There was something ominous about the knock on the hatch the next morning, as Maggie went to full alert. “Stay back,” she warned Diggs, as she approached the portal with a wary eye before opening it. A trio in Corsair uniforms stood on the other side.

“Maggie Al-Hajjah?” the leader asked.

“Maggie Rademacher,” she corrected him, as her well-honed survival sense kicked into high gear. “What do ya want?”

“We’re here to escort you to the Admiral,” he answered. “It’s rather urgent.”

“Can’t imagine I got anythin’ to say to the Admiral,” she grunted. “Tell him thanks, but no thanks.” The Tinker moved to close the hatch...only to be stopped as the Corsair placed his hand on the frame, blocking her efforts.

“I’m afraid I must insist,” he continued. “My orders are explicit.”

“Hey, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” Maggie protested. “You got no right.”

“All individuals aboard a Corsair vessel are subject to our regulations, whether they are Clan members or guests,” he recited. “Which means, I’m afraid, that I do have the right.” He softened for a moment, letting the professional mask slip. “You’re not in any trouble that I’m aware of Ma’am,” he said, his bearing now more affable. “And while the Admiral didn’t tell me why he sent for you I get the impression it’s important. So please, if you would just accompany us, it would make things simpler all around.”

“And if I don’t cooperate?” she demanded; her chin thrust out in defiance.

The Corsair sighed. “Like I said, my orders are clear. I can take you to him one of two ways...as an honored guest, or as a prisoner in chains.” The woman to his left held up a set of handcuffs for emphasis, which he either failed to notice, or ignored. “I would prefer the former, but if I’m not given that option…” He left the rest dangling.

There’s bein’ stubborn, and there’s bein’ a damn fool, Maggie thought to herself, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “All right, no need to get riled,” she told him, as she waved Diggs over to join her. “The boy stays with me, though.”

He raised an eyebrow as Diggs appeared at her side, mulling it over. “Very well,” he nodded, not wishing to press the issue. “Right this way.”

Maggie’s mind raced as he led them through the corridors. Why the hell would the Admiral want to see her? There wasn’t a damn reason she could think of, but her gut told her the Corsair was on the level, which brought her right back to where she’d started. Why?

Reckon I’ll find out soon enough, she reasoned, as they entered an office suite. A Yeoman stood at the entrance, a plaque over her shoulder engraved Admiral Kichirō Van Aalst, Commanding. “The Admiral is expecting you,” she said, opening the hatch and ushering them inside.

A tall man with thinning gray hair rose from behind the desk, coming around to greet them. “Thank you for coming,” he smiled, reaching out to shake her hand. “I apologize for the inconvenience.” He nodded at her escort, dismissing them. They exited without a word.

“...it’s all right,” Maggie shrugged, keeping Diggs close. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

The Admiral exhaled, gesturing to a set of comfortable chairs. “Please, have a seat,” he told her, looking at Diggs. “Your son?”

“No,” she replied, not bothering to elaborate, as they both sat down. “So tell me why I’m here.”

Van Aalst sat down across from her. “To make a long story short, we’ve been looking for you for a while now. Years, in fact, but you’ve been difficult to track down.”

“Like I told your boy, I ain’t done nothin’,” she snapped. “Why the hell would you be looking for me? How did you even find me?” Maggie froze for a moment, then grimaced. “Júlio,” she snarled.

“He is my Chief Engineer,” he said without apology. “I imagine he would have brought you in himself, had your conversation not ended on such an...unhappy note.” Maggie folded her arms, looking cross as he continued. “Once he reported your presence here on Freya, we checked with your Clan representative. He pointed us to your berthing assignment.”

“Congratulations,” she said, “but that still don’t answer the question. Why?”

The Admiral met her gaze. “Because of your mission to Earth.”

Warning klaxons howled in her head as she grabbed Diggs by the arm. “Come on, we’re leavin’,” she said in a rush, getting to her feet and all but dragging the boy to the hatch...which remained closed despite her presence.

“I’m just asking for a few minutes of your time, Maggie,” he explained. “That’s all.”

“Let me out,” she snarled.

The Admiral sighed once again. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

She spun on her heel, pointing an accusing finger at the Clan Leader. “I’ll save you the trouble. The answer is no, squiddie.”

“Maggie, we need you,” he said quietly. “You’re the only member of the original mission that’s still alive. No one else can tell us what you can.”

That brought her up short. “...that’s impossible. What about the Avatar...Mallus?”

He picked up a folder from the table beside him, opening it. “His source code became unstable eighteen years ago,” the Admiral answered. “All attempts to reboot from backup files failed. His program...derezzed.”

“That...ain’t supposed to happen,” she whispered.

“No, it isn’t,” Kichirō agreed. “Officially the cause is listed as ‘Unknown’. Unofficially?” He took a deep breath. “There has been some speculation his code was...altered, somehow.”

“That ain’t supposed to happen either,” Maggie repeated, collapsing into a chair as Diggs looked on nervously. “What about the Protean? Umm...Chikere?”

“Malignant Apoptosis, fifteen years ago.” he said. “Her cells destroyed themselves.” He picked up another folder. “Shuttle accident. Sixteen years ago.” Another folder. “Natural causes...only there was no autopsy, and the body vanished. Fourteen years ago.” She sat there, stunned, as he closed the file and leaned back in his chair. “Since you’ve been living off the grid all these years, Maggie...that might just be the reason you’re still alive.”

She could only stare in confusion. “...I don’t understand,” she said, “the mission was a fuckin’ disaster. Why would anybody even care about us?”

“Care enough to kill you, you mean?” He folded his hands, “I’m not an investigator Maggie...but all these deaths?” He shook his head. “I believe someone wants your mission buried...along with the survivors. As for why, that’s the reason we’ve been looking for your since those deaths first appeared on our radar. Whoever’s behind this wants something, I suspect, but what that is?” The Admiral shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Diggs made a noise, pulling her out of her shocked state, only to realize she was squeezing his hand too hard. She forced herself to relax her grip, taking a moment to ruffle his hair as she fought to understand. “You must know somethin’,” Maggie insisted, “or at least have a fuckin’ guess.”

“Oh, those we have...in abundance, you might say. Each more outlandish than the last.” He rose and went to a wall monitor, bringing up a display of the Perseus Arm. “But setting aside for the moment the idea one of the Clans is behind this…” She brought his oration to a crashing halt as Maggie barked out a bitter laugh. “I’m sorry, did I say something funny?” The tone of his voice suggested humor was the last thing on his mind.

“We always wanna blame the fuckin’ aliens,” she snorted, “and why not? The way they treat us, it’s just too easy.” She leaned forward, jabbing her finger in the air. “But some of the Clans have meddled where they shouldn’t, so don’t go writin’ ‘em off just yet.”

The Admiral’s jaw clenched as he fought back a retort. “If you have proof of this...not conjecture, not hearsay, but physical evidence of Clan involvement...official policy, not just the work of a few individuals, then I will gladly take a look.” He stared down at her. “Do you have such evidence?”

Maggie’s eyes fell. “...not exactly,” she mumbled. “But I know what I know.”

Van Aalst took a deep breath. “If we start a witch hunt now, we’ll tear apart everything we’ve struggled to build. It’ll mean the Clan Wars, all over again.” The pair looked at each other as the reality of that statement seeped into their bones. “I will not do that, not without a damn good reason.” He paused, waiting for the Tinker to respond.

“No one wants that,” Maggie said. “I hope you’re watchin’ your back though...screw that...I hope you’re watchin’ mine.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” he promised her. “I don’t think any of the Clans are behind this. I could be wrong, but my gut tells me someone else is pulling the strings.”

“Maybe,” she said, still unconvinced. “If it ain’t one of the Clans, then who?”

The Admiral touched the screen as three systems lit up. “We think it’s one of the Troika,” he told her, using the unofficial name for the three most powerful races in the sector, pointing out each system. “The Tu’udh’hizh’ak Empire, the Eleexx Suzerainty, or the Aggaaddub Hegemony.”

“No way are they workin’ together,” Maggie told him. “They hate each other too much.”

“In fact, they might...if they saw this as an opportunity to stab one of the others in the back,” the Admiral pointed out. “If it raised their status while lowering their enemy’s…”

“I guess it’s possible,” she admitted, “but I still don’t see why. What’s the gain here?”

Van Aalst moved back to rejoin her, sitting back down and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Is it possible there’s some scrap of data from the mission that might interest them? Some bit of information you may have overlooked?”

“Fuck...it was forty years ago,” she groaned, “and I was just a kid. Maybe?” Maggie shrugged. “That’s the best I can give you. Hell, I’ve spent all this time tryin’ to forget what happened.”

From the expression on the Admiral’s face, that wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. “Maggie...there’s a group of people I want you to talk to. I want you to hear what they have to say.”

She gave him a distrustful glare. “What people?” she demanded.

She’d tried getting Diggs to wait for her, wanting to keep him safe, but he refused to leave her side. The Admiral himself had tried prying him loose, only to earn a growl and bared teeth. In the end they bowed to the inevitable, allowing him to stay with her as they were escorted deeper into the ship, far from the more public areas the holiday goers had frequented. They arrived at a hatch guarded by a phalanx of security…a mixed group, composed of sentries from most of the Clans. That by itself was odd, but when the hatch slid open and they entered the compartment, she got an even bigger surprise.

A group of men and women were seated around a conference table, including one space taken up by a video monitor, displaying a blue caterpillar wearing a red cylindrical cap with a tassel, blowing smoke rings on the screen. Some she recognized by sight, others by reputation, and as the scene clicked into place Maggie staggered, reaching out to grab a bulkhead for support, realizing for the first time just how far she’d strayed from protected obscurity.

As the Admiral took his seat with the others, her eyes drifted from one face to the next. To his left sat Diplom-Ingenieur Kalina Svéd, leader of her own Tinker Clan, her sleeves rolled up and hands stained as if she’d had just finished tearing apart some random piece of machinery. They had met years ago, before her elevation to Clan head, and they hadn’t hit it off. She eyed Maggie with a focused stare, as if she was running a diagnostic.

Beside her was Grand Master Osman Makar, of the Knight’s Hospitaller, wearing black robes with a white Maltese Cross emblazoned on his breast. He folded his hands on the table, a curious expression on his face. Something about him reminded her of Joona, as she felt once again the pain of his loss.

Next was the Valkyrie Commandant Gerel Zakiyya, as hard a bitch as was ever born. Metal prosthetics had replaced her left arm and right leg, and as she puffed on a cigarillo made of...something...she eyed her like she was calculating how fast she could draw the pistol under her arm if Maggie stepped out of line.

She would have recognized the man sitting to her left anywhere. Princeps Jibril of the Proteans had wide cat-like eyes, the pupils thin and elongated from top to bottom. He was toying with a pen, spinning it round and round...and it appeared he not only had at least one extra finger, but extra joints. It gave him incredible dexterity, which made her wonder what other options the aliens had given him.

Considering who else was sitting at the table, the aforementioned caterpillar could only be the Sibyl KriZ/AliZ, Clan leader of the Avatars. He...she?...it?...regarded her placidly, puffing on an anachronistic hookah. It was known to project unusual images on its monitor, a trait shared by many of his Clan members. As a whole they seemed to delight in upending convention, something she’d learned from personal experience. Whatever its opinion was, it was keeping their cards close to the vest.

And finally, the flowing robes and bright colors made it easy to spot the Dharmist. Dàifu Tsoumlum Khatsakhox had removed all her hair, making her appear even more alien, as some sort of tattoo flowed down the right side of her head, past her shoulders. Her expression was impossible to read.

All seven Clan leaders here, gathered in one spot.

“Fuck me,” Maggie groaned. “This can’t be good.”