They had serious resources, that much was obvious. The kind of operational capacity that let them field multiple teams across multiple states, track targets in real time, and make inconvenient evidence disappear before sunrise. Whatever Evan had stumbled into, it was bigger than anything he'd imagined when he'd first activated that toy starship in a Louisville hotel room.

  "You should be dead," Harris said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I watched you die in that cab, Marsh. I heard bones break. Saw the way your body went limp, never mind all the blood." A pause. "I've seen a lot of dead men in my time. You were dead."

  "You'll be dead if we don't get you some medical attention." Evan glanced at his friend again, cataloging the damage with a soldier's eye. The shoulder was definitely dislocated, the joint sitting at an angle that defied anatomy. Below the elbow, the arm had a subtle wrongness to it that suggested fracture. And the ankle; the way Harris had been completely unable to bear weight on it told Evan everything he needed to know. "Your shoulder looks dislocated. And that ankle's probably shattered."

  "Tell me something I don't know." Harris's jaw worked through what was obviously considerable pain, the muscles in his neck standing out like cables. "We can't go to a hospital. They'll be watching every ER within a hundred miles. Probably have people inside already, waiting for someone matching our descriptions to walk through the door."

  "I know we can't go to a hospital. So what do we do?"

  Harris was quiet for a long moment. The sedan's engine hummed steadily, the tires whispering against the pavement. When he finally spoke, his voice had steadied slightly, taking on the flat practicality of a man who'd spent decades solving problems under fire.

  "I know a vet."

  Evan's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Are you kidding?"

  "I trust her." No hesitation. No trace of humor in the words. "And these alien assholes won't know to look for us there. She's not connected to either of us in any way they could trace. No records, no paper trail, no digital footprint linking her to my service record or yours."

  Evan considered arguing. A veterinarian. Harris wanted a veterinarian to set his shoulder, splint his arm, and do something about an ankle that was probably in pieces. The idea was insane.

  But what was the alternative? Harris needed medical attention, and soon. The adrenaline that had kept him functional during the firefight and the crash was fading fast, leaving only the raw reality of his injuries. Shock could only buy them so much time before the complications started. Internal bleeding. Compartment syndrome. Infection. Any number of problems that could turn fatal without proper treatment.

  A veterinarian who knew what she was doing was better than an emergency room full of hostile operators waiting to put bullets in their heads.

  "How do you know her?" Evan asked.

  "Donnie went out with her a couple times."

  "Your son? How old is she?"

  "Twenty-six."

  "Isn't Donnie twenty-two?"

  "Yup. Small town, not a lot of handsome single men. You know how it is."

  "Not really."

  "Come on, you didn't have older women chasing you in high school? You were a star linebacker."

  "But not the quarterback. It matters." Evan glanced over at Harris, smirking. "A couple of Beth's friends had the hots for me."

  "See. You do know how it is."

  "Regardless, she's been out of vet school for what? Six months?"

  "Three. That's why she's working the graveyard shift at a twenty-four hour animal hospital."

  "And you know this how? You don't have a dog yet."

  "Small town. I know things."

  "Don't tell me you have the hots for her."

  "That would be weird."

  "Yeah."

  Evan waited, but Harris didn't say any more about it.

  "How far?" Evan finally asked.

  "Downtown."

  "That's a long drive."

  Harris managed something that might have been a smile if it weren't twisted by pain. "You can entertain me with stories of what the hell happened to you out there. In space, I mean." He cracked one eye open, studying Evan's profile. "While I was getting shot at and crashing trucks, you were doing something that kept you from coming out of your trance and helping out. I'd like to hear about it."

  The sedan rounded a curve, and Evan caught a glimpse of distant lights on the horizon. A town, maybe, or a highway interchange. Signs of civilization that felt impossibly far removed from the violence they'd just escaped. Out here, in the dark between places, it was easy to believe they were the only two people left in the world.

  "I was practicing with the weapons systems. Testing the main guns, getting a feel for how they functioned. After a few shots, I plotted a course to what the star map showed as empty space. Somewhere to reset and keep going in case anyone noticed the activity. Everything was just like we'd planned. Until it wasn't."

  "I take it empty space wasn't empty."

  "No. There'd been a fleet battle. Recent. Debris everywhere. Hull fragments, frozen atmosphere, bodies drifting in the void." Evan's hands tightened on the wheel at the memory. "Two Red Scar Empire warships were still there, picking through the wreckage. Salvage operation, it looked like."

  "Red Scar Empire?"

  "That's what they're called. The red-gray ships I told you about before." Evan remembered those brutal hulls turning toward him, weapon batteries tracking his position. "They spotted me the moment I arrived. I tried to run. That's when I found out the power reserves were nearly empty. All that weapons practice had drained them down too far for rapid acceleration, and I hadn't been paying close enough attention to notice."

  Harris let out a low breath. "So you couldn't run."

  "Nope. They were already closing." Evan shook his head at his own stupidity. "I had to fight. I managed to damage both of them with what power I had left, but I couldn't finish the job."

  "So how are you still alive?"

  "Another ship arrived." Evan searched for the right words to describe what he'd seen. "It was shaped like a Möbius strip. You know, that twisted loop where if you trace your finger along the surface, you end up back where you started without ever crossing an edge?"

  "I know what a Möbius strip is, Marsh."

  "Picture that, but the size of a city block. Maybe bigger." Evan could still see it in his mind's eye, that vast ribbon of hull twisting through space, weapon emplacements studding every surface like thorns on a vine. "Covered in weapons. Hundreds of them. Rotating slowly through the void like it had all the time in the universe and knew it."

  Harris processed that in silence. The road ahead straightened out, and Evan accelerated slightly, the speedometer climbing toward sixty. Empty fields stretched away on either side, dark shapes against a darker sky.

  "And this thing saved you from the Red Scar ships?"

  "Saved isn't the right word." Evan remembered the violet-gold energy washing over those massive warships, the way matter simply ceased to exist wherever the beams touched. "It destroyed them. Erased them. The Red Scar ships tried to run the moment they saw it, but they didn't get far. A few seconds of fire and there was nothing left. Not wreckage. Not debris. Just...nothing."

  Harris let out a low whistle that turned into a wince. "And then it turned on you."

  "Not exactly. It hailed me first." Evan paused, the memory of that voice cutting through the static still fresh. "The woman I told you about was on the Möbius. Lars' boss. The one who called about the deal, who had her people murder the desk clerk after she promised to let me walk away."

  "She followed you into space?"

  "The Möbius is an effigy too. Just like the toy starship." Evan checked the rear view mirror. Nothing but darkness behind them, the crash site long since swallowed by distance and night. "She can transfer into it the same way I transfer into mine. Different body out there, controlling a different ship, but the same person. The same mind."

  Harris absorbed that, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Did she say what she wanted?"

  "Same thing everyone wants. The ship." Evan's jaw tightened. "She gave me an ultimatum. Surrender and walk away, or die. She said she'd rather destroy the toy starship than let someone else have it." He paused. "I believe her. She just vaporized two warships without breaking a sweat. I was sitting there with empty reserves and no way to fight back."

  "So how'd you get away?"

  "I stalled. Kept her talking while whatever passes for batteries in the ship charged." Evan remembered watching that percentage climb, point by agonizing point, while the Möbius ship drifted closer. "She told me things. The name of her group for one. The Umbral Empire."

  Harris let out a weak snort that turned into a wince as the movement jarred something painful. "The Umbral Empire?"

  "That's what she said."

  "Sounds like a goth rock band." Despite his injuries, genuine amusement crept into Harris's voice, a spark of his usual dry humor cutting through the pain. "The Umbral Empire. The Red Scar Empire. What's next, the Shadow Covenant? The Dark Brotherhood?"

  "Different culture, I guess."

  "Different something." Harris shifted in his seat, sucking air through his teeth as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through his battered body. "So you stalled. Kept her talking. Then what?"

  "She opened a hangar bay. Told me to fly inside and surrender. I started toward it. Let her think she'd won. And when I got close, I gunned it."

  "Through the hangar?"

  "Over it. Around the inner curve of the hull and out through the center." Evan could still feel the g-forces, the desperate spiral through that impossible geometry while point-defense systems tried to track him. "The shape of the ship worked against her. Weapons on one side of the loop couldn't fire toward the center without risking the other side. I threaded the gap and ran."

  Harris was quiet for a moment, processing. "Gutsy move."

  "Desperate move." Evan flexed his fingers on the wheel, working out tension that had nowhere else to go.

  "Did she say why they want it so badly? Your ship?"

  "She called it the Ascendant." The name still felt strange on Evan's tongue, too grand and portentous for the toy-like vessel. "She said it was the most important effigy of all. That I was sitting in the command chair of something I couldn't begin to comprehend, part of something I barely understood."

  "But she didn't say why it was so important?"

  "No. She seemed genuinely willing to destroy it rather than let someone else have it. When I asked if she'd trade her ship for mine, she said yes without hesitating."

  Harris considered that. "Her ship sounds more powerful."

  "Much more powerful. Those Red Scar warships ran from it. She erased them in seconds when they tried to fight, but she'd still trade it for the Ascendant in a heartbeat. Whatever makes my ship special, it's not about raw firepower. Anyway, once I got away, I left the Ascendant hurtling through open space. I figure even if anyone sees it, they'll have a hard time catching it."

  "What if another bit of empty space turns out to be less than empty?"

  "You mean what if it collides with something?"

  "Yeah."

  Evan shrugged. "I guess the next transfer won't work. But I can't imagine a ship so advanced wouldn't have some kind of collision avoidance systems built in. After all, it navigated itself safely through a field of asteroids."

  "A safe assumption, but still an assumption."

  "I know. I didn't have any other choice. You're lucky I got back when I did."

  "I know it." Harris paused, considering everything. "So what's our next move? We can't keep running forever. We can't keep hiding and hoping they don't find us."

  "No. I'm done running. Like you said, it's not getting us anywhere. We need to get into that laptop. The one from the armored truck. There has to be something there we can use, even just a breadcrumb to get us headed in the right direction. Then we can start running an offense instead of constantly reacting. It's the only way I'm going to learn anything about what we're actually dealing with."

  Harris didn't respond. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the engine and the whisper of tires on pavement. Evan glanced over and found his friend's eyes had drifted closed while he'd been talking, his chin dropping toward his chest, his breathing slowing toward the deep rhythm of sleep.

  "Harris."

  Nothing.

  Evan reached over and shook his good shoulder, careful to avoid the injured arm. "Hey. Stay with me."

  A grunt. Unfocused eyes struggling to find something to lock onto, pupils dilated and wandering.

  "You can't sleep. Not with that head wound. You've probably got a concussion."

  "I know the protocol, Marsh." The words came out slurred, half-formed, running together like water. "Been doing this longer than you have. Know what I'm supposed to..."

  His eyes slid closed again. His head lolled against the window, leaving a smear of dried blood on the glass.

  Evan shook him harder. "Harris!"

  Still nothing. The man was fading fast, exhaustion and blood loss pulling him under despite decades of training and an iron will that had carried him through combat deployments and impossible situations. The body had limits. Even Harris's body had limits.

  Evan scanned the dashboard until he found the radio controls. He jabbed the power button, and static hissed through the speakers, followed by the soft twang of a late-night country station. Some singer crooning about lost love and empty bottles. Not loud enough. Not nearly loud enough. He spun the dial, hunting for something with teeth, something that would cut through the fog of shock and injury like a knife. A classic rock station punched through the static, guitars wailing, drums hammering out a rhythm that rattled the sedan's aging speakers. Evan cranked the volume until the music distorted, until the bass made the rear view mirror vibrate, until the sound filled every corner of the car like a physical force.

  Harris jerked upright, his good hand flying up reflexively to cover his ear. "What the hell⁠—"

  "You want to sleep?" Evan kept his eyes on the road, his voice flat. "Fine. But you're doing it to this."

  "Turn that down!"

  "Not a chance."

  Harris glared at him with the kind of murderous intensity that would have made a lesser man flinch. But his eyes stayed open. His hand dropped from his ear. The music crashed through the sedan's interior, making conversation nearly impossible. Making thought nearly impossible. Making sleep absolutely impossible.

  That was the point.

  Evan kept his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Behind them, somewhere in the Tennessee night, cleanup crews were probably already erasing the evidence of their battle. Bodies disappearing. The overturned truck hauled away to some facility where it would be crushed, recycled, and forgotten.

  Ahead of them, a veterinarian waited who might be able to put Harris back together. She'd need to adjust his shoulder, splint his arm, and do something about his ankle. The end result: keeping his friend alive, allowing them to figure out their next move.

  And somewhere among the stars, billions of light-years from this quiet stretch of Tennessee highway, the Ascendant hurtled through the void. Unmanned. Undefended. Carrying secrets that had killed dozens of people already and would likely kill dozens more before this was over.

  The radio screamed. Harris cursed. And Evan drove on through the darkness, toward whatever came next.

  6

  The Nashville skyline materialized from the darkness around two in the morning, a jagged silhouette of glass and steel. Evan had driven for nearly four hours, the radio still blasting classic rock at a volume that had given him a throbbing headache halfway through the ride.

  Harris had stayed awake. Barely. His eyes kept drifting closed, his head lolling toward the window, but every time Evan reached over to shake him or cranked the volume higher, those eyes snapped open again, bright with pain and stubborn refusal to give in.

  The emergency veterinary hospital sat on a side street in the industrial fringe of downtown, a squat brick building sandwiched between a tire warehouse and something that looked like it might have been a meatpacking plant in a previous life. A neon sign in the front window proclaimed "Music City 24/7 Animal Care" in letters that flickered uncertainly. One of the C's threatened to go dark entirely.

  Evan pulled the sedan around back, into a small lot bordered by a chain-link fence and overflowing dumpsters. A single security light cast harsh shadows across the cracked asphalt. No other vehicles. No witnesses.

  He killed the engine and sat for a moment, letting the sudden silence wash over him. His ears still rang from the guitar solos and pounding drums. Harris slumped against the passenger door, his breathing shallow, his face the color of old paper.

  "We're here."

  Harris didn't respond.

  Evan reached over and grabbed his good shoulder, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "Hey. We're here. Stay with me."

  A grunt. Eyes fluttering open, struggling to focus. "I'm awake."

  "Sure you are." Evan popped his door and stepped out into the cool night air. The parking lot smelled like garbage and urine, with an undertone of something animal that probably came from the dumpsters. He circled the sedan and opened the passenger side back door to grab his backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, the weight of the effigy a constant reminder of everything that had brought them to this moment, he opened Harris's door. "Come on," he said, catching the man before he could tumble out onto the asphalt. "Let's get you inside."

  Getting Harris out of the car was an exercise in controlled chaos. His left ankle couldn't bear any weight at all, and his right arm was useless, leaving only his left to drape over Evan's shoulders while Evan half-carried, half-dragged him toward the building's rear entrance. Harris gritted his teeth against the pain, but he didn't make a sound. Twenty-two years of discipline, even now.

  The clinic's rear door was solid metal, no windows, probably reinforced against break-ins. A small intercom box was mounted beside it, the button worn smooth from use. Evan propped Harris against the wall and pressed the button, hearing a buzz from somewhere inside.