"Do you know what planet you're on?" Brennik asked. "I can't see any way to do this without help coming to you."

  "Coming to me?" Evan replied with surprise, his mouth half-full. "How are they going to get past Möbius?"

  "The ship is powerful, but it can't cover both halves of a planet at the same time."

  "But I could leave the same way, sneak out and go⁠—"

  "Where?" Brennik interrupted. "That's the problem. Where can you go when you can barely operate the ship?" He paused, visibly hesitant to say what came to his mind.

  "What is it?" Evan asked.

  Brennik sighed. "To be honest, it would be better if you let Adam take over from here. Let him use the effigy to⁠—"

  "No," Evan snapped, backing away from the cell doors. "You promised to protect me, not take the effigy from me. I trusted you!"

  Brennik put up a hand. "Calm yourself, Evan. I didn't mean to suggest we would take it by force. My word is good, I assure you."

  Evan nodded as he relaxed. "I called you here for advice. Where can I go if I get off the planet?"

  "That's my point. You can go to a lot of places, but you don't know enough to stay hidden there. If the Null Guard comes to you, they can provide resources to help you."

  "How? I still can't speak to them."

  "You can talk to them well enough. They'll know what to do."

  "How can you be sure they won't try to take the Ascendant from me?"

  Brennik hesitated before sighing. "To be honest, I can't. We haven't had contact in sixty years. I don't know who leads the Guard, or how they might act. But you need help, Evan. I'm sure you know that by now."

  "I do. That's why I'm here. We can try to do it your way. How long do I have before Sarxon sends ground forces?"

  "Impossible to say with certainty. She'd need to assemble a search team, transport them to the surface, and then locate you."

  "Do you think the tower I hid in will block her sensors?"

  "Most certainly."

  Evan took another bite, forcing himself to eat despite the knot in his gut. The water helped. The food helped. But what he really needed was specific, actionable knowledge that would keep him alive long enough to escape.

  "Let's start," he said. "The encryption keys. The frequency. The message. Everything I need to contact your people."

  Brennik nodded and moved closer to the bars, his voice dropping to the measured cadence of a teacher beginning a crucial lesson.

  "The first phrase you'll need to transmit is a recognition code. It identifies you as an ally rather than a faction operative attempting to compromise our network. Listen carefully to the pronunciation..."

  Sasha pulled a pencil from the breast pocket of the jacket she was now wearing and a notebook from what had to be an oversized inside pocket and began sketching symbols as her grandfather spoke. Potential patterns for the communications interface. Variations on transmission indicators. The building blocks of a language he was only beginning to understand.

  Evan ate, drank, and listened, committing every word and symbol to memory with the desperate focus of someone whose life depended on getting it right.

  33

  The Möbius fired one final time.

  Sarxon watched through the main viewport as the violet-and-gold energy lanced across the void, catching the trailing Solmarch destroyer in the stern just as its bow began to shimmer with the distinctive distortion of an imminent jump. For one frozen instant the vessel seemed to hang suspended between two states of existence—half in normal space, half already reaching for the safety of faster-than-light transit. The destroyer didn't explode. Didn't break apart or vent atmosphere. It didn't spin away trailing fire. One moment it existed, solid and real and desperately trying to escape. The next, empty space occupied the same coordinates. It simply ceased to exist.

  The characteristic signature of the Möbius' primary weapon, it was matter erasure at the quantum level. Nothing left to salvage, nothing left to mourn over, nothing left to bury. Just absence where presence had been. Brutal and overwhelmingly effective.

  Sarxon's jaw remained tight as she surveyed the aftermath. The space beyond Thrax's orbit was littered with debris and wreckage. Shattered remains of starfighters tumbled through the void in lazy spirals, catching starlight as they rotated. Frozen atmospheric crystals glittered like scattered diamonds among them. The victor was clear. The Möbius hung untouched amid the carnage, her impossible geometry pristine and unmarked.

  "Status report." Her voice carried across the bridge, steady despite the tightness in her chest.

  Commander Ashe moved to her side, his gaunt features illuminated by the soft glow of his data tablet. "Final tally, High Commander. We lost approximately one third of our deployed fighters. Thirty-one craft destroyed, another twelve too damaged for immediate repair." He paused, scrolling through additional data. "Two of our boarding transports were caught in the crossfire during the initial engagement. No survivors from either vessel."

  Sarxon absorbed the numbers without visible reaction. Thirty-one pilots. Two transport crews. Perhaps eighty souls in total, gone in the span of minutes. Good people. Trained people. People who had served under her command with discipline and dedication. Dead because Solmarch had decided to interfere.

  "And the Möbius herself?"

  "No damage, High Commander. The enemy concentrated their fire on our fighters and never achieved a firing solution on us." Ashe's tone carried a note of grim satisfaction. "Their capital ships focused on evasion once they realized our weapons could track them through their maneuvering patterns. It bought them nothing but a few additional seconds of existence."

  "Call the remaining fighters back." Sarxon turned from the viewport, her attention shifting to the tactical display. The rust-colored planet hung at its center, innocent and silent, giving no indication of the prize hidden somewhere on its surface. "Full recovery operations. I want every surviving pilot aboard within the hour."

  "At once, High Commander." Ashe relayed the order, his voice carrying to the relevant stations.

  Sarxon moved closer to the tactical display, studying the planet's projection with narrowed eyes. Somewhere in that dead landscape of ruins and dust, Evan Marshall was hiding, probably congratulating himself on another narrow escape. The thought sent a fresh spike of frustration through her chest, though she kept her expression neutral.

  "Kessian." She didn't turn from the display. "The Ascendant. Where did it go?"

  Ensign Kessian's response came after a brief hesitation. "I tracked the ship into the upper atmosphere, High Commander. Confirmed entry trajectory, confirmed descent toward the northern hemisphere. But after that..." He paused, clearly uncomfortable with the admission. "Gravitic fields normalize too quickly within competing gravity wells to maintain a sensor lock. The planet's own mass interferes with our detection systems."

  "What about conventional sensors?"

  "Limited effectiveness, High Commander. The volume of remnant structure on the planet's surface creates substantial interference. Metal deposits, collapsed buildings, underground cavities—all of it generates false readings that our systems can't reliably filter."

  Sarxon's hands tightened behind her back. "So you don't know where he went."

  "Not exactly, High Commander. I can narrow the search area to approximately twelve hundred square kilometers, based on his last confirmed heading and estimated velocity at the time of atmospheric entry. But within that zone..." Kessian trailed off, the implication clear enough without him finishing the sentence.

  Twelve hundred square kilometers of dead city. Ruins piled on ruins, the corpse of a civilization that had burned millennia ago. Marshall could be anywhere in that maze. Finding him would require boots on the ground. Search teams moving through the rubble, scanning every shadow, checking every possible hiding spot. It would take time she might not have.

  "Commander Ashe." Sarxon finally turned from the display. "I want a ground team assembled at once. Every available soldier we have aboard. Full search-and-secure loadout. I want them ready to deploy within the hour."

  Ashe nodded, but his expression carried a note of concern. "High Commander, what about Solmarch?"

  "What about them?"

  "They fired on us without provocation. That's..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "That could be construed as a declaration of war."

  Sarxon met his gaze steadily. "We were in their territory."

  "Captain Veris gave us permission to⁠—"

  "They had a right to start the fight, Commander. I simply ended it. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is closed."

  Ashe's jaw tightened. "The Solmarch Emperor won't see it that way. He lost an entire patrol group. Ships, crews, material, all of it gone in the span of minutes. He'll demand answers. Reparations. Possibly revenge."

  "Then let him complain." Sarxon turned toward the communications station. "Ensign Thrace. Get me General Abrelle on the secured channel. Route it to me."

  "Yes, High Commander."

  Sarxon touched the control that closed the privacy screen of the command pod. The seal engaged with a soft hiss. Alone now, surrounded by the pod's muted lighting, Sarxon closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to breathe. She massaged her temples; the tension that had been building since the Solmarch fleet's arrival had left her temples throbbing. Another incident. Another complication. Another layer of consequences that would need to be managed, explained, justified. But she had the Ascendant trapped. That was what mattered.

  The communications display flickered, and she opened her eyes, dropping her hands just before her father's face appeared in the projection. "General." Sarxon kept her voice formal. This was a military communication, not a personal call. Protocol demanded the distinction.

  "High Commander." Her father's tone matched hers—professional, measured, betraying nothing of their relationship. "Do you have something important to report?"

  "I do, General. The Ascendant has been located. It's on the surface of Thrax. The operator attempted to flee when we moved to intercept, and during the pursuit, a Solmarch patrol group intervened, along with one of their reserve fleets."

  Her father's expression darkened. "Intervened how?"

  "They opened fire on our fighters while we were attempting to prevent the Ascendant's escape. I was forced to respond."

  "Forced." The word carried weight. "How extensive was this response?"

  "The Solmarch patrol group has been eliminated. All vessels destroyed. The reserve fleet lost three of ten capital ships."

  Silence stretched between them. Sarxon watched her father's face, the anger building behind his carefully controlled features. His jaw tightened. His eyes hardened. When he spoke, his voice carried the cold edge of a man who had spent his career navigating political minefields only to watch his daughter stumble into another one.

  "High Commander⁠—"

  "The Ascendant is trapped on the planet," she cut in, her own voice sharpening. "With nowhere to go. We have him, General. But I need additional resources to locate the ship and prevent the operator from escaping, and to help me manage the inevitable Solmarch response."

  The anger in her father's expression shifted, tempered by the strategic implications of what she was telling him. The Ascendant. The Key-ship. Trapped within reach.

  "You're certain?"

  "I tracked him into the atmosphere. He's down there, hiding in the ruins of some dead city. But the planet's surface is too large to search with only my shipboard resources. I need ground teams. Additional sensors. Enough personnel to establish a perimeter he can't slip through."

  General Abrelle was quiet for a long moment, his mind clearly working through the tactical and political calculations. When he spoke again, the anger had receded, replaced by the cold pragmatism of a career military officer. "I'll dispatch the Fourth Fleet. They can be at your position within two hours."

  "Thank you, General."

  "Don't thank me yet. The Solmarch situation will need to be addressed. Emperor Jorel won't accept the loss of so many ships, to the Möbius especially, without demanding answers."

  "He could attempt to retake the system, or at least contest our presence long enough for Marshall to escape."

  Her father's expression remained steady. "Solmarch doesn't have a relic ship. Without one, they're at the mercy of the empires that do. They can bluster and threaten and send diplomatic protests, but in the end, they know they can't match the Möbius in direct confrontation. I assume they made their play for the Ascendant."

  "And came up well short," Sarxon confirmed. "But what if they go running to Red Scar? If they convince Emperor Tellik that we're operating unchecked in another empire's space, that we've destroyed their ships without consequence⁠—"

  "Then we'll deal with Red Scar if and when that becomes necessary." Her father's voice hardened. "Get the Ascendant before any of that can happen, and all will be well. Every political complication, every diplomatic incident, every angry Emperor demanding explanations—all of it becomes manageable once you have the Key-ship in your possession. Worry about the Ascendant, Sarxon. Nothing else."

  She held his gaze through the holographic connection, seeing in his eyes the same determination that burned in her own chest. Despite the setbacks, despite the incidents, despite the mounting political pressure, he still believed she could accomplish this mission. She couldn't afford to prove him wrong.

  "Understood, General."

  "I'll have the Fourth Fleet underway at once. Hold your position and maintain orbital superiority until they arrive. And Sarxon..." His voice softened slightly, the formal military tone cracking just enough to reveal the father beneath. "Be careful."

  "I will."

  The connection terminated. Her father's face dissolved into static, then darkness, leaving Sarxon alone in the sealed pod with nothing but her thoughts and the weight of everything riding on her shoulders. Red Scar. Solmarch. The Emperor's displeasure. The political consequences mounting with each passing hour. All of it swirling around her like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. But none of it mattered if she captured the Ascendant.

  Sarxon unsealed the pod and stepped back onto the bridge. The crew continued their duties around her, professional and focused. Through the main viewport, Thrax hung against the black, its rust-colored surface hiding secrets that had waited millennia to be uncovered.

  She moved to stand before the viewport, her eyes fixed on the planet below. There was only one hidden thing down there that she cared about. A man who had stumbled into something far beyond his understanding, who had somehow managed to evade her at every turn through luck and desperation rather than skill. But his luck was running out. The Fourth Fleet was coming. Ground teams would sweep every square meter of those ruins until they found him. There would be no escape this time. No clever tricks, no unexpected allies, no last-second improvisations that let him slip through her fingers.

  Whatever hole he found to crawl into, she would drag him back out.

  34

  "Good," Brennik said, his sharp eyes holding Evan's through the bars as he finished reciting the message he was to send the Null Guard in Oridian. "You have it down well enough. The pronunciation isn't perfect, but our people will understand."

  Evan had the unfamiliar syllables memorized—for now, at least—but they still felt awkward on his tongue. The symbols Sasha had sketched were also burned into his short-term memory, fragile knowledge that would fade quickly if he didn't use it.

  "What should I expect to happen after I transit?" he asked.

  Brennik exchanged a glance with his granddaughter before answering. "Our operatives should monitor those frequencies constantly. Once they receive your message, they'll triangulate your position and dispatch a response team. Given the distances involved and the need for caution, I'd estimate an hour or two before anyone reaches you."

  "And if Umbral forces arrive before then?"

  Brennik's expression grew grave, his previous warmth fading into something harder, more practical. "Do whatever you have to do," he said quietly. "Run if you can. Fight if you must. But don't let them get the Ascendant, Evan. Whatever happens to you, whatever choices you have to make, that ship cannot fall into Sarxon's hands. The consequences would be catastrophic."

  "Maybe we should just destroy the ship," Sasha suggested hesitantly. "Remove it from the equation."

  "Only as a last resort," Brennik replied. "The Ascendant is the Key-ship for the Zero, but even without it, given enough time, the Zero may yet be discovered." He turned to Evan. "We haven't had a chance to discuss this, but⁠—"

  "But you want to use the Ascendant to find the Zero after all," Evan finished, glaring over at Adam. "After I was told you didn't want that."

  Brennik glanced at Adam, too. "Our goal is to keep the Zero out of the hands of any of the empires. Whatever that means. Whatever that takes."

  "Then you should have killed me already and taken the effigy. That's how you get what you want without resistance, right?"

  "That's also how we become the thing we're trying to stop," Brennik answered tightly. "I won't stand for it. The ship is yours, Evan. You found the effigy. You hold the effigy. It's that simple."

  "Sometimes, I feel like the effigy found me," Evan said.

  Brennik nodded. "Who knows? Maybe it did." He stood and stepped back from the bars. "Go now."

  Evan moved to the cot and retrieved the effigy. He looked at Halsey and Sikes, still standing guard near the door, and nodded his thanks. Halsey returned the gesture with a simple "Good luck, Mr. Marshall," and then Evan found the hidden switch and pressed it.

  The green grid materialized above the toy, geometric patterns casting angular shadows across the cell walls. The light intensified, the paralysis spreading through his limbs, and then the underground prison dissolved into nothing.

  The transfer chamber materialized around him, and Evan stepped out of the alcove before the green grid had fully faded, his boots hitting the deck at a near-run. No time for the disorientation to settle. No time for the strangeness of consciousness-transfer to register. He moved through the corridor to the lift shaft, touched the uppermost symbol.