– – – – – – – – – –

  Amathia (Maltia)

  15 November 2355

  Ethan’s 25th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Amathia, the capital of Maltia, is truly a remarkable city. The entire upper surface of the fragment on which it stands is covered with buildings, arranged in a series of ever-rising circles that give the metropolis a most imposing appearance. The great structures that crown its highest tier radiate wealth on all sides, standing in stark contrast to those less elegant, though still finely made, placed lower down.

  Admiral Ivor Jericho always finds it pleasing to admire Amathia when his ship is about to reach it. Soon, however, he must turn his attention to the underside of the island. After all, it is there that the battleship must dock.

  The fragment’s negative magnetic face resembles the root of a tooth. Along its flanks have been built peculiar metal structures akin to hooks. Some ships hang from them, perpendicular to the island’s base. Within a few minutes the same will be true for the battleship Diamanti.

  Ivor Jericho coordinates the complex docking manoeuvres. The massive hull tilts, drawing closer at low speed to a set of free hooks and aligning itself alongside them. The fragment’s magnetism asserts itself, forcing the crew to cling to bars placed at strategic points so as not to tumble along the corridors.

  Once in the correct position, the vessel edges towards the rocky wall, then lowers until it hangs from the holds. The admiral has the magnekinítiras set to the proper angle and orders them activated; then, balanced by the devices, the fragment’s magnetism vanishes from the ship, and the crew begin to float.

  Swimming through the air, the men on board reach the exits, already connected to the fragment’s underground corridors. Ivor Jericho himself leaves the battleship, and together with his officers moves towards the surface.

  Once again, he wonders why he has been summoned so suddenly to the capital.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  Same day

  – – – – – – – – – –

  From what I have gathered, troopships are aircraft specialised in transporting soldiers. The one we seized from the Republicans is not as fast as the velivus, nor is it equipped with the signal lights used by the Resistance to be recognised by allies. Lacking even coloured flares to identify ourselves as friends, when the Epos comes into view Samuel is forced to halt the craft in mid-air. There he waits for a ship to come and verify our identity. Once cleared, he resumes the flight to the operations centre.

  We are all exhausted from lack of sleep: in order to leave quickly the place where we had been attacked, fearing reinforcements from the Republic, we did not rest last night either. And so, we have now been awake for more than two days straight. Even so, once landed we head first of all to the captain.

  “All right,” he says, at the end of our report. “Much of this I already knew from the others’ accounts.”

  “Did everyone make it back?” Samuel asks.

  “Yes,” Martin Young nods. “At least those who departed together with you.”

  “It was a rout,” the pilot declares.

  “Not your fault. Against all expectations, the Republic had been informed of the operation, though we do not know to what extent or by what means.”

  The captain fixes us with his gaze for a few seconds.

  “So the artefact was not there,” he states.

  “No,” Antony confirms.

  “Nor had it ever been.”

  “The place did not match the descriptions.”

  “Mmh… that was our error of judgement.”

  Martin turns his eyes on me.

  “In battle you were decisive,” he says. “But your decision to break away put us in danger.”

  I frown.

  “We will have to reconsider your reliability in the field,” the man informs me. “For a while, you will remain aboard the ship.”

  I should have expected this, I think. And so, they will cut down my freedom once again.

  “Captain,” Dawn intervenes. “He didn’t…”

  “I have already decided,” Martin cuts her off.

  He does not sound angry, but his tone admits no reply.

  “But…”

  “You may go.”

  Before the girl can protest further, Samuel takes her by the shoulder and leads her out. Antony and I leave as well.

  “That seems an exaggeration,” Dawn complains once we’re in the corridor.

  “It’s already something if he doesn’t lock him up,” Samuel retorts. “Ethan, if you want trust again you’ll have to pull your weight and behave yourself.”

  He doesn’t say it aggressively. Still, the implications of such a statement grate on me. A feeling I, for once, don’t want to let slide as I usually would.

  “Let’s clear a few things up,” I snap. “First, I shouldn’t have anything to do with your war, nor should I have any reason to take part in it and shoulder the risks and atrocities it brings. That’s why I left. And obviously I didn’t warn you, because if you’d had the chance, you wouldn’t have let me go, right?”

  Yes… the reasons that made me walk away haven’t disappeared. I owe these people nothing. I jumped through hoops to get accepted, as if I had some fault to atone for, yet I did nothing wrong to the rebels. Nor had I any reason to feel obliged to stay.

  Telling me I have to earn their trust, as if they were doing me a favour I must deserve… it’s nonsense.

  I wait for a reply, which doesn’t come. Or rather, when Antony answers, it isn’t with a direct counterargument. Rather…

  “You could have not come back, then,” he says.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I could have… but I came back. Why? I realised I sympathise with your cause… and since I’m here now, stuck in this world, I’d at least like your goals to be achieved… because that would mean an improvement to the place where I’ll have to live anyway.”

  Indeed. It’s obvious it makes sense to think as if I can never go home again. I have no reason to believe there’s hope of discovering a way to reverse… whatever brought me here.

  Therefore, if I really must stay, I must also face the fact that the nation I’m in isn’t all roses and sunshine. I’ve seen little… very little of how things run, and I’ve mostly heard the rebels’ opinions. Even Ahis, being an ex-member of the Resistance, must be considered partisan, but… what I grasped during my brief escape was enough to give me a vague projection of the general problem.

  Maltia isn’t a place where the disadvantaged can live well. Neither is Earth, of course, but here the cause is more apparent and easier to identify. And I, having the chance to be with people who can do something about it… and being able to give them the tools to increase their chances of success… I can’t stand back. For the first time, I felt I could really make a difference.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  I don’t intend to give that up. Not like that.

  “But I do it by choice, not because you force me,” I clarify. “Nothing prevented me from leaving for good, but I decided to stay with you.”

  I stop. Then I add:

  “And besides, putting the Resistance aside, I owe Dawn and your father a debt. It’s not so large that I think I must help free him… but I still want to help with that too.”

  “Why?” Samuel asks.

  “Because that’s what I decided,” I answer.

  Honestly, do I really have to explain it to them? It seems almost obvious to me.

  Cyrus and his daughter helped me, and in some way took my side. I feel a slight but steady gratitude for those actions, a feeling that hasn’t gone even after weeks. If I have any chance to do something for them, however small… I want to do it.

  For once that I received a little kindness, can’t I wish to give some back in return?

  Silence falls. I know I spoke very loudly, even though I’m still standing outside the captain’s room. But I don’t care.

  “We don’t intend to force your decisions,” the pilot says. “If you’ve found your ideals in those of the Resistance, then I’m glad. But you’ll still have to submit to our rules.”

  “Pleasant words, coming from someone who wants to restore democracy,” I remark, ironically.

  “We are under martial rules; we can’t afford all the freedoms we aspire to,” Samuel states. “That’s why we fight.”

  Understandable, I cannot deny. Nevertheless…

  “That may be so… but I don’t want to destroy my values in this war,” I declare. “And no one will force me to do things I dislike… or to refrain from doing them when I believe they should be done.”

  Indeed. On this point I will not negotiate, even if it makes my position on the Epos more complicated. Now that I know what I’m getting into, it’s the only way I have to preserve myself… or rather, my innermost, idealistic part, from the filth with which I am being contaminated.

  “Let’s be clear: now you can do whatever you want to me, or threaten me with whatever you please,” I proclaim, “but I am the one who must answer to my own conscience… and I want to live and die without regrets.”

  With that, I turn on my heel and walk off towards my quarters.

  ???

  “He’s a bit touchy, eh?” Samuel says once Ethan is out of sight.

  Antony and Dawn do not comment.

  “Well… I kinda envy him,” the pilot adds. “I wish I could say the same things.”

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Amathia (Maltia)

  Same day

  – – – – – – – – – –

  “Admiral Jericho.”

  With flawless precision, Ivor Jericho brings his right hand to his chest, saluting the man before him. He stands before Thyrsos Iaria, one of the grand generals of Maltia’s military forces, and thus someone of far higher rank than himself.

  “I am glad you were able to respond so swiftly to the summons,” the grand general remarks with satisfaction.

  “Your call conveyed a certain urgency,” Ivor replies.

  “Indeed.”

  They are in the Asterio, the vast palace where the Republic’s most important affairs are managed, and also the meeting place of the Dodecagon. The magnificence of the place is impressive, so much so that Ivor is still not accustomed to it, despite his own rather prestigious position.

  “Let us sit over there,” says the grand general, indicating a side room off the corridor where they have met.

  They enter the small chamber, finely furnished, with a pair of wide sofas facing one another. Without the least discomfort, Thyrsos Iaria sits on one of them. Ivor Jericho, instead, is a little more stiff as he takes the opposite seat. On a small table placed between the two, the general has refreshments served, while he continues with the pleasantries.

  “I have heard of your successes in the Carbon Archipelago,” he says. “As well as in the capture of an important member of the Resistance.”

  “I am honoured that my actions reach your ears, but I have only done my duty,” Ivor declares.

  “And no more than that can be asked of you. You have a brilliant career behind you, studded with many such results.”

  “You honour me.”

  “I am not surprised that you have become admiral. Yet it is a pity that you cannot do your duty even better, is it not?”

  Jericho looks at his superior, unable to hide his puzzlement. Where is he going with this?

  “I can read the confusion on your face,” the grand general observes, a half-smile curving his lips. “I shall explain at once: I have a particular assignment I wish to entrust to you. It is a matter of great significance, one that will bring you considerable prestige and benefits in your career.”

  “Anything to serve the Republic,” says Ivor.

  “Indeed. Have you heard of General Admiral Pandromio?”

  “Yes, sir. A man of notable stature.”

  “Yes… but he has left us somewhat dissatisfied of late,” Thyrsos asserts. “The Republic, as you know, seeks to improve its technological knowledge through the acquisition and study of the relics of the Star Prophets. There are some of particular importance, which could bring us great progress. General Admiral Pandromio had been entrusted with the task of tracking them down.”

  Thyrsos pauses. Ivor remains silent, waiting for the grand general to continue.

  “He has been a little disappointing,” Thyrsos admits. “He managed to recover a splendid relic… in his own way. In fact, it has become part of him.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Exactly as you understood. That little object has a strange way of working, and Pandromio was not cautious in dealing with it. The relic has become part of his body, granting him the ability to use it.”

  “What do you mean by… use it?”

  “He has acquired a sort of sixth sense: a most subtle perception of the surrounding environment, and of the fluctuations in the forces around him. We have not fully understood what exactly he perceives, but what he can do now is astonishing. He cannot use mayea, but he can grasp what is happening in other people’s minds; detect the presence of an ilectron device in another room; even sense a massive but distant explosion when it is neither visible nor audible. Just to give a few examples.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Indeed. But of little use, if we cannot study it,” says Thyrsos with regret. “That stuff has spread throughout his body, and for some reason, if we extract a little of it, it disintegrates.”

  “You make it sound like a powder.”

  “Yes… but we suspect it consists of countless tiny devices, the result of the most refined craftsmanship. That, however, is not the heart of the matter. In fact, even though through that acquisition the general admiral has gained an advantage, very little has been left for us to analyse. But it was not the only great relic to be recovered. Pandromio took from some pirates a map created by the Star Prophets themselves, which was supposed to lead us to another artefact of extreme importance. The map cannot be read without a code, so it was not possible to consult it immediately. While it was being carried to a place where attempts could be made to force it open, the Resistance managed to snatch it from Pandromio’s men in a surprise action.”

  “An… embarrassing event.”

  “Very. Fortunately, the general admiral possesses that unusual ability bestowed upon him by the relic. He… how shall I put it? Yes… he recorded the fluctuations emanating from the map, which in fact may base its functioning on the very forces Pandromio can detect. Essentially, from the memory of those perceptions he created a mental replica of the map. Unfortunately, without the code even that copy was useless. However, Pandromio traced the companions of the pirates from whom he had taken the map, and managed to learn the place where it had originally been found. There he discovered the code to read it. The mere sight of it, though written in an incomprehensible form, unlocked the mental projection of the map he held, and he was able to visualise its contents.”

  “Marvellous,” comments Ivor Jericho, genuinely intrigued by the account.

  “Indeed, isn’t it? When it comes to the Star Prophets, it is as though one were witnessing true miracles,” his superior agrees. “Pandromio thus gained a mental image of several islands important to the Prophets… and of their location. He was not, however, clever enough to destroy the code. Perhaps in the excitement of holding such a source of information in his hands, he neglected certain precautions. At the place where he had found the code, he left only a small patrol to study the area for other useful elements. So, when the Resistance discovered the code’s location and went to retrieve it, they easily overcame the soldiers and seized the information.”

  “But that is…”

  “A real humiliation, yes. The rebels even blew up the code… convinced, perhaps, that we had not yet read it. They probably also believed that since we did not have the original map, we could not make use of it anyway.”

  “Believed?”

  “By now they will have changed their minds. Pandromio thought it wise to set a few traps for the Resistance: of the fragments marked on the map, he stationed some patrols on those whose location he had already identified. The rebels must either have deciphered the code and accessed the map, or else had some incomplete report from their spies; in any case, they sent an expedition to one of the ‘trap’ islands. They fell into the net, and we could have questioned them about what they knew: if they had interpreted the code, they would hold information unknown to us. But they escaped, and only five of them were killed, against seventeen of ours. They tricked Pandromio with a child’s ruse, luring him to chase the wrong craft, then vanished. With the abilities granted him by the first relic, the general admiral detected where they were heading and dispatched pursuers. Some of these caught up with one of the fugitives’ aircraft, but failed either to capture or to kill them. And with that operation, nine more losses were added. A poor showing, considering our superiority in resources.”

  “But at least has the artefact marked on the map been recovered?”

  “No… identifying the exact fragment where it should lie is not easy, and besides, it is not even simple to determine which islands correspond to those shown on the map. A large part of them are not even within Maltia’s territory.”

  “Rather inconvenient.”

  “Indeed. Pandromio is the only one who can carry out research on the matter… but we believe that his acquired abilities have impaired his judgement. That is why we think he must be guided… or used. And that is why we have set our eyes on you, Admiral Jericho.”

  So, he is finally about to reveal the reason for his summons.

  “What do you wish me to do?” Ivor asks.

  “We have removed the general admiral from command of the operation, and we wish to entrust that role to you,” says Thyrsos. “It will be your task to find the artefacts, making good use of the information held by Pandromio.”

  “But… sir, if I may,” Ivor objects. “General Admiral Pandromio is my superior. He cannot be under my orders.”

  “You need not worry,” the grand general assures him. “He may well be somewhat reluctant to help the man who has replaced him, but he must do so… because, if you accept command of the operation, you will be immediately elevated to the rank of Fleet Admiral.”

  “Fleet… Admiral, sir?”

  “Yes: you will stand one rank above General Admiral Pandromio, and you will lead a flotilla in the search for the artefacts.”

  That means two promotions in one stroke. Ivor Jericho is shocked, yet at the same time thrilled.

  “I… I shall be honoured, sir.”

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