"Halsey," Evan repeated. "From the Texas job?"

  She grinned. "That's me."

  "Sorry, I didn't recognize you without the helmet."

  "I get that a lot."

  Evan laughed. "You wear your helmet often, then?"

  "Every chance I get."

  "Shouldn't you be wearing it now then?"

  "If anyone gets through two sets of secured, reinforced blast doors, a helmet won't help me."

  "I suppose not." He glanced at Sikes, a wiry Black man with sharp eyes. "I appreciate the assistance."

  "Anytime," he replied.

  "We'll be right here," Halsey said. "Take as long as you need."

  Evan retreated to the cot and sat down again. He pulled the backpack into his lap and unzipped the main compartment. As he lifted out the effigy, the toy starship's white hull and orange bands caught the light.

  His hands weren't quite steady. That surprised him. He'd done this dozens of times now. The process had become almost routine. But something about this moment felt different. The guards watching. The locked cell surrounding him. The knowledge that when he arrived at the ship, it would be approaching an unknown world with no guarantee of what he'd find there.

  Halsey and Sikes had positioned themselves on either side of the closed door, their attention split between Evan and the corridor behind them. Professional. Watchful.

  Nothing to worry about here.

  Evan took a breath and found the hidden switch on the effigy's hull. The green grid materialized in the air above the toy. The light intensified, the familiar paralysis creeping through his limbs as the beam crossed his body. Everything disappeared, and the transfer chamber materialized around him.

  Evan blinked against the soft orange glow, his consciousness settling into his duplicate body with the ease of practice. He stepped out of the shallow alcove without hesitation and moved immediately toward the corridor.

  The circular door dilated open as he approached. Ahead of him, the central lift shaft waited at the end of the corridor. Evan stepped onto the platform and touched the uppermost symbol, feeling the subtle sensation of lightness as it carried him up through the ship.

  The bridge doors parted. He crossed directly to the command station, the white composite material conforming to his body as he settled into the elevated seat. The armrests rose to meet his forearms, warmth spreading through the seat as the Ascendant's systems responded to his presence.

  The viewports shifted from opacity to transparency. Stars. Empty space. Scattered points of distant suns.

  Evan activated the sensor grid and called up the navigation display. The holographic projection materialized before him, showing the ship's position relative to its destination. The rust-colored world he'd chosen as a refuge hung in the display, still distant but growing steadily larger as the Ascendant approached.

  Thirty minutes to arrival. He settled back into the command seat to wait.

  The data pad sat wedged into the gap beside the station. Evan retrieved it and activated the screen, scrolling through the pages of Maker symbols he'd been studying. The time passed slowly, each minute stretching as he worked through the documentation, comparing his mental notes to the diagrams, trying to absorb as much as possible before he had to focus on piloting.

  Navigation symbols. Power distribution indicators. The tactical readouts he'd begun to understand through trial and error aboard the ship.

  Twenty minutes.

  Fifteen.

  Ten.

  A tone sounded from the command station.

  Evan set the data pad aside and straightened in his seat. One minute till arrival. Time to begin deceleration.

  His hands found the helm controls, the movements becoming more natural with each session. He slid his finger along the throttle surface, pulling back past neutral into reverse, feeling the deck shift beneath him as the engines reversed their pull. The sensation of the room tilting sideways, of gravity reorienting in a direction his brain insisted was wrong.

  The ship slowed. His eyes locked on the sensor grid as the Ascendant bled off velocity. The planet appeared almost at once, a large sphere on the three-dimensional holographic projection. So far, so good.

  The seconds passed, the Ascendant's deceleration continuing, the sensors remaining clear save for the planet ahead. Evan released a tense breath. It appeared he was alone.

  A contact marker suddenly appeared on the tactical projection.

  Evan's attention immediately snapped to it. Large. Stationary. Positioned close to the planet, but not too close. The sensors were still resolving details, the range too great. A second object appeared, too small for a clear picture.

  A moon, maybe. Or a space station. Something that hadn't been on the four-thousand-year-old star map.

  His stomach tightened.

  Then four more objects appeared, organized near the first large marker in what looked like a formation. Evan's pulse quickened. The arrangement was too deliberate, too precise to be natural debris or orbital bodies.

  Starships.

  He was certain of it before the sensors confirmed anything. The pattern, the positioning, the way they held station relative to the larger contact. Someone was waiting here.

  Waiting for him.

  Evan was already trying to calculate vectors, trying to figure out which direction offered the best chance of escape. He could reverse course, push the throttle forward and run before they detected him. The Ascendant was fast. Maybe fast enough to⁠—

  More contacts bloomed on the display.

  Smaller this time. Dozens of them, emerging from the largest marker and spreading outward in a widening pattern. They had to be starfighters. Strike craft. The kind of assets you deployed when you wanted to intercept something quickly and make absolutely sure it couldn't escape.

  Too late to run. They'd already seen him.

  The sensors finally provided a detailed render of the largest contact, the ship's silhouette resolving from uncertainty into terrible clarity.

  The Möbius.

  Its twisted ribbon of metal folded back on itself, rotating slowly through space as it bore down on him with weapons that could erase the Ascendant from existence with so little effort it was suicidal to approach it.

  Evan stared at the display, his hands frozen on the controls.

  "Shit."

  29

  Evan's fingers hovered over the helm controls, his mind racing through calculations that kept coming up empty. The tactical display painted a grim picture. Dozens of starfighters were closing fast, converging on the Ascendant from multiple vectors at a speed that made Evan's stomach drop. Whatever propulsion systems those craft used, they were significantly faster than anything he could hope to outpace, especially since he would need to flip his orientation, come to a full stop, and accelerate again. The ship was still carrying substantial momentum toward the planet, toward the trap that had been waiting for him.

  How had she known?

  The question gnawed at him as he watched the fighters spread wider, cutting off escape routes he hadn't even considered yet. Sarxon had somehow predicted his destination. Had beaten him here with time to spare, positioned her forces perfectly, and now sat waiting like a spider at the center of an impossible web.

  More contacts emerged from the Möbius. These were larger than the starfighters. Bulkier silhouettes that could only be boarding craft. Sarxon wasn't taking any chances this time.

  A tone chimed from the comms pod, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. An incoming hail.

  Evan stared at the indicator for a long moment. He could ignore it, slam the throttle forward and try to punch through the fighter screen before it closed completely. The Ascendant was fast. Maybe—no. He already knew how that calculation ended. The starfighters would adjust their intercept vectors. The Möbius would have a clean firing solution.

  He needed time to think, and to open up his options.

  His hands moved to the throttle, sliding it further back past neutral, the force of the reverse pull increasing. The Ascendant bled off velocity, settling into a dead stop that left the ship hanging motionless against the scattered stars. He still had some distance from the Möbius, not that distance would matter for long.

  Evan reached for the communications controls and accepted the hail. An unexpected projection flickered to life over the command station's control surface.

  A woman's face appeared in the projection, rendered in holographic light that gave her features an ethereal quality. Alabaster complexion. Sharp cheekbones. A strong jaw. Dark hair pulled back in a style that was severe without being harsh. Her eyes were the color of slate, imbued with authority. She wore a military uniform in a deep charcoal, the cut precise and formal. Insignia marked her collar and shoulders, symbols he couldn't read but recognized as indicators of rank. She studied him for a moment before speaking.

  "Evan Marshall." Her voice was smooth, controlled. "You've led us on quite a chase."

  Evan's stomach tightened. He knew that voice.

  "Sarxon," he said, keeping his tone level and calm. "We need to stop meeting like this."

  The woman's expression flickered, a micro-reaction that lasted perhaps half a second before her composure reasserted itself. But Evan caught it. The slight widening of her eyes. The barely perceptible tension that moved through her jaw.

  She hadn't expected him to know her name.

  The knowledge gave him a small malicious thrill of satisfaction. She'd been hunting him across two galaxies, tracking his movements, anticipating his decisions. But she didn't know everything. He'd gained information she hadn't expected him to possess.

  "Then surrender without any more tricks, and we can meet in person instead. It should be obvious to you by now that you're in well over your head."

  Her voice was smooth, controlled, the surprise already buried beneath layers of professional calm. But there was an edge beneath the words. The frustration of someone who had been outmaneuvered before and had no intention of letting it happen again.

  Evan let the silence stretch for a moment, his eyes moving from her face to the tactical display and back again. The starfighters were still closing, their formation tightening as they approached. The boarding vessels had fallen into escort positions behind the fighter screen, ready to move in once resistance had been neutralized.

  "I don't know," he said finally, keeping his tone casual despite the tension coiling in his chest. "Maybe I'm just getting warmed up."

  Through the viewports, he could see them now. Not just markers on a display, but actual ships. The starfighters had resolved from distant specks into predatory silhouettes—low slung, faceted craft with dark matte hulls. They reminded Evan of throwing knives, all sharp angles and aggressive geometry, built lean and mean for a single purpose. Beautiful, in a lethal sort of way.

  Sarxon's eyes held his through the holographic connection. Whatever surprise she'd felt at his knowledge of her name had been compartmentalized, set aside for later analysis. Now she was all business, all cold calculation.

  "I underestimated you the last time we met. I'm more prepared now. As they say on your world, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I don't want to destroy the ship if I can avoid it, but you already know I will if it's the only option."

  Evan did know. He'd watched through these same viewports as the Möbius atomized two Red Scar destroyers without hesitation. Had seen the way reality itself bent around her weapons, the way solid matter simply ceased to exist when that violet-and-gold energy touched it. Sarxon had made her priorities clear during that encounter. The Ascendant was valuable, but preventing anyone else from claiming it was more important than capturing it intact. If he forced her hand, she would destroy him.

  His eyes moved across the tactical display, studying the positions of every contact, searching for something he might have missed. Some angle of approach that the fighters hadn't covered. Some gap in the net that was closing around him. He had about five seconds to make a choice that would either save his life or lead to its untimely end.

  Run.

  The option presented itself with desperate urgency. The starfighters were fast, but the Ascendant had surprised him before with its capabilities. Maybe the engine could generate enough acceleration to punch through their formation before they could react. Maybe the main weapons could clear a path, buy him the seconds he needed to break free.

  The idea felt hollow even as he considered it. The fighters were designed to intercept small, fast ships handled by experienced pilots. He wasn't experienced, and the Ascendant wasn't as small as a fighter. Even if he caught them off guard, they would run him down long before he could build enough velocity to escape.

  Fight.

  He'd tested the guns during his extended training sessions and watched the reality-distorting waves crack simulated targets at the structural level. But those had been tests against debris. Against asteroids that couldn't shoot back. The fighters out there were manned by trained pilots. Umbrals who'd spent their careers learning how to fight in three-dimensional space. Even if Evan could take out a few of them, there were dozens more. And behind them, the Möbius itself, a relic ship that outclassed the Ascendant in every conceivable way.

  Besides, firing the guns would sap the ship's malfunctioning energy systems, leaving him dead in space, waiting to be boarded.

  Surrender. The word tasted like ash in his mouth.

  His gaze shifted on the tactical grid, sliding past the immediate threat of the fighters to the five other contacts he'd detected earlier. The smaller patrol vessels that had been holding position near the planet when he arrived. They were moving now, advancing toward him. Who were they? Not Umbral, based on their positioning relative to the Möbius.

  His eyes continued past them to the rust-colored world that hung in the background of the display.

  The atmosphere.

  The thought crystallized, suddenly sharp and clear against the fog of desperation. The Möbius was massive, designed for the vacuum of space rather than the friction and turbulence of planetary entry, not to mention gravity. The other ships approaching him were large, too. They couldn't follow him to the surface. Only the starfighters could pursue him down there.

  How maneuverable were they in the atmosphere? Their designs showed no aerodynamic surfaces, no obvious concessions to air resistance. They might be optimized purely for vacuum combat, clumsy and slow once gravity and wind became factors.

  How maneuverable was the Ascendant? Would its strange propulsion system hold up in the atmosphere?

  Could he slip past the Möbius again? Thread through the fighter screen while they were focused on containing him, dive for the planet before Sarxon could bring her weapons to bear?

  The calculation ran through his mind in fragments. Distance to the planet. Velocity required to reach it before the fighters could intercept. The positioning of the Möbius relative to his current location, the angles she would need to achieve a firing solution.

  No.

  The answer came with bitter certainty. Sarxon had outmaneuvered him. Had somehow figured out where he was headed and beaten him here with time to spare. She was blocking the direct approach to the planet while her fighters covered every other vector.

  He had to face the facts.

  It was over.

  30

  The realization settled into Evan's chest like a stone, heavy and cold. Sarxon was right. He was in over his head, and for as hard as he had fought to tread water, the fact was he'd never learned to swim.

  At least he'd found the Null Guard. The thought offered cold comfort, but it was something. Even if he lost the Ascendant, the effigy would still be in his possession back on Earth. She could send over a crew to fly the ship, but she still wouldn't have full control. It wasn't much, but it was something.

  Plus he could still help the Null Guard. Could still work with them on Earth, learn everything he could about the factions, the Maker symbols, and the Oridian language. And maybe in time, they could track down Sarxon on Earth. Capture the Möbius effigy and turn the tables on the Umbral Empire.

  It wasn't the ending he wanted. But it was better than nothing.

  "Okay," Evan said. "You win. I'll come in."

  Sarxon's face showed nothing.

  No triumph. No relief. No satisfaction at finally cornering the prey she'd been hunting across galaxies. Just that same cold calculation, those slate-gray eyes studying him through the holographic connection as if searching for deception.

  The silence stretched.

  "Sarxon?" Evan leaned forward slightly, confusion creeping into his voice. "You there?"

  Nothing. The connection remained active, but her image had frozen, as if she'd paused the transmission.

  New contacts bloomed on the tactical display.

  Evan's head snapped toward the projection, his pulse spiking. A dozen larger vessels had appeared behind him, emerging from jump space in a spread formation that covered a significant arc of the surrounding void. They weren't Umbral. The hull configurations were different, the silhouettes unfamiliar.

  The new ships were already deploying their own starfighters. Smaller craft spilled from launch bays in coordinated waves, dozens of contacts multiplying across the display as the newcomers established their presence.

  What the hell was going on?

  "Sarxon." Evan snapped. "What's happening?"

  The transmission finally unstuck, her expression updating to one of anger and concern.

  "Make a break for the Möbius," she said, her voice sharp with command. "Get clear of the Solmarch fleet."

  A new tone chimed from the communications station. Another incoming hail. Evan accepted it without thinking, his mind still reeling from the sudden shift in circumstances.

  A voice crackled through the speakers. Male, authoritative, clipped with military precision. The words flowed in rapid succession, but Evan couldn't parse any of them. Oridian Standard. The common language that everyone in this galaxy spoke. The language Gee Gee was supposed to teach him. The language he desperately needed but didn't have.