[On Eastoria 16 days after Aqualor-7 raid]

  The command center buzzed with activity, holographic maps illuminating the faces of rebels-turned-soldiers as they plotted coordinates.

  Diovis stood at the central console, fingers drumming against the cool metal surface, eyes fixed on the blueprint of the Mira research outpost. Blue light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edges that had replaced boyish features in recent years.

  "Supreme Ruler," a deep voice called from the doorway.

  Diovis turned to find General Kael standing at attention. At twenty-five, Kael towered over most rebels, his broad shoulders and rigid posture betraying his military background even before the uprising. A jagged scar ran from his left temple to his jaw, a testament to Skrell brutality during the early resistance. Despite the violence that had shaped him, his eyes held a strange serenity, like still water beneath ice.

  "The preparations for the Mira mission are complete," Kael said, his voice steady as bedrock. "We've outfitted the stealth vessel with enhanced cloaking technology from the Aqualor-7 schematics."

  Diovis nodded, extending his hand. "Good work, General. And drop the 'Supreme Ruler' when it's just us."

  Kael clasped his forearm, a warrior's greeting. "Old habits," he replied, the ghost of a smile flickering across his otherwise impassive face. His eyes held a reverence that made Diovis uncomfortable—the look of a man who had found something to believe in.

  "Tell me about the security on the outpost," Diovis said, redirecting the conversation.

  Kael activated a holographic display with a flick of his wrist. "Minimal Skrell presence compared to their major facilities. Four guard rotations, predictable patterns. The real challenge is the internal security system—bioscanners recognize Skrell physiology."

  "And our solution?" Diovis asked, studying the rotating model.

  "Dr. Sol has modified Skrell skin samples to create synthetic patches that will fool the scanners," Kael replied. "Primitive, but effective for a short window."

  Diovis's jaw tightened at the mention of his sister's work. "And the extraction team?"

  "Max Over will lead, with Dr. Sol providing technical expertise. Three additional operatives with stealth training. Small enough to slip through detection grids, large enough to secure the facility temporarily."

  A holographic timer pulsed in the corner of the display—fourteen days, eight hours, two minutes, and thirteen seconds remaining until the Aqualor-7 bombs would be discovered or deactivated.

  The noose was tightening.

  "They'll have a narrow window," Diovis mused. "What about transit time?"

  "The warp drive salvaged from the Skrell battleship will get them there in hours rather than days," Kael reported, his posture remaining perfect despite the lengthy briefing. "Every contingency has been planned for, every variable calculated."

  Diovis raised an eyebrow. "Every variable except Max Over's drinking."

  For the first time, Kael's disciplined facade cracked slightly. "I've... accounted for that as well. The ship's stores have been emptied of all alcohol."

  "He'll find a way," Diovis sighed. "He always does."

  Kael hesitated, then spoke with measured words. "Permission to speak freely?"

  "Always."

  "Over is a liability," Kael said, his voice low but firm. "His skills are valuable, but his dependency endangers the mission. Perhaps another leader—"

  "No," Diovis cut him off. "It has to be Max. He's... he's family."

  Something flashed in Kael's eyes—not judgment, but understanding. "As you say." He straightened, returning to perfect attention. "I'll oversee the final loading of equipment."

  As the general turned to leave, Diovis called after him. "Kael—thank you. For believing in this. In us."

  Kael paused in the doorway, his silhouette stark against the brighter corridor. "After what you did at Aqualor-7... taking on the Emperor himself..." He shook his head slightly. "You gave us more than freedom, Diovis. You gave us hope." With that, he was gone, boots echoing down the corridor.

  Diovis stood alone, the weight of those words settling on his shoulders like a physical thing. Hope. Such a small word for such an immense burden.

  The research lab hummed with frantic energy, a cacophony of beeping equipment and urgent voices. Diovis stepped through the sliding doors, the sterile air hitting his lungs like a shock after the recycled atmosphere of the command center.

  Scientists—former slaves with hidden talents now unleashed—rushed between workstations, their faces taut with concentration. They were all overworked, trying to get the Obliterator finished.

  In the center of it all stood Nira, her dark hair pulled back in a severe knot, fingers flying across three different interfaces simultaneously.

  Beside her, looking decidedly uncomfortable in human restraints, hunched Zorak. The Skrell scientist's mandibles clicked softly as he pointed to a molecular model rotating above a projector.

  "The quantum stabilizer needs to contain both the negative mass particles and the resulting energy cascade," Nira said, not looking up from her calculations. "If we increase the field density here—"

  "It will collapse under its own paradoxical weight," Zorak interrupted, his translator making the words sound harsher than perhaps intended. "The mathematics are sound, but the materials don't exist to contain such forces."

  "Then we'll create them," Nira snapped, her intensity matching the Skrell's. "Recalibrate the simulation with the xenoalloy parameters."

  Diovis watched from the doorway, something tightening in his chest. His sister—brilliant, fierce, driven—working alongside the very species that had destroyed their family. The necessity of it didn't make the sight any less jarring.

  He cleared his throat, and Nira glanced up, irritation flashing across her features before recognition set in.

  "Diovis," she acknowledged, her tone clipped. "Is there something you need? We're rather busy preventing the obliteration of our fledgling nation."

  "I can see that," he replied, stepping closer to examine the holographic models. Nira had redesigned the entire lab, transforming Skrell tech into something uniquely human. "Impressive work."

  "It would be more impressive if it functioned," she muttered, erasing a line of equations with a swipe of her hand.

  Zorak's compound eyes shifted between the siblings, mandibles twitching in what might have been the Skrell equivalent of awkward discomfort.

  "I'm looking for Max," Diovis said, cutting to the point. "The mission leaves soon."

  Nira's shoulders tensed slightly. "Probably drinking God knows where," she replied, her focus already returning to the calculations.

  "I see. Sorry for disturbing you," Diovis said softly, turning to leave.

  As he walked away, Nira's voice floated after him, low enough that perhaps she hadn't meant for him to hear: "I still haven't forgiven you for murdering our parents. It should have been you."

  Diovis froze mid-step, the words slicing through him like a physical blade. He looked back at his sister, her face illuminated by the blue glow of the holographic models, eyes fixed determinedly on her work.

  "I see. Sorry, siste—" he caught himself, "Nira." His voice held no anger, only a quiet acceptance, eyes reflecting both determination and a deep, weathered peace beneath the pain. Then he turned away, continuing down the corridor as if nothing had happened.

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  Instead of searching for Max immediately, Diovis found himself drawn to the observation deck overlooking what was rapidly becoming Eastoria's capital. The repurposed Skrell command tower offered a panoramic view of the settlement below.

  What had once been a slave camp was transforming day by day. Skrell structures—all hard angles and obsidian surfaces—were being modified or torn down completely, replaced with human architecture. Crews worked tirelessly, former slaves building their own world piece by piece.

  But what caught Diovis's eye wasn't the construction. It was the small clearing near what had once been the overseers' quarters.

  Someone had converted the space into a crude playground. Metal salvaged from Skrell ships had been bent and welded into swings and climbing frames. And there, running between them, were children—human children laughing.

  The sound carried faintly through the transparent barrier, high and clear, untouched by the weight of what had come before. Children who would grow up knowing freedom, not chains.

  "The children are running, laughing, having fun," Diovis murmured to himself, pressing a palm against the cool surface of the window. "It reminds me of the early days of our rebellion. It wasn't just for freedom then... it was a twisted kind of game, for me at least." He watched a small girl push a younger boy on a swing, both their faces alight with joy. "Max didn't drink back then. Nira was as mad as ever at me, but she understood the stakes, what happened to us..." He sighed, breath fogging the glass momentarily. "Did we just grow up, or did we learn to be grown ups?"

  The door behind him hissed open, interrupting his reverie. General Kael's reflection appeared in the glass beside his own.

  "Preparations are complete," Kael announced, his disciplined bearing a stark contrast to Diovis's contemplative stance. "The team stands ready."

  "And Max?" Diovis asked, not turning from the window.

  "Still unaccounted for," Kael replied, a hint of frustration breaking through his stoic facade. "I've dispatched search teams to his usual haunts."

  Diovis straightened, resolution hardening his features. "Find him, General. This mission cannot wait."

  Kael saluted sharply. "Yes, Supreme Ruler. It will be done."

  An hour later, Max Over was half-carried, half-dragged into the launch bay by two stone-faced soldiers. His large frame sagged between them, head lolling forward, the stench of cheap liquor emanating from his pores.

  Diovis stood at the foot of the transport ramp, arms crossed over his chest. The bay was a flurry of activity as technicians made final adjustments to the sleek, beetle-black ship designed for stealth rather than combat.

  "Set him down," Diovis ordered, and the soldiers deposited Max onto a cargo crate before retreating to a respectful distance.

  Max looked up blearily, struggling to focus. "Heyyy, Supreme Ruler! Come to... see me off?" His words slurred together, a lopsided grin spreading across his flushed face.

  Diovis stared at his friend, anger warring with concern. "You're drunk."

  "Brilliantly observed," Max replied, fumbling for a cigarette that wasn't there. "Shit. Lost my smokes somewhere."

  "The mission leaves in twenty minutes," Diovis said, his voice tight.

  Max waved dismissively. "Plenty of time for a power nap. Wake me when we're ready."

  "Max—"

  "What?" Max's bloodshot eyes suddenly focused, a flash of anger cutting through the alcoholic haze. "What do you want from me, D? I'll do the mission. I always do the mission. Just... just let me have this."

  Diovis looked at his friend—the trembling hands, the sweat beading on his forehead, the desperate need painted across his features—and something inside him broke.

  A laugh bubbled up for Diovis, starting low in his chest before erupting into a full-throated, hysterical sound that echoed off the metal walls of the hangar.

  "You seriously get drunk now? Of course you do, you're Max," Diovis said between gasps of laughter, sinking down onto the crate beside his confused friend.

  "You... okay there, D?" Max asked, eyebrows raised in genuine concern.

  Diovis's laughter faded to chuckles, then to silence. "No, Maxie. I don't think I am. I don't think either of us is."

  Max snorted. "Now there's an understatement."

  They sat side by side, Supreme Ruler and loyal lieutenant, both damaged in ways that couldn't be fixed.

  "My sister still hates me," Diovis said quietly.

  "She doesn't hate you," Max replied, somehow sounding more sober. "She just hasn't forgiven you. Different thing."

  "Is it?"

  "Trust me on this one, D. I'm an expert in being unforgiven." Max fumbled in his pocket, producing a flask that had somehow escaped the soldiers' search. He took a swig and offered it to Diovis.

  After a moment's hesitation, Diovis accepted, the liquor burning a path down his throat. "This mission is everything, Max," he said, wiping his mouth. "If you don't get those quantum stabilizers and the Nexus data—"

  "We're all dead anyway," Max finished for him. "Yeah, I got the memo." He took the flask back, staring at it as if it held answers instead of cheap alcohol.

  "You know what's funny? I used to be scared of dying. Now I'm more scared of surviving." Max said with a hint of sarcasm.

  Before Diovis could respond, the bay doors opened again, and Nira entered, a determined set to her jaw. She carried a small case, likely containing the synthetic Skrell skin patches, and pointedly ignored her brother as she approached.

  "We're ready," she announced, eyes narrowing as she took in Max's condition. "Are you capable of standing, or should I request a stretcher?"

  Max grinned up at her. "Your concern is touching, Nira. I'll manage." With considerable effort, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying only slightly.

  "Nira," Diovis began, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

  "Save it. We have a mission, and fourteen days before the Skrell realize they've been played." She turned to Max. "Get on the ship. I'll prep the team for departure."

  As she strode away, Diovis caught Max's arm. "Bring her back safe, Maxie. No matter what."

  Max's bloodshot eyes met his, a moment of perfect clarity breaking through the alcoholic haze. "Always, D. That's the one promise I won't break."

  With that, he straightened his shoulders and staggered toward the ship, somehow managing to look almost dignified despite his condition.

  The interior of the stealth vessel hummed with barely-contained energy as the warp drive charged.

  Max strapped himself into the captain's chair, the restraints biting into his soft flesh. His head pounded, but the adrenaline of impending danger was burning through the alcohol faster than he'd like.

  Nira sat at the navigation console, her movements precise and economical as she plotted their course to the Mira system. The three other operatives—silent, scarred individuals handpicked by Kael—took their positions without fanfare.

  "Stealth systems engaged," reported one, a woman with a patch over one eye and fingers that danced across the controls with practiced ease.

  "Weapons hot but passive," added another, a man whose face was so heavily scarred that his features seemed to have been carved rather than born.

  "Countermeasures standing by," said the third, so nondescript that Max had trouble remembering their face even while looking directly at them.

  "Warp drive at ninety percent," Nira announced. "Ready for departure on your mark, Commander."

  The title felt wrong, but Max straightened in his chair anyway. "Launch in three... two... one... engage."

  The ship shuddered beneath them, slipping free from Eastoria's gravity well with surprising grace for something cobbled together from salvaged parts. The viewport filled with the crimson glow of their star, then the black emptiness of space, pinpricked with distant lights.

  "Cloaking field stable," the one-eyed woman reported. "No detectable emissions."

  "Warp in five seconds," Nira counted down. "Brace for transition."

  The stars outside the viewport stretched into lines, then blurred completely as the warp field enveloped the vessel. Space itself seemed to fold around them, the sensation like being pulled through the eye of a needle.

  Max's stomach lurched, a dangerous combination with the alcohol still in his system. He swallowed hard, focusing on the control panel in front of him.

  "Transit time to Mira outpost: four hours, seventeen minutes," Nira said, not looking up from her console. "Recommend minimal system usage to preserve stealth profile."

  "Agreed," Max replied, unclasping his restraints and rising unsteadily to his feet. "I'll be in my quarters. Call me if anything explodes."

  Nira finally looked at him, irritation clear in her expression. "Going to sleep it off, or drink more?"

  "Both, if I'm lucky," Max shot back with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

  As he made his way to the tiny compartment designated as the captain's quarters, Max couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He glanced back to find Nira studying him, her expression unreadable.

  "What?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe for support.

  "Nothing," she said, turning back to her console. "Just wondering if you're going to get us all killed."

  Max laughed, the sound hollow in the confined space. "Probably. But we'll get your quantum toys first. Promise."

  Alone in his quarters, Max slumped onto the narrow cot, the warp field's hum vibrating through the ship's frame and into his bones. His hand instinctively reached for the flask in his pocket, but it was empty. Kael had been thorough in purging the ship of alcohol.

  Max closed his eyes, but it didn't help. Behind his eyelids, he saw her face, and beyond that, the face of every person who had suffered for the rebellion's cause. For Diovis's vision. For his own complicity.

  "Mira outpost in four hours," he reminded himself, voice cracking in the empty room. "Get it together, Max."