“Unusual skeletal reinforcements detected,” one robot observed. “Evidence of previous combat-related injuries. Subject has undergone multiple implant procedures consistent with Earth military enhancement.”

  “Noted,” the other replied. “Proceed with the suppression torc.”

  That got my attention. “Wait… a what, now?”

  They ignored me, of course.

  They placed what looked like an ornate metal collar around my neck. The latch clicked very quietly as if it were magnetic or digital. It was surprisingly lightweight, almost comfortable, with a small green stone that rested against my throat. I caught my reflection in stainless steel and saw the stone pulsing brightly in rhythm with my heartbeat.

  “Suppression attunement successful,” the robot announced. “Subject is now controllable.”

  They released me from the table and handed me a simple gray jumpsuit. The fabric was thin but surprisingly warm. As I dressed, I tested my limbs. Everything worked, and though I could feel contact studs inside the collar, I could almost ignore that it was even there.

  “What did you do to me?” I asked.

  The lead robot turned its sensor array toward me. “The Tyrant requires certain... safeguards for dangerous guests. The suppression torc ensures compliance.”

  “Compliance with what?”

  “Your continuous inquiries are pointless and counterproductive.”

  At least they were polite. The robots escorted me through another set of corridors. These were less ornate, clearly meant for utility rather than show. We descended several levels via a service elevator, the temperature dropping slightly with each floor.

  Finally, we reached a section that could only be described as a prison. The corridor was lined with transparent cells, each containing a single occupant. Some paced restlessly, others sat in defeated stillness. All wore the same gray jumpsuit and collar I’d been given.

  “The holding area,” one robot announced unnecessarily. “You will remain here until summoned.”

  They selected a cell midway down the corridor and deactivated its transparent barrier. A simple shove sent me stumbling inside before the barrier reactivated with a soft hum.

  “Enjoy your accommodations,” the robot said. Its tone was like that of a bellhop delivering luggage to a hotel room.

  Then they were gone, leaving me alone in a ten-by-ten cell with nothing but a bed platform and a basic sanitation unit. The transparency of the cell was clearly intentional—no privacy, constant observation. Psychological warfare.

  I surveyed the other prisoners—as far as was possible. Most avoided eye contact, beaten down by whatever they’d experienced aboard the ship. Some looked like farmers or laborers, others had the bearing of former enforcers. The Tyrant apparently collected enemies from all walks of life.

  “Don’t bother looking for a broken bar,” someone said softly from the cell opposite mine. “They’ve thought of everything.”

  I turned to see a young woman watching me with hollow eyes. Her face was gaunt, her once-vibrant red hair now lank and dull. It took me a while to recognize her—she was part of the throng at Tormund’s homestead that imprisoned me in a wicker box.

  “Maja, is it?” I asked, moving closer to the barrier.

  Her brow furrowed. “How do you know my name?”

  “Oh, I’m good with details… Besides, I usually remember people that wake me out of a sleep and throw me in a cage outside to freeze.”

  She’d been one of the homesteaders who’d taken offense back at Kelda’s house what seemed like a long time ago.

  Maja gave me a tired smile. “Oh yes—the livestock pen. Sorry about that.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “I spat on you, too.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Seems like a lifetime ago… As you can see, I came around… once the drengr proved himself over and over again.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Weeks? It’s hard to tell. Time works differently up here.” She glanced nervously at the ceiling, where small cameras monitored every cell. “They took me during a raid on our farmstead. Said I was part of the rebellion.”

  “Were you?”

  She shrugged. “Yes… my brothers were. Mostly, I only fed supporters of the cause who needed feeding.”

  I studied the cell, looking for anything I might have missed—structural weaknesses, blind spots in the surveillance. Nothing obvious presented itself.

  “How did they get to you?” Maja asked. “Have a slip up in planning?”

  “It’s very complicated, but being here is part of the plan,” I replied. “The Tyrant and I need to have a chat.”

  Something like a shred of hope crossed her face. “Drengr, you’re the one who started all this. I sure hope you can finish it.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “You need to know some things…” she said abruptly. “The guards talk. And some of us get taken to serve in the upper levels.” She spoke barely above a whisper.

  I moved closer to the barrier, to keep my volume quiet too. “What else do they say about the upper levels? The Tyrant’s quarters?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t. Whatever you’re planning, just don’t. He’ll know. He always knows.”

  “I need information, Maja. Anything you can tell me could help.”

  Her eyes darted to the cameras again. “I’ve only been to the residential deck once. It’s... beautiful. Like pictures of Earth before the collapse. Real plants, running water, fresh food. Some of us get selected to serve there temporarily.”

  “Selected how?”

  “The ones who break,” she said simply. “The ones who’ll do anything to avoid going back to the arena.”

  “The arena?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, as if suddenly cold. “His entertainment. For men like you—you fight. Sometimes against each other, sometimes against his robots. The winners get better food, maybe a day in proper quarters. The losers...” She trailed off.

  I almost asked her what the women did for their daily bread—but I didn’t bother. It was clear to me what was required of Maja to please the Tyrant.

  “I understand,” I said. “What about security? Robot patterns?”

  Maja pressed her palm against the transparent barrier, leaning closer. “Listen to me. I don’t know what you think you can do, but you need to understand something.” Her eyes locked with mine, suddenly intense. “He breaks everyone eventually. Everyone.”

  I wanted to tell her ‘everyone’ was not me. That I was trained for this. But her conviction gave me pause.

  “How many have tried to fight back?” I asked.

  “Too many. There was a blacksmith here a month ago. A strong man, very determined. He lasted three days in the arena before begging for mercy.”

  “And did he receive it?”

  Her silence was answer enough.

  “What about this pretty dog collar?” I asked, tapping my finger on the torc where the green stone was embedded at my throat. “What does it do, exactly?”

  “Causes pain, mostly,” she said. “He can trigger it remotely. And if you try to leave authorized areas or attack certain individuals, it activates automatically. Some say it can kill you instantly, but I’ve never seen that happen.”

  Perfect. A leash and a kill switch all in one.

  “Is there any way to remove it?”

  She gave me a pitying look. “Why do you think we’re all still here?”

  Before I could ask more questions, the barrier to my cell deactivated. Two robot guards stood outside.

  “Prisoner Tanner,” one announced. “You will come with us now.”

  I glanced at Maja, who had backed away from her own barrier, eyes downcast. She didn’t want anyone to notice her—not even a robot.

  “Where are we going?” I asked the robots.

  “The Tyrant has requested your presence. It is time for your formal introduction.”

  As I stepped out of the cell, Maja caught my eye one last time. Her lips moved silently, forming words I could barely make out.

  “Don’t show fear.”

  The robots flanked me, their metal hands clamping around my upper arms with precisely calculated force—enough to control, not enough to damage. They guided me toward an elevator at the end of the corridor.

  “The Tyrant has a special interest in you,” one said in a breezy tone. “Your performance will determine your longevity.”

  “Good to know,” I replied. “Any other helpful tips?”

  “Resistance is inadvisable. The suppression torc can cause significant neural damage if fully activated.”

  The elevator ascended smoothly, lifting us up through the colony ship’s levels. Each floor we passed represented a step up in luxury and security—growing warmer again by degrees. Service decks gave way to residential areas, then administrative sections. Finally, we reached a level marked simply “Command.”

  The doors opened onto a corridor unlike any other I’d seen on the ship. The walls were covered with actual artwork—paintings, sculptures, even historical artifacts that belonged in a museum. The floor was natural stone from Jarl, polished to a mirror shine. The lighting was soft and warm, designed to mimic sunlight filtering through leaves.

  “This way,” the robot directed, guiding me toward a set of massive doors at the corridor’s end.

  As we approached, the doors slid open silently, revealing the chamber beyond. I steeled myself, knowing that whatever happened next would decide if I would live long enough to do what I’d come here for.

  It was time to meet the Tyrant.

  Chapter 25

  Three silent humans with downcast eyes fussed over me, preening. Their hands were quick and impersonal. No one spoke.

  The gray jumpsuit was replaced with clothing I hadn’t expected—a tailored black suit of actual woven fabric, not the synthetic stuff common on colony worlds. The jacket fit perfectly across my shoulders, the trousers breaking precisely at polished black shoes. Had someone taken my measurements while I was unconscious? The suppression torc stayed on to complete the ensemble.

  “The Tyrant prefers his guests on the command deck to be presentable,” one of the attendants finally said, the first words any of them had uttered. She barely spoke above a whisper.

  “I’m flattered,” I replied. “Does everyone get this kind of luxury treatment?”

  She didn’t answer that one, instead gesturing for me to follow the waiting robot guards.

  The command deck of any colony ship was designed to be the nerve center during the long journey through space. Displays monitoring life support systems, navigation controls, communication arrays—everything needed to keep thousands of people alive for decades.

  The Tyrant had transformed it into something else entirely.

  The central command area was now a throne room. The utilitarian captain’s chair had been replaced with an elaborate construction of metal and rare woods. Holographic displays still lined the walls, but instead of showing ship functions, they displayed scenes from across Jarl—the burning outskirts of Northaven, rebels moving through forests, enforcers patrolling settlement perimeters. The Tyrant was watching his domain burn in real time.

  Robot guards lined the walls, at least twenty of them, more advanced than the security models I’d seen so far. These moved with almost human fluidity, their sensor arrays more discreet, integrated into faceplates and designed to mimic human features. I found them uncanny and disturbing.

  Among the machines moved human attendants—perhaps a dozen colonists in simple black uniforms. They carried trays with food and drinks, adjusted lighting, or simply stood waiting for commands. Their faces were carefully blank, eyes always directed downward. They were broken, just as Maja had described.

  At the far end of the room, seated on his throne, was the Tyrant himself.

  He wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d imagined some hulking figure, physically imposing to match his reputation for cruelty. Instead, he was thin, almost delicate, with the pale complexion of someone who’d spent too long away from natural light. His face was aristocratic—high cheekbones, aquiline nose, thin lips. He might have been anywhere from forty to sixty, his age hard to determine beneath the pampered grooming. His hair was silver, cut precisely, not a strand out of place.

  But his eyes—they were the coldest I’d ever seen. Gray and empty, like looking into deep space.

  The Tyrant watched me approach with mild interest, one hand resting on the arm of his throne, the other holding a crystal glass filled with amber liquid. He wore a simple black suit similar to mine, but with subtle details that marked it as more expensive, more carefully crafted.

  The robot guards were trying to position me ten feet from the throne. I remained standing, refusing to kneel despite their aggressive rubber-coated metal hands which pressed on my shoulders. Eventually they gave up, stepping back.

  “The famous rebel!” the Tyrant called out as I was brought before him. His speech was cultured, measured, with the slight accent of someone from Earth’s European sector. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “I’d say the same,” I replied, “but I don’t like to lie.”

  A ripple of tension went through the human attendants. The Tyrant, however, merely smiled.

  “Defiant to the last! How predictable.” He set down his glass and stood, descending the two steps from his throne’s raised platform. “But then, XCU agents are selected for their predictable traits, aren’t they? Aggression. Resourcefulness. Tedious moral flexibility.”

  So he knew exactly who I was. I kept my face neutral, but my mind raced. How much had Ingrid told him? Or had he known all along?

  The Tyrant circled me slowly, examining me like a specimen in a lab. “Dane Tanner. Formerly of Earth Security Forces, Special Operations Division. Recruited by XCU after a lab leak at the Complex. Deployed to Haven-7, Acheron, and Tamil before being sent here.” He stopped in front of me. “Did I miss anything?”

  “My favorite color is blue,” I said. “And I don’t like dictators.”

  He laughed, a sound entirely devoid of warmth. “Oh, I do enjoy a sense of humor. Your predecessor lacked that quality.”

  That caught me off guard. “Predecessor?”

  The Tyrant returned to his throne, gesturing to one of the attendants. The woman hurried forward with a small device, which she handed to him with trembling fingers.

  “I’m referring, of course, to Agent Dominic Serrano.” He activated the device, and a holographic display appeared in the air between us. “I believe you knew him?”

  The image showed Dom—but not as I remembered him. This Dom was beaten, bloodied, his face barely recognizable beneath swelling and cuts. He was restrained in a chair similar to the one I’d been processed in earlier.

  “Dom?” I said, more surprised than I cared to admit. “That’s impossible. He died in a training accident on Earth.”

  “Is that what they told you?” The Tyrant seemed amused. “How convenient for Director Brandt.”

  The hologram shifted, showing Dom being dragged toward what looked like an experimental rift gate—smaller than the one at XCU, less stable, with energy crackling dangerously around its perimeter.

  “Your predecessor was disappointing,” the Tyrant continued. “So much potential, yet so quick to break. By the end, he was begging to tell me everything about XCU’s operations, Earth’s plans for the colonies—even details about you.”

  I couldn’t look away as the recording showed Dom being pushed toward the unstable rift. He was conscious, struggling weakly.

  “What do you hope to gain by showing this to me?” I asked.

  The Tyrant ignored my words. “This is auxiliary rift technology. Did you know colony ships were equipped with a primitive version of the system used by XCU on Earth?”

  I didn’t, and I was too stunned to comment.

  “Earth has larger gates, of course. Ours are designed only for emergency communications, not transport. But, with some modifications my servants have been working on...” He gestured toward the hologram, where Dom was now being forced into the crackling energy field. “Well, you can see the results.”

  The recording showed Dom’s body distorting as it entered the unstable rift, his final scream cut short as the energy field collapsed around him.

  “That’s how I sent his remains back to Earth,” the Tyrant said conversationally. “A message that, apparently, Director Brandt chose to ignore. Instead, he sent you—another lamb to slaughter. I suppose I’ll need to send a stronger message this time.”

  I controlled my breathing. I needed to stay cool and clear-headed. Underneath, I was pissed. Dom and I had our differences, but he didn’t deserve to be fried like bacon.

  “Why?” I asked. “What’s the point of all this? The colony, the oppression, the experiments?”

  The Tyrant leaned forward, suddenly intense. “I’m interested in revolution, Mr. Tanner. Not the pathetic sort of rebellion you’ve been fomenting on my world, but true revolution. Earth abandoned us here, sent us to die on this frozen rock with inadequate supplies and equipment. When I tried to report our situation, I was told to ‘make do’ with what we had.”

  He stood again, gesturing broadly at the room around us. “As you can see… I did. I adapted. How could I accept that the colony ship itself was a resource they never intended us to keep intact? With its systems, its technology, I could ensure our survival—my survival—on my own terms.”

  “By turning colonists into slaves instead of giving them the lives they were promised? By hoarding resources that could prevent deaths?” I said, unable to avoid being disgusted. This man was a monster.

  “By creating order from chaos,” he snapped. “The strong survive, the weak serve. It’s nature’s most fundamental law.”

  Tyrant was a well-earned label. And since his loyalists all called him that, I could only assume it was demanded of them due to his delusional pride.

  “It’s the raving of a megalomaniac,” I informed him honestly.