Artifex Vanth cursed and winced as she spun through the empty air of the station’s sewer chamber. Engaging her stabilizer thrusters, she got the spin under control. It took a few seconds, but she finally achieved a steady neutral float. Hundreds of globules of her blood spread throughout the chamber in all directions. She glared at the hatch through her one still-functioning eye lens as she gripped her side.

  This wasn’t good. A ship with a half-dozen or so of the offenders had escaped. Worse, they’d used some kind of high impact corrosive ammunition that had penetrated her nanotech armor, torn away a chunk of her flesh, and continued to eat away at both. She checked her suit’s systems and armor. The living metal that protected her outside was struggling to reform itself after the impact from the slug. Biological diagnostic readings showed a serious injury.

  Grunting, she pushed aside the pain, re-engaged forward thrust, and moved to the hatch. She searched for and found the handle for the opening. She considered forcing the airlock open and pursuing, but the sudden depressurization in this nexus of pipes might create complications for other Andrani teams within the station. Instead, she flicked on a special filter on her visor that allowed her to see through walls. Whatever ship had been docked here was gone. Vanth moved along the wall, hoping to find evidence of where it had gone, but found none. Their pilot had skill, she had to credit them that.

  “Artifex Vanth,” came a commanding woman’s voice through her suit’s comms.

  “Reporting,” she replied, straining against the pain in her side. The armor managed to seal, but her skin still burned.

  “Return to the Well.”

  “I can still—”

  “You are injured and the rest of the station will soon be secure. Return immediately.” The tone allowed for no argument.

  Vanth grimaced. “Yes, Praeposita Sethra.”

  She engaged the suit’s autopilot and allowed it to work its way back through the station and out into open space. Adrenaline faded which, in turn, allowed fatigue to wash over her; she nearly passed out twice. While en route, the praeposita ordered her to the training room for debrief.

  Twenty-seven minutes later, Vanth landed inside a return bay of the Well of Knowledge, the Andrani Collective’s worldship and Vanth’s home. The suit maneuvered to one of the artifex pods and waited for the doors to close. That done, a series of whirring and clicking sounds came from all around as the armor detached itself from her body and retreated into the confines of the pod. All the while, medical tools worked on the injury in her side, cauterizing and patching the wound. Vanth fought to contain a cry of pain as the tools finished their work and retreated. The pod then turned in place to move further in-board. Finally, the doors opened once more, allowing her to step out.

  She found herself in a room of pure white. Lockers sat across from her. She moved to hers, gingerly peeled off her combat suit, and replaced it with a white robe, black sash belt, and black armband. Pain and fatigue came and went in waves. This injury would certainly sideline her for days, perhaps weeks, while she recovered.

  She took in a long breath and left the room. From here, she wove through a series of hallways to a large round chamber fill with weapons, targets, and other paraphernalia used in training artifex units, the Andrani’s shock troops.

  No one else had yet arrived, so Vanth stood near the door with her arms at her side. Praeposita Sethra had requested that she come here. This was unusual since debriefs were typically conducted in the mission room and punishments for failure were dispensed in the Temple of Judgment.

  A door opposite her opened, shaking her from her thoughts, and Praeposita Sethra entered, her white robe trimmed with black trailing behind her. Sethra served as the commander of the artifex. Equal parts cruel and loving, she trained them from birth for their given role. Vanth had been one of her best students and had still found herself on the receiving end of Sethra’s whip more than once.

  Vanth dropped to one knee as the praeposita approached. Like all artifex, her steps were quiet. Like all orboroo females, she stood tall and regal, her glistening, dark skin enhanced by her robes. She was grace and thinly-veiled death all at once.

  “Praeposita,” Vanth said once Sethra drew within a few feet, “I accept whatever punshiment—”

  “Enough,” said Sethra. “I’m not going to punish you, child.”

  This surprised Vanth, so much so that she almost looked up, but caught herself. “I—I thank—”

  “Do not thank me,” snapped Sethra. “You will atone for your failure, but we see little need for the whip.”

  We?

  “Then what is to be my atonement?”

  A new voice said, “You will no longer be artifex.”

  “You may rise,” said Sethra.

  When Vanth stood, she took in the praeposita. The woman stood a little taller than her. Fury burned in her all-white eyes, but it wasn’t directed at Vanth. Instead, she fixed her wrath on a short, stocky human with a broad smile who stood a few steps behind her.

  Vanth asked, “Praeposita, who is this? Why would I no longer be artifex?”

  “I am Venator Maximus Onani,” said the man. “We want you to become a venator.”

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  “‘We?’” said Sethra with barely contained anger. “There is no ‘we’ about this.”

  Onani let out a sigh. “Please, Sethra. We’ve been over this.”

  “Venator?” said Vanth. “Have I...failed so badly?”

  “No, dear,” said Sethra, softening. “Your recent mission notwithstanding, your performance is exceptional. You are an asset to the Andrani.” She turned to Onani. “An asset that will be sorely missed and underused thanks to misguided management.”

  “Sethra, you heard the Consul same as I. The matter is settled.” Onani shifted his attention to Vanth. “Your knowledge scores and proven adaptability make for an ideal venator.”

  “Hardly a compliment,” muttered Sethra, arms folded.

  Ignoring the comment, Onani said, “We have an assignment that I think will suit your talents quite nicely.”

  Vanth blinked at him, still trying to process what was happening. Being an artifex was all she knew. Not only that, but she also loved the role she played within the Andrani. And now, through no fault of her own, she was being forced out of it.

  “Why now?” she asked.

  Sethra gave Vanth a sidelong glance but said nothing. Normally, such a comment would have garnered a scolding. The praeposita genuinely disliked Onani.

  The venator grinned. “You were supposed to be transferred last week. Somehow,” his eyes flicked to Sethra, “the message was not received by Praeposita Sethra. Naturally, once we learned of this...oversight, we brought it to her attention and that of the consul.”

  Sethra looked down her nose at the man and then turned to Vanth. “Believe me, sister, you are an invaluable part of the artifex.

  “But, why are you allowing the transfer, then?”

  “Fortis mundi elegit Deus,” said Onani, still smiling. “The strong of the world are chosen by God.”

  “It’s a directive issued by the Consul,” said Sethra. “It is rarely invoked, but for some reason, the consul felt it necessary to issue one this time to the Venator Maximus. When granted to someone, it allows them to acquire a resource that will aid in the pursuit of an objective deemed vital to the Collective. Though one questions what could possibly be so vital for the venators to steal an exemplar artifex.”

  “The mission is indeed vital, praeposita. I made the request through the appropriate channels and followed all established protocols.” Onani rubbed his hands together. “Now that that’s out of the way, Vanth will come with me and we can begin her training.”

  Vanth couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had spent her entire life under the tutelage of the Praeposita. Her friends, her team, her life was the artifex, not the venators.

  “Can it be reversed?” she asked, hoping.

  “My dear,” replied Sethra, “please do not make this harder than it already is. I have done everything I can to stop this, but I cannot. You will go with Venator Maximus Onani,” Sethra swallowed and sniffed, “and that will be that.”

  Vanth opened her mouth to speak, but felt something catch in her throat. Wetness trimmed her eyes and she swallowed it down. What was this? She was artifex, one of the Andrani’s deadliest weapons in the never-ending war to save humanity from its own ambition. Emotions were to be harnessed, used, and controlled. They were never to be in control.

  She cleared her throat and said, “As you will, praeposita.”

  Sethra nodded curtly and turned her back on Vanth.

  “Come,” said Onani, “I’d like you to meet the other venators.”

  Head bowed, Vanth followed him from the room, still reeling from what had just happened.

  -+-+-

  After his conversation with the leader of Gecko squad and returning the ancient computer to its place in his safe, Arvad sat in his chair staring at nothing, letting his mind go to work on contingencies. The Andrani’s arrival had been a game over scenario. That they had managed to escape the Collective was not something Arvad had accounted for.

  He considered pulling up maps of that area in space, seeing where the ship could go next. Should he send in another merc team under the guise of Andrani recovery? He’d used the tactic before when one his competitors fell under the Collective’s crosshairs. Usually, the best stuff was taken or destroyed, but there was always at least one or two golden nuggets among the detritus. His own teams would follow alongside a relief team under the guise of providing support and pilfer useful data and materials left behind after the attack.

  Arvad had built up an entire industry around interplanetary rail transportation thanks to one of these “relief” missions, but it might prove too risky. Every time he used the tactic, he gambled that the Andrani would either not notice or not care. Sending in a team for this one might be when his luck ran out. His entire plan depended on the Andrani remaining blind to his efforts. Besides, he reasoned, by the time the team reached that remote region of space, either the ship would be long gone or destroyed.

  Perhaps he could send a transport ship to the area from another direction. He quickly dismissed this. There was no way to tell how the pilot would escape the Andrani. What’s more, the logistics of getting a ship into that area undetected—even those involving back channels and greased palms—would take too long.

  He slapped a palm on his desk, feeling useless. He hated when options ran out. He would just have to trust the leader of Gecko and the pilot to find refuge. After deciding there was not much else he could do at this point, he tapped his desk and brought up Harvey.

  The glowing blue figure materialized a few inches from the desktop, smiling wide. “Why Mr. Barcas, I am delighted to see you. How can I help you?”

  “Cancel all of my appointments for the rest of the day. Send the usual reasons for my absence.”

  “I can certainly do that for you. By the way, you have a message from Mrs. Barcas. Would you like me to play it?”

  Arvad paused. Gods, was that today? It had been a month since he’d last seen his wife and he’d put her off the last few times. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

  He sighed and said, “Yes. Go ahead.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Harvey disappeared. In his place, a holographic three-dimensional projection of his wife from the shoulders up appeared. Domina Barcas had aged well. Her locks of flowing dark hair bound in an orange-and-blue headband with an attractive mosaic pattern, Arvad’s favorite. Her piercing blue eyes set against her tan skin always seem to see straight through the layers of Arvad’s persona to core of who he was.

  She retained much of the beauty of her youth, adding only a few lines and a strength and poise that only grew with each passing year. Many compared her to Dido, that great lady that led the first Carthaginian convoys across space, and called her a reincarnation. And she was entirely devoted to Arvad. Unlike the marriages of his contemporaries, theirs had been one of love as well as political maneuvering. He considered himself fortunate which is why he felt a knot of guilt in his stomach as she began speaking.

  “Arvad, dear,” the hologram said, carrying the smoky quality of her voice perfectly. It also carried sadness and worry. “Today’s the day you re-scheduled our dinner from last time. I sincerely hope you will carve out time in your schedule to make it this time. I will be at Hyrum’s at the usual table and the usual time.” Her eyes glistened as she took in a breath. “I miss you, Arvad. Please...come.”

  With that, the image blipped away, replaced half a second later with Harvey’s smiling form.

  “That’s the end of the message, sir,” Harvey said cheerily. “Would you like to send a response?”

  Arvad swallowed. Of course he did. He had so many things he wanted to tell her. All the plans he had in place. The cares and worries of running Carthage, Inc. All those things that men have confided in their wives since time imemorial. But, he couldn’t. Not yet.

  “No,” he said to Harvey. “I want to surprise her. Have James bring up my dinner suit. I’m going for a bath.”