Orn had a lot to think about, especially when it came
to Hera.
He could see—could feel—that she was barely holding
herself together, teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. Of course, it
had been surprising to him that she would have such an intense reaction to
seeing his eyes. The sheer wave of Psionic energy he'd sensed emanating from
her both times she'd fallen into that trance was significant enough that he was
seriously contemplating making a call to the Order of the White Ones.
What was happening to Hera was as strange to him as it
clearly was terrifying to her. This was something he had never experienced
before, never even heard of in all his years of study. It was possible she was
a late bloomer—someone whose Psionic abilities manifested far later than the
typical childhood awakening. But he'd still never encountered a situation quite
like hers, regardless of how well-documented knowledge about Psi and Psionics
was throughout the empire.
"The original reason I brought you here,
Hera," Orn began, settling back onto the couch and choosing his words
carefully, "is to discuss our current situation. The situation with your
eyes and the Psi—that's a surprise. But I will help you." He paused,
making sure she was listening. "For now, I believe we should avoid you
making direct eye contact with me when I'm not wearing my mask. At least until
we can figure out what's happening to you."
She gave him a curt nod of agreement, her jaw tight.
Orn took a breath and continued. "I need to find
my mother and sister. And where I'm going to search, I can't go as an official
member of the Aegean Empire's military. I could be gone for extended periods,
chasing down leads and following trails that may lead nowhere." He held up
a hand before she could interrupt. "But of course, never during active
combat situations or when my presence is required. I'm not abandoning my
duties."
He leaned forward slightly. "What I'm saying is
this: right now, I don't care about personal ambition, power, or glory. But all
of this—" he gestured vaguely to encompass the ship around them, "—is
necessary for my continued survival within the empire's structure. I don't
trust you. You've always seemed to have it out for me, for reasons I've never
fully understood. But I know what you're capable of."
His voice took on a note of respect despite their
rivalry. "You're a better tactical soldier than I am, Hera. The only thing
that's kept you in second place is my access to Psi and the specialized
training that comes with it. And you know as well as I do that Psi is the true
foundation of the Aegean Empire's power."
He stood, pacing slowly. "I can help you. I can
teach you, train you in ways that no academy ever could. And more importantly,
I'm willing to tie your name irrevocably to mine. The youngest Admiral in the
galaxy and his warrior concubine—your reputation will rise with mine. All the
glory I achieve will reflect on you by virtue of our bond."
Orn turned to face her directly. "At some point, I believe we can elevate you to official wife status rather than concubine,
giving you even more authority and standing. You will get what you want—I'll
make sure of it. In return, I need you to be capable of running my fleet and
army in my absence. I need you to keep my secrets. And I need you to never
betray me."
A heavy pause.
"So if there are things we need to resolve between
us, issues we need to work through... I believe now is as good a time as any to
start."
Hera didn't respond. How could she?
Her entire understanding of herself—of what she was
capable of, of what she was—had been shaken to its very foundation. Nothing
else Orn was saying was truly penetrating the shock that still reverberated
through her mind.
Awakening Psi was momentous. It was one of the things
she'd been chasing her entire life, a dream she'd nearly given up on after
being told repeatedly that her window had closed, that she'd never cross that
threshold.
The awakening process, especially in people who had
shown latent traits, could be artificially induced and successfully carried
out. But that required a certain level of authority and connections, more money
than this frigate could ever generate in a decade of successful campaigns, and
most critically—an in with the Order of the White Ones.
The Order had an absolute stranglehold on the empire's
Psionic development, not just through their religious authority but through
their monopoly on the reagents that could induce awakening. More importantly,
they controlled access to the priests capable of performing the rituals
themselves.
The knowledge was so jealously guarded that the priests
who learned it underwent voluntary mutilation—cutting out their own tongues,
blinding their own eyes, and rupturing their own eardrums to ensure the secrets
could never be tortured or telepathically extracted from them. They performed
the awakenings entirely through tactile sensation and their deep understanding
of Psi itself.
They'd done this to protect themselves and prevent
kidnapping from rival empires and factions that would do anything to steal
those secrets. The method, whatever it truly was, represented the perfect way
to build an army of immensely powerful Psi users. Such power would be unmatched
anywhere in the galaxy.
But not everyone survived the process.
It had an eighty-five percent mortality rate,
especially if the candidate wasn't carefully selected, prepared, and deemed
ready. The physical and mental stress of forcing a mind to awaken could easily
destroy it instead.
But ultimately, here she was—experiencing a natural
awakening. And just as Orn had said, it was because of him. Because of his
eyes. Because of whatever strange resonance existed between them.
She wasn't sure what to feel about that. She'd hated
his guts for so long, and up until a few minutes ago, that hatred had been
ironclad, unshakeable. Then he'd removed his mask and turned out to be so
impossibly beautiful that even now she could see his face when she closed her
eyes.
And those eyes... those eyes were something else
entirely.
"Hera!"
Orn's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. She
looked up to find him standing, concern evident even through his mask.
"We're still in orbit," he said, his tone
gentler now. "Take three hours to reorient yourself. Then I need you to
prepare the ship for departure to the Keres jump gate." He paused.
"There's no need to be so overwhelmed—though I understand why you are.
I've been a Psionic since I was three years old, so this world, this life—it's
more familiar to me than it could possibly be to you right now."
He gestured toward the suite's interior. "Take
some time. But I need my First Officer back once you've gotten your thoughts in
order. We share this suite, so make yourself at home." His voice took on
the clipped tone of command. "You're dismissed, Major."
Hera stood immediately, muscle memory and training
overriding her emotional turmoil. She snapped off a perfect salute before
turning and moving deeper into the suite.
It had two bedrooms—a master and a guest. She chose the
guest bedroom, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss, leaving a
still-shirtless Orn alone with his thoughts in the living area.
Hera was most definitely a surprise—one he hadn't seen
coming.
In the span of just a few moments, she'd transformed
from a political burden into something potentially invaluable. Of course, he
didn't know the full extent of what she might become yet, so it would be unwise
to jump to conclusions about her ultimate value to his plans.
But he could trust one thing: ambition or no ambition,
she was a true soldier. Someone he could trust to get the job done, to follow
orders even when she disagreed with them. That was worth more than gold in his
position.
Of course, with his first wife having already tried to
have him murdered, Orn was very much prepared to keep all women at arm's length
for the foreseeable future—emotionally speaking, at least. Trust would have to
be earned through action, not assumed through ceremony.
Still, they were bound together now. Forever.
This wasn't the liberal Theocracy of the Black Sun,
where marriages could be dissolved at will and duty was a suggestion rather
than a sacred obligation. Orn and Hera would be spending the rest of their
lives together whether they liked it or not—unless something truly catastrophic
happened to separate them.
The problem Orn faced now was figuring out how to make
Hera truly loyal to him. Not just obedient out of duty, but loyal—willing to
stand by his side through anything.
The fact that he could honestly acknowledge that the
only thing holding her back from surpassing him was her lack of Psi... that
meant she possessed incredible talent. Raw, undeniable talent.
If you asked Orn, he wouldn't just say Psi was an
advantage—he'd say it was an outright cheat code for life. He'd cheated his way
to the top, especially considering just how absurdly powerful his own Psionic
abilities were compared to most.
Hera, on the other hand, was the very embodiment of
hard work, natural talent, and sheer potential. She might think he'd had
everything handed to him, and to some extent that was true. But Orn had also
worked just as hard as everyone else—harder, even, because the expectations
placed on him were impossibly high.
Even so, he could never match the intensity of Hera's
drive.
Her ambition and her relentless determination could
only be matched by one other person he knew—his own father. She had persistence
and discipline on a level most people couldn't even comprehend, and it was
something Orn knew would take her far if properly channeled.
Now that fate had placed her directly in front of him,
he needed to figure out how to access and redirect that drive. She was
ambitious, yes—but Orn recognized talent when he saw it, and he wanted her
loyalty, her dedication, all to himself.
He needed to figure out a way to become bigger than her
ambition. To become the vehicle through which she achieved everything she'd
ever wanted.
Whatever Hera ultimately became—Psionic or mundane—she
had extraordinary talent. And it was only by virtue of their arranged marriage
that he'd been able to get her aboard this ship as his first Officer. She was considered just as valuable
as he was by those who knew her capabilities. Add awakening Psi into the
equation, and she might become even more valuable than him.
If she'd been discovered and claimed by someone else...
they would have struck gold, gained an incredible asset.
But he had her now. And he had to make absolutely
certain it stayed that way.
As he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift
toward a light, dreamless rest, Orn contemplated what he truly wanted from this
marriage with Hera.
He didn't want simple loyalty. He didn't want some
foolish, emotional situation driven by something as unreliable as love.
No.
What he wanted was for Hera Kiranti to one day be able
to stand before the entire empire—before all the known galaxies—and without a
shred of doubt or hesitation, declare that she would die for him. That she
would kill for him. That his enemies were her enemies, his goals her goals.
Because given what he hoped to achieve, what he planned
to build, he didn't just need fiercely loyal subordinates around him.
He needed fanatics.
People with loyalty bordering on religious devotion.
And Hera was going to be his first true convert.
MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE STELLARIS CLUSTER
Carneas watched as the newest batch of slaves settled
into their holding pens—former proud citizens of the Aegean Empire, now reduced
to chattel and manual labor. He chuckled and shook his head in dark amusement.
These poor bastards had no idea who they were dealing
with.
But then again, that was the entire point of being a
covert operative for the Black Sun Theocracy. Pirate by day, secret agent by
night. The perfect cover.
He moved out of the cramped tunnel they'd been
excavating for the past three weeks, his muscles aching from the constant
physical labor. Whatever was hidden within this ancient facility must be
powerful beyond measure to have driven the normally cautious Black Sun
leadership into such a frenzy of activity.
Carneas was a soldier through and through—had been
since he was old enough to hold a weapon. But many years of pillaging,
plundering, and generally making life hell for merchant convoys had made him
more... comfortable with the pirate lifestyle than he'd ever expected.
The Theocracy paid extremely well for his services. In
fact, just to ensure this particular operation went off without any
complications, they'd hired five separate pirate captains to secure the area
and prevent any unwanted visitors from getting too close.
They were currently operating within an asteroid belt
that Carneas was fairly certain had once been a planet—or perhaps a moon, or
even an entire asteroid colony—that had been catastrophically destroyed at some
point in the distant past. Probably smashed to pieces by some ancient
superweapon during one of the countless wars that had raged through this region
over the millennia.
Still, it didn't matter what the belt used to be.
What mattered was what it was now: a treasure trove of
ancient technology and forgotten knowledge.
The belt was composed of thousands of asteroids of
varying sizes. Some of the larger ones—nearly the size of small moons—had been
discovered near the center of the formation. These massive rocks held intact
facilities and space stations that were still partially functional despite
their age. Many of them appeared to have been shipbuilding yards, research
laboratories, and military installations.
Their defensive position was nearly perfect. They were
situated right in the middle of the belt, which possessed a stable—if
mysterious—gravitational field that caused the asteroids to orbit around a
central point, creating a massive, slowly rotating grinder of rock and metal.
It didn't move particularly fast, but navigating through it would require an
extremely experienced and talented pilot with nerves of steel.
And all the viable approach vectors that could be used
to access this central area were already secured and monitored. They were
well-protected and defended by Carneas and the other pirate captains under
contract.
It was an ideal situation. Hardly anyone had discovered
their presence yet.
There was a planet nearby—relatively speaking—and
Carneas suspected that at some point in the distant past, this asteroid belt
might have been gravitationally bound to it, either as a satellite system or
perhaps as a sister planet before whatever cataclysm had shattered it.
Many of the Aegean Empire's military vessels had passed
by this belt entirely, choosing instead to focus their attention on the fierce
battle raging on the planet's surface for control of another ancient shipyard
facility. The Theocracy had been deliberately throwing wave after wave of
soldiers at the Empire in a brutal war of attrition, keeping them distracted
and occupied.
Meanwhile, some of their best researchers had
discovered ancient records suggesting a connection between that shipyard and
this asteroid belt. They'd been covertly sent here to investigate and uncover
whatever secrets lay hidden in these ruins.
Ever since Carneas had arrived, the constant background
hum of ambient Psi radiating from the various asteroid structures had been his
constant companion. This place was soaked in Psionic energy—far more than any
natural formation should possess.
This place was special. Significant. And it probably
contained secrets that could advance the Theocracy's technology by
years—possibly even decades. Or, if they got really lucky, they might uncover
something that would catapult their civilization forward by centuries.
Successfully excavating and securing this site would
earn him a comfortable retirement with the highest military honors, more money
than he could spend in three lifetimes, and enough reputation to drink and fuck
himself into an early grave in absolute comfort and luxury.
It was the perfect arrangement.
But he needed to be careful.
There had been too many documented cases throughout
history of excavations like this accidentally unleashing some deadly bioweapon,
awakening ancient defense systems, or disturbing slumbering horrors that had
been sealed away for very good reasons.
It was imperative they proceed with extreme caution.
While he could practically smell the victory, the retirement fund, and the
absolute mountain of money waiting at the end of this operation... places like
this always came with significant dangers alongside their opportunities.
It was as if the ancient civilizations had been more
obsessed with protecting their secrets through deadly traps than they'd been
interested in actually using those secrets.
Nevertheless, it wasn't long before he heard a sharp,
reverberating crack echoing through the tunnels—the sound of reinforced metal
finally giving way under sustained pressure.
One of the primary doors leading deeper into the
facility had finally been breached.
The moment the seal broke, the ambient weight of Psi in
the entire area increased dramatically, becoming almost oppressive. The air
itself seemed to thicken, to press down on them like an invisible hand.
And then... the voices started.
Whispers at first, barely audible over the sounds of
machinery and excavation. Then growing louder. Clearer.
"Pain... Pain... pain... PAIN!... Death!"
And that's when the
screaming began.