

### Paradox Gifted

an allegory of things to come...

Copyright © 2015 by Allen Taylor.

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Smashwords

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author, expect in the case of brief quotations within critical articles and reviews.

Cover design by Ana Grigoriu, www.books-design.com

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishment, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Stage 0 - The consequences of the past.

Stage 1 - No matter the means, the truth can never be hidden.

Stage 2 - We are reborn into shadows, so then why must we walk in the light?

Stage 3 - And so, the hunt begins...

Stage 4 -...as we watch the hunted run!

Stage 5 - The devil in the details.

Stage 6 - Failure is not an option.

Stage 7 - Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Stage 8 - So the prodigal daughter returns.

Stage 9 - And the dogs, let lose for war.

Stage 10 - Look, and you shall find it. Ask, and it shall be given to you.

Stage 11 - Recall, recall the days of lore! When we kings of men, where made!

Stage 12 - The complication of truth is that sometimes the truth isn't complicated.

Stage 13 - There are far deeper places, darker revelations.

Stage 14 - The right of passage from innocent dove to clever snake.

Stage 15 - The calm before the storm.

Stage 16 - May the chips fall where they may.

Stage 17 - The turning of the tide.

Stage 18 - There are somethings, that can't always be said.

Stage 19 - The ghost, the shadow.

A Note of Thanks

A History

About the Writer

#  Stage 0

### The consequences of the past.

From ground to air, from space to solar system, galactic expansion drove humanity and its technology to the limits thanks to the Void's limitless exploration. The Void, a term coined by our precursors, was invoked the moment humankind leapt into the deep nothing of space.

Necessity drove them to the far reaches of the Void, for failure meant extinction of the species. Survival was given only to the fittest. Those few sowed the first seeds into the Void, taking new territories and molding them into their likeness.

Even so, their most advanced technology could not explain the impetus of the coming transformation. The seeds planted before them opened the gates that surpassed the human condition, the limits of their earthbound environment.

Humankind had reached the "Unquantifiable Age".

Though their evolution had once been limited by a known horizon, in the vastness of the Void they discovered that hope wasn't the only thing waiting at the bottom of Pandora's Box.

Their true heritage had been held in chains by the gravity of a once ancestral cradle; a heritage that held more mysteries than the whole of the Void, a heritage with the potential to illuminate their existence, or a path to mute all in darkness.

For this much they will have to suffer.

Most assuredly, pain is the reality of existence.

\--excerpt from, "The Listlessness of Man."

She closed the book of excerpts, a gift given to her by her mentor. So strange to hold an actual physical book in this day and age. Her finger ran over the texture of the unidentifiable leather binding. Its old, faded colors, the imprinted letters and flaking gold stenciled lettering brought back memories of a time lost to her.

Her hands trembled, a hint of exasperation and an exhale. She squeezed her hands into fists to help ease the shake.

Far more interested in the destination rather than the journey, Miranda's detached gaze rested on the vivid neon of the helm's blinking displays. None of this brought back the joy she had felt when she first took to the stars; the term had evolved from starry wonder to dismal display.

Though with every curse, a blessing is offered to offset the negative side effects, and technology brought that to life with a few keyed commands. Within moments she had activated the Real-Time Image Generation, a 360-degree holographic display that brought to life the wonders she so craved. A system made specifically to aide in navigational controls, from manual docking procedures to star mapping, was now being used to bring back some level of joy to the woman sitting in the captain's chair. Able to discern the planet which was their last destination for this mission and the supply depot that corresponded with their final wave point, she and her crew made final preparations for auto dock. She loved the RTIG system, as it gave the bridge the illusion of not being encapsulated in military grade structural alloys and ballistic armor.

She was never quite sure why this small gesture made her feel more at ease with her circumstance, but as long as she could pass the long hours watching the vastness of the Void and in turn its innumerable stars numbing her mind and keeping her from thinking too deeply, remembering too vividly.

Having entered the Disolenum solar system, the crew of the Simaloe had made a supply pick-up on Essephus, the only militarized moon within system governed by the newly independent Colonial Federalist government, with a scheduled wave point and course heading for the only habitable planet within the Disolenum system that was still held by the Old Imperial Republic: Samraum. She found it odd that a Colonial ship would be making supply runs so close to a former enemy, more over that her designated location was a Colonial owned military resupply depot in a geosynchronous orbit over the planet.

History offered the foundation to her current state of mind and the numbness that accompanied her. Then again, having to fly this particular type of ship didn't help her present circumstance.

Of all the ships in the Colonial Fleet, the Schooner class was one of the original concept designs for void travel and now one of the most prevalent ship designs in known of the void. This particular ship was a modified militarized version, an MDTSS or Military Defense Tactical Supply Ship. The large armored frame and a modular expanded cargo capacity, in conjunction with powerful void ion thrust engines and fusion gas atmospheric gravity lift engines made it a favorite not only for deep void travel but also for planetary touchdown and liftoff.

The ship lurched forward as it began its deceleration, and the RTIG view flickered due to the sudden shift in gravitational stress.

A sigh escaped her lips.

The docking process was automated. The most her crew had to do was verify the incoming cargo was in place and make sure it was securely latched. Her job boiled down to a supervisory role - verification, mostly and sometimes striking up a conversation with the on-duty supply officer.

"Well, well, well! Aren't you the brightest, shining jewel in the dark filled Void!"

As luck would have it, this was one of those times. There was a flicker of annoyance upon her features. She hated the fact that when docked, anyone at the helmsman deck of the supply depot could cue up the ship's bridge cameras. A display shot to life and a familiar face appeared on its screen.

"How long have you been watching me, Lieutenant First Class?"

She glanced up to the Video Voice Display as it came to life. She didn't have it in her to even sound playful. There was evidence of concern on the weathered features of the man on the other end.

"No more than a second or two before I piped up. You look like you've worked yourself over a few times, Miranda."

Another involuntary sigh. No matter how long she'd been in the service, no matter the rank, Lieutenant First Class Richard De'Raegon always managed to disarm her by using her civilian name. That, and the fact that he happened to be her closest friend and mentor. He disarmed her with genuine concern and familiarity.

"...it's been a very, very long week Richard. I'm ready for my month's leave and this time I'm turning everything off until I'm ready to be found."

There was a smile on his battered old face.

"Just hang in there. This isn't a glamorous assignment, but there will be benefits within a few years, I promise you."

She looked up at him and returned a warm and thankful smile. The payoff would be a job running courier assignments, which involved a smaller ship, a two man crew and most importantly to Miranda, a see-thru canopy.

Though this was a far cry from her previous duties, she was none-the-less grateful to Richard. Had it not been for him and a handful of friends in high places, she wouldn't be wearing the Colonial uniform, let alone be allowed to pilot a half billion mark ship.

"Miranda, just remember that we are here t—."

Blackness.

Like a computer rebooting from an unknown system crash, her body slowly started to register each of her five senses in successive order. First, her hearing was pierced by a high pitch howling, as her vision registered in double, slow realization that she was staring at the bridge's bulkhead. Taste and smell came next, the coppery essence of blood in her mouth. The distinct ozone smell of a fire-suppressant lingered in the air. In that flood of sensory data, the last sense came alive in the form of acute pain, hitting her addled mind like a sledgehammer.

Forcing her vision to clear was proving unproductive. The ship's interior echoed with a cacophony of warning alarms and sirens that made it impossible for her to even concentrate on such a simple task. In lieu of her inability, Miranda made a concerted effort to bring herself into a seated position.

A sudden wave of dizziness assaulted her bruised head, making it spin more aggressively. Through the blinding pain, Miranda somehow managed to grab the captain's chair and regain her footing. Having righted herself, she could see that the RTIG was raining pixelated snow across the holographic projection, creating a surreal winter landscape.

Unable to move her left arm, she struggled to key in the command sequence to reboot the holographic system into auxiliary mode. With a few manual adjustments, the holographic display started to clear from its haze.

What she saw stole her breath. An explosion had torn through the hull of the supply depot on the port side, and a gigantic plume of jet blue flame erupted with intense violence as it jettisoned into the Void. The flame itself was terrifying, but what brought the sheer terror in her eyes was the sudden burn out. The force of atmosphere venting from the breached hull had caused the entire station to spin out of geosynchronous orbit.

To complicate matters the RTIG system went back to raining snow.

Even though her ship was docked on the starboard side, the force had been so extreme that it knocked Miranda out cold. If she had docked on the aft or stern, there wouldn't have been much of a ship left to command, by the evidence of other vessels now being hurtled through the Void.

Hell had let fly and she was right in middle of it.

Smashing her fist down on the emergency command and control button, she barked out her first, pain-filled words.

"This is MDTSS vessel Alpha-Charlie-Romeo-Zulu-five-two-seven. Supply depot in wave point Six-Three-Nine has suffered a massive explosion. Repeat, Sam Delta Six-Three-Nine has suffered a massive explosion, over!"

A voice squawked back, though barely audible through the scream of alarms echoing through the ship's interior.

"This is Station Five-Niner-Five; distress signal received. Sending auxiliary support vessels, t-minus two minutes."

Even in a wartime scenario, the support personnel reaction time wouldn't have been enough to save those caught in the blast. The tremendous explosion that tore through the station had ripped with such force that it almost broke the airtight seal and the locking mechanism holding Miranda's ship to the docking couple. Damage reports were already streaming through the system, proving just how lucky she and her crew had been, and how unlucky the poor souls were on the aft and stern.

Miranda knew that she had nine minutes and fifty eight seconds. The exactness of time rang through her like a well-known church bell, even as she overrode the station's PA system.

"All personnel evacuate to dock Zero-Three. Repeat, all personnel evacuate to dock Zero-Three!"

Her fingers moved in a frantic fashion as she started to key up the VVD.

"Lieutenant! Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Static crackled, mocking her. She could hear the stress of a bulkhead buckling from the still-active mike.

Miranda's breath became more erratic, her eyes darting from screen to screen, fingers punching commands that were irrelevant to the situation, desperate to bring back the RTIG.

"Richard! Lieutenant Richard De'Raegon can you hear me?"

A desperate and panting second mate burst into the bridge,

"What are you thinking?! We can't possibly hold that many people in our cargo hold!"

"Lieutenant Richard De'Raegon, please respond!"

Silence.

"Lieutenant Major! We can't hold that many people on ship!"

She snapped her field of vision over to her second mate, roaring her order to cut through the blast of background noise.

"Then you'd better start dumping equipment. Cram them in like sardines, soldier! That's an order!"

The RTIG blinked back to life only to display the lifeless, flash-frozen bodies of several hundred people floating rather serenely past them. Miranda would have gasped, but the shock was all too real. Even her second mate couldn't bring himself to utter a word. She noted the etched expressions on their faces, emotions forever captured in gruesome variety. If only nightmares were made of such things.

A sudden flash of light appeared, blinding Miranda for a moment. Though not as powerful as the first, the force of the secondary explosion rocked the station, sending the second mate scrambling for a handhold. The shock wave had scattered remnant remains like chaff in the wind. Turning his eyes away from the RTIG and he sprinted back down to the storage hold, tossing an expletive into the fray just to make known the futility of it all.

Miranda made a noise between a yell and a growl, as he keyed up her mic once more,

"Richard, you need to move to the docking area... please Richard answer me!"

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her throat so tightly clenched it nearly stole her ability to speak. She could hear the low groaning as the vacuum of the Void started to buckle the superstructure of the supply depot.

The VVD crackled to life,

"—randa...Mi—nda...can you hea—?"

"Richard, yes! I can hear you. You're coming a bit choppy. You need to escape, Richard to the cargo ba—."

She was interrupted rather brusquely, "Miran...isten! Sending you a fi—..."

A transfer system queued up, and started receiving a file to her personal data storage system. Miranda stared in disbelief. As the little bar counted upwards, she felt an awkward detachment,

"Richard, I'm getting your file, bu—"

"Miranda, I'm... —lood lo—... i—...save those you can, save yourse—...Miranda, I'm sorry I cou—..."

The line went dead as a third explosion shattered the connection.

Miranda could see it now, the depot station's helmsman bay completely engulfed in blue flames.

Richard being consumed by fire.

Richard was now dead.

Tears blurred her vision. She started shaking her head as if trying to will Richard back.

"This can't be it happening, no this can't be happening!"

Grief threatened to split her mind in two. She had lost the only man she every trusted aside from her biological father. A man she grew to love due to his guiding hand during the most vulnerable days of her Paradoxical military training.

Yet, in the midst of this emotional confusion, her training... no, _his_ training started to clear the fog.

She couldn't let him down.

She couldn't cry now.

She had to save those she could.

She had to save herself.

She keyed up the ship's PA. "Thomas what's your status?"

"Skipper, we have fifty soldiers. Another twenty are injured. Sir, I-I mean Ma'am, that last explosion is causing a high density fire in the station's main crux. We can see the flames at the junction point some three hundred yards away..."

The depot held one thousand souls. The thought of so many dead or dying made her mission far more dire now, more important.

"We hold tight until the last possible moment. Release the hard lock and activate the ship's emergency locking system and deactivate the station's blast doors. Push everyone to the far end of the ship."

The shocked silence from her once-vocal second mate mirrored what she felt inside. Releasing the hard lock would only leave the soft lock in place. If so much as a solar wind hit the ship, it would be knocked loose. The emergency locking system was the only thing fast enough to close the gaping hole before it sucked everyone and everything in that room straight into the Void.

Miranda started to feel every second as they slowly ticked by. She could see her command being carried out; even see the faces of those in the cargo bay. Each face held a mixture of pain, panic, bravery and courage as some took charge and aided in the skipper's order to push everyone back and as others became obedient sheep.

The seconds ticked onward; she saw more injured, frightened men and women stumbling, running, falling all in slow motion. She witnessed some helping each other to relative safety even as others ignored anyone they crossed as their survival instinct ruled paramount.

Time had become an elastic thing to Miranda; she could see everything unfold in front of her. An understanding flooded her mind; an awareness that was on the verge of breaching omniscience.

She knew that those in the hall where the last of the remaining survivors.

She knew that they would just barely make it out alive.

She knew that while her finger was ready to execute the command to seal those blast doors, she would only have milliseconds to respond.

Time rushed back around her. Miranda, hit the emergency closure button, reacting on equal parts instinct and conscious decision.

The blast doors sealed just as one soldier made one final jump for his life, but he was too late. There was a thump, and a sudden screeching sound that traveled the length of the blast door, reminiscent of nails on a chalk board, only to be followed by the hushed abated breath, the shocked silence of those survivors witnessing one of their own meet a cruel demise. The silence was broken as the depot's hall exploded. Shrapnel slapped at the side of the ship with the most piercing of pinging sounds.

Miranda's hands were moving without thought and in an instant she ripped out of the soft seal and throttled the ship into the Void, barely leaving an inch of breadth between ship and depot as it blew itself apart.

What she couldn't have appreciated in that moment was that the thing she had spent years trying to control within herself had used her emotional instability to break through her defenses. In that moment, she had begun a countdown to the inevitable. The knot growing within her was her subconscious sending her a warning.

This time there would be no Richard to help stop it.

#  Stage 1

### No matter the means, the truth can never be hidden.

Upon her return to Ephera, one of three habitable planets within the Passers Cover system, Miranda had written her incident report and delivered it to the Internal Security Section, or ISS, the same day. She reported to the Chief of Internal Security of Ephera Primus and relinquished all evidence for any pending investigation including her PSS.

Three weeks later she received a notice that her presence would be required for a special inquiry. The notice came with two specific requirements:

1. To be dressed in her formal dress whites.

2. That her PSS be transferred to the Northeast ISS, still pending in lockup with the Chief of Internal Security.

As she sat waiting at ISS headquarters in the capital city of Ephera Primus, anyone passing by would notice that she was smartly clothed and fully decked in her military ensemble.

The uniform consisted of a knee length woolen skirt and a silk blouse, which was tucked in to offer a clean look. A golden wheat-colored braided rope draped over one of her shoulders, which was then secured by a board she had attached to the top of the same shoulder. On her left hand side above the breast pocket, neatly arranged in vertical standing order, were all her service related ribbons; an impressive array in both number and color. The board on her left shoulder proudly displayed her rank and insignia.

Her mind kept racing as she considered the reason for such formality. Usually, something like this was addressed in normal black and khakis or even in work blues. Her musing was interpreted by a door opening. A fully commissioned officer beckoned her to come inside.

Standing, she smoothed down her skirt and followed the young woman through the door.

The area was large, vacant and strangely absent of the sounds one would associate with a large, empty room. The nature of the echo giving off its soft dispirited sounds was unaccounted for, giving her an eerie feeling as of being held in submission. In military tradition spanning several centuries, a large dark wood table stood in front of her. A single vacant chair faced the table with the standard meter separation.

Five high ranking officers watched as she walked next to the chair and stood at attention. Three men and two women. The younger looking male officer cleared his throat.

"As part of this special inquiry, it will be noted that all present have a security clearance of Verified Compartmental, which is the clearance needed for full disclosure of your dossier. Please offer us your formal introduction."

Without any hesitation.

"I am Lieutenant Major Miranda Arrlae Grey, former commanding officer of the Planetary Orbital Defense Unit 59 orbiting Gilrich Gulch. I am a Gifted level five Stress Precognitive, with an enhancement rating level one Combat Precognitive. I've been determined to be paradoxically Gifted, though I am currently classified as D.Y.U.

There was a muttered stirring as a few of those seated opened their manila folders, Miranda heard one of them murmur, "Dangerous, Yet Unidentified."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Major, please sit down."

As instructed she sat down. She kept her eyes forward, not looking nor seeing, but adhering to strict military protocol.

"You may not know why we have called this inquiry, but the reasoning behind this examination relates to the incident that you were part of three weeks ago this day. This inquiry is to gather as much intelligence as to the manner of the explosion you witnessed, the circumstances before and after the explosion, and more importantly, the actions of Lieutenant First Class Richard De'Raegon."

Her stomach sank.

The nature of the explosion was indeed worrisome, but there was no reason why the military wouldn't want to shelf it off as accidental if the preliminary investigation offered compelling evidence. She had been keen to read everything she could pertaining to the accident. Even to the point of reading some of the more intrepid conspiracy theorists on the Grid. Theories ranged from a rogue meteorite to a complex cover-up due to hazardous material on board.

If after three weeks they were still stonewalling the media about an official reason for the accident, this only made her that much more suspicious of this inquiry's true purpose.

This must have registered on her features because one the older female officers responded.

"We understand that you and LFC Richard were rather good friends, and that he was your mentor. We aren't here to place blame on him or anyone else, but the nature of the explosion is," there was an unnecessary pause, "troubling."

She couldn't take any longer.

"Permission to speak, Commander Major."

"Permission granted, Lieutenant Major."

There was something in that woman's tone that sparked Miranda's latent paranoia.

"Commander Major, if you would explain to me what of the explosion makes you feel troubled, I might better answer your question. I filed my report, in detail, about what happened that day. If my report is lacking then I am more—"

She was cut off by the highest ranking officer on the table, a man by the rank of Commander First Class.

"Your report is adequate enough, for the scope that report is purposed for. What we would like to know is exactly how you managed to escape with a cargo bay full of people and why you didn't take your second in command's concern to evacuate as is standard protocol in a post wartime situation?"

Miranda was stunned, not only did this man cut her off with all the finesse of a machete, but there was the overbearing insinuation.

"Commander First Class, are you implying that—"

"—your comrade and mentor, Richard, warned you of the impending explosion to help boost your reputation after your previous fall from grace? Yes, I am."

Miranda was starting to lose a grip on her temper. She couldn't even fathom such a question.

"With all due respect, sir," her voice started to quake with anger, "Lieutenant First Class Richard De'Raegon was one of the finest Supply Officer Corpsman this military has ever had. He served as a Colonial Privateer, distinguished himself in service and designed our current supply chain handbook. He penned the training manual now used C.G.E wide on modern day Void-centric blockade running and counter blockade maneuvers. He trained the infamous fleet, The Hell's Wind Motley, who were then called to action when the Colonies strove for independence, which in turn allowed you to wear your uniform and rank ever so proudly."

The man's face took on a purple shade, but before he could interrupt, Miranda bashed her balled up fist on the arm of her chair and continued undaunted.

"Additionally, he was the lead commanding officer during the Paradoxical Training Corps, where he trained officers who showed promise in the paradoxical Gifted traits, of which I was one of its members. He loved his country before it was even a sovereign state and served the men and women under his command even to death, by personally dispensing with 'post wartime protocol' so that some would survive."

Her fist was balled up so tight, her fingernails were cutting into the palm of her hand. She would be damned if she was going to allow some flat-footed CFC smear the memory and service of one of the greatest military men the Colonies had _ever_ produced.

"What you're saying is that he didn't give you advanced warning, then?"

The man had somehow managed to return to a more natural coloration and was sitting a little straighter now. But his voice was not quite as calm as before. A lesser person would have found his intense gaze troubling, but Miranda was never one to back down to a threat.

"What I'm saying sir, is that LFC Richard De'Raegon was severely injured during the explosion while talking to me through the VVC. He reaffirmed my order as a senior enlisted officer to stay as long as I could and save as many of his crew as possible, without endangering myself and those on my vessel."

Her body language could not be mistaken; she was sitting straighter as well, her other hand was now clenched and both hands were resting on her thighs. If her gaze was capable of kinetic combustion, that overstuffed clothes rack would have been turned into a smothering pile of ashes.

The youngest of the female officers, a Commander Third Class interceded. Miranda couldn't swear to it, but she caught a faint hint of amusement in her tone.

"Then we have your firm affirmation that LFC Richard De'Raegon was taken by surprise like everyone else?"

Miranda almost growled her answer.

"I swear it on my oath as a member of the Colonial Armed Services."

"Excellent, now we can move on to more pressing matters, the file that he uploaded to your PSS; we'd like to review that data."

A muffled, strangled noise came from her superior officer.

Miranda's mind stopped in its tracks. She had been so fired up about their mistreatment of Richard that it took her a moment to respond.

"The NE-ISS in charge should have it in lockup by now, ma'am."

Commander Third Class then nodded to a young woman that had answered the door when Miranda had entered and just as quietly as she had been standing there, left to retrieve said PSS.

"How did you know when to close the blast doors?"

Miranda blinked, her full attention was now focused to the woman questioning her. She took a closer look at the woman's rank and coughed.

"I'm not sure if the answer would be accepted in conventional terms, Commander Third Class."

She smiled, but there was not a hint of mirth to it.

"You've already disclosed that you are Gifted and paradoxically so. Shall we dispense with the coyness."

Miranda's eye twitched, but she continued with her explanation.

"I was able to see the events that were going to transpire while I was under duress. An advanced form of what most would call a 'gut feeling' to which, I reacted accordingly."

There was a noted and varied tone of disapproval to her answer. Everyone, including the overstuffed CFC, had a rather smug look about them. Everyone except the woman asking the question.

The Commander Third Class pulled something out of the manila folder, making a show of the fact that she was reading off the referenced page.

"Not all Gifted have within them what is collectively known as a paradoxical Gift, a term with highly nebulous meaning. Miranda Grey's Gifted trait endows her with the ability to see events before they happen, but with specific limitations. When she joined the Paradoxical Training Corps, she originally ranked as a Stress Precognitive Level I, as she is able to see events fifteen seconds in advance, but only when under duress. As her progression during her training increased she became a Stress Precognitive Level V, which allowed her to enter the enhancement portion of her regime in order to become a Combat Precognitive Level I. Only when she reached the enhancement stage did our instrumentation identify that she was also paradoxically Gifted."

The young woman with the rank of Commander Third Class continued to read, but this time from a different paper.

"The Paradoxical Training Corps was a questionable military program that determined certain human beings are born with certain innate abilities contrary to the Gifted norm, also referred to as paradoxical Gifts. This program was disbanded because of the unstable nature of its nomenclature, the paradoxical Gifted, this and the rather obscure nature of its chain of command. Its clandestine creation and classification was Ultra Top Security, and it shared rather deep ties to a covert governmental unit of a then newly reformed covert and security apparatus, to which the declassified name is Branch Cell. The unclassified operational description of this bureau is indicated as:

"The coordination and recruitment of military personnel, contingent upon the completion of 'the Training' for Colonial security assignments."

She paused and took a breath.

"Does this summary cover the nature of the Paradoxical Training Corps?" She looked up. "If so, then I am compelled to ask, why is it that your application wasn't accepted into Branch Cell?"

Miranda clenched her teeth. The question was meant to discredit her and she had to answer carefully. She took a calming breath and managed to unclench her teeth and her hands, all in an effort to add to a more neutral tone of voice.

"I was not accepted into Branch Cell because I had not finished the last required training tenant. The Paradoxical Training Corps was disbanded when my turn came due."

"I see, so you failed to meet the final Milestone," she said, looking down at the sheet of paper. "You failed to fully predict combat related precognition."

"Permission to speak, Commander Third Class."

"Permission denied, Lieutenant Major." The coolness in her command made Miranda's blood run cold. She couldn't be more than thirty years old, but the fact that she held such a high rank at such a young age was extraordinary.

Miranda would need to keep a close watch on what she said around this woman.

The door opened and the young officer returned with her PSS in hand. As she passed Miranda, she was able to get a better look and her awareness was spurred giving her that unique 'gut feeling'.

The officer was youthful and vibrant, which in and of itself wasn't unusual. What made Miranda take note was that this woman was ravishingly beautiful. So much so that as a woman, choosing the military as a career could have actually been a deterrent. Her feminine softness held a formality that was not standard military issue. There was a command to her features, a gentle sort of arrogance that lead Miranda to believe she had received a much different kind of training, an aristocratic breeding that had been formed and molded from a young age. She carried herself with quiet sort of regalness and, Miranda noted that this young woman shared her own rank.

As Miranda's eyes passed over the woman's uniform, her visual acuity then confirmed the reason for her 'gut feeling' There was a third and smaller insignia located on the left hand sides of her collar and shoulder board. As her eyes continued to follow, she adjusted her view to take in both women. She noted that the woman with the rank of CTC had the same insignia. As far as she could tell it was some form of laurel wreath, but any details escaped her. Without much ado, the strikingly beautiful young officer placed the PSS in the outstretched hand of her ranking officer.

In that moment, the ranked CTC and the young woman shared a look for the slightest of moments, and after an almost imperceptible nod she turned, returning to where she had originally been standing. Not a word was said between them but Miranda couldn't shake the feeling that something meaningful had just transpired.

With PSS in hand, the Commander Third Class inserted the device into an adapter on her desk and powered on the device. A holographic screen appeared in front of everyone. With a few deft movement of her hand on the projected image, she cued up the appropriate file. The picture changed, displaying a video. As the video started Miranda made out a desk and the smiling face of her old friend.

The emotion of seeing him again rushed through Miranda like a tidal wave. As tears started to build up in her eyes, she did her best to control her sudden emotional burst.

"Hello, my dear Miranda. If you are hearing this it's because I'm no longer able to be with you. Do not fret, because I am no longer in any danger. I'm merely in a different place now. A place where I know my purpose will have a far more reaching effect. The reason for this is twofold it's a supplement to my official will. My lawyers and my wife know of this, so the lawyers will be mailing you some items I wish to pass down to you.

"Just so you know what to expect, here is the list, just in case:

The marble chest set.

That replica Trojan horse you so loved.

A real wood mahogany jewelry chest - the one you told me you admired.

"I know you were always interested and awed by history and antiques, so I wish to impart them to you. Know that I will always love you like my own daughter; you are and always will be my best and most adept pupil, my most willing and hardest working student. Always remember,

" _For shadows cast, when in reach of light, and never cast, when in dark."_

Miranda was shaking. She couldn't let these vultures see in her in such a state so she clenched her teeth again and swallowed back her tears. But in the mist of these tumultuous emotions, she was concerned by what she just heard.

"Lieutenant Major." She was brought back from her reverie by a direct question. "Is this all that LFC Richard De'Raegon sent you that day?"

Breathing in, she managed to hide a telltale sniffle. "Yes, Commander Third Class. That was all he sent me."

The woman watched her with a penetrating gaze, but from what Miranda observed of her body language, she had failed to achieve what she was after. In those subtle shades, Miranda was able to discern her predicament.

"Very well. You are dismissed. Additionally, your request for leave has been granted."

Miranda stood, offered her superiors a brisk salute and turned for the door, smoothly side stepping the chair on her way out.

"Before you go, there's one final issue, Lieutenant Major Miranda."

Miranda heard the chair being pushed back and as she turned, Ms. CTC was making her way over to her. Her high heels barely made a sound as she walked up to Miranda,

"Don't forget your PSS. I'm sure you'll want to keep that video for sentimental reasons."

Miranda didn't like the woman. She was taller than Miranda, and though they both shared a small frame, Ms. CTC had a leaner, muscled physique that was characteristic of an active and athletic life. Miranda was curvier and rather proud of her more accented femininity.

By Miranda's own considerations, a fair assessment that by contrast, Ms. CTC was proud of her more muscular trim physique.

"Thank you, Commander Third Class."

"Carmen."

Miranda blinked; in some circles this would have been considered a serious breach of protocol, a sentiment obviously shared by the sudden muffled gasps from the four officers still at the table.

"Commander Third Class Carmen Zigfler, officially. But you can call me Carmen." Carmen extended her hand to Miranda.

Miranda Grey wasn't the type of woman to be stonewalled, but today marked a clear example of such an occasion. Automatic on her part; she took Carmen's offered hand and gave it a firm shake. Miranda felt something press against the palm of her hand. A gliding gesture of Carmen's fingers against her palm deposited whatever she offered in such a way that it wouldn't fall onto the floor.

"Do let us know if you intend to leave the system. We might need you again for further clarification."

There was a glint of steel in her eyes, but her voice was just as smooth as before; professional, fluid and cool.

With that, CTC Carmen made an about face and headed back to her stunned colleagues.

On cue, the woman that delivered her PSS touched her arm. "This way, Miranda."

Miranda followed, not sure what to make of what had just happened. She had no idea what was in her hand and the content of Richard's message had made a mess of her rather fragile emotional state.

Miranda recalled the events that lead to her meeting Richard. In her zeal to an ideal of a new country, Miranda had joined the revolution. She was a junior officer for the Old Imperial Republic, and had successful executed the planned system wide mutiny. Many were the sacrifices she had made when she turned traitor, the blood she and her command had shed for that new ideal.

Soon after the solidification of the Colonial Federalist government and the covert and security apparatus, she was inducted into the Paradoxical Training Corps.

Richard's last words kept swirling through her brain. The reference to history and most of all, his poetic prose:

" _For shadows cast, when in reach of light, and never cast, when in dark."_

A reference to an unpublished work. Written by one of his colleagues when he was still in command of the blockade runners, that highlighted the use of shadow organizations.

"Faithful are we to country, fought did we to create and protect," he would sometimes say.

So ingrained were the lessons, even Richard's sporadic quotes of that unpublished work, the essays in logic given to her so that she might crack such obscure language. Sessions that held its own righteous weight in meaning, and were no mere slip of the tongue.

This was one of Richard's favorite teaching tools, the philosophical musing between mentor and student, and he would often talk to her about the governments that wield the absolute right to destroy all trace of the shadows they create and their willingness to remove it from its collective memory.

Any mention of the shadows, for the good of a Nation and the good of Country, would be denied, in the most plausible way possible. A concept that personified the now disavowed Paradoxical Training Corps; itself a shadow birthed in darkness and destroyed in darkness, an entity that will never again cast itself against the light.

As such, she had once been inducted into that darkness, forced now to live in the light, casting her own shadow about. No way to trust anyone outside of that society, removed from all as a shadow should.

A guiding presence in the form of pressure on her forearm brought Miranda from her daydream. She found herself standing outside of the secure corridor, the young woman watching her, her gentle features beholding her in that soft, yet arrogant way,

"Will there be anything else, Miranda?"

As was the officer's tradition, if two shared the same rank they would address each other by first name. This was intended to establish a sense of comradeship between officers. As Miranda's eyes passed over the woman's rank, an automatic gesture, she could now see in far greater detail the third insignia. It was indeed a laurel wreath, wrapped around a broken arrow.

"No...thank you. That will be all. I...um...I didn't catch your name," said Miranda, her voice devoid of emotion.

Even as the young woman smiled, Miranda could feel herself getting sick to her stomach

"My name is Aerlina." Miranda noted the last name on the woman's lapel: Menoncourt.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miranda Grey." There was warmth to her speech, the sort of spoken kindness that hinted a refined upbringing

Even as Miranda offered her a nod, Aerlina continued.

"You should take a moment to visit the ladies lavatory, Miranda. You are looking rather ashen."

Miranda nodded her agreement. "Thank you, Aerlina. Don't trouble yourself; I'll make it there in one piece."

Aerlina gave her a concerned looked, but relented. She offered Miranda a nod, turned on her heel, and made her way back in the direction in which she came.

Miranda had one thing on her mind. Walking as quickly as she dared in heels, she made a dash to the closest ladies restroom, only to make it to the stall in the nick of time.

After a few minutes of agony, she managed to lift herself up and opened the stall door, dragging herself over to the sink to start the ritual washing of the mouth. As she rinsed, she opened her hand for the first time to see what CTC Carmen had forced upon her.

It was a small pin, much like the pin that Aerlina - and Carmen herself - was wearing. The only difference, was that it was a parchment scroll wrapping a broken arrow instead of a laurel wreath.

Miranda studied the pin, her trained paranoia coming back in full force, and searched for any telltale markings, any trace of electronics, or any other clues about its purpose or origin. After a few moments, she decided to get the pin checked out in a more thorough manner. She had a friend in counter-intelligence who had the equipment necessary to prove or disprove her suspicion.

Placing the pin in her pocket, she cleaned herself up a bit more and took a deep breath. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Many would say she was in the prime of life, having only recently turned twenty-nine. She was one of the few female officers to have achieved such high ranking so quickly, due in part to the most influential moment of the newly established government and military she now served.

Her service to the Colonial Armed Services began at the age of eighteen, though she had enlisted as a junior officer at sixteen with the Old Imperial Void Naval Branch. Prior to a few months back she had been one of the rising stars of the C.A.S. She considered her features in the mirror. She had what some historians would call a "classic German" look. In her mind, her features were more rounded, not quite as sharp in cheek bone, though her chin did come down to a gentle point. The freckles that were once so prominent in her youth had started to blend in with her pale skin tone, though she would never be completely rid of them. Her eyes were a shade of palest blue-green, with a myriad of colorful flecks that offset that moonlit coloring. As she touched her lips with her wet fingers, she considered them for a moment. Though never what one would call voluptuous, there was a fullness to them.

She exhaled as she watched herself. The one thing she hated about being in the military was the fact that she had to cut her long hair in favor a more manageable military style. Once upon a time she would have kept her thick, wavy strawberry colored hair down to her shoulders. That had been her small vanity, the pride and joy of her father. She could almost feel the length of it as she reached up to arrange her hair.

Miranda allowed herself this final regret. There was no point in worrying about something so trivial, not now.

She heard the door open and straightened with the pretext of tucking in her silk blouse. She adjusted her belt, returned the salute offered to her by an enlisted woman, and then stepped out into the corridor. She had work to do before her vacation could even start.

As she made her way out into the main corridor her eyes ventured up to one of the many monitors that displayed a 24-hour news stream. She couldn't believe her eyes as she read the subtitles from the muted newscaster.

"As many of our viewers know, details over the tragedy that happened in orbit over the planet of Samraum have finally been concluded. We have received an official statement from the Colonialist Federal government that, in fact, the explosion was accidental. We repeat, the explosion was accidental in nature. It was likely caused by a rogue meteorite that struck a compartment full of the depot station's liquid fuel stores..."

The Colonial NewsGrid, which covered Disolenum to Passers Cove, was buzzing within seconds. Miranda moved over to a monitor displaying the news feed of one of the major networks within the Correlated Galactic Entente. News of the update spread like wildfire as accounts from so-called experts wielding laser pointers like weapons, vied for attention in pronouncing with certainty their presumptions to an obviously eager audience.

Further details were then given, revealing that some eighty solders were able to make it out with their lives, though a full fourth of them were injured. More information started to saturate the news streams including details of how eleven ships had been docked at the time and that only three had managed to survive intact.

There was no mention of the brave pilots, but there was much fanfare about the brave and heroic actions of the Depot Supply officer in charge, Lieutenant First Class Richard De'Raegon. Though unknown to most in the civilian sector, she could hear gasps and sighs from those in the corridor where she stood. Anyone who had spent any time in the military knew of his service. There would be much sadness displayed at the local pubs later that evening.

Miranda stood mesmerized by the nature of their communications network and the power of the GENCOM v.10 system. To think that at one point, this level of communication retrieval had been all but lost to them as a species. Oh how she wished for the days of The Great Blackout, even as the darkness of her own past started to surface from her subconscious.

She pushed those emotions away, urging herself to continue onward. She still had a desk full of paperwork to finish before she could even think about leaving.

#  Stage 2

### We are reborn into shadows, so then why must we walk in the light?

It took longer than she liked to leave the military complex, having to check out and do some last minute signing and receiving of paperwork for her approved leave.

Once all was in order, she noticed that she had an electronic message from her building manager. A package was waiting for her. With this new information she did not hesitate to make an executive decision as she exited the building, she would drive straight home.

As she drove through the winding parking garage of the complex and out the main gate, her anxiety started to grow. She wanted to see what her dear friend and mentor had sent her.

His curious words kept haunting her and she puzzled over them as she drove. She kept an eye on the speedometer, choosing to forgo the verification of the electronic signature of the pin. Instead, she simply decided to treat it as hostile. Within thirty minutes she managed to get to her apartment without having maimed herself or others on the road.

As quickly as she could muster in her high-heeled shoes, she rushed to the main door of the apartment building and headed for the building manager's office.

Just as she opened the door a smiling face greeted her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Grey! How can I help?"

Miranda returned the building manager assistant's warm smile.

"Good afternoon, Vyacheslav. Did a box come for me today?"

The young man stood up.

"Just a moment. Preeti messaged me that a few packages arrived while I was out for lunch." He made his way into the back room.

While Miranda waited, her attention drifted to the low voice coming from a televised news source.

"In other news, a local terror group known as the Crimson Knights has once again issued a warning against the use of private property for covert governmental use. This is the fifth such warning in five years, and though authorities have previously issued a comment on the matter, this will mark the first year that no official word has been..."

"Ha! So here it is Ms. Grey." Vyacheslav had returned with a package. "If you could sign here please."

He waved his hand over the carrier package, and a rectangular outline appeared on the package, a large X residing within the outline.

Miranda couldn't help herself, as she picked up the box and looked it over with a sudden burst of curiosity. It was far heavier than a standard carrier box, about eighteen centimeters wide and about thirty long and almost as deep. Made of some sort of alloy she couldn't identify. She noticed that on the side of the carrier box, an angry red "Awaiting Authorization" notice blinked every seven seconds.

Curiosity sated, she laid it back on the counter, offering the now chuckling assistant a rather sheepish smile. Using her finger, she signed were directed, and after a few seconds, the blinking red turned a happy yellow and issued a "Thank you, Ms. Grey!" response. There was a subtle "click" as the lock disengaged.

Much like a book cover, the helpful assistant opened the lid for Miranda.

"There we go. The contents are all yours, Ms. Grey."

Miranda nodded, retrieving a rectangular brown package from within. She looked it over but there was nothing written on the exterior. The brown package was held together by wide black tape.

"Thanks again, Vyacheslav. Give Preeti my best, will you? Let her know we need to have lunch again sometime."

"Of course, Ms. Grey! I'll let her know, by and by."

With a nod and a smile, she turned and exited the manager's office. As she walked over to the row of mailboxes, she landed on a perfect solution to her troublesome insignia pin problem. She stopped at her mailbox and placed her thumb over the biometric sensor, then flipped open the lid. She paused to consider the antique device.

Who really needs mailboxes anyway?

Then the reality of her thought struck her.

Other than the occasional printed adverts that still plagued humanity, most physical media related to official government business. A reminder of the government's nostalgic need for physical records.

She took out what little mail she did have and placed the pin inside it.

It would be another month before any physical mail was delivered, so there was no harm in leaving it there for the time being. Closing the lid, she made her way to the staircase and, mindful of her heels, climbed up to the first floor.

It wasn't long before she was walking down a familiar hallway. Upon reaching the door to her apartment, she placed her thumb up against the biometric scanner, input her pin on the keypad, and with a click, she opened the door and stepped inside.

She dropped her mail on the floor and started to rip the tape off the box. Her heart hammered within her chest as she walked over to the dinner table and set the box down, settling into a chair. She opened the box and removed the three wrapped items. She took the one that looked most horse-like and began to unwrap it. Layer after layer, she pulled away the tissue paper protecting the figure, careful to make sure nothing was hidden within the layers.

It was indeed the horse she remembered hating so much, not so much for the craftsmanship, but for what it represented. An icon to the ridiculous fall of a once powerful civilization. She couldn't help but see a half a million subtle hints Richard was trying to give her. Though beautifully carved, nothing about the gift made sense. She searched again through the tissue to see if there was a note, but found nothing.

She moved to the second item. The mahogany box, an assumption based on weight.

She unwrapped it carefully, then opened it to find...nothing. Further investigation revealed that the edges were far too thin to hold any secret compartments. Once again, her search through the tissue paper was for naught.

She was less careful unwrapping the third item: the marble chessboard. The board itself was about eleven centimeters thick, with a hollowed out section where another smaller box held all the chess pieces neatly in place. She removed the smaller box and opened it. The pieces were all there, polished in black and white marble.

She exhaled a sigh. This all had to mean something, she was certain of it. He had given her two items that she had no interest in, but the chessboard was a different matter altogether. It represented one of their favorite pastimes together.

She sat back and studied the Trojan horse, the jewelry box and the chessboard; items with a plethora of meanings, but which ones mattered?

She closed her eyes and started to visualize the possibilities. The Trojan horse was representative of deception, the jewelry box could refer to wealth or the locking away of something precious. The chessboard on the other hand was just that, a game of strategy, a representation of cunning or thoughtful, analytical theory.

Exhaling, she opened her pale blue-green eyes and moved a slender hand to pick up the black queen. Her long graceful fingers played with the chess piece as she remembered how Richard had always spoken of each piece as if they were actual people.

He had anthropomorphized each piece, commenting on their role and behavior. She picked up each and every one in succession, gently inspecting the quality of the workmanship. Each was in their own particular grouping, bishops with bishops, towers with towers and so on. Only when she reached the knight grouping, did noticed something was amiss.

One of the four Knight pieces was different than the others. Each Knight piece was represented as a horse, of which they were all posed in a galloping stance.

All save two.

She picked up one of the knight chess pieces and looked it over. Up until that moment she had never paid it any mind, but this particular white knight was different. Miranda then picked up the black knight. It too was different than its other match.

Four knights, two with the same stance, two with differing stances and not in any way the same as the other.

Why would two knights share the same stance? And two differ from each other and the rest?

As she looked closely at the white knight, her eyes drifted out of focus to the Trojan horse on the table.

It struck her like a hammer's fall: one of the mismatch chess piece was reared up in the exact same stance as that Trojan horse.

Setting aside the white night, she looked again at the jewelry box, hoping for a similar revelation. But after opening and closing the lid, and turning the box in her hand, she still found nothing of note. She set it down and started to give the other chess pieces a more serious look.

The crown of the black queen!

With a white knight and a black queen in her hand, she looked over the other pieces. Miranda found them to be, to the best of her ability to classify, the same stone as the other pieces. She didn't see a seam as she twirled any of the pieces in her hand. There wasn't anything extraordinary, about the white knight and black queen, at least in their construction.

She realized she was holding her breath. Exhaling, she placed the white knight next to the statue of the Trojan horse and sat back again to watch the two pieces, hoping for inspiration. After a moment of that fruitless endeavor, she set the black queen on the chessboard and started to tap the base of the chess piece against the board.

What exactly caused her hand to move closer to the edge of the board, she couldn't answer, but the moment she did she felt a strange pull on the queen.

She furrowed her brow. The pull was measured and steady as if one were playing with magnets.

Her reaction was instant. She followed the magnetic pull and the moment she let go of the piece it snapped into place with such force that Miranda jumped out of her chair.

Tentative she reached over to the piece and pulled on it.

It didn't want to move.

She applied more pressure on the piece, then let go. Instead of fighting it further, she grabbed the white knight and placed the piece on the board. After a moment of gliding the piece over random squares, the wandering knight ripped itself from her grip an into a square diagonal to the black queen, six spaces away.

As her mind focused in on the problem, she recalled a discussion she'd had with Richard about smugglers and their trade. They had talked about hidden locking mechanisms and the use of magnetic locks. The plunger lock, in particular, involved the use of two magnets, a small non-magnetic cylinder and a magnetic sliding trigger mechanism. The trigger system was held in place on the adjacent end of the cylinder by one magnet. On the opposite end one would place a more powerful magnet, which would overwhelm the weaker of the pair and move the trigger mechanism to its unlock position. Depending on the level of complexity and construction, sometimes a twist was required to complete the unlocking action.

Using this knowledge, she gripped one of the pieces and started to turn it on its base, until she heard a minute "click." Then she did the same with the remaining piece. The same sound was heard, but this time the center area of the chessboard opened up.

The opening appeared to be in four parts and each part was precision cut in an asymmetrical fashion. The pattern reminded Miranda of a black and white argyle sock she had in her sock drawer. She mused at the clever way to obfuscate the edge of a hidden compartment. She would have to remember this little trick.

Shaking off her appreciation of cleverness, she reached into the small cavity and pulled out two devices. One was pulsing purple; the other pulsing in an emerald green.

Both devices had a standardized connector common in the generic electronics market - an octagonal interface featuring four center connectors. Miranda's eyes widened when she recognized the green pulsating device as something she had manufactured when she was at the Paradoxical Training Corps. A huge emphasis was placed in electrical engineering as every student had to make, out of scratch parts, a device that could hold encrypted information. Each device had its own encryption key set. Miranda had chosen the 16,384-bit elliptic curve cryptography enabled public key algorithm. This public key was then transmitted throughout the InterGrid on various forums and repositories where only other Branch Cell members could access it. Her private key, on the other hand, was only given to one other person: her handler.

Miranda kicked off her heels and sprinted to her closet. Sliding to a stop, she yanked opened the closet door and got down on her knees. She moved some boxes to the side to clear open free space. She carefully positioned herself over a floor board and, with a firm and practiced press of her palm, pushed against it. The floor board slid open like a piece of a puzzle box. She pulled at the neighboring boards and removed them to reveal the face of a moderately large floor safe.

With a few deft turns of the dial and the touch of her finger to the biometric lock, the safe opened. Careful not to make a mess of things, she moved some folders around and removed a small box and a rectangular device.

Leaving the small box behind, she climbed out of the closet, standing she walked over to her bed and sat down. A latch kept the device from folding open on whim. With her finger, she slid the latch to the side and lifted the top portion to reveal a screen and a curiously arranged twenty-key pad with no numbers or letters.

The female end of that octagonal connector was pulsating gently with a soft white light. Without any hesitation, she inserted the device into the connector and turned it on. The process was simple; the private key was always stored on the PSSX Mobile Station or PSSXMS. The insertion of the PSSX activated the OS, which allowed access to the private key. Having three layers of authentication enabled her to have a highly secure and effective means of communication and information handling. If the PSSXMS was ever tampered with, the unauthorized hacker would be rewarded with the device's self-destruction, in the fashion of a thermite ignition, with no consideration to the well-being of the perp.

The device powered on and started to boot. After a moment a screen popped up with a written message:

For shadows cast, when in reach of light, and never cast, when in dark. For in light, we do fright and trouble remains. Oh, harken, the plighted sorrow! Find us a land, where shadows remain, a land where we shall call our Hallowed.

After a moment, Richard appeared on the screen.

He looked every bit as dignified as she remembered him. Clearing his throat, he spoke to the camera, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

"Miranda Grey, I am activating you."

The words hung in the air like the sword of Damocles. She had to force her attention back to what Richard was saying,

"...know this is sudden, my dearest daughter. If you're hearing this it's because a terrible set of events has taken place. Your activation was delayed for an important reason. I couldn't let them find out about your paradoxical Gift. You are unique, my daughter. So unique and the first of a class we, at the time, had no definition for. I will not ask you to forgive me. We knew about your paradoxical Gift and how dangerous it was, but decided against telling you."

There was a hint of pain in his eyes. Offering her a sad smile.

"Miranda, there is so much I wanted to tell you, but you were..." he stopped a moment and then corrected himself. "You _are_ my star pupil. You always have been. This is probably going to come as a shock to you, but you didn't fail the Final Milestone. Not only did you pass that test, but you did so in a far more advanced way than anyone of us thought possible. Had it been my choice, I would have done this in a far more personal manner, but timing denied me that privilege."

"Your activation, Miranda, is of critical importance not only to you, but also to another: the owner of that secondary device in your possession. His name is Zechariah Fairchild. He is the Operations Chief of Branch Cell. Your assignment is to deliver that PSSX, by any means necessary. You cannot go through the standard chain of command. No one must be able to trace your steps to Branch Cell, not even Zechariah's people can know you are coming. Your mission is as follows:

•Find Zechariah Fairchild

•Deliver the PSSX to him and him only

•Do this within three weeks of my death.

"Miranda it's imperative that your mission is a success, I cannot stress this enough. This mission is classified as Priority One, you must reach Zechariah or..." he paused, "...you only have three weeks."

After a moment his expression took on a somewhat more softened, if not sadder look,

"Be well, my daughter and be cautious about whom you trust. This key will be destroyed after this video ends. There is a copy of this message in what you will deliver to Zechariah. The truth of things will be made known to you, Miranda. Whatever you learn in this endeavor, please don't think ill of Zechariah. Just remember this is all my doing, my ambition."

And without notice, the screen went blank and the device stopped pulsing.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her hand covered her mouth in agony long after the video had ended.

She was so upset, so confused by all of this.

What you mean "it was all your doing, you ambition"?

Why would I have any reason to think ill of this Zechariah?

The one man she had trusted for years had been keeping secrets. Including the most devastating secret of all \- she hadn't failed her Final Milestone.

She had no other choice but to move forward.

She had a mission to complete.

She stood up and felt waves of adrenaline as her training kicked in. She was a soldier first and a woman second. She was not going to throw away a decade of respect and love for a man she considered her second father just because he held back a few secrets. There had to be a reason for it all and this mission would give her answers.

She would have to pack light.

Escape and evade was the primary mode of operation.

She had to assume she was being tracked. She thought of the insignia pin. Then she turned to look at the apartment she knew so well, yet cared little for. Her eyes scanned the art and furniture she barely remembered purchasing.

She had little that she held precious. Everything that was near and dear to her would fit in a medium sized bug-out pack.

Miranda then started packing.

As her first order of business, she started with clothing for the mission. Once she finished, she walked back to the safe.

Kneeling she grabbed the black lock box she had placed on the floor. Using her ring finger fingerprint, she unlocked it and removed the contents: a few identification cards, some paper money, a multi-band frequency smartphone and a complete poly-composite ceramic pistol.

The phone ran an OS custom-built from a widely available source code, with applications designed to make the hacking of most cellular and satellite communications that much simpler. Considering that she had to develop the concept and design of each application so that she could lead a group of elite programmers from its alpha to build stage, this device had the DNA of her former training built in.

The pistol was an unauthorized gift from her handler. If she were caught with such a weapon, it would mean an immediate court martial and stripping of her rank and station without any opportunity for appeal. She tentatively picked up her weapon and tested the weight of it.

It had been years since she fired it, yet even with the separation of time it felt as familiar in her hand now as it had after firing a thousand rounds in a practice session

Miranda's exhale was imperceptible. She was in need of a shower and a change of clothing. She took a moment to look at her uniform and smiled sadly as she began to unbutton her blouse. She walked over to the walk-in closet and, with great care, meticulously removed every article of clothing.

She wore her uniform with the dignity and respect that gave it merit. She placed her skirt and blouse on hangers, careful to remove her ribbons, rank insignia and metals. Everything had its place within this particular closet.

Miranda ran her fingers over each and every piece of military clothing she owned with a gentle touch, and once again tears welled up in her eyes. She recalled the day her life was turned upside down. She shivered as she recalled the cold dank cell that bore the bitterness of her pending court martial.

She mourned the men and women under her command that had perished. She mourned the loss of such devoted military personnel.

She pictured the letters she had handwritten to each of their families. How strange to remember the tear-stained paper, ink smudges on cream colored parchment, the poor articulation of words into sentences.

She shuddered as she remembered the terrifying realization that filled her mind as she lay in that cell; the possibility that she would never be able to wear the uniform again.

The memory of that day and the nervous breakdown that followed pulsated through every fiber in her being. Gasping she clutched her hand over her breast.

Not again! No!

Miranda struggled to stay standing, but she couldn't bear her own weight. She sank to the floor, wrestling with herself to maintain control over the paradoxical power that threatened to emerge.

Please not now! Not now!

In that moment of utter desperation, a long forgotten sensation manifested itself. She found comfort in it, for it held memories from long ago and with them, the strength to overcome. That gut feeling, her nudging conscience, returned in full force.

After a few agonizing minutes she was able to restrain her fearful manifestation.

Panting, shaking, she stood and leaned against a wall. The harsh reality of Richard's statement struck her.

" _You must reach Zechariah within three weeks of the event."_

Zechariah had the answer to the control she was in desperate need of.

A sudden exhaustion overcame her, but that familiar sensation, like an old friend, held the darkness at bay.

Steeling herself, she turned her back on her former life and set her mind to next most important step of her mission.

The serenity of a hot shower.

#  Stage 3

### And so, the hunt begins...

Miranda's official disappearance had been flagged several days after her last check out.

Standard operating protocol had been violated when she failed to submit the location of her holiday destination and after she could not be reached by any known channels, the military received formal notification thereof.

During that lawful time frame of trying to establish her whereabouts, her apartment had been the victim of a thorough, and illegal search. There had been a few brochures for remote vacation destinations, most of which where the rugged outdoorsy type. This accounted for the lack of clothing missing from her home.

The department of the covert and security apparatus responsible, had found few clues, and noted them all on the appropriate forms. In that classified documentation there was mention of a floor safe, opened and empty.

CTC Carmen had been assigned the important task of tailing Miranda. This was the first time her team had failed a mission. She wasn't completely taken by surprise when her team reported the situation to her. Even though her all-female team ranked in the upper one percent on the success rate charts, she had to grudgingly admit that she had vastly underestimated the cleverness of Miranda Grey.

How exactly does a shadow follow another shadow?

That was the question she should have asked herself before she ordered her team into the field. They also found the tracking pin in Miranda's mailbox. Paranoia has always been considered a less than desirable trait, but it had served Miranda all too well.

A curious paradox, without its own measure of irony.

Carmen leaned back in her large, plush office chair. Her team had their orders. They would deploy into the nearby solar system of Passers Cove. She had split them into three groups. The first would actively search for ships that were inbound to Passers Cove. The second and third groups were sent planet side; one to Dylars' Ditch (which held the planetary capital city of Pertinacity), the other to Gilrich Gulch (with its planetary capital city of Tenacity). Both cities had Branch Cell offices. The third planet, Sanctuary, with its vast forests, jungles, crystal clear oceans and rivers, was a conservationist's paradise and devoid of any substantial infrastructure. There was no reason to send anyone to Sanctuary.

If her suspicions where correct, Richard had somehow managed to activate Miranda. This meant she had a mission to fulfill and the next logical step would be to make contact with Branch Cell.

CTC Carmen turned in her chair and leaned forward as she looked out the window for a moment. She had a feeling that Richard's communication would have been light on details, which made this mission personal.

Miranda had left most of the vestiges of Richard behind in her apartment, not to mention most of her personal belongs. Everything could be accounted for except for two chess pieces.

Carmen could easily put herself in Miranda's shoes. There was little in her life that she was attached to now. Her superiors had all read Miranda's military profile and seen her in action. To them, this gave credence to the theory that Miranda's activation was delayed for strategic reasons. Nothing more than one final power play from a dead handler, in an attempt to help Miranda regain her former status.

But Carmen knew better.

Though her superiors were outraged that Miranda had given them the slip, Carmen looked at it from a more pragmatic point of view. Yes, she had sternly rebuked her team for their failure, but she had also been able to find a discrete and singular lie. Miranda had, in fact, passed the Final Milestone. What troubled her was Richard's rationale to ensure its secrecy.

Using her connections, she had unearthed an expunged and heavily redacted document. Detailing an unknown event that lead to the deaths of those on 59th Orbital Defense station. And the titanic effort to keep that event hidden.

Carmen stood up and walked over to the window, putting her hands behind her back as she focused her stare on the horizon.

Though troubled by this unknown quality, Carmen was at ease despite it all. For she had never had any of her visions fail her. Her first vision had hinted that Miranda might escape, but in letting her slip away Carmen would be vindicated in the end.

Her countenance darkened as she broke into a smile, even as her eyes swept the vastness of her domain.

She loved breaking those of a tenacious spirit.

#  Stage 4

###...as we watch the hunted run!

Loaded down with her bug-out pack and dressed in civilian gear, Miranda took flight into her journey. She was wearing a light, hip length wool jacket and simple t-shirt underneath, coupled with a sturdy pair of jeans and mission-ready boots. Underneath it all was a form-fitting pant and short sleeve shirt set that felt light as air. She had started favoring the underclothing upon the recommendation of a trainer during a winter op session.

Richard was the one who referred to her footwear as "mission-ready boots." Each boot had been custom-crafted to maintain integrity during the most punishing of situations. They were his idea, and proved to be everything he'd claimed.

It wasn't until an hour after walking those familiar streets that she realized she had been under surveillance. Miranda felt flattered when she realized how just how good the people following her turned out to be. Had it not been for her training, she wouldn't have known they had placed her inside a surveillance 'box.' She speculated it happened the moment she left the base several hours earlier.

If they were playing by the book, there were at minimum, five agents participating in the surveillance; two inside the 'box', two in queue for rotation from outside the 'box,' and a spotter.

A spotter's role was to maintain a long distance view of the mark, but due to the unpredictable nature of the mark, there were be times that agent would need to go mobile.

It would be difficult to locate the agents who were in active surveillance - they would be skilled at hiding in plain sight, but she if she could force the spotter to go mobile, she might throw the whole effort out of whack.

She considered the double back, (a simple tactic which meant rapid movement in one direction, then reversing direction and disappearing into a crowd) and the 360 routine (in which she would take a wide looping path, forcing the spotter to keep moving until a mistake was made and she had a chance to slip unseen into a doorway or building).

A familiar acronym slipped to the front of her consciousness. R.U.N.E., or Run, Undermine, Neutralize and Evade. But no matter the fancy acronym, vanishing from several sets of trained eyes ultimately was a ritual in luck and stamina.

It took hours, but eventually Miranda was confident that she had lost her tail. She had to be sure, because having a hostile government unit follow her to her broker was as dangerous as being caught with an illegal sidearm. After carefully retracing her steps to double verify she was in fact not being followed, she made her way into one of the many local open air markets within the city limits of Ephera Primus.

One of the novelties of Ephera Primus was that its design was a modern update of the Old Imperial Republic's charm. Sections of the city were accessible by foot and bicycle traffic only, that featured cobblestone streets, open air markets, and large fountain plazas ringed by brickwork shops and stone buildings.

Had she not been able to shake her tail earlier, she would have done so easily among these narrow, Old World paths. After about fifteen minutes of walking she reached one of the largest of the cultural city centers, with a massive fountain that represented the glory days of the then recently created Imperial Republic.

The fountain had several statues. One was a tall, muscular man dressed in only a loincloth holding a spear in one hand and a large shield strapped to the forearm of the other. Next to the sculpture of man stood a tall woman, equally muscular and athletic, dressed in a form-fitting dress that came just above her knees. She too held a shield strapped to one forearm only instead of a spear, she held a sword.

Both statues were strikingly beautiful. But what caught Miranda's eye were the other two figures of a young man and woman seated at the foot of the fountain. Both wore the simple garb of the peasantry and were chiseled to look plain in comparison. A dedication rested at their feet:

" _Though spear and sword brought forth victory, tis farmer and youthful wife that feedeth army, payeth tax, masons' each that layeth our foundation."_

Her breast swelled with respect for such a simple truth. Not surprisingly, this was the only fountain that was not destroyed and then rededicated to the newly created Colonial Sovereignty. She paid her respects to the farmer and his youthful wife by giving them the traditional hand over heart and half bow, then continued her walk to a large stone building to have a talk with her broker.

~*~

The day had turned rather boring for Christoval. Apart from the early morning madness that had set his two employees into chattering magpies, there was little if anything, notable about it. He couldn't complain about his situation. After all, he had inherited the dress shop from his mother and the two magpies were so good at their trade that he didn't have to do any of the nitty gritty work himself. He paid them both well for that privilege. Besides, he found numbers far more interesting than stitches. But to say that he was unable to throw some stitches into fabric with a level of sophistication that set even the most talented of tailors to shame would have been a grave underestimation of his latent talent.

He knew the trade backwards and forwards. He also knew that if he could hire talent and keep it, he could step away from the needlework when his other business venture required attention.

From time to time, he would humble the two magpies by showing them how much his talent exceeded their own. But those days were becoming fewer and farther in between. This was a pity really; he always found their cries of chagrin entertaining.

The door opened with the familiar tinkle of the bell, and in entered one of the most striking women he had ever seen. Magpie A was the first to express such a profound revelation.

"Dear Heavens! What is a beautiful creature such as you, doing wearing something like that!"

The "beautiful creature" blinked her surprise, but before she had a chance to respond, Magpie B slapped the other.

"Marco!" He turned to greet the beautiful creature. "Please, forgive my foolish...friend. He's always had a problem keeping his tongue in check."

Christoval smirked from where he sat reviewing receipts.

Marco gave them both a chilly look and turned back to the beautiful creature.

"Please, dear lady. Bear them no mind. How may we serve you here at Christoval, Marco and Penn?"

The beautiful creature glanced at Christoval, then offered Marco a winning smile. She spoke in a soft manner, which bespoke of a privileged upbringing,

"Ah, my manners, forgive me. I am Serabella de la Flora, and I was told that this shop carries a unique design known as the Chrysanths design."

Christoval looked up, but said nothing. Marco shook his head.

"Dear Serabella, I can only say I've never heard of such a design. Penn, what about you?"

Penn exhaled and frowned. "I can't even begin to say. Isn't that a flower of some sorts?"

Penn and Marco turned to look at Christoval.

"We did, at one point, yes," said Christoval. "My mother designed the pattern, but we retired it upon her death. I pray you will forgive this answer, I no longer carry that design in this shop."

Serabella sighed.

"It is a pity; my grandmother would have loved such a design. She so loves the chrysanthemums."

"Chrysanthemums, you say?" said Christoval. "If I may be so bold and to offer your dear grandmother some appeasement, does she enjoy the occasional glass of wine?"

Serabella beamed. "Oh my, yes! Quite!"

Christoval stepped down from the raised dais that served as the shop's register and display area, and with a pen and paper in hand, started to jot down something,

"Then go here and ask for this wine. Tell them I sent you, they'll be sure to take care of you."

Serabella took the slip of paper and smiled brightly. As she read the slip of paper, a curious look crossed those beautiful features.

"...place a petal at the bottom of the bottle?"

Christoval smiled.

"Indeed, but sure to use only the golden Chrysanthemums."

"Thank you again. I'll never forget your kindness." With a girlish giggle, she spun around on her heel and exited the dress shop, waving to Penn and Marco.

Marco put a hand under his chin, and exhaled. "What a curiously flowery child that one."

Penn seemed to be a bit more perplexed, but joined Marco in returning to the work at hand.

Christoval wore a neutral look, and with an about face, he headed for the register to complete the task he had left unfinished. After the completion of his daily tasks, he told Marco and Penn to close up behind them. It wasn't unusual for him to leave early, so neither magpie made a fuss.

His destination was a lesser-known market square three kilometers from his shop; a place he frequented with some regularity. When he entered the small coffee shop at the corner of one of the brick buildings, the waiter knew exactly where to seat him. The place had a cozy feel to it, with high-backed booths where lovers could find extra privacy.

In one of these, Christoval found Serabella.

~*~

Miranda exited the coffee shop through the back door which led into a narrow alley. Under the cover of night, she slipped into the shadows and vanished. The meeting with Christoval left her with a charmed feeling, and the unmistakable sensation resonating through her body confirmed the man was Gifted.

After a lengthy verification process and a slight bit of haggling over a finder's fee, Christoval had offered her a pick list of smugglers in the area. She chose one for his preferred method of operation, which involved the use of magnetic latches. Like most cargo ships of any worth, this smuggler also kept a well-maintained escape pod.

Leaving Christoval was a feat unto its own, as this was the first time in several years that he had been called upon for such a request. By his own admission he'd found the excitement of playing the spy role in this cloak and dagger drama much to his liking. He had baited her, not willing to turn over the authenticating PSS until she gave her personal guarantee that she would never use any other broker.

Unable to find a logical reason to refuse him, she agreed that he would be her exclusive broker. This seemed to please him, even to the point that he convinced her to stay and enjoy some food and coffee with him. They remained in the shop until dusk, eating and drinking and talking about anything but the purpose of their meeting. When she was slipping from shadow to shadow, she couldn't help but smile at what had transpired. Christoval's performance had been immaculate, efficient. He made the whole transaction look far too easy, and as impeccable as his cover.

Quickly blending into the crowd, she walked the remainder of plaza until she reached a shuttle taxi stop. Her destination was the industrial void port, but true to her suspicious nature, she had the taxi pull over about three blocks from her intended location.

Thirty minutes later, and with further verification that she wasn't being followed, she had illegally entered a warehouse area that had access to void bound traffic. In one these cold and dank warehouses she met and proved her identity to the smuggler, and as expected, their exchange was quick and professional. She offered him money and he gave her a ride out of system into another, no questions asked.

As an extra precaution, before she entered the void port, she had activated her facial distorter, which was cleverly disguised as a thick metal braided necklace. The device prevented a clear view of her face by any electronic recording device. It also made the human eye incapable of adjusting to specifics of a person's facial features by causing a mild ocular discomfort.

As she slipped inside one of the crates, the smuggler offered her a small oxygen tank and a mask. The smuggler was quick with the loading procedure. Before she even had time to put on the mask and turn on the oxygen, she could feel that she was being moved to another location. Miranda closed her eyes, and took slow, normal breaths of the precious O2.

#  Stage 5

### The devil in the details.

At some point during the flight, she must have fallen asleep. She was awakened by a shift in the ship's superstructure, the familiar creak and groan caused by the stress of sudden deceleration. They had just exited a waveform slipstream. She felt the lurch as the RCS thrusters kicked in.

Her grip instinctively tightened on the side beam she was sitting next to. She was in a small irregularly shaped compartment, a natural hollow place in the ship's internal structure, which just happened to be one of the best places to stash contraband, both breathing and inert.

A few hours earlier the ship's skipper had whisked her away into the cargo area, and with a few deft movements of his magnetic pliers, he gently pried away a large irregularly shaped panel from the side of the ship's metal wall. It was a clever design. The ship itself had been refurbished and repaired so many times that there was a mismatch of alloys throughout the whole length of the inner wall in various stages of rust or corrosion, which gave the interior the look of a patchwork quilt. The panel keeping her hidden held no telltale seams.

"Remember, stay quiet and don't make any noise," the smuggler had told her when she had stuffed herself into the small space. "They do random check points, but usually it's right before we get into a system. No matter what you hear or think you hear, don't make a sound."

Miranda had nodded as he lifted up the panel and closed her in.

She closed her eyes again as the ship started to enter a planetary gravity well. She groaned as the ship started to experience violent turbulence. Just her luck that the ship did not have the proper inertial calibrations. Miranda braced herself and took a steadying breath. The ship lurched once more and her thoughts turned just as suddenly to the recent revelation about her training.

For several years after the Paradoxical Training Corps, she had always wondered why she had failed. Even though the trauma of losing Richard was still affecting her emotionally, not to mention the fact he had kept secrets from her.

She vowed to never doubt her abilities again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a stuttering effect reminiscent of the cavitation experienced by submarines. At first she thought it was just more evidence that the inertial dampers had been incorrectly calibrated, but by the sound and force of the cavitation she knew that the ship was decelerating quickly. The first word that came to mind was "inspection." She closed her eyes and concentrated on the situation around her. If this was just a standard inspection, the ship wouldn't completely stop as they were only looking for proper shipping credentials.

As if on cue, the ship shuttered once more and she heard the RCS thrusters cycle down. They had indeed come to a complete stop.

A scene flashed before her eyes. She could see the captain of the ship chattering. He looks nervous and far too eager to stop the ship. Then her vision shifts as she spots the other ship in question, not a Colonial system police unit but military, unmarked.

He's going to sell me out.

As she opened her eyes she knew she only had ten minutes to get out of her hole. She looked up and around the seam of the removable wall. The magnets were strong enough to hold the false wall up but it was further strengthened by a rotating lock.

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a compact tool set. She lifted herself up as far as she could and leaned against the metal plate, shining a small flashlight at it. She could see the magnetic latch. Carefully she maneuvered one of her tools to the locking mechanism and hooked it. After a few moments of working the tool like a toothpick, she was able to release the lock. She retrieved her tool and put it back into place and slipped the toolkit back into her jacket. Then she slowly pushed on the one of the corners of the metal plate.

She swallowed. _It isn't budging._

She pushed a little harder on the edge and after a few grueling seconds, finally heard a resounding metallic pop as the edge released.

She snaked her fingers through the slight opening, clenched her teeth as the metal bit into her skin, and then worked the seams until she popped the metal panel out. She caught the heavy panel just before it crashed down to the floor.

In a matter of seconds she was out of her confinement. Working quickly and quietly, she replaced the panel. She only had three minutes left before her pursuers hemmed her into the cargo hold.

She had a plan and it involved that functional escape pod.

~*~

The skipper was sweating profusely.

He slowed to a complete stop about 50,000 kilometers from the planet.

The skipper had, for his survival, often taken on the dubious task of working with the local authorities. Most times it was nothing serious, perhaps a misplaced shipment or a few bribes here and there. Other times he would reveal the smuggled person's location because their bounty was greater than the safe passage bonus.

It was actually a rather beautiful arrangement. If by chance he happened upon a fugitive with a significant bounty, he'd contact one of the many highly trained ears within the appropriate law enforcement department and, after they paid his premium, he would simply give them up.

What had marked him with excessive perspiration on this occasion was that the heavily-armed Void lion had taken an offensive posture from the onset. If he even thought about twitching in the wrong direction, they wouldn't hesitate to incinerate his ship. That kept his shaking left hand from touching the rather sensitive fly by wire controls.

Managing to take a more calming breath, taming this dwindling composure. Keeping his eyes on the large view screen in front of him. That militarized behemoth was massive, filling the whole of his rather sizable view screen.

A smaller ship had exited the belly of that beast and was heading in his direction. They would have to soft seal on the aft side docking door since he didn't have a bay large enough to accommodate the vessel.

His thoughts raced as the transport ship slowly made its way closer and closer to his own.

He had always played the game by riding the fence. He would get calls from those in the law enforcement ranks asking for leads. Sometimes those 'leads' were in his own cargo bay, other times he would merely point them in the right direction. But there were plenty of times when he did neither.

This time, though, he had no choice.

He had no desire to tangle with the Colonial military.

Which brought him to his current conundrum.

The man that had negotiated for his cargo's contract was listed an elite. The part that troubled him with his current action was that the broker had arranged for the "supplemental cargo" to get on system unharmed, which meant a buffer payment guarantee. There were to be no "out of contract negotiations" lest you reap the wrath of the broker.

Betraying cargo was one thing; almost commonplace, but betraying an elite broker with an established buffer payment was a fast path to a messy and painful end.

There was a loud thud as the small transport ship made contact with the exterior wall of his cargo ship. He heard the pressurization of the soft seal, a curious sound that was much like a loud suction pop. Within seconds, the air lock was released and the hatch door opened. He stepped aside, but kept his eye other ship's door.

The skipper was taken by surprise when three rather beautiful young women hopped across from their ship to his own. They couldn't have been older than 25, but each had the look and demeanor of far more seasoned military fare.

The last to jump across was wearing more identifiers on her uniform. He presumed she was the one in charge. And he was right.

"What makes you think your cargo is the person we are looking for?" she asked.

Her air was one that had clearly been preened by the aristocracy.

He took a breath and attempted a smile.

"Weeeell, she be wearing one of 'em facial distorter thingies. I couldn't see quite see her purdy face, but from what y'all mentioned about body types and dress I'd say it's her, awight."

A hint of a frown touched the woman's features. He couldn't tell if it was a judgment on his claim, or disappointment in his colloquial speech.

"Do you have any evidence to prove your assumptions?"

Coughing a bit, he moved over to one of his video displays and keyed up the security logs. He played them a section of his security video with the mystery woman entering the ship. As noted the device could not pick up any features.

"Plus me eyes turned cross-eye'd er'moment I glanced at her fully in da face."

It was sudden, as one of the women in uniform drew out her weapon and turned it on to the skipper, which brought him back to full attention!

He raised his hands quick like,

"Hey now! I'm not armed!!"

A rather cool smile formed across her supple lips, the ice in her veins held her weapon steady as he stared down the barrel.

"Of course, but you're going to walk us down to the cargo hold to show us where she is located, am I right? Can'ts haz none of 'em mishaaps alongs da way, now cans we?" her humor clipped through like a pair of tin shears, as she added, "par'ner."

The skipper turned pale.

~*~

Miranda rushed for the ship's escape pod. As she reached the control panel she realized that she would need a code to gain entry. She cursed silently, then pulled out her tool set and pried the control panel open. She started pulling out wires, guessing at their purpose. There was a slim chance, but considering the alternatives she had no other choice.

~*~

He was shaking rather notably as he moved past the one in charge and then slowly past the one with her weapon drawn. The third woman remained stationed at the airlock. He proceeded to walk down the hall, then pulled opened an airtight hatch that opened into the cargo bay. He swallowed as he was about to point to the opening, but before he could even murmur a sound, the young woman with the weapon drawn made it clear with a wave of her pistol that she wanted him step through first.

He wavered as he stepped through the threshold, then walked hesitantly into the cargo bay area. There was a curious smirk on the faces of those rather smartly dress military women. He knew what he was to them. A meat shield.

The skipper's movements were slow as he made his way over to stern side wall. Slowly, he reached into to pocket as he spoke,

"Listen; I'm not trying anything fresh, I just need my tool to open the latch okay?"

The one with the regal bearing smirked.

"It would seem you've lost your curious vernacular."

He dared not respond. She might shoot him for any perceived sarcasm directed at her commanding officer. As he removed his tool and placed the magnetized end on the metallic shell, the sudden connection of the powerful magnet with an already unlatched side panel knocked the tool from his hand as the whole side panel came crashing down. In that same instant, the cargo emergency lights flipped on and there was a massive explosion as the emergency escape pod erupted into the Void. The explosion was so sudden and powerful that it knocked the skipper on his rear end. The solider holding her weapon was just as equally thrown off guard, but she managed to hold her balance as did her commanding officer. As the skipper glanced over to where the escape pod use to be, he felt his stomach clench. His precious cargo was heading planet side, and he was going to pay the price for her escape.

~*~

As the pod was hurtling itself into the Void, Miranda dropped to the ground from her hiding place in the rafters above. Her eyes made contact with one of her pursuers who was grabbing a cargo net for dear life. Somehow she managed to land on both feet in a crouched position. She propelled herself forward through the threshold of the hatch. With a roll, she jumped to her feet, flipping around to face the open door. She grabbed it and slammed it shut before the sound of a bullet pinged against metal door. She could hear swearing even as she spun the wheel. Looking around, she found a clip board and jammed it into the wheel, securing it - at least for the moment. She was only a few steps down the main corridor when she heard the muffled sounds of something striking the hatch door from the other side.

Miranda was at a dead run. She didn't know how many there were, only that two were currently out of commission. Just as she was reaching the helm her Gift activated, but she was too late to appropriate a response as a foot whipped out from a side corner, tripping her. She ducked enough to land in an uncontrolled roll, slamming back first unto the side plating of the ship's hull.

Her head swimming with pain, she made a desperate attempt to shake off the effects of the blow to her body. She felt a wave of chagrin that the attack had taken her by surprise, then immediately let it go to embrace her Gift in full. The breath of space between her crashing into the wall and the inevitable second attack was as thin as a strand of hair. Miranda dove to the side and a fist hit solidly against the ship's hull where her head had been. She thrust her knee in an upward motion and hit her attacker solidly under the chin. The force of the blow knocked her backwards, giving Miranda time to scramble to her feet and into a defensive position.

The other woman had a rather robotic motion as she spat some blood on the floor and turned her eyes toward Miranda.

There was something wrong with the way this woman was looking at her. It was as if Miranda was looking into the dark black eyes of a Great White Shark. The solid contact against her chin had left Miranda's knee throbbing in pain, but this woman showed no signs of pain either received or inflicted. _Her hand should be broken_.

Miranda swallowed. She was fighting another Gifted. Was her power the ability to absorb pain? Was her Gift all about damage absorption? The woman broke into a smile as a small giggle escaped her lips.

"Oh, don't be so childish Miranda... training, training, training." She flexed her hands and her broken hand started making a rather unnerving crackling noise. "One can still fight with broken bones."

Miranda's shock must have registered because her opponent started giggling again.

Miranda narrowed her eyes and stood her ground. If this woman was Gifted, she could sense any note of weakness. The other woman tilted her head as her giggle morphed into a smile; her eyes shimmered with a malice that was indeed supernatural.

"I see it... that wall... that protection... do you want to know what my Gift is? My ability is to show you how beautiful your paradoxically Gifted self can be. I find paradoxical talent and unleash their latent powers. I unleash a power you were never meant to have, and use to destroy you from within. Perhaps it is time that I release it?"

Miranda's blood turned to ice. She stepped back as the woman's eyes started to glow with gleeful intent.

Miranda's repressed memories and emotions surfaced in full force and her body convulsed. With some effort and strain she spoke.

"You have no idea what you'll unleash! This paradoxical Gift has already manifested itself!"

Her aggressor's eyes only burned hotter and her smile became even wider. "Yes... feed that fear, Miranda. You'll come with us, my docile little lamb."

Miranda grabbed her stomach. She couldn't move, she could barely breath. She was losing control.

Then, it snapped.

The day she had been dreading came to its full realization.

Miranda looked up at the other woman and saw an aura of pulsating red about her, that same malevolent aura that she was trying to use against Miranda began to fuel the nature of her paradoxical Gift.

All Miranda had to do was will that delicious energy to become part of her own body and without any effort her paradoxical Gift started to suck away at life.

She would see it then, the terror in that vicious woman's eyes as she became keenly aware of her tragic mistake. The woman crumpled to her knees and gripped her left arm as if having a heart attack, attempting to undo what she had just unleashed.

She failed.

Such terrific and tragic energy! Miranda was almost beside herself with happiness at the thought of sucking the woman dry and in the din of her euphoria, Miranda heard that all too familiar sensation in her mind - the guiding awareness that had always been her companion.

A calm, yet firm directive rang within the chambers of her mind.

Stop... Stop it now.

Complying, Miranda turned all her energy into walling and controlling her paradoxical Gift. She held her paradoxical Gift at bay struggling with herself; she fought against the need to continue absorbing her victim's energy and came just short of draining that dark aura.

Fighting within her were the Gifted side of her core ability and the paradoxical side; a dangerous balancing act. Her detachment was one of cool indifference. The only source of guidance was this curiously familiar feeling that urged her to stop. After a few more minutes, she felt like someone breaking through the surface of the water just before running out of breath. Miranda gasped back to her sense of self.

She looked down and found the limp body of the woman she had almost killed. Miranda's breathing was deep and elevated as she witnessed the violence before her. Her pupils dilated and she forced herself to stand up.

She had to keep moving.

The sensation within her mind had changed radically; now actively encouraging her to move. Had it been any other day she wouldn't have been as composed about a second entity in her mind telling her what she needed to do, but considering it had helped her, she was willing to make an exception.

Dragging herself forward, she limped over to the skipper's helm and cued up the engineering relay. It didn't take her long before she was able to disable the ship's propulsion and communication systems.

That should give her a few hours.

Moving as quick as her damaged body and leg would allow, she leaped into the small ship and closed the airlock door. She sat in the cockpit, fired up the thrusters, ripped away from the soft seal and burned hard into the Void.

#  Stage 6

### Failure is not an option.

Aerlina had been standing at attention while Carmen kept her eyes fixed to the horizon. She was the first to be flogged for their failure. She tried to take full responsibility and spare those under her command, but Carmen was in no mood to compromise. Aerlina could feel the pain of her wounds upon her lower back and buttocks and involuntary tears appeared from time to time. The pain would be bearable enough as soon as she was in the care of the local medical facility. But until then, she was to stand at attention until she was relieved by her commanding officer. She cursed herself again. Next time, Miranda wouldn't slip from her grasp.

As for CTC Carmen all she could do by the time their reports spelled out yet another blotched job was get yet another reprimand from her superiors. This time she wasn't as lenient with her subordinates as before. She had them severely punished save one who had already been punished enough. Carmen had sent her best Unleasher to take care of Miranda Grey, and though she didn't approve of her overly sadistic methods, Carmen had expected so much more of her. What she had not counted on was her still being in the ICU barely hanging on to life

Her hand still held the medical examination report. And even after so many hours, it still quaked with anger..

This was not what I had foreseen. Are my visions failing me?

The Colonial jumper was eventually found in a large forested area about six hundred and fifty kilometers from a small hiker's community on Sanctuary, the only planet she had not sent a team to. Upon closer inspection of the jumper, there was a notable absence of the emergency supplies, and three of the five emergency parachutes were missing.

Additionally the ship's autopilot had been activated, but it wasn't clear where it had originated. There were several points of origin and departure and clear signs that data had been erased. Even with the tech teams working on recovering any lost information, Carmen knew it would take days to sift through all the data.

They weren't able to officially identify Miranda, find her actual jumping off point or if she had backup.

Like chasing a phantom through the twilight mists.

She crumpled the report in her hand, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Carmen took some small pleasure in the fact that Miranda was at least hurt, but she still didn't know where Miranda was.

For the second time in her life, she felt that all too common human emotion known as uncertainty. An emotion that only fueled the larger questions that surrounded Miranda Grey: why was Commander Third Class Carmen Zigfler, commanding officer of Broken Laurel, Gifted classification Clairvoyant Precognitive Level IV, unable to predict her exact location.

A pang of fear touched Carmen. What kind of paradoxical Gift prevented a Level Four Ca.P. from picking up its prey?

Could it be that Miranda Grey was in fact...?

Carmen shook her head, dismissing the insane notion that Miranda Grey was anything other than a pawn in a bigger game. She would have known about it, nobody could have kept that from Broken Laurel. Not only was it their holy rite, their heavenly mandate as the aristocrats of the Colonies, but as the Inquisitors, guardians of the Realm sent to destroy such admonitions.

Yet because of this confusion, she had remanded her previous order and established a new one. Miranda Grey had to be neutralized and taken into protective custody.

"Aerlina." Carmen's voice was stern and cold.

"Yes, Commander Third Class." Aerlina did her best not to show in her voice the amount of pain she felt.

"Authorization to activate Infractus has been given. You are to take functional command of unit codename Creo Flamma."

Aerlina gasped and felt her heart slamming in her chest. "C-Commander, I must—"

The look that CTC Carmen Zigfler gave Aerlina's made her blood run cold. She quickly changed her response. "—n't delay a moment. It shall be as you order."

Carmen's lips turned upward into a tight smile. Had the view through the plate glass windows behind her been of deepest winter, it would have matched the quality of her smile.

"Don't fail me again, Lieutenant Major." Carmen turned her gaze to the horizon.

Out of the office within seconds; shocked by the order she had been given, _"How could Zigfler fathom such an order? The Infractus!"_

Time was of the essence now, she couldn't fail again. The only thing that kept her from going AWOL was her position within Broken Laurel. Despite the pain she felt, she couldn't help but smile at the thought that had sustained her since she was a little girl, the fuel that powered her and her family's cause.

Limping as quickly as she could, she made headway to the medical station. The idea that her flawless skin would be scarred made her sick to her stomach. She knew full well the implications if left untreated. But that was of secondary concern to her now.

She had to reach Miranda before Broken Laurel.

#  Stage 7

### Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Miranda had been meticulous in her preparations when she had landed about ten kilometers from the capital city of Tenacity on Gilrich Gulch. She made sure that the parachute was hidden away and she did some battlefield medic work on her body. The blow she had received when she was tripped had damaged her more than she thought. One of her ribs was cracked and her knee was still throbbing from the last attack. There was going to be a slight limp in her walk.

Wrapping her knee up with a bandage wasn't as bad as when she had to remove her shirt and form fitting undershirt to wrap her rib cage. That brought a few tears and whimpers but it had to be done. The agony couldn't be helped. Grabbing her bug-out pack, she got dressed again and started making her way into the city.

She was fully intent on going to Dylars' Ditch, but that odd sensation urged her to change course and head for Gilrich's Gulch. She knew there was an office there, but by her understanding it was an R&D facility. Even that was just a guess, though, as such intel wasn't given to any who hadn't finished their Final Milestone.

Knowing the risks of being captured by the Colonial military ship that was chasing her diversion, she managed to fly undetected to Gilrich Gulch and employed a diversionary tactic that Richard had coined "Overload." The idea was to give your enemy too much information about your intended next move. Having hacked the navigation computer and securely erased all data, she started to input multiple points of origin and departure. Then she started dumping whatever she could from the emergency supplies as well as a few parachutes. Once she was done, she set the autopilot point of destination to Sanctuary. After she had finished her mischief, she put a parachute on her back and bid the jumper farewell as she drifted down.

She was walking a little faster now that she had warmed up and tested her weight on her knee. She was determined to jog the rest of the way. Something was guiding her. She didn't understand why she trusted this guiding sensation, but she had little else to go on. And if she didn't reach Zechariah within the next day or two, her tentative grip on her paradoxical Gift would fail. Oddly, whatever that sensation was seemed to agree with her thoughts and continued to push her onward.

Miranda's mind wandered as she drew closer to her destination. She had been woven into the history that made her beloved Tenacity possible. The core of her being brimmed with excitement as every step brought her closer only not only to the end of her mission, but that now overly anxious sensation.

Miranda stopped when she reached a high point on the trail she was following and allowed herself a moment of luxury. She drew in the beauty of the sprawling metropolis. Her smile softened, as she came to grips after all those years of her self-imposed exile.

For better or worse, she was finally home.

#  Stage 8

### So the prodigal daughter returns.

She slipped into the city by way of one of the large parks that melded into the forested area she had just emerged from. Just before making her way into the park, she found a relatively quiet spot, took off her bug-out pack and rummaged for a change of clothes. She traded the t-shirt for a button down blouse and her jeans for a pair of black slacks. The pant legs came just five centimeters short of the ground.

As she walked into the city, the crowd started to thicken. When she finally made it to the bus stop, she was fully part of the mass of people. She looked to all the world like any of the other casually dressed white collars who were either on their way to work or coming back from a late lunch. Within moments, a bus came to a stop and Miranda was on board. Choosing to stand, she grabbed on to one of the many balance straps and with some effort, managed to look as bored as possible.

She was anything but bored, as her mind raced over her next move. This bus would take her right to the area where Branch Cell's R&D department was located. It would look like any other office building in the downtown area, but the R&D for Branch Cell would not be found by walking through the front door of the main building. It would be next door in sub-basement floor level four, the exact location having been etched into her memory by her previous training.

The bus lurched forward as it started to slow down and then came to complete stop. Miranda was aware of the plethora of surveillance devices that plagued the downtown area, but she hoped her facial distorter would still do the trick. She had reduced the intensity in consideration of the other people around her, hoping they wouldn't notice anything was amiss with her face. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she produced a pair of sunglasses. Within seconds she was on the sidewalk and headed for her destination.

So long as she kept to the crowds she would be relatively safe from detection, and besides she looked far too good in sunglasses to pass up not wearing them.

She came up on the main entrance of the building next to her intended target. She strode up the large cement stairs, entered the building and rather airily walked up to the porter. With a gesture of flipping her hair up, she turned off her facial distorter and flipped off her sunglasses in a single motion, then gave the man a winning smile.

"Dear me! To think one could get lost in this city! I was rather hoping I would have been able to reach my husband but it would seem he went upstairs without me."

PTC mission directive tip number one: If you're an attractive woman (or man), the use of the operational word husband (or wife) puts a stop to many attempts at flirtation, excessive dialogue and repeated requests for dates, especially if you're running short on time.

The porter blinked a few times and coughed. "I'm sorry, ma'am but if you could give me his name I wo—"

She waved her hand dismissively. "No, no. I was only here to kiss and offer him some lady luck. Pity he won't be getting any."

She deployed one of her most devastating weapons: pouty lips coupled with a small, dejected sigh.

She looked around the building as if trying to figure out what her next move would be. In that clever motion, she gazed upon the young man and leaned in to read his name tag.

"Cecile? Do you mind if I explore the mezzanine floor?" The pouty lips and dejected sigh morphed into a sly, conspiratorial smile and low, abated breath.

The young man looked momentarily stunned by the question. Her manipulation was working. He offered a conspiratorial smile. "They have shops in the mezzanine area that cater to clients with rich husbands."

Miranda chuckled at the young man, then nodded nonchalantly. "Think they would notice me window shopping?"

Cecile leaned forward, clearly angling for a better look at Miranda. She obliged him by offering a flattering spin, revealing her perfectly sculptured posterior (the real reason she was wearing this particular set of pants) and the fact that her blouse hugged her curves.

Cecile's smile grew wide. "You'll fit right in." He sat back down and sighed appreciatively.

"Thank you, sweetie," she said.

She put her shades back on and tilted her head, offering Cecile one last gem: the subtle wink. Then Miranda headed for the elevator.

The moment she hit the button, the elevator door opened and she stepped inside. She blew Cecile a kiss as the elevator door closed.

_Operation: Office Building Infiltration_ was a resounding success, even her curious gut feeling seem amused.

She hit a large button labeled 'M' and the elevator came to life. After a short ride, she stepped out and started walking to another elevator on the mezzanine floor. She rode that one down to sub-basement level one. From there she took the emergency stair case down to the sub-basement level four.

Like most sub-basement levels, its practical function was parking spaces, but Miranda's recollection from the past training came into play. Miranda knew that at the back end of this particular level was a large metal door inconspicuously labeled "Maintenance Electrical Room."

Running on silent feet, she weaved through parked vehicles until she came upon her intended destination. To her surprise, the ache around the bruising on her chest, legs and knee had subsided, which she attributed to the scenic forest run. That, and the little game upstairs that had kept her mind distracted from the tentative grip she had over her continually pulsating paradoxical Gift.

She picked the mechanical lock and was inside the room in less than ten seconds. Closing the door behind her, she could hear that steady, angry hum that only high voltage electricity could emit. Miranda slowly made her way through the room looking for a small emergency power lever labeled Tertiary Emergency Generator By-Pass.

After about five minutes of searching, she found what she was looking for and with a deep breath she activated the switch by lifting it up into the 'on' position. The moment switch clicked into place, it popped back down and a small beeping sound started emitting from the opposite wall. She turned and noticed that a wall panel had retracted, revealing a numerical keypad.

She gently bit her bottom lip as she made her way over to the device. There she took another deep breath as she retrieved her toolkit.

She recalled the last warning Richard had given her before she took her Final Milestone:

"Nothing is ever what it seems, never assume anything."

Paying heed to her mentor's words, she pulled the protective covering off the keypad and took a peek inside.

It was a dummy terminal, wired to a small electronic breadboard that had several LED lights - 10 in total.

She had to smile, the keypad merely activated the LEDs inside the casing, nothing more. The real entry panel was a fingerprint ID system. She pressed her thumb on the terminal and without any hesitation a hidden door disguised as part of the power monitoring system popped open. She swung the heavy door wide and found herself staring into a long, white corridor.

This was it; the moment of truth. If her gut was telling the truth, this corridor would lead her to the one person who could answer all the questions she had tried to forget. Without any more hesitation, she slipped inside and closed the hidden door behind her.

#  Stage 9

### And the dogs, let lose for war.

Aerlina walked through the halls of the covert and security apparatus building, from the medical ward to the high security section. Any who encountered her thought twice about engaging her. One unfortunate passerby found himself threatened by a look that could freeze flesh. Lucky for him, she was in a hurry and though her frosty eyes touched upon him for a moment, it wasn't enough to set him like stone.

The idea of her skin being marred because of some draconian impulse had offended her more deeply that she had thought. Which was why she had reconsidered the paradigm of her previous decision and made it a point to reach medical as her first stopping point. The thought of being made an example of set her teeth on edge. She had never hated Carmen Zigfler more than at this moment in her young life.

Exhaling, she narrowed her eyes and set her mind to work. What she was about to do could set the world aflame if she allowed unit code name Creo Flamma to satisfy its most destructive desires.

The most pressing point was the activation of the Infractus. Not only was this an incredible stupidity, but should something go wrong she would wear that failure around her neck like a noose.

Growling to herself as she walked down the secure corridor, she came to the end of the hallway that held a lone elevator. She flashed her proximity sensor card, the elevator doors opened and she walked inside. There were no floor buttons, no labels, nothing to indicate the nature or use of this particular elevator, but she knew the moment the doors closed...

A low humming noise tipped her off that she was being subjected to a full body scan that was, much to her chagrin, invasively thorough.

At the other end of the scan, computers converted that digital information into visual data and that visual data was now being inspected by senior enlisted personnel with strict orders to remove every "virtual article of clothing" in order to assess all possible risks. The system was so advanced that she was essentially being stripped nude in front of a bunch of strangers.

She was glad that she took good care of her body. She wasn't shy about what they were seeing, but the fact they could be ogling her without her express permission just served to fuel her growing anger.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the elevator started to move. When it stopped again, she was out the doors before they were fully open.

Working furiously to beat back her rising anger, she slowed her walk and started taking in deeper breaths.

The corridor had a surgical feel to it, which rather fit its classification of "ultra-secure." The security in the elevator was nothing more than an induction to the seriousness that these hallways exuded.

What with the frequent random security checks, counter-electronic surveillance sweeps and the sphinx-like armed personnel readily equipped for the next galactic war.

The hardball security guidelines didn't stop there; additional requirements dictated that there was never to be more than four visitors in the hall at all times. She was grateful that she had managed to arrive when the corridor was all but empty or she would have been stuck in the "peepers" elevator for much too long.

The corridor portals had their own automated security along with a paired security team at each side. Aerlina had never had an official need to go down any of those side halls, but considering the horror show she was about to enter she really didn't want to know if there was something more terrible hiding behind those innocuous looking doorways.

When she finally reached the end of the corridor, she was greeted by a vault-like doorway. At its entry point, a senior level ISS officer with a detachment of two heavily-armed and serious looking sentries stood at parade rest, protecting the vault.

Of her many "hobbies", Aerlina's most publicly known was her knowledge of weaponry. She was of legendary status among those in the enlisted ranks. She had an almost encyclopedic recollection at identifying different kinds of ordinance. To her secret delight these guards were sporting the latest THEOPS R&D.

The body armor, code named Scepter, was crafted of a synthetic material known as Zeus Fiber, a meld weaved at a molecular level using nanomachines by fusing the organic compounds found in spider silk, a flexible carbon matrix known as Carbi-Flex, and a molecular enhanced form of titanium steel alloy. The fiber strand had the consistency of cotton, which was then rolled into traditional fabric bolts. Nano-enhanced ceramic trauma plates would ensure that each solider could take the punishment of being hit by an ultrasonic small caliber sabot round...even in rather sensitive areas.

The soldiers' rifles brought an enthusiastic smile to Aerlina's face. Code named Hestia's Curse, the rifles featured the most advanced form of caseless ammunition on the modern battle field. It was a rifle capable of firing two hundred and fifty rounds a minute with minimal recoil. The light-weight and compact design made it perfect for urban combat, but due to its modular nature the rifle could quickly be turned into a grenade launcher, long range sniper rifle, or an over-under ballistic and explosive system. Unique among weaponry, this particular rifle had the ability to accept standard caseless magazines, super-sonic ultra-accuracy caliber programmable magazines (a design system that allowed the input of caliber-sized projectiles), armor-piercing, explosive, high-thermal sub-sonic heat magazines (nasty pieces of work when wall busting enemies behind cover), and high velocity, low-heat, explosive needle magazines (designed for maximum penetration of armored personnel carriers).

There was a dreamy look upon her features when, after the third attempt to get her attention, the senior ISS in charge finally got through. "Lieutenant Major, how can I help you?"

Aerlina blinked and coughed, clearing her throat, "Yes... sorry, Gunnery Major. I have orders by Commander Third Class Zigfler to access vault number 6466."

The senior ISS nodded and keyed up the terminal. After a few moments she glanced up at Aerlina and gave a somber look. "You're cleared. Please authenticate your credentials and you'll be allowed admittance."

Aerlina gave a nod in return and walked up to the vault, stopping short of the door between the two sentries who both offered a salute, which she returned smartly.

The product of hours worth of practice, they returned to their silent vigil.

Aerlina loved the strict, regimented form of the enlisted ranks. Not that the officer corps were any less rigid, but whenever she found herself crossing The Overhang, a bridge that spanned one of the larger enlisted training yards, she would find herself listening to the cadence chanted by one of the many drill instructors on the yard. The reverent chant called back from those yet to be enlisted was almost religious in nature, a hauntingly bellowed bass that wrought a cacophony in reply. The harshly imparted wisdom that was pressed into their youthful charges was something that she now found somewhat endearing. Even though her memories of training were hellish, she was thankful for them now.

"Activate." There was a small electronic beep, followed thereafter by the sound of something spooling up.

A few seconds later a disembodied voice spoke.

"Vault door activation requested. Please identify yourself."

"Verification mode: Alpha-Romeo-Motel, Aerlina Renegard Menocourt; Lieutenant Major assigned to Broken Laurel. Gifted classification: Combat Sensorium Touch Specialty Level 3."

"Verification mode accepted. Welcome Lieutenant Major."

Of the many Gifted abilities, the Combat Sensorium can "see" the unique "aura" of an individual, this allows for a more intimate understanding of that person's psyche. Of the five known iterations, the Touch Specialty is the rarest form.

Those women and men with this ability, are one of the most feared of the Gifted, because with a single touch they can convey horrors beyond the wildest of imaginations. By using their victims own repressed fears, their power only serves to enhance the use of person's emotions against them in the form of pain.

Even fewer know, that Touch Specialty are some of the most sensual of people. Whether this is a natural branching of the power and its inherent rarity or a question of a specific person's own life experiences. There is a commonality that binds those with this specific ability.

Their expressed desire and need to bond with people in a physical way.

She noticed only the slightest of twitches from the sentry on her left. As the door was opening she turned to look at him and smiled, putting a hand on his armored shoulder and murmuring, "It isn't all bad, but since you're so educated, I'll find you afterwards."

She offered the solider a wink, then stepped through the threshold of the vault door.

He wouldn't be disappointed, she would see to that.

She had established a good connection with her chosen partner and the pulse surging through him was one she could sink her teeth into, she enjoyed an aura that could deliver and recharge her all in the same moment of time.

He would be grateful for the level of ecstasy she would in part on him. She would be grateful for the level of physical touch they would share. Even now, she could feel the presence of him, its strong, vibrant blue pulse made her keenly aware of the type of man she had chosen and was much pleased.

Even as the doors came to a close, her smile became a little wider. There was a beautifully colored violet pulse that lingered in the echo chambers of her mind.

The time had come to find Miranda Grey.

#  Stage 10

### Look, and you shall find it. Ask, and it shall be given to you.

Miranda took a steadying breath as the now insistent gut-level sensation urged her forward. It felt more pressing now, almost if trying to warn her not to doddle around. Only then did she feel her energy levels waver. She reasoned that since she had been up for twenty hours, the adrenaline rush was starting to erode. Curiously, though, her fatigue had started the moment she stepped into this white hall corridor.

As she walked down the hallway, a voice came out of nowhere.

"You have no authorization to be here."

She looked up and laughed. "I...," why was she so foggy-headed all of a sudden?

"I'm Lieutenant Major Miranda Grey. I was activated by LFC Richard De'Raegon, once the Commanding Officer of the Paradoxical Training Corps, once inducted I would have been an active member of Branch Cell, of the covert and security apparatus. I am here to complete my mission."

There was a brief pause, but this time a woman's voice came over the intercom system. She sounded older, more seasoned by the inflections in her voice.

"You have no authority here, Lieutenant Major. You have never been activated; we have no record of this since you failed your Final Milestone. Go back the way you came or we will use force."

Miranda looked up. She was tired, but even still the fire in her eyes and voice could not be denied. She wasn't about to turn back.

"I'm not going anywhere until I speak with Zechariah Fairchild."

There was an eerie silence for a full minute and half. Miranda was confused by the lack of response, and just as she was about to speak up, a door opened in front of her and a woman, about fifty years in age and dressed completely in white, walked up to Miranda.

"How do you know that name?"

Miranda heard the unmistakable 'click' as the hammer of a pistol was pulled back.

She peered at the older woman with a hint of alarm. "I told you... Richard activated me, he told—"

"Richard died three days ago, how could he have activated you?" There was a strange note of demand in her voice.

"He recorded the message prior to his death and told me to, no, insisted that I give Zechariah Fairchild his PSSX."

The older woman pulled the weapon out of her lab coat. There was something about how this woman held herself that told Miranda she meant business. She didn't doubt the woman also had backup waiting behind the doorway.

"You can't speak to him. He's..." She stopped and shook her head.

The urging in her mind was getting more and more demanding. Her grip on her paradoxical Gift was starting to slip.

"Listen, I have no idea why I came here," said Miranda, her voice betraying a growing panic. "I was going to Dylars' Ditch, but something pushed me this way. I have no other choice, so please just take me to Zechariah now!"

The older woman narrowed her eyes and whistled loudly. Three soldiers rushed in, dressed in full biochemical uniforms.

"Yes, Director Yang?" one intoned.

Director Yang grabbed Miranda by the shoulder with her free hand. She closed her eyes for just a moment, then yanked her hand away like she had just touched a hot stove. There was heightened level of urgency as she barked an order to the lead solider.

"She's a Stage Three! We need to get her out of this room now!"

Moving so quickly Miranda wondered if they were even human, the soldiers picked her up by her legs and arms and carried her through the open door. Miranda was too weak to stop them; the sudden drowsiness she felt was almost too welcoming.

In that same moment she passed through the threshold into the interior of the lab Miranda felt her energy slowly starting to return, but it was too late. She was surely losing control of her paradoxical Gift.

"Let me talk to Zechariah!"

She started to squirm and kick. The sensation was now a full-blown wave of a single emotion.

HURRY.

Director Yang cursed when one of her fellow scientists shouted an order to the guards to get her to quarantine.

"Teresa! We can't let her see him in the quarantine room like this! He'll kill her!"

"We don't have any options, Lin! We only have one operational quarantine room and you know better than anyone that if we don't she'll take us all out!"

Miranda was oddly disinterested by all of this. She didn't know who had responded to what question but she knew that something in that white room had completely sapped her of her all her energy. She looked up at the two scientists.

"What did you fools do to me?! I had it under... control...!"

The Director nodded to the soldiers, reaffirming her subordinate's order to cart Miranda off in a hurry.

"That hallway you were just in has one purpose; it weeds out the Gifted from the paradoxically Gifted."

Miranda stopped struggling and looked up at the woman named Teresa.

To say that she was confused would have been an understatement.

"What the hell do you mean?!"

She gasped as another powerful sensation swept over her.

MIRANDA, HURRY.

Miranda shook her head, as her paradoxical Gift started to manifest. "I suggest you hurry!"

It wasn't a full second later that they stopped and set her on her feet. Director Yang punched in her credentials. There were notable tones of panic in her voice now.

"Director Lin Yang, Paradox Gifted Unit Alpha authorization number 24-Bravo-78. Open quarantine blast door, now!"

On cue the large blast door opened and Miranda was ushered inside. They laid her down on the floor, then the three were out of the room just as the blast doors started to close. She turned to look at the older woman.

"Where is Zechariah?"

Both women had the most terrified looks upon their faces. Just before they exited, the Director spoke up, "You're about to meet him."

The same moment the main door slammed closed, a secondary door opened and she was hit by a blast of energy that was so concentrated and raw, it left a taste of ozone in her mouth. She struggled to her feet and dove out of the small holding room into the larger holding area.

She stood and turned to look at the apparition that haunted this small corner of the world. Her eyes fell upon the large frame of a humanoid shape. A sudden gasp escaped, echoing the pain and terror she felt as a sudden pulsating energy chilled the core of her being. Her cell structure shrieked at the apparition.

The energy distorted everything, particularly the apparition's features. It was like looking at a heat wave. She squinted, but the image remained a shimmering blur. Then the being started speaking.

"...the time has come; the time has passed, the time has come at last..."

It slowly straightened to its full height and took a step forward. Miranda was hit by another wave of raw power, falling to ground and coughing up blood. She was trembling so violently now she could barely force herself to stand.

Miranda couldn't understand what was going on, but her paradoxical power was bubbling up. She felt like she was trying to hold closed a flood hatch of a sinking ship. The growing pressure was enormous.

Miranda's heart pounded, then started to get slower and slower. She looked up and could now make out what she thought was a smile, a crooked half smile. Its apparent warmth was enhanced by the extension of a hand.

Her first instinct was to attack the ghostly being, but something happened when his hand was extended. She experienced what only a Theorist Combat Precognitive could envision. Much like a movie reel being played with various alternate endings, she saw and understood the probabilities of her choices: to attack, to defend, to accept his offered hand. She saw the ways the attack could have been unleashed, if a particular attack would work, and the highest probability of survival.

She coughed again, more blood. She didn't have much time; but the answer that came to her nearly took her breath away.

She stood up. As she squared her shoulders, she looked her adversary - who was most definitely human, right in the eye.

"You're right... this time has come at last..."

Miranda envisioned her power like a blooming flower. In her mind she held the paradoxical Gift as if it were the most fragile piece of china and almost as delicately she released the lock she had so desperately been trying to keep from breaking.

An ancient phrase sprang to mind,

"Cry, 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war."

Miranda unleashed hell.

She gave in to Fate. She opened the gates to the one thing she was trying so hard to contain.

She embodied a figurative black hole; and in this black hole she would consume that wild raw concentrated power into herself.

The creature before her fought, then, in an unprecedented display of stamina, pumped even more power into Miranda's paradoxical Gift.

It was a battle so colossal, the seams of the quarantine room started to buckle outward, a titanic force of wills that threatened to destroy the entire building complex if allowed to continue.

Then Fate intervened again, mercifully granting in that moment a stalemate, a truce.

Miranda suddenly became fully aware of the awesome nature of her power. The more power she absorbed from him, the more control she was granted. As she opened her eyes, she could now distinguish Zechariah's features. She recognized a note of relief over his features as he smiled at her. He started walking to her, reached out his hands and took hers gently in his own. The warmth of his fingertips upon her skin was vivid and acute.

She was exhausted, yet her mind held no rebuke for her current state. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep, but for one moment she looked into his dark green eyes. They were surrounded by purple and seemed to glow and she stared deeply into them, knowing without knowing that he would have the answers to her questions. The man's eyes spoke to her, without words thanked her. She squeezed his hands tightly and tears fell freely from her eyes. She didn't know why all this was happening, but she sensed for the first time that she was exactly where she needed to be, not just finally in control of her own life, but also intimately, and perhaps infinitely, connected to this man before her.

He spoke to her in words that her ears could understand.

"Rest Miranda, you saved me. Now, let me save you..."

Her heart leapt in her chest! That urging emotion, that guiding sensation. That voice! Her inner guide had a name and it was Zechariah Fairchild, a man with a face, a smile, a hand.

Zechariah wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened only because it took her completely by surprise, and only for the fleetest of moments.

Is this a dream? She wondered.

That single thought echoed within her. Willingly, with a small smile on her lips, she murmured, "Zechariah, mission completed."

As she gave herself up to sleep.

#  Stage 11

### Recall, recall the days of lore! When we kings of men, where made!

Six months passed since the dramatic events that had occurred in the quarantine chamber. Both Miranda and Zechariah Fairchild had been admitted to the in-house ICU after their titanic face off.

Miranda's situation had been dire. Her body had started to shut down, and had it not been for her proximity to Zechariah, she would have died. She had no recollection of her stay in ICU. The stress placed upon her mind and later her body, due to the sudden release of her paradoxical Gift had caused her cellular structure to break down.

To keep her from experiencing excruciating pain, she had been placed into a medical-induced coma. On occasion she would wake from intense fevered dreams, only to be overcome with pain. Inciting a mad rush by the medical staff to stabilize her.

Though Zechariah had fared the onslaught better than anyone had expected, with only a few weeks stay in ICU, Miranda hovered between life and death for three months.

It was near the end of her third month, that her metabolic rate accelerated, even as her healing factor rose exponentially. It was nothing short of miraculous when she woke up without pain. Her paradoxical Gift, now tied to Zechariah's, had a surprising side effect on her overall cell regeneration. So perfect was this regeneration that her physical rehabilitation had only taken fifteen days. A normal person with her damage would have been in rehab for two years, a Gifted person with healing abilities six months.

Now that both of their paradoxical Gifts were under control, their close proximity became even more important. What frustrated Lian and her fellow researchers was that both continued to share a Level 1 vinculum, instead of a Level 2.

After two more weeks of check-ups, she was allowed to have some separation from Zechariah. To kill two birds with one stone, Miranda decided to use this time to start practicing control over her paradoxical power.

Because her paradoxical power continued to elude her control, and fearing its volatile nature Lian ordered her back into the recently opened quarantine training area. There Miranda and her assigned instructor, worked to expedite Miranda's mental conditioning. The training was brutal and long of days. As she pushed herself into exhaustion on a daily basis.

On the fifth month since the event, Miranda and Zechariah's situation turned a little more complicated.

At some point during a particularly intense mental training exercise, she was assaulted by her paradoxical self. So violent and unexpected was the attack that she lost all control and in such a way that no one registered a change in her persona.

During a ruthless and calculating two hours, Miranda was able to see, hear and do nothing to stop her paradoxical self from draining the life force of three of her fellow students and five of the instructors.

To add insult to injury, her "other self" had started seducing one of the men into letting her out of her restraints. Trapped within her own body and in a moment of sheer desperation, she had cried out to Zechariah for help.

How Zechariah was able to hear her, she did not know, but when he made his way to the view chamber, he took immediate action. Unable to open the door from the outside due to security requirements of that training session, he used his paradoxical powers to rip the sealed door from its hinges. Gaining access, Zechariah then leveled a harsh rebuke against Miranda's other self.

The intensity of the rebuke and the strength of Miranda's desire to regain control brought about a Level 2 vinculum between them, a bond more commonly known as "the connection".

This inexplicable telesthesia link allows emotions, thoughts, ideas and even the essence of oneself to uninhibitedly flow between a paradoxically Gifted pair.

This unique phenomenon is only created between two paradoxical pairs, and the conditions for the pairing are equally mysterious. Considered to be a sacred bond between two paradoxical people, and a shared understanding that must never be broken.

One must never hurt or foul the bond.

Doing so brings about an emotional assault that damages the deepest being of each pair.

Though the timing of this particular connection was unexpected, Director Yang was taken by complete surprise when she entered the room and came to the grips with the situation.

The instant the connection was formed, Miranda regained control of herself as she dove head first into a wellspring of emotions that made up the core of Zechariah.

She felt the pain of his past, the loss of his parents, friends, comrades and the bittersweet one-sided Level 1 connection he had shared with her for years. This sudden rush of emotions brought her own feelings of shame.

How dare you feel sorry for yourself, Miranda! When Zechariah has suffered far worse!

Miranda had never shed such bitter tears. Her shame, his grief were too much to bear.

She collapsed kneeling on the floor, the weight of those emotions threatening to crush her. In the midst of her pain she ached to feel the forgiving arms of Zechariah around her, for only he could drive away this bitter cold.

Zechariah's response was just as dramatic.

He quickly removed his jacket and covered Miranda, pulling her into a tight embrace. The moment the two of them made physical contact, Miranda felt a surge of emotion so overwhelming that she could only classify it as unequivocal love.

Unfortunately the relief was only for a moment. As it triggered a furious flash of logic, and with it denial.

Why the hell do I feel this way for a perfect stranger! Clinging to this man like a schoolgirl mooning over her first crush!

How dare you affect me in such a manner! You don't even know me!

Why are you even touching me!

An overwhelming desire to strike him filled her consciousnesses, even as she pushed him away in a rather violent manner.

In the instant between her thoughts, her disdain and her need for violence, the vinculum relayed Zechariah's own response.

The hurt cut him marrow deep.

She saw the shimmer of tears within his eyes, though none fell. And even as she tried to apologize, she felt the connection between them close off. Even as he offered her a half smile in return.

"Nothing to apologize for, my dear." His words strong, convincing to those listening.

But she knew better.

He stood, gave the order that her training be suspended until she was cleared by medical and left her in the care of the incoming medical team. Miranda was on bed rest for a few days. Though he maintained the gentlest sort of smile when he visited her, the vinculum that they had once shared was no more than a whisper of its former self.

She couldn't, no matter how hard she tried, open the connection again.

After that day, he would visit to make sure she was taken care of. Some days he maintained a rather cheerful disposition, others his more stoic self came about.

She couldn't decipher whether or not this was his normal behavior. She had intended to ask Lian directly, Miranda was unable to find the time because Lian and her research team had discovered that their vinculum had a strange quality.

Unlike most vinculum that once established would last a lifetime, Zechariah and Miranda had to renew their pact every twenty-four hours. This added an additional layer of complexity between them, since there was a need to have physical contact to reestablish that connection.

On the tenth day of the sixth-month, she had been called in by Director Yang for a regular checkup on her progress. Miranda noted that the director seemed both surprised and concerned that her ability and mastery of her paradoxical powers were improving rapidly.

Miranda wasn't the type of woman to allow any nagging sensation to fester, so she confronted the good doctor, "Director Yang, could you please explain why my progress is making you look like I've taken away your favorite doll?"

Director Yang gave her a rather bemused, if not slightly surprised look, but didn't back down from the question. If anything she had less skill with diplomacy than Miranda.

"That's because you have, you little thief."

Miranda didn't even have a chance to blink before the good doctor continued.

"Not only have you two broken every statistical and scientific measurement, you've also made years of work unacceptably incomplete."

She leaned back in her chair and sighed.

"As a scientist I should welcome these anomalies; complacency shouldn't be part of the norm. I was blissful, and ignorant to label him a statistical improbability. I can't really do that anymore because of you."

Miranda's breath got unusually rapid as she edged a bit more to attention. She prayed that Director Yang would continue with her thought out loud.

"I always knew he was different from the other cases. But to manifest his paradoxical Gift, without a catalyst present is pure madness. Statistically improbable, a fluke generated by this massive machine we have been trying for decades to decipher. Even as his abilities charted our instrumentation off the scales. There was so much energy bursting from within that boy that none of our original equipment could quantify it, let alone measure the rate of power he could generate. Do you understand that Zechariah is the reason we had to change the way we measure all Gifted? Then we detected the traces of a pairing, and because of his awakened self we were led straight to you."

She took a moment as she leaned forward to pick up her cup of coffee. After a long sip, she continued.

"He was nineteen. At first we thought it was the de-stabilization of that catalyst, the rapid change a human body experiences from adolescence to adulthood."

She turned her piercing eyes to Miranda's direction.

"Then the more we calibrated our instrumentation, we realized it was _your_ development that caused his paradoxical powers to manifest."

Miranda hated it when she was caught off guard. _It happened twice in less than five minutes! Ridiculous!_

Yet there she was, pointing to herself, a sudden image of a young girl claiming her innocence after being scolded by her school headmaster.

"Me? What did I do?" Miranda asked.

"You were twelve when your Gift was first noticed, were you not?"

Miranda just sat there looking even more perplexed.

Director Yan sighed interrupting her confusion, "Yes, it was."

"You, that silly little pig-tailed strawberry blonde. Even so, your powers were something to take note of; the only problem was that yours were not paradoxical in nature. Instead you were developing your Gift just as it had happened a thousand times before with a thousand other people."

She growled suddenly as she took another sip of her coffee.

"We failed you."

"We were so entranced by the new and exciting developments with Zechariah, we missed the dangers hidden deep within you. By orders, we left you to grow up undisturbed. Then came that fateful day you've never been able to forgive yourself for - the accident. Had we known then that proximity could provoke your paradoxical self, into existence, we would have kept Zechariah away from you on that day."

Miranda was three for three, as she sprang to her feet.

"Zechariah was on the orbiter?" Her heart was racing, as revelation struck her like a brick. "So that's how you were able to stop me..."

She said this to herself, even as Director Yang nodded, setting down the coffee mug and exhaling.

"Yes, that's the only reason your paradoxical Gifted didn't drain the orbiter's power arrays. The truly puzzling part of the whole business was what you - well, your other self, said to him while you were in that trance-like state."

Miranda couldn't even bring herself to ask, but Director Yang was rather accommodating today.

"You said, 'A gift, to the reason of my existence.' Zechariah was never one to approve of senseless killings and I was assured in my own ignorance that he would surely disapprove of such an action, but instead he smiled almost as if in gratitude!"

The director shook her head, deciding that another sip of coffee was in order. Miranda clutched her hand over her breast. She couldn't breathe. She knew for a fact now that her paradoxical self had taken over on that day. She had blocked out the details as much as possible. She could barely remember the intense aftermath of the cataclysmic event.

She was suddenly terrified to know that her other self had done it on purpose. To sacrifice so many as a gift was beyond her comprehension.

Director Yang cleared her throat, then continued. "By our previous logic, you should have manifested right then and there, but Zechariah did the unthinkable. He prevented you from completing your natural transition. Instead he bound your Gifted side to your paradoxical side. He then forced your paradoxical self to submit and the person you are today was allowed to continue."

Miranda's head was spinning now.

"What do you mean, 'allowed to continue'?"

"Miranda Grey, the silly pig-tailed strawberry blonde, would have ceased to exist. As in, the person you are now at this moment would have for all intent and purposes, died."

Miranda's heart grew cold, her head stopped spinning as Director Yang's words began to seep in. Her eyes filled with fear.

"How can... how can that be?"

"We are not sure, but the person you are now was only intended to be a temporary shell. That is why you are called 'paradoxically Gifted.' The paradox is that in your search to control your paradoxical Gift you have to die so that your other self can emerge. It's much like the concept of a seed dying to give way to a sprout. That was until Zechariah chose you over the more powerful and better adaptable Kisandra."

Miranda even saw an almost regretful look on Director Yang's features. "She would have been perfect for Zech—"

Director Yang, stopped mid-sentence as Miranda slammed the palms of both hands down on her desk.

"H-How do you know about Ki?"

She hadn't spoken that name in almost fifteen years. No one could have known about Ki, no one!

Yang's eyebrow shot up. "Ki?"

"Ki...I mean...Kisandra was the name of my imaginary friend. I didn't outgrow her until I was twelve."

Director Yang's expression only reaffirmed the fact Kisandra was in fact, not just some child's imaginary friend. She leaned back in her chair and her fingertips created a small rectangle, her two index fingers moving to a rhyme only she could hear.

"What was she like, Miranda?"

Miranda felt sick to her stomach. She couldn't believe she was about to have this conversation.

"You realize that I'm about to describe my imaginary friend, right?"

Director Yang stared at her like a sphinx.

Miranda sighed and took a page from the good Director. After a moment, she was back to her seated position. She leaned back in her chair, doing her best to pretend that she wasn't a hair's breadth from completely losing her mind.

"Kisandra was, for lack of a better word, passionate and driven. She was as much my Super-ego as she was my Id. There was silly little Miranda, as you so unceremoniously put it, and then you had Kisandra. She was calculating, precise and with an analytical side that would have made a computer cry. She taught me the value of discipline, focus and self-confidence. She was everything I wanted to be and more, but as I grew up, I started to notice that Kisandra had a side to her that was unwholesome.

"I remember a time when she chastised me for helping a younger school mate who was being bullied. She told me 'weakness must be weeded out.' I don't think I've every disagreed with her before that day. It wasn't too long after that she started to fade from my memory and I eventually was unable to contact her."

Director Yang had transformed. She was now an unblinking, cold statue crafted of marble, watching Miranda as if she was some rare atomic reaction.

During that small pause when Miranda finished her discourse, and after the socially acceptable pause to allow the other party to speak, the tension between them became palpable.

With a sudden motion, Lian shot up out of her chair and slammed her fist on the table.

At the sudden sound, Miranda's boot camp training kicked in and she pushed the couch back, flipping it in an attempt to enact the "dirt and cover" maneuver. She heard the sound of plastic smashing against the desk as Director Yang nearly drove her finger through the communications button on her desk.

"I need you to find Zechariah Ferdinand Ruiz Fairchild and get this sorry _ass_ to this office immediately!"

Miranda had experienced shell shock once before when a small fighter craft smashed into the orbital station where she was assigned, but never from a human being. She found herself peeking over the couch as she watched Director Yang panting in absolute fury.

Zechariah arrived moments later, undoubtedly briefed that he had been summoned by the use of his full legal name, as he glanced over to Miranda, unfazed.

"Oh well hello, Miranda!" he said with his usual cheerfulness.

The look on Miranda's face as she turned to face him, the couch it is turned over position and the absolute fury on Director Yang's face, made his smile only slightly less cheerful.

"Zechariah Fairchild," shouted the Director, "you have some explaining to do and I want a straight answer from you, now!"

Zechariah took it all in as if this wasn't his first time explaining himself to an irate Director.

"Of course Lian, ask away."

"Just how the hell did you prevent your true self from manifesting?"

Zechariah's cheerful exterior fell away and the face of someone far more terrifyingly familiar appeared. It was the face a man who had seen far too much. Far too much war, far too much suffering. There, he cast a reflection on Miranda's own past.

The training, the blood, the anguish.

She missed the weight of a pistol in her hand; the textured feel that was the hilt of her combat knife. Watching him made it clear to her what she had lost. Even so, she squeezed her hand once more, suppressing her shaking hand, her poker tell.

Zechariah offered Lian a disarming smile that contained none of its normal mirth.

"How? I simply destroyed him, Lian. Utter and complete destruction. There was nothing left of that would-be impostor."

Lian watched him with utter shock that quickly morphed into visible despair.

"How could you do such a thing?!"

Zechariah shrugged.

"Survival, Lian. Plain and simple survival. Zephaniah was meant for a higher purpose. He was meant for greater things, but he was as cruel as he was arrogant. I deemed him unworthy of the power that we shared. So I decided I wasn't going to allow him to take over and wreak havoc. Much like Jacob and Esau, I stole his birthright."

Lian was speechless.

"Let me make this clear: Zephaniah is gone. Now, can I verify unequivocally that he's utterly gone? No. He could well be hiding somewhere in there, but as far as I'm concerned he's no longer an issue. As for the next possible question, why did I allow Miranda to continue, but not destroy Kisandra? That's a more complicated issue and I would much rather talk to Miranda about it first and certainly not at this time."

Lian watched him for a moment longer and crossed her arms over her chest. In that motion a lock of her hair fell loose and rested at an awkward angle upon her cheek.

Zechariah's tone and demeanor softened as he walked over to her side and coaxed that stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Don't be upset with me, Lian."

She snorted at him, and he chuckled in response. He turned to Miranda.

"I shall call upon you soon, Miranda. Forgive the interruption."

After a dry acknowledgment he left the room as quietly as he had entered. Miranda, with much effort, flipped the couch back to its righted state, and sat back down on it to take in all that had just been revealed.

She had seen a different side of Zechariah today.

It wasn't difficult to spot that change in personality, the hardness, the deadpan look. Miranda had seen much of that during her time in the military. A flinty set of one's features when the memory of friends and comrades killed in battle resurfaced.

Yet through it all, he had managed to maintain his warm spirit. He hadn't allowed the obvious angst to overcome who he was at his core.

Lian exhaled as she seated herself and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.

"He hails from a distinguished family," she began, "royalty to be exact. One of the few families in the Old Republic that could trace their heritage back to the end of the seventh century A.D. Mitochondrial DNA confirmed that the Fairchild family was a direct descendant to Gisela the younger, daughter of the fabled Charlemagne."

There was brief moment, a softening of her expression, as she seemed to recall a not so darkened past.

"Technology is such a wonderful tool and it never ceases to amaze me how intricate and unique our human biology truly is. Even more curious was that the Fairchild lineage for generations hailed some of the rarer expectations of productive aristocracy, which spoke for Gisela the younger's management and training of those that would succeed her. Perhaps this offers a few clues on the question of nurture verse nature, but I digress.

"The Old Republic's initiative was to find families of royal bloodlines and bring them back into the fold of governance. They had hoped to invoke something of that royal nature. They clearly had a romanticized vision of the ancients of old coming back to reclaim their rightful seats of power. And so a respectable family of means was, in a matter of days, elevated to a former glory not experienced by anyone in several hundred generations."

Miranda felt strangely honored to hear such an intimate account of Zechariah's heritage.

Lian continued her account.

"Born into privilege, he is one of the rare breed of aristocrats who learned the value of hard work, honest labor and interactions with those of a less privileged upbringing. Through the example of his father and mother, he was able to retain a balanced sense of self."

Her eyes cast a more solemn expression.

"He was eight when his entire family was massacred." She paused to let that heavy truth settle. "By chance or providence he had been visiting the house of a distant cousin when the assault came. Just as eager as the Old Republic was at one point of finding those of royal bloodlines, the same government under a different guidance were just as eager to destroy them.

"Of the fifty-five families that were raised to prominence when the Old Republic was still young enough to romanticize, only ten survived. Of those ten, only two families were able to escape unscathed: the Tattersalls and the Livingstones. Everyone else who survived fled the Old Republic and the remaining members of those eight families joined under one banner, the Sigil Corporation. For twenty years after they had been the driving force behind the modernization of what was then just a collection of backwater planet colonies."

"He was eleven when he joined a ghost op team created by the Tattersall Corporation, with the covert support of the Livingstone and Sigil Corporations. Those three entities were able to pool their massive wealth to use against the Old Republic directly. Zechariah was trained by the best money could buy as were the rest of the orphaned children. One could argue it was unconscionable, but considering the circumstances..."

Lian left that for Miranda to decide.

"He didn't have much of a childhood after that. Yet, even with all the heartache he suffered he was always the kind man you see today. Cheerful, happy, full of life. One could have considered it miraculous that he didn't lose himself to grief and I would not have blamed him if he had. But somehow, his hope endured. I was hired by the Tattersall corporation when six children started to show signs of being paradoxically Gifted. Their ages ranged between thirteen and fifteen. Despite being the youngest of the bunch, the other children considered Zechariah their leader. He was the only one that wasn't completely maladjusted."

Lian took a deep breath and exhaled sadly.

"My arrival couldn't have come at a better time for Zechariah. Not a year later two of his comrades fell into a state of Thendenic dementia."

Miranda's eyes grew wide, but only in somber realization.

Thendenic dementia or more accurately, Caffer's Thendenic Dementia, was a mental disease that only affected those with a history of ungoverned use of their Gifted and paradoxically Gifted abilities. Without proper conditioning, all Gifted would fall into some level of Thendenic dementia.

"As he lost more and more of his friends to Thendenic dementia, I would find him sobbing in his room. That he could still cry gave me hope. It was during those moments of heightened stress that he manifested the first signs of his paradoxical Gift and self.

"Zephaniah manifested himself then, and from that point on it took six years of hard training, work and education to get them both to harness that extraordinary power of his into a semi-stable state, even as we collectively worried about the day his paradoxical Gift would eventually come into full fruition. Then you turned twelve and in that moment we witnessed the most serene example of a dual manifestation, by which I mean the full fruition of his paradoxical Gift. On that day he truly became whole and you were the one that fueled him. It would also seem that he took it upon himself to destroy Zephaniah.

"His heightened development of the connection today is directly attributed to the strict nature of his physical absence in your life, Miranda. I dare say that over that time he's started to love you as none could ever love, unless of course, you're one of the few Gifted with this perplexing paradox. In hindsight, it makes sense why he was able to destroy Zephaniah. He has always had a firm grip of his own self-identity."

Miranda was beginning to understand the pain Zechariah felt at her rejection, but she needed clarification.

"Do you mean he's been watching over me? Since I was twelve?"

Something in Miranda's tone softened Lian's response.

"In the Level 1 pairing of the paradoxically Gifted one person is dominant and the other, recessive. You're the dominant of the pair. You awakened his powers, and because of that, he's been able to sense your presence regardless of distance. Perhaps watching isn't an accurate way to describe it, but it's the only word that can even remotely explain the first level of the vinculum. He's always been distinctly aware of you. He always made sure you never meet any major crisis without some sort of support. That gut feeling you've had for all these years? That was him."

Lian paused, clearly unsure whether or not to continue.

"He ordered us to never have any interaction with you. He wanted your childhood to be normal, for you to make your own decisions. We weren't allowed to do anything to compromise your life. Only twice did we ever see you; once when we had your family under surveillance after Zechariah manifested his powers and then again, during the incident at the orbiter."

Miranda offered a nervous girlish giggle, followed by a warm smile to express her relief.

"So you mean to tell me that the only visual you had of me was being a silly little girl in pig-tails, then suddenly I was an adult?"

Lian leaned back and considered this for a long moment, perhaps too long as Miranda only intended this to be a passing jest and to cover the fact that she was uncomfortable with seeing Zechariah as some kind of supernatural stalker.

To Miranda's surprise, she responded.

"Yes, in fact... it's hard to see you in any other light. You were never meant to be. Kisandra was supposed to take over."

Lian exhaled as she brought her hand up to the bridge of her nose and started to rub it gingerly, then more aggressively as she began to speak again.

"Everything about Zechariah is a damnable mystery. Why did Kisandra vanish from your consciousness after your twelfth year? Was it his doing? Does he even accept her as your replacement? It almost seemed so after what happened in that orbiter when he smiled and thanked Kisandra for such a horrific gift."

She moved her hand and her dark eyes narrowed in on Miranda.

"This exactly why the Paradoxical Training Corps was shut down. The so called 'irrational' behavior is in fact the other personality asserting dominance over its supposed paradoxical Gift."

Miranda didn't understand every little detail of the Director's revelations, but regardless of all the impossible contradictions, it all made a twisted sort of sense. The Paradoxical Training Corps wasn't something that could be run in a standard military setting. It required a "special" set of rules and operating procedures that were above and beyond what the military was charged to handle.

"Is that why Branch Cell was created?" Miranda inquired softly.

There was a slight narrowing of Lian's eyes.

"Yes and no. Branch Cell was created under different circumstances, and I can't elaborate because you lack proper clearance. What I can tell you is that it became an outlet for operatives with Gifted ability to use their powers, but since the disbanding of the PTC, Branch Cell returned to its original operational manifest. We've become more vertically integrated since then.

"Though this is all unofficial, of course. Officially we still have the backing of the Colonial Security and Intelligence Bureau and the resources of both domestic and foreign covert and security apparatus. The problem is that Broken Laurel has the same privileges."

Lian leaned in as her voice took on a more serious tone.

"Which brings me to this critical point: Broken Laurel has you in their cross hairs. I don't know what you did to bring so much attention to yourself or why that PSSX is so damnably important to Broken Laurel, but until Zecc decides to move we can only make sure you're somewhat prepared to meet these new challenges as his partner."

Lian stood up. "Go get some rest, Miranda and before I forget..." She walked over to a wall safe and punched in her key code, using her thumb for verification. The safe came open and she removed a small PSSX from its interior. She walked over and handed it to Miranda.

"You were charged with personally delivering this to Zechariah. I wouldn't want to deprive you of that responsibility."

Miranda reached up and took it in hand. She had been secretly worrying about the location of the PSSX. She looked up at Lian and nodded her appreciation.

Lian smiled lightly. "Process what you can and I'll brief Zechariah. He'll be in contact with you in six days."

#  Stage 12

### The complication of truth is that sometimes the truth isn't complicated.

Night, having move from obscurity, the shadow and dark forms that cultivate in the absence of light, such was the timing as a fuming young woman walked the now silent sidewalk of a certain downtown's rather illustrious housing complex. The woman's apartment wasn't but half a block away and she was planning on running a hot bath and drinking a glass of red wine to wash away that days stress.

Her mind was rushing far too quickly, processing so much data that it took a while for her consciousness to register what her instincts were shouting in alarm. She stopped and felt goose bumps on her arms and neck, shivering at the realization that crossed her mind.

She had a fleeting thought that perhaps she was only feverish, even sick. Her sense of smell contradicted that assertion, for there was a smoky sweet scent in the air, prompting a memory of nights camping with family, of burning wood, that dark sweet aroma. The scent memory was interrupted by another smell - the faint smell of rotting eggs. She turned around to see the barely visible outline of what appeared to be a couple standing just outside the circle of light provided by a nearby street lamp.

"Excuse me," she said, not understanding why her voice was quivering, "but... do you smell sulfur?" She fought against an overwhelming urge to flee.

A small giggle resonated impossibly close to her. A male voice answered. His voice was friendly, helpful, even cheerful.

"Sulfur?" he said oh so gently, sounding surprised and saddened at the same time. "It would seem we found the one you were looking for my love."

The other voice responded, a woman's voice, but this voice held no warmth, no cheer, no friendliness. Instead it resonated with a deep, unadulterated yearning. It was a voice that spoke of an unsatisfied hunger. A voice like that of a crackling flame.

"She will do, her body will consume quite nicely."

In an instant, the woman knew she was about to die. Fear gripped her. Stepping back, she clutched her hands over her breast and began to mutter, as if a mantra, "This can't be happening, this can't be happening..."

A gentle finality filled the man's voice, almost as if he regretted the news he was about to impart.

"My friend is running dangerously low, dear stranger. I'm sorry to inform you that you fit her need for consumption." The second silhouette started to move forward, the light from the street lamp flickered and died.

The woman tried to run; even managed to turn in the opposite direction, pushing herself forward for a few yards down the sidewalk. But the attack came at her too fast, with surgical skill.

She was thrown against a wall, falling on her knees she blubbered for mercy, only to be met by a chilling laugh.

She raised her arms.

She covered her face.

She squeezed her eyes shut to pretend the monsters away.

Then came the culmination of the horrific act, the piercing scream as the air filled with a precipitous amount of agony and pain.

Before the scream could echo off the masonry of the buildings, a deafening silence swallowed it. A silence so profound, any man would panic by the sheer stillness it created.

The silent steps of her lover approached her,

"How are you feeling, my love? Was she what you were looking for?"

His voice echoed in the surreal chambers of her mind, bypassing that manufactured silence. She turned as she felt a gentle hand rest on her shoulder.

She nodded, as he heard her response echo in his mind.

"Yes."

In this telepathic state, her voice no longer had that quality of crackling flame; that hunger in her voice, the yearning that could never be quenched.

Just as quickly as that silence was created, she dispelled the power with a motion of her hand.

"That's good." There was measure of cheer to his voice. "Maybe when it's all said and done, they'll let use find an isolated spot you can consume..."

She turned to look up at him and smiled rather fondly, leaning up to kiss his lips. "...rather than consuming you and making the pain stop once and for all?"

"My pain is nothing compared to yours, my love," he said, deepening the kiss between them.

The moment of passion was disturbed by a distinctive crackling sound coming from their earpieces, a familiar yet not so welcomed voice that interrupted their little interlude.

"What, in the name of heaven, are you two doing downtown?!"

There was small growl from the woman, but the man was a bit more diplomatic, raising his hand to his throat and keying the mike that was strapped around his neck,

"She needed to feed and so she fed."

There was a small pause as Aerlina's voice came back through the earpiece securely lodged in his ear canal. He could tell she was suppressing a most powerful urge to yell.

"Get the hell back to HQ. If you two get caught in the open there will be hell to pay. Copy that?"

He grunted into his mike. "Copy that."

A gentle touch upon his lover's shoulder tempered his lover's stress.

"Come, my dear. Our warden bids our company."

She smirked, but instead of moving she crouched down and with her fingers touched the recently-scorched cement wall. She patted the place of the woman's execution almost lovingly; as she straightened to her full height.

A beautiful design, even if she thought so herself.

The man smiled as he admired her work. "Your best yet, my dear."

Returning the smile and nuzzling his shoulder, she wrapped her arm around his waist. As the pair slowly walked away from the immediate area, for all the world they were just another happy couple heading home after a long night out.

The next morning brought upon its usual cast of onlookers, some of whom stopped and pondered the new form of graffiti on the wall. Many found it rather beautiful, even as others found it oddly disturbing.

Someone had burned what appeared to be the profile of a kneeling woman right into the masonry wall.

#  Stage 13

### There are far deeper places, darker revelations.

Miranda woke up with a start. She could smell the hellish fire and feel the heat on her skin. With a shaky hand she brushed her hair back and swallowed.

She needed something to drink.

As she pulled back the sheets and blanket, she noticed that her covers where wet to the touch. There was a small sigh as she walked over to bathroom and unceremoniously started to drink straight from the tap. The coolness of the water was refreshing. The heat she had felt started to fade along with that repulsive smell of burning... what? Flesh?

She drank more water and dried her face with a nearby towel. When she noticed that even her t-shirt and shorts were damp, she sighed and decided she had to shower. She had just started to remove her shirt when she heard a knock on her door.

She blushed when she found Zechariah standing on the other side. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her nearly naked self, allowing him a shy smile,

"Oh..." she cleared her throat, "Good morning, Zechariah."

"Good morning, Miranda!" Reaching over he gripped her shoulder with a warm squeeze. Miranda tensed up at the touch.

He looked her up and down and once again she blushed. When he spoke again, there was a note of concern in his voice.

"Did I wake you from a bad dream, my dear?"

As odd as it would have sounded coming from any other man, when Zechariah said those two words it made a certain amount of sense. He spoke that way to everyone. One could almost tell the level of happiness (or irritation) he had with a person just by the inflection given to those two words at the end of a sentence.

Miranda swallowed and shrugged her free shoulder.

"Nothing serious, just a rather vivid dream."

Zechariah gave her a piercing look, but didn't press further. Instead, he offered a smile of reassurance.

"As you wish, then. I came to tell you that breakfast will be served in my office. Join me as soon as you've completed your morning rituals. We have much to discuss."

Miranda looked up at him with genuine appreciation. She had been remarkably impatient about getting a full debrief so that she could finally fill the gaps in her knowledge about her paradoxical Gift.

"Thank you, Zechariah! I've been... a bit anxious to know more about what's going on."

Zechariah nodded.

"It would have been more helpful six days ago, but it would seem that even the head of Branch Cell has to respect the wishes of his science director."

He looked a bit thoughtful for a moment then smiled.

"Sometimes I think she's the one wearing the pants in this family."

Zechariah rolled his eyes and made a playful sour face. Miranda tried to conceal her small giggle with a demure cough.

"Anyway! I'll let you get about your business. I'll see you in two hours?"

Miranda gave him a nod. Smiling as brightly as ever, he released her shoulder and did an about-face, humming as he walked away from her door.

Miranda closed the door behind him.

She could feel her heart beating rather heavy in her chest, their situation was still unchanged, even though he felt some level of comfort touching her shoulder, and not immediately releasing it when she tensed up. She even felt their connection renew itself when he made contact with her.

Miranda took only thirty minutes to get herself presentable, and spent the remaining hour and half meditating. But even then she still found herself anxious. The conflict of emotions within her didn't do much to improve her mood or erase the lingering sense of dread her dream had planted within her.

As she approached Zechariah's door she started to feel the connection they shared from the hallway. Even though the connection was still closed to her as it had been before, that didn't keep her from feeling the warmth of his presence.

She wondered if Zechariah had offered that small comfort on purpose, but whatever the explanation, she appreciated the welcoming warmth.

She took a deep breath and started to knock on the door. It opened before her knuckles touched the wood.

"Ah! Excellent timing," said Zechariah, eyes still bright as ever. "Come on in and have a seat. You're a coffee drinker from what I've observed so I hope you don't mind a bit of a treat."

Miranda was caught off guard by this timing. He took her by the elbow and, with an air of confidence that put him in control, led her over to her seat. There had never been an issue with compliance, as she would have without question followed his request, but the regal tenor in his voice sometimes unnerved her. As she sat down she registered the delicious smell of freshly-ground coffee.

Zechariah started to prepare the coffee using an ancient form of preparation and using what was once known as a Turkish coffee set. On impulse she picked up her copper-framed demitasse, admiring the intricate metalwork. Zechariah deftly poured some water into the copper cezve and used his lighter to ignite a small burner. With careful cadence, he set the cezve over the flame, bringing the water to a boil, and then pulling it back away from the heat.

He looked up at her and smiled.

"Are you familiar with this ancient Turkish way? The coffee is ground to a fine powder. After bringing the coffee to a boil, we repeat the step two more times and, voila, it's done. Do you take sugar?"

Miranda shook her head as she set down the small porcelain cup. The rich scent of the coffee took to the air, infusing her senses with its heady aroma and a surprising smoothness that made her mouth water. Zechariah set the pot on a small dish she suspected was also made of copper.

"It's nearly ready. First, we let the heavier elements of the coffee settle."

A few minutes later he started pouring the coffee into her porcelain demitasse.

Miranda inhaled the aroma, which brought yet another smile to Zechariah's lips. The ever-valiant host, he produced a small porcelain saucer with several pieces of sweet Turkish confections.

Bemused by all these grand gestures, she couldn't refuse the offered sweets. She decided upon one of the larger squares. Before taking a bite, she cautiously took a sip of her coffee.

The explosion of the sweet confection and the bitterness of the coffee had a blissfully positive effect upon her mood. The coffee was not only deliciously strong, but so flavorful that it complemented the confection. She couldn't help but exhale lustfully at the sensations that were playing games within her mouth.

Zechariah watched her with a bliss all his own.

After a moment of pure happiness, Miranda returned to reality and blushed.

"This is some amazingly good coffee."

Zechariah took a sip of his brew.

"Consider this a ceremony, Miranda. Today is the day that your questions will be answered to the best of my ability." As he took another sip he continued, "Lian told me that she brought you up to speed on most of what happened in our past, but there are a few things we need to clear up before we continue. First, I want you to know that I closed the vinculum between us because I was hurt by your violent reaction. The beautiful and cruel nature of the vinculum is that not only can you recycle feelings of euphoria and happiness, but also feelings of abject terror and discontent."

He set his demitasse down for the moment and weaved his fingers together.

"In our case, we would have triggered a state of vinculum-induced depression. Since you are not accustomed to what we call a Level 2 vinculum connection, I couldn't allow you to suffer. I didn't wish for you to suffer a relapse."

Miranda knew immediately what he was up to and raised a hand.

"You have suffered from the lack of it since then haven't you?" she said. Her eyes didn't leave his.

Zechariah hesitated for a split second, then nodded.

"Yes, but coming into close contact with you has helped ease that pain. I know tha-"

Miranda cut him off.

"Listen, first and foremost, we are who we are regardless of what we feel comfortable doing. I want you to re-open the vinculum and I won't hear any objections."

Zechariah watched her for a long moment, before finally nodding. Like a door opening to the morning sun, Miranda could feel their connection being restored. The first thing she felt was a deep relief within Zechariah. Other feelings and impressions flowed to her like an insistent river.

She was keenly aware of the impact her reaction to the coffee had made on him. From the details from her first sip, to the rather colorful thoughts that arose in his mind. A sudden flush of emotions from such a simple action made her feel like laughing. She was breathless by such a rich and nuanced emotion.

Other emotions started to filter through the vinculum. She discovered as they arrived that she could target specific points in time to consider, and that strange new ability both frightened and empowered her.

Zechariah smiled and closed his eyes.

"Forgive me for making you worry, Miranda. I just couldn't handle the thought of you in more pain after what happened that day."

Miranda let all of these emotions and feelings wash over her. To discover that she had always been tied to Zechariah so intimately didn't seem so far fetched as she had once thought. He had always been there. Lian was right. He was that refined gut feeling she could call upon in a pinch.

"How often did you give me the right nudge? Which role did you play the most? Was it the little angel on the right, or the devil on the left?"

Zechariah laughed.

"Often enough, more times than I should have honestly." Smiling at her sheepishly he continued. "Though, believe me when I say that your most heroic and character-defining moments were all yours."

Miranda nodded.

Did he know that was one of her worries?

Was it due to the vinculum?

Or was it something else perhaps?

Whatever the case, she took comfort in his reassurance and more importantly believed him.

Zechariah took another drink of his coffee.

"I don't wish to rush anything, but I've been at my wits end about the PSSX."

Miranda stood and stood next Zechariah. In the same motion he also stood. He knew that Miranda had always been a woman of ceremony and she expected him to understand, not because of the vinculum, but as a fellow soldier.

Zechariah faced her and extended his left hand.

"Zechariah Fairchild," said Miranda. "I was tasked by my handler, recently deceased Lieutenant Richard De'Raegon, to deliver this PSSX to you, contingent of further orders, sir."

Zechariah took the PSSX and looked it over in a moment of puzzlement.

"And rather unfortunately mislabeled."

Miranda stared at Zechariah.

"Huh?"

Zechariah looked up at her and noted the blank expression upon her features and her rather halfhearted attempt at sound. This amused him greatly, but he continued his train of thought.

"What I mean is that this isn't a PSSX, my dear. I would wager that if you tried to input this device into a typical PSSX slot, you would trigger the magical smoke that is the bane of hardware technicians Entente wide."

The sheer amusement of this comment hummed between them as the vinculum relayed to her just how clever he thought he was.

An epiphany struck her like a bag of bricks.

"A double bluff?!" She said this with a mixture of realization and annoyance as Zechariah walked over to his desk and pulled open a drawer. He pulled out a small MPD or Music Playing Device that was attached to a pair of earphones.

Miranda watched as he took his seat again and inserted the pseudo PSSX into his MPD. Using the MPD standard universal connection, he completed the connection, by using one of the many user friendly peripherals located on the side of his monitor screen.

Zechariah keyed up an application that recognized his music player. He smiled as he used a unique pattern of keys on the keyboard to bring up a sub-display, which started a familiar decryption process.

"You mean to tell me it's nothing more than a memory card?" said Miranda. "What about the whole 'build your own PSSX' training? Do you realize how many of us toiled away under that assumption? More importantly how in the nine hells did you know it wasn't a PSSX?"

Zechariah cleared his throat, and started speaking as if he was addressing an auditorium full of students.

"In the world of electronic peripherals the two galactic standards are the PSS and PSSX. Through the years many variations of connections have come and gone, from standard physical connections to wireless back to physical. For a time, the physical connections were solely fiber optic in nature. But then the preferred standard reverted back to conductive metal components. Each connection has its own standards, and though the PSSX connection is able to be plugged into a PSS connection, the converse is not true. Due to this purposeful engineering design, a coloring code was implemented. Red for the PSS, yellow for the PSSX. A helpful rhyme soon followed,'Red on yellow, kill a fellow. Yellow, red not soon regret'."

Zechariah gave her a cheeky look, even as Miranda narrowed her eyes threateningly.

"Now, now...just because you and your class didn't have the genius I possessed when I built mine doesn't mean you should get mad at me for it. As for your next question, it's the weight. Next time you pick up your PSSX, test the weight of it. Moving on, my idea was simple; make your enemies believe it's something that it isn't. Those who have had the unpleasant surprise of accidentally plugging a PSS into a PSSX port understand that there is a most definite engineering design difference."

Miranda shook her head. The concept was so simple, yet damnably effective.

"Exactly right, Miranda: 'keep it simple, stupid.'"

She had seen that saying etched underneath the lid of a desk she had used during her tenure as a PTC student. Now she knew exactly who had etched it.

"Words to live by, huh?"

Zechariah nodded as he watched his monitor.

"Those words have kept me alive and sane over the years. That's not to say I follow it all the time. My father always said that there is no better teacher than experience."

Miranda gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Through the vinculum, she was able to soothe his mind of that painful memory. To her pleasure, he responded by not dwelling on the past.

When the decryption process ended, the application started to compile something from the decrypted data. Miranda had fully intended to stand behind him, but at this cue, Zechariah took Miranda's hand and guided her in front of him. She took the clue and sat on his lap. The look she gave him and the smile he returned conspired to form a perfect moment.

"Can't have something this important played over the speakers now can we?" As he offered her one of the wired earphones.

Miranda laughed.

Zechariah wrapped an arm around her waist, with his free hand he pressed a button on a small dashboard on his desk. The room dimmed and the windows took on an opaque cast that would impede anyone from looking in.

Zechariah then started the video.

#  Stage 14

### The rite of passage from innocent dove to clever snake.

The footage was clearly security grade, but the angle of the camera indicated that whoever recorded this had seated it on top of a table. The obvious conclusion was that it had been obfuscated in some fashion.

Richard must have been in his late thirties. In the video, he looked strong and vibrant; there wasn't a speck of gray on his mane of jet black hair. Miranda couldn't identify the woman sitting next to him, but for some reason she thought she had seen the youth before. Next to the mysterious (and rather young) woman was a man in his late sixties. Though his hair was completely gray, he had a powerfully built upper torso. There was a striking resemblance between him and the girl. The last to be seated was none other than Zechariah himself.

Miranda could feel his arm tense around her waist as he watched a moment of his past come to life. In the video, Zechariah appeared to be in a heightened state of agitation. There was no audio stream at first. Then the video jumped ahead briefly and the sound kicked in.

"So Richard, what do you think about young Zechariah?" The old man's voice was strong, gravelly almost in its quality.

"His power is the extraordinary example of what we've been hoping for, General. Not only can he mimic and use the powers of those he comes into contact with, but we also suspect that his paradox has the ability to absorb the knowledge of those he touches. It appears that he can replicate any power both he and his paradox come in contact with. Additionally, he is able to replicate personality and mannerisms, and recall memories, but with the regrettable side effects we can—"

"So he's not like Carmen here, then?"

Miranda jumped at the name and Zechariah held her in place with his arm.

A small frown touched Richard's features for the interruption, but he answered nonetheless.

"No, sir... Carmen's paradox has the ability to foresee events before they occur. As for the primary..." he glanced over at Carmen with a gentle look, "...it's a power that can be useful if we can better understand how to control it."

The man referred to as general nodded and turned to look at the young woman, then addressed Richard, "Do you believe that Zechariah is the one?"

"I do, sir. When the manifestation came about, we took the originator's bio-rhythmics. He's made himself known as Zephaniah and Carmen's own originator have made a preliminary contact. In time, the paradox of Zechariah and Carmen will eventually unite to form a vinculum, but as of right now that has not occurred. As for Carmen's current primary-"

"That will be all, Richard. Thank you."

It took a moment for Richard to compose his features, but there was no shadow of a doubt that he was supremely pissed off. With a nod, he stood up and walked out of the camera's frame of view.

The older man stood and walked out of the camera's view for a moment, too, then returned to sit on the desk, looking at Carmen.

"Satisfied? Richard has no idea that you've actually been able to merge both aspects of your personality. He still thinks Carmen is a paradox."

The young girl looked up at him and smiled brightly, but there was something about the way she worded her sentence that gave Miranda a sudden chill.

"Thank you for the assurance, General. I do not feel that working under Richard will work to our advantage. Have you considered my proposal?"

The older man reached over and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Of course, I have Armyne. Have you considered mine?"

She smiled thinly and nodded.

"So long as I get what I want, you can have all of what you want."

The General then leaned in as if to kiss her and the video went dead.

Miranda was so absorbed in the footage of a young Carmen, no a young _Armyne_ that she didn't realize how tightly Zechariah was clutching her.

"Armyne hasn't changed one iota."

"That was neither Armyne nor Carmen, Miranda."

Confusion flooded through her, then turned as best she could toward Zechariah.

"What do you mean that's not her? She hasn't changed..." Miranda fell silent, as her mind finished the statement. "...since she was a young girl. She hasn't changed, has she."

"Exactly. Isn't it strange that a young girl acts in the same manner as her adult self? I remember both of her personalities. Neither is represented here. Lian needs to know of this immediately. To think they were able to achieve a merger then..."

Zechariah relaxed his hold around her torso. She shifted enough so that she wasn't hurting her neck, even as he turned so that they could both look each other in the eye.

"Merger? What do you mean, merger?"

"Think back a decade or more. Do you recall the prevailing theory among scientists about the paradoxically Gifted?"

She twisted her face into a puzzle, so he continued.

"They believed paradoxically Gifted individuals were afflicted with a rare form of Dissociative Identity Disorder, one that obviously defied the accepted definition since there was no explanation for the lack of symptoms. Richard and a team of military scientists were charged with finding a scientific reasoning for this apparent mental defect. What they found was something far more unbelievable.

"For lack of a better word, all tests showed that each personality was completely autonomous, yet each identity could interact with the other to varying degrees without blackout periods. One scientist made the comment that it was like there were two separate, thinking cognitive entities residing within the same body."

Furrowing her brow, she ventured into more unknown territory. "As in... two souls?"

Zechariah nodded.

"Yes. 'Soul' is a word that could explain this phenomenon. Even today there is no consensus as to what term to use to describe the presence of two separate, but medically sane individuals, residing within one host.

"Each case revealed that there were two separate personalities within one member. The data supported the theory that the dominant personality was able to clearly recognize the duality, whilst the recessive personality had a more difficult time grasping the situation. In fact, the recessive personality would often create a rationale to explain the disconcerting sense of another 'self.'"

"My imaginary friend!" said Miranda.

"Yes. And also that 'small voice' or the 'conscience' as you grew older. My ability is the assimilation of information and expression of that information into action. I can touch a person and understand their motives and remember every aspect of it in detail, giving me the unique ability to have knowledge of their power, even to the extent of being able to use it, though with a basic level of expertise.

"Zephaniah on the other hand, could touch a person and immediately replicate that person to the minutest detail, including control to a level of sophistication I could never achieve. But there was a cost to such power: the life of the subject.

"Now comes the part that everyone misunderstands, the paradoxical Gift. Zephaniah and I both share a common paradoxical Gift, the one that you were tossed into when they locked you up in the quarantine chamber with me. That's why pairings between paradoxically Gifted is so critical. In our case, your power was able to diminish my ungoverned release of power, so that I could take control again.

"Merging was a theory to test and prove the question of whether or not a partner is needed. If one could merge the two personalities together, the combination in power would allow for control of the paradoxical Gift."

Miranda shivered at this. "Where do you fit in all of this merging business?"

"My task was to mimic and absorb the biological data of any given subject. Essentially, I was tasked with compiling the 'raw data' of the paradoxically Gifted. I was and am the data miner in this research.

"That's where Carmen and Armyne came into play. Carmen has the power of foresight, not much different from your own abilities Miranda. But Carmen can focus on any single event and then relay the outcome. For example, she could tell if any given experiment in the lab was going to end in failure. Her power saved us thousands upon thousands of man-hours of trial and error work. And as for Armyne..."

Miranda felt a mixture of fear and revulsion.

"...she could actually change the metaphysical properties of a person. She could alter the thing we call fate, destiny or even chance with a single touch. But no matter how slight the change, the subject would always meet a brutal demise. One volunteer in a padded cell ruptured his aorta through stress. His aorta, Miranda. He was killed by a stress-induced aortal rupture!"

With a sigh, Zechariah's arm found itself on her lap. He rested his other elbow on the arm of the chair, he broke eye contact with her, as he propped his cheek against his palm. His eyes focused on a single point somewhere on his bookcase.

"I should have known something was amiss. The data we had collected was utterly useless with the parameters we had originally setup. Then the original team was split up into two different units and shortly thereafter dismantled due to the ongoing war effort. I was sent back to Operations, Richard was sent to command the blockade runners. Our entire program was mothballed."

Miranda was grateful that his mood had leveled off, allowing her time to sort out the dizzying effects of the vinculum. She reassured him by squeezing his hand.

"Listen," she said. "Based on that video, it was obvious that you were in no condition to think clearly. You looked angry."

Zechariah squeezed her hand in return.

"I was livid. That was the day I learned about the fate of our work. Richard did nothing, and I hated him for it. But 'in the fullness of time' I can now see why he did what he did. He had to play that card close to the chest."

Miranda gently moved Zechariah's hand off her lap, stood and walked over to the window. Without a word, Zechariah released the security measure and the opaque window dissolved back to transparency.

Miranda allowed herself a smile. She was starting to enjoy the benefits of having a connection with Zechariah.

Then a curious thought leapt into her conscious mind.

"How is that you and I came to be linked? I mean, you and Carmen or whomever she is, were far more compatible, right?"

Zechariah stood and walked over to the couch. As he sat down he turned his attention to reheating the remainder of the coffee.

"Now that's a clever question. And the answer will no doubt bring about a whole host of possibly unanswerable questions. Still, I promised I'd answer your questions to the best of my ability." He sighed. "I connected with a young girl several years prior to any formal training, I was young then mind you, in fact I had just been released by Lian."

Miranda turned to look at him, her eyes puzzled by that answer.

"Wait, what? Lian said that it happened automatically when I turned twelve."

Without looking, he continued.

"Lian doesn't know the truth of how I came to meet you, Miranda. I'd be surprised if you remembered."

Frowning, she started reading the vinculum. She found something equally amazing, an emotion she couldn't unlock.

"Lian believes that our connection happened when I was eighteen and you were twelve correct?" said Miranda.

"Yes, that's what she told me."

Zechariah nodded only slightly as he poured himself another cup of steaming coffee.

"The fact of the matter is I met you when I was eleven. You must have just turned five."

A memory leaped from deep within her, a fond childhood memory about a... "Strange young boy who was explaining to me just how fun..."

Zechariah synced his words with hers.

"...imaginary friends can be."

Miranda watched in utter disbelief.

"That was you?!"

He nodded only slightly, as he took a sip.

"Guilty as charged."

"That's impossible! We... I mean... how can that be? I thought those connections happened during adolescence."

"Seems we need to clarify another misconception, my dear. We are both dominant carriers, neither one of us is the recessive. So why did we pair? There has never been a documented case of a dominate on dominate pairing.

"Perhaps a better question is, did we actually pair in the conventional sense of the word or was that bond already present? Consider my theory: your power didn't full manifest until after you were on the orbiter, as an adult. Why? I read your medical records, two weeks prior you had undergone Survival, Evasion and Tracking Training School and, like most participants had come down with a nasty case of Sanctum Influenza. Your defenses were already weakened and Kisandra had a better than average chance to complete a total blackout on you. That's not only rare; at one point was thought to be totally impossible.

"It is all these events of seemingly random chance that makes the study of our phenomena a devil of a science experiment. For what it's worth, Lian is a gem of a researcher. She believes that there is a layer that reacts with the physical world, a metaphysical element that has been occurring in more frequency now because more humans have been exposed to the harshness of the Void, which is responsible for the acceleration of these anomalies."

Miranda turned to look out the window again. All of these theoretical and metaphysical realities, discussions and aberrations were making her head hurt. She lifted her left hand to the bridge of her nose and with gentle fingers started to massage it. Now she understood why Lian had done so, it was remarkable in how relaxing the effect was.

"How can you put up with so much nonsensical data, Zecc? It's ridiculous and confusing and I don't know if I follow anything you're saying."

"I try to keep a high level overview of things, from 4,500 meters up, if you will. I don't get into the minutiae, that's Lian's job. My problems are nested with those who wield about in the dark, the cloak and dagger types. Like the fact that Broken Laurel is now openly gunning to steal you away and the worrisome dreams you've been having."

Miranda's breath froze and she turned to look at him. Cool as ever, even as he drank the steaming cup, his eyes held hers with reassurance and an equally knowing look.

The vinculum?

No, he knew about her dreams before the connection was established.

"Only three things I know of that can make me sweat that vigorously, and one of them requires another party. You were flush, but not sickly looking so it wasn't from a fever. The question now is what got you so spooked that you'd wake up in a cold sweat?"

She lowered her hands, resigned to his perceptivity.

"Are you asking because you can't see my dreams? Or because you want me to tell you?"

"My dear, it's all fun and well to have the vinculum, but there are places in your mind I don't have access to without your help. If I tried to open that treasure chest it would be like taking a sledgehammer to it, rather than a key. You would have known and rather painfully so. You'll 'see' them in my mind as well, as soon as you get more adept at reading the flow of information you're receiving. Even if my conversation triggers a memory, without your consent, I would be staring at a half-finished puzzle. But if you help me, I can get a four dimensional view of things."

Miranda gave him a nod and took a deep breath.

"The dream itself is strange. I'm watching things from varying points of view, sometimes it's the predators, other times it's the prey. But there is also a third point of view, as if I'm a spectator watching a coliseum match. The main actors in this dream are two paradoxically Gifted people, though. That much I know for certain. But there is something wrong, something terribly wrong about these two.

"They are a matched pair, but... their powers don't support one another like ours do. It's the opposite; she drains him until he's almost dead."

"As for the male counterpart... I don't really want to know what he does to her when he's fully recuperated. Whatever it is, theirs is a destructive vinculum. She can manipulate heat as an offensive weapon. She also has a secondary power, and why I know this I can't say, but she can craft an area of complete silence, a bubble if you will where no sounds can escape. His powers are shrouded somehow. I couldn't see into that darkness and I'm thankful for that. The cold sweat I experienced was prompted by the smell of burning flesh and the terror and pain that I felt from the victim. I've had this happen to me twice already and I have an odd sensation that I've missed some of their hunts."

Zechariah looked troubled. "One thing you never forget is the smell of burning flesh," he said as he stood and headed for his desk. He tapped a key on the intercom system.

"I need Lian and Teresa to come here, on the double. Tell them it's urgent."

Miranda turned to face him.

Zechariah looked over at her at that moment.

"I know those two, my dear. They used to be part of my team. They're labeled as N.T.B.R. Broken Laurel have just stepped on a non-negotiable land mine."

"Wait? What on earth is NTBR.?"

Zechariah gave a rather stony look,

"Never To Be Released."

Miranda was about to ask more questions when Teresa then Lian walked into the room.

"What on earth is so important that you would pull us away from a sensitive experiment, Zechariah?" barked Lian.

"Forgive her impudence, Mr. Fairchild," said Teresa. "We had to make sure our seats were covered before we came here."

He waved them over to the couch, motioning for Miranda to do the same. He sat across from them on a worn, black leather recliner.

"Teresa, I've got confirmation that code name 'Infractus' is fully operational."

Miranda turned to look when both failed to answer and blinked when she saw the color drain from Teresa's face. Lian looked even paler.

"That's...impossible..." Lian said, her voice suddenly empty of impertinence.

Teresa looked like she might faint. Miranda moved to hold her steady.

Lian sucked in her breath, as if about to say something but Zechariah cut her off, turning to look at Miranda.

"When I was finally relieved from Operations after our victory at Tenacity, I was transferred to the newly re-tasked CSIB. Today it is the umbrella department that governs all aspects of foreign and domestic intelligence. In fact Branch Cell is sheltered by the CSIB, but when originally created it had a far different role as an action group for Phase One. The Fifteen created SCALO and CSIB, which were the departments listed in the original covert and security apparatus, which was also to serve as scapegoats in the event that its secret missions was every discovered by the outside world, allowing the government to officially disavowed either one.

Zechariah continued his dissertation,

"Within the auspice of SCALO, Phase Beta Two became the more ambitious of the two programs, a mission directive to militarize and deploy paradoxically Gifted soldiers into the field. The goal was to disrupt the Old Imperial Republic deep within enemy territory, specifically the capture or ensure the destruction of the ArGNA communication system. A secondary goal was attached to this combat force, which was to verify all data already collected by the Old Imperial Republic's military intelligence network regarding the combat efficiency of paradoxically Gifted soldiers, Phase Beta Two became the perfect venue to not only corroborate previous intel, but to further collect raw data using actual combat scenarios."

Zechariah's voice then took a more somber tone,

"The program eventually was a resounding success, achieving both its main and secondary directives, but at huge cost. We learned so much about the practical nature of those paradoxically Gifted, we also learned that the flames of war, will always find a way to break perfectly sound soldiers. Their actions triggered a full decommission of SCALO, including its unceremonious disavowment and fall from grace of those soldiers we once called our compatriots.

We then re-tasked Phase Alpha One, splitting it into two new departments, Branch Cell and Broken Laurel. Branch Cell became the research and development arm that would use the recovered raw data and then implement a more benign training program under the operational name, Paradoxical Training Corps. Broken Laurel, became the paramilitary arm of Phase Alpha One, deploying those deemed to be 'stable for operational paramilitary operations'. Phase Beta Two was systematically dismantled and officially disavowed.

Unofficially, each department retained control of the two split programs, Phase Alpha One and its sister program, Phase Beta Two which also had their own front IDs, Alpha One was designated Hemlock, and Beta Two designated Wild Charlie.

Miranda eyes widen, though she had no clue about the other operational names, she and everyone in the covert and security apparatus knew about Wild Charlie.

"Wild Charlie became the scapegoat for the CSIB, Phase Alpha One and operation Hemlock."

Miranda stiffened, even though she hated herself for asking, her desire for confirmation pushed her forward.

"You don't mean...?"

"Yes, Miranda, I mean MetS."

She paled, the Mobilized ExTraction Squad comprised an all paradoxically Gifted team and a name that would forever taint the CSIB.

When Zechariah had sounded off that acronym, the whole room took upon a surreal gloom, a gloom that could only hold a special place in hell for those few minds that had hatched such a demonic program.

Zechariah continued,

"I was assigned to this squad as its executive officer, our commanding officer had just official finished his third tour of duty—"

Lian had fully recovered by then, slamming her hand, palm open, on the coffee table, almost spilling the contents of the cvere.

"Zechariah Fairchild, that information is classified higher than Verified Compartmental Eyes Only! She's not even allowed to know what MetS stood for!"

Lian stood, her face red with outrage. Though she once held Compartmental Top Secret clearance, Miranda's current clearance level could barely get her into an officer's wash closet.

"Lian," began Miranda, "I know about MetS and what the acronym stands for. This was before...I was disgraced."

"That's not the point, Miranda!"

Lian turned to Zechariah.

"Why in the hell are you even talking about this?"

Zechariah gave Lian a patient smile.

"Miranda has confirmed our worst fears about MetS bastard child."

Lian froze and turned to Miranda. "H-How?"

Even before she spoke the words, Miranda realized how utterly foolish her answer was going to sound.

"I've been having dreams—"

Lian's response was something between a snort, laugh and growl and so sudden it made the level-headed Teresa jump from her seat, tripping backward only to land sitting on Miranda's lap.

The discussion quickly turned from heated argument to outright hostility.

"So now she's having visions of the Broken? Zechariah, this is insanity!"

"I verified the dreams myself, Lian. Those 'visions' as you call them are an exact representation of Helena and Houston."

"Are you sure you're not just filling in gaps?"

"Don't be stupid, Lian. There's no way my memories could fill enough detail to make that theory of yours even viable and you know it."

Lian's nostrils flared, and her voice became shrill.

"Then prove to me that she isn't having some sort of wave feedback delusion!"

Zechariah stood and walked over to Lian and put a single finger against her forehead as he closed his eyes. She started shaking as Zechariah seemed to be pushing his knowledge from his mind into hers. Miranda realized that his talent could work in both directions.

A moment later, Lian pulled away and started coughing. She waved a hand in front of her and ran to the bathroom, Teresa close on her heels. Zechariah took a deep breath and shook his head. Miranda looked at him, a frown forming on her face.

"Did you have to let her smell it?"

"Yes, that scent of burning is critical to this whole thing. Do you recall what you smelled?"

Realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

"Sulfur!"

"Or sometimes called brimstone. You were correct in your estimation that her power is not fire but a form of superheated radiant energy. The catalyst smells suspiciously like—"

"—the characterization of Hell itself."

Lian returned from the bathroom with a concerned Teresa not far behind. She was pale and shaken.

"I guess we don't have a choice, Zechariah."

She sat down heavily, putting her head in her hands and started to weep. Teresa sat down as well and held her, looking up at Zechariah with a silent plea.

"Sit down, Miranda. I'll take full responsibility should Lian or Teresa report me to CSIB for talking to you about classified information. I'll remind you that this information is For HER Eyes Only. I'll find a way to change your clearance retroactively."

She sat and looked up at him expectantly.

"Miranda, the commanding officer was Richard."

"What? That's impossible he was doing..." She stopped mid-sentence. _Of course it was Richard_ , she thought. He had the perfect cover.

"Why? Zechariah, why would he allow such a thing to happen? Why would you?"

His eyes held genuine sympathy for the words he was about to speak, "Our charge was to preserve our independence, by any means necessary."

That statement resounded in her mind like an echo. For that reason, she had also shot and killed her father.

#  Stage 15

### The calm before the storm.

The day had ended anticlimactically. After helping Lian out of the office and enduring the consequent storm of tears from Teresa, Miranda felt physically and mentally exhausted. When she returned to Zechariah's office, he had made good use of the time away from her and cleaned up. He too looked tired and exhausted, but the distant look upon his features as he stared out into the horizon frightened her. He barely moved as he started to speak.

"Richard and I knew about their treatment and still allowed them to execute the mission. We had hopes... well, I had hoped that they were cut from a different cloth. We were being pushed to cut corners, but there is no excuse big enough to replace the lives of those lost in the Sea of Mists. I should have known better than to trust Houston and his ilk."

Miranda could feel the pain that he had numbed within. To his core, Zechariah had a soft heart and an easy disposition when it came to giving people the benefit of the doubt. Yet even so, that core had a complex protection system, carefully crafted over the years. A refined paranoia that forced him to double check and triple check everything. So for Zechariah to have been so duped by Houston meant the man had a rather unique skill set.

"Tell me about them, Zechariah. I want to know the truth from your own mouth."

Zechariah looked over at her and exhaled, nodding. He leaned forward and reached out to touch her hand lightly. "Would you care for some water?"

He already knew the answer, of course, but for him to communicate this through words brought an inexplicable amount of happiness to her being. "Yes, thank you."

He walked over to a small cabinet and opened it, revealing a rather modest collection of bottles. To her surprise, his tastes in liquor bordered on the ultra-expensive. "You've got quite a palette there, Zechariah I mean really!"

He chuckled. "You'd be surprised how long this stuff lasts me, Miranda. I've had some of these bottles for years." From a small sink, he picked up two rather large glasses and poured some water into them, adding a few perfectly-square cubes into the glasses.

Zechariah made his way over to Miranda and offered her a glass. There must have been a look of curiosity on her features because it prompted Zechariah to speak. "Soapstone, or whiskey stones if you're so inclined."

She smiled. "Don't like your expensive stuff to be needlessly diluted, eh?"

He laughed. "Sometimes, I don't mind it nice and dirty."

She blushed, then took a drink of water. He offered a knowing smile and followed suit.

After a quiet moment of sipping and savoring, he sat down next to her on the couch.

"How much do you know about The Hell's Wind Motley?" he asked.

"That's the crew Richard and a few other officers recruited, right?"

"Yes. And they were able to recruit them because of old documentation that proved the need for the reinstatement of the 'letters of marque and reprisal.'

"Wasn't that due to the uptick in pirate activity?"

"Exactly. What the Old Imperial Republic government didn't know was that Richard and those other officers needed training for the coming revolution. Previous experience had taught them that using the cover of the privateers, they could secretly begin negotiations with the sudden influx of pirates who held a similar code of conduct."

Miranda listened to his words with great interest.

"Richard involved me in the negotiations only after they were able to make contact with a viable and respected pirate group. From that point on, we were able to make a tentative arrangement with them. We agreed to facilitate their use of the Sanctuary's rarer resources.

"Thanks to some of the contacts we made with them, we were able to retrofit our ships with high end military hardware from the Core Galaxies. Some of the stuff they were offering in exchange for our cooperation was incredible. Have you ever heard about Zyn Corporation Nanotechnology?"

Miranda shook her head.

"Their stuff rivaled the Old Imperial Republic's own research. I couldn't believe how far the Republic had fallen behind in development at that time. The more we learned about the extent of our former government's atrophy, the more it spurred us to break away. In retrospect, we should have taken more time to understand what was causing the demise, but we were too focused, far too concerned with becoming a new nation."

Miranda understood what he meant. Only a few days had passed after their hard-fought independence when rifts and factions started to appear, each with their own ideals of how the government should be run. Tempers ran high; politicians of rank would set themselves against junior colleagues in violent bursts of rage that often ended up in physical altercations. Hammering out a working government from scratch threatened to break them apart, if not for the efforts of the Fifteen. Somehow, those men and women were able to rally support for a system of governance that offered all parties a say. Though prevalent in the old days, the federalist style had gone out of fashion. Imperialisms, republics, monarchies, oligarchies, parliamentarians and theocracies were the favored form of governance throughout the whole of the colonized universe. For this new government to choose federalism in its purest form was seen with a skeptical eye.

But something didn't quite ring right about his last statement.

"What do you mean about their demise? Aren't they more powerful than ever?"

"Thanks to us, yes. Had we waited, there was a chance the Old Imperial Republic would have been crushed under its own weight. But thanks to our efforts and their subsequent losses, they were able to regroup and recover. They learned a valuable lesson from humiliation."

A look of dissatisfaction crossed Zechariah's features.

"After all we've been through, I still feel discontent. Don't get me wrong, I love our new government and the fact we helped the people find a voice. I thought that being part of such an important event would have fulfilled me in some way, but it hasn't. I asked Richard once if this was the end of things, if this was what he had envisioned. He just smiled and said, 'sometimes, things aren't always what they seem.' I was troubled by that statement, but now I'll never get the chance to clarify what he meant."

She nodded. Richard's death had started the trek down her current path, but because of that she had been able to save Zechariah and, in turn, he had been able to fulfill her deepest need for answers. And their vinculum, this shared connection not only enriched her life, but his as well.

"At least you're happy, right? I mean with me, our vinculum and this current situation?"

"More so than I could have ever have hoped, Miranda. You've exceeded my wildest expectations even though you above all others should be the most disillusioned."

Miranda felt flushed by this. She took a deep breath and lay down on the couch. "Considering how things could have gone for me, I'm fortunate. Though, with all that's happened in the past few days, I'm mentally drained." She sighed. "Did you know this couch is really comfortable?"

"Why do you think I keep it here, there are times..."

He started moving over to the couch, only to see that Miranda was now fast asleep.

"...I just need a little nap."

With a smile, he walked over to a cabinet and removed a large blanket. He walked over to Miranda's side again and arranged the blanket on top of her. He stood there and watched her steady breathing for a moment longer.

"May your dreams be without fire, my dear."

He returned to the window and stared outside. He could see the world below him, but cared little for that hustle and bustle. A well-honed paranoia quickly reminded him that standing in front of a window - even a bulletproof window - was never a good idea. He stayed there for a moment longer than his comfort allowed, then exhaled and turned away from the view. With a snap of his finger, the glass became opaque. That gesture was just one of many that defined Zechariah's more eccentric nature. He always liked to put a little spin on things to make him seem magical, perhaps otherworldly. But it didn't take any magical thinking to know that a figurative storm was brewing. He moved and then sat at his desk and, without hesitation, started to assess his team's readiness.

He reached over to his keyboard and typed in a few lines, then hit enter. A local news source was reporting on a heightened state of security. Anonymous sources within the police department had received a credible threat from a local terror group.

A smile crossed his face as he envisioned the execution and fruition of his plans.

#  Stage 16

### May the chips fall where they may.

Zechariah was at his workstation when the silent alarm was triggered. Though a variety of security systems protected the physical layout of his department on the 28th floor, the building also housed other industry and business offices. This particular silent alarm only triggered when specialized sensors picked up a Gifted individual with a rate level higher than three. He knew that a breach was bound to happen, but for there to be so many plus three's threatening his little slice of heaven...

He keyed in a very specific sequence on the intercom.

"Lian..."

"Yes?"

"Make ready as planned, only the essentials."

There was a tense silence, after which came her reply,

"Copy, Charlie."

~*~

Lian knew this was going to cause a ruckus. She reached up to key off her earpiece.

"Everyone, only essential bug-outs. Place everything else in the thermite disposal bins and activate the consequent detonation sequences. This is a complete sanitization."

After a long moment of heavy silence, one of her subordinates finally said what everyone else surely was thinking.

"Everything? That's insane, Doctor!"

"This is the reason we have strict source code and backup protocols. The raw data is still viable and sanitary. Anything that hasn't meet Section 10 vetting by the previous month will be destroyed. Anything pending vetting will also be destroyed.

Pet projects, worth thousands of man hours, would be lost. Those that knew Lian the best, could tell that her current orders and the execution thereof had affected her deeply.

She glanced up at the clock.

"Double time, people. We don't have much time."

~*~

Zechariah was hard at work, verifying that all data had been successful backed up from the night before, and that the emergency sequencing had taken care of anything that had been vetted and saved for that day. Though Lian knew about some of the offsite backup locations, only Zechariah knew about all of them. It wasn't a matter of trust. But if Lian were ever to be captured...

He knew better than to think that. Lian wasn't just...

He heard Miranda stirring from the couch.

Glancing at his monitor, Zechariah watched as his enemies broke through his security measures one by one. He was now sure of what he had told Lian.

Infractus.

How or why Carmen thought it was a good idea to release that band of hell-beasts was beyond him. It truly called into question her sanity. The situation had changed faster than he had expected and he needed more intel on the current situation.

Almost as if on cue, his phone started buzzing. One of his encrypted lines.

"Hey Metro! Long time, no speak. Still writing bets on that ledger of yours?"

Zechariah's code name rang in his ear,

"What's going on, LoveHug? Thought I'd never hear from you again. Yeah, yeah. I've got that ledger pen wet and ready to scribble."

"Good, good to hear. Say, what's the ullamaliztli like these days?"

"Ah, you know. The home team seems to be having a bit of a run, though there's hope that they'll pull it off in the end."

"That sounds optimistic at best, Metro. I've been hearing the away team has them over a barrel, to the tune of thirty to one."

Zechariah was speechless for a moment.

"Come on, LoveHug. Did I hear thirty to one?"

"Oh yeah, you heard right. I'm thinking of placing a bet on the away team, but I'm hedging my options."

"Well then, we should grab a beer sometime, talk about it and see what sort of line we can come up with."

"I'll have to talk to the wife about that. She doesn't really like me drinking with friends or friends of friends anymore. She says I get too rowdy and forget that I'm a responsible, married man."

"That's pretty harsh, LoveHug, any other pearls that you might have for me?"

"Yeah, speaking of hedge, that last bit I owe ya? I sent you a wire, I think we are even now."

"Good, good... I'll be sure to write that off."

"Yeah, Metro. Keep in touch."

"Will do, LoveHug."

The line went dead.

There was a small likelihood that his enemy had already breached their communications network, but this transmission couldn't be helped. From that point on, there would be strict, 72-hour communications silence.

With a few swift strokes of his fingers on the keyboard, he queued up a plain looking program dressed in the guise of a music application. A faint smile appeared on his lips when triggered the application's true and intended purpose. The view was simple: line graphs showing various statistical data and wordage that spoke about the health of the network, backup operations and production applications. He typed a few more keystrokes. The instructions and warnings were clear.

Warning!

All Operational, Production Applications, Databases and Data Will Be Destroyed!

Do you wish to proceed?

The only moment of hesitation came as he turned his attention away from the monitor and focused on Miranda. She had awakened; perhaps Zechariah's trepidation had prompted her to rise or maybe it was her heightened situational awareness.

"Bad news?" Miranda asked with a level voice.

"Yeah, seems like we're outmatched thirty to one."

Miranda was stunned to hear such an unfavorable metric.

"How deep are we in the hole, then?"

"A segment of the Colonial Military has been tasked to move against us."

She felt a sudden plunge into the deep, with a heaping helping of vertigo to match.

"Any good news?"

"We haven't been disavowed... yet."

"I guess that's always a good thing. Who was that on the line, if you don't mind me asking."

"A friend of mine who owed me a few favors. He works for the local militia and is the liaison with the police force. It seems he felt it was time we were on equal terms."

Miranda gave him a small, sad smile. "The peace was nice while it lasted..."

Zechariah turned his eyes back to the monitor and exhaled. Miranda could hear his finger tap the keyboard three times before he turned to look at her again.

"I pray you don't hate me for thinking otherwise, Miranda. What I found nice is having finally been able to introduce myself to you."

With one last and definitive tap, he stood and walked over to her.

"I hope you feel like running, my dear. Sixty seconds and three hundred yards to cover comes quickly in time, slow in distance traveled."

Miranda didn't have a moment to think before Zechariah took her hand and pulled her off the couch. Within seconds, they were running in the main hallway. She heard shouting and an explicit command to "Halt!" but she knew not to turn and look. Instead, she started running faster. Zechariah loosened his grip on her hand, but never released it.

The second shout of "Halt!" brought a warning shot, and for all the world, Miranda was certain that bullet whizzed right past her left ear. At that exact moment Zechariah released her hand and shouted, "Second door to your right!"

Zechariah was only a few meters ahead of her, when she saw that he was holding a pistol with his other hand, within seconds he took aim and fired three shots at a closed door. Miranda using her forward momentum, pivoted on the ball of her left foot and threw herself at the door shoulder first. The weakened latch shattered, sending the door flying open. She caught herself just before she lost her balance.

As Miranda was busy further destroying Branch Cell property, Zechariah had come to a complete halt from his dead run. In that motion, he had spun so that he was facing those who were firing at him. His once empty hand now holding a pistol, Zechariah started firing shot after shot down the corridor, his purposed filled movements walked him over in the direction of now busted-open door.

As Miranda watched him, she felt a clench of urgency. Precious time was ticking away. She had a bad feeling about it even as he ducked into cover

The hall erupted with the sound of heavier weapons fire.

Zechariah reloaded his two pistols on the run as he turned toward the open door.

"I suggest you cover your ears, my dear."

With a smooth motion, he holstered his two pistols, as a blast door come crashing down where the opening use to be. He stepped closer to her and placed both hands over his ears.

A low rumble was followed by a violent shaking and the sudden pressure created from the explosive device rocked her so badly that had Zechariah not been standing there, she would have taken a tumble.

"What in the _hell_ are you thinking?!" she shouted above the din.

"Not to worry, Miranda my dear. The explosion originated from my office, so most of the force went through the windows. The remaining energy then carried itself through the hallway. I can assure you these blast doors contained that energy to the hallway. It's not the end of their pursuit, but it will give our unwelcome guests a reason to tread lightly."

Miranda watched Zechariah in complete disbelief as he moved to the far wall and smashed an elbow into a weakened section. As he reached into the gaping opening, a previously hidden section of the wall yawned open to reveal an elevator.

"There's one more delicious surprise left, and that one we shouldn't be around for."

Just as he finished speaking the alarm system for the building went off.

Something about the tone of his voice told her that his final performance was going to be a show stopper.

~*~

Lian and her teams were already in the emergency freight elevator when the explosion shook the building. She knew that Zechariah had setup a predetermined amount of explosions as a means of communication. It was highly unorthodox, but she had been assured that this particular blast wasn't powerful enough to destroy the building or the integrity to support the floors above. The first explosion was meant to destroy the main hall and slow the intruders. It also served as a signal that she had ten minutes to get out of the building.

Zechariah and Lian had originally created a plan of exfiltration back when they were still working for the Corporations. There were three plans in all: Plan Alpha, Plan Bravo and Plan Charlie. Each plan had a specific set of routing points, all synchronized to either timed events or minutes passed from the previous event wave point. Each plan also had its own set of fail-safes in the event of delays or complications. Every team member had a thorough understanding of a portion of each plan, briefed to remember one specific action. In this manner, no team member knew the entirety of any plan. This was to safeguard against someone turning traitor and using the information against them.

Lian didn't like the endgame of this course of action, but Zechariah had always been suspicious about a double agent within Branch Cell and such caution was certainly wise.

There were three teams of six people in Branch Cell's mobile force. Each team had one expert each in technical, medical/research, demolition and strategic know how; the remaining two were Gifted individuals hand-picked by Zecc for home base operational duties.

"So Plan Charlie, huh? That's a hell of a run and gun."

A large man wearing an Explosives Demolitions Expert patch grumbled as he squared his shoulders under the weight of his gear.

"We'll be executing Plan Charlie, but only up to the third wave point, then we'll move to Plan Bravo, execute one, three and five, then we'll execute Plan Alpha in its entirety."

There was dead silence until another equally large man from Team One rumbled with a drawl so thick, it was like a perpetual wad of chew had been tucked between his gum and bottom lip.

"I'll be damned..."

"Shut it, Brucey."

A young woman, half the man's height, but sporting a higher rank than him, cut him off. A few seconds passed and a buzzing noise was heard. Brucey removed a small rectangular container and opened it. He slid the side open and to reveal two shiny pills. He popped them in his mouth, chewing on them before he spoke up.

"I know y'all think'n it. I just happen'd to speak it..."

Zechariah could always find the curious ones. Lian wasn't sure what sort of pills Brucey was popping, but the going rumor was that it wasn't drugs at all - that it was merely candy. Random drug tests always came back negative, so she didn't have cause to force the issue.

"What the hell was the point of learning those plans if we..."

The medic of Team Two was elbowed in the stomach by his team commander, a lithe man about the size of the woman that shut Brucey down.

Lian spoke up.

"Simply put, so that we rely on one an another. Now the playing field has evened out, and if we wish to get out of this alive, we'll have to trust each other in action instead of just the spoken word."

Team Three was notably quiet, but then again Team Three consisted of the more senior members of Branch Cell. They were the only team that knew of Zecc's suspicions about the existence of a double agent. One of them spoke up.

"Is Teresa aware of this change in plans?"

Everyone knew that Lian favored Teresa, but as the medic in Team One, even she had a look of shocked surprise.

"No, only I was aware of its original intention. If this is going to be a problem, I'd be more than happy to listen to anyone's grievances."

She tilted her head and cast her eyes over her shoulder.

Everyone took to being stone at that precise instant.

Those who worked for Branch Cell knew to respect Zechariah because of his big boss man status. They respected his authority. Everyone knew that if they had a grievance with him, they could approach him without fear.

Lian was a totally different matter.

Zechariah was the only person who could give her any lip. A well-known fact around the office. Even so, if Lian didn't want something done, it wasn't done.

The inflection in her voice and the look she gave them made it clear this was that moment.

"I trust there won't be any trouble from here on out? Am I clear?" said Lian.

There was a unanimous, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good, because we have exactly seven minutes to get all our gear into three vehicles. I want double quick time the second these doors open."

And just like that, the freight elevator stopped. The second the doors opened, her three teams were on the move.

Lian was the last to step out of the elevator. As she removed her lab coat, there a moment of pause to her action. _How many years had it been?_ She couldn't recall the last time she had removed her lab coat in order to call upon the training that she had received so many years ago.

Those hard days came back like a flood of rushing water.

As she approached her designated vehicle, she stopped to caress a plastic weapons case, then opened it to reveal a gun belt, two matte black pistols, and two matte black hawk-billed combat knives.

She put on the gun belt.

It fit just like she remembered. She hadn't gained a single ounce after all.

She pulled out her pistols and tested their weight in her hands. She used a flick of her wrists to slide the receivers back to reveal the bullets that were still in each chamber. She inhaled the familiar scent of gun oil and it brought a flush of memories: the bad old days, the scent of powder and sweat, the air filled with the sticky decay of blood and guts.

She let the receivers slap back into place and smiled.

They were an old design, nothing like the new caseless weapons that the young ones used. Then again, those two pistols were designed for a singular purpose, as were the knives that she slipped unto the sheaths attached to her gun belt. They were solely for close quarters combat; weapons meant to make a personal and lasting statement.

She turned to look at the faces of those she considered her colleagues and sighed at what she knew was to come.

One or more of them were going to end up dead.

#  Stage 17

### The turning of the tide.

After the explosion, the insertion team had to produce their identification patches to the local authorities, making their ingress much more complicated. This pushed their time line back a considerable amount, but Carmen knew that things were still working to her advantage. She hated that fact that she couldn't rely on her power of precognition. She was certain Miranda had something to do with this failure.

Either way, she had prepared her team well. But after all these years of keeping things under the radar, Zechariah was still a strategist. His use of explosives to distract or slow them seemed far too showy. Something wasn't right.

She knew that they would have to make their escape amid the chaos of emergency vehicles and fleeing civilians. It would only be a matter of time, but once she figured out the algorithm used by Miranda's power to obfuscate the truth from her, she would once again be on top of things. Her precognition would once again reveal the truth.

She, Aerlina and seven of her command were all tucked into a large mobile command center about five blocks from the burning building. There were signs that one of the fire prevention mainlines had erupted, providing some level of fire suppression, but she couldn't allow the fire service onto the 28th floor for matters of colonial security. This had caused a jurisdictional fracas, but her use of the term 'rogue governmental military unit' had quickly silenced any objections.

Once the top two levels were evacuated, she could proceed with her intended sweep of the floor. It was a dangerous step, one that she would have argued against, but she had been overridden by her superior officer.

Aerlina had a habit of chewing on her thumb when something complex confounded her otherwise brilliant mind.

"I don't understand, why just destroy his office and the main hallway?" Why not the whole floor? It would make more sense if his intention was to destroy equipment."

Carmen could relate to her frustration, even more so because she had worked with Zechariah before. He was a wily bastard, well versed in psychological warfare.

Before she could say anything, the overhead speaker system squawked.

"This is Blue Team. Top floor evacuation has been completed. The fire service and police service are now in the floor below us, awaiting further orders from their chain of command."

One of the Carmen's officers spoke up,

"Ma'am, I have a Sergeant Mathers on the liaison communication line. He wishes to speak with you."

"Put it on the overhead. And make sure you keep tabs on what Blue Team is doing."

"Yes, ma'am."

She heard a brief silence, followed by a telltale click. "This is Commander Third Class Carmen Zigfler, how can I be of assistance, Sergeant Mathers?"

"CTC Zigfler, I have Colonel Petra-Ivanhoe from the Special Teams and Counter Unit with me. She has received reports that this explosion was not from a rogue government unit, but a terror group she's been monitoring for the past several months."

This was news to Carmen. She looked over at Aerlina who had stopped chewing her thumb.

There was the sound of a grunt, then a stern voice came of the overhead speakers.

"This is Petra-Ivanhoe, I don't care what sort of governmental bullshit you've thrown at us, but you'd better move out of our way so we can clear this building. We've received confirmation that this was a domestic terror group!"

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched squeal, then static, then a mechanized voice came over the airwaves:

'This is the Crimson Knights... Our people have delivered the sword strike... be ready... the collective bring the scythe.

A bright flash of radiant energy engulfed the two top floors and a small blue vortex sucked into itself all matter that had once comprised the roof and penthouse. When the implosive energy dissipated, a large ball of super dense matter came crashing down on top of the 29th floor, destroying it, then continued to the floor where Blue Team had been deployed.

If the previous incident was like poking sticks at an ant hill, this event was like kicking the whole mound just for spite.

Carmen had not foreseen this. She turned to look at Aerlina, and saw in the woman's face what one could account for awe.

Carmen did her best to reign in her emotions as she tried to discern the babble coming from the liaison line. She gathered from the desperate calls to Blue Team and their lack of compliance that they were either dead or dying. Then there was the matter of the low yield electromagnetic pulse caused by the implosion that could knock out communications to any unshielded equipment within a ten block radius.

Everything came together for her in that moment: Zechariah had planned every event to its last detail.

"Send a regroup order, cut the liaison line. We need to move out to wave point Zulu."

Her command was received and initiated without hesitation.

Aerlina turned to look at her. "What do you mean by going to wave point Zulu, Carmen?"

"Zechariah has broken us this turn. We need to move so that we are ready for when we find him again."

Aerlina gave a concerned look, but Carmen ignored it and exited the command vehicle. She walked over to one of the armored transports.

"Is our communication network still intact, Sergeant?"

"Yes, ma'am! We've routed everything through the satellite feed antennae. You are green for the next sixty seconds."

She nodded and pulled out her communication device. She hated that she had to activate her ace in the hole, but with the current set of events, there was no other alternative.

Then again, that's why she kept a double agent in deep cover.

~*~

Aerlina had just opened the door to the command vehicle when she heard Carmen end a call with the command, "Activate."

This was a common security command, but Aerlina was puzzled that Carmen didn't use any kind of designation after the word. This meant it was specific to the section she had just called. Over the years, she heard or read bits and pieces of a deep cover operative that Carmen had planted, but she never caught wind of where this operative was working or for what reason. The situation, her previous comment about making ready to find Zechariah again. The pieces started to fall into place. This wasn't going to end well for Miranda.

She had heard of Zechariah Fairchild, the only member of the elite group known only as "the ghost ops unit" who had survived to adulthood. And she had read the official briefing complied by Broken Laurel. But recently, she had taken a much keener interest in the man, himself.

His past was open to anyone in the covert and security apparatus with a Level 5 - Top Secret classified rating. A dossier with full brief regarding his childhood, his birth parents, his upbringing and what happened during the purge that marked a dark day in the history of the Old Imperial Republic. His file, compared to most in the covert and security apparatus, was relatively thin because he had officially "died" during the event that had taken his parents. Unofficially, he was number one on the high value target list. To find anything pertaining to him after his "death" she had to delve into the deep dark of the CSIB records vault. Most of those files were so redacted that she couldn't make heads or tails of what the man had done during his career.

The running rumor that he was in charge of Branch Cell and had in his employ one of the brightest doctors the Colonial government had ever produced. A decorated shadow in the minds of some, but to the up and coming new bloods, he was a security threat of the highest order.

Only those with access to Level 20 - For HER Eyes Only - could grasp the depth of what Zechariah had accomplished. Since most of his training and operational experience had come prior to the covert and security apparatuses formation. The group of corporations that had once created, educated and trained him were no more. Absorb into the government that he had once help to create.

He had been trained by a remnant network of burned spies and operatives, relics of the Old Imperial Republic's security service.

During Aerlina's original investigation of Miranda, she had found out about an unconfirmed source with ties to her former mentor Richard De'Raegon. When she dug a little deeper, she found a contact who had once been the original facilitator for Paradoxical Training Corps. She had conducted her due diligence when she reached out to this unknown operative and made initial contact.

It was this asset that had offered her some vital information regarding Miranda and later on, Zechariah.

As the teams began their tactical withdrawal, she sent an encrypted message to her asset, being mindful not to look at her phone as she composed the message.

'Tailor, seems ned mendin tree desgn stil availab?'

She had barely had a chance to get into her vehicle when she felt her phone buzz once. She ignored it until she had climbed into the back of the vehicle and sat down. She had official reasons to be reading off her device, so the action wouldn't draw any undue suspicion from the driver or communication officer riding shotgun.

"Let Carmen know, the liaison link has been disconnected, the command vehicle will be mobile in thirty seconds."

'Rainbow tree design limited some wait time required.'

She sent her reply.

'Tailor, tree design cloth ripped let manuf know asap.'

"Communication officer, we are a go. Let Carmen know the EMP had an effective range of ten kilometers."

She checked her phone one last time,

'Rainbow contact only, ten pen and twenty for manuf, will trash design run and related accessories.'

Aerlina looked up and noticed that the communication officer was watching her.

She spoke. "We have authorization to use wave points alpha through charlie, global directive Oscar."

He acknowledged her and proceeded with relaying the stated intel to the whole team.

With a deft patterned swipe motion on her phone, she initiated a macro that destroyed all the compartmental data and logs relating to the program used to contact _Tailor_.

Even if Carmen had her phone checked by the forensics group, they would never be able to confirm if such a program had ever existed on her device. The level of sophistication that the application possessed had her marvel, as it rivaled some of the software used by her own team.

She could only hope now that the information would get to Branch Cell's commanding officer in time.

~*~

The Branch Cell mobile team had successfully reached its destination, well within schedule, though not without some measured maneuvering.

The building they occupied had been selected precisely because the subbasement featured an access hatch that connected to the storm drain system that made up the city's sewers. It had taken Zechariah and Team Three a few years of work and planning to rig a lift system that would gently lower the vehicles some fifty meters down into the primary drain. This point of evacuation held its own set of risks, but fortune had been on their side as there was a minimal amount of water to contend with.

It had taken them close to three hours of driving to reach their second wave point. Just as Zechariah had instructed, their exit point would be found at the end of a 25-degree upward slope, directly under an archway opening. From there, they would have to use their off-road capabilities to reach a small gravel service road. Within ten minutes all three teams were on the service road and moving to their third wave point.

Their exodus was a tense endeavor; even Lian wasn't immune to the urge to look over her shoulder. The self-imposed communications blackout only added to the anxiety. Which didn't help to assuage her worry about Zechariah.

At their destination, which was a small privately owned dock and launch site located on the shores of one of the largest man-made lakes on planet, Lian instructed Team Two to transfer their gear to the Mermaid class hovercraft they would use to EXFIL Zechariah and Miranda. Teams One and Three were instructed by their respective leadership to prep the Schooner class ship and create a perimeter. Night was falling and they had a limited amount of time before their scheduled departure.

Teresa and Brucey made their way over to Team Two's location.

"Rissa wanted us to come over and see if ya'll needed a hand."

A young petite woman glanced up at Brucey with a raised eyebrow.

"Rissa? Did she go and take one of your candies, Brucey? Don't you two have your own push and shove to do with all that gosh darn gear?"

"Naw, she and ol' Rascal are doin' the pre-flight checks and Russ and Neelima are tie'n everythin' down. Guess she thought ya'll needed more hands."

"I need to speak with Lian, anyway," said Teresa. "I'm not entirely sure what our next course of action is, Rythne."

Rythne gave the pair a look, then glanced over her shoulder,

"Go ahead and pick up that crate, then. By the love of stars and moonbeams Brucey, don't stand there and make me tell you everything."

"Yeah, yeah."

Brucey started moving, and before Rythne could respond to Teresa, Lian walked up.

"Why is Brucey here, Rythne?"

"Ten pen and sour milk, Doc."

"I have no idea what you just said."

"Then we are both in the same leaky skiff."

Lian turned her attention to Teresa.

"This there something you wish to speak with me about?"

Teresa shot a glance at the oblivious Rythne, who was rummaging around one of her packs.

"Rissa asked me to confirm our coordinates. Brucey just tagged along. I guess he wanted a scenery change."

"Hells bells, and livery," said Rythne. "I never can I get those jar brained baa-ffoons to pack anything right."

Teresa sighed. "Has anyone ever told you the sentences that come out of your mouth are nonsensical?"

"Meh."

Rythne picked up two packs and headed for one of the vehicles.

Lian had been queuing up something on a portable holographic device.

"Tell Rissa that we'll be using void coordinates Juliet. She'll know what to do."

In the distance, Brucey could be heard talking about his favorite pastime, sports.

Teresa rolled her eyes. "I wish he would keep it down. He's been talking about that idiotic game for hours."

"You know Brucey. He's like clockwork. You wouldn't think it considering that horrendous dialect of his."

Teresa glanced over in Brucey's direction once more, then back to Lian.

"Have you heard anything from Zechariah?"

Lian shook her head. "No, which means everything is going according to plan."

Teresa turned to look at Brucey again. He was waving at her dramatically. She waved back.

Then, with one fluid motion, Teresa drew a pistol and pointed it at Lian. Much to Teresa's surprise, Lian had come up with the same idea.

A sudden flash of burning light erupted from the hovercraft. The large white plume burned through the hull of the craft in seconds, rendering it unusable. Brucey was engaged in a firefight and quickly dropped two of Lian's team members. The lack of that telltale gun pop made it clear to her that he had silenced his weapon. Brucey then swept the area, and headed for the parked vehicles, in search of Rythne no doubt.

Lian locked eyes on Teresa who seemed nervous, skittish.

"So what gave it away?"

Even in this tense standoff, Lian spoke calmly.

"Brucey kept his habit up to the end, you kept your rather demure posture, same as always. Team Two and Three showed signs of anxiety, even Rissa couldn't help but play with that damn pen of hers. Tell me did you kill her, or was that someone Brucey?"

Teresa gave her a hint of a smile.

"Oh, come now. Don't play coy with me. Someone tipped you off to us, didn't they?"

Lian's eyes shot over to the right, then back to Teresa.

"Only Zechariah's insistence that there was a double agent among us."

Teresa eyes narrowed in disgust, then pushed the barrel of her caseless pistol closer. "Don't lie to me, Lian. Now tell me, how did you know?"

"You and Brucey played your roles far too well. You were too concerned with the role and forgot what it meant to be yourselves under pressure."

Rythne had somehow materialized behind Teresa holding her own pistol. Teresa froze when she heard that 'click and whine' of a caseless round being chambered, Lian lowered her side arm and glanced at Rythne.

"Any survivors?"

"Team Three made it, they've secured an exit. That Schooner is crisper than my morning toast, though. We lost the rooks, Simmons, Rissa and Haslaq. Brucey and the other turncoats tucked tail and ran for the tree line when I made it clear wasn't in the mood. Shit fire, they'll answer for the rook's deaths at a later time. Team One is fully compromised with Rissa dead. And there's no telling how long we have before this place is crawling with Broken Laurel pig lickers."

Lian nodded and glanced at Teresa.

"Give your Mistress a message for me."

And without fanfare, Rythne cracked Teresa on the back of the head with the butt of her pistol.

#  Stage 18

### There are somethings, that can't always be said.

The scent of sulfur clung to her clothing like a dying man.

As the memories of past events raced through her mind like a fevered dream.

Her memory leapt to a moment several hours prior, as she sorted the jumble thoughts into a coherent recollection.

Within hours of Carmen activating her double agent, they had received the location of Branch Cell's base of operation. There they found an unconscious woman and five undercover members hiding in the tree line. Though the operation had succeeded in crippling their means of escape, some of Branch Cell's members had managed to escape into the forest leading into the wilderness. The mad rush to bust Zechariah's team had come a few minutes too late.

After the operatives had revealed themselves they reported that only three members had been killed. Though the original plan was to wipe out the entire team, it had caused enough damage to scatter the remnants still loyal to Zechariah.

The retrieval team used the confiscated equipment and within half an hour were able to approximate the area of Zechariah and Miranda's next scheduled wave point.

Though defanged and unable to use her Gift, Carmen had proved herself to be a formidable foe.

When the retrieval team returned with the deep cover team and relayed their report to Carmen, she was none too pleased with the news. The failure of the deep cover team came with a promise of further reprisal.

She mobilized her contingency of military personnel and set a trap for Zechariah and Miranda at their designated EXFIL point. Houston and Helena were the last to be transported to that location. Houston was like a kid in a candy shop, babbling about the fact that he was going to see Zechariah face to face once more.

Everything came to a head at the docks.

Aerlina's escape plan had been flawless. She had taken a small team of loyal soldiers with her and made contact with Miranda, at a wave point that _Tailor_ had divulged during their final communication. But Houston had been a step ahead.

Houston had somehow deduced that Aerlina was working in secret against Broken Laurel, and only seconds from their escape vehicle. He materialized out of the ether and unleashed an attack that would have killed her instantly, had Zechariah not leapt in front of her at the last second.

Her miscalculation, paid for with blood, as her team were unceremoniously executed by Helena.

A sudden burst of rifle fire.

Aerlina's conscious mind returned to the present and the pain of being pushed to the limit flooded into focus.

Having to drag Zechariah nearly the length of three ullamaliztli fields, she couldn't move him any longer.

As she lay him on the ground, gently propping him up against a cargo container, she finally gave herself a moment to rest. Her lungs burned and longed for air, but she couldn't stop the rapid panting. She had been under the misguided assumption that her training would have prepared her for every situation. But never in her life had she hurt so much, in so many places.

She had dragged a 95-kilogram, 189-centimeter tall dead weight, dodged for cover, screamed out the locations of enemies to Miranda. Then in the mist of all that smoke, sound and eventual separation from Miranda, she intimately understood the horror of Infractus.

Houston and Helena wouldn't hesitate to destroy anything and everything if it meant the success of a mission.

Her tired mind had started to wander again, panting continued needing the flow of oxygen, she recalled a mantra from her boot-camp days.

"Movement, never stay put! Move, move, move!"

The harsh tones of her drill Sergeant echoed in her mind.

"Move, move, move!" the deep accent, the alpha bark.

"Move, Menoncourt! Get your ass up and MOVE!"

She could almost feel the hot breath on her neck.

"Move, Move, Move! That's the rule of the battlefield! Move, move, move! Stay put and die! Do you want to die, PLRO Menoncourt?!"

"No, sir!"

"Then get that ass up and MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

She must have slipped into delirium at some point, because when she felt a hand touch her forearm she drew her weapon so fast she nearly knocked Zechariah out again. He blinked into the business end of a pistol.

"Easy, girl...you're talking a bit loud, just needed you to wake up."

She started to tremble, her gun shaking noticeably. He placed his hand on her weapon and pointed it away. A sudden explosion in the distance made her jump. She felt pathetic as she fought to hold back tears even as she cursed herself for showing weakness.

Once she managed to settle down some, Aerlina turned to look at him. There wasn't any blood on him. She knew that the damage he had received would be internal. If they didn't get him to a doctor soon, he would be dead within a few more hours. To think that their fate had been tied in such a way, and the revelation that Miranda...

"It's okay, Aerlina... I'm scared, too."

His comment shocked her racing thoughts back to the present.

"You look far too cool to be scared, Zechariah."

He swallowed back a cough, holding his stomach.

"Only one of us can have a breakdown right now," he said. "I'm more experienced in this sort of thing anyway."

"Then why the hell are you scared?!" She quieted her voice, aware that it might have attracted unwanted attention.

"Because if I die they'll torture you for information you don't have. Houston may be a sadist, but he's nothing compared to Papillion."

Aerlina paled.

Papillion.

She was the diamond standard when it came to breaking a human being and leeching them of information. She'd seen a training media showing how she broke a male solider and the recollection made her stomach turn.

Closing her eyes as if to ward off evil, she wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'll kill myself before they have a chance."

"Take a moment, my dear. Don't start polishing that side arm just yet. We still have Miranda out there and she's not an easy target. The main players will be concentrating on her."

Another explosion, this time a little closer.

"Hot damn, I never in a million years would I have thought she was that proficient with a Mark III."

Aerlina turned to look at him.

"That's Miranda?" Her eyes went wide. "Wait, you mean she's toting around an AFA Brimly Mark III?"

Zechariah gave her a pained chuckle and nodded.

"That thing weighs twenty three kilograms, Zecc!"

"Indeed, it does. Miranda is no lightweight, she'll give us the time we need to get to the EXFIL point. But we'll need to take care of the little fish that Carmen has sent to find us." He put his hand on Aerlina's shoulder. "When you were muttering a few moments ago, you were mimicking someone. It was Gunnery Sergeant Marlanimus, wasn't it?"

She blinked and nodded. "Yes... how did you know?"

"I recognized the unique sing-song cadence. He also trained me when I was a younger."

Zechariah struggled to his feet, gritting his teeth as he pushed through what must have been excruciating pain. He turned to look at an astonished young Lieutenant Major.

"If he knew that you dragged my sorry ass until you gave out, he'd take me for a fifty kilometer run, the whole time berating me about how a girl made me look like panty waist, daisy sniffing tuck dick." He gave her a confident smile. "And I hate running."

Aerlina watched Zechariah, speechless, for a full minute and half. Then stood up herself. She drew her side arm to a defensive position and glanced over at Zechariah as he drew his pistol.

"Did you know that you're the color purple?"

Zechariah shook his head. "Can't say that I've ever been told that, no."

She nodded, and in one clean motion, leaned in to kiss him fully on the lips.

Zechariah had no way of dancing away from this development, considering that Miranda knew exactly what had just transpired.

Aerlina pulled back and watched him.

"I thought it was Miranda," she said. "I've been chasing her for years. But it was your vinculum that shifted my gaze. You're the one I've been looking for and now I understand why."

She turned her attention to the left.

"I hear them coming, how about we spring a surprise?"

There a succession of four quick explosions in the distance.

Zechariah winced. "I think we already did." He moved to the other side of the cargo container.

They pressed their backs against the hard metal and glanced at each other. With a single nod from Aerlina, they both rounded the corners and started firing.

~*~

Miranda was highly pissed off as she fired yet another salvo at the hunkered down enemy.

Aerlina kissing Zechariah wasn't the problem, the problem was that if Zechariah died due to his injuries Aerlina would have been the last person to touch him.

Which meant that she wouldn't be able to renew their vinculum, which meant that Houston was to blame, which meant that Carmen had to pay for her crime.

It was a moment of vindictiveness. Miranda knew this, but she needed that emotion to propel her forward.

Her movements were sharp, brutal. The relentless way she put pressure on the enemy, the way she listened to the wounded moan in pain to pinpoint their location.

She popped out of concealment and sprinted for the next cargo container, firing three more rounds at her tormentors. She paused there, took a moment to collect her thoughts, and then dashed off to another vantage point, trying to make use of their confusion to flank them.

Zechariah was in no condition to provide her with the control she needed in order to use her paradoxical Gift. But if worse came to worse, she would make sure none of the bastards currently making their life hell would ever reach home.

Her stop was so sudden, she almost gave herself whiplash as rapid fire ordinance hurtled down the gap she was about to cross, had it not been for her precognition sounding an alarm.

She leaned away from the wall of her cover and aimed her weapon into the air. With her free hand she inputted a quick set of instructions and then fired her smart grenades in an arc. The first exploded seven seconds into the downward arch, the second round five seconds after and the third round three seconds after that.

The effect was devastating, she created a blanket of shrapnel that rained down on the poor fools who had just fired on her. She took that moment to reload her weapon. She only had five rounds left.

"Miiiiiiiiiiranda?! Would you be a dear and come on out so we can talk?"

That bastard Houston.

"Sure thing, sugar! Just poke your head out and I'll be happy to speak with you!"

As an extra measure of sincerity, she popped out long enough to blast a grenade down the open area between container boxes then pivoted back into cover.

She could hear his maniacal laughter as the explosion receded.

"Oh baby, baby, baby! How much do I love this game! I think it best if you get on moving, yeah? Zecc doesn't have much time."

She burst out of cover and start sprinting down the corridor, just as her previous position exploded in flame and molten metal.

She dove hard into the pavement, then rolled and slid across the ground just short of her next cover. She lay on her belly and clipped off three rounds, even as several soldiers started shooting in her direction. The moment her grenades exploded and were met with the panicked cries of the men and women that had just shot at her. She rolled out of plain view and behind the cargo container.

She pulled her back up against the metal of the cargo container, wincing in pain. The displacement of the projectiles had wounded her on the shoulder and hip. Though not a direct hit she was still injured and bleeding. Worse yet, fatigue was starting to set in and that weakened her grip on her paradoxical Gift.

~*~

Zechariah and Aerlina were having their own measure of amusement, but they too were running low on ammunition. With skill and a little bit of luck, they had been able to kill the group that had found them and were now moving to the EXFIL point with moderate haste. Aerlina was able to help Zechariah hobble along, though it was clear she was nearing a breaking point. Zechariah being in considerable pain knew that whatever Houston had unleashed on him had done a number on his internal organs.

Aerlina helped him move to cover. He knew how hard this must be for her, not only physically, but emotionally. The fact that she had cried was actually a relief to Zechariah. Being able to display perfectly acceptable human emotions when thrown into a life or death situation and not crack under that pressure was a promising sign. Granted, if she were more experienced, the question of triage would have come about. A hard lesson learned on the battlefield.

"You don't have to pamper me, you know," he said, catching his breath.

"This has nothing to do with you, Zechariah. I need to be able to listen so I can pinpoint our enemies. Miranda lobbing grenades like they were party favors isn't helping much."

Zechariah nodded his agreement. Miranda had been ditching ordinance at an accelerated rate. He couldn't say what was running through her head, because the vinculum between them had begun to fade more rapidly. What he did know is that each explosion was getting closer and closer, and spaced further apart which meant she was also running low on ammo.

"How far are we from those dead soldiers, Aerlina?"

"I'd say about one hundred and fifty meters, why?"

He pointed the pistol into the air at an angle.

He fired a single shot, and then two more.

"Okay, let's move!"

There was a questioning look as Aerlina helped him forward.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"It's a signal for Miranda. Something from her training days at the PTC. With any luck, she'll be able to arm herself."

Aerlina frowned. "You do realize that she's walking straight into a line of soldiers looking for us, right?"

The look on Zechariah's face spoke volumes. "Then let's put some distance between Miranda and us, shall we? I don't want to be anywhere near when she gets her second wind."

~*~

Miranda had just breached the AFA Brimly Mark III to top it off with what was left of her grenades when she heard a single gunshot followed closely by two more. This was a signal from Zechariah, or so she hoped. The gamble of her life was about to be played out as she removed the Mark III. Keying in a few quick inputs, she placed the flat barrel end of the weapon on the ground and slowly squeezed the trigger. It beeped, and beeped one more time.

The moment she saw the countdown timer activate, she made a sprinting run in the direction of Zechariah's signal. As she ran, she pulled out her combat knife and held it lightly in her left hand. Her eyes burned with the anticipation that soon she would once again experience the thrill of close quarters combat.

#  Stage 19

The ghost, the shadow.

The radio chatter was horrific and frantic. He couldn't make heads or tails of what was being said. Private Level Rank One Eugene Masala kept adjusting the earpiece and tweaking the volume trying to get it into a more bearable noise level, but no matter what he did, he just couldn't get the damn thing to stop making his headache worse.

PLRO Masala was part of a detachment of enlisted soldiers charged by Broken Laurel to find and capture a pair of fugitives on the run. He had no clue who this Zechariah fellow was, but the picture they showed of him was of a smiling twenty-something year old man. He appeared to be more scientist than soldier. But what had distressed him was when he discovered Lieutenant Major Aerlina's name on that list.

Of all the reconstructed aristocracy, she had been the kindest. Warm and affectionate, always offering a shoulder or elbow touch to stress a point, she never treated the enlisted grunts as maggots. Sometimes she would watch their drills and on special occasions, she would even join them. She was so easy to talk to, she was everyone's favorite.

As a communications specialist, he had the privilege of working directly with her during training simulations. That's also when he learned that she was in fact a Combat Sensorium Touch Specialty Level 3. That had been their secret, or so she had told him. He had heard stories about how twisted the Combat Sensorium branch were, but Aerlina had shown him just what kind of pleasure they could induce as well. He would never forget the night they spent together, and though it had only been one night, she had promised another. She had promised a getaway to her place in the mountains when things died down.

He was roused from his daydream when someone punched him on the shoulder.

His buddy Ricardo had a wild look about him.

"PLRO Masala, do you have important plans for after this detail?"

It was his commanding officer. He came to attention and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"No, Ma'am!"

"Then, pray tell, where was your mind when I called for your quarter of the hour report?"

"I was contemplating an appropriate response to your question, Ma'am! There's a lot of chatter and its increasing difficulty to make sense of what's going on."

"I see, then why don't you issue a break call and make sense of what's going on. Right now isn't the time for a little chat, so we'll excuse your obvious lie for the moment."

"Yes, Ma'am!" He turned his hand to the call button and broke through the chatter.

"Break, break! This is Lima Team calling Base Command. Orders are garbled, I say again, orders are garbled. Please, retransmit, over?"

PLRO Masala looked into the cold dark green eyes of his platoon commander, Lieutenant First Class Michele Ravenburst. She was watching him like a predatory lioness hungry for a kill.

He was shaking slightly, not sure why it was taking so long for Base Camp to respond. LFC Ravenburst wasn't known for her patient nature. The commander opened her mouth to speak, but just then he got through.

"Ma'am, CFC Zigfler wants to speak with you directly."

He switched his earpiece over to the radio attached to his tactical vest and offered it to her.

"You maggots, stand fast. Me and PLRO Masala are heading back a ways."

They walked from earshot of the main group. He looked back at Ricardo. His buddy was mimicking being strung up by a noose. Masala shook his head and fought back the fear and laughter that both wanted to choke out of him in that moment.

"This is LFC Ravenburst, come back."

The predatory lioness went from pissed off, to delighted huntress.

"Copy that, Base command. Over and out."

She thrust the walkie back to PLRO Masala.

"We have a kill order, maggot. No more find and capture, we are to kill them dead." She turned her devilish smile onto PLRO Masala. "Seems like your little bed friend isn't going to be coming home tonight. Now reach out to the scout teams and those on our frequency. I want to regroup at checkpoint Opal."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am!

He couldn't believe it! Ordered to kill her on sight! His hand trembled as he switched the walkie back to his earpiece and started to fumble for the right channel.

"Scout Lima One and Two, over."

Static.

"Scout Lima One, do you copy, over?"

More static.

"Scout Lima Two, do you copy, over?"

LFC Ravenburst turned to look at him, her momentary giddiness quickly evaporating.

PLRO Masala started scanning channels.

"This is Lima Team, calling Scout Lima One, Two. Reply immediately, over!"

The huntress spoke. "Is there a problem, PLRO Eugene?"

He switched to the broadcast signal used for the operation. "I'm trying all channels now, ma'am."

"This is Lima Team, Scout Lima One, Two. Channel Alpha-Bravo-Whiskey in two, I repeat two count cadence. Comply."

He switched back to his primary frequency and waited for a two count cadence.

"Scout Li—"

Then came a sudden loud burst of static.

"Lima Team! We're—"

More static.

He paled, his breath quickened,

"Come back, caller. Say again, caller. Come back!"

Static.

He looked up to the now smoldering LFC Ravenburst.

"Ma'am, I think I heard Scout Lima Two, but... all I'm hearing is static, now."

LFC Ravenburst grabbed Eugene by the tactical vest, lifting him up off his feet. "You'd better hail them now, PLRO or I'll send you marching in into your beloved Aerlina's crosshairs."

She let go of his tac-vest and he dropped. He almost collapsed but managed to keep his footing. He fumbled for his radio, but dropped it on the ground. He was shaking visibly, and when he turned to look up, he knew it would be a beating this time. But when he looked up at LFC Ravenburst, her eyes were strangely vacant.

A split-second later, blood sprayed from her mouth and painted his face. He was so shocked by what had just happened he didn't notice his fellow soldiers at arms were all lying dead on the ground before him.

As the body of the once living LFC Ravenburst crumpled to the ground, he saw an angel emerging from the smoke that drifted behind her. He had thought Aerlina was beautiful, but this one had a grace about her that stunned him. Without so much as a sound, she had killed seven people including his platoon commander.

"That radio of yours have anything useful to tell me?"

He nodded.

"Are you the advance team?"

He nodded again.

"You do know what they do to a soldier who survives this sort of attack don't you?"

He nodded one last time. If half the stories were true, he would be tortured by Broken Laurel.

"How much time do you think I have before they find you here?"

He finally found his voice. "Fifteen minutes. We were just issued kill orders. That explosive trap you set nearly killed one of the Broken. Helena."

He reached into his tac-vest and pulled out a crumpled letter.

"Could you give this to LM Aerlina Menoncourt, Lieutenant Major Grey?"

She nodded and took the envelope.

"You know me?"

He gave a small smile. "Everyone knows who you are, ma'am. You're a hero."

She tucked away his letter and shook her head,

"I'm no hero."

"To us, you are."

He then saluted her, closing his eyes.

"At least you'll die, a man."

He felt pressure, pain and his muscles betrayed him. He would have fallen hard had it not been for Miranda catching him and lowering him to the ground. He felt her pull the knife out, felt his body convulsing, then nothing.

Miranda watched him take his last breath, his death quick and relatively painless. She patted her tac-vest pocket where the letter now resided. She would keep the dead boy's...no, the dead man's promise.

As silent as she had laid waste to her enemies, Miranda started moving once more. With pistol in one hand and knife in the other. As an unconscious smile touch her lips.

It had been days since the last time her hands had trembled.

~*~

A warning had rattled around in Zechariah's head since the days of his first ghost op mission; a warning given to him by his operational commander as he was addressing the ragtag bunch he had assembled.

"One day, your luck will run out boys and girls. One day, y'all will pay the Piper."

As he watched Miranda and Aerlina exchange weapon fire, as he held his hand over the gunshot wound that he had received courtesy of a ricochet, he wondered if today was that day.

There had been times in the past when he had considered this exact same thought, when all seemed lost. But this time felt different.

Zechariah coughed and tasted the coppery tinge of blood. Whatever damage he had sustained was reaching a critical level. They had reached the EXFIL point, and found it abandoned. He had hoped that Lian and her team had not been captured, just delayed.

But the delay was turning more into a last stand. The extraction point was now nonviable. The only reason they were still alive was because the jetty dock they were on had denied their enemy the ability to surround them immediately. That would change when the marine reinforcements made their debut. Then the dark, cold waters of that massive lake would turn from neutral barrier into one bearing hostile weapon fire.

Miranda had reached them faster than he had anticipated, and that miscalculation had earned the three of them a dead run to the EXFIL point. Miranda had managed to salvage two Hestia's Curse Mark I siege rifles. When she arrived, she reached out to touch Zechariah, but Aerlina stopped her, warning that he was far too weak to maintain their connection. He could see the pain that crossed her features. He never did like to see her sad or frowning; it didn't suit her beautiful face.

He had always known her to be an exceptional woman, but to see her in action spoke louder than any report could reveal. She was deadly, the definition of efficiency, but when she was in control of both of her Gifts there was a touch of invincibility about her that even stunned him.

It was no wonder Broken Laurel originally intended her for capture, and not so surprising that they now wanted her dead. The way she delivered the end to her enemies would make a surgeon green with envy. Even her use of explosives was damn near an art form.

He then turned to look at Aerlina. If Miranda was a rapier, then Aerlina was a two-handed bastard sword. There was nothing about her fighting that held the finesse one would think common of the reconstructed aristocracy. The way that she dealt death was like a flechette aerial bomb detonated at 1,524 meters. Her unique Gift would bring about a deadly payload of shattered minds. Yet, it held within its destructive nature the ability to control pain and reinforce damaged cells. Had it not been for Aerlina, he would have long since died from shock.

Zechariah exhaled and looked up to the sky. He was fighting with every ounce of his being to stay awake. He was flanked by the Valkyries of Old, betraying their true call to take his soul away. And there he was, the dying warrior, the failed warrior. He did not deserve to have these women protect him. His hubris had brought the one thing he had feared for so long.

He laughed, a grotesque smile formed as he considered the irony of it all. A sound loud enough that brought about a strange look from both women.

His escape plan had been implemented so that in the confusion of it all, his team would escaped. Instead one team member and a single stowaway were prolonging the inevitable.

Sitting there, breathing ragged, his waning smile was the culmination of a desire that had never crossed his considerable mind.

I do not wish to die!

I'm scared, I'm scared!

I do not wish to die!

Tears threatened, though he fought tooth and nail to keep them from emerging. Listening to the gunfire, he fought inwardly.

Listening, as both woman flawlessly execute their maneuvers, calling to each other as their ammo supply ran from low to dangerously low, to empty.

The _rat-ta-ta-rat-ta-ta_ of automatic siege rifle fire stopped, and the _pap-pap-pap-pap_ of pistol fire began.

He clenched his teeth, his fists in bitterness.

But in that quiet moment of contemplative self-loathing, his ears picked up the unmistakable low hum of a mechanized aircraft.

His eyes sprung open as he recognized a sound that registered in his memory banks, a sound like that of a thousand winged birds taking flight.

"ON THE DECK, NOW!"

He threw his injured self forward, belly first, onto the dock.

Their compliance was immediate. He felt an inexplicable pressure crushing them from above.

"KEEP YOUR MOUTHS OPEN, AND EXHALE OUT!" he shouted.

The pressure built up, then vanished, then built up again. When Aerlina turned to see what was going on, her eyes grew wide.

It was a Raven Skiff!

A prototype short-range, anti-material, anti-personnel advanced VTOL. The pressure they were feeling was the force of the gravitonic engines as it kept the ship in level flight.

"Crawl forward! Get out from under it!" Zechariah yelled as he pushed forward.

Aerlina couldn't believe what she was witnessing. This type of hardware would never be found this far out of the Core Galaxies. Yet, there it was, dealing out a rain of high energy plasma to an unsuspecting group of now under-equipped soldiers. As they crawled closer and closer to the edge of the dock, there came a high pitched siren, then a single blast from above their heads. Aerlina was the first to roll toward Zechariah direction, followed quickly by Miranda.

What they saw was jaw dropping.

Two Zieffers Type E, Dynamized Impedimenta dropped onto the dock. The shockwave of their landing knocked every cargo container close to the edge into the water, and had it not been for dumb luck they too would have been launched into the lake. The grunt of pain that shot out of Zechariah spoke volumes of just how much pain that bounce had caused him. The poor unfortunate souls on the business end of the Dynamized Impedimenta that hadn't been knocked into the water were now wide open to the oncoming hell that was about to erupt. She heard the spooling whine of the G-type Rotary Machine Barrels play a tune of the coming concerto.

The Raven Skiff had broken away from engagement only seconds before, moving to its next target. With exacting precision, the Zieffers started moving forward, destroying what little morale was left in the enemy. Leaving the three frazzled ones behind. Zechariah was panting heavily, his wound had torn open wider and he was bleeding anew.

Miranda pushed herself up and pressed into his wound with her hand. Aerlina was in the process of ripping their last remaining compression bandage when an old school VTOL slowly made its decent.

As the craft turned, the tail end opened and five heavily armed soldiers rappelled down to the dock. Two of the five wore field medical combat insignia and one carried a field medic bag.

"Lieutenant Major Grey, Lieutenant Major Menoncourt! We are taking over operational command and relieving you of Zechariah Fairchild's care!"

Miranda was pushed out of the way. She was about to raise her weapon, when she noticed a familiar insignia on the right arm of one of the medics. She turned to look at Aerlina, and she too had a look of confusion. One of the medics then injected Zecc with some kind of cocktail.

"Identity yourselves!" Aerlina shouted.

One of the soldiers turned to look at Miranda, and then Aerlina,

"Please, Lieutenant Majors. We are part of the Hell's Wind Motley, we need you to get out of the way!"

A stretcher was being slowly lowered down from a winch. The medics quickly fastened Zecc into the stretcher and he started his ascent. Aerlina and Miranda watched in tense silence as their comrade in arms was lifted into the unmarked VTOL.

Once Zechariah was inside the belly of the beast, it slowly rotated away from the fighting and flew southeast. With the beating blades of the VTOL gone, Miranda turned her attention to one of the soldiers present.

"What the hell is going here?!"

The masked soldier stepped back to make way for another who started moving forward.

"I see that your bluntness hasn't lessened since we last met, Miranda."

Miranda froze.

She watched the action of a cowl being removed in slow motion.

A thousand emotions erupted from her, but all she could muster in that blink of a breathless moment was a single utterance.

"Richard...?"

This concludes Paradox Gifted.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and know that this is not the end of this tale.

You will never know how deeply I appreciate your patronage and time.

Ave atque vale,

Me.

A Note of Thanks

There are a few (alright, alright a lot) people that I'd like to thank:

Stephy - It's been more than a decade. All those hours we gamed together honed my story writing skills. Plus, you still love me! Thank you, my dearest friend.

My niece - Had it not been for that year, you coaxed me to write for NaNoWriMo, this story would not have happened. Thank you.

Allegro's player - Your comment pulled me out of the ice (metaphorically speaking). Thank you for the kindness.

Eloise J. Knapp - There are numerous reasons, but your stories inspired. You gave an unknown a chance to write for your magazine. You were that last push I needed to get it done. Thank you for your interaction!

Steve, my editor - Thank you for your time, and your devotion. Having to deal with my grammatical mistakes and run on sentences had to be taxing. Thanks!

A History

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xwokdy$ /begin -abridged_historical_account -redaction_off -source | the_great_blackout > cradles_big_three > slt_travel > the_tragedy > the_colonial_expansion_and_independence_movement -abridged_reference | the_covert_and_security_apparatus

An Abridged Historical Account, No Redaction

Referencing points in history:

Cradle's Big Three, The Great Blackout, SLT Travel, The Tragedy, and The Colonial Expansion and Independence Movement

Abridged reference, in relation to the Colonial Expansion and Independence Movement:

The Covert and Security Apparatus

### Cradle's Big Three

Due to the nature of the Disaster that affected Cradle, all human life had been forced out to the Void. During this extinction level event three groups were able to reconnoiter enough resources to establish and maintain a foothold on a now-unforgiving planet.

The landmass of Greenland was recolonized through an operation spearheaded by what remained of the Scandinavian and various Cyrillic governments to preserve what was left of a once thriving biosphere. Greenland holds the only working Heaven's Lift, an intra-atmospheric magnetic conveyor system, connecting Cradle Station Promethean, or CSP, with Void Station Prometheus, or VSP.

At the top of the Heaven's Lift is Void Station Prometheus, where all void-centric research is coordinated, with specific focus on zero-gravity nanotechnology development. This is also the location of the continually evolving alpha denominated decentralized communications matrix. With each upgrade of the GENCOM decentralized system, VSP continues its role as one of fifty alpha denominated nodes. These nodes contain routing information of additions or subtractions to the vast communication system that makes up the current day GENCOM v10. VSP also provides a ferry system for the ship docking arrays and construction yards that are located exactly midway way between Cradle and Luna.

Cradle Station Promethean is a vast repository of bio-domes designated for agricultural and animal husbandry, storage, packaging, repair and machining to maintain the life support systems on Void Station Prometheus, Cradle Station Promethean and the Vault. This is also the hub matrix of the massive maintenance handling to keep the Heaven's Lift fully operational and the nexus for all security operations relating to the secret locations of all backup data warehouses and seed repositories. This was created, in the event that should the Vault be destroyed, its vast data knowledge and physical heritage could be securely preserved.

The Vault, is the remnant of the human population that did not escape into the Void, which includes governments and corporations of various nationalities and ethnic groups that survived the Disaster. In conjunction with the Icelandic government, were able to shared resources to recolonize the island of Iceland.

Iceland is the center of all cradle-centric preservation and development. This includes the primary alpha denominated DNA repository for fauna and flora that survived the Disaster. A beta denominated DNA matrix of the human genome and data relating to its various unique genetic mutations, the relocation of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, and the second largest research and development laboratory, medical research facility and engineering foundry.

The majority of all research relating to terraforming, mining, construction, transportation, energy production and all levels in-between are done with the cooperation of the CSP and VSP.

The third of Cradle's Big Three, is the independent military junta comprised of what was once the powerful G13 that pushed south and maintain an active presence in the Joinville Island group of Antarctica, as well as the only operational lunar complex in the South Pole: Aitken basin on Luna.

Known commonly as the Junta, there are only a few declassified documents relating to the Joinville Island Medical, Military and Research complex or MEDMIL-ARC, and lunar station Aitken. Of which is their mission statement:

Adaugeo, Superare, Crescere

Still operational as of UC (universum collectivus) 529 or PI (posteaquam incunabulum) 8326, this secretive group still wields incredible authority throughout the Core Galaxies and the Periphery. As stated by Galactic Law, any and all communication or unauthorized entry of military air, sea or void space will be met with lethal action. This historical footnote will be discussed in more detail.

During the cataclysmic events that followed the Disaster, a splinter group of military personnel corresponding to the G13 pooled and executed one of the largest military expeditions of the time. This military junta was able to acquiesce and transport civilian and military personnel, militarized construction and mining equipment, then deploy, construct and initialize one of the largest post-Disaster research facilities on Cradle.

Though unable to rebuild the Antarctic Heaven's Lift, the Junta was able to repurpose the magnetic lift system. Creating a high atmospheric rail launcher allowed the Junta to send rockets into Cradle's upper atmosphere at a lower cost, both in terms of fuel and resources, than having to launch from the surface. This enables the Junta to transport the wealth of mineral and gaseous resources located in the area to their holdings system wide.

Subsequently, this military organization became one of the first to expand into the Void, and the first to conquer the lunar base in the South Pole-Aikten Basin. Due to their successful infiltration of the Lunar Meteor Defense System or LMDS, Luna became a military satellite under the Junta's control, providing a void base of operations.

As of this writing, (UC 529) the Junta has only expanded into orbiting moons and dwarf planets within Cradle's home system. Its absolute control has been established and by use of lethal force demonstrated in the following celestial bodies:

Deimos and Phobos around Mars.

Europa, Io, Mneme and Thebe around Jupiter.

Phoebe, Titan, Prometheus around Saturn.

Miranda, Portia, Titania around Uranus.

Ceres, Pluto, Charon, Haumea, Makemake and Eris.

All of these are actively used by the Junta for their own classified reasons. Though there have been several attempts by various governments and civilian authorities from the Correlated Galactic Entente to declassify related documentation, all attempts have been met with severe and sometimes heavy-handed reprisals. As of this writing, the Correlated Galactic Entente is under a truce with the Junta due to an event that single-handedly showed the whole of colonized Void that the Junta is a force not to be taken lightly.

In UC 15, the largest military expedition of our time, code named Reprisal, representing a full two thirds of the Correlated Galactic Entente, converged to waged war against the Junta. In less than 24 hours, the 100,000-strong fleet, including a vanguard of 20,000 Ogre class military ships, were defeated by being pulled into vortexes of unknown origin or creation.

Within 48 hours, the ships that had been pulled into the unknown vortexes were attacked by a massive assault fleet identifying themselves as Lusus Naturae class military vessels, which by verifiable documented accounts, unleashed a simultaneous bombardment of the capital planets of each government that participated in the assault. This documentation, and further video and still images, proved that the attackers appeared using the same inexplicable vortexes they had used to vanish the Reprisal fleet.

After 72 hours, a full-spectrum broadcast with a origin point of Cradle was sent. The transcription follows:

'We, trade with whom we wish. We, sup with whom we deem friends.

Pay heed, of this generation the count shall be.

Seventy two times ten.

This, will your only warning be.'

To this day, the Correlated Galactic Entente has kept an open line of communication with the Junta, through their diplomatic contacts within the Vault and the VSP/CSP. It is through these contacts that the Junta reveals which governments are currently in good standing with them. As of this writing, only three governments have been acknowledged under a governance trade accord: the Calico Galactic Emporium, the Silver Wing, Blue Tail Tribal State and most recently, an unnamed pirate nation, listed as one of the five SLT Pirate empires.

Also, official recognition of the Old Imperial Republic's loss of its colonial holdings in Disolenum and Passers Cove to the Colonial Federalists government, due to it being the first successful independence movement in the current age.

Because of their advanced technological and military equipment, many have gone out of their way to curry favor with the Junta. Even so far as to establish trading corporations within the notoriously enigmatic Calico Galactic Emporium, in order to slip into one of their lucrative transportation contracts without the use of proxies.

As a final note, there is no historical proof that MEDMIL-ARC contributed to the success of any of the major developments of void-centric technological breakthroughs. There is abundant speculation due to their political relationships, that VSP and MEDMIL-ARC are in fact both deeply vested in void-centric joint projects.

On such observation is when SLT travel had finally been established as a viable method of transportation, the Silver Wing, Blue Tail Tribal State released statistical data describing the composition of a once-unknown vortex that had occurred during the 72 Hour War. Their findings, released to the scientific community, revealed that in fact an SLT postern generated by a Lusus Naturae class military vessel, a full one hundred and twenty years prior to its more well-known discovery. Further analysis confirmed that fragments of that ill-fated military expedition were discovered in the substructure. This finding was later used by the CGE to ratify a treatise into Galactic Law against any and all governments, persons or corporations that broke the truce between itself and the Junta.

### The Great Blackout

From the early days of bipedal messenger delivery, to the time of telegraphy that inspired the information age and into the golden era of the nanotransmission methodology that solved the need for instantaneous Void communication, the transfer, retention and dissemination of data has always been used as a way to control, enlighten it or destroy a populace.

The age of the Aggressive Expansion which lasted from PI 00 through PI 2025, was one of the most tumultuous times in the history of humankind. In the early days of this age, various methods of data transfer were developed in an attempt to alleviate one of the greatest hardships of an interconnected humanity: the lack of reliable interstellar communication.

The first artificial wormhole jump (in PI 89) out of Cradle's home system demanded a far more advanced method of communication than was currently available.

The time between the first wormhole jump and the development of reliable Void-wide communication was called the Great Blackout (PI 92 to PI 238). As more and more people were forced to reach further and further into the depths of the Void, the need for instantaneous communication was great, but current technologies only allowed a slow trickle of information.

During the height of the Great Blackout, when the lack of communication with these far-flung outposts reached critical mass, all information became unreliable. What sporadic information did filter in was contradictory at best, fraught with mass hysteria at worst.

The concerted effort of Void Station Prometheus that finally achieved the successful implementation of the first generation Dynamic Point-to-Many Generation Communication or GENCOM v1.0, this was the first step out of the Great Blackout and spurred the movement to expand even deeper into the Void.

### SLT Travel

During humanity's expansion into the Void, transportation technology inadvertently discovered a revolutionary new way to surpass faster-than-light travel, without the use of artificial wormholes or drive engines known as waveform reactors. The method was dubbed Supra Light Travel, or SLT. What made SLT so unique was the ability to traverse a single light year in 0.00001 seconds.

The more widely used nomenclature, the Sea of Mists, is a termed misnomer to fog banks that appear when colder ocean currents meet with warmer ocean currents. During the days of early terrestrial sea travel, these fog banks would often disorient and bewilder ships. Travel through the SLT placed the pilot of that ship within a three dimensional substructure of the Void. Within its confines there is no visually discernible reference between an asteroid or planet, a sun or black hole, anomaly or nebulae. It is, in a figurative sense, like a fog or a mist.

The only reference that something even exists outside of the SLT is the gravity seat generated by the celestial body being held in place by the this massive substructure. The Sea of Mists is, in essence, a substructure of the universe; a quasi-gravitational existence in a three-dimensional space that connects the underpinnings of the material and immaterial universe. By accessing this substructure, ships are theoretically able to travel the length of the universe within three lifetimes, though this has never proven due to the unforgiving nature of the substructure and the fact that the universe is ever expanding and changing.

Inexplicably, the location of the posterns became a vital matter of sovereign involvement as these points in remained constant despite the universe's expansion, allowing ships larger than a relative mass of hundred metric tonnes to enter without the need of a Supra Light Travel Postern Generator or SLTPG.

Ships smaller than one hundred metric tonnes (the golden constant) could enter the SLT with the use of a SLTPG, but due to the enormous power requirements, it was a costly matter to equip any ships larger than the golden constant. What made SLTPG viable was that SLT engineers were able to adapt older, more reliable technology. The use of Ultra Capacity Hybrid Capacitors or UCHC mitigated the need for massive power generation to open a temporary postern. The properties of the UCHC included the ability to release high output energy into an SLTPG that would in turn open a twenty second window into the SLT, enough time to allow smaller ships to speed through. This technique opened the universe to adventurers and khaosgraphers.

The art of khaosgraphy was birthed and adopted as a means to map the perilous substructure. Their main responsibility is to identify the gravity seats and compile detailed information relating to real Void space so it can be used by larger ships traveling within the Sea of Mists. Khaosgraphers are also known for discovering posterns and selling that information at auction. Though a treacherously dangerous endeavor, fortunes have been made by the men and women who navigated the unknown places of the Void. This is what led to the rise of the SLT Pirate Empires.

Ships with a relative mass larger than the golden constant add an exponential component to the formulae used when traveling within the Sea of Mists. The increase in relative weight creates a phenomenon known as the Winds.

The Winds is a shift of direction within the substructure of the universe that creates a leap between three points. This leap, causes a visual disorientation and a change in the X, Y and Z axes. The development of the ArGNA system removed the danger of larger convoys being swept up by the Winds, by creating a 'beam of light' much like the lighthouses of antiquity. As part of the ArGNA system, all ships are hard-wired and hard-coded with triple ArGNA beacon signals: home port, port of call, and spotters.

Yet, even with all the safety measures in place, things do not always work as intended. Un-vetted posterns are known as the doldrums. These are places in the SLT where the maximum distance from both home port and port of call are exceeded.

Spotters are exclusively used for large fleet deployments. These small ships (usually autonomous or piloted drones, though sometimes fully-staffed ships) offer navigational guidance and substructure reconnaissance to minimize the effects of the doldrums and to provide a buffer in the event the Winds take flight.

Due to the perils of SLT travel, Galactic Law instituted that all ships larger than the golden constant be equipped with the Villein System. The Villein System is a sub-sequence HC/HW emergency life support nullification apparatus that automatically activates within the SLT in the event that contact with port of call and home port beacons are lost for more than 162 days. Its subroutines cut off all life support to said ship. This system was implemented to remove the threat of Void madness, a psychological disorder that afflicts the human mind when stranded during Void travel.

This time frame was the standard until a 57-year-old investigation into the events of the Tragedy added an addendum to the Villein System, effectively replacing the six-month period with the now infamous 336 hours.

### The Tragedy

The Tragedy had occurred during mankind's slowdown of its territorial expansion into the Void. With this cost effectiveness in mind, smaller governmental bodies like the Principle Confederation & Constitutional Monarchy of the Shared Territories, were able to join into a categoria de alianza, which offered landless member States recognition, without official representation within the Correlated Galactic Entente. Though considered a sovereignty by the C.G.E, this term could only be used when two landless governments chose unification with the explicit intention of moving five eights of the population from shared territory into the prime regions known as terra nullius.

With this mandate approval the P.C.C.M Ih-Den began construction.

A Leviathan class ship with colonization and terraformation expansions. Its 160 year construction was hailed as one of the crowning achievements of multiple generations, for no two governmental bodies had banded together to build a Leviathan class since the days of the Aggressive Expansionism.

On its maiden voyage through the SLT, the Ih-Den made use of a recently mapped lane known as charted waters that sat at the edge of the known substructure, dangerously close to the uncharted areas commonly called the deep. On V-day plus 70, a star located 469 kiloparsecs from the King's Road went supernova. This event created a gale force so immense that it destroyed the SLT layer of ArGNA beacons within a blast radius of 600 kiloparsecs. The Ih-Den was within fifty kiloparsecs of the King's Road when the gale cast it straight into the deep.

A massive rescue operation followed. Most ships under the golden constant were deemed D.S.M ( Destroyed, Sea of Mists) as evidence revealed fragmented debris floating within the substructure. Those precious few ships that managed to survive had by one means or another escaped the gale force.

Of the thousands of ships registered for SLT travel for that day, only fifteen were larger than the golden constant. All were found except for P.C.C.M Ih-Den. It was 57 years before khaosgraphers eventually stumbled across the dilapidated remains of the missing ship.

The horrific events of those last 336 hours would forever change how humanity viewed all SLT related travel and the consequences for any government that attempted to use the SLT as a means to do harm.

### The Colonial Expansion

### and

### Independence Movement

During the Second Colonial Expansion, the Old Imperial Republic's Settlement and Colonization department was dispatched to Gilrich's Gulch in the Passers Cove system. The city of Tenacity was founded with the ideal of creating the first industrial and food processing centered city.

Though the seat of power was eventually moved to Ephera Primus after achieving independence, the heart of the newly created Imperial Republic Colonial Division's economy lay firmly in the grasp of this fledgling metropolis. Gilrich's Gulch was also the ideal jump point between Ephera, Sanctuary and Dylars' Ditch, and became the first colony built within the Passers Cove system.

Because of its governance, Tenacity's growth was explosive. Even so, the city itself could have easily been mistaken for any largely urbanized non-industrial city. This was largely due to the careful planning of the original colonial builders. And from the onset, there was a heightened desire for security due to its critical infrastructure.

By its thirty year, all major industrial and food processing systems were built underground, in a centralized eight hive pattern. Tenacity's construction was largely influenced by the advent of planetary bombardments during the 72 Hour War, and the city became the archetype in the use of a newly discovered process by using hardened Napharite.

Within a span of fifty years, the city had become the nexus of commerce surpassing Samraum. Producing ninety percent of the Passers Cove resource economy and expanded into the militarized industrial complex, mechanized manufacturing, advanced food production processing, nanotechnology engineering and extend capacity machining foundries.

This growth brought about the ambitious build plans that would become four of the largest construction and void port yards built atop a mobile base. This concept was the first of its kind, and unique to the Old Imperial Republic Colonial Division. Their size and capacity second only to the home system on Mars.

During the Third Colonial Expansion from the Disolenum system into its next-door neighbor of Passers Cove, a universal desire to establish a colony with an eye for the classic governing city style prevalent within the Old Imperial Republic's capital system.

Ephera Primus was the first such implementation of this plan. Little effort was made to provide this colony with any industrial or manufacturing economy. Instead, it became the center of finance and commerce for the sector.

On the converse its sister city in Dylars' Ditch, Pertinacity, became a textiles and raw synthetics manufacturing hub for the Old Imperial Republic Colonial Division.

Both Ephera and Dylars' Ditch were colonized within five years of each other and in twenty years, all three planetary systems were exceeding export quotas of the Old Imperial Republic.

This success prompted the fourth and final Colonial Expansion into Sanctuary. Even though this planetary system held resources that exceeded its sister systems, there was a concerted effort by the Colonials to establish the first conservationist planet within the Periphery.

As time progressed, and with Passers Cove serving its purpose effectively the branch government office in Samraum had turned a blind eye to the mountain of reported paperwork relating to fraud and civil complaints.

]The Colonials of Passers Cove were forced to endure the rule of an inefficient and corrupt Colonial Central Bureaucracy. Passers Cove distance from the Old Imperial Republic's seat of power near Cradle only served to exacerbate the problem. Coupled with mounting indifference by the branch government office within Samraum, this served to encourage a de facto state of near tyrannical rule.

After nearly 150 years of rule by the Old Imperial Republic's representatives in the Colonial Central Bureaucracy. The spark of revolution came to life when a high profile incident took place to correct the injustices.

A small group of firebrands within the lowest ranks of the Colonial Central Bureaucracy itself began to collect signatures to create a new political party. This small movement brought to light just how many members of the current government, both military and political, had enough of the rampant corruption that was infecting their much beloved Passers Cove.

With the support of many lower and a few higher ranking members of government and the military, these men and women established their own political party, aptly called the People's Colonial Council.

Despite a near impossible decree that 90 percent of the population had to be present to vote in the new party creation, after months of passionate politicking in the streets of Tenacity, fully 91 percent of the population turned out to vote. This made it clear that the people of Tenacity were tired of their de facto government. They achieved the impossible by establishing the first legally-recognized political council to exist outside of the Founding Four parties that defined the original Imperial Republic.

During this time the Colonial Central Bureaucracy of Passers Cove instituted the now infamous McClaren Decree. Using a loophole in the Old Imperial Republic's Unpatriotic Displacement Act, then Senior Representative Joseph Bran McClaren III imposed a decree that all political meetings not first cleared by the ruling Colonial Central Bureaucracy would be constituted as an act of sedition. If any did not comply, this would trigger the UDA enforcement clause that stated:

'...all due diligence and swift reprimand are to be carried out with extreme prejudice, to all political meetings, establishments and reconnoitering not firstly sanctioned by the governing rule.'

The wording in this clause led to one of the most nefarious acts of political silencing since the Great Cleansing of the Three. In the span of a week, 35 of the 50 elected board members in the People's Colonial Council were either incarcerated or simply disappeared.

The "disappearance" of the fifteen original founders triggered the series of events that lead to revolution.

Within a month, only fifteen members of the PCC remained. Defying the McClaren Decree, they established a secret committee with the help of local city officials and police force. From their hidden base of operations deep within Tenacity, the highly secretive Colonial Revolutionary Committee was born.

Believing that the McClaren Decree had broken the council's back, the Colonial Central Bureaucracy enacted an emergency legislative session to vote out the new political party for lack of membership in the party's board. This meeting was to take place on the second month of the anniversary of the council's political birth.

During this time the Colonial Revolutionary Committee started to infiltrate the core of the Passers Cove Colonial Central Bureaucracy. By the time of the scheduled meeting, fully three-fourths of the enlisted military members and half of the officer corps were loyal members of the CRC.

The Colonial Deep Militarized Branch Admiralty and the Colonial Central Bureaucracy were in a closed door session when a detachment of 150 men and women tasked with protection detail shed their Branch Admiralty markings and revealed the stripes of the newly-created Colonial Revolutionists uniforms. Without so much as storming through the doors, the governing body was effectively relieved of duty and incarcerated, pending trial by the now-established Colonial Revolutionary Committee.

Within 72 hours, members once loyal to the Colonial Deep Militarized Branch Admiralty commandeered over 85 percent of the military hardware in the system. History will say this was the defining moment in the fight for independence, but those 72 hours became the bloodiest of the entire war.

Of the nearly 450,000 military personnel, nearly 100,000 men and women still loyal to the Old Imperial Republic lost their lives. In addition, of the remaining 25 five percent of the military hardware that wasn't immediately seized, fully half were still performing their active duty roles. Every last ship that could not execute mutiny flawlessly was shuttled with full crews on board, both Imperial and Colonial.

Several Old Imperial Republic junior officer's became the linchpins that made the revolution successful, and later obtained the coveted Federalist Revolutionary metal.

Among them, was a young officer by the name of Miranda Arrlae Gray. She had been transfer from Tenacity to the venerated 59th Orbital Defense grid. Her subsequent promotion to second Lieutenant after successfully defending the orbiter from a pirate raid a year prior to the revolution had allowed her access to the Defense Commander's inner sanctum.

Her sterling reputation and leadership, allowed her to successfully execute a mutiny and as intern revolutionary captain, she and her battalion became embroiled in one of the most vicious void battles ever documented in the history of the human race.

So decisive was the overall victory against the Old Imperial Republic that it became a turning point, and the call for total independence was declared.

Their sovereignty fully made legal when the Old Imperial Republic were unable to maintain their status as a dual-seated government and the new colonial revolutionary governance overthrew and acquired the majority seat in the Periphery Council of Governments within the Correlated Galactic Entente.

### The Covert and Security Apparatus

During the reconstruction, the Council of Fifteen (more colloquially known as the Fifteen) established SCALO, the CSIB and THEOPS. SCALO, or SpeCial Allocation and Logistical Office was created as the front operational section that would shield all other covert missions. Its original objective was to provide a hub for all covert operations within Passers Cove and Disolenum system. The CSIB, or Colonial Security and Intelligence Bureau was the action group responsible for all mission assignments, though in an effort to protect the first two major operations, the Fifteen split Phase Alpha One under the CSIB, while Phase Beta Two stayed under the auspice of SCALO.

THEOPS or THEoterical OPerationS, main focus was research and development for the whole covert and security apparatus. With the R&D requirements at an all-time high, twenty percent of the entire budget was allocated to THEOPS. During the creation of the new Colonial government, the General Budget Office was created. This office's governing body was comprised of one third members of each representative government (REPGOV). Each REPGOV was able to approve its own budget proposals, but did not have the power to vote on passage of said budget. However each REPGOV did have veto power over other budget proposals to keep deadlocks from getting too fierce.

Development of a strategy was created; the annexation of the militarized moon at Essephus was to take place during Phase One of the initial push. This would require a synchronized effort with the pockets of rogue sympathizers within the moon itself.

Phase Alpha One, under the cover ID Operation Hemlock, would involve a BLKOPS team that would infiltrate Essephus with orders to capture, neutralize or destroy various ground communication facilities and gain control of the Friend or Foe Lunar Targeting System.

Phase Beta Two, under the cover ID Operation Wild Charlie, was composed entirely of the experimental combat team operationally designated MeTS. Their mission was to infiltrate Samraum and perform a capture or destroy of the satellite communication system used by the Imperial Armed Forces to control the ArGNA.

The Hell's Wing Motley, a ragtag unit of old custom-built military ships and retrofitted freighters, became the vanguard for the re-purposed Colonial fleet. They pushed their advantage into the Disolenum system, effectively allowing a window of operation for Hemlock. Though the skirmish was vastly weighted in favor of the Imperial contingency force, the operational success of Hemlock and the BLKOPS unit not only brought about a major turning point in the war, but offered the Colonial Fleet time to regroup and move to the militarized moon of Essephus. With a viable staging and refueling point for the remainder of the fleet and with direct access to the Old Imperial Republic's military subnet and data warehouses, the requisite addition of more accurate and much needed actionable intelligence was then turned over to SCALO and their directed efforts to capture the satellite communication system on Samraum.

With Essephus captured, the Old Imperial Republic's remaining military fleet commenced a recapture operation of the moon, and so began the second bloodiest battle of the independence war.

As the battle raged, operation Wild Charlie commenced. MeTS entered Samraum using an experimental infiltration technique called Exobase Intrusion. EI had been enhanced by THEOPS from a little known and abandoned proof-of-concept left behind by the Imperial Republic's ProtoTypical Advanced Experimental Group or PTAEG.

Twelve MeTS soldiers were launched toward their targets via a projectile that bloomed upon reaching the stratosphere, sending each solider toward their specific objectives in individual capsules. The infiltration mission revolved around one of the most secure military stations on Samraum. The circular fort had nine successive ringed walls, each ring constructed as a building with the various mechanics, physical plants, engineering, power generation and the all-important broadcast electronics. The communications array was in the innermost ring. To maintain the complexity and fabled impregnability, each ring contained a section of the broadcast electronics, but no one section could completely disable the communication array.

Even with this heavy security, MeTS executed their mission directive. Little intelligence has been gathered to explain why MeTS as a collective started to show signs of the Waning. The raw combat data suggested that high levels of stress and the pressure for success had a major role in their ultimate degradation, yet within the highest levels of SCALO and THEOPS, there was a different consensus. The data originally left behind by the Old Imperial Republic and the defection of those twelve soldiers was no mere coincidence. They had been left behind for a reason, and revenge couldn't have been served any colder.

After successfully capturing the communication array, MeTS triggered the ArGNA into operation and, upon verification that the Imperial Vanguard had entered the Sea of Mists, then detonated and destroyed the critical areas of broadcast operation, rendering the entire complex inoperable. Some ten thousand souls were labeled L.S.M (Lost, Sea of Mists).

The war ended in a stalemate. The Old Imperial Republic called for the Colonial Federalists to pay reparations, and also demanded that Correlated Galactic Entente denounce and formally ignore their newly declared independence. In answer to these demands, the Colonial Federalist government disavowed SCALO and imprisoned the whole MeTS unit. The CO and XO were held for questioning, but subsequently released with all formal charges expunged from their records when new evidence came to light about the cruel treatment used by the Old Imperial Republic to create a militarized paradoxically Gifted soldier. In time, both governments agreed that only Samraum would remain in control of the Old Imperial Republic and that MeTS would never be allowed to see the light of day again.

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tempparchprod@prats.archive.access.csib## force exit

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About the Writer

A technocrat, the avid writer, the consummate nonsensical orator, the penned artist of the dreamy realms, all wrapped in papier-mâché.

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