On the bridge, Varna reviewed the entries in Captain Getz’s private log and considered the irony.

The contents were not nearly as satisfying as the simple act of violating them. Getz had treated his personal records as sacred. During Varna’s service aboard Artemis, the captain had denied him access more than once, insisting that his command journals belonged to him alone.

Now there was little Getz could do. Varna glanced up from the display and surveyed the bodies scattered across the bridge. A few belonged to officers he recognized from his time aboard the ship. Most were new faces—replacements who had taken old stations and inherited Getz’s expectations. A flicker of discomfort passed through him.

Guilt, perhaps. Remorse. Whatever it was, Varna pushed it aside and returned his attention to the log.

“Morgan.”

The man at the security station turned toward him.

“Detail someone to clear the bodies.”

“You want us to space them?”

“No.” Varna sounded bored by the question. “Still too close to established trade lanes. I don’t want to chance leaving remains behind for some merchant to find.” He gestured around the bridge. “Take them to Engineering. Feed them into the mass reactor. That should dispose of them effectively.”

“The whole ship?”

“The whole ship. Keep the passageways clear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Morgan keyed his headset. “Cutter, Reynolds—report to the bridge.”

Varna’s attention shifted toward Chen, who remained hunched over the interface computer connected to the weapons console. Code streamed across the small display as he worked through the final secured systems aboard Artemis.

“I am going to need access to the transition drives soon, Mr. Chen.”

Chen gave a dismissive snort without looking up. “This takes time, Varna. Your people were sloppy. The chief engineer nearly dumped the core before your men reached him, and the ship intelligence attempted to release a security contaminant into the system before we isolated it.”

“Arte’.”

Chen paused. “What?”

“The intelligence has a name.”

“If I make a mistake, its name will be irrelevant.” Chen returned to his work. “We could lose life support, navigation, environmental control—or everything connected to them.”

Varna turned toward Chen’s station, amused by the frustration in the smaller man’s voice. The zealot’s confidence had begun to crack. “Every minute we waste,” Varna said, “is another minute closer to your leaders betraying their noble cause.”

Chen focused on the screen and did not answer. There was nothing he could say that would do more than encourage Varna, and he knew he was being baited. Annoyed by the lack of response, Varna returned to Getz’s records.

Most of the entries were routine. Disciplinary notes. Personnel changes. Maneuvering reports. Repairs to be completed when Artemis reached Curaçao. Then he found something unusual, a passenger recovered from a sealed stasis capsule drifting in open space. No associated vessel. No initiation record. No explanation for how the capsule had reached the Fringe. Getz’s notes contained increasingly improbable theories about the man’s origin and possible age.

Varna smiled thinly. “Poor Captain Getz. This might have made history for you.”

Behind him, Morgan repeated his call. “Cutter. Reynolds. Report to the bridge.”

No response came. Varna activated his headset and listened. Nothing.

He closed the captain’s log and opened the current crew manifest instead. A rumor returned to him—something that had circulated through the service shortly before his reassignment. An exchange program.

He cycled through the personnel files until the image of a dark-blue alien face filled the display. Its eyes were black, reflective, and almost devoid of visible emotion.

Morgan raised his voice over the general channel. “All units, emergency traffic only.” The overlapping voices stopped. “Cutter. Reynolds. Report.”

Silence followed. Morgan was about to transmit again when a static-filled voice broke across the channel.

“Cutt—here. Trans—not wor—”

“Cutter, Reynolds,” Morgan replied. “If you can hear me, report to the bridge.”

“Aye—”

The transmission dissolved into static. Morgan looked toward Varna and shrugged.

“Resume normal traffic,” Varna said.

The other teams began speaking again. Varna kept his attention on the alien’s file.

G’DAHN
COMMANDER
SPECIES: SERPIS

“Mr. Morgan,” Varna said calmly, “quietly ask the assault teams whether anyone remembers killing a Serpis today.”

Morgan froze. “A Serpis?”

Varna looked up. The pale expression on Morgan’s face told him the question had landed as intended. Even Chen had stopped working. “One is listed as a member of this crew,” Varna said. “I want to know whether it has been accounted for.”

Morgan nodded and began contacting the team leaders individually. “If someone had killed a Serpis,” he muttered, “they wouldn’t have kept it to themselves.”

He was right. The Serpis were widely regarded as apex predators. They were feared throughout the known systems and had only recently revealed themselves openly to the wider galaxy. When Varna had still served in the Concordat Navy, the species had been petitioning for Concordat membership. Many believed the Serpis possessed greater military and technological strength than the Concordat itself. Some suspected the petition was little more than a calculated performance.

As part of the admission process, Serpis personnel had begun serving aboard Concordat naval vessels. Artemis had not seemed a likely candidate for such an exchange. Apparently, the ship had beaten the odds.

Varna’s frown deepened as he read G’Dahn’s service file. On paper, the Serpis appeared to be an ordinary scientific and cultural observer. His listed specialties included linguistics, interspecies xenology, and cultural studies—the sort of reassuring profile Concordat diplomats would have chosen for an exchange officer.

Varna found nothing about it reassuring. “I am beginning to think you don’t like me,” he muttered to the ship.

Movement sounded inside the access trunk. Two suited figures climbed the ladder onto the bridge. Morgan turned as Cutter and Reynolds emerged with their visors lowered.

“About time,” Morgan snapped. “Start clearing these bodies. Take them down to Engineering and feed them into the mass reactor.”

The pair looked around the bridge, apparently uncertain which corpse to move first, then approached the body nearest the ladder.

Varna watched them for a moment. “Stop.”

Both men turned.

“Lift your visors.” Varna rested his hand on the pistol at his waist, drew it, and leveled it toward them.

Cutter and Reynolds exchanged a glance, then raised their visors. Varna studied their faces. Cutter looked irritated. Reynolds appeared confused and slightly winded from the climb. They were his men.

Varna lowered the pistol. “Carry on.”

The men closed their visors and began lifting the first body. A sudden cry of triumph came from the weapons station. Varna turned to see Chen smiling broadly at the interface display.

“You should have access to the transition system now.”

“Good.” Varna holstered his pistol. “And the other system?”

Chen’s smile disappeared. “As I said, you will not need access to it. I will have the authorization codes prepared shortly.”

Varna gave him a sidelong glance, keeping most of his expression hidden behind one shoulder. “Are you certain you remember the correct protocols?”

“I remember the instructions you gave me, Varna,” Chen snapped, returning to the controls. “I do not need assistance.”

Varna did not reply immediately. “Very well, Mr. Chen,” he conceded, turning back to the command console. “Mr. Morgan, lay in a course for the Nirenda system and begin transition.”

“Yes, sir.” Morgan relayed the command. The helm crew entered the coordinates, and a row of yellow lights flickered to life across the bridge. Throughout the ship, the transition warning sequence began.

“Nirenda is thirty minutes away in this class of vessel,” Varna said. “Be ready when we arrive.”

“I will be,” Chen answered defiantly.

“Captain Varna,” Morgan called. Something in his tone concerned Varna. “We have a problem.”

Varna turned to see two suited boarders standing at the secondary bridge entrance. One carried a body over his shoulder. He stepped forward and dropped it onto the deck before the command station.

Varna looked the body over, a dark bruise encircled the man’s throat. His face was swollen and discolored, his eyes fixed and bloodshot.

“We found him in the galley,” the boarder reported. “Simms was with him. He’s dead too. His head was twisted almost completely backward.”

Varna raised one eyebrow. The report was less surprising than it should have been.

“What do we do now?” Chen asked His voice had tightened.

Varna looked toward the transition indicators. The sequence was nearly complete. “It is too late for us to do anything now,” he said calmly.

He rested one hand on the command console and, with the other, activated the transition drive. Energy surged through Artemis. The bridge lights stretched into pale lines as the field formed around the hull.

Then the ship vanished into transition space.

Next Chapter: IX