A week passed in a state of surreal, suspended chaos. For the fleet gathered outside the transparent sphere, it was the greatest reality show in the universe. For Captain Eva Rostova, it was a waking nightmare. Her life had become an endless, agonizing conference call.
"Captain," her comms officer announced, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Prophet Manny of the Noodle Cult, line one. He says it's a matter of 'cosmic urgency'."
Rostova squeezed the bridge of her nose, the gesture becoming as familiar as her own heartbeat. "Put him through," she sighed.
Manny's face, beaming with an almost painful sincerity, filled the screen. "High Priestess Rostova! A glorious day in His infinite serenity!" he boomed. "The faithful have a query. We have noticed the Administrator sleeps a great deal. Is this a sacred slumber, in which he dreams new realities into existence, or is it a divine metaphor for the restful peace that awaits all true believers?"
Rostova stared at his earnest face. This was her life now. She was no longer a starship captain; she was the unwilling secretary for a sleeping god, fielding theological questions from a man who worshipped noodles. She remembered the Administrator's final, unambiguous instruction: Don't bother me.
"Prophet Manny," she said, her voice a finely-tuned instrument of calm authority she didn't feel. "His rest is not a metaphor. It is a lesson. The universe is loud. The Administrator is quiet. You would be wise to learn from his example."
Manny's eyes filled with tears of profound understanding. "A lesson in sacred silence! Of course! You are a font of wisdom, High Priestess! We shall begin a week of silent noodle-eating in his honor immediately!"
The screen went blank. Rostova let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She was getting far too good at this.
From his penthouse overlooking the gleaming spires of Neo-Alexandria, Arthur Penwright slammed his fist on his onyx desk. He had just received his seventeenth message from the Stardust Drifter. It was another polite, sterile, and utterly useless refusal of his request for sensor data.
He was being stonewalled by that infuriating captain, who seemed more interested in placating a mob of noodle-worshipping fanatics than engaging in legitimate scientific inquiry. He felt the bitter sting of academic pride. He was the one who had discovered the entity! He was the only one who truly grasped its significance!
Fine. If Rostova wouldn't give him the data, he would find his own. An entity of this magnitude couldn't have just appeared from nowhere. It was a Nexus, a fundamental constant given form. Somewhere in the millions of years of history scattered across the Shattered Starry Sea, there had to be another mention, another legend, another clue.
He turned to a new console, his fingers flying. His research query had changed. He was no longer searching for energy signatures. He was searching for myths.
Aboard her silent, black warship, the Elven Arbiter watched the cosmic circus with the cool, detached patience of a predator. The Xylosian captain was a surprisingly effective pawn, managing the chaos with a weary competence. But it was all a stalemate. The flies were buzzing, but none of them dared to touch the web.
It was time to introduce a catalyst.
She closed her silver eyes, her long fingers steepling before her. She was a Rank 3 Awakener, a master of will and perception. Her mind reached out across the void, not with the brute force of a transmission, but with the subtle, insidious touch of a suggestion. She didn't target the strong-willed captain or the fanatical prophet. She targeted the weakest link in the chain—the most venal, the most desperate, the most greedy.
On the bridge of the Bad Omen, the mercenary Grokk was stewing in a cocktail of fear and frustration. His ship was finally back online, but the memory of the silent, effortless shutdown was a cold stone in his gut. The billion-credit protection bounty from the cult was tempting, but it felt like taking a handout.
Then, a new thought, sharp and brilliant as a shard of glass, sliced through his indecision. It felt like his own idea, a moment of pure, predatory genius.
The Xylosian ship isn't a guard; it's a prison. They're trapped, too. That energy blast wasn't a defense; it was an accidental burp from a sleeping giant. The field is a cage, not a shield, and all cages have a lock… or a weak point. The reward for protecting him is for cowards. The reward for capturing him… that's the real prize.
The cold stone of fear in his gut was instantly vaporized by a bonfire of all-consuming greed. His eyes, which had been wary, now gleamed with a reckless, feverish light.
"I've got it," he growled, slamming a meaty, four-fingered hand on the console.
"Got what?" his reptilian partner hissed. "An escape plan? I hope it's an escape plan."
"Better," Grokk grinned, a terrifying sight. "An attack plan. Power up the Void Drill. Target the energy node at the sphere's north pole. That captain is playing zookeeper, but she forgot to lock the door."
The Arbiter, light-years away, allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The fly was now heading for the web. And the spider was about to wake up.