Planet Talcador.
Hive beneath the fallen Syndicate tower. Its location—only known to Eve, Mira, and the Syndicate.
"You're still using Barnard?" Eve asked Custard, the first Syndicate leader she had met—and the one she had named that.
"His services are no longer of use to us, nor ours to him. Mother Cetra is back to normal. Cybernetforms are safe. The leaders are safe. That's that."
"I need intel."
"The woman who's been giving the IC a tough time?"
"I can take her on any time. But I have to watch out for my team at the same time. I'll choose my moment."
"So it's about her maker, then."
Experience had taught Eve—Syndicate leaders always knew enough.
"Baalthore."
"You're no longer a leader. Why should we…"
"It's a nice hideout. You've done well since I took down that tower."
"We took down the tower," the leader reminded her, noting that she had been aided in the conspiracy. "Nonetheless, point taken. This is one of our most important bases. We can't afford to lose our operations here. Which I must reinstate—are neutral. Here, we just advance scientific research. Your badge was made in one of the facilities like this."
"What does the Syndicate know so far?"
"Baalthore does work for the Thelarians. He came to us. But his skills were far inferior to his brother's. Not to mention his mental instability."
"Keep talking."
"Well, the bastard turned out to be promising after all. We tried to kill him—an asset we couldn't use and we couldn't afford to let fall into Thelarian hands. But they had already moved him to the fortress."
"The Eclipse Corridor."
"I must confess… The Dark Galaxy is still far out—even for the Syndicate."
"But the Syndicate never stops tracking." Eve said ironically.
"That's true. You know how we work. Like those Clarion clones," Custard smashed her irony right back into her face.
Eve almost bit her lip. The fuck?
How could the Syndicate know about that?
"How do you think Baalthore perfected his final piece? The foundation was laid on countless corpses—your experimental clones. Successes and failures."
Now she regretted leaving the Syndicate without fully tapping into their secrets. Still, their help had saved many lives. Her reason for leaving was honor. She wasn't going to spy on them. And she didn't.
Watching Eve lost in thought, he spoke again.
"So it's not the immediate threat that worries you. It's the fact they might end up creating more like her."
"It's more than that. I have reason to believe Baalthore might've been there… when I was made."
"So it's personal as well. In that case, you'd want to meet him."
"Can you help me?"
"We might be able to arrange a meeting."
There was silence. Eve stood, ready to leave.
"Since you're into deep space archaeology… may I interest you in the work we've been doing here? Care to visit the lab?"
Eve paused and turned. "Might as well."
"Let me give you a tour," he said, getting up and escorting Eve.
.
.
.
A few days later.
Nomad's rooftop observatory.
A beautiful galactic constellation shimmered through crystal-clear glass. A long, wide corridor wrapped around the observatory, allowing the Nomad crew to relax and take in the breathtaking view of deep space—starlight, colors, and all the beauty of the void.
Eve was taking a stroll with Hannah, who had almost fully recovered.
They were talking and laughing about days gone by. About Mario, Noora, Sal Parlos, and the bounty-hunting days. About when both Eve and Hannah hungered for sex, drink, and action. About memories of the first Mira.
Hannah had no other real friend. She had only Eve. And while Hannah was still wild, Eve had moved on.
They remained there for a few hours—until Mira walked in and approached.
"An escort ship has been sent to pick you up," Mira said.