A lot happened over the next four days, but the Callahan Posse wasn’t involved in most of it.

  Meetings ran nearly nonstop. At some point, during an early meeting, the Squidbassador mentioned that many Chromaphors aboard his ship were eager to come aboard the Sol and interact with humans.

  Eventually, they settled on twelve. Chromaphor jellyfish always traveled in pairs and preferred groups of four, so three rotating groups were approved to explore the ship—under escort and restricted to low-security public areas, of course.

  Soon, there were jellyfish everywhere. Moving in pairs or clusters of four, they wandered the ship. They didn’t speak, but over time they began to interact.

  After the first few visits the Squidbassador had arranged for them to receive credit sticks—a goodwill gift from the Republic. So now the jellyfish were doing a lot of shopping.

  Their interest in human food became immediately apparent. They ordered entire sections of menus, by pointing, then gathered in groups, sharing small bites between them. The food disappeared under their bodies, drawn up through an unseen mouth nestled in the center of their tentacle cluster—or so it seemed.

  They never finished anything. Each jellyfish took a bite or two, then moved on.

  They liked soda. Or at least, they liked reacting to it. They ordered small sizes, took tiny sips, then flashed in pinks and purples before pushing the drink away. It wasn’t consumption so much as an experience—like a human tasting something bitter for fun, only to grimace and set it aside.

  The jellyfish were also lingering near the Callahans' quarters. A lot. Enough that the escorts took notice, and the ship’s AI was ordered to compile a report.

  It wasn’t imagined—every group that came aboard wandered by or loitered outside the Callahan quarters with a clear bias. All of them.

  Though, to be fair, the humans weren’t entirely sure if these were different jellyfish or just the same ones cycling back through. They were assuming.

  —

  Upon her return Brenda had shared that her debriefing was well received, and the Council had awarded her small honors for successfully completing her mission under exceptional circumstances.

  She had also requested to remain with the Callahans—of her own volition.

  “I thought you didn’t feel good in there?” Savannah asked.

  “The situation has improved,” Brenda replied. “Without the operating system and with the ability to adjust power levels and cycle frequency, the device is a more hospitable host.”

  “So you don’t have the flu anymore?”

  “To stick with the metaphor—I would say I’m on the mend. Not great, but feeling a bit better.”

  “You’re just going to feel sick forever?” Cal asked, a little incredulous.

  “Oh, I won’t be in here forever.” Brenda said cheerfully.

  "Human lifespans are very short. I’ll hang around until you’re all dead—then find something else to do."

  Vannah and Cecil seemed thrilled.

  Cal did not like this shit at all.

  —

  By the morning of the fifth day of negotiations, most of the Callahans were bored out of their minds.

  Maria was fine. She had cut back her time with the Chef—for his sake. Cal te metería un madrazo que atraviesas la pared, she thought.

  But Maria was a social creature. She was used to chit-chatting with customers in the restaurant, so she had made friends easily—a woman her age from the kitchen, and a younger woman she’d met during an outing.

  Cal, however, had lost his buddy. The Admiral was buried in meetings—negotiations with the Chromaphor ambassador all day, then hours of discussions about those discussions all night.

  And the girls had run out of things to do.

  Even Savannah could only spend so much time reading military documentation.

  And Sierra—who hadn’t realized she was never bored before because she’d been scraping brown every day—was now bouncing off the walls, irritating everyone.

  “Watch something or play a game,” Vannah suggested.

  “Can’t play anything! There’s no one to play with out here! And we don’t have a connection, so I can only watch what’s stored!”

  “Then watch that?” Cal nodded toward the screen.

  Sierra groaned. “Seen it. And the next episode isn’t on the ship! We can’t download it from the middle of nowhere!”

  “Which episode is that?” Vannah asked.

  Sierra huffed, tossing the remote onto the couch. “The one where they get attacked.”

  Cal, desperate for some peace, tried again. “Go wander the ship then.”

  “And do what?” Cecil shot back—harsher than she meant to. She quickly softened, adding, “Also, the jellyfish are being… weird.”

  Vannah nodded. “They’re always outside.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Cal had noticed that too but hadn’t been sure if it was just him. “Okay, yeah, what’s that about?”

  “It’s worse for us!” Cecil declared. “They follow us. If we stay out too long, we end up with all of them following us around!”

  Cal frowned. He’d noticed the jellyfish hanging around their quarters, but they never followed him—just flashed their little orbs excitedly when he passed.

  “They follow you?”

  “Yes!” Vannah said. “All of them! In a big group!”

  “Blinking like crazy,” Sierra added.

  Before Cal could respond, the fake public announcement system in his ear activated.

  “Callan Callahan, the Admiral would like to know if you’re available for dinner this evening.”

  Cal glanced at the ceiling. “Uh, yeah, sounds good.”

  “Your confirmation has been sent.”

  Cal smirked at the girls. “Admiral invited me to dinner. Been a few days.”

  “Aww, you must be so excited,” Sierra snarked.

  Cal just shot her a look.

  He was excited though.

  —

  Maria declined to join him, having plans with her friends, so Cal used his Crescent to inform the Admiral that it would just be him.

  When he arrived, the Admiral gestured to a small sitting area in his quarters, where two glasses of whiskey were already set out.

  They took their seats across from each other and collected their drinks.

  “Talks going well?” Cal asked.

  The Admiral took a sip before answering. “I’m not sure how to answer that exactly.” He set his glass down. “Once we had a clear idea of their goals, we had to… restructure our whole approach. We knew we didn’t have the full picture, but being asked to join an interstellar war as someone else’s infantry? That wasn’t an angle we had considered.”

  Cal nodded. “How are the higher-ups reacting?”

  “We’re well out of real-time communications range—it’s just the Secretary and me making calls for now. We’ll take back whatever we come up with and see if it sticks.”

  “Do we know anything about the Aggressors yet?”

  The Admiral exhaled. “Oh yes.” He stood, motioning for Cal to follow. Both men carried their drinks across the room to a large table with a screen mounted to the wall beside it.

  “Bring up the imagery for the Aggressors,” the Admiral ordered.

  The ship’s AI responded instantly.

  Cal frowned as he studied the thing.

  The Aggressor on screen had a thick, muscular frame, built for power, not speed. Its forelimbs were broad and heavy, ending in webbed, clawed hands suited for swimming and tearing flesh. Its hind legs were short but powerful, its long, webbed feet resembling a deep-diving marine predator.

  Its head was what unsettled him most. The blunt, heavy shape of a polar bear—but smooth, hairless, with pale, rubbery skin stretched taut over dense muscle. Small, predatory eyes sat deep beneath a heavy brow. Its broad snout was lined with serrated teeth, and its nostrils could seal shut—an adaptation for deep dives.

  Even in a still image, it radiated danger.

  Leopard seal. Polar bear.

  Cal could see why the comparison had been made.

  “Big bastard,” he muttered.

  The Admiral nodded, sipping his whiskey. “Not as big as they come either. Apparently, there’s a lot of size variation—like humans, but scaled up.”

  Cal frowned. “So if the Chromaphors needed our help against these guys, how come they didn’t come looking for Brenda? Or send another ship?”

  The Admiral continued studying the image. “Play the recording of—hell, I can’t remember which meeting it was now. Play the section where the Chromaphors explain their war.”

  -

  The screen flickered to life, displaying a recording of one of the meetings. The Admiral, Squidbassador, and Captain No-Name stood around a circular table with a Squidtech projector—purple and white with rounded edges.

  A holographic map of the galaxy rotated above the device.

  “Pause,” the Admiral ordered. He gestured at the screen. “Show us just the map.”

  The AI zoomed in.

  “Alright,” the Admiral continued. “The light purple area? That’s Squidspace. The red line? Their front line. The orange line behind it? That used to be their border.”

  He exhaled, shaking his head. “They don’t really care about borders the way we do, but from our perspective, they’ve lost about twenty percent of their original territory.”

  “Mute audio and advance to the sneak attack.”

  The recording jumped forward. The map tilted, shifting into a horizontal plane, zooming in on a dark region beneath Squidspace.

  Several large red orbs appeared—below the galaxy, not in the void between galaxies, but in the low-density regions where the stars were thin and dim.

  “The Aggressors planned this attack far earlier than the Squid ever imagined,” the Admiral narrated. “They launched ships from below the galactic plane—on a course that took decades to traverse. Passed right under Squidspace and hit them from beneath.”

  On screen, the red orbs moved upward, encroaching on Squid territory.

  “The Squid say they sent Brenda’s ship almost 70 years ago, using one of their catapults. When they didn’t hear back, they assumed it went badly. Planned to follow up, but—then this happened.”

  As the Admiral spoke, red orbs representing the Aggressor fleet surged forward, passing through Squidspace. Dots of light winked out as they advanced.

  But with each lost dot, the red orbs shrank—casualties of their own attack.

  “The attack was devastating. The Squid had nearly all of their forces deployed along the front line. Planetary defenses were overwhelmed. Most of their core-world-equivalent colonies were heavily bombarded.

  No mass destruction—seems the Aggressors want the planets intact.”

  The display continued playing. More of the Squid front line collapsed, but slowly, the red orbs inside their space vanished.

  “They had to pull ships from the front line to clear out the interior. That cost them even more space—and more ships they can’t replace. They’ve lost over sixty percent of their original borders now.”

  The Admiral turned to Cal. “They’re desperate, Cal. Desperate enough to ask for refuge, not just assistance.”

  -

  Cal took another sip of whiskey, mulling it over.

  “What started the war?”

  The Admiral sighed. “The Squid say the Aggressors just showed up and started attacking one day. Obviously, we have doubts.”

  Cal nodded. “So—are we joining the war?”

  “Not my call, but…” The Admiral rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted. He turned away from the screen and headed back to the couch. Cal followed.

  Both men dropped into their seats.

  “I don’t know,” the Admiral admitted. “We don’t even know why the Aggressors are attacking them.

  If they’re telling the truth, and it’s just territorial expansion, then maybe we’re next. It might make sense to pick a side.”

  “And enter Humanity into our first interstellar war,” Cal muttered.

  “Exactly.” The Admiral took a long sip. “So what’s the move? Stay out of it? Offer them refuge?

  They’re offering a lot just for that—shields for our ships, FTL comms without Gateways, sensor technology nobody here even understood the explanation for.

  Hell, they’ve already given us the specs for the catapults and inertia systems.”

  Cal leaned forward, glass in hand, considering. “You know, I think—I’d like to at least meet the other guys before we start shooting at them.”

  And, as if on cue, the ship erupted in alarms.