M.V.P.O. Major Achille Pavlovich, Earth, 39-Huitzilopochtli-36 (Old Human Calendar: November 14th 2048)

  Budapest, Capital of the European district

  The white clouds drifting across the pale blue sky are only partly obscured by the glass roof. I lose myself in them while the warm water embraces me. Around me echo the distant voices of other swimmers, in this beautiful old pool surrounded by decorated columns, water spilling from the mouths of stone lions. And this is just one of the jewels of the Gellért Baths, with their intricate mosaics, nineteenth-century thermal pools, steam rooms, and inner gardens.

  People complain too much about national healthcare. Sure, the waiting lists could be shorter and the bureaucracy lighter, but look at this. Not only a brand-new robotic prosthesis, but two full weeks of physiotherapy in this Art Nouveau masterpiece.

  I grab the handrail and, with some effort, reach the bench where I left my cane and blue towel. I sigh, looking down at my feet. Fucking Feds. Then I walk toward the changing rooms.

  With my hair still wet, I check my pad. A message from my boss urges me to get to the caves as soon as possible. Worried, I dress quickly and take a taxi to Buda, the city on the hill.

  As the self-driving car moves through traffic, I watch the city around me, the old nineteenth-century fa?ades, the busy shuttle lanes crowding the sky. It’s a miracle this place survived, though battered, the only capital on the continent not razed to the ground. All her sisters, from Lisbon in the west to Moscow in the east, are gone, erased from the maps.

  A group of girls walks by on the sidewalk, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the cruel galaxy around them. I find myself smiling for the first time since the party.

  I try to distract myself from the reason for this urgent meeting by thinking of Vic and our plan to hang out in a ruin bar tonight. We deserve a real party, I chuckle.

  The car slows down. I find myself before the cave entrance, above which the faded German word for hospital still clings to the wall. I enter. While the guard checks my credentials, I study the mural covered in graffiti left during and after the Fall. I reflect somberly on this place’s history, an underground hospital in WWII, a nuclear bunker during the Cold War, then a museum, and finally a refuge once more.

  When they finally let me in, I walk down the humid corridors toward General Horák’s office. Inside, he’s already on a secure call with Max and Colonel Kotelnikov. The colonel looks on the verge of shitting raibows, I honestly didn’t think the man could look that happy.

  “Ah, you’re finally here. Show him what you just showed me.”

  A hologram of the galaxy appears in the middle of the room, dotted with bright points, most of them near Federation planets or the border with us and the Consortium, except for two: one on Aafa, near the Federation’s palace, and one on Talsk, oddly in the middle of the sea.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “After we entered the repeater systems,” Max explains, “the Yotul officer with the Ghost squad noticed a test frequency that allowed sending signals through the entire network.”

  “Wait, is this the Shadow Fleet?”

  “At least the parts still linked to their network at the time. The positions shift constantly, and for now, we can only observe their communications passively, but...”

  “This is bloody incredible!” I blurt, before remembering where I am. Luckily, the general chuckles.

  “Indeed, it’s a game changer in case of war. I’m confident we can find ways to exploit it fully,” says Kotelnikov, grinning before adding with a sneer, “A few more hits like this, and I might start appreciating you spooks.”

  “And there’s more,” Max adds. “Last night our favorite porcupine got a message. They’re sending in a replacement for the Dossur, a Harchen. We can probably track the stealth ship and catch it.”

  “So we’ll finally know if it’s our lost ship, and what they’re planning,” grumbles the colonel. I wince. He raises a brow. “You’re not convinced.”

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  “Maybe there’s a better way,” I say slowly. “The Ghosts could board the ship and do a switch?”

  “That would be extremely risky and could tip them off. But yes, they could.”

  Before I can continue, my boss signals to pause the call.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? Kotelnikov’s right, it’s a huge gamble. And who would you even send?”

  “An asset I recruited a few years ago on Grenelka. A Harchen, codename Jo March.”

  He studies me for a long moment before exhaling, “Perhaps.”

  “Sir, we both know her record. If anyone among the former Feds working for us can pull this off, it’s her.” I’m about to insist when his pad chimes sharply. He reads, frowns.

  “You should go to your girlfriend. She’s already made herself noticed. And Pavlovich?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Her late father was my mentor. I see her as a goddaughter of sorts. Be mindful of that.”

  My jaw tightens at the clear warning. I assure him I have no intention of toying with her. He gives me a long, hard look before grumbling, “Go. I’ll sort the rest. And make sure I don’t regret it.” His gaze sharpens. “On both accounts.”

  +++++

  Victoria Vella Silva, tourist, Earth, 39-Huitzilopochtli-36 (Old Human Calendar: November 14th 2048)

  As the tram glides forward, I watch the Danube, crowded with boats, and the blend of old and new buildings. It’s overwhelming; I’ve never been anywhere with so many people. Sure, the Capital and some cities on Wriss might be more populated, but in the former I could hardly go sightseeing, and Arxur cities aren’t exactly known for being packed.

  I’m a bit giddy. I haven’t seen him in months. We write constantly, but we were inseparable as kids. And then I spot him, the towering Arxur. I wave, and he runs toward me, wrapping me in his scaled arms.

  “Vix, it’s so nice to see you!”

  “Same for me, little sis.”

  After our embrace, we walk to a corner café and sit by the window. The sun is setting, and the air is turning crisp. When the Letian waitress appears, I happily order a hot chocolate.

  With my hands wrapped around the cup, I study my big brother. He looks genuinely happy, but I still can’t resist a jab.

  “So, how’s life in that abolitionist commune? Still in love with nature, or do you miss civilization?” I grin.

  “Ha, very funny. You should visit sometime now that you’re on planet. The kids missed you during the Fall holidays.” He smirks. “Maybe you’d shake a few of your preconceptions.”

  I chuckle: “Sure, as long as it doesn’t turn into a symposium on the evils of society and the moral decay brought by first contact with the Federation.”

  He grows serious. “It’s a fact that both our species declined morally after those tragedies. Even though we’re recovering, we still have a long path before reaching the virtues of our ancestors.”

  I sigh, annoyed. “Fine, Pastor Vix, we’re fallen sinners. But first, it was my mother’s generation that lived through that tragedy, so don’t expect many friends among humans when you say we should shun them and embrace leaf-lickers. And second, while I agree slavery should be abolished, it’s a complex matter that has to be handled carefully.”

  “The longer it persists, the more we stray from our ancestors’ ways and into the desperation forced on us by prey. Besides, even you admit it causes more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Sure, but mostly because it’s expensive, inefficient, and makes relations with the Consortium needlessly complicated. It’s another problem left behind the Dominion, a desperate solution for desperate times.”

  We sit in peaceful silence for a moment. He asks about university and whether I’m seeing anyone. I tell him everything and ask about his four kids. He tells me Alexandra, the eldest, is about to turn eleven and wants a -inspired party.

  I poke him with a grin. “When you give “the talk”, make sure Astep and Sstap understand certain aspects of human biology… or they’ll think their sister is wounded.”

  He turns redder than Wrissian clay and grumbles: “You’ll never let me forget that one, will you? How was I supposed to know human biology makes no sense?”

  I’m about to twist the knife when commotion outside draws our attention. A Gojid has grabbed a child and is holding a sharpened tool to his throat, demanding a shuttle to flee Earth. The Letian waitress shouts back that extremists like him are the reason prey species can never progress in the Republic, that he’ll only get himself killed. The Gojid explodes, “I fought for prey freedom since the Extermination Fleet, you traitorous...” While it is distracted, I strike. He collapses, dragging the child with him, scared but uninjured. I slump into my chair, exhausted.

  The next minutes blur: Vix scolding me for overexerting, the police asking questions, my head pounding. I stare blankly out the window until I see him running toward us, worry etched across his face. A faint smile curls my lips.

  In the distance, I hear my brother speaking to someone:

  “It’s situations like this that convinced me slavery is untenable.”