“We won’t be taking your ship?”

Samuel Blake shakes his head and laughs.

“Oh, no. The Bluebell is my home, but it’s not fit for what we’ll be flying into. See, the Bluebell was my first, and I’ll always love it, but the Irrepressible is my masterpiece. I can’t imagine a better ship to go to war with.”

Somehow, the topic of how we’d be getting to our destination, somewhere within Neptune’s orbit, never came up during planning. More accurately, everyone else acted like it was obvious, and I didn’t raise my hand and admit my ignorance. I assumed it would be better to ask someone privately afterwards, though the opportunity never arose during planning. Which is why I ended up only finding out mere hours before we were set to leave.

According to Blake, I won’t get a chance to see the spacecraft’s exterior in person, since we’ll be translocating directly onboard, but there were enough pictures in its database entry on the Council’s computer to satisfy my curiosity. His first ship had been built during the forties, with the resources and funds that the American government at that time could spare. The Irrepressible was built without any constraints at all, save the laws of physics- and even those were more like guidelines. The Council provided as much money as Blake claimed to need, and whatever that money couldn’t buy, he built himself. The actual construction was done by Machina’s company, Avnil Inc., with Blake merely a ‘consultant.’ It incorporated decades of modern technological advancements, as well as the personal expertise of Marcus Robards and Eric Beringer, not to mention salvaged alien technology from the Andromedan war, and what Blake had brought back from his extraterrestrial voyage. ‘Masterpiece’ wasn’t even a slight exaggeration.

The ship was constructed ‘Earthside,’ but lacked the capacity to escape the gravity well alone, necessitating a set of booster rockets to get it into orbit. Robards passed the whole thing off as part of his company’s global defense initiative, protecting the world from future extraterrestrial attacks. Not completely far off, in the end.

Gilgamesh, Sandra, Donovan and Beringer are waiting for us on the ship already. Network got there before even them, in the sense that he has bodies stationed on the ship at all times, performing maintenance and upkeep. They’ll be crewing the vessel during our journey as well, in every seat except the captain’s, which is reserved for Blake himself. The Irrepressible doesn’t require a large crew, but it does require a well-trained one, and most of the Council lacks that training. Machina is the sole exception, though I’ll be doing my best to get familiar with the ship’s inner workings in my time aboard it. My rapid-learning power is useful, but in a certain sense, Network’s does the same thing more efficiently, because he can study dozens of new skills at once, while his other bodies do thousands of other complex tasks independently. He isn’t exactly a hive mind, where a single intelligence controls every part of the collective, but neither are the individual bodies wholly independent, as they share information in real-time. Not for the first time, I’m glad that he’s on my side.

Astro and I are preparing to follow the others up to the ship. It’s a somewhat slow process, as all of our bags have to be translocated individually, then removed on the other end, so that the chambers can be sterilized. If we skipped that part of the process, and let any foreign matter in the chamber during a translocation, it could have painful consequences. Not because we might end up part-fly, of course. The translocators don’t deconstruct and reconstruct its users. Even putting aside the philosophical question of whether we’d be the same person afterwards, that technology just doesn’t exist yet. Instead, it simply compresses space between two points for a split second, shunting an object from one place to another near-instantaneously. As it’s been explained to me, this only works if the object being transported has a functioning beacon, and the destination has a functioning receiver. Otherwise, the targeting system can’t do its job properly, which might lead to space being folded in unpredictable ways. Even a stray speck of dust might be enough to foul everything up. Relying on such a sensitive device does make me a little nervous, but the utility it provides is too great to pass up.

The indicator on my implant goes from red to green, confirming that the arrival chambers aboard the Irrepressible are no longer in use. None of us are bringing a ton of luggage, but the journey will still take a few days, even with the subspace drive saving us time. I have no intention of sleeping in my suit, a sentiment which it seems the others share as well. Now that the last of our bags are aboard, Blake and I can follow. He gives me a glance, nods, and then activates his beacon. A moment later, I do the same.

By now, I’ve learned to suppress the disorientation that comes with translocation. Having space folded around you can do unpleasant things to your stomach and inner ear, but it’s much more tolerable when you know what’s coming. In this case, however, my preparedness isn’t an asset, because I only think I know what’s coming. Translocating around the globe is one thing, but space is another entirely. One moment, I’m held firm to the floor by Earth’s gravity- the next, I’m free-floating. Every part of my brain concerned with environmental analysis revolts at the sudden shift in circumstance, and I’m swept with a wave of nausea, only barely preventing myself from filling the inside of my mask with bile. That would be a particularly undignified way to start this mission.

The door to the arrival chamber opens, and I pull myself out, still adjusting to the lack of gravity. This is my first time off-planet, but not my first time in zero-g. The Mass Master, whose technology powers my suit’s slow-fall mode, tiled his lair with antigravity panels, which simulated the same effect, making it a challenge for Jason and I to navigate. Still, that was years ago, and I haven’t had the opportunity to try it again since. Luckily, once I’m out of the chamber, I can switch on the magnetic soles of my boots, an addition made during my preparations for this mission. As novel as floating around the ship might be, it’s not particularly efficient, or dignified. Nor was the ship designed with that kind of movement in mind. Instead, we’re all meant to use magnetic boots to attach ourselves to the floor.

Under these circumstances, ‘floor’ is a bit of a misnomer, as all of the walls are equally magnetic, and the doors are designed to allow entry from ‘above’ and ‘below’ with equivalent ease. Directions are purely relative in zero-gravity, which becomes obvious when Zero rounds the corner, walking on from what my perspective appears to be the ceiling. She looks puzzled for a moment, and pushes herself off, the weak magnets providing little resistance, before reorienting so we’re both on the same plane. Blake is nowhere to be found, presumably having adjusted to the lack of gravity far faster than me, and hurried off to get settled in.

“Welcome aboard,” Lai says by way of greeting, offering a sarcastic salute. I return the gesture in kind, regretting that my mask hides the fact that I’m matching her grin with one of my own. Of course, the oxygen supply aboard the ship means I don’t need to be wearing my helmet at the moment, so I take a moment to remove it. Zero isn’t wearing a flight suit, or even her combat gear, just casual clothes.

“My stuff-”

“Already moved it to your room.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, just keeping myself busy.”

Zero’s never seemed like the restless type to me, but upon consideration, it seems likely that she’s had access to a constant stream of information at all times, until now. The lag time between here and servers on the surface has to be non-negligible, and with that kind of delay, I’m sure Lai feels like a digital cripple. Once we get going, she won’t be able to get online at all, leaving her restricted to the ship’s internal network.

“Well, I could use a tour guide, if you don’t have anything better to do.”

“Sure, why not. Have you heard from the others? Any idea when they’ll be arriving?”

It seems that without a screen projected onto her retinas at all times, Zero is a little less focused. Or perhaps a little too focused. I’m reminded of Atalanta, particularly how she was when we first met. Always active, always looking for some way to expend her excess energy. With Lai, it’s more that her attention is always divided between a dozen things, and right now, she has to make do with just one.

“No clue.”

Machina, Pallas and Geas are our stragglers. They all have the largest presences in the world out of our group, Network excepted, which probably explains their absences. Still, I sympathize with Sandra’s impatience. Sitting on a plane, waiting for takeoff, is one of the more tedious experiences a human can undergo. Luckily, I don’t often have to deal with that sort of thing, but even my handful of commercial flights have been painful enough to give me an idea of why she’s annoyed. Of course, if we couldn’t simply translocate up here, the entire process would be far slower, not to mention much more dangerous, but once you’re used to convenience, you begin taking it totally for granted.

“Dammit. Well, they had better not take much longer.”

Her pace swift, Zero leads me on an extremely abbreviated tour of the Irrepressible. First, my quarters, where my bags are waiting as promised. Oddly, the room’s ‘floor’ isn’t contiguous with the hallway outside, but rather on the far wall. From outside, it appears as if the bed is sideways, though once I reorient myself properly, the door can be seen directly overhead. A strange design choice, the sort that’s only possible in zero-gravity. Apparently it makes getting out of bed easy, because you can simply push yourself upwards and out the door.

After my bunk, we stop by the mess hall and common room. All of our food is pre-prepared, but a communal eating place makes some amount of sense, compared to everyone just eating alone in their rooms. Donovan and Professor Superior are playing chess in the common room when we stop by, and the latter gives me a friendly wave. Along the way, I spot a number of people who I can only assume are Network, none of whom look up from their tasks when we pass. Most of the bodies look like normal people, but apparently Network only uses his power on people who deserve it- or, in other words, only in cases where the world would be a better place if he replaced them. That means most of those bodies used to belong to truly irredeemable individuals. Even so, the fact that their personalities were wholly overwritten makes me a little uncomfortable, especially seeing the fairly menial tasks to which their bodies have been put.

My physical disorientation has mostly faded, but as we continue walking, it’s replaced with another, more abstract kind. This operation is far beyond just about anything I’ve ever done. Even during the invasion, I never left Earth’s atmosphere. Now I’m preparing to travel past Jupiter, so I can help take on an alien warship. It was tempting, while I was making arrangements with Adamant and Vindicator, to ask them what their experience as a part of the offensive was. I refrained, hesitant to tip them off as to where I was going. Thanks to my power, though, I have a near-perfect memory. That means I can recall what they said at the time. Not much of it was good.

Back then, it all seemed very far away. I never saw any of the Andromedans up close, and the descriptions I was given were alien enough that I had a hard time imagining what they really looked like. Even when Haley sketched one for me, it seemed like something out of a cartoon, not a real creature. But it won’t be long now before I’m face to face with them.

If any of this is getting to Zero, she doesn’t show it. She’s the most junior member of the Council after me, but her five years with the group have left her largely desensitized to this sort of thing. I’m still not at that point. Beyond the bizarre nature of the mission, there’s also the scale, and the consequences of failure. Despite what the media says, most superheroes don’t actually ‘save the world,’ ever. As I’ve found out, the reason for that is because the Council ensures no truly world-ending threat is ever allowed to come to the public’s attention. Now that I’m a part of this group, it’s my responsibility to help prevent those threats as well. But if we fail, the result is almost unfathomable. Human civilization would be eradicated, but even after, the whole planet would be radically changed. Within just a few decades, it would be unrecognizable from orbit, to say nothing of the view on the ground.

My pessimistic spiral is interrupted by arrival at our final destination on the tour- the bridge. Since the ship has no windows, there’s no reason for it to be positioned at the front of the vessel. Instead, it’s in the very center, a large spherical room with entrances at multiple angles. There are stations all around the inside of the sphere, most of which seem to be occupied by more of Network’s bodies. There are also large holographic screens all over, which show feeds from the ship’s exterior, as well as various other astronomical charts, one of which I recognize as representing our flight path, while others are wholly incomprehensible. At the very center, Samuel Blake sits, in a chair within a semispherical gyroscope. As we enter, the sphere, with a chunk cut out for him to sit inside, rotates to face us. The captain’s chair seems to have been designed so it can spin to face any of the dozens of stations on the bridge at any time. He’s got an array of holographic screens in front of him, as well as a hard-light panel with various buttons, sliders, and other mechanisms of control. He dismisses most of it as we approach, which necessitates deactivating our magnets and floating up to where he’s positioned, since there are no walkways of any kind.

“So,” Blake says, his grin as wide as I’ve ever seen it. “What do you think? Was I exaggerating?”

“Certainly doesn’t seem like it.”

It wouldn’t be entirely appropriate for me to display the depth of my astonishment at the vessel, but Blake can clearly tell I’m impressed.

“Well, wait until you’ve seen what it can do in a fight. These bastards have no idea what they’re up against.”

Before I can come up with a response to that, Zero speaks up.

“Translocator just pinged. Machina’s on his way up.”

Blake frowns for a moment, and brings up his holographic display.

“So they did. Well, that’s good news. Once everyone else is aboard, we’ll meet in the common room before departure.”

“Great. I’m going to go see if he needs any help.”

Zero floats off without another word. It seems that, even cut off from her information network on Earth, she’s more informed than the ship’s captain himself, probably receiving any alerts from the system the moment he gets them, if not sooner.

“Well, I’d love to chat, but there are a few last minute preparations I need to make up here. My distinguished co-pilots can handle most of it, of course, but I prefer to supervise.”

None of Network’s bodies react to that. Considering how much of the ship’s systems are automated, I have to wonder what all of their functions are. Perhaps some simply operate as redundancies, in case the computers fail in some way. After all, the most important people on the planet are this vessel’s passengers. It wouldn’t do for a simple mechanical failure to flush us all out into hard vacuum.

Having been dismissed by Astro, I head out, intending to return to the common room. Unpacking my things can wait- I want to take this opportunity to observe the other members of the Council in a less formal environment.

Of the members who were on the ship when I arrived, Gilgamesh is the only one unaccounted for. Unsurprising- I somehow doubt he’ll even make it to the team meeting before launch. Considering how many lifetimes he claims to have lived, it’s easy to understand why human interaction might be boring. Especially with people he’s met before. His only interest in the members of this group is as tools for him to prevent the world from ending- and, I suppose, as potential causes of that exact event. Moreover, his stated motive for protecting the world is simply because an apocalypse is inconvenient. Should he survive, he’s stuck dealing with food shortages, crumbling infrastructure, and all the other frustrations of a post-civilization planet. Missions like this are just the price he has to pay to live in a world with indoor plumbing.

Donovan and Beringer are still playing when I return to the common room. It’s fairly normal, compared to the command center at least, though there are chairs and tables on both the floor and ceiling. Along the walls are a few less comfortable-looking seats, with serious-looking straps meant to fasten passengers in place, in the event that high-speed maneuvering becomes necessary. The g-forces involved would throw us all around like ragdolls, probably killing us in the process. Even strapped in, it would be extremely unpleasant without the specialized drug cocktail that we’d be injected with.

With any luck, no such maneuvers will be necessary. At least, not while I’m aboard the ship. Deep-space combat is closer to a naval battle than a dogfight, with both ships firing at each other from semi-stationary positions. Smaller vessels, like those that the Andromedan warship carries within its hangars, are capable of evading enemy fire, instead of just shooting it down or absorbing it, but they require pilots with years of training and a high physical tolerance. We won’t be fielding any of those in this fight. But that doesn’t put us at a disadvantage. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

The only time a ship like the Irrepressible ever needs to make high-speed maneuvers is a sudden course-correction, which entails flipping the entire ship around mid-flight and firing the engines hard in the other direction, to counteract the inertia. Thanks to the subspace drive, we won’t be making any turns like that either. Or so I hope.

The two super-scientists aren’t speaking as they play. I don’t have the best sense of their relationship, or indeed most of the relationships between the Council’s members. These two both live in the Council’s main facility, and work together, so they’re probably somewhat closer than the rest, but I have no idea how close. Beringer isn’t a real professor, despite his alias, while Donovan was both a professor and a doctor, prior to his ‘death.’ That said, they have a number of similarities, both having superhuman intelligence, and having had their deaths faked so they could join the Council. Superior was manipulated into becoming a supercriminal, while Donovan wasn’t given a choice at all, his body hijacked by his sadistic alter-ego.

Not wanting to intrude, I take a seat a short distance away, shedding my coat and leaving my helmet on the table. To my surprise, a holographic screen activates a moment later, projected from somewhere on the table’s surface. It’s connected to the Council’s network, having already identified me and logged into my account. Through this, I can access the group’s database, as well as the ship’s blueprint, and even the Council’s global surveillance system, though that won’t be of much use once we’re in transit. Rereading files on the Andromedans won’t do anything except make my nerves worse, but I can at least take this chance to peruse other entries in the database.

Some of my friends don’t seem to merit an entry at all, which isn’t entirely surprising. The Council is concerned with global threats, not local vigilantes. Haley and Clay have their own sections, as does the Front Line as an entity. Prudently, Jason seems to have avoided adding any information of real value to those entries, which tells me I won’t be able to get anything useful from reading about the Peacekeepers or the Royals either. What really interests me are the entries that I have no context for. Records of battles with dangerous metahumans I’ve never heard of, who the Council felt direct intervention was necessary for. Worse, each entry has links to other entries, meaning I have a half-dozen other tabs open before I’m even done with the first one. Eventually, I save them all to a folder for later examination, and navigate to a page labeled ‘Timeline.’

This is of particular interest, because much of the Council’s history has been left for me to infer until now. Naturally, the list isn’t exhaustive- it seems there are separate pages that break down each year since the group’s been active in more detail -but I’m fine with a broad overview for the moment. As I’d put together, the Council was founded twenty years ago, by Gilgamesh, Machina, and Geas. Within the next ten years, Beringer, Network, Pallas, Donovan, and Jason all joined, in that order. Since 2010, only three new members are listed as joining. First Blake, who joined shortly before the Andromedan conflict. Then Lai, in 2015. Finally, five years later, me.

A few major events are listed alongside the recruitment of new members. The main facility’s construction, less than a year after the group was founded. A place I’ve never heard of, known as Avernus, constructed around 2006. Arcadia’s creation the next year. Eight years ago, the Andromedan invasion. But besides Zero’s recruitment and my own, there’s very little that happens between that point and the present day. Perhaps a sign that the Council’s efforts to end conflict and improve society are working. Or maybe that’s when the various apocalypse scenarios would have been triggered by the members of the Council, had they not been intercepted by Gilgamesh beforehand. If so, that would suggest that we’re in uncharted territory, past the point where he knows exactly what will be coming next.

Supporting that theory is the fact that he’s given no indication that he knew the current Andromedan crisis was coming. Perhaps that’s simply because it wouldn’t have happened without his actions to begin with- if the Council had never been formed, the warship would never have been trapped in subspace at all. I can’t make any solid conclusions, but if my hunch is correct, it could be good news. It could mean that I actually have a chance.

Of course, even if he can’t cheat with foreknowledge, Gilgamesh still has centuries of experience to fall back on. No sense in getting cocky just yet.

Before I can dive into any of the other entries in the database, two people walk into the common room. One of them is Geas, wearing his usual professorial ensemble, with the addition of magnetic boots. The other is Network, or so I presume. They appear to be in conversation, though in practice, that seems to mostly entail O’Connor talking and Network listening. The pair were oriented on the other side of the room as they walked in, appearing to be standing on the ceiling, but as he scans the room, Geas spots me and flips over so he’s on the same surface as me, beckoning for Network to follow. I close the holographic window as they approach, and the telepath takes it as an invitation to sit across from me. Network follows suit silently.

“Mister Graves! I hope we aren’t interrupting anything important?”

“Not particularly.”

“Excellent. Mister Thorn and I were just discussing the challenges posed by our current gravity-free environment. I find it doesn’t agree with my constitution, unfortunately, so I’m afraid I may spend much of the trip confined to my quarters. Of course, the bodies Mister Thorn has stationed on this ship are all fully acclimated, so it’s not really a concern for him. Did you know extended time spent in a low-gravity environment can make you taller?”

I haven’t interacted with O’Connor much, so it’s hard to tell if he’s being more talkative than usual because of his discomfort with the lack of gravity, or if this is just how he behaves normally. Either way, I find his attitude insincere and grating, though I’m sure it plays well with the politicians and dignitaries he spends so much time rubbing elbows with.

“So I’ve heard.” Less than interested in hearing Geas talk more, I turn to Network instead, recalling a question that popped into my head at random while thinking about the journey. “Is there lag time between your bodies up here and the ones down there?”

Not knowing exactly where the Earth is relative to my current position, I gesture vaguely at my feet to indicate what I mean by ‘down there,’ which Thorn seems to understand.

“There’s a delay, yes. Right now, it’s negligible, but once we’re at our destination, it will become more pronounced. Still, the information transfer is far faster than normal communications can provide. Ordinarily, it would take about four and a half hours, but between my other bodies and I, it’s closer to forty-five minutes.”

The speed is impressive, but it’s related to the internal mechanisms of a metahuman ability, which the best researchers on the planet have mostly failed to explain, so I don’t press him for details. His explanation does raise a few questions, though.

“Does that pose any problems? Your other bodies aren’t going to stroke out if something happens up here?”

Thorn shakes his head, looking neither annoyed at nor excited by the questions.

“Far from it. Each body is an independent copy of me, but in order to prevent personality drift, they all update with information from every other body, every other second. That way, we all share experiences instantaneously. The lag gets gradually worse, but the actual transfer never stops. So, once we’re out near Neptune, I’ll still be getting an update every second, but the information from Earth will be forty-five minutes old, rather than one second old.”

The explanation is easier to follow than I expected it to be. It explains rather neatly how each of his bodies can operate independently, but also share information, without the risk of a single body going rogue, as you might expect with ordinary clones. If one body experiences something that would change its perspective, that experience is shared universally. That means the only way to reduce the size of the network is to kill the bodies- there’s no way to turn them against each other. Conversely, it means that if I can get one of Network’s bodies on my side, I get all of them.

“Well, I’m glad to know you’ll be holding down the fort while we’re up here.”

Geas isn’t letting anything slip, but my mental model of the man is annoyed that I ignored him almost completely, in favor of talking to Network. The man is so ever-present that he’s easy to disregard, while O’Connor is used to being the most interesting person in the room. Outside of his work with the Council and as the leader of the Royals, he’s also their liaison to the European Union. As the head of the EU’s official super-team, he spends plenty of time with world leaders, which also provides ample opportunity to manipulate them with his power. As a result, funding and support for the Royals is never in question, no matter which faction is currently in power. On the bright side, he does also use his power for more altruistic causes. Even in the perpetually war-torn Middle East, sectional conflicts have been getting less and less frequent, but there’s still a steady stream of refugees seeking asylum in Europe, and thanks to O’Connor, many nations that previously refused to allow more than a tiny fraction of them in are now opening their borders to an unprecedented degree.

The amount of good the Council does in the world- most of it at the hands of the two men sitting in front of me -is astonishing. More astonishing is the fact that it’s all just a byproduct of the group’s real mission. All the good work Geas and Network have done behind the scenes will mean nothing if we fail to stop the Andromedan world-killer. A sobering thought.

Pallas enters the room, drawing everyone’s attention. She hasn’t bothered with the magnetic boots, using her own power of flight to move elegantly in zero-g. It’s odd that the Council only has one natural flier among its ranks, considering how common of a power it is. Obviously, there’s a reason for that. For one, the group selects for intelligence and competence, rather than raw power. That’s why most of its members have powers relating to the mind, including myself. For another, the Council’s members are all supposedly capable of ending the world, and despite what you might think, raw strength isn’t actually very conducive to that sort of thing. The world’s best bodybuilder might be able to win any fistfight, but they can’t exactly level a city. That’s the purview of people who wear uniforms and get to decide where the bombs drop. The same principle applies to metahuman abilities. The meta with the most raw power might be able to flatten a city, but they can’t destroy the whole world, at least not at any meaningful speed. But a meta who can unleash an engineered plague, or build a new kind of bomb, or simply steal control of the men who launch the nukes, they’re a different story.

If that’s the case, Pallas is an outlier. But it’s easy to understand how she might have caused a proper apocalypse, not just broken a few cities and gotten bored. Her power, if used without limits, has an exponential growth curve. The more abilities she steals, the easier it is to steal more abilities. If she didn’t restrict herself to people she feels deserve death, she could be more than just one of the strongest metas on the planet- she could be the only meta on the planet. And at that level of power, I have no doubt that she could destroy an entire planet- or even create one. With that in mind, the fact that all she seems to want is to rule a metahuman ethnostate is almost a relief. All of her subjects are there by choice, and many of them are genuinely safer in Arcadia than their home countries, some of which forcibly conscript metahumans, or even kill them the moment their powers manifest. Better that Pallas have mundane ambitions than apocalyptic ones.

Astro, Machina and Zero all enter shortly after. With that, the entire Council is assembled, our enigmatic leader notwithstanding. Slowly, everyone assembles, chairs pulled up or turned around so that we’re in a loose circle. Not quite as formal as the table around which we usually gather, but this isn’t an official meeting.

“Okay, everybody is here.”

Blake is the one taking charge, which seems only fitting, considering it’s his ship we’re all on. The absence of Gilgamesh isn’t even acknowledged, further compounding my suspicion that his appearances at group gatherings are rather rare.

“I just want to run down the details one more time, in case anybody isn’t clear. Sounds good?”

A handful of nods and vague sounds of assent give Blake the go-ahead to keep speaking.

“Ordinarily, it would take about twelve years to reach our destination. Thanks to the subspace drive, we’ll be making it in a handful of days instead.”

My understanding of the technology involved is incomplete at best, but from what I read prior to boarding the ship, the subspace drive will shunt us into a sort of parallel dimension that exists relative to our own, but is far smaller. Within subspace, it’s possible to travel a distance that would take an entire year, in a single day. However, due to the compressed nature of subspace, a precise exit location needs to be programmed in before beginning a jump. Even a slight miscalculation can leave you hundreds of thousands of miles off-target.

“And to be clear,” Zero says, “we aren’t going to end up stuck in transit indefinitely?”

Blake shakes his head.

“No. That was only possible against the Andromedans due to a flaw in the system that Marcus and I have since corrected.”

Zero’s skepticism isn’t without merit. Worse than ending up far off-target is being trapped in subspace permanently, because your targeting system was changed to recognize your destination as a nonexistent set of coordinates, preventing you from ever exiting the jump. Except that the Andromedans clearly figured out a way to escape that particular trap, which is why we’re about to fly out and deal with them more directly.

Robards takes the opportunity to cut in.

“Once we arrive, we’ll be engaged almost immediately. Our target destination is within close proximity to the projected location of the enemy cruiser. Battle stations will be assumed before we exit the jump.”

It’s not much of a surprise to me- or by the looks of it, anyone else -that Machina would start issuing edicts at the earliest opportunity. He’s nothing if not obsessed with control, from rigging all his tech with a remote shut-down failsafe that only he can activate, to directing the flow of a conversation. I can only assume it started when he realized his father had taken advantage of his metahuman genius to manufacture cutting-edge military hardware, which is what launched Anvil Inc. head and shoulders above the competition in the first place. Robards tried to distance himself from it for a long time, but eventually he returned to weapons development, with just one difference- total control over the entire process, even after the products are sold. Normally, no buyer would ever agree, but with the threat of a potential alien invasion, and the knowledge that Machina was the one who armed us against them last time, nobody had much of a choice.

“Right,” Blake continues, seeming a little perturbed by the interruptions. “You all know your roles, so I won’t waste any time reviewing them. The point is, once we’re engaged, we can’t waste any time. A protracted engagement won’t go well for us, and if the boarding team takes too long, the Andromedans will blow the ship, just like last time.”

When that possibility first came up, during our initial planning session, it was news to me. Apparently, the assault team during the first invasion had tried to capture the enemy ship, albeit after doing some serious damage. Effectively crippled, the Andromedans had decided to blow themselves up rather than let themselves be captured. Knowing that’s a possibility, we have to find a way to disable the self-destruct mechanism, while Pallas and some of the others stall for time. With the raw power at our disposal, trashing the ship wouldn’t be much of a challenge, but we wouldn’t gain anything by doing that. I’d settle for just keeping the world safe, but if that was all we cared about, this could have been left to the regular supers. The Council thinks long-term, and having a whole enemy ship to study won’t just mean the end of this threat, it’ll help us deal with the next one more effectively.

Given the lack of live captives, it’s hard to say much about Andromedan psychology, but the fact that they destroy planets when capturing them seems impossible, and blow up their own ships when their own capture is inevitable, a few conclusions can be drawn. Mainly, that life is cheap for them. Even the fact that this lone cruiser is still upholding its mission is evidence of that. The logical choice would be to return home and report defeat, but instead, they’re dead-set on wrecking our world, seemingly out of revenge, or perhaps to eliminate what they see as a nascent threat to their species’ supremacy. Accomplishing that goal is more important than surviving. That means beating them won’t be easy- to say nothing of capturing their ship intact. Luckily, we’ve planned for that.

“So make sure you know what your objective is, and don’t slip up. Everybody clear? Great.” Blake grins, his confidence restored. “Then get yourselves strapped in, and let’s go.”

Initiating the subspace jump is a surprisingly simple process. Everyone gets strapped in for the initial acceleration, but the drug cocktail isn’t necessary, since we won’t actually be going particularly fast. The space-compression factor makes that pretty much unnecessary. Once we’re going fast enough, Blake activates the subspace drive, which registers to me as a half-second of nausea, which fades even faster than translocation sickness, and then nothing. There are no windows to stare out of, but I can access the external feeds from my cabin, and discover that subspace looks like... nothing. Just a black expanse. I’m sure the electromagnetic readings are fascinating to someone, but that doesn’t hold much interest for me. Which means I have to find other ways to occupy myself for the voyage.

Unfortunately, the Council isn’t a particularly sociable bunch. Even Zero, who I expected might be chattier now that she’s cut off from her network, seems to have found something to do, which means she almost never emerges from her quarters, save for meals. Gilgamesh doesn’t even appear for those, though I don’t particularly mind- his presence would doubtlessly kill what little passes for a mood at those gatherings.

Even though there isn’t much piloting for him to be doing, Blake still spends a lot of time in the captain’s chair. My guess is that he’s relishing the opportunity to take his masterpiece on the road, since he spends most of his time earthbound. That means the two members of the Council I know best are essentially unavailable for conversation. From a purely social perspective, a little disappointing, but it’s convenient for my investigation. I have an excuse to approach as many of the other members as possible, and try to get a sense of whether they were involved in Jason’s disappearance, or how close to the heart of the conspiracy they are. It’s a daunting task, so I do what Jason would have done, and dive right into the thick of it. That means Machina.

Robards is the closest to Gilgamesh out of anyone, as far as I can tell. He and O’Connor were the first recruits, and for about a year until they brought Beringer in, those three were the Council. He’s got the kind of access that would be necessary for most of the potential scenarios I’ve constructed. The man builds back doors into everything he ever creates- there’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t have a way of disabling any Council member’s translocator, or even their tele-blocker. That means he and Geas could have killed Jason in front of the entire Council, and simply wiped the memories of anyone who objected. He’s one of my prime suspects, and one of the first people I’ll need to deal with when the time comes for a confrontation.

Finding a reason to approach Robards isn’t difficult. He spends most of his time in the ship’s workshop, fine-tuning his own gear for the coming battle. The obsession with control extends down to the most minute details, or so it seems. It’s the third day of our voyage when I approach him. Not a date chosen at random, either- it seemed likely that the first alterations he’d be making would be the most important once, and if I interrupted him during those, he’d be likely to have me leave, or just ignore me outright. But by day three, he’ll have moved on to less important tasks, and my presence might even seem like a reprieve from his toil. Certainly the other members of the Council aren’t going to strike up a conversation with him.

“I’ve always been impressed with your work.”

Machina glances in my direction as I enter the workshop. He’s got the sleeves on his jumpsuit rolled up, and despite the climate-controlled conditions, there’s a thin film of sweat on his shaved head.

My conversation-starter may be complimentary, but it’s not insincere. Thanks to my power, I know more than most people about a lot of things, including engineering. I also know my limits, and looking into Robards’ work, it became clear how far ahead of me he was. Study and practice got me to the point where I could make some modifications to his work, but even with my advantages, it’s probably not possible for me to get to his level. He doesn’t acknowledge the compliment, and I can guess why- he doesn’t feel like it’s earned. His genius is derived from his metahuman nature. It’s no more ‘real’ than the strength of someone like Atlas, or the speed of Accel. What really matters is how you choose to use the gifts you have, which is where my admiration for Machina ends. But telling him that wouldn’t be productive.

“What iteration of the armor is this, again? I know you’ve been through a few.”

It’s hard to know whether it’s a part of his power or just a quick of psychology, but Robards has never been satisfied with ‘good enough.’ His iconic power armor has been redesigned and rebuilt dozens of times, sporting a new feature whenever the new model makes its debut. The first model had no lethal weaponry at all, and a sculpted faceplate meant to make it look less intimidating. The current version has plenty of deadly weapons, but no face at all, just a blank, expressionless helmet. Machina doesn’t need eye-holes, not with external video feeds linked directly to his ocular implants from every possible angle. No matter which way he appears to be looking, he’s impossible to sneak up on, with a full range of vision in every direction. The suit is sleek, almost seamless, though in combat, the surface can shift and self-modify to produce a variety of weapons and tools. It seems to have taken some inspiration from Astro’s living weapon, Selene, in that respect. In fact, it seems likely that Robards might have incorporated some alien technological know-how into this model’s design.

“Twenty-three,” he answers eventually. Part of the paneling on the suit’s left leg is open, and he’s tinkering with the interior, though exactly what he’s doing is lost on me. His armor is an order of magnitude more complex than the one he built for Jason, and I still don’t fully understand how that one works.

“Impressive,” I reiterate, wishing I’d thought of a different word that conveyed the same idea. “You build much for the others?”

Robards is silent for a moment, finishing whatever he’s doing, before he seals the suit back up, and turns to face me properly.

“On occasion. Did you come here just to ask me for an upgrade?”

With each passing moment it’s clearer and clearer why everyone avoids him, but I can’t do that. I need something from him- not an upgrade to my suit, but information. Clues, hints, anything I can chip away from the stone wall that is his personality.

“No, no. The armor is fine. More than fine. Though I suppose it’s never seen action against anything quite like what we’re going up against. Maybe I’ll revisit that offer again afterwards.”

I know as well as him that it wasn’t really an offer, but seeming slightly clueless might end up being to my advantage. Robards just grunts.

“I was just curious, I guess. I know you made Jason’s suit, and designed the one that Zero uses, but the others seem pretty self-sufficient.”

That assertion gets Machina’s attention, just as anticipated. He’s not an egotist, or at least not as much of one as Geas is, but he still wants credit for his own creations. And that knowledge is useful to me.

“Hardly. I helped build this ship, for one. Blake’s designs are competent, but he’s content to let contractors execute them. I oversaw the entire process- if not for me, I doubt it would even be capable of making this journey. Then there are the implants, of course. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to cram a translocator beacon, long-distance communicator, miniature computer, psy-blocker, and holoprojector into a single device small enough to fit inside a human arm?”

I might have underestimated the size of Robards’ ego. Either that, or he’s jumping on the opportunity to brag because he can’t talk about how impressive his creations are most of the time. Nobody outside of the Council can know, and everyone already in the know isn’t impressed by his achievements anymore. I raise both eyebrows, trying to play up my own awe, though not to a degree that would be noticeably insincere. Machina doesn’t seem like the type to pick up on the nuances of human emotion, though, so I think I’m safe.

“Self-sufficient? Don’t make me laugh.”

It’s hardly a smoking gun, but Robards’ reaction gives me a little to work with. I get the sense that he’s still holding back, as if there’s more he wants to boast about, but knows he can’t. Part of me wants to press him on it, but instinct tells me it’s best to steer the conversation elsewhere, lest he realize that he’s on the verge of divulging too much.

“Wow, I had no idea. What about Gilgamesh, though? Does he use tech you made in combat?”

Machina laughs drily, with a hint of bitterness underneath.

“Oh, no. The man may not have any powers, but he’s got no need of my creations either. He’s been around for a long time, and he knows where all the bodies are buried. Including bodies still clad in ancient armor, the kind that hasn’t rusted in centuries.”

This is important. Risks be damned, I have to push.

“Really? What do you mean?”

The look in Robards’ eyes tells me I’ve struck gold. If he’s anything like the other super-smart types I’ve met, he loves nothing more than explaining things to the ignorant.

“Well, we aren’t the first metahumans to walk the Earth. The demigods and mystics of ages past were often charlatans, but some of them truly did possess power beyond that of mere mortals. The difference is, there were far fewer back then, and their powers were... pure. Less diluted, I suppose you might say, though the genetic angle is more Andrew’s purview than my own.”

He takes a breath, seating himself on a nearby chair. I take it as an invitation to do the same, facing him with the armor between us.

“These ancient metahumans were far stronger than we are today. I’m sure you can imagine the ways in which their feats of strength would have been recorded in myth and legend. But some of them were more like Samuel or I. Possessed of incredible intellect. Their tools were limited, but they still managed to create artifacts of great power. And thanks to the potency of their abilities, these creations don’t require the sort of regular maintenance that mine do.”

An unexpected hint of venom accompanied the last sentence, as well as a glance at his armor- an unparalleled feat of engineering to me, but clearly a source of disappointment and frustration for him.

“Many of their creations became legendary, elevating even ordinary humans whose hands they fell into. Eventually, the majority were destroyed, or acquired by people who knew better than to show them off. But some simply disappeared. And across his many lifetimes, Gilgamesh has discovered many of their locations, finding them perfectly preserved, as if forged not a day before. The first thing he does in each new life, as I’ve been told, is retrieve these artifacts. Armed with them, he’s capable of meeting any threat.”

Robards shakes his head.

“No, he has no need for my creations.”

“So, you’re talking about what, Excalibur?”

The question earns me an eye-roll.

“Caliburn, he calls it, but yes. Others as well, ones I suspect you won’t be quite as familiar with.” He seems close to continuing, but catches himself. “I shouldn’t spoil the surprise, though. You’ll be getting a closer look at them soon enough.”

I had intended the Excalibur question to make me seem more ignorant, but Robards doesn’t seem like the type to be joking with me. Gilgamesh actually wields the sword of King Arthur- or at least the sword that inspired the legends. He wasn’t alive in that period, meaning it’s likely impossible to know the exact origin of the weapon, but I can guess how it might have ended up with that name. Perhaps its previous owner was the credulous type, and assume it was the legendary weapon when he pulled it out of a lake without a speck of rust on it. Or maybe the first King of England really did wield a meta-made sword, and now the Council’s leader carries it. Either way, it’s more information I can use. And considering the fact that Machina- perhaps the most powerful meta-genius currently living -seems to hold the old man’s equipment in higher regard than his own, that gives me some idea of exactly how much of a threat Gilgamesh is.

“Unless you have any further questions, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Frankly, I’m surprised it took Machina so long to kick me out.

“Sure thing. Good luck with... whatever it is you’re working on.”

My conversation with Machina didn’t provide much insight into whether he was involved with Jason’s disappearance, but that’s not a problem. Almost none of my current theories make sense without his involvement, and it’s hard to see any of the others happening without him noticing. The information I gleaned about Gilgamesh is valuable enough.

I’m not done with my investigation by a long shot, but I don’t want to draw any suspicion by conducting formal interviews. Instead, I wait a few days before approaching my next subject. In the interim, I talk with a few other Council members casually, avoiding any topics of major significance. I even play a few games of chess with Donovan and Beringer, though by the sixth day of the trip, I can beat both of them easily, thanks to my power. Eventually, I can’t out the next conversation off any longer, and an opportunity presents itself that I can’t ignore.

Pallas, who’s kept to herself for most of the trip so far, makes a rare appearance. The lack of day or night makes keeping a proper sleep schedule aboard the ship difficult, and mine is irregular enough already, which is why I’m awake when pretty much no one else is. Clearly, the Arcadian autocrat wasn’t expecting anyone to be present in the common room at this hour. She pauses in the doorway, giving me a perplexed look, before the confusion clears.

“Oh. It’s you.”

I hadn’t been planning on meeting with anyone when I’d come to the common room, but my last power-nap of the day had ended half an hour prior, and the prospect of sitting in my rather small room until breakfast wasn’t appealing. I’d simply been planning on doing some reading, and judging by the book in her hand, Pallas had been thinking the same thing.

“Yep. What are you reading?”

Gladwin glances at the book as if she’s forgotten she’s carrying it. I get the impression that she isn’t particularly used to her fellow Council members trying to make conversation. I’ll have to navigate this delicately if I don’t want her running off or ignoring me.

“Dune. Seemed fitting. What about you?”

Her small-talk seems a little forced. I can’t imagine she gets much practice with it, given she’s both a world leader and the most powerful metahuman on the planet. Nobody treats you like a regular person in either of those roles, much less both.

“Just trying to catch up on my Council history,” I answer honestly, closing my holo-screen. “I’d rather not always be the only one out of the loop.”

The small gesture of closing the screen seems to have succeeded in its purpose, signalling to Gladwin that I’d rather chat with her than go back to reading. She approaches, taking a seat at an adjacent table, and turning to face me. There’s still a little distance, but I don’t blame her for wanting it there. Not when she could kill me with a touch.

“You’re hardly the only one. I couldn’t believe how long Blake and Robards kept this whole Andromedan business from us.”

Sharing information certainly doesn’t seem to be something the Council is great at, except for in situations like this. Still, I hadn’t seen a hint of frustration from Pallas during our strategy session. World leaders need a decent poker face, I suppose. It’s a good sign she’s expressing some of that frustration with me. The fact that I’m new has to help. I can’t help but wonder whether she resents the super-genius cohort, considering her own raw power still doesn’t mean the likes of Machina or Zero will treat her like an intellectual equal.

“Tell me about it. They brought me on to help figure out what happened to Jason, but they won’t tell me a damn thing.”

Gladwin looks a little surprised, as if she forgot that was even one of the reasons I was brought on board. Considering she seemed to have forgotten my face when she walked in, that’s not much of a surprise. I do my best not to take it personally.

“How’s that going?”

I shrug.

“Slowly. Most of the potential suspects in the database seem to be dead or locked up tight.”

Most of the Council members don’t even seem to realize I’m considering them as suspects, and I’d prefer it stay that way for as long as possible. Even the innocent ones are likely to get defensive if I imply they might be guilty, and that’ll make getting information out of them more difficult.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about the people strong enough to have killed him, so much as the people who could have made him disappear. There’s a lot fewer of the latter than the former.”

Not a terrible suggestion, though obviously one I’ve already considered. I also don’t miss the reference to Jason’s relative lack of power compared to her, or many of the Council’s enemies. Coming from someone else, it might have read as a veiled threat, but I don’t think Pallas is one for veils of any kind. If she was threatening me, or trying to hint that she killed Jason, she wouldn’t be subtle about it.

“Good point. I’m sure you harvested most of the people with the strongest powers, too.” I pause for a moment, waiting to see if she’ll correct me, but she doesn’t. “Speaking of which, I’ve always been curious how you first discovered your power. Not exactly obvious, is it?”

Gladwin’s face tightens, and I worry for a moment that she’s about to get up and leave, or refuse to speak about it.

“I killed someone. By mistake.”

“That... must have been difficult. I’m sorry.”

She nods, accepting the words silently, before continuing.

“The place I grew up wasn’t exactly friendly to people with powers. They loved the heroes they saw on TV, but only the ones who looked like them.”

“Always a fine line between special and different. If they can play a sport, write a song, wear a costume, they’ll be tolerated. But if not...”

Gladwin seems surprised at the words, maybe even like she’s gained some respect for me.

“Exactly. A boy my age manifested powers when he turned thirteen, and it changed him. He could fly, but normal bodies aren’t meant to fly, so his changed. Skin got tougher, smooth, hairless. His eyes turned black, and when someone tried to poke one out, they cracked a nail. And then his mouth sealed up.”

Physical mutations are a relatively rare occurrence among metahumans. Some research suggests they’re more common than previously thought, but that most occur underneath the skin, subtle changes that help the body adjust to a power’s manifestation. MRI scanning shows that my own brain isn’t structured like most others, in order to accommodate my abilities. Others aren’t so lucky.

“It wasn’t a big town. His parents kicked him out, and nobody would take him in. I tried to sneak him blankets and things whenever I could, but people would take them away, assume he had been stealing. Eventually, a couple people got drunk and decided they’d had enough of him. Told him to fly away, and when he refused, they kicked the shit out of him. I found him half-dead, and tried to patch him up. Found myself wishing I could just make his powers go away... and then I did.”

Knowing that, Gladwin’s drive to protect her fellow metas is much easier to understand. It’s hard not to feel for her, even knowing that she’s a dictator.

“At first, I thought he’d just died. Then I started to change.”

“Wait, you copied his mutation as well?”

Pallas frowns, though it seems to be more out of her own regret than annoyance with me.

“Not permanently, but I didn’t realize that at the time.”

For a moment, her eyes turn solid black, and the skin around them turns blue-gray, before they revert. She’s never displayed that in public to my knowledge, but it makes sense that she’d want to hide it, or pass it off as part of a shape-shifting power.

“So I ran away. I was miles and miles from home before I managed to change back, but by then, I knew I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to be around those people, but I had to stay away from other metas as well, or I might kill them too. I lived on my own for a while, until I saw some story on TV about a cape who killed some people in whatever town I was staying in. Figured that if anyone deserved to have their powers taken away, it would be him.”

I’m sure consulting Jason’s files would tell me exactly which villain she harvested, but that’s not exactly relevant to the story she’s telling, so I don’t blame her for omitting those details. I still don’t buy the idea that she simply doesn’t remember, though. Your first intentional kill isn’t something you just forget.

“After that, I just kept going. Made sure nobody knew what I was doing, because I knew they’d come after me if they did. Eventually, I had enough control over my power that I knew I wouldn’t kill anyone by mistake, so I started using the other abilities I’d gained to protect metas who couldn’t protect themselves. Not much later, I realized I had enough power that I could do more than just play hero. I dragged some land up out of the ocean, and... well, you know the rest.”

Indeed, the rest of her life story is more or less a matter of public record. Knowing the motivation behind the creation of Arcadia does clear some things up for me. For one, it makes any involvement on her part in Jason’s disappearance seem exceedingly unlikely. There are two caveats to that- the first, of course, being that she’s an exceptional liar, and the second that she felt he was a legitimate threat to her state. But neither of those seem especially likely, and this isn’t shaping up to be the kind of case where I have every single bit of information. At some point, you have to trust in your instincts and experience, and make a call.

“You know, Jason told me once that he went undercover on Arcadia, but looking at the timeline, you would have both been on the Council by then. Did he really...?”

Pallas smirks.

“No. I’m sure that was simply a cover story for one of our extended operations. Much like this one, in fact.”

The fact of the deception doesn’t bother me much, but her expression kind of does. At least it served the purpose of distracting her from her grim reminiscing.

“Are these common, then?”

“Not particularly. It’s suspicious when those of us with high public profiles all disappear around the same time, so we do our best to avoid it. And it’s rare for a situation to arise that a small handful of us can’t handle alone. If Blake wasn’t set on capturing this vessel, I could be dealing with this alone.”

Annoying as it might be, Gladwin’s arrogance isn’t exactly unfounded. The few shows of force she’s made are enough to tell me that, to say nothing of the threats she’s dealt with in the past. The Council’s database has dozens of entries that end with her killing an opponent and taking their powers for her own, which in turn only makes it easier to do it again the next time.

“Any highlights you’d care to share?”

Pallas considers the question for a moment, then frowns.

“I’d like to finish this book before we arrive, if it’s all the same to you. Besides, I’m sure you’ve already covered the good stuff reading from the database.”

“Sure. Enjoy the book. Just... don’t read anything past the first two sequels.”

She raises an eyebrow, gives me something approximating a nod, and then floats off to find somewhere to read.

Those are hardly the only conversations I had aboard the Irrepressible during our short voyage, but they’re the two that really mattered for my investigation. Opportunities to talk to the others one-on-one were difficult to find, and some of my attempts simply failed. Some seemed surprised that I was trying to make small talk, while others were suspicious I had ulterior motives- rightly so, of course.

On the whole, the trip felt like it went by fairly quickly. Even if very little actionable intelligence came from it, I enjoyed learning to play chess with Donovan and Professor Superior. When he had time, Astro gave me some tips on how the ship worked. Zero left her room more often after the first two days, and we shared a handful of conversations over drinks in the common room, after everyone else had gone to sleep. And then it was over.

Blake gave everyone warning fifteen hours before we were set to end the jump, so we would be well-rested for the coming conflict. For the first time in a long time, I got eight hours of consecutive sleep. The next morning, when everyone was awake, we had a brief meeting during breakfast, where Gilgamesh made his first appearance of the entire voyage, though he didn’t partake in any of the freeze-dried food. He and Machina reminded everyone of their roles, and reiterated the importance of executing them to the letter. Then we left for our battle stations.

An hour later, the ship emerged from subspace, and the battle was joined.