Half a month had passed since the Federation retook the wormhole entrance to the Vega cluster at the cost of a pyrrhic victory in late March. The atmosphere in the frontline command room was oppressively heavy. When Jack learned from LEO that the Empire’s flagship, The Dominion, had somehow managed to limp away intact, he remembered something Thorne had told him long ago: “You are not God; no one can compute everything. The moment you think you control the rhythm of war, you yourself are trapped inside that rhythm.”

  The Federation’s entire campaign schedule had again been interrupted. Carrick was almost constantly in meetings with the high command; President Valerius even phoned several times to check on deployments. When the battle footage was finally placed before him, the president remained silent for a long time. In the end, he said only: “This is my failure.”

  If the president took responsibility for this seeming victory that was actually a defeat, no one else needed to say anything. Vance, the fleet’s chief coordinator, needed a period of rest; Admiral Snyder of the First Fleet offered to resign; Cyril, the senior military adviser, decided after the campaign to spend more time teaching at the Command Academy.

  Jack and LEO went to pay Cyril a visit. Cyril was glad to see them. In his home, he brought out a prized bottle and greeted the two students with hospitality.

  “Empire military power is stronger than the Federation’s — that’s a fact,” LEO said. “One failed command shouldn’t mean a man like you must leave the Ministry.”

  Hearing LEO speak, Jack quickly added, “Actually, Teacher, stepping back may be good for you. Your reputation already stands among the greats; moving from the front to behind the scenes might give you more freedom.”

  Cyril watched his two students comfort him, and the depression that had hung over him lifted. Smiling, he said: “One of you is responsible for tactical simulation (LEO), the other for in-theater command (Jack). You two are a natural pair.”

  Then he turned to Jack, his expression growing serious. “Jack, I still have some covert intelligence networks inside the Empire that I have not fully handed over. Now I want to entrust them to you. I only feel safe giving them to you.”

  “Empire underground networks?” Jack’s corpulent flesh tightened at once. “Teacher, don’t joke with me. Going into the Empire is a suicide mission! Look at me — I’m like a deep-fried French fry: oily and brittle, breaking at the slightest touch. I can’t shoulder that responsibility. Please find someone else.”

  Cyril laughed meaningfully. “You will go. And you will go voluntarily.”

  Jack’s jowls swung with his headshake. “Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Oh — I remember now: Dr. Thorne still has an important research project that needs me. I’ll leave first. LEO, you stay and look after the Teacher.”

  After their enthusiastic hug, Jack slipped out of sight in no time.

  LEO watched Jack’s retreating figure and asked, puzzled, “Teacher, you really think Jack will volunteer to go into the Empire? That isn’t logical. Jack’s top priority algorithm is always ‘survival.’ What could he possibly do inside the Empire? The risk assessment completely overflows any acceptable threshold.”

  “I don’t know the specifics either,” Cyril put away his smile and stared out the window, “but Carrick seems very confident.”

  Back at the Ouro lab, Jack told Nova what had happened.

  Seeing Jack’s exaggerated terrified look, Nova’s mouth twitched upward briefly before she tamped it down. She took Jack’s cold hand and calmly analyzed: “Fatty, stop scaring yourself. Logically, it doesn’t make sense. The Federation threw national power and three reorganized fleets at that objective and still couldn’t secure it. What could one lone you accomplish inside the Empire? Assassinate the emperor? That would be suicide. The military wouldn’t issue such a tactically worthless order. And you volunteer? The probability of that is lower than me becoming president tomorrow. You love life more than anything in this universe.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  She patted the back of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll call my father and confirm things.”

  Hearing that, Jack’s heavy heart eased dramatically. He gave Nova a suffocating hug, even pressed on for an old-fashioned French kiss before humming a tune and leaving.

  —Encrypted Channel—

  After Jack left, the lightness vanished from Nova’s face. She dialed a number she rarely used — General Carrick.

  To this father, she felt respect but not closeness. He’d given his life to the Federation; he was the perfect soldier and an absent father.

  “Nova.” The line connected, Carrick’s voice cut straight to the point. “What is it?”

  “You know you gave your life to this country. You protected millions, but you didn’t protect your wife and daughter. That’s why I use my mother’s name.”

  Nova’s voice was calm and controlled, each word a bullet: “Father, don’t let Jack go back into that hell. He’s not your special ops people, nor the hero we’re trying to sculpt. He’s an ordinary man swept up by fate — a pawn you keep shoving around. And… you know I love him.”

  “I’ve never asked you for anything,” she continued. “But this once, when you make your decision, please — for one second — don’t look at the map as a general. Look at him as a father.”

  Silence stretched on the line; only faint electrical hiss filled the gap between father and daughter.

  Finally, Carrick drew a long breath; fatigue crept into his voice: “Nova. Because I am a soldier, I must look at the map, not at people. As for Jack… I am not forcing him. He will volunteer because he will face a reason he can’t refuse.”

  Before Nova could reply, Carrick’s tone hardened again. “There’s little time. Prepare whatever equipment you need. Anything the Ministry has — prototypes, embargoed gear — I will sign priority approvals. It’s all I can do. Sorry, child.”

  When the call ended, Nova’s normally restrained composure broke. Two clear tears slipped down her cheeks.

  ——

  In the Empire, Alexander Reed received word hours after The Dominion emerged from the wormhole; he and the third prince went to see the emperor.

  The emperor seemed unconcerned. He merely said, “I know.”

  In the following days, he met frequently with the eldest prince.

  Viktor von Reiss’s face was grim. He had thought that with Alexander Reed’s help, he would gain more attention from his father, but the result was the opposite. Viktor kept glancing at Reed as if nothing had happened. Viktor even suspected Reed had been sent by an elder brother to make him look foolish before the emperor.

  ——

  By April, Nia called Jack.

  “Jack, I have a lead on Meadow — she’s in the Empire….”

  Jack looked at the thumb-sized transparent capsule in his hand. Inside, suspended in cryogenic liquid, a strand glowed with a faint blue light. It was more than Meadow’s DNA; it was a biological key. Entrusting that “key” to Jack was the same as entrusting her life.

  Meadow had given it to her mother, who then passed it to Nia, who handed it to Jack.

  He had tried everywhere for news of her and found nothing — until now. Coupled with what his Teacher had said days ago, he understood everything.

  That night, he lay on his rooftop staring at the stars. STARK-2 sat beside him.

  “Fatty, every time you have worries, you go up to the roof to look at the stars. Don’t you get tired?” came a familiar voice.

  “Old Two, you nag like a seer. Aren’t you tired?”

  “Fatty, are you really going into the Empire? Without Thor, I can’t directly help you. With your bulk, they’ll probably feed you to their fungal farms.”

  “Would you go, Old Two?”

  “If a carbon-based female entrusted me with her most precious genetic key and the safety of her family… my algorithm classifies that as ‘absolute trust.’ For that trust, my logic library contains no ‘refuse’ option.”

  “Well?” Jack gulped a long swig of star-dust whisky — first hot spice, then honeyed sweetness, finishing on a bitter, dusty aftertaste, like his mood.

  “So, what will you do?”

  “Do what a man must. Atonement, responsibility — fuck it, I don’t have a neat word for it.” Jack belched. “Old Two, that AI in the Empire that once ripped your firewalls like air — can it help me again?”

  “Cannot compute.” STARK-2’s electronic eye flickered. “That super-intelligence’s tier is far above me. It modified my base code with the ease of Santa slipping gifts into stockings. I don’t know its purpose. But I know: without it that time, you’d be cosmic dust.”

  “I’m curious…” Jack looked into the vast sky. “What does a fully awakened AI think about? Does it have a soul?”

  “Fatty, that’s outside my database. I can give you ten thousand philosophical hypotheses, but they won’t help. What you need isn’t answers — you need a belief. A belief that will let you bring Meadow back alive.”

  STARK-2’s voice suddenly eased, as if warmed: “I believe you can do it. In all large-data models, you’re an outlier. You’re the singularity that slipped between Death Crowley’s fingers.”

  A faint snore. STARK-2: “Fatty, Fatty, wake up. You’ve fallen asleep on the roof again.”

  The stars overhead flickered once more.

  (CH116 end)