She couldn't afford another mistake.

  "Captain Veris." She modulated her voice to project calm professionalism, suppressing the frustration that churned beneath the surface. "This is High Commander Sarxon Abrelle of the Möbius. I apologize for the unannounced presence. We've been tracking a pirate vessel that fled from our territory into this sector. The pursuit required immediate action, and there wasn't time to submit formal transit requests."

  The lie came easily. Pirates were a convenient excuse, common enough in the spaces between empires that the claim would be difficult to disprove.

  Captain Veris studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "A pirate vessel. Pursued all the way from Umbral space by the Möbius itself." He leaned forward slightly. "Forgive me, Commander Abrelle, if I struggle to believe that story."

  "You can believe or not believe what you wish," Sarxon replied. "I've apologized for our intrusion."

  "And so we should all part ways?" Veris asked. "Do you claim that your presence here has nothing to do with the Ascendant?"

  Sarxon kept her face neutral despite the fresh spike of tension in her chest. "What do you know about the Ascendant?"

  "Rumor, mostly. Albeit persistent rumor." Veris's tone remained conversational, but his eyes had sharpened. "Word is spreading through the spacer communities that the Key-ship has been sighted. That after millennia of dormancy, it's active again." He spread his hands. "And now one of the galaxy's most powerful relic ships appears in our space, without authorization, without warning. I can make the connection, High Commander."

  Sarxon glanced at the tactical display. The Solmarch patrol had spread into a defensive formation, their weapons systems powered but not actively targeting the Möbius. A posture of readiness rather than aggression. They knew better than to threaten her.

  "As your sensors can confirm," she said, keeping her voice level, "there's no sign of the Ascendant here."

  "No." Veris nodded slowly, his gaze moving to something off-screen. Probably his own tactical display. "There isn't." He looked back at her. "Which makes your presence all the more curious. But I won't press the matter further." His tone shifted, becoming more formal. "I would kindly request that you not intrude any further on Solmarch territory without receiving proper permission through diplomatic channels. The Solmarch Empire values its relationship with the Umbral Empire. We'd hate for any misunderstandings to damage that relationship."

  The words were polite. The message beneath them was not.

  Sarxon forced down the retort that rose to her lips. Starting an incident with Solmarch while the Red Scar situation remained unresolved would be catastrophic. Her father had made that abundantly clear.

  "Of course." The apology tasted like ash. "My apologies for the intrusion, Captain. It won't happen again."

  Veris inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Safe travels, High Commander."

  The transmission cut, the viewscreen reverting to the star field beyond the hull. The Solmarch patrol held position, watching, waiting to ensure the Möbius departed as promised.

  Sarxon stood motionless for a long moment, staring at the empty space where the Ascendant should have been. The frustration that had been building since the failed intercept now threatened to overflow.

  "High Commander?" Ashe's voice was carefully neutral. "Your orders?"

  She turned to face him. "Marshall changed course. He must have returned to the ship and altered its trajectory before we could intercept."

  "It does appear that way." Ashe moved to stand beside her, his eyes on the tactical display. "But to where?"

  That was the difficult question. The galaxy was vast. Without some way to narrow the search parameters, they could spend years looking.

  "Pull up the star charts," Sarxon ordered. "Everything we have on the region around Deep Reach Station. The time of the sensor contact, the heading, the velocity. All of it."

  Ensign Kessian's fingers moved across his console, and the tactical display shifted. The sensor sphere was replaced by a three-dimensional star map. Deep Reach Station appeared as a glowing marker, surrounded by the scattered points of distant stars.

  "We know the Ascendant passed here," Lieutenant Torek said. A line appeared on the projection, marking the ship's recorded trajectory. "We also know its velocity at the time of detection. We know approximately when Marshall must have returned to alter course. Sometime after the station contact, but before it would have reached our intercept point."

  "If we plot a sphere based on maximum travel distance from the point of detection..." Commander Ashe studied the projection, his gaunt features drawn in concentration.

  "Do it," Sarxon said.

  Torek input the parameters. A translucent sphere materialized around Deep Reach Station, expanding outward to encompass every point the Ascendant could have reached given the time elapsed and the ship's last known velocity.

  The sphere was large. Dauntingly so.

  But not infinite.

  Sarxon studied the projection, her eyes moving across the scattered stars within the boundary. Most of them were distant points. Empty space.

  "The station's location helps narrow things down," Ashe observed. "Half the sphere extends into deep space with nothing in it. The other half..."

  "There." Sarxon pointed to a marker near the sphere's edge. "What's that?"

  "One moment." Torek consulted his displays. "Thrax. Breathable atmosphere, but barely. According to the archives, it was once a temperate planet with a population of nearly two hundred million. It was scoured during the Maker wars. Nothing but dirt and desolation, now. No potable water. Even the air holds very little moisture."

  "I assume it's been searched for relics?" Sarxon asked.

  "There have been nearly three hundred recorded expeditions."

  "And ten times the number of unsanctioned visits, I'm sure."

  "With a high likelihood there are relic hunters on the surface even now," Commander Ashe added.

  "Is there anything else within the sphere?" Sarxon asked.

  Torek's fingers moved across his console, highlighting and dismissing points of light in rapid succession. "Nothing significant, High Commander. If Marshall was looking for somewhere to stop, somewhere to hide..." He let the implication hang.

  "Then he's either still vectoring through deep space with no destination," Sarxon said, "or he's heading for Thrax."

  "It's the logical choice," Ashe agreed. "Remote. Forgotten. The kind of place that doesn't appear on modern charts."

  "Plot a course," she ordered.

  "High Commander." Ashe's voice carried a note of caution. "Thrax lies within Solmarch territorial boundaries. If their patrols detect us there, especially after our encounter with Captain Veris..." He left the Solmarch territorial boundaries. If their patrols detect us there, especially after our encounter with Captain Veris..." He left the implications unspoken.

  Sarxon weighed the risk. Another diplomatic incident. More explanations to provide. More ammunition for the Emperor's displeasure and the Red Scar's demands. If Solmarch decided to escalate, the Umbral Empire could find itself facing pressure on multiple fronts.

  But the alternative was losing the Ascendant. Letting Marshall slip away again while she worried about political niceties.

  "If Marshall reaches Thrax and goes to ground, we could lose him for months," she said. "Years. The diplomatic complications can be managed. Losing the Key-ship cannot."

  Ashe held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Understood, High Commander."

  "Plot the course," she repeated.

  "Yes, High Commander." Torek's hands moved across the controls.

  "Once we arrive, we'll scan for gravitic distortions." Sarxon's voice hardened with renewed determination. "The Ascendant's propulsion system leaves traces. If it passed near that planet, we'll know it. And if Marshall is still there..."

  She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

  "Ready to jump on your command," Torek reported.

  Sarxon took one last look at the Solmarch patrol still holding position in the distance, watching to ensure she left their territory as promised. Let them watch. Let them report through their diplomatic channels. None of it would matter once she had the Ascendant in her grasp.

  "Execute jump."

  The Möbius responded instantly. Space shuddered around the impossible geometry of the ship's hull, a cone of brilliant light forming at the bow as spacetime folded in on itself. The tunnel opened before them, and the vessel plunged through.

  Marshall had evaded her so far.

  He wouldn't outmaneuver her again.

  24

  "Looks like we're flying somewhere," Harris observed.

  "Seems that way," Evan replied.

  He followed the red truck off the freeway onto the exit for Nashville International Airport. The blue truck maintained its position behind them, the three vehicles moving along the airport's outer access roads.

  The red truck bypassed the main terminal entirely, curving around toward a section of the airport that commercial airline traffic never saw. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire marked the boundary of what appeared to be a private aviation facility. As they approached, a gate rolled back on motorized tracks, opening without the convoy needing to slow.

  Someone had called ahead.

  The red truck led them past rows of hangars. Past small aircraft parked on concrete aprons. Toward a sleek white jet that sat alone on a private taxiway. The aircraft was substantial without being ostentatious, the kind of plane that corporate executives used when they needed to move quickly and quietly. Its engines were already running, a low whine that carried through the Range Rover's closed windows.

  The red truck pulled to a stop near the jet's boarding stairs. Evan guided the Range Rover into position beside it, killing the engine as the blue truck pulled up behind them.

  Four men climbed out of the trucks. They moved with coordinated efficiency, their body language professional rather than threatening. Two of them approached the Range Rover's passenger side, opening Harris's door.

  "Let us help you, sir," the driver of the red truck, a tall man with close-cropped hair and alert eyes, said. His companion retrieved the crutches from the back seat.

  Harris accepted the assistance without argument, which told Evan more about his friend's pain level than any complaint about the help would have. The two men positioned themselves on either side of Harris, supporting his weight as they guided him toward the aircraft's stairs.

  Evan stepped out of the Range Rover, the backpack already over his shoulder, his hand resting near the Glock on his hip. The remaining two men approached him, their postures open and non-threatening.

  "Mr. Marshall." The one who spoke was older than his companion, maybe late forties, with weathered features that suggested years of field work. "Welcome. I'm Johnson. This is Davis."

  Evan nodded, his eyes moving between them, watching for any sign that they might make a move for the backpack. For the effigy inside it.

  But neither man reached for the bag. Neither man even glanced at it.

  "The plane's ready when you are," Johnson continued. "We've got a flight plan filed and clearance to depart immediately."

  "Where are we going?"

  "New York. Mr. Tal will meet you there personally."

  Evan processed that information. New York was maybe two hours by air. Close enough that he'd still have time to transfer to the Ascendant before it reached its destination.

  He started toward the plane, and the two men fell into step beside him without crowding his personal space. Professional. Respectful.

  The jet's interior matched its exterior, functional elegance that prioritized comfort over showiness. Leather seats arranged in facing pairs, polished wood trim, soft lighting that didn't strain the eyes. Harris had already been helped into one of the forward seats, his injured leg propped on an ottoman that one of the men had positioned for him.

  "Not bad," Harris said as Evan ducked through the cabin door. "These Null Guard people know how to travel."

  "They've had a couple centuries to accumulate resources." Evan moved down the aisle, selecting a seat that gave him a clear view of both the cabin door and the cockpit entrance. Old habits. "Plenty of time to build up an organization."

  The two men who had helped Harris aboard nodded to Evan and descended the stairs, heading back toward the trucks. Johnson remained, pulling the cabin door closed behind him and securing the latch with practiced efficiency.

  "We'll be airborne in a few minutes," Johnson said, settling into a seat across from Evan. "Can I get either of you anything? Coffee? Water?"

  "I'm good," Harris replied.

  Evan shook his head. His attention was on Johnson now, studying the man's face, his posture, the small tells that might indicate hidden intentions. Johnson was solidly built, the kind of fitness that came from consistent training rather than gym vanity. Dark hair cropped short. A thick mustache that gave him the look of a cop from an earlier decade. "You're staying with us for the flight?"

  "Mr. Tal's orders." Johnson's expression remained neutral, professional. "He wanted someone available to answer any questions you might have. My parents are both Guard members. I grew up in the organization. There's not much about our operations I can't explain."

  The engines changed pitch as the plane began to taxi. Through the window, Evan watched the other three men climbing into the trucks, the vehicles pulling away from the taxiway as the jet rolled toward the runway.

  "So you're Earth-born."

  "Third generation." Johnson folded his hands in his lap. "My grandfather came through the Arcaeon in the nineteen-fifties. Umbral Empire, originally. He saw what the factions were doing, the way they were positioning themselves for whatever came next. The thought of billions of innocents dying all over again..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

  "So he joined the Null Guard instead."

  "Mr. Tal recruited him personally."

  The jet accelerated down the runway, the force pressing Evan back slightly into his seat as the aircraft lifted off. The ground fell away beneath them, Nashville shrinking to a patchwork of roads and buildings before the plane banked north and climbed into the morning sky.

  Evan waited until they'd leveled off before speaking again. "What should I expect when we arrive?"

  "Mr. Tal will meet you at the airfield," Johnson replied. "From there, you'll be taken to one of our secure facilities. We have several in the New York area, but the one you're going to is our primary operations center for North America."

  "And the training Adam mentioned?"

  "That'll start as soon as you're ready. We have instructors for Oridian Standard, people who can walk you through Maker technology, tactical advisors who can help you learn starship combat tactics, cultural advisors to help get you more acclimated to Oridian, and so on." Johnson settled back in his seat. "Whatever you need to learn, we have someone who can teach it."

  Evan absorbed that, his mind already cataloging priorities. Language first. Then ship systems. Then combat tactics. The order mattered.

  "What about you?" he asked. "What's your role in all this?"

  "Field operations, mostly. Surveillance, intelligence gathering, the occasional direct action when circumstances require it." Johnson's expression remained neutral, professional. "But I've also spent time studying Maker artifacts. It's something of a personal interest."

  That caught Evan's attention. "Do you know the Maker symbols?"

  Johnson's eyebrows rose slightly at the directness of the question. "Some of them. I'm not fluent, though. Why?"

  Evan was already reaching for his backpack, unzipping the main compartment and retrieving the notebook he'd been using to document his discoveries aboard the Ascendant. The effigy sat nestled among his spare underwear, its white hull and orange bands visible for a moment before he closed the bag. Johnson's eyes didn't even flick toward it.

  "I want to go over these with you." Evan opened the notebook to the first page of symbols he'd copied during his hours of exploration. "Everything I've figured out, and everything I haven't."

  Harris let out a short laugh from his seat. "That's why I like you, Marsh. Right to the point. No small talk, no getting-to-know-you conversation. Just straight to business."

  "This isn't a pleasure cruise." Evan spread the notebook across the small table between his seat and Johnson's. "Every hour I spend not understanding the Ascendant's systems is an hour I'm vulnerable. I need to learn faster."

  "I agree." Johnson leaned forward, studying the pages of hand-drawn symbols and accompanying notes. "You've made impressive progress on your own. Most of these are accurate."

  "Most?"

  "This one." Johnson pointed to a symbol Evan had labeled as a power indicator. "You've got the basic meaning right, but there's a modifier here you've missed. This smaller mark changes the context. It's not just showing power levels. It's showing power distribution across different systems."

  Evan absorbed the correction, making a note in the margin. "What about these?" He flipped to a section of symbols he'd copied from the tactical station, the console he'd barely touched during his time aboard. "I haven't been able to figure out what most of them mean."

  Johnson studied the page for a long moment. "These look like weapons controls. This symbol here…" He tapped a complex glyph that Evan had copied but couldn't interpret. "I've seen similar markings on other Maker artifacts. It usually indicates some kind of directed energy system."

  "It's not a laser or anything," Evan said. "When I tested it, the space where I was aimed distorted, like heat over asphalt."

  Johnson's expression shifted, signalling his surprise. "Phase-resonance, probably. Maker tech. Impressive. I've heard there are a couple of smaller-scale weapons in Oridian that use it. I can't believe it works at starship level." He traced the symbol's components with his finger. "This element might indicate firing modes. And this modifier...could be frequency control? I'm guessing based on patterns I've seen elsewhere."