High-Security Military Communications Link

Transmitting between the Space Station Solaria and the CES Retribution

They went down the lists, as they did every meeting, reviewing the latest expenses, casualties, and statistics regarding the enemy’s ever-increasing advance into the Celestial Expanse.

“It’s been a fairly slow month for the enemy,” the First Admiral stated, “with only two new infestations reported in the last three weeks: a small mining orbital off the rings of Leda, and a passenger liner bearing three hundred and twenty-six passengers and crew. Both have been contained and quarantined.”

She continued, “As far as additional casualties go, we’ve had one hundred and four deaths caused either directly or indirectly by squatter activity, as well as twenty-three deaths from infection, up from six last month—all children, of course, infected during the earliest months of the war. But then, it was estimated that they would only be able to handle the infection for half the time adult hosts could. We should expect that number to increase significantly in the coming months.”

The Chairman nodded, unsurprised by the assessment. “And overall?”

“A full third of the Expanse has now been quarantined, and it’s estimated that even with the evacuations, almost thirty-five percent of the population has been infected. The rate of spread for the last six months has been calculated at three point four percent.”

“That’s down from the previous six months,” the Chairman noted with mild surprise. “That’s good. It means our defense measures are working.”

“Perhaps,” the Admiral conceded. “Perhaps not. The rate of spread has fallen, but the enemy’s choice of targets has become significantly more strategic. It could be that the advancements in our defense tech and procedures have slowed their advance, or it could simply be a temporary lull while the enem—”

She stopped suddenly, head cocking slightly as she listened to another voice in her ear.

“What is it?” he asked once she linked off.

The Admiral stared at him expressionlessly. “I’ve just received word—Las Fuentes has fallen.”

“Las Fuentes? How is that even possible? They’ve had all their jump gates except for the com portals closed since the beginning of the war.” The Chairman frowned. “Unless . . .”

“Biders.”

At the Admiral’s confirmation, the Chairman let out a quiet expletive. They’d discovered them during the first year of the war: Biders—ghouls who had infiltrated the Expanse before the war had even begun. Space stations battened down with every piece of Spectre tech in existence would suddenly go down, taken not by an enemy invading from without, but an enemy who had been waiting within, biding their time for weeks, months, even years before they struck. Sometimes they waited en masse, that they might take cities, even whole colonies, at once. Other times, there was just one.

A single ghoul waiting for a single host.

The Chairman’s fingers tightened on the arm of his chair, and without thinking, he flicked his eyes to the locked drawer in his desk, the one containing his vast stores of meds—stores that were already beginning to dwindle. With a will, he pulled his eyes away.

“Does anyone else know?” he finally asked.

“That Las Fuentes was taken by Biders, not regular Specs?” The Admiral shook her head. “A few suspect, of course, but they’re loyal. They’ll keep their mouths shut.”

The Chairman nodded with no small amount of relief. The existence of Biders was one of their most well-kept secrets, and he intended to keep it that way. Right now, the citizens believed themselves safe, protected from their invisible enemy by force fences and sniffers and orbital platforms, but all that would change if they knew the truth. All of their technology, all of their procedures, all of their regulations, and yet none could protect them from the threat that was already there, hidden in plain sight without ever having had to pass through a single force fence or OP. He could only imagine the panic if the people knew: no one was safe. No one. He knew that better than anyone.

“What about the Noah Initiative?” he asked after a moment.

At the mention of their last-ditch plan to save the human species, the Admiral raised a single eyebrow. “The preparations for the Noah Initiative are on track. Should the worst come to pass, they’ll be ready. Until then, we do as we always do—evacuate the survivors and quarantine the rest.”

“Quarantine wouldn’t be necessary if we had a cure.”

At his pointed assertion, a muscle at the corner of her mouth twitched, and it took all of her control not to react, not to repeat her father’s dying words to him.

I know it was you. I know it was you who sold us out.

It had been four months now since the Fall of R&D. Four months since she’d seen the chip with the signature implicating her in its destruction, and with it, her father’s death. She’d tracked it back—the transceiver chip from the relay station on Prism, the false signature implicating her involvement, the sabotaged equipment Sorenson ran afoul of—and all of the evidence had led squarely back to one place, and one place alone: TruCon. And who was the head of the largest, most powerful corporation in the universe?

The Chairman of the Celestial Expanse.

It all fit. The Chairman was the only one in the Expanse with the power and resources to set her up, and while they were allies by necessity, they had never been friends. He would happily frame her for his crimes if the move was in his best interests—but not at the price of R&D. Not at the price of the human species. No, the Chairman wouldn’t . . .

. . . but the Spectres would.

“We should meet,” she said abruptly, the answer suddenly ringing crystal clear in her mind. “In person. Come to Helios. If you’re in doubt about our efforts, you should see them for yourself.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Or I could come to you. Just tell me where your station is located.”

“The link will do just fine,” the Chairman said shortly, as she’d known he would. “Just see that you keep me informed. The second you have a viable cure, I want to know.”

The Admiral inclined her head in answer. Without another word, the Chairman cut the com. She stared at the screen where his image had just been.

“I’ve got you now,” she whispered. Now she just had to decide what to do with him.