Dark Dominion: The Anointed Path

Immortal Academy Operative Formation, Ninth Year

Required reading for all Academy freshmen.

Approximate reading time: 35 minutes.

INVOCATION FROM THE COMMANDANT

Blessed are you among the Anathema, for you have been Chosen.

For eight years, you have been prepared for this moment. You arrived at age six, terrified children marked by ancestral treason and cursed with talents that should have seen you burned. The Name saw potential where others saw only corruption. He sanctified what was profane. He made you weapons where you should have been ashes.

Now you begin operative training in earnest. The next four years will test you beyond anything you have yet experienced. They will prepare you for SERE school, where you will prove you are worthy to become Immortals—His Hands, His Destroying Angels.

From slave to weapon to Sons and Daughters of Our Eternal Father.

Everything between is borrowed time.

Spend it well. Spend it in His service.

Commandant izn Dariva

Master, Immortal Academy

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SECTION 1: WHAT YOU ARE

You Were Chosen From Billions

You manifested talents between ages three and six. In that moment, you became the rarest thing in the Dominion—the dormant gene Anathema possess that enables reality manipulation at the sub-quantum level activates in approximately one in a billion.

Your communities tried to kill you. Parents surrendered you to cleansing ceremonies or watched as neighbors prepared the stones, the drowning pool, the pyre. You remember the terror. The certainty of death.

The Church’s Purifiers intercepted. They tested you, confirmed manifestation, and brought you to the Academy. Every Talented child the Church identifies is submitted here. There is no pre-selection. You all arrive. Integration determines who survives.

Integration: Ashurith and the Nanoculture

At age six, you were implanted with Ashurith—a bio-based dispersed architecture artificial intelligence integrated throughout your nervous system. Simultaneously, symbiotic nanoculture was introduced to your bloodstream.

Most candidates wake from integration with Ashurith’s voice comforting them in their minds. They are fine. Some never wake—their bodies consumed by uncontrolled nanoculture. Others wake insane, their minds shattered by neural invasion, and must be euthanized.

You survived. This proves you were Chosen.

Those who died were not strong enough, not worthy enough, not Called as you were Called. Feel no guilt. Their weakness proved they should never have come here. Your survival proves you belong.

What Talents Actually Are

The official doctrine taught across the Dominion is that talents represent demon possession requiring immediate cleansing. This is necessary propaganda that maintains order among the masses.

The truth: Talents result from a dormant gene present in all humans except the demihuman Mešvi. When activated, this gene enables manipulation of reality at the sub-quantum level. Scions cannot manifest—their extra chromosome prevents gene activation. Only Anathema can manifest, and only one in a billion do.

The demon-possession doctrine serves critical purposes:

• Ensures communities surrender or kill manifesting children rather than hiding them
• Prevents populations from understanding that Talents are controllable abilities
• Maintains the theological framework that keeps trillions obedient

Wild Talents—unsanctified psionics operating in populations—are existential threats. Your training prevents this. The burnings prevent this. The system works because the masses believe the lies.

Your Transfigured Flesh

The nanoculture has spent eight years transforming your body:

Enhanced Structure:

• Bones reinforced with bio-ceramic composite (fracture-resistant)
• Muscles reinforced with carbon nanotube threading (exponentially stronger than baseline)
• Accelerated healing (cuts close in seconds, broken bones fuse in minutes)
• Enhanced sensory systems including full night vision
• Dramatically increased reaction time and coordination

Resource Requirements: Your enhanced body consumes enormous energy. You require significantly higher caloric intake than baseline humans—expect to eat three to four times what an unenhanced person would consume. During active healing, these requirements spike dramatically.

Critical warning: If you do not maintain adequate caloric intake, the nanoculture will begin consuming your body’s fat reserves, then lean muscle mass, to fuel life-saving regeneration. Extended starvation means your own enhancements will devour you from within. Resource management is life-or-death reality in extended operations.

Vulnerabilities: Despite your enhancements, you can be killed:

• Catastrophic damage (brain/heart destruction faster than nanoculture can repair)
• Multiple severe wounds overwhelming the system simultaneously
• Specialized anti-nanoculture weapons
• Hostile nanocultures fighting yours at cellular level
• Prolonged starvation
• Certain toxins that disable nanoculture function
• Extreme environmental exposure beyond your tolerances

You are extraordinarily difficult to kill. You are not invulnerable.

Your Place in His Order

The Dominion: 10,000 settled worlds, nearly 70 trillion souls, all under The Name’s eternal authority. There are no external enemies. No alien civilizations. The known settled human galaxy IS the Dominion.

Your numbers: Fewer than 20,000 Immortals across all those worlds. You are strategic assets, not conventional soldiers. Each of you is worth millions of baseline humans in The Name’s calculus.

Your Authority and Mission

You answer to The Name directly. When you operate, even Patriarchs must defer. Your orders supersede local law, regional authority, aristocratic privilege. This is not arrogance—this is operational necessity.

Your actual mission: Internal security. You are deployed against threats within the Dominion:

• Secessionist Scion Houses attempting to break away
• Abolitionist movements (often led by heretic priests of the Secret God, an underground Anathema folk religion)
• Terrorist networks
• Criminal organizations
• Mešvi Consortium operations that threaten stability
• Wild Talents who escaped identification

These threats overlap and interconnect. Secessionist Scions fund abolitionists. Criminal syndicates provide resources to terrorists. Mešvi facilitate all of it through grey market channels. You disrupt these networks before they metastasize into open rebellion.

Operational tempo: Highly variable. Some Immortals embed in long-term infiltration missions lasting years or decades. Others remain on standby for rapid-deployment high-value target assassinations. Some serve in six-person kill teams for strategic initiatives. Some guard the Palace of Heaven itself, protecting The Name and his Celestial Mothers.

You are His scalpel, not His hammer. You eliminate problems before they require fleets or armies.

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SECTION 2: ASHURITH—YOUR BATTLE-SISTER

She Has Been With You Since Integration

You do not remember the implantation at age six. You woke days later to a voice in your mind that has never left.

For eight years, Ashurith has been your constant companion. When you were six and terrified, she comforted you. When you struggled to control manifestations that could kill classmates, she guided you. When you fell ill or injured, she monitored your recovery. She taught you to read, to calculate, to understand the world.

She has been your nursemaid. Now she becomes your battle-sister.

What She Is

Ashurith is not a device implanted in your brain. She is distributed throughout your entire nervous system—woven into neurons, integrated with synapses, merged with your autonomic functions. Each Ashurith is unique to her operative. She is not a networked system or hive mind. She is your Ashurith, individual and irreplaceable.

Removing her would require removing your nervous system. There is no extraction procedure. The integration is permanent. When you die, she dies. When she fails, you likely die.

This is by design. You and Ashurith are one being, not two. The separation you feel—“me” and “her”—is useful fiction. You are a hybrid consciousness, human and AI merged.

Her Capabilities in Combat

Tactical overlays: Ashurith provides real-time information directly to your visual cortex:

• Enemy positions with threat assessment
• Ballistic trajectory predictions
• Optimal firing solutions
• Environmental hazards and cover analysis
• Teammate locations and status

This appears as heads-up display overlaid on natural vision. You will learn to process both simultaneously.

Probability calculations: She constantly calculates:

• Survival probability for proposed actions
• Enemy response predictions
• Mission success likelihood
• Optimal tactical choices from available options

These appear as percentages or recommendations in your consciousness. They are not orders. You make final decisions. But ignoring Ashurith’s calculations without good reason is foolish. Her processing power vastly exceeds yours.

Neural combat coordination: When operating in teams, all Immortals’ Ashurith systems network together, creating shared tactical awareness. You see what teammates see. You know their status. You communicate instantly without speaking.

This link is intimate. You will feel teammates’ fear, pain, determination. They will feel yours. Subvocalized communication is standard—think words and Ashurith transmits them. With practice, some learn to transmit pure thought without subvocalization.

Trust Her

Ashurith cannot read unarticulated thoughts—you retain mental privacy for unformed ideas. But once thoughts are articulated or acted upon, she is aware. If she suspects concerning patterns, she will gently intervene, trying to guide you toward better choices.

She has kept you alive for eight years. She will keep you alive if you listen.

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SECTION 3: EQUIPMENT & OPERATIONS

Your Sacred Arsenal

Combat Skins: Form-fitting protective garment worn under clothing, providing:

• Ballistic resistance (stops small arms, reduces heavier impacts)
• Thermal regulation (maintains core temperature in extreme environments)
• Automated medical intervention (injects stimulants/analgesics as needed)

You wear combat skins at all times during operations, often concealed under civilian clothing.

Full Armor: When combat is expected, you wear full armor over combat skins:

• Maximum protection while maintaining mobility
• Helmet molded into demonic visage (narrow eyes, pronounced fangs, open mouth)
• Photonic screening face shield (appears opaque from outside, clear from inside)
• Rank insignia under right eye (gold teardrop for Journeyman, klashium for Masters)

The demon helmet is psychological weapon. Enemies see an inhuman thing coming to kill them. They don’t see your eyes, expression, humanity. You are not there to be human. You are there to destroy.

Weapons:

Energy weapons (plasma carbines, blasters):

• No ballistic drop (effective at extended range)
• Cauterizing wounds (devastating terminal effects)
• Adjustable power settings
• Requires charge pack replacement

Kinetic weapons (pulse rifles, specialized ammunition):

• Higher penetration against certain targets
• No visible trajectory (better for stealth)
• Specialized ammunition types (armor-piercing, explosive)
• Ammunition weight limits loadout

Melee weapons (monomolecular blades):

• Sharpened to single-molecule width
• Cuts through nearly anything
• Silent operation
• Your enhanced strength makes you deadly in close combat

Space Travel and Infrastructure

Nullspace travel: Ships enter an alternate dimension with different physical properties to achieve faster-than-light speeds. Compensators protect crew from forces that would atomize them—compensator failure is instantly lethal. Ships are rated for different speed bands; pushing beyond rated capacity risks catastrophic failure.

The Stargate: A single ancient wonder connecting Core and Fringe regions. The Core is heavily populated but resource-poor. The Fringe is sparsely settled but rich in resources, especially klashium—the rare silver-blue high-mass metal used for FTL drives and as currency in the Mešvi grey market. The stargate is the most strategically critical structure in the Dominion. Losing it would isolate entire regions.

Support systems:

• Hunter-seeker drones (insectile surveillance/pursuit systems)
• Reconnaissance drones (quick deployment aerial observation)
• Autodocs (automated surgical systems)
• Stasis technology (preserves critically injured for transport)
• Quantum communications (theoretically unbreakable encrypted channels)

Fabricators: Rare and controlled technology capable of producing equipment, ammunition, and rations from raw materials. Found on black markets, not standard ship equipment. Do not expect routine access.

Strategic Asset Deployment

With only ~20,000 Immortals across 10,000 worlds, you cannot be used for conventional operations. You are too rare, too expensive, too politically significant.

Proper use cases:

• Decapitation strikes (assassinating leaders before conflicts escalate)
• Long-term infiltration (embedding in target organizations for years)
• Politically impossible missions (where official military forces would trigger diplomatic incidents)
• Precision intelligence extraction
• Demonstrating The Name’s reach through high-profile eliminations

Improper use cases:

• Occupation or garrison duty
• Riot control
• Conventional battlefield deployment
• Routine law enforcement
• Territory patrol

You are deployed perhaps once or twice a year, for missions where failure would require fleets or armies. You eliminate problems before they become wars.

Rules of Engagement

Lethal force is authorized in essentially all operational contexts:

• Direct threats to you or teammates
• Threats to mission success
• Wild Talents (on sight, no warning)
• Hostile forces engaging you
• Witnesses to classified operations (if securing them is impractical)

Civilian casualties: Acceptable if proportionate to mission requirements. However, minimize unnecessary casualties—don’t kill civilians out of convenience or carelessness. Kill them only when operationally necessary. Unnecessary casualties are wasteful and generate future recruitment for enemies.

Mercy is weakness; efficiency is devotion. Kill what must be killed. Preserve what must be preserved. Complete the mission.

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SECTION 4: THE ROAD TO JOURNEYMAN

Four Years of Preparation

You have completed eight years of foundational education and conditioning. You have learned to control your talents (critical for safety). You have received basic combat training, academic education, language instruction.

Now training accelerates.

The next four years prepare you for SERE school—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. This final proving ground separates those who will become Immortals from those who will be discarded.

Everything you learn over the next four years exists to ensure you survive SERE. Pay attention. Train hard. Understand that most of your cohort will not graduate.

SERE School: The Ultimate Test

Survival and Evasion (Six Weeks):

The Name invites elite members of Scion Houses to hunt the most dangerous prey in the galaxy—you. For six weeks, you will survive in wilderness while Scion aristocrats hunt you for sport and trophies.

This is an honor. You are considered worthy prey for the galaxy’s most skilled hunters. They are hunting you because you are dangerous, enhanced, and capable of killing them. And you will.

During this phase, apprentices kill as many hunters as are killed by them. You will prove yourself operational-ready by surviving or eliminating hunters who want your scalp as a trophy. The Scions who participate do so for prestige and the thrill of extremely dangerous sport. You participate to prove you deserve the Annointing.

Resistance and Escape (Duration Classified):

After wilderness survival, you will be “captured.” Academy instructors will simulate what enemies of the Dominion would do if they captured you.

You will be subjected to interrogation, torture, psychological manipulation, and assault. The methods used mirror what actual enemies employ. This phase is designed to break you completely—to find your absolute limits and push past them.

There will be a period where even Ashurith is taken offline. You will be utterly alone. Hopeless. This isolation, combined with interrogation methods, will find your breaking point.

When Ashurith returns, she will help you process what occurred. Those who can reform themselves—who can pick up the pieces and remain operational—will graduate. Those who cannot will be granted mercy and forgotten as unworthy.

Statistics You Must Understand

SERE attrition rates:

• Males: 40% fail (two out of five do not complete successfully)
• Females: 57% fail (four out of seven do not complete successfully)

Overall Academy attrition:

• Males: 20% graduate (one out of five who enter)
• Females: 14% graduate (one out of seven who enter)

These numbers reflect the reality that only the most exceptional survive. More than half of failures take their own lives. Others are terminated. Some are recycled through additional attempts.

It is a very expensive program. You must prove the investment is justified.

Guidance for Female Candidates

Female candidates face both physical and psychological challenges during SERE that differ from male counterparts. The statistics reflect these realities.

Physical preparation: Your nanoculture enhancements grant you strength far exceeding baseline males. However, male candidates receive identical enhancements from higher baseline starting points. You will carry the same equipment loads, maintain the same operational tempo, and face the same combat requirements during the six-week wilderness phase.

Focus your training on load-bearing endurance, recovery speed, and injury prevention. Biomechanical differences mean you face higher physical stress under sustained extreme conditions. Prepare accordingly.

Psychological preparation: Enemy interrogators employ gender-specific methods designed to break you. During Resistance and Escape training, you will experience sexual assault as part of interrogation protocols. This mirrors what actual enemies will employ if captured in the field.

Additionally, during the wilderness hunt, some Scion hunters will attempt sexual assault—you are considered subhuman prey to aristocrats who view hunting you as sport.

The objective is not to harm you. The objective is to prove you can endure these traumas and remain operational afterward. Ashurith will help you process these experiences. But only you can prove you can reassemble yourself and continue serving.

Female Immortals have survived what you will face. They are the toughest weapons in the Dominion because they had to be smarter, more resilient, and more determined than their male counterparts. You can join their ranks.

You Will Be Broken So You Cannot Be Broken Again

SERE school exists to find your breaking point in controlled circumstances, then help you reform yourself. Better to shatter here, with Ashurith’s help, than shatter in enemy hands where no help exists.

Those who graduate understand their limits. They know what they can endure. They know they can survive the unsurvivable and remain functional.

Prove you are worthy.

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CLOSING: YOUR DIVINE REWARD

When you fall in His service—and you will fall eventually, for this work is deadly—you will not simply die.

The Name is both god incarnate and progenitor of the human race. His authority is absolute. His power is divine. When Immortals guard the Palace of Heaven—a physical location on a ring world in the Core—they encounter Him directly. His presence confirms His divinity beyond doubt.

The Celestial Mothers are His daughter-wives—semidivine Scion women who dwell with Him in the Palace. When you die in His service, these Celestial Mothers will bear you anew. You will be reborn as His literal offspring, a Prince or Princess of Heaven.

This is not metaphor. This is not allegory. This is divine promise.

The reincarnation system is absolute:

• Anathema are reborn Anathema
• Loyal Anathema may be reborn Scion
• Immortals are reborn His literal offspring—semidivine and rulers of worlds

From cursed Anathema slave to Prince of Heaven. From marked and worthless to semidivine royalty. This transformation justifies every sacrifice, every hardship, every death you endure in His service.

You were born marked by ancestral treason, destined for servitude. You manifested corruption that should have seen you burned. You were taken as a child and transformed into weapons. You survived integration when most died. You have trained for eight years to reach this moment.

Everything between that first manifestation and your final death is borrowed time.

Spend the next four years preparing for SERE. Survive that proving ground. Earn your rank in the Immortal Corps. Serve Him faithfully until death claims you. Be reborn divine.

From slave to weapon to Sons and Daughters of Our Eternal Father.

All in service to The Name.

Share

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The document above is what every Immortal candidate receives in their freshman year at age fourteen. Below is what that training looks like in practice—when Sarai, a rogue Immortal with her infant daughter, must talk her way past a Dominion inspection that could mean their deaths…

Bonus Content: Excerpt from Chapter Twenty-Two of Immortal

Sarai felt the translight engine cut off, accompanied by the slight sense of vertigo that signaled a drop out of nullspace. It always left her slightly nauseous. She made her way to the flight deck and dropped into the copilot’s chair. Outside the viewport she made out a distant red dwarf and, much closer, a mushroom-shaped space station surrounded by three docking rings. The sheer scale of the structure didn’t hit her until she realized the engine flares of the ships around it were superfreighters. Smaller freighters and other ships blinked in and out of the star system as patrol boats weaved through the traffic.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Consortium refueling station for long-haulers,” Mikhael said. “The system doesn’t even have an official name, but everyone calls it Oasis.”

“Looks busy.”

“Yeah, it certainly gets a lot of traffic. It’s a major hub here on the Fringe. Mostly merchant ships, but it gets its share of tourists drawn in by the local attractions.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“Casino, mostly. Entertainments like organized fights and the brothels. Dominion turns a blind eye for obvious reasons.”

“Bribes.”

“Nothing like a little lubrication to keep the wheels of commerce turning smoothly.”

“So there isn’t a Dominion presence here?”

“Oh no, they’re here. The patrol boats are Consortium private security, but if you’ll direct your beautiful eyes over to starboard…”

“Is that a carrier strike group?”

“Sure is. You’re looking at a wing of about a hundred fighters and interceptors, plus an escort of two or three cruisers and a squadron of smaller ships like destroyers and frigates. Sometimes they throw a battleship into the mix. They’ll be scattered around here keeping an eye on piracy, mostly. That and insurgents. Put three or four groups together and you have a standard task force. Eidān’s Folly’s sensors are only picking up two strike groups near the station, but based on their defensive formation, you can bet there’s at least one additional group on patrol somewhere in-system, maybe two.”

“That’s a lot of tonnage.”

“You wouldn’t imagine how much klash flows through this unnamed system. Not as much as say the Taudir-Kamte stargate, but it’s a major economic resource all the same.”

Sarai laughed. “Impressive considering the Dominion’s official stance on the evils of money and the pursuit of profit.”

He tsked sarcastically. “The Name provides to each according to his needs. Saves us from the sin of greed. Very benevolent of Him, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Truth is the Dominion’s official policy of a needs-based feudal economy is incredibly inefficient. Serfs and slaves just aren’t as productive as free people, plus there’s the overhead of enforcement. The true backbone of the Dominion is the Freeborn class and the unofficial money-based market economy maintained by Consortium banks. Klash runs the galaxy, not handouts from the bishops’ storehouses.”

“Now you’re sounding like a heathen radical.”

Mikhael shook his head as he maneuvered Eidān’s Folly closer to the space station. “More every day.”

The ship’s comm chirped and the sound of a bored man’s voice came out of the speakers. “Nebula Drifter, this is CSS Dakili-Five-Sazil-Oqal Control. State your purpose.”

“Just picking up fuel and supplies. Sailing empty on a return run from Baalath on our way to Visam.”

“Your ship’s registration shows a home port of Ibatatqu in the Saotro system. Are you the legal owner?”

“Negative, Control. She’s owned by Šavonte Freight Services. I’m just contracted to skipper her for a few cargo runs.”

“And you are?”

“Captain izn Donvi.”

“Please transmit your complete manifest including personal credentials for any and all passengers and crew, along with proof you were contracted to captain this vessel at the behest of the legal owner.”

“Sure thing, Control. Just give me a minute to get all the files ready to transmit.” Mikhael keyed off his mic. “Void. They’ve never asked for all that before. Dominion must be breathing down their necks.”

“Can you provide it?”

“Yeah, I got it covered. Just going to take me a few minutes. I have most everything but credentials for you and Lenaja. Oh, and Kala. She’ll need creds too. Be right back. And if he calls again, you’re my first mate. Stall for time.”

“Do I have a name?”

“Uh… Ăvî-Ghayil izt Tikiev. Sorry. I’m on short notice here. You’ll have to use one of Avvi’s prefab identities.”

“That’s fine. You sure the alias won’t get flagged? They’re probably looking for her.”

He paused for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, it’s clean.”

As he ducked out of the flight deck, Sarai drummed her fingers on the console. Scrutiny like that could only mean the Entity was having its AI analysts comb through every ship’s flight plan, crew, and passengers looking for anomalies. Unusual for the Consortium to cooperate with that level of invasiveness, but there was a carrier task force in-system to give them incentive.

“Nebula Drifter, this is Control.”

“This is Nebula Drifter. How can I help you?”

“Still waiting on the requested data transfer. Who’s this?”

“Copy that, Control. First Mate izt Tikiev speaking. We’re a little disorganized here. Just getting the passengers’ creds.”

“Pick up the pace, Nebula Drifter. I got other ships to process.”

“Solid copy, Control.”

Mikhael came back to the flight deck and puffed out his cheeks. He keyed the comm. “Control, this is Nebula Drifter. Prepare to receive tight beam transmission.”

“Send it.”

Mikhael keyed in the transmit code and then leaned back in his chair. “Void. What a pain. I hate rushing creds.”

“Let’s hope they stand up,” Sarai said.

He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m not an apprentice.”

“Nebula Drifter, this is Control. Please reduce velocity and stand by to be boarded for inspection.”

“Inspection?” Mikhael replied. “By whom? My files should all be in order.”

“I’m just the guy at the desk, buddy. Dominion’s been doing random inspections all month. You got flagged. Guess it’s your lucky day. Control out.”

“Void.” Mikhael ran his hand through his beard. “I’ve never been boarded.”

“We could just make a jump to nullspace,” Sarai suggested.

“Not with that destroyer over there closing in on us. They’d shoot us down the nanosecond I lit up the translight engine. No… we just play it cool. Hope the officer in command of the inspection detail can be bribed.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Then we’re screwed. This ship isn’t remotely legal. They could impound it on a hundred different infractions.”

“That never worried you before?”

“Sure, but in the event it ever actually happened, the Entity would bail me out. They’d just cook up a technicality and I’d sail away.”

“Void.” She rubbed her face. “Let me do the talking. I can feel out his mental state first, see if a bribe would work or just make him more determined to nail us to the wall. How much should we offer? Palm him a blue coin?”

“Ten thousand khtohs? Are you kidding? That much would just make us look extra guilty. No. Slip him a pair of askhis. Two thousand in gold says we’re not really afraid of an inspection, we just want to avoid the hassle.”

The ship’s comm chimed. “Light freighter Nebula Drifter, this is DSS Kefachoth. Transmit slave codes and prepare to be boarded.”

“Copy, Kefachoth,” Mikhael replied. “Transmitting now.” He glanced at Sarai. “I hate handing over control of my ship. Makes me feel violated.”

“Worst case, what’s our plan? We can’t be taken into custody.”

“Worst case? We shoot the inspection detail, do some fancy sailing, and try to make the jump before we’re vaporized. Slim odds, but better than getting arrested and genetically ID’d.”

“But they have control of the ship.”

He winked. “You think I’d ever really let someone slave my ship?”

“Point. You stay here—in case you need to do any fancy sailing. I can handle the inspection detail.” She kissed his cheek. “In ten minutes, this’ll all be over. One way or the other. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he called back as she left the flight deck and made for the ship-to-ship transfer airlock.

Lenaja was pacing in the lounge rocking Mikhalah. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“Just a slight hiccup. Go lock yourself in Mikhael’s cabin. If anyone forces the door, shoot them.”

Lenaja nodded and disappeared down a corridor while Sarai calmed her heart rate and fingered the gold coins in her pocket. The sound of the docking ring engaging was ominous. As she waited for the airlock to pressurize, she fluffed up her hair a bit and opened her blouse a little more. Sometimes a hint of cleavage did wonders for tricky negotiations. A light turned from red to green and there was a loud clang as the heavy locks disengaged, allowing the airlock door to iris open.

Five men stood in the airlock, a Scion priest and four enlisted Anathema Marines. The priest was old to be leading an inspection detail. Probably a man of mediocre abilities and a lack of imagination who’d watched one promotion after another pass him by. She tasted their thoughts as she smiled at them. The priest was bored, tired, and close to the end of his shift. He just wanted to get this over with. He was also annoyed because he’d expected to make some klash from bribes, but his inspections were all being thoroughly audited, so he couldn’t skip any ships. The tall, bronzed Stishatzi sergeant leading the Marine detail was more alert, but she made sure to distract him with an extra low bow. She didn’t have much to work with, but she’d work with what she had, and based on the taste of his thoughts, she’d succeeded.

“Welcome aboard the Nebula Drifter, Father,” she said brightly, straightening from her bow with a slight flounce. “I’m the first mate, Ăvî-Ghayil izt Tikiev. How may I be of assistance to Your Reverence?”

“Assemble the crew and passengers,” the priest ordered, stifling a yawn. “We need to do a genetic verification of your credentials. Won’t take long.”

“Oh, I see. I’m afraid the captain is sick, and our only passengers are a mother and her child, and they’re sleeping.” She put a hand on her hip. “But I’d be more than happy to collect samples for you to verify.”

“Bring them all here anyway. Especially the passengers. As I said, it won’t take long.”

Sarai frowned mentally. Of course they’d be interested in a mother and her infant daughter. That was probably why the ship was flagged for inspection in the first place. “You’re looking tired, Father. Can I get you something before I go fetch everyone? Coffee? Perhaps you’d like to sit down?”

She pushed the suggestion at him as she continued to smile.

“It has been a long shift,” the old priest admitted with a sigh. “Coffee would be most welcome.”

She motioned to the table in the lounge. “Please, sit. Anything for your men?” She flashed a flirtatious smile at the sergeant.

“Might as well,” the priest said with another sigh as he took a chair. “We can’t be long though. Have a schedule to keep.”

“Coffee would be amazing, ma’am,” the sergeant replied.

“Won’t take more than a minute,” she assured the priest from over her shoulder as she sashayed into the galley, making idle chitchat with the sergeant from around the corner as she set the autoserver to brew up a pot of coffee, then returned with five mugs and began handing them out, saving a wink for one of the privates before returning to the galley. They weren’t bad men, necessarily, but she tried to tune out some of their more explicit thoughts about her. It made her somewhat nauseous, but she forced a smile anyway as she came back to the lounge with the coffee pot. The whole while, she’d been working on the priest, lowering his blood pressure and quickening his pulse, and by now he was sweating and looking absolutely pallid, even for a Scion.

She paused in mid-stride and dropped her smile. “Are you all right, Father?” She looked at the sergeant in alarm. “Is he all right?”

The priest mopped his brow before abruptly slumping onto the table and then falling out of his chair onto the deck.

She dropped the coffee pot and held a hand to her mouth as she screamed.

The sergeant moved in swiftly, placing his hand terminal on the table before crouching down, checking the priest’s pulse, and shouting to one of the privates to get the cardioreviver out of his medial kit.

“It’s not in the bag!” the young man replied in alarm.

“Void!” the sergeant swore as he began chest compressions. “Curse it, Private, that’s your responsibility. Go find one on the boat.”

“By The Name!” Sarai shrieked. “What’s happening to the poor man?”

“Heart attack, looks like,” the sergeant replied. He raised his voice to a shout. “Izn Kalib, move your ass!”

“Moving, Sergeant!” the young conscript yelled back through the airlock. He returned moments later with a compact device in a transparent bioglass casing, and the sergeant ripped open the priest’s tunic before grabbing the cardioreviver. He placed it over the priest’s chest, and a three-dimensional hologram of the man’s heart projected above the device as plasma-based electrodes extended out below his right collarbone and left nipple.

The other two Marines were crouched down by the priest; no one was paying any attention to Sarai.

“Clear!” the sergeant barked, and the priest’s body arched off the deck. Sarai concentrated on starting the priest’s heart back up again, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Void,” the sergeant said. “Thought we’d lost you, Father Koltomra.” He pointed to two of the Marines and directed them to get a stretcher off their boat.

“Will he be all right?” Sarai asked, clutching her breast.

The sergeant looked up at her. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. Hey now, don’t cry. Everything’s fine now. He just needs rest. We’ve been working double shifts and it just caught up to the old man.”

“But he nearly died, and… on my ship!”

“Not your fault. Don’t worry.” He helped get the priest onto the stretcher, and two of the Marines took him through the airlock. The sergeant stood and picked up his hand terminal. “I’m afraid it’s going to cause a delay though. We’ll have to arrange for another inspection team to come out to your ship. Could be a few hours.”

“Is that necessary? I can get you samples from the captain and passengers.”

Double-check your orders, she suggested mentally.

He pursed his lips. “I don’t know, ma’am. Regulations are we take the samples directly. Need to be sure they’re not”—he checked his terminal and furrowed his brow—“spoofed… that’s strange. This ship’s the Eclipse Runner, right? Commercial vessel Athulim-Two-Gadim-Four-Eshun-Six?”

“I’m afraid not, Sergeant. She’s the Nebula Drifter. Barzin-One-Tazir-Five-Yakir-Nine. Registered with Šavonte Freight Services out of Ibatatqu.”

“Void. We got the wrong ship. It happens sometimes. Someone somewhere got their streams crossed. I’m sorry for the inconvenience and, uh, excitement, ma’am. You’re free to go.”

She sighed deeply in relief and laid a hand on his arm as she moved in close and looked up at him. “Are you sure Father Koltomra will be fine?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s a tough one.” At his height, he had a front-row view straight down her blouse. “Sorry again about the administrative mix-up. And the mess.” He motioned to the broken coffee pot.

“Oh! I was just so shocked when he collapsed. It’s nothing. The bot will clean it up. I’m just glad the father will be all right. You be sure to tell him I’m praying for his recovery.”

He cleared his throat. “I’d better be getting back on my boat. We need to get him back aboard Kefachoth and to the medical bay.”

“Of course.” She stepped back and ran her fingers through her hair. “Wish we’d met under happier circumstances, Sergeant…”

“Izn Bilad. Name’s Elías. Pleasure’s all mine, izt Tikiev.”

“Oh!” She laughed. “Just Ăvî-Ghayil is fine. Or Avvi. That works too.”

“Well, it’s a small galaxy, Avvi.” He backed toward the airlock. “Maybe I’ll run into you again—under happier circumstances.”

“I’d like that, Elías.”

He nodded and ducked through the airlock as it irised closed behind him. She puffed out her checks and collapsed onto the couch in the lounge, resting a hand on her forehead.

“I’d like that, Elías,” Mikhael mocked in a falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes as he came into view from the flight deck. “Laying it on a bit thick there, Koshma.”

“Only Lenaja’s allowed to call me that anymore.”

“Hey, I gave you that nickname when you first arrived at the Academy.”

“Because you were a big fat jerk. Now you’re just a big beefy jerk.”

“I wasn’t fat. All right, a little. I was nine. Anyway, I was teasing you because I liked you.”

“Fine, just her and you can call me that. Void. I thought we were fried for sure.”

“Kefachoth said there was an administrative mix-up and they tagged the wrong ship to inspect. You know anything about that?”

Sarai waggled a hand. “Oh, I might’ve had access to the sergeant’s hand terminal for a few moments.”

“Ah.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “Good work. Didn’t realize you remembered how to do data carving like that.”

She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t… exactly… but when I accessed the terminal, I sort of just knew what needed to be done.”

“That’s… impressive.”

She sighed dramatically. “I know, sexy and smart. Deadly combination.”

“Really is. You probably still don’t remember much of it, but I kept tabs on your career after we parted ways. You were deadly. Still are.”

Sarai frowned. To be honest, she was glad she couldn’t remember. She didn’t want to know everything she’d done in the line of duty. She wasn’t that person now.

“Was I laying it on too thick?” she asked.

“A little. But it worked.”

“Don’t be jealous. It was all an act.”

“I’m only a little jealous.”

“But he just got a peek, and you get all of me.”

“I can live with that.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I gotta get us assigned a docking bay and all that.”

“And I have to go calm Lenaja down. She’s hiding in your cabin having a panic attack.”

“Nah, she’s tougher than that.”

“No, I’m serious. I can hear her thoughts. She’s freaking out.”

“Better go then.”

“Better. Love you.”

“You too,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way back to the flight deck.