High-Security Military Communications Link

Transmitting through the Celestial Expanse

They stood together for the last time, linked collectively across space and time, though in reality they existed light-years apart.

The First Intergalactic Admiral of the Fleet.

The Chairman of the Board of Directors.

The Doctor heading up the most classified R&D base in the Expanse.

Since the war’s onset two years ago, they’d become the three most powerful individuals in the Celestial Expanse. The Admiral, an up-and-coming officer who had risen to become the highest-ranked personage in the CE Navy; the Chairman, a powerful oligarch and the head of TruCon, the Expanse’s largest corporate empire; and the Doctor, a brilliant scientist whose secret research base had just possibly yielded the key to all of their survival. It was on them that the outcome of the war rested, on them that countless hopes lay.

It was to them the fate of the human race had fallen.

The Doctor clasped his hands behind his back and spoke. “The last team has reported in, and it’s official: The weapon has been installed in every orbital platform in the Expanse. In exactly thirteen days, seventeen hours, and twenty-one minutes, the Archangel will fire as planned, and when it does, every last Spectre will be destroyed.”

“You mean every last ghoul,” the Admiral interjected, an edge of challenge in her voice. “The Archangel will destroy all the incorporeal Spectres, but there will still be millions of people infected with them. We’ll still have plenty of squatters to contend with.”

“Which I trust your people can handle.”

“We’ll do our part,” she returned, “just as long as this weapon does yours.”

The Doctor bristled at the implication, but before he could reply to the intended insult, the Chairman interrupted.

“And what about those millions of squatters?” he asked, with a pointed look at the Admiral. “Within three years, every single one of those people will be dead. The clock is running down, and there’s still no cure.”

A pregnant pause ensued, all eyes on the Admiral as she stood silently at the viewport in her office, all stiff lines and sharp angles. Though she didn’t move, didn’t even blink, something about her overly-erect posture seemed to squirm—and not without reason. While the Doctor’s division was responsible for tech, the military’s bioresearch division fell squarely under her purview.

“One thing at a time,” she said, with a slight lift of her chin. Her eyes met the Chairman’s through the link, ice-blue eyes locked with dark brown as they stared each other down across the light-years.

The Doctor snorted, already knowing the eventual victor. Though the Chairman was like a bulldog when riled, he recognized the Admiral’s defiant head tilt, cultivated since childhood. And indeed, when the two finally broke gazes, it was the Chairman who replied, “As you said, one thing at a time. With the Archangel due to fire in just two weeks, all our efforts should be focused on the upcoming offensive. We can’t afford any mistakes. Once the weapon has done its work, we can revisit the matter of finding a cure.”

And they would revisit it; the look in the Chairman’s eyes made that clear.

He held the others’ gazes for a long moment; then, as if flipping a switch, his intense stare morphed into the oily politician’s demeanor familiar to every man, woman, and child in the Celestial Expanse. The Chairman suddenly smiled. “Look at us! So dour, even on the cusp of a great triumph. Shall we not raise a glass to our imminent success? To the Archangel, our weaponized savior.”

He reached for his glass, a snifter of brandy he rarely seemed to be without, and the slightest hint of a smile touched the Admiral’s eyes. Silently, she strode from the feed, returning a minute later with her own cup, though what it held couldn’t be observed through its obsidian sides. The Doctor retrieved the water glass from his own desk, amusement lurking at the corners of his lips, and then all raised their vessels high.

“To the Archangel,” the Chairman said. “Bright may it burn.”

“The Archangel!” repeated the Doctor, followed on his heels by the Admiral.

They held their glasses aloft for one pure, harmonious moment, then downed their drinks in the light of a holo-link that would never see their three faces together again.