Admiral Dolores De Marina was a woman of rigid appearance and demeanor. Her function defined her drive, and that's all that was expected of a military leader. But Dolores felt the soul of a woman of ideas—a quality unnecessary for her rank.

  So, she had not hesitated when news of an expedition to the Zone, a final expedition, a last expedition, spread. Understanding the danger of the project, Dolores also deduced the accolades that success would bestow upon her: the very first expedition to return from the Zone, thanks to the fabulous technology of Boos Wright—the genius behind the neurons.

  It should earn her at least the title of Marshal, she thought. If Wright managed to close the vortex definitively as he claimed, it's in the High Universal Function that Dolores would land.

  Her contact lens displayed a reminder: Materia, 73h75. She looked at herself one last time in the cabin mirror she had requisitioned from Captain Pike, and checked the solidity of her bun—firmly pinned at the back of her head. Two unruly strands fell on her cheeks.

  Dolores sighed as she adjusted her violet tricorn squarely above the two strands and crossed the threshold of the sliding door.

  Arriving in the outer ring—where the hangars and the spaceport were located—the entire width had been arranged to allow the 2836 crew members to hear her instructions. A small platform with a podium awaited her in front of rows of seats, sufficient for Dolores alone.

  Suddenly, she felt nervous as the seventy-fifth hour approached and the aisles filled up. After twenty years in the UAN - Universal Administration Navy - she was used to commanding Spaciens, maybe Psychics, but these big human heads seated in rows tested her determination.

  Captain Pike hurried between two of his lieutenants to be the first to reach the Admiral as she appeared. Dolores looked down at him—it was a short, stocky man, a Spacian like all ship captains, with eyes disproportionate to his nose.

  Dolores had no doubt that among the soldiers of the VSS Reality were some noble souls in search of adventure and loyalty, but she knew that most were just ruffians, misfits that the Universal Administration was happy to get rid of, and Pike was undoubtedly one of the latter.

  "What do you want, Pike?" she asked sharply, not granting him his rank.

  "Admiral De Marina, Boos Wright has just informed me of his intention to present the shield technology," muttered Pike.

  "Tell him to wait until the end of my directives," ordered Dolores.

  "I'm afraid he's heading towards the platform..."

  Music filled the room.

  "For heaven's sake, Pike, you can't even contain a civilian on your own ship?" growled Dolores .

  "I believe he's aware that this ship belongs to him more than to me, Admiral. Please excuse me ", Pike begged.

  "Incompetent," grumbled Dolores as Boos Wright's voice echoed off the walls.

  "Dear scientific geniuses, comrades of passion, military personnel, and Spaciens, I stand before you today because our journey is about to begin," Boos announced. He paused, adopting an introspective air. "When I had this brilliant idea that led me to undertake this expedition, I did not expect to find myself at the borders of our reality with such a fine troop, carrying such a noble purpose." Some laughter rippled through the crowd.

  "I know that we all have our reasons for being gathered here," Boos's amplified voice continued. "Some out of desire, others out of duty, and still others for forgetfulness. But regardless of each one's path, we are now united by a single destination and a single goal: the Zone."

  "As most of you know, but some may still barely realize, I must warn you: we know nothing about the Zone! Nothing about the fate of missions 2RI and 2RII. Nothing about life on the vortex-planet, or how the laws of the Universe are altered there. If we do not become aware of this, it could distort our physical and psychic realities. Even time is against us—its flow could be different there, faster or slower, no one can say. Yet everyone must be prepared to let go of the life they have known." He paused dramatically, and murmurs spread through the audience.

  Behind the scenes, Dolores pondered the recommendations of her superior, a High Official affiliated with the Universal Council, who had pulled her aside before departure: "Boos Wright is a highly predictable individual, if you know how to decipher his penchant for spectacle," Dora Faith had said. "His life is a constant game of deception, and he maintains it as such. The greatest asset on stage, Dolores, is illusion, use it consciously and beware of it like death." With these words in mind, Dolores decided to let the industrialist finish, observing his game.

  "This is what I should have announced to you today," Boos continued. "But my company—the Boon Corporation—has solved this problem thanks to a marvel of technology that I will now reveal to you. Here is the first prototype of our Reality Stabilizer."

  Boos Wright stepped aside, revealing a compact box at his waist. "I present to you: the Boon Shield!" With the push of a button, his entire body began to vibrate until it resembled a blurry spot, like a train seen up close. He turned off the device. "The downside is that you can't communicate through the preservation field, but the blessing of Boos' Boon—our trademarked name—will protect you from any distortion of reality as long as you wear it."

  The audience applauded, but a voice rose. "How do we know this isn't just a load of crap to convince us to go? Your Zone might just be Compass's garbage dump for guys like us."

  Dolores wasn't surprised to recognize Captain Pike's voice. He stepped forward to the podium but saw that the spot was taken. Unperturbed, Pike addressed the crowd. "It's not too late! My men can extract us from the vortex's pull. We evacuate the prisoners and leave while we still can." Dolores noticed some approving nods, but only from the front, Pike's stature and nasally voice preventing him from being seen or heard beyond the first rows.

  Boos Wright wasn't deterred. "You're right to be concerned, my friend. It's proof that you're a seasoned captain. I'll never ask anyone here to sacrifice beyond their cause. But a demonstration is worth a thousand words..." He stepped down from the platform to face Pike. "If you'll allow me, I'd like you to use your highest intensities of time manipulation on me."

  "Works for me," Pike muttered aside. "But if I go all out... you might not come back."

  "No need to worry, Captain," Boos Wright replied softly. "Support Captain Pike, my friends!" he shouted to the audience, who responded with thunderous applause, much to Dolores's chagrin.

  "Here's our test subject," said Boos, displaying a bouquet of dried flowers that he placed prominently on the platform. "Oh Captain, my Captain, rejuvenate us!" he commanded, activating the Boon Shield.

  Pike didn't hesitate—his small, shrewd eyes filled with a dark essence, and the temporal reality reversed. Dolores watched the petals straighten, the colors intensify, then the flowers revert to buds, and finally seeds.

  Next to him, the vibration of Boos's shield ceased, leaving him as he had always been, excessive. He put an arm around Pike and invited him to climb the steps to stand almost at his height, then addressed the audience fervently: "Each of you will receive a pair of Boon Shields!"

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  Applause filled the hangar.

  At 74 hours from this same Materia day, Heather twisted in front of the tiny mirror in the tiny cabin that Lloyd Lawton had provided them in exchange for the mechanical eye. She wondered how the Admiral's aide-de-camp could prepare herself in these cramped conditions.

  Her reflection revealed extinguished flames, ash-gray hair where a fervent fire had burned just yesterday. Her tired eyes suddenly made her regret her youth, recalling her last contemplation in a Citadel mirror—the incandescence of her psyche.

  "I prefer them long and fiery," Méandre sighed sadly behind her.

  Heather sighed in turn, pushing away the memory. "It's better for me to go unnoticed."

  "Remind me why you have to attend this meeting?" Méandre asked, perplexed.

  "Méandre, you need to learn to listen, this isn't Daedalus anymore. This is serious," Heather lectured him.

  "I know, I'm trying..." He hesitated. "But with you, it's complicated..."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, both intrigued and offended.

  "That when I'm with you, my mind wanders..." Méandre took a deep breath. "To that moment on Daedalus. I imagine us there together."

  Heather saw his tender eyes seeking hers, knowing what—and when—he was referring to. "When you kissed me," Méandre blushed.

  "It was a fleeting dream, over a year ago. Things have changed," Heather intervened gently.

  "A year, most of which spent in hypersleep. You can't blame me for dwelling on that memory, it was my only thought during the journey..."

  "I had noticed," Heather thought, recalling the events in the stasis pod and her bestial double. If that's the archetype her psyche assigned to me, it would be imprudent to get too close. "We'll talk about it again when we arrive," she concluded, avoiding the subject.

  Méandre seemed briefly disappointed but quickly resumed his usual confident demeanor as he looked at her. "So, why are you going?" he insisted.

  "It's a preparatory meeting," explained Heather. "They'll outline the operational plan. We need to know the locations and landing times of the scientists to join them."

  "We're not going with them?" Méandre asked, surprised. "I thought you wanted to get closer to this Galia..."

  "It's too risky, they know each other and, more importantly, are known by the hierarchy," said Heather. "We'll leave that ship as we entered, accompanying the prisoners."

  The Admiral's quarters were ideally situated in the central ring, close to both the hangars and the command center. At 74h50, Heather made her way into the outer ring, discovering the spaceport for the first time.

  Before her stretched the hangars, housing a multitude of shuttles with irregular shapes, ready to be deployed to their fateful destinations. The dim light of the stars filtered through the portholes, illuminating the silhouettes of the vessels that seemed to patiently await their time. Their dented hulls faintly reflected the rays, evidence of their meticulous preparation for the upcoming journey.

  Heather was overcome by a wave of anticipation mixed with apprehension as she gazed upon this armada of inert metal that symbolized her only horizon. As she navigated through the aisles, she felt the weight of responsibility growing on her shoulders: Méandre was counting on her, and there was no question of letting him down.

  In the midst of the slowly gathering crowd, Heather spotted the friendly face of Galia Singearth beneath her dense locks. The young woman offered her a broad smile upon seeing her arrival - which Heather interpreted as a good sign that their meeting was bearing fruit.

  "I told you I'd be on time," Heather said with a genuine smile.

  "Easy when you have hosts to take care of your schedule," Galia replied, laughing.

  "Oh, you're sticking with that?" Heather pretended to complain while mimicking her tone.

  "Well, let's just say I have plenty to observe... I don't know if you've looked at yourself lately, but your appearance has changed quite a bit. Wouldn't happen to be the work of a Spacien? A little time manipulation for your hair?"

  "Busted," admitted Heather. "I prefer to blend in when we're all together. Better safe than sorry, some can't stand the sight of a Psychic."

  "I understand," sympathized Galia. "So, who's the lucky one?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Your Spacien, which one is it? Perrin, Ch'ron, Melchior...?"

  "None of them, you won't know him, he's discreet."

  "That sounds fishy, it's not Pike, is it? Tell me it's not Pike..."

  "It's not Pike! Forget it, I won't say anything. We barely know each other, no offense, but I don't fully trust you..."

  "You think I'd rat you out to the hierarchy over a haircut?" Galia protested. "I'm not bitter..."

  "That's not what I meant..." Heather tempered.

  Galia furrowed her brows, conciliatory. "You're right, we don't know each other. I'm sorry for prying."

  Heather sighed. "Méandre. His name is Méandre."

  Galia smiled again, revealing white teeth contrasting with her brown skin. "I don't know him. What's he like?"

  Heather thought for a moment. "That's an open-ended question. Handsome but fragile. Full of life and passions. Honest but mysterious. With gentle, delicate features, chiseled from smooth, flawless marble..."

  Galia looked at her, amazed. "He fascinates you, doesn't he? It's rare to describe someone like that."

  "As glowingly?"

  "As precisely. Your way of speaking gives the impression that you're studying him," observed Galia.

  "An unfortunate side effect of Citadel education, I'm afraid," admitted Heather.

  Galia grasped her forearm reassuringly. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Don't be too hard on yourself. Recognizing one's limits is the first battle of the mind..." She stopped at the sound of the booming music filling the hangar.

  "Already time?" Heather asked.

  "I don't know, but the Admiral isn't one for a grand entrance," replied Galia.

  Heather saw Boos Wright take the stage and begin speaking. "What's he doing here?"

  "Probably ensuring their loyalty," said Galia, nodding towards the soldiers in front of them. "The Council didn't want to send him with his private guard, fearing he might take command of the situation."

  "Boos Wright would be a mutineer?"

  "In a way... As long as we're on his ship, the Admiral is in command. But once we're there, whoever can assert themselves will lead."

  "In the end, what's the difference?" asked Heather. "He's the conductor, why worry if he takes the lead?"

  "Yes, except Wright is a crazy megalomaniac. But you'll judge for yourself."

  On the stage, Boos was inviting Captain Pike to try rewinding him.

  "He inspires more pity than fear," observed Heather.

  "Perhaps," conceded Galia. "But his ambitions go beyond this mission."

  "No doubt about that," agreed Heather as Wright reappeared unscathed amidst applause.

  When Wright finished his boasting, Admiral De Marina took over, radically changing the atmosphere. Stern in her posture, sparing in gestures, her steely gaze swept the assembly. An attentive silence fell, tinged with apprehension in the presence of this austere operations director with an intimidating reputation.

  "She looks furious behind her impassive mask," whispered Heather.

  "Who wouldn't be after such a spectacle, it was her moment and he stole the show," noted Galia in the same discreet tone.

  "That's the essence of my remark," Heather agreed. "But if we can see it so clearly, there's no doubt the entire ship feels the same."

  Calmly, De Marina outlined the challenges ahead: reestablishing contact with previous missions, acquiring knowledge, studying the stability of the vortex, and its possibilities of closure. Her rationality contrasted with Wright's insolent attitude, fueling Heather and Galia's reflections.

  "This is what I feared," said the latter. "Divergent and contradictory objectives, the risk of a power struggle... We'll need to be cautious on site."

  "Do you think De Marina could lose control of the soldiers?" Heather asked.

  "It's not impossible," conceded Galia. "But the true strength lies in the powers of the Spaciens. Without them, we would be at the mercy of a shifting reality."

  De Marina emphasized their necessary cohesion in the face of the uncertainties of the Zone - temporal fractures, material alterations, involuntary displacements, atomic instability... Phenomena impossible from this side made real by the vortex. A detail caught Heather's attention. While Wright strutted, De Marina mentioned soberly: "In the field, defer to each one's skills." Heather saw an interesting opportunity and a clear distinction between egos.

  "I have never served under her command," Heather clarified. "But De Marina seems aware of the stakes and capable of leading men."

  "No doubt," agreed Galia. "However, her ambition is great and well-known. Here's a dangerous weapon in the hands of a megalomaniac like Wright."

  Finally, the Admiral detailed the landing maneuvers, locations, and schedules. Heather learned that prisoners, soldiers, and scientists would be dropped separately in different landing zones 100km around the drop points of previous missions, maximizing the chances of retracing their steps.

  "It looks like we won't see each other for a while," noted Heather.

  "What do you mean? Aren't you leaving with the other scientists? I thought being a Psychic was a specialty," Galia pointed out.

  "It is, but this gift involves protecting our host," explained Heather.

  "How romantic," teased Galia. "Where was your handsome Méandre assigned?"

  "Transferring prisoners..." Heather sighed.

  "Bad luck. We'll probably meet at the convergence point," replied Galia.

  On the stage, De Marina concluded by announcing the departure of the expedition as scheduled at the thirtieth hour of the next Spatium, instructing all personnel to report immediately to the hangars for the distribution of Boon Shields and pre-flight checks. As she got up, Heather thought that reality would surely be more complex than this brief presentation but was relieved to have obtained the information she was looking for.