The crawler soon trundled through the dome garage, passing workers’ crawlers to park in the VIP area.

  Outer regions of the dome were still under construction, but the central area had full life support running. There was no housing in this dome. Instead, after moving through a temporary enclosed shaft, they reached a locker chamber and changed into their sporting gear. This included checkered shirts, shorts, white hats, and comfortable footwear. Next, they chose their bag of golf clubs.

  The intercept team had introduced them to another Earth game. Unfortunately, there were no golf courses on Titan until a few months ago.

  The group exited the chamber and walked out under the dome onto vast greens that spread out before and around them.

  This had been one of Assur’s ideas, believing the people needed a sense of expanse and exercise. According to the schedules, different groups had vacations here, coming on a daily basis. They played golf and other sports. It helped with keeping fit but also allowed people to relax and free their minds for a while. Too much endless work was not good for anybody.

  Assur, Vaul, and two other notables went to the first link. The security men were the caddies carrying the golf bags and clubs.

  An electric cart came by, driven by young, pretty Valiant women wearing white costumes to highlight their charms. They brought them drinks.

  Assur was having another beer, Vaul a soft drink, the two others Long Island Iced Teas.

  Soon, Security Chief Vaul started the process, swinging his club viciously, the ball lofting nicely.

  As they played, the four talked about this, that, and the other thing. By the time they reached the tenth hole, Assur’s headache had vanished. The four beers might have helped as well.

  By the time they headed toward the 17th link, Assur was feeling much better. This had been a great idea.

  Assur addressed the ball, swung, and watched the golf ball sail in a great curving loop.

  The balls went much farther on Titan than they would on Earth, due to the lesser gravity. The greens were larger because of that.

  As Assur walked across the green, Vaul sidled up to him. The two caddies hung back, as they had seen the curt hand signal from the Security Chief.

  Assur glanced at Vaul, sensing something.

  “There is one urgent matter I need to mention to you, sir,” Vaul whispered.

  Assur frowned. He knew the tone of voice and hated the word urgent.

  Vaul surely recognized the Chief Marshal didn’t like it. “If you would like to hear it later…”

  “Is it important?” Assur asked.

  Vaul gave the slightest of nods.

  A chill touched Assur. This was deadly important. That was why the Spymaster had waited until now.

  “All right, spit it out,” Assur said.

  Vaul told him about the find of Sentinel 9 on Triton: the human, vehicle, and particularly the carbon dating.

  “9600 BC,” Assur said. “Is that critical in some way?”

  Vaul explained about the Earth report: stone tablets found at the bottom of the Persian Gulf in an ancient temple. “If you put the two discoveries together, the conclusion seems obvious in several ways.”

  “Meaning what?” Assur snapped, as a touch of pain throbbing in his brain.

  “I’m told it could point to an exodus from Earth in its prehistory. One of my experts talks about an Atlantis origin.”

  “Whose origin?” Assur said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yes,” Vaul whispered. “That is the point. I’m not surprised you thrust to the core of it. Perhaps those of Atlantis left in a rocket ship or a spaceship, reaching Triton. Or, more ominously, perhaps they were our precursors.”

  “Ours?” shouted Assur.

  Everyone stopped and stared at Chief Marshal Assur.

  Assur felt weak, needing to sit down. He couldn’t very well do that on the green in front of the others. He put a club’s head down and leaned against the end of the club. His stomach took this moment to rumble. This Triton find was nothing but trouble.

  “You know what this means,” Assur said, stricken. “I’m talking about the possibility of Earther precursors.”

  Vaul stared back at him.

  “If true,” Assur said, “the Earthers and Valiants are the same. If one goes back far enough, we share the same ancestors.”

  “There are legends that seem too close in character with their history and ours,” Vaul whispered.

  “If word of this find gets out…” Assur lost the strength to finish the thought.

  “I was certain you would want to know about this now,” Vaul said.

  Absently, Assur straightened before he stared off into the distance before abruptly turning to Vaul. “What do you make of all this?”

  Had Vaul been dreading the question? He said nothing for a moment and then whispered slower than ever. “Even if our races originate from a distant ancestor—or maybe not as distant as we thought—it ultimately doesn’t matter. We have gone our separate ways. Each planet and circumstances have changed the other. The Earthers are weak and stupid compared to us, not our equals in any substantive way.”

  “True,” Assur said. “But if these finds become common knowledge, it might cause a reaction among the Valiants. Change that. It will certainly cause a reaction. Many will question the utility of Earther extinction.”

  “Yes,” Vaul said. “That is why I waited to tell you until—”

  “Until what?” Assur snapped, interrupting.

  “…I just waited, sir.”

  Assur wondered if Vaul had wanted to say, “Until your faculties were at their fullest.” But his faculties were always at their fullest. Even if he was sick, he could still outthink everyone else in the colony.

  “This is terrible,” Assur said. “But I see the answer.”

  “Yes, sir?” Vaul said.

  “Who else knows about this?”

  “You are referring to the Triton find?”

  “Obviously,” Assur said.

  “There are a few on Nergal’s Watch,” Vaul said.

  “What?” Assur said.

  “On the space station in low Saturn orbit: those watching the deuterium extraction balloons.”

  “Oh. They shouldn’t be a problem for now. But this… Sentinel 9, you said?”

  “Yes,” Vaul said.

  “Destroy it and the evidence of the destruction,” Assur said.

  Vaul stared at him as if silently asking, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m positive,” Assur said. “Destroy all the evidence. That’s an order. We must eliminate this. Then I want your experts eliminating it from every computer file: the ones on the Neptune station and the Saturn station. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Excellency,” Vaul whispered. “I completely understand.”

  “Right,” Assur said.

  The headache had returned as his positive frame of mind departed. At least he’d gotten some exercise.

  Why did this problem have to jump up now? Whatever the answer, he had to squash it like a proverbial bug, ridding it from the Valiant consciousness. They could not believe that the Earthers and Valiants were the same. They weren’t the same. If nothing else, his mother’s second husband Rim Sin had changed the People into the Valiants, turning them into a superior race.

  Could scientists turn the Earthers into a superior race?

  Assur shook his head. It didn’t matter. Because when he was through, there weren’t going to be any Earthers to practice it on.

  -18-

  Nestled within the thick atmosphere and methane seas of Saturn’s largest moon, Titan, contained a concealed chamber deep within the colony. There, Security Chief Vaul prepared an encrypted message, dispatching it himself.

  The signal took four hours, eight minutes, and nineteen seconds to reach the automated space station in low Neptune orbit. Once the Master AI decoded the encryption, the command was clear and straightforward: eliminate the Sentinel 9 robot on Triton and erase all evidence of the ancient discovery and of the erasure.

  The AI activated its highest-level security protocols. Deep in the hangar bays, hunter-killer drones awaited its orders.

  The station AI programmed the Wasp 01 and 02 drones. These drones were half the size of those that had pushed the asteroids out of Saturn’s rings.

  As the clamps released, the drones detached from the hangar deck. Lights blinked red on each. The cigar-shaped craft looked more like big missiles than drones.

  A bay door opened.

  The two drones slid through into space. The drone AIs plotted the course, calculating the optimal approach, constantly adjusting for the gravitational pull of Neptune and its moons.

  The gas giant had a churning, deep blue atmosphere, with swirling clouds hinting at raging storms beneath. There was a Great Dark Spot the size of Earth, and the planet boasted icy rings, much smaller and fainter than Saturn’s rings.

  As the drones pulled away, increasing their distance from the gas giant’s gravitational pull, the moon Triton came into view, a world of desolate cold. The surface was a mass of frozen nitrogen and water ice, broken by jagged cliffs and cryovolcanoes that occasionally erupted, sending plumes of icy particles into the thin atmosphere. The moonscape was illuminated by the bluish glow of Neptune.

  The drones’ sensors locked onto the signal emitted by Sentinel 9, the robot’s operations visible as a series of faint blips on the monitoring systems.

  Sentinel 9 was stationed near a crevasse, its instruments still analyzing the frozen human figure it had uncovered.

  The missile bay doors of drones 01 and 02 opened. A long, gleaming missile lowered into view in each bay. These were no ordinary weapons. The outer shells of the missiles were composed of a composite alloy, designed to withstand extreme conditions and penetrate deep into the target.

  Inside, the warheads were primed with Kill-strike technology. Each missile housed a dual-stage warhead: the first stage was a high-velocity kinetic penetrator, capable of piercing through thick ice and robust structures. The second stage was a thermobaric explosive, engineered to create an immense overpressure wave, incinerating everything within a large radius.

  As the drones drew closer, they adjusted their trajectories, ensuring the missiles would strike with pinpoint accuracy. The AIs attempted to calculate for every variable—the thin atmosphere, the icy surface, and the exact location of Sentinel 9.

  Without warning, the missiles launched. They left the drones and streaked through the thin atmosphere, leaving trails of vapor in their wake. The first missile struck the ice near Sentinel 9 with a terrible impact, the kinetic penetrator burrowing deep into the frozen ground before detonating. The explosion sent a shockwave through the ice and cave, shattering them into countless shards.

  The second missile followed. As it detonated, the thermobaric charges ignited, creating a massive fireball that expanded outward with incredible force. The overpressure wave incinerated everything in its path. Sentinel 9, the ancient human and vehicle, and the surrounding rock and ice were consumed in a blinding flash of light and heat.

  For a moment, this part of the moonscape of Triton was transformed into fire and ice. The explosion created a temporary atmosphere of dust and vapor, swirling around the impact site. The shockwave rippled through the frozen ground, causing nearby ice formations to collapse and shatter.

  As the dust and icy particles began to settle, the harsh, cold silence of Triton returned. The smoldering crater was all that remained of the discovery.

  The hunter-killer drones, with their mission accomplished, transmitted a confirmation signal back to the automated station. The systems on the station logged the successful operation and prepared for the drones’ return.

  Time passed. Then, as the drones reentered their docking bay, they powered down, awaiting the next mission.

  The station’s AI sent a message to Titan in the Saturn system. That took a little over four hours to reach there.

  In the secure depths of the secret headquarters, the operation was recorded and encrypted. Security Chief Vaul reviewed the mission’s success, feeling uneasy about it. The secret of the ancient human discovered on Triton was now lost, safeguarded by the covert operations. The logs on the Neptune station regarding the discovery and destruction order would soon be erased.

  Was that a good thing?

  Vaul decided that wasn’t his task. However, he also had a feeling that this wasn’t the end of it.

  -19-

  Eury sat at her workstation aboard Nergal’s Watch in low Saturn orbit. She studied a monitor where data streams flowed.

  She was checking on the Sentinel 9 robot on Triton through the Neptune automated station. The archaeological discovery awed her. Today, though, there had been an unusual silence.

  Eury initiated a communication sequence, although the vast distance would mean an eight-hour delay before any response could be received.

  She left, exercised, ate, checked on data, and then went to her quarters and slept for five hours. When she came back, there was still no response from Sentinel 9. Strangely, perhaps ominously, the automated station in low Neptune orbit, responsible for monitoring and relaying information from Triton, showed no records of any anomalies or interruptions.

  Something seemed off. Eury decided to dig deeper, using her knowledge of cyber infiltration. This was going to be long and tedious, maybe taking days.

  On the first day, she accessed the station’s primary control systems, looking for any irregularities in the logs. The data appeared pristine—too pristine. There were no gaps, no unexpected entries, nothing that stood out. It was as if someone had sanitized the logs.

  If someone had tampered with the logs, they were skilled. Should she continue with this?

  Eury believed she had no choice. This was too amazing. What could have happened to Sentinel 9?

  On the second day, she activated a hidden protocol she had developed, a “ghost” algorithm designed to penetrate the deepest layers of any system’s security.

  After a four-hour journey to Neptune, the algorithm began its work, sifting through the station’s memory banks, reconstructing fragments of deleted data and piecing together the digital footprints of recent activities.

  The automated station AI detected the intrusion but failed to isolate it. Eury’s ghost algorithm was too subtle, too integrated into the system’s normal operations. As the algorithm worked, Eury watched the reconstructed data appear on her screen.

  This was the third day.

  Eury saw faint traces of commands, partially erased logs, and anomalies that indicated tampering.

  One particular set of reconstructed logs caught her attention: fragments of a command sequence issued from an external source—encrypted and high-priority. The logs detailed the activation of two hunter-killer drones. They were Wasp drones 01 and 02. They had been deployed to Triton.

  Eury’s eyes widened as she realized the implications. This was the fourth day, and she was becoming more than worried, but scared. Whoever had done this had possessed high access codes.

  The sequence included missile launch commands, impact coordinates, and the subsequent erasure of all related data. The meticulous nature of the operation and the level of the encryption pointed to a highest-level cover-up.

  Eury would have dropped it, but the find was incredible. She ran for two hours on the outer track, deciding what to do next. Could the command have originated in the Chief Marshal’s office? The man had slain Sarus. Could she let him destroy real history, reality?

  With a determined expression, Eury left the track and soon sat down, initiating a deeper scan, searching for the origin of the external command.

  The ghost algorithm followed the faint digital trail, leading back to a signal relayed from Titan.

  Eury didn’t have long to gloat or fear. Her screen flickered, and a warning message appeared: Unauthorized Access Detected. Countermeasures Activated.

  The Neptune station’s AI must have finally recognized her intrusion and initiated defensive protocols. Her workstation was being flooded with malicious code, designed to disrupt and destroy her systems.

  Instead of panicking—she must have subconsciously realized this could happen—Eury isolated her terminal from the rest of the network, effectively quarantining the code.

  Then she formulated a plan, which took several hours. Finally, she reconnected her terminal to the network, this time using a decoy IP address to mask her location.

  She sent a new message. This was the fifth day.

  On the Neptune station, the ghost algorithm resumed its work, now more cautiously and covertly. As the reconstructed logs continued to appear, Eury noticed something odd. Among the deleted data were fragments of a secondary signal, which seemed to interfere with the first.

  This secondary signal wasn’t from Titan; it originated from within the Neptune station.

  On the sixth day, she decided to ignore this secondary signal. It might have been a red herring; she wasn’t sure. Instead, Eury concentrated on finding out the worst.

  She restored the station’s old logs. The impact coordinates of the missiles matched the last known location of Sentinel 9. The missiles had struck where the robot had been operating. The explosion, with its dual-stage warheads, had vaporized everything, leaving no trace of the ancient human, the robot, or the vehicle.

  Eury leaned back in her chair, the enormity of her discovery sinking in. She had uncovered a covert operation executed with surgical precision, designed to erase a piece of the Earther’s early hidden history. The implications… If the operators of this covert mission discovered she knew this—

  They will kill me.

  Eury rose, wondering how many copies of the truth she should make, and whom she should send them to.

  She knew what had happened, but if the cover-up continued…

  There’s no actual evidence the human existed.

  Trembling, now sure this came from the Chief Marshal’s office, Eury wondered if she should just lie as low as possible and hope no one ever found out what she knew.

  “What am I going to do?” she whispered. Eury knew a terrible and an important secret, but if she tried to tell anyone, those who had done this would surely hunt her down and kill her just as they’d killed her brother Sarus.