Rul Val was a former scout ship pilot. He had served for many years against the Gulls, a particularly frustrating period marked by relentless attempts to breach their defenses and inflict decisive losses. Every advance was methodically countered by their mercenaries. Victories, though rare, were always costly, and defeats weighed even heavier as they meant an immediate retreat on the front. The Gulls, relentless, conceded nothing, using their mercenary network to lock down any attempt at a breakthrough. This war of attrition had eventually worn him down, pushing him to seek a different purpose in life.

  He had withdrawn to Drea, as neither he nor this planet had yet been contaminated by nanites: those insidious entities capable of infiltrating organisms and infrastructures, slowly consuming entire ecosystems until all life was extinguished. The persistent threat they posed forced many worlds into heightened surveillance and strict isolation protocols, making Drea one of the last truly safe refuges for those seeking to escape them.

  Drea was a planet undergoing terraformation, and its transformation became more spectacular each day. Once a rocky desert swept by violent winds and dust storms, it had gradually metamorphosed under the influence of climate generators and artificial ecosystems. Vast geodesic domes, covered in a coppery alloy, dominated the glowing hills. Each of these structures housed expanding habitats, hydroponic greenhouses, laboratories dedicated to adapting introduced flora and fauna, and research centers focused on planetary biosynthesis. Massive terraforming machines, towering mechanical colossi, slowly shaped valleys and diffused stabilizing elements into the atmosphere. Between these domes, smaller, partially buried facilities housed the engineering equipment that was gradually modifying the atmosphere and the land. The air, still slightly laden with mineral particles, was becoming breathable without prolonged assistance, and vegetation timidly clung to the erosion-sculpted terrain. Here and there, thin layers of water had begun to form in crevices, heralding the future emergence of artificial rivers and lakes. The first animals adapted to these conditions had been released, struggling to establish a fragile balance in this evolving world.

  Rul Val had immersed himself in this task, finding a certain peace in this world in the making. Thus, Ran Dal’s request for a meeting left him perplexed, if not deeply displeased.

  He had fought under her command in the past. This woman had an extraordinary intuition and an almost reckless audacity. He owed her a few favors, including the fact that she had repeatedly saved him from a court-martial due to his frequent deviations in interpreting orders. He specifically recalled a reconnaissance mission where, sensing a unique opportunity, he had taken too many risks to bring back crucial information and had nearly been detected by an enemy patrol. She had pleaded his case, arguing that his boldness had averted a strategic disaster. But she was not the kind of person to contact him without a good reason.

  He cast a glance toward the horizon, where the domes gleamed under the setting sun. Drea was his refuge, his second chance. And now, someone had come to remind him that a distant and absurd war was still raging.

  What did she want this time?

  He had said yes. Could he have done otherwise? Probably, but he would have regretted it.

  Ran Dal had explained that the military situation was turning ugly. That she wanted to attempt contact with an unusual group of mercenaries. That these mercenaries seemed to be reaching out. And that she hoped to gain something from it.

  Not exactly reasonable, but then, the number of not exactly reasonable missions he had undertaken under her command was significant.

  He was preparing to leave Drea, checking his ship one last time to avoid any unpleasant surprises.

  The vessel was designed for speed and agility. Its compact, aerodynamic fuselage bore the marks of numerous repairs: precise welding lines and reinforcements in composite alloys testified to its long service. Two oversized lateral thrusters flanked the hull, each integrating a magnetic impulse propulsion system capable of brutal accelerations. A minimal arsenal was built into the structure: a light energy cannon mounted beneath the fuselage and a stealth countermeasure system to prevent enemy targeting locks.

  Gravitational stabilizers, embedded in spherical modules at the base of the ship, granted it exceptional maneuverability, allowing it to navigate asteroid fields or evade larger pursuers. This was not a craft designed for prolonged combat, but a scout built to operate deep beyond friendly lines and survive in hostile territory.

  He placed a hand on the ship’s cold hull. Soon, he would once again face the vastness of space, far from Drea and its tranquility. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea, but one thing was certain: he was ready.

  Since the small ship was not capable of hyper-quantum transfer, it was loaded onto Ran Dal’s cruiser in orbit above Drea. The next day, it was dropped in the middle of nowhere on the Gull front. And Rul Val waited.

  The battle erupted with blinding intensity. Yet, a subtle sense of unease had already begun creeping into Arin Tar’s mind. For several hours, she had been observing unusual micro-movements among the mercenaries: subtle adjustments that did not match the conventional patterns of forces operating under Gull command. Something was happening, and she didn’t like not understanding it immediately.

  Admiral Arin Tar studied the holographic tactical display, her hands clenched tightly on the armrests of her command chair. For multiple cycles now, her forces had been wearing themselves down against these mercenaries, who had become far too efficient. This new assault had the unmistakable scent of an inevitable strategic blow.

  The attack struck the center of their formation, already weakened from the previous battle. Despite having significant numbers (380 Arwien ships still in position) the mercenary forces counted over 400 units, and this numerical advantage was about to be exploited relentlessly.

  Arin Tar cast a glance toward the fortified outposts. These defensive bastions, once the guardians of front-line stability, were now isolated, cut off from their support forces. The enemy’s maneuvers skillfully bypassed them, depriving them of reinforcements and supplies. Tactical reports flashed before her: communications disrupted, supply lines severed, defensive batteries rendered useless due to lack of coordination. These fortresses, instead of serving as a shield, had become death traps for their trapped crews.

  "The support squadrons won’t hold," one of her officers warned.

  "They must hold. Reposition the Third Fleet for direct support," she snapped.

  But the mercenaries had anticipated this maneuver. Before the Third Fleet could reposition, a lateral strike from the enemy fleet crushed the remaining support lines. Now completely isolated, the Arwien bases were doomed to fall, one by one.

  The Admiral bit her lip. She had no choice: she had to weaken her own lines to prevent a total collapse.

  At that precise moment, an alert appeared on the holo-table. One of the enemy ships had broken away from the main formations. It was heading toward a strategically insignificant sector.

  "What is it doing?" she asked, puzzled.

  No immediate answer. It wasn’t a retreat, nor a known maneuver. She ordered the sensors to intensify surveillance, but the intensity of the battle forced her to set the anomaly aside for later analysis.

  Then came the dreaded turning point. While her support forces struggled to avoid encirclement, an enemy squadron struck a temporary weak point on the defensive perimeter. A breach. A perfect opening, proving that the frontal assault had merely been a feint to lure her into making a fatal mistake.

  Arin Tar clenched her teeth. She had to face reality: she could no longer hold her positions without risking total annihilation.

  "All operational ships, retreat to Point O and engage transfer as soon as possible. General withdrawal."

  The order was relayed, and the Arwien ships began their disengagement. Yet, she expected to be pursued, to suffer additional losses under mercenary fire. But nothing came. The enemy merely watched them leave.

  "Why aren’t they chasing us?" her second-in-command asked.

  "Check their ammunition reserves," she replied, sensing something amiss.

  Moments later, the answer appeared on the holographic display. Tactical calculators predicted a significant depletion in the enemy’s missile and torpedo stockpiles.

  "Either they simulated their depletion, or they’ve truly reached their limits," she murmured.

  Regardless of the answer, it gave her an unexpected reprieve. A disorderly retreat, but without harassment, was still an acceptable withdrawal. However, she knew they had lost a critical front. And that meant Alan was preparing something else. The enemy never left an opportunity unexploited.

  Perhaps this apparent retreat was merely the prelude to another offensive, one even more insidious.

  A shiver ran down Arin Tar’s spine.

  She could no longer afford to merely react to the blows delivered by the mercenaries. She needed to anticipate, to understand what Alan was truly seeking. But did she still have time to turn the situation around before it was too late?

  As her last ships engaged in hyper-quantum transfer, she thought about the vessel (probably from Alan’s group) that had discreetly slipped away in the midst of battle. What was its true objective? And why did these mercenaries seem to be playing a far more complex game than just a simple military confrontation?

  For the first time since the war had begun, Admiral Arin Tar wondered whether this war was really the one they thought they were fighting.

  Alan, now an Admiral, found himself burdened with an overwhelming responsibility. He had formed four squadrons, each placed under the command of a Squadron Leader. A decision that had turned into a real headache, as he had to navigate the sensitivities of the different factions. The rank of Admiral, officially granted by the Gulls, had been enough to silence the most reluctant ones, but Alan knew that command could not rely on hierarchy alone. He needed unity, trust, and above all, he had to avoid authoritarianism.

  He had carefully distributed his forces, positioning them at key points to support the offensive strategy in the central zone. If everything went as he expected, no one would realize that this offensive was merely a smokescreen.

  He had reserved a special squadron for himself, composed mainly of the Xi and the Terrans. A natural affinity seemed to have developed between the Xi and humans, despite their differences. Jennel, in particular, spent a great deal of time with Xi Mano in the Secondary Hall, engaged in long discussions that even Alan sometimes struggled to follow.

  Their squadron was moving toward a discreet deployment point, located in a vast expanse of empty space, chosen primarily to optimize communications with the most distant units on the front. The natural interferences there were minimal, making transmissions clearer and facilitating strategic coordination across such a vast theater of operations.

  It was A?ssatou who broke the silence first aboard the command ship.

  “Detection of an Arwien scout. It appears to be alone.”

  Alan leaned over the tactical hologram. A single ship on reconnaissance? An anomaly or just a routine patrol?

  “Distance and trajectory?” he asked.

  “It’s following a parallel observation line, no direct approach.”

  The Arwien scout suddenly accelerated, heading at full speed toward the Terran fleet. Alan and Jennel exchanged a stunned look.

  “Is he insane or suicidal?” Jennel murmured.

  “His weaponry is ineffective,” A?ssatou confirmed, her eyes fixed on the hologram.

  The ship was rapidly approaching the nearest cruiser. Alan, uncertain how to interpret such erratic behavior, made a quick decision.

  “Shoot it down.”

  The cruiser immediately opened fire. At an astonishing speed and agility, the Arwien scout executed a dazzling series of evasive maneuvers, dodging the shots with remarkable precision. It dove, rolled, and veered at a velocity that would have crushed any ordinary human pilot.

  A?ssatou murmured, impressed:

  “He's a virtuoso…”

  But the dance lasted only a few more seconds. The cruiser finally landed a direct hit. The ship was engulfed in a burst of flames. However, an instant before its total destruction, a figure ejected at high velocity.

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  The damaged scout crashed against the cruiser's shield and disintegrated in a shower of sparks. Stunned, Alan and A?ssatou watched as the escape pod drifted through space.

  “Recover that pilot. Transfer him to my ship.”

  A few long minutes of confusion later, an Arwien man, firmly restrained and flanked by three human guards, was brought before Alan.

  “Rul Val,” the man declared, standing tall, his voice calm despite the situation. He then spoke a few sentences in his own language while observing Jennel, words incomprehensible to the rest of the crew.

  He then pointed to a pendant around his neck. Suspended from it was a folded black surface. A?ssatou took it and unfolded it. A small three-dimensional image appeared: an Arwien woman with her hand over her mouth.

  Jennel and Alan exchanged a perplexed look. The image changed: this time, Jennel and the Arwien woman were holding hands, both with their hands over their mouths. Finally, coordinates appeared, written in a language resembling Xi.

  Alan took the object, scrutinizing it for a long moment before handing it to Jennel. They locked eyes, realizing the gravity of the situation.

  “We need a Xi interpreter, and fast,” Jennel said, her voice filled with urgency.

  The Xi interpreter was quickly transferred onto the ship. Rul Val had not moved an inch, standing between his guards with a serene demeanor, as if he were merely a spectator to the unfolding scene. His gaze remained fixed on Alan, unshaken.

  Alan handed the projected coordinates to the Xi interpreter. The latter examined them briefly before nodding.

  “Yes, this is Xi. The AI can integrate them without difficulty.”

  At these words, an almost imperceptible reaction ran through Rul Val. A subtle step backward, a slight tension in his shoulders. But Alan caught it immediately.

  He locked eyes with the Arwien and, in a measured voice, said:

  “They are of no importance.”

  The interpreter carried out the command. Rul Val, however, remained impassive. He had maintained his stoic expression throughout the exchange, but he must have understood Xi, and the potential dissemination of the coordinates had clearly unsettled him.

  Alan exhaled deeply. The battle was imminent. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by enigmas that would not reveal their answers anytime soon. Yet, he sensed that a delicate thread was being woven in the shadows. One he had not yet grasped.

  Jennel, meanwhile, seemed to have already figured it out. She took a determined step forward.

  “I’m taking this Rul Val with me, along with the interpreter. We’re joining Mehmet’s ship. We’re going to find out where this prisoner comes from…”

  Alan opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he met her gaze. He saw an unwavering determination in her eyes. Convincing her otherwise would be pointless.

  A tense silence hung between them. Alan eventually let out a sigh, though his expression betrayed his reluctance.

  Jennel offered a slight smile, then slowly raised her hand to her mouth, mimicking the gesture from the hologram.

  Alan closed his eyes briefly, resigned.

  Without another word, Jennel turned on her heel and walked out, already absorbed in the mission ahead.

  Jennel’s ship had departed from the fleet under difficult circumstances, with combat already underway. They had to maneuver out of the melee, dodge a stray missile, and remain discreet to avoid suspicion. Fortunately, the Arwiens were primarily focused on defending themselves and didn’t seem to have noticed their departure.

  The mission’s coordinates (officially for active reconnaissance) brought them to an unexpected location: a drifting asteroid with jagged contours, bristling with luminescent crystalline structures. Its surface emitted a faint glow, crisscrossed with bluish veins, as if energy pulsed through the rock itself.

  The cruiser made several passes around it, its sensors sweeping every irregularity of the floating mass. The crew quickly detected an Arwien vessel: a small escort unit hidden near the surface, pressed against a shadowed crater, nearly invisible without precise scanning.

  Suddenly, Rul Val spoke in perfect Xi.

  The interpreter, who had remained silent until now, immediately translated:

  “No danger.”

  A chill ran through the command deck. Jennel exchanged a look with Mehmet, then fixed her eyes on the screen displaying the motionless Arwien vessel. The enemy was right there, yet the prisoner claimed there was no threat.

  She turned to Rul Val.

  “Explain.”

  But the Arwien remained silent, his gaze fixed on the screen, as if he were waiting for something.

  Jennel narrowed her eyes, analyzing the situation and the logical sequence of events. This escort ship, alone and still, concealed on the edge of a drifting asteroid… It didn’t match any known Arwien tactics. Moreover, Rul Val remained eerily calm, as if he were waiting for the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place on their own.

  She made a quick decision.

  “We’re going to take a closer look at that ship.”

  Mehmet, in the midst of managing security protocols, stopped what he was doing and slowly turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow.

  “You’re sure? We’re approaching an Arwien ship on a reconnaissance mission, with no idea whether they’ve noticed us?”

  Jennel shot him a look that left no room for debate.

  “That wasn’t a question. Move us closer. Kill the shields.”

  A heavy silence fell over the bridge.

  Mehmet exhaled loudly and shook his head before gesturing to the tactical operator.

  “Shields down. Minimum propulsion.”

  The ship’s vibrations lessened as it began its slow approach toward the Arwien vessel. On the screens, the enemy silhouette grew larger, bathed in the crystalline reflections of the asteroid’s glow.

  Rul Val, still under guard, remained perfectly composed.

  Jennel felt the tension rise in the command deck.

  Something was about to happen.

  "I’m detecting a living creature next to the ship."

  Mehmet's voice resonated across the bridge, tinged with disbelief.

  Jennel narrowed her eyes at the screen, where a faint silhouette appeared near the Arwien vessel. She made her decision without hesitation.

  "I’m putting on a suit. The interpreter has his. Find one for the Arwien."

  Mehmet slowly turned toward her, his mouth slightly open.

  "Wait… You want to go down there? With him?!" He gestured toward Rul Val with his chin, looking utterly incredulous.

  "Jennel, if Alan finds out about this, he’ll kill me on the spot."

  Jennel shrugged with a calm smile.

  "My husband isn’t as bloodthirsty as you think."

  Mehmet stared at her for a second, then let out a resigned sigh. "We’ll see."

  A few minutes later, the three of them, clad in sealed suits, descended from the ship, advancing slowly toward the motionless figure.

  As they approached, the asteroid’s bluish glow cast spectral reflections on the mysterious figure’s suit. A woman… No. An Arwien.

  Jennel felt her heartbeat quicken.

  The Arwien observed them for a few moments, then, with a slow and assured motion, gestured for them to follow.

  They entered the Arwien escort vessel, a chamber with smooth walls, eerily empty. The atmosphere was calm, almost solemn.

  The Arwien removed her helmet, revealing a face marked by experience and determination. Jennel hesitated for a moment, then did the same. Rul Val and the interpreter followed suit.

  In a clear voice, the Arwien spoke in Xi. The interpreter immediately translated.

  "My name is Ran Dal. I am the Head of Intelligence for the Fleet."

  Jennel met her gaze, remaining impassive.

  "Jennel of Sol, Aide-de-camp to Admiral Alan of Sol."

  Ran Dal scrutinized her for a moment before continuing.

  "It seems you have sought this contact."

  Jennel offered a slight smile:

  "We suggested it."

  "Why?"

  "To end this fratricidal war."

  Ran Dal raised an eyebrow slightly.

  "How?"

  Jennel took a deep breath.

  "With your cooperation?"

  A long silence stretched between them. Two women: one older, hardened by years of battle, the other younger but carrying within her a rare knowledge: the ability to read the Specters.

  Jennel could see what Ran Dal was trying to discern. She wanted to know if she could trust her, if this meeting was a trap, a maneuver by the Gulls, or a desperate attempt.

  But Jennel saw something else.

  A convergence.

  A common goal.

  She broke the silence with a calm yet cutting voice.

  "We want the same thing, Ran Dal."

  The Arwien barely twitched.

  Jennel continued, her gaze unwavering.

  "The defeat of the Gulls. And a way—if one exists—to deactivate the nanites."

  Ran Dal didn’t respond immediately.

  Jennel pressed on, her sincerity disarming:

  "The defeat of the Gulls is highly uncertain. But we have to try. To save our planet. Just as all the mercenaries under their control must."

  A suspended silence.

  Then Ran Dal fixed Jennel with an intense gaze.

  "Then why is your… Admiral trying to crush us?"

  Jennel didn’t look away.

  "To gain credibility and influence with the Gulls."

  Ran Dal nodded slightly, as if she had expected that answer.

  "And it seems he is succeeding. There has never been an Admiral among the mercenaries before."

  Jennel gave a sad smile.

  "I know the price is steep."

  Another silence lingered, but Jennel sensed it was time to make her own truth heard.

  She took a deep breath and let her determination speak.

  "Yesterday, I was a wanderer on a lost planet. Today, I stand before you. But yesterday and today, I am a slave to the Gulls."

  She paused, her gaze blazing with defiance.

  "Tomorrow, I will be free. Or I will be no more."

  Ran Dal did not reply immediately. Her expression darkened, not with hostility, but with understanding. She knew what it meant to live under a yoke that couldn’t be broken alone.

  She inhaled slowly and finally asked the essential question:

  "What can we do?"

  Jennel smiled, a smile almost mischievous, tinged with challenge and audacity.

  "A simulation."

  The Arwien narrowed her eyes, intrigued.

  Jennel focused, ready to explain everything.

  Alan had somewhat collapsed into his seat, his gaze fixed on the last movements displayed on the tactical hologram. The battle was coming to an end, and it was ending exactly as he had hoped. The Arwien forces, shattered, were retreating in disorder toward their rear lines, abandoning the battlefield. It was a chaotic withdrawal, but not a slaughter. They would survive, and that was all that mattered.

  He had successfully halted the offensive of all mercenary groups, despite protests, especially from the Zirkis. These feral warriors craved victory and carnage, but he had promised them a "particularly glorious" follow-up. That had been enough to appease them… for now.

  A blinking light caught his attention on the side screen. He turned his head and saw that Mehmet’s ship (the one carrying Jennel and the Xi interpreter) had returned, intact.

  Alan felt a weight lift from his chest. He exhaled slowly.

  The doors to the command center burst open, and Jennel strode in. Her face was composed, focused, but the moment she met Alan’s gaze, a small, discreet smile flickered across her lips.

  She walked up to him, quickly passed by the consoles, and simply murmured in an almost inaudible tone:

  "OK."

  Then she moved to stand next to A?ssatou, waiting for the next step.

  Alan straightened slightly, glancing at the last signals on the hologram. Everything had gone according to plan. But the most delicate part was only beginning. And above all, what exactly did that "OK" mean?

  It was time to roll the dice. He needed sixes.

  Alan took a deep breath, then cast the dice.

  "Communication from Admiral Alan of Sol to the fleet."

  His voice was transmitted through the nanites to all mercenary ships.

  "We have secured a decisive strategic victory. The Arwien forces are retreating in disarray to unprepared positions, leaving them highly vulnerable. However, we cannot pursue them in our current state without risking depletion of our armaments deep in the battle zone, far from our bases. That would be a mistake and an unacceptable waste."

  He paused for a brief second to emphasize his point, then continued firmly:

  "We must rearm. Quickly and efficiently. Each group will receive its instructions for their designated rearmament points. The process must be swift and precise. All our resources will be mobilized for this effort."

  He swept his gaze across those around him, meeting Jennel’s, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, and A?ssatou’s, who was scrutinizing the tactical boards with deep concentration.

  "Victory is ours today. Tomorrow, it will be even greater."

  He cut the transmission, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled slowly.

  The dice had been cast.

  On the way back.

  "Admiral, we have an urgent AI report."

  He nodded, and A?ssatou continued, her voice more tense than usual.

  "The Arwien forces are beginning to evacuate their units to the rear."

  Alan frowned.

  "They’re deserting the front?" he asked, incredulously.

  A?ssatou nodded in confirmation.

  "Why? This move exposes them terribly…"

  A heavy silence settled, as everyone in the room tried to grasp the logic behind such a retreat. Militarily, it was suicidal: a reckless gamble in their situation.

  Jennel met Alan’s gaze, a glimmer in her eyes.

  "They are in more trouble than we thought."

  Her voice was measured, but Alan sensed a deeper meaning, as if she already knew where this was heading.

  He observed her for a moment, then his mind connected the dots.

  A memory resurfaced: something from long ago, a phrase spoken in an old exchange with Thabo and Awa.

  His gaze drifted into the void for an instant.

  "And she is formidable," he murmured.

  Jennel gave a faint, knowing smile. She understood that he had just figured it out.