In the silence of a starry night, a shadow rose from the mountains of northeastern Turkey. The ascent was smooth, almost imperceptible, as it glided over the snow-capped peaks, gradually distancing itself from the rugged terrain.

  Little by little, the altitude increased, and the cloud layers unraveled beneath its trajectory. The curvature of the Earth became more apparent as the course resolutely oriented southward. Below, the continents stretched into vast dark expanses, devoid of artificial light. The coastlines traced winding lines between the landmasses and the black ocean, while mountains and deserts were barely discernible in the ambient darkness.

  In the high layers of the atmosphere, where the blue fades to give way to the absolute void, the shadow continued its journey. The vastness of the southern sky unfolded, until suddenly, without transition, a titanic mass emerged abruptly from the void. No light heralded its presence, no indication hinted at its existence. Its sudden appearance imposed colossal inertia, forcing an immediate deceleration. The shadow slowed, adjusting its approach in absolute silence, while the unimaginably vast structure dominated the surrounding space.

  "Commander Alan, requesting access."

  A heavy silence stretched. Slowly, a monumental opening formed on the surface of the ship, its contours expanding with mechanical precision. The breach seemed to swallow the shuttle as it entered at a calculated pace. Once inside, the immense passage closed seamlessly, sealing the entrance in absolute silence.

  A faint hum resonated as air began to fill the cavity, restoring stable pressure. Soft bluish lights flickered to life, gradually revealing the vast hall. The vault soared vertiginously, an immense architecture where machines of unknown complexity stood in massive structures. Each element seemed to have a precise function, a clear purpose, even if its meaning was not immediately apparent.

  Alan, however, perceived their arrangement with a strangely familiar understanding. This was not technological chaos but a rigorous organization following a pattern he recognized. Thanks to the hypno-teaching transmitted by Léa before his departure, he knew that every detail had meaning.

  The shuttle landed on a small annex platform without Alan’s intervention. It seemed minuscule compared to the titanic proportions of the ship. Without hesitation, he disembarked and crossed part of the monumental hall, a space that had once contained seven pre-fabricated terrestrial Bases. He then navigated a succession of corridors and gravitational shafts, advancing methodically through this colossal structure. After long minutes of progression, he finally reached the central complex.

  The synthetic voice of the AI suddenly resounded:

  "Strategy used? Failure or..."

  Alan interrupted sharply:

  "Avoid repeating the same thing, my memory is not volatile. And use Léa's more refined conversational mode."

  A brief pause, then the voice resumed:

  "Does this suit you?"

  Alan nodded slightly:

  "Better. I’ll call you Achilles to avoid confusion. You want to know my strategy. To communicate clearly, first, give me your definition of a strategy."

  The AI responded immediately:

  "A strategy is a coordinated set of decisions and actions aimed at achieving an objective while taking into account available resources, constraints, and potential adversities. It relies on anticipation, adaptability, and optimization of means to maximize chances of success."

  Alan allowed a faint, imperceptible smile.

  "Let’s see if yours is up to standard. Are the fixed rules of the Selection in line with your definition? No need to answer; the answer is NO. No adaptability and no optimization of means. But I offer you both, which will make it a real strategy. What is the minimum number of satisfactory crew members? Do you have means to evaluate potential skills?"

  Achilles responded: "327 minimum, 1011 maximum, they are evaluated."

  Alan: "We will aim for 600. We only need to select the top 100 from each Base. This will provide a significantly higher level than usual. I can already gather 500. The last Base is the one you will help me convince."

  Achilles: "What should I do?"

  Alan: "Wait until ground operations are initiated."

  In the meantime, Alan requested a guided tour of the ship and the crew cabins, then attempted a few key questions.

  Three days earlier, a shuttle departed from Comoé with A?ssatou at the controls, carrying a single passenger, Oluwale.

  A?ssatou was recognized as the best shuttle pilot at Thabo's Base. Tall and slender, she exuded an aura of absolute mastery, her golden brown complexion illuminated by dark eyes where a cold and calculating intelligence shone. Her composure was legendary: she never wavered at the controls, her movements were precise, her decisions instantaneous, and she always maintained absolute control, even in the midst of chaos. Not very talkative, she let her talent speak for itself, and every takeoff under her command was a model of perfection.

  Oluwale, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. His body was sculpted by training, his movements fluid and natural, testifying to his excellent physical abilities. But his true gift lay in his ability to captivate. A consummate actor, he could shift from a solemn expression to a radiant smile in an instant, modulating his voice with an ease that made people laugh, cry, or doubt. At Awa's Base, he was renowned for his improvised performances. He staged scenes with disarming virtuosity, brilliantly embodying each role he took on. One day, he could be a grumpy old man, the next, a flamboyant warlord, and each time, he left his audience hanging on his every word. Awa herself was the first spectator of his talent, and their bond went beyond mere mutual admiration: an indefinable closeness, tinged with emotions, connected them.

  The shuttle's takeoff was swift and controlled, A?ssatou keeping the controls with icy serenity. They quickly gained altitude, leaving Africa's skies behind to head toward the Atlantic. But soon, the horizon darkened, and the raging ocean appeared beneath them. Immense waves, like liquid mountains, crashed against each other, sending up columns of foam that seemed to reach for the sky. The wind, furious, howled at high altitudes, violently shaking the shuttle.

  The American coasts offered no respite. The sea, as if possessed, hurled itself at the land with unrelenting fury. Monstrous waves smashed against the shores, flooding beaches, eroding cliffs, and sweeping away the remnants of what was once a coastal civilization. The relentless storm made detection nearly impossible. The shuttle slipped between the violent currents, its stealth systems enhanced by the surrounding climatic chaos.

  A?ssatou, focused, showed no sign of stress. Her hands flew over the controls, anticipating each turbulence, each sudden gust that threatened to tear the shuttle from her grip. "Hold on," she said simply, her calm voice contrasting with the violence outside. Oluwale, despite his natural confidence, felt his stomach churn repeatedly but made no comment. He knew that with any other pilot, they might not be here at all.

  Under such conditions, detection was practically impossible. Radars could not penetrate the chaos of the elements, infrared scans were drowned out by the storm's thermal activity. The shuttle flew like a shadow within the turmoil, carried by A?ssatou's virtuosity, inexorably heading toward its insertion point.

  Conversely, the approach to the Rockies took place under a dazzling blue sky, making concealment far more challenging. To avoid detection, A?ssatou had to skim the prairie, flying so low that the shuttle's wake flattened the tall grasses. The slightest mistake would mean immediate detection, but she controlled her craft with an ease that defied logic. Every contour, every fold of the terrain was used to mask their progress.

  Finding a route toward the gorge near their objective proved to be another challenge. The rugged topography, winding paths, and uneven terrain complicated the task, but A?ssatou did not falter. Her eyes continuously scanned the sensor screens and the direct view, analyzing every hint of a safe path.

  Finally, the gorge appeared, nestled between two steep cliffs, offering a temporary refuge. The shuttle landed smoothly, but as soon as he stepped out, Oluwale stumbled slightly, still affected by the daring maneuvers he had just endured. He ran a hand over his forehead, trying to calm his unsettled stomach.

  A?ssatou, however, burst into laughter upon seeing him like that. "So, still sure of your acrobatic skills, great actor?" she teased, suppressing a mocking smile.

  Oluwale gave her a half-amused, half-annoyed look but said nothing. He had a role to play, and the next part of his mission did not allow for lighthearted exchanges.

  Meanwhile, A?ssatou knew she had to wait for his return, however long it took. She could not be detected. Alone, concealed in the wild landscape, she adjusted the shuttle's stealth parameters, settling into a tense silence, ready to react at the first sign of danger.

  Oluwale then began his ascent toward a rocky plateau at higher altitude. Each step was an effort, his muscles protesting as he clung to the jagged, icy rocks. The air grew thinner, making his breathing more laborious. The wind lashed his face, increasing the difficulty of his progress. After long hours, he finally reached the summit and resumed his march toward his objective: Banff Base.

  His approach did not go unnoticed. The surveillance systems connected to the AI, hidden within the rugged terrain by Brian's men, detected the slightest thermal variation and abnormal movements. Instantly, a series of algorithms analyzed his biometric readings, evaluating his heart rate, body temperature, and even the micro-expressions on his face.

  A shuttle appeared in the sky, a silent dot that rapidly grew larger. Its approach was calculated, precise. Below, Oluwale raised his eyes, squinting under the dimming daylight.

  Initially frozen in place, he slowly allowed an expression of surprise to creep onto his face. His gaze oscillated between the imposing silhouette of the craft and the landscape around him, feigning the astonishment of a man who had not expected such technology. When the shuttle touched down with surprising gentleness, he stepped back, his posture betraying a feigned hesitation.

  A soft hissing sound accompanied the opening of the side door. A crew member gestured for him to board with a measured motion.

  Oluwale complied, cautiously settling into one of the seats. His hands discreetly brushed against the armrest as if trying to gauge the material. Everything in his demeanor conveyed the wide-eyed admiration of a man discovering a world he did not belong to. His gaze swept across the shuttle's interior with apparent fascination, absorbing every detail.

  As the shuttle lifted off, a shiver seemed to run through him. He turned his eyes to the transparent walls, watching the ground recede beneath him. Then, taking on a hesitant tone, he began his story.

  "I am an African migrant. I followed a group from Chicago, hoping to reach a safe place. But when I arrived at the Source... there was no one left. Everything had been abandoned. There was only this woman..."

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He paused, carefully measuring his words with feigned gravity.

  "She told me about a city. A city near Banff. She said she had left it, but that some people were still there. So I walked... without really knowing where to go."

  His gaze lingered on his interlocutor, trying to determine whether he was eliciting any empathy, whether his words found an echo in the attitude of those who had taken him in. But his true objective lay elsewhere.

  When he reached the Base, he was placed in a remote slot, grouped with other Black men of various origins. But Oluwale had no interest in his accommodation or the racial classifications of the Chosen One.

  He observed, listened, and analyzed discreetly. He wanted to uncover the organization of the shuttle patrols, their schedules, their durations, and, if possible, their routes. To do this, he had to blend in seamlessly.

  The early night was spent listening to the sounds from the shuttle areas. Perhaps an alert around midnight. Then Oluwale fell asleep, exhausted from the previous day's efforts.

  He was up before dawn.

  Thanks to his perfect mastery of fabric synthesizers, he crafted an impeccable outfit: a fitted jacket, a fluid shirt, and simple trousers that gave him a distinguished look while integrating thermoregulatory fibers adapted to the winter cold, mitigated by the dispersion field. Appearance was essential to draw attention and inspire trust, but he also had to consider the low temperatures, despite the relative protection of the field. Once ready, he began conversing with others, feigning sincere interest in life at the Base. He listened attentively, absorbing conversations, picking up on seemingly trivial details that, once pieced together, could become invaluable.

  His gaze eventually settled on the shuttles. Watching the movements around them, he spotted a pilot in uniform, accompanied by a young woman with an elegant and confident stride. Without arousing suspicion, he discreetly followed them. When they reached the shuttle areas, the pilot kissed his companion before leaving for his shift, leaving her alone.

  The young woman had long, wavy red hair that framed her bright, smiling face. Her fair complexion was enhanced by an elegant yellow long-sleeved dress, suitable for the cool temperatures, with a contrasting dark blue collar adding a sophisticated touch to her style. A thin scarf wrapped around her neck completed her outfit. She seemed relaxed, idly observing her surroundings.

  Oluwale approached with an engaging smile, a glimmer of emotion in his eyes.

  "I dream of becoming a pilot too. My father was a long-haul pilot; I admired him so much..."

  The woman looked at him with amusement before replying, still smiling:

  "They're not recruiting anymore. And it's a demanding job: eight hours of patrol a day, you have to stay vigilant."

  Oluwale nodded, feigning admiration.

  "Eight hours? That must be intense. And today, it’s clearly not his day off."

  She shook her head.

  "No, his shift today is from 8 AM to 4 PM."

  "Good shift," he replied, discreetly adjusting his mechanical watch.

  First crucial information: Banff's local time. Second: the shift organization.

  Third: the precise patrol return time to the Base: 4 PM.

  He thanked her with a sincere smile and walked away slowly, his mind already focused on the next key piece of information to obtain.

  This last piece was the hardest to acquire: What was the patrol shuttle’s trajectory and final approach path?

  Oluwale carefully observed the partly clear sky throughout the day, especially as 4 PM approached. He noticed that every thirty minutes, the shuttles disappeared behind a relatively close mountain ridge before reappearing, and again just before landing. Was this systematic? What lay behind that ridge?

  He left the city while remaining under the dispersion field, watching people coming and going on the winter trails, their steps crunching on the packed snow. The repeated foot traffic had carved winding paths between frost-covered fir trees and white mounds. The cold breath of winter was evident despite the field’s protection, a stark reminder of the season’s harshness. Figures bundled in thick coats moved back and forth, some treading cautiously over icy patches, others more confidently, accustomed to the conditions. Conversations were muffled, nearly drowned out by the wind sweeping down from the heights.

  But he was especially interested in those arriving from outside, excluding the guards. Oluwale was not familiar with the mountains. He knew the season wasn’t ideal for hiking, but during the summer, it must have been different.

  A little further ahead, he encountered a group of three hikers returning from a lower-altitude walk. He approached them, displaying sincere interest.

  "A beautiful day for a winter hike," he said enthusiastically.

  One of the hikers smiled, nodding.

  "Oh, we're used to it! We’re hiking enthusiasts, and we have permission to venture into the mountains during the warmer season. Today, we just took a short stroll."

  "Have you ever climbed to the top of the ridge?" Oluwale asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  The woman in the group, wrapped in a thick coat, replied eagerly:

  "Of course! It’s beautiful up there. Behind it, there’s a frozen lake and a vast, gently sloping alpine meadow. In summer, it’s a perfect camping spot. On clear days, you can see far, all the way to the valleys further south. There are also interesting rock formations, and the terrain is ideal for observation. A lot of shuttles pass through there—you can see them clearly, especially when they start descending toward the Base."

  Oluwale displayed an admiring smile.

  "That must be an incredible view! And… have you ever seen the shuttles up close up there? They fly so low!"

  The youngest hiker laughed.

  "Yeah, they always fly through there every half-hour. It’s fascinating! One time, in the middle of summer, we were camping near the lake, and a shuttle circled our tent as if greeting us. It felt like they were watching us, or maybe the pilot was just having fun surprising us! It was incredible to see it so close."

  Oluwale nodded, looking amazed. He had just obtained the confirmation he was looking for: the shuttles consistently and regularly passed through that spot, offering an ideal opportunity.

  Feigning contagious enthusiasm, he asked if he could join them on a hike. The hikers hesitated for a moment. They hadn’t planned on adding someone to their group, but Oluwale was so eager and genuine in his admiration that they eventually agreed.

  "Just a short walk, that’s all."

  He explained where the shuttle had found him. They exchanged a surprised look.

  "That’s far," the woman noted. "We can go as far as the edge of the dead forest. We’ll see if the last little fir trees are still alive."

  "Alright, 9 AM tomorrow," the youngest hiker concluded.

  Oluwale smiled and asked: "And for hiking gear?"

  "We can get some on loan."

  "And permission?"

  The youngest shrugged. "If you’re with us, no problem."

  They parted ways, leaving Oluwale satisfied with his progress.

  The next morning, Oluwale and his hiking companions left the Base and began their ascent. The slope, moderate but covered in an uneven layer of snow, forced them to wear snowshoes. Oluwale, unfamiliar with the equipment, took time to get used to it, stumbling several times amid the group's amused laughter.

  They moved through a conifer forest destroyed by nanites and finished off by the approaching winter. The blackened trunks, remnants of once-majestic trees, stood like ghosts frozen in time.

  Only a few small specimens had survived, struggling against the cold and technological devastation. The hikers stopped briefly to examine these resilient trees, trying to identify their species. A few young pines seemed to hold on, though stunted and twisted by extreme conditions. Some rare spruces still clung to the frozen ground, their sparse branches a testament to their ongoing battle.

  "Look at this one," one of the hikers pointed out, indicating a stocky conifer with yellowing needles. "It must have been from a stronger generation, but even it is struggling to survive."

  The woman in the group, casting a nostalgic glance around her, murmured:

  "Before, this forest covered the entire slope. It was a sea of green pines and firs stretching as far as the eye could see. In summer, sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, and the air was thick with the scent of resin and damp earth. Now… only these poor, skeletal figures remain. The nanites ravaged everything in just a few seasons, turning a lush paradise into a graveyard of charred trees. Even the birds have disappeared, and the silence here is heavier than ever."

  Feigning emotion, Oluwale nodded. "It’s hard to imagine… Such beauty reduced to this."

  The hikers deemed their observations sufficient.

  It was then that Oluwale, in a grand performance, declared with feigned emotion:

  "I’m not going back to the Base. I can’t stand the crowd. For me, it’s hell. I thought this solitary walk would calm me… but instead, this vastness is calling me. Understand me, forgive me, let me try my luck elsewhere."

  The hikers exchanged uncertain glances. One of them, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "That’s not very reasonable…" he murmured.

  The woman, after a silence, sighed and added:

  "But I understand. The call of the void, the silence... It can be powerful."

  The youngest hiker grimaced as he looked toward the summit.

  "You won’t get past the plateau. There are detectors everywhere. You’ll be spotted in less than ten minutes. It’s not that simple."

  Another added:

  "And if the weather turns? A sky too clear this season is rarely a good sign. The cold can drop suddenly, and up there, without shelter…"

  He hesitated before concluding, "Look, if you really want to get away, we can at least take you to the gorge. After that, it’s up to you."

  The path was covered quickly, the snow crunching beneath their hurried steps. Despite his physical condition, Oluwale suffered more from the biting cold than from the exertion of using snowshoes, which he barely mastered. He struggled not to trip, fighting against the icy wind whipping his face.

  Once they arrived, they exchanged a final glance.

  Oluwale gave them a sincere smile:

  "Thank you for everything. I’m truly grateful. Keep hiking before winter settles in for good. That’s a friendly tip."

  They shook hands before swiftly heading back.

  The anti-nanite field of the Comoé Base protected a bubble of greenery where ancient trees, their trunks twisted under the weight of centuries, formed an imposing canopy. Vines hung between the branches, intertwined like threads of an ancient, living web. The air was saturated with humidity and vegetal scents, a striking contrast to the ravaged zones outside the field.

  The path on which Jennel and Awa walked had been recently cleared. The dark soil, still soft, betrayed its young age, and the footprints left by repeated passages testified to the growing activity of the Survivors. On either side, the vegetation clung, as if trying to reclaim this piece of land requisitioned by humans.

  The two women walked in silence, focused on their thoughts. The sounds of the forest, the discreet song of insects, the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the trickling of a hidden stream accompanied them. Jennel, her gaze hard, observed every detail of the landscape as if the surrounding nature could offer her answers. Awa, more reserved, occasionally glanced at her friend, sensing the tension emanating from her.

  Awa spoke in a calm voice, tinged with doubt:

  "We have all the essential information. Phase 2 is not absolutely necessary."

  Jennel did not slow her pace, but her tone was sharper:

  "Yes. A crucial detail is missing. At 4 PM, not all the shuttles will necessarily be stationary. One could be late, another might already be on patrol in flight."

  Awa nodded slowly, thoughtful. Jennel had a point. Everything had to be perfectly timed, without any possible failure. Uncertainty, in this mission, equated to failure.

  "So, we stick to 3:55 PM, as planned with Thabo and Alan?" Awa asked, more for confirmation than out of real doubt.

  Jennel approved with a brief nod.

  She slowed her pace slightly, and her voice lost its usual confidence as she added:

  "My Phase 2 takes off tonight, three hours after Alan."

  Awa immediately picked up on the change in her tone. She turned slightly toward Jennel, noticed the tension in her jaw, the way she slightly clenched her fingers. She gently placed a hand on her arm, trying to offer some comfort.

  "You'll see him again, Jennel."

  Jennel took a deep breath before straightening up, as if gathering her energy. She exhaled slowly and regained her composure.

  "I'm returning to my Base tonight to oversee Phases 2 and 3."

  She paused before adding with a wry smile, more bitter than amused: "To give a little speech to those who already know what they have to do. But it's necessary."

  Awa gave her a compassionate look.

  "Thabo will do the same here."

  Their steps carried them further down the path, their mission dictating every word, every movement. But behind the strategy and discipline, worry and uncertainty lingered, lurking in the shadows of the preserved forest.