced with dire situations. For her to look this concerned set Jason even more on edge.
“No clues?” Jason asked. “I heard something about a survivor.”
“Yes, there is one,” his father replied. He leaned against his desk, crossing his toned arms. “And his story would seem far-fetched if he hadn’t also delivered proof.”
“A merchant ship picked up his escape pod from the salvage hauler Andvari,” explained Michael Andres, the lead trainer for the Primus Elite Division in which Jason had studied. He was one of Jason’s parents’ oldest friends, and his position as their next-in-line leader in the TSS had been secured through his loyal service in the war and the transition years that followed. “The response was initially handled by the Tararian Guard, but they’ve admitted they’re out of their de
pth on this matter.”
“For only the second time ever, to my recollection,” Wil quipped.
Ian Mandren and Ethan Samlier—the Division Leads for the Sacon and Trion Agent classes, respectively—smirked at the comment. They never missed an opportunity to play up the TSS’ rivalry with the Guard.
Appreciative his father was trying to ease the tension, Jason cracked a smile. He’d been the Agent assigned to respond to that previous call for help, and it had been deeply satisfying to watch the Guard soldiers gawk at his open use of telekinesis.
Michael didn’t seem to share their amusement. No surprise there; he was always focused and serious when there was a task at hand. Still, when Michael worried, everyone worried. And right now, he looked more terrified than Jason had ever seen him.
“There’s more data, but this image is most illustrative.” Michael activated the holoprojector integrated into the High Commander’s desk, displaying a three-dimensional rendering of…
Jason squinted at the image as he tried to figure out what it was.
The tangle of looping lines had no clear point of origin, snaking across the image and fading into the expanse beyond. A dense knot at the center appeared to be gripping something. Upon closer inspection, Jason was able to make out the form of a vessel.
“Holy shit! Is that the salvage ship?”
The realization gave a new sense of scale to the image. The vessel had to be at least two or three hundred meters in length, which meant the ethereal tentacle-like web around it stretched for kilometers in every direction.
“What is this?” Jason asked, almost breathless. This isn’t anything like what I saw in my vision.
“That’s what we need to figure out,” Saera replied. “The image was captured under unusual circumstances. For simplicity’s sake, it’s a transdimensional snapshot—showing a structure that extends beyond what we know as spacetime reality.”
“It’s foking massive. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Michael shook his head. Jason always wondered how Michael had been able to adopt the curses used by native-born Tarans rather than those he’d grown up with on Earth. Maybe with the benefit of time, it’d rub off on him, too.
