Survivors by Paul Cesarini

Survivors by Paul Cesarini

1

When she stepped into the small, sterile debriefing room, he shot to his feet, his movement abrupt and stiff.  She expected this; protocol demanded anyone of lower rank rise in her presence.  What she didn’t expect was his next move.  Rather than clasping his hands together and bowing, he shrank back into the corner, retreating like a wounded animal.  This isn’t him, she thought, staring at the haggard, gaunt figure barely standing in front of her.  His scales, while yellow and striped with thin brown bands like all their kind, were waxy and pale.  His stripes had faded to near invisibility, smothered under his pallor.  This isn’t the one we’ve all listened to in Academy, she thought.  Not the tactical genius who won the Battle of Aetherion, infuriating his own superiors.  Not the diplomat who negotiated the surrender of the Krein Imperium.  Not the warrior who broke the back of the Bal Thoth Garoong.  The hollow male before her bore none of that brilliance.  His eyes, sunken back into his head, stared out at her blankly.  His uniform, stained and smelling of soot, blood, and worse, hung tattered on him.  It bore no marks of rank, no insignia, no nothing.  Each had seemingly been ripped off at some point, by… someone? 

She turned to the guards flanking the doorway, recognizing one of them as the nephew of a colleague.  Haldar-something, she thought.  “You’re positive this is actually him?”

He nodded. “Exarch, his retinal scans and atomic structure are an exact match.”

“We all know those can be faked.  It’s expensive, but it can be done.”

“Our bioengineers analyzed his stripe and scale patterns, too.  Math doesn’t lie.”

“Math doesn’t lie.  That will be all for now,” she said, making a mental note to see when he was up for advancement.  Her next Command meeting was soon, she knew, and they needed more junior officers.  Both guards clasped their hands together, bowed, then left, the door sliding shut behind them. 

She turned back to what was left of the male in front of her, the one who couldn’t possibly be her former teacher and mentor, from long ago.  “Ecliptor?  Ecliptor Vonal?  Do you remember me?  I am Kara-gar.  Your former student, at Academy.”

He stared through her, as if he alone were in the room.

“Ecliptor, do you remember me?” she asked, smiling slightly.  “I certainly remember you.  All those lectures.  All those late evenings studying for your unforgiving exams.  We all swore you would be the death of us, back then.”

He looked up at her, blinked, then resumed his distant stare.

“Ecliptor, where is your ship – your crew?”

“My… ship?” he asked.

She knelt down, held his hands in hers, and peered at him.  He avoided eye contact, until she got right in his face.  “Your Dynastic Battle Cruiser.  Where is the Typhonic?  You’ve been out of contact for nearly two cycles now.  That’s not necessarily uncommon since you were in deep space and possibly out of range, but your reports – all of them, from your entire crew – abruptly stopped.  No one has seen or heard from you since we found you adrift, in the cryopod.”

“My… ship,” he repeated, looking back down at the floor.

“The Typhonic.  Flagship of the 3rd fleet.  Where is it?  Where is your crew?”

He shook his head violently, causing her to pull away, then broke out into a fit of coughing.  Trembling, he turned away from her.  “Gone,” he whispered.

“Gone?  Your ship is gone?” she said, scoffing.  “This is no place for jests, Ecliptor.  We are stretched thin out here in the perimeter.”

“All… all gone.  The ship.  My crew.  The ship and my crew and the crew and my ship and crew and my ship, and the screams.  Oh, Gods…” The scales of Vonal’s face turned bright yellow and raised up as he gasped for breath, his stripes pulsing.  He jammed his hands over his ears. “No.  No, no-no, nononononono…”

“Ecliptor!  Steady yourself!”

Still wheezing, Vonal trembled uncontrollably and collapsed to the floor.  His arms flailed wildly in every direction, striking the wall, the table, and her leg.  She jumped back as his fingers splayed out in rapid, uncontrolled movements. 

“Med-tech!” she yelled to the door.  “Get me a med-tech immediately!” She looked back at Vonal as his torso convulsed in violent waves, causing his head to snap back and forth and his eyes to roll back.  Pale, blue foam trickled from the corner of his mouth, then he was still.

She quickly turned back to the door.  “I said, get me a…” The door burst open and soon the room flooded with guards, med-techs, and equipment.  The same two guards immediately positioned themselves in between her and Vonal as the med-techs worked on him, taking readings and connecting leads to his temples. 

2

“Exarch?” asked an officer at the door.  She motioned him away, but he shook his head and held up a holotablet.

“Can it wait?”

“Apologies, Exarch.  It cannot.”  He held out the tablet to her, threading his arm in between the guards and med-techs.  She took the tablet and read.  Her mouth opened slightly.  Her eyes widened.  She looked back up at the officer.

“Another cryopod?”

“It appears so.  Drifting toward the farthest perimeter outpost.  Life signs have been detected, but they are very faint.

“And this pod is from the Typhonic, as Vonal’s was?”

“Apparently.  It appears to have their Bicephar, judging by the twin heartbeat.”

“Get it in and get it conscious!  Reboot it completely if needed.”

“Yes, Exarch.  However, it appears the cryopod incurred damage at some point.  The Bichephar is likely intact but we don’t know if we’ll be able to revive it.”

“Perform a dry reboot if needed.  We need the data stored in its heads.”

“A dry reboot?  Exarch, if we do that we will erase its persona completely, leaving only the data.  That Bicephar is a commissioned officer.”

“Take whatever steps are necessary to get that data.  Do you understand?” she said, coldly.  The officer looked around at the guard and med-techs, but they were either too immersed in their own duties or they ignored him.  He looked back at her, nodded, then left.  She turned back to the others.  “Get Ecliptor Vonal conscious and as lucid as possible.”  The med-techs briefly looked up at her, then in a flurry of motion resumed attending to Vonal.  Kara-gar held up her wrist and tapped the communicator on the back of her right hand.  A holoscreen quickly pulled up.  She flipped through several readings in it, shook her head, then flicked them away. 

She pulled up another screen and deftly entered a series of command codes, flicked away that screen, lowered her wrist, and sighed.  Vonal’s arrival was the last thing she needed.  She had three reports, four unit evaluations, and dozens of performance reviews to attend.  Many of those were due sooner than she had anticipated.  Plus, that ongoing project.  If they were lucky, they should get most in on time.  Perhaps.  She’d have to stall Command for the rest.  She had some favors she could cash in if needed.  That bureaucrat at Fleet Effectiveness (was it Jehonnon?) owed her.

“Exarch!  He is regaining consciousness,” said one of the med-techs.

“Leave us.”

The med-techs quickly packed their equipment and filed out the door.  The two guards remained by her side.  She stared at them, rolling her eyes.

“You, too.  Leave me with him.”

The guards paused, each perhaps assuming she spoke only to the other one, then nodded and left.  The door slid shut behind them.  Maybe rank advancement was a bit premature for that one, after all, she thought.

Vonal groaned, propped up against the wall.  He was pale again.  She turned to face him, stooping down as she spoke.

“Ecliptor Vonal?  Can you hear me?”

Vonal looked up at her, his eyes finally lucid.  “I… know you,” he said, touching her face.  “You are… Kara-gar.  Apologies.  Awaking from the cryopod left me disoriented.”

“Yes!  We first met in Academy.  I was your student.  You have been a role model for me and so many others. I am Exarch of this base now.”

“You are… Exarch?”

“I am.  Vonal, tell me, where is your ship and crew?  What happened out there?”

Vonal stared back down at the floor and ran his palm over his head.  “Gone.  Dead.  All but a handful.”

“How is that possible?  You commanded the most powerful ship in your fleet.  You had a crew of, what, 4350?”

“4351.  One of my navigation officers had just given birth to a new podling.”

“And you’re telling me they are all gone now – all somehow killed?  Was there a malfunction of some sort?  Something cataclysmic?”

“Our ship.  It meant nothing.  They… waded through us before we even knew what we were dealing with.”

“‘They’?  Who is ‘they’?”

“We didn’t know of them before this,” he said, grimacing.  “Their very first strike hulled us – went straight through our deflectors.  All levels.  It punched through and came out the other side.  Knocked out navigation, engines, even life support.  Then, they boarded.”

“A single shot?  Impossible.” she said, standing back from him, crossing her arms.  “No Level-3 Dynastic Cruiser has ever been successfully attacked.  No other species is as advanced as ours.  Even if they could somehow penetrate the deflectors, all of our cruisers are heavily armored.”

“They boarded us,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Warriors – all female.  More than twice our size, with sharp scales.  Fangs.  Claws.  Dragarre-like tails.  Weapons we’ve never even imagined before.”

“Female warriors?  Tails?!”

He nodded.  “They methodically ploughed through my crew, deck by deck.”

Kara-gar shook her head.  “Your crew was equipped with standard fusion sidearms, correct?  And your armory – it had ion rifles with ten times the firepower, pulse grenades, even charged halberds.  Your senior officers should all have been issued corbonite blades, too.”

Vonal nodded, then grimaced.  “Our weapons meant nothing to them.  Fusion energy just… bounced off their hides.  Ion rifles were even worse,” he said, waving his hand.  “In the first moments, we lost more of our crew through ricochets before we even understood what was happening.  Our corbonite blades shattered against their armor.  These creatures, they didn’t even consider them to be weapons.  We may as well have come at them with mess hall utensils.  It… it got to the point where they simply ignored our firepower as they poured through the ship.  They paused only to… feed.”  Vonal buried his face in his hands. 

“Feed?” she asked, pacing around the room.  “Feed on what?!”

“On us.  Each crew member they attacked, they subdued then slit open their abdomens and… devoured their entrails,” he said, shuddering.  “Then, they would move on to the next one.  Doing so drove them into a feral state – a battle frenzy that only worsened our plight.  As they advanced, we could see others board behind them – males, smaller in stature and seemingly unarmed – systematically cataloging everything in our databases, every type of technology we had.  A third group of males arrived and began methodically stripping each deck of the Typhonic down to the frame.  All this I saw, with my own eyes.  I watched them slaughter my command staff.  All of them.  They all died… screaming, pleading, looking at me to save them.”

“Did you try?  Where were you when this happened?”

“I was there.  On my bridge.  I-I couldn’t move.  They had me in a… harness of some sort.  A collar, with – with a… leash.  They held my eyes open, forcing me to witness.  I saw them behead Prime Navigator Ja-Lingua.  Her blood sprayed across my uniform,” he said motioning to dark stains on his sleeves.  “I witnessed them disembowel Sub-Marshall Denar.  With his dying breath, he watched as they devoured his entrails right there on the bridge, in front of everyone.  It was… horrifying, utterly horrifying.  They did the same for 2nd Ecliptors Xossar and Kingaru-nar, and each of my junior officers.  I couldn’t save any of them!” he cried.

Kara-gar stepped back to the door, shaking her head.  She stared at him, no longer seeing him as a mentor, a legend.  “No. No, none of this is possible.  No.  I don’t… I don’t believe you.”

“Exarch Kara-gar, my promising young student, you must.”

“Vonal… Vonal, what did you do?  How did you lose your ship, really?” she pleaded.  “Just tell me.  It – it was an accident of some sort, wasn’t it?  Some negligence on your part?  I can see that you’ll merely be imprisoned for the remainder of your life.  With your reputation, I can make certain that execution is off the table.  Probably.”

“I speak only the truth. Our Bicephar should be arriving at one of the other perimeter bases soon, in another pod.  Its data set will corroborate my story.”

“Yes, we know… wait, how could you have known this?”

“I told you: I speak only the truth.  We were overrun by a new species.  They are more advanced than we are.”

“More advanced?!” she scoffed, “We are the most advanced species ever given the gift of creation.  All other species are lesser.  We do not get ‘overrun’.  We overrun.  We conquer and expand our empire!  This is the way it has been, for hundreds of cycles.”

“Kara-gar, I am sorry.  We are already dead, all of us.”

“What?!”

“They allowed 42 of us to live, as a… client species, at their discretion.  We were told by one of their males, through a translator of some sort, that they typically spare a small percentage  of those they conquer to facilitate technology transfer and to work on their armada, as slave labor.  This male told us to send a message to our Grand Dynastic Ascendancy, or the remainder of my crew would also be devoured.”

“A message?  What kind of message?”

“Surrender immediately, or every single living person in the entire Ascendancy will be devoured, down to the last podling.”

“Surrender?!  There are 70 billion of us.  The Ascendancy encompasses four worlds and nearly a dozen moons and bases.  We do not drop our weapons at the first sight of trouble and run away like scared children.  We fight!  We fight until we have won, as we’ve always done.  Let them just try to get past our perimeter defense lines here, at the outer colonies.  They won’t stand a chance.”

“You are correct, my student.”

“Of course I am.  Wait, what?”

“It would take them considerable effort and resources to hammer their way through our outermost defenses.  They could definitely do so, but it would take them time and they are… impatient, and so very hungry.  The long term survival of our species outweighs the needs of the many here.  As we were held captive, our Bicephar ran the calculations in its heads.  They concurred.  It is the only way.”

“Vonal, you must be joking!  We will not simply stand down our perimeter defenses – we are impenetrable here.  Even if this armada is as powerful as you say, we can hold them at bay indefinitely.”

“Our Bicephar calculated it would take .72 cycles for them to penetrate our defenses before they stream in and slaughter us all.”

“.72?!  But – but, that’s impossible!  There is no conceivable way they could…”

“The Bicephar calculated it.  Math doesn’t lie.”

“Math doesn’t lie,” she repeated, looking away.

“They will beat us.  Easily.  But, I have a plan.”

“A plan?  You said we were already dead.  Now you have a plan for victory?!”

“We are already dead, my student.  My plan will ensure our survival as a species and will wipe out these… monsters and any trace of them.”

“But how…?”

“Before our unconditional surrender and the imminent collapse of our Grand Dynastic Ascendancy, we must give away the Shroud,” he pleaded, leaning forward,  “To the Crittig.”

3

“The Shroud…?  Give away the Shroud? To the Crittig?!  Have you lost your senses?” she cried, stepping back from him and pacing around the small room.  “The Shroud is still little more than conceptual.  Even if we devoted all Ascendancy resources to it and nothing else, it would still take nearly a lifetime to complete – if we are lucky.  If we are able to complete it, it would give us dominance over the entire sector for generations to come.  Why would we even consider giving away a weapon such as this?!”

“We have to give it away.  Immediately.  Almost all of us will be very dead, very soon.  We will never be able to complete the Shroud.  The Crittig can.”

“The Crittig are a bunch of pompous, four-armed little degenerates.”

“True.  Yet, they are excellent engineers – superior to our own.  Even you must know this, deep down in your heart.  They are more technologically advanced than we are.”

“In their dreams!  The Crittig spend more time and effort developing new hallucinogens than weapons.  They’re a whole species of drug-addled miscreants who lack any ambition.”

“And yet, they have continually held us at bay for hundreds of cycles.  Tell me, my student, if they are so dysfunctional, how have they accomplished this?”

“You – you talk as though you are a traitor!  Our species is the most advanced ever created, in the whole of the known sector.  The Crittig could never compete with us.”

“They do not choose to compete with us.  They keep their distance, waiting, hiding,  trading with us only when absolutely necessary.  They even turn a blind eye to our… ‘resource reallocation’ excursions.  They tolerate a certain amount of theft from us in order to avoid direct confrontation.”

“If we were to ever go head-to-head with those vermin, they wouldn’t last half a cycle.  We would wipe them out – something we should have done generations ago.”

“If we give them the Shroud, our Bicephar calculated they could perfect it in 38.67 cycles.  They could then use it against this new threat and likely destroy them, assuming the Crittig aren’t discovered prematurely.”

“But – but, if what you say is true we will all be dead and buried by then.”

“Almost our entire species, yes.  But, some will survive.  We would not be doing this for ourselves, or for our children, but for our grandchildren and beyond.  If we are very, very lucky, some of them will make it and our species will live on.”

“No.  No, this is not going to happen,” she sneered.  “Ecliptor Vonal, legend or no, as Exarch of this base I am formally charging you with treason against the Grand Dynastic Ascendancy.  We are not surrendering, nor are giving away plans for the most powerful weapon ever conceived to some arrogant little creatures.  We may as well give it away to those fools on Halcitor while we’re at it.  No, we will deal with this threat head-on – as we have always done – and we will win.”

“I was afraid you would come to that conclusion, my former student. I hoped… it would not come to this.”

“Come to what?”

“Please, I need you to see something.”  Vonal lifted his ragged uniform shirt, showing his emaciated, bruised stomach to her.  She glanced at it then looked away, and turned.  She was ashamed and angry that such an indignity could happen to one of their own, particularly one so revered.  Then, she paused, spun back around, and peered more closely at it.

“What – what the Fek is that?!” she said, her eyes widening, pointing to his abdomen.  A vertical line appeared, barely perceptible at first but increasingly visible, from the base of his sternum down to his navel.  It had a thin, central groove, with geometric, interlocking units running down either side.  Once it was fully visible, she saw how obvious it was – how ugly and out of place the dull, tarnished metal of it was.  It had no business being there, this abomination, on him or on any other living being.  Yet, there it was.

A zipper.

4

“By the Gods!”

“They refer to it as an Evisceration Rift.  It is phase-shifted so you can only see it when I remain very still.  Only a chosen few will even receive these, if they are deemed useful enough.”

“Vonal, why?!” she asked, aghast.  Though she desperately wanted to look away from it, she couldn’t.  She was transfixed – her eyes locked on this affront, this abomination.  It should not be there, yet it was.

“My entrails… no longer belong to me.  None of ours do.  We are merely the husks that carry them.  That incubate them, as a courtesy.  Until they are eventually harvested.”

“Harvested?  By… w-whom?”

“The Matriarchy.”

“The Matriarchy?!”

He nodded.  “For their nourishment.  They don’t devour the flesh of their victims – just the entrails.  It is quite literally their only food source.  All remnants of the species they’ve conquered have these grafted onto them.  It was a… painful, degrading experience.  No anesthesia.  It is a reminder that we serve – we live – at their whim.  Their males are actually somewhat pragmatic.  Their females are… terrifying,” he said, his voice dropping down to a whisper.  “Abominably large.  Truly frightening.”

“No.  No.  This?  This is what you want us to become – to subject ourselves to?  This?!”

“Kara-gar, this is why you must give the schematics of the Shroud to the Crittig.  Immediately,” he said, focused again.  “You then must destroy all records of it, however small and seemingly insignificant, and execute anyone involved in the project.  You must destroy records of the flight logs, for whoever delivers the plans.  You must even execute those specific pilots after they complete their mission.  I recommend setting their ships to remotely detonate on their return flight.  A quick, merciful death is better than what most of us will receive.  No trace of the Shroud can remain, no account of it even in passing, or it will be discovered.  It must never, ever fall into the hands of The Matriarchy.  Ever.”

She stepped back, then sat down at the table, palms in her face.  “This is – this is madness.”  She heard Vonal stand, seemingly with some difficulty, then pull up a chair and sit next to her.  He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Look at me.”

As she lifted her head from her palms, she felt as if the whole weight of the base was upon it.  She shouldn’t have to deal with this, with him.  She had reports to write, evaluations to complete.  She met his gaze.  Beneath the bruises, beneath the wounds, behind the dried blood and scorch marks, she saw the one she once knew.  The one from Academy.  Her old mentor.  He smiled at her, weakly.  She knew it was best as he could manage.  She also knew she believed him.  As utterly, terrifyingly implausible as his story sounded, she believed him – only because it was him telling her this. 

She also knew, unfortunately, that no one else would.  Vonal was a legend, but this legendary status came at a price.  He had always run against the grain, always going his own way.  His results were always positive for the Ascendancy, but he had made his share of enemies.  Most of his peers had either been killed in various campaigns, had fallen out of favor, or had long since died of natural causes.  Those that remained were aloof – even jealous of his standing among the younger officers and cadets.  Even the great Vonal, hero of Aetherion, would not be able to convince Command to simply stand down and be subjugated.  They certainly wouldn’t even entertain giving away plans for the Shroud – to the Crittig, no less.  No, these were all nonstarters.

“Vonal, I… must place you in custody.  I will bring your concerns to Command, I promise you this, but I doubt anything will come of it.”  His smile faltered, then vanished.

“I understand,” he said, his expression changing.  “I do, really.”  She watched as he rolled up what remained of his right sleeve, baring his wrist to her.  The stripes of his forearm travelled down past his wrist up toward his palm, in tightening spirals.  In between those spirals, she noticed three small dark circles, equidistant.  At first, she assumed they were decorative – some sort of dermal pigmentation design fairly common to older generations like his.  Then, she saw him press each of the three circles rapidly, in a specific order.  Puzzled, she looked back up at him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.  “I’m so very sorry.”

She quickly stood up from the table and stepped back.  “What – what did you just do?  Tell me!”

“I just sent an encrypted message to my Bicephar, at Perimeter Outpost 3, I believe?”

“Yes, Outpost 3 – why?!”

“I told it my attempt to persuade you had failed.  It warned me there was a 91% probability it would, but I wanted to at least try.”

“Why – why would you need to send an encrypted message to say that?” she asked, leaning forward, her palms pressing against the table.

“Perimeter Outpost 3 contains the main field generator for all shield defenses in this sector, does it not”

“Yes.  Yes, it does. Why?”

“I have just instructed the Bicephar to detonate itself,” he said, matter of factly.

“You what?  How…?”

“Prior to its journey in that cryopod, I removed most of its internal self-regulation mechanisms.  That’s why its life-signs were so faint.  It’s dying, if a being like that can even die.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It came up with the idea, not me,” he said, holding up his hands. “It was the only way we would have enough space in there.”

“Space?  Space for what?”

“For enough explosives to depressurize that section of the base.”

“Explosives?!  They would’ve screened…”

“I’m certain they did, but not for these.  One of the males gave it to us – Braask, I think his name was.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Two completely inert components, placed in either side of the Bicephar.  Inert, until they are combined.  Undetectable by any technology we have, but quite effective.”

“You would kill your own people?  So, you are a traitor, after all!”

“Not remotely.  The Matriarchy believes we are doing this to save my remaining crew.  We are not.  Like us, their lives don’t matter.  What matters is the long game, Kara-gar – the very long game.  This was the only way I could ensure we would meet.  Do you really believe my cryopod randomly drifted within the detectable range of your base, specifically?  I’ve known you were Exarch for some time now – before we were even attacked.  I’ve followed your career.  I knew I had to meet with you, to convince you.”

“Me?  Why me?  Surely you must know numerous others from my class.  I graduated with some that also serve as Exarchs of their bases.”

“I know.  Yet, none of them serve as lead to the Shroud project,” he said, pointing.  “You do.”

“What?  I mean… how could you possibly know that?!  That information is classified at the highest level.”

“While I have burned many bridges, I still have my share of contacts.  Only you – uniquely you – can get the Shroud plans to the Crittig.  You could put a pilot in a very small ship this day.  You and you alone could bypass the approval process entirely – no subcommittee tasked with reviewing the plan, no consensus building within the command ranks, no nepotism, favoritism, no back room deals. 

“They will attack Base 3 and outposts in that area first.  They will reach your base last since it is the furthest point from there.  Pull all data on the Shroud and get a pilot in a ship.  Now.  You can make this happen, Kara-gar!”

As she gripped the sides of the table, her mind raced to thoughts of evacuation.  If she could convince Command to give the call throughout the entire Ascendancy, they might be able to save some.  They would need to forgo the moons and bases entirely and focus all their efforts on the four planets.  Or, maybe they should do the opposite, she wondered.  How feasible was it to even consider evacuating 70 billion people?  Where would they go?  She knew they had made no friends or allies over generations of their ‘expansion’.  They never needed any.  The Grand Dynastic Ascendancy stood alone, always.  Now, there was nowhere to go – no safe haven for 70 million, let alone 70 billion.  If anything, other species would gloat at their imminent demise.  She took little solace in knowing that many of them would be next.

The communicator on the back of her hand lit up, chirping angrily and flashing bright orange. She stared at it, knowing what the message was and dreading to respond.  Yet, she was still Exarch.  For now.  She tapped her earpiece.   “Yes?” she said tersely.  “Yes.  I see.  What?!  Bases 4 & 7, are offline, too?  By the Gods!  Inform Command immediately.  We need to pull all three fleets together at the moon closest to those bases.  Move!”  She reached up to tap her earpiece again, to end the call, then paused.  “Get Corporus Haldar in here – now.” She tapped it and glared at Vonal.  “Are you satisfied?” She spat out her words, her bright yellow scales bristling as she spoke.  “Master tactician.  Diplomat.  Subjugator.  Are you satisfied?!”

“I take no pleasure in any of this, Kara-gar.”

“May the Gods damn you for all eternity!”

The door slid open and Haldar entered.  He looked at both of them, confused, then faced her, clasped his hands together, and bowed. 

“Haldar, is it?” she asked.

“Yes, Exarch.”

“I… have a job for you.”  She put her hand on his shoulder, then motioned back to the door.  It slid open again.  As they exited, she turned one last time to look at Vonal.  Her old teacher.  Her mentor.  He still sat at the table.  He met her gaze and smiled weakly.

“Math doesn’t lie,” he said.

“Math doesn’t lie.”  She nodded grimly, then turned and left him in the empty room.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Paul Cesarini 2025