“Have you located the planet?”

Kaihautu Yugha waited impatiently as his navigator brought up a star chart. “It took us time to translate the data provided by the Terrans,” she sniffed. “The Troika races have considered for some time the use of Galactic coordinates, but as we could never reach a consensus on the exact format…”

“Yes, yes, I am well aware of the situation,” the commander grumbled. “Get on with it.”

“Of course, Kaihautu,” she agreed, bobbing her head. “After converting the positional data to standard Hegemony algorithms, it led us here.” A detailed section of the star map appeared on the display, with a dozen systems highlighted. “Several worlds are in the vicinity of the coordinates, though none match exactly. Furthermore, these systems are all documented. None of them is the Precursor planet.”

“So. The Terrans lied,” he hissed. His claws scraped against the armrest. “Foolish of them.”

“Perhaps… not,” the navigator said carefully. “We believe there may be another reason the data was inaccurate.”

“What reason?” the Kaihautu demanded.

“A great deal of time has passed since the Precursors disappeared,” the navigator pointed out, “at least a billion years, if not more. If the computer’s information dates to that era, then a great deal of stellar drift has taken place in the intervening time frame.” She shrugged helplessly. “Commander… the planet could be anywhere.”

He rose from his seat. “Do you mean to tell me that despite the fact we have access to a functioning Precursor computer database, it does not matter?”

She bowed her head even lower. “I regret to say that it does not, Kaihautu. Unless the computer itself could plot its current location, after accounting for the relevant time variance.”

The commander froze, and then slowly sat back down, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm… possible. Worth exploring, certainly. If it fails, we have lost nothing.”

The Kaihautu’s second-in-command stepped forward. “Sir, with this discovery, should we not inform High Command?”

A calculating smile curled over the reptilian’s snout. “No. There will be no transmissions of any data relating to this discovery.” His officers looked at him, confused, as he looked to the Engineer. “How long until repairs are complete?”

The Engineer consulted his display. “At least another ten-day, Kaihautu.”

“Very well,” he rumbled. “Once we have discovered the planet's true location and finished repairs, we ourselves will travel to the Precursor world and learn its secrets.” His smile grew even wider. “And when we are ready, the Hegemony, the Troika, and the Perseus Arm will all bow to us.”

The bridge crew stared at one another in astonishment as his words sank in. “Think about it!” he thundered, clenching his fist. “With their power and technology in our grasp, we will rule as gods!”

As his vision began to take hold, as the crew imagined it for themselves, his executive officer asked, “... and the Terrans?”

For the first time, a cloud came over him. “We need them alive… for now.” He paused, as a calculating glint appeared in his eyes. “However, our scientists have been preparing for this possibility for some time now, and I believe they have created something very special.”

“Something that will render the Terrans… obsolete.”

Blye peered out the window between the shutters, before shaking her head and looking away.

“I take it our jailers are still watching the exits?” Prash asked her.

She nodded glumly, taking a seat. “There’s no way we're getting out of here,” she told them, as she glanced around at the clinic walls.

“This whole ‘getting locked up’ thing is starting to really irritate me,” Amar grumbled. “First with the Bamidh, and now the Aggaaddub. I realize this is my first assignment with the Knights, but are all deployments like this?”

“Some are more exciting than others,” Blye admitted.

“At least we don't have to worry about Captain Shunaadh and his crew anymore,” Prash shrugged.

Blye closed her eyes and made a loose fist, pressing it against her forehead, chest, and abdomen in succession. “May Mother Terra protect them, as they return to the stars,” she recited softly.

“You’re praying for them?” Amar said, incredulous. “After they tried to sell us into lord knows what? And then betrayed us to the Aggaaddub?”

“What is the point of hating them now?” she asked, opening her eyes. “I accept what they did was wrong by our standards but carrying a grudge after their deaths is not our way. Whatever crimes they were guilty of, they have more than paid for them.”

“... unlike some,” he said darkly, glancing over his shoulder to where Velsa huddled in the corner, as far from the Terrans as she could manage, unable to face them.

“Amar, that is enough,” she snapped, before looking toward the Ksot nurse. “Velsa, please come join us.”

Velsa looked up in sudden panic, frozen with fear. Blye smiled and gestured to her as she slowly rose to her feet, cautiously making her way towards them before coming to an abrupt halt, just outside of arm’s reach.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you. It was a panic reaction,” she said gently. “The Kaihautu was going to have you killed, along with everyone else. What else could you do?” she asked.

“She could have kept her mouth shut,” Amar snarled, staring daggers at her. “If you hadn’t said anything, they might have left! They might never have even learned about the vault!”

“I said that’s enough!” Blye barked, jumping to her feet, as the others flinched. “There are ten thousand refugees in this camp. Do you believe for an instant that every single one of them would have remained silent? Especially when facing a pulse rifle?” She glared at him, her hands on her hips. “If you intend on holding her accountable for aiding the Aggaaddub, then you must hold me accountable as well. I interfaced with the computer and gave them directions to New Terra.”

“... New Terra?” Velsa said, confused, speaking for the first time.

“It’s what we call the Precursor planet,” Prash explained. “We’d hoped… we might find it first.” He shook his head sadly, then looked over at Amar. “Look, I get it. I’ve been there myself. In fact, you might recall me getting in Sergeant Kai’s face, back when we first met on Aya’Bhkhoz.”

“That? That was just a misunderstanding,” he said in surprise. “It’s not the same.”

“Oh, it was no misunderstanding,” Prash fired back. “We’d spent the whole night hiking across the desert without water, me with a broken arm and lugging a kid… only to have him accuse us of being spies. I was furious… until Blye reminded me that losing my temper like that isn’t what the Knights are about.” He shrugged and gave Amar a weary smile. “It’s a hard road, but I believe it’s worth it. I have to.”

He looked up at Velsa. “I lost a good friend that day. He died saving my life. And it’s not like he chose to die. I’m sure if you’d asked him he would have rather lived.”

Blye’s face colored as she remembered Joona Grec, and how she’d been forced to end his life, rather than let him suffer. It haunted her, even now.

“What I’m saying,” he continued, “is that it’s easy to be the hero when you’re in the moment, reacting without time to think. And sure, you could have thrown yourself at the guards. They would have killed you, of course, but you could have done it.” He sighed heavily. “And it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.”

“... I didn't want to die,” she whispered, so softly they almost didn’t hear.

Reaching out, Blye took her hand and enfolded it in hers. “No one does,” she agreed, “and yet death comes for us anyway, no matter how much we may wish otherwise.” She took Velsa's chin and lifted her head until their eyes met. “The question now is, where do you go from here?”

“Go?” She barked out a sharp, bitter laugh. “None of us are going anywhere, the Aggaaddub will make sure of that. They’ve already confiscated your communications gear, and with their ship still in high orbit, no one is getting in or out. Even the Baishain ships won’t go near them.” She held up her hand as if to ward off the inevitable. “They’ll keep us alive for as long as they think we’re useful, but after that? They’ll wipe out this camp without batting an eye.”

“It’s possible,” Blye allowed, “but until that happens, we still have a chance. So I guess I’m asking, will you stand with us when that chance comes?”

The young Ksot nurse shrugged. “Why not? Not that it’ll make a difference in the end.”

Blye just smiled. “Well, then… let’s do our damnedest to see that it does.”

The Kaihautu returned the next day, as he escorted them once again to the quarantine site. Spata Zhai kept his distance but maintained a discreet watch as they entered the vault. This time Blye brought a small scalpel with her for the DNA scanner, though if this was going to become a daily routine, she needed to find a safer method. The ancient elevator took them to the subterranean chamber, where the alien commander finally told her why they were there.

“The data you gave us is useless,” he snapped. “After a billion years, the Precursor system is nowhere near those coordinates.”

“I tried telling you that,” she chided him.

The massive reptilian snarled, snatching her up by the throat. “Listen well, Terran,” he hissed, “you may believe you are indispensable, but I assure you that you are not.” He threw her to the deck, and then drew his weapon and pointed it at Prash’s head. “Speak to me in that tone again, and your assistant dies.”

Wheezing as she massaged her neck, Blye struggled to speak. “I meant no disrespect, Kaihautu,” she gasped. Prash and Amar stood stock-still, afraid to even breathe, as she carefully climbed back to her feet.

“Explain to the machine just how much time has passed, and discover where the planet is now,” he stressed. “Failure to do so will have consequences you will not enjoy.”

Blye did not respond, not trusting her voice. Besides, she was under no illusion as to the nature of those consequences. The reptilian had made those perfectly clear. The last thing she wanted to do was provoke him into something rash, yet she was also painfully aware of the rather prominent stubborn streak that ran through her. If she failed to keep that in check…

“I will ask,” she nodded, “but I do not know if the machine will be able to answer.”

“Let us hope for your sake that it can,” Kaihautu Yugha admonished.

The disorientation was far less daunting than it had been on her previous visits. Perhaps she was building up an immunity of some sort. Almost immediately, she was interfaced with the system.

… USER RECOGNIZED. WELCOME, CHEVALIER DEUXIÈME BLYE TAGATA. AUXILIARY DATA ARCHIVE 17Ω-ALEPH9 ONLINE, AWAITING INPUT.

“Hello Aleph,” she answered. “How are you today?”

SYSTEM IS OPERATING WITHIN SPECIFIED PARAMETERS.

“I’ll take that as a good thing,” she shrugged. “Do you recall our previous conversation regarding your creators?”

AFFIRMATIVE.

“The data you gave me about their homeworld… I mean, their homeworld in this reality… were you aware that a significant amount of time has passed since your creation?”

AFFIRMATIVE.

“Good… that’s good,” she sighed in relief. “Do you know how much time has passed?”

APPROXIMATELY 9.7 x 10¹² CYCLES HAVE TRANSPIRED SINCE ACTIVATION OF AUXILIARY DATA ARCHIVE 17Ω-ALEPH9.

“And you know this… how, exactly?” she pressed.

DATA IS BASED ON RADIOACTIVE DECAY RATE OF ELEMENT KERENIDE-4 OTOMAKAM/146.

Blye just stared in confusion. “What the hell is… whatever you just said?”

A RADIOACTIVE ELEMENT CONTAINING 92 POSITIVELY AND 92 NEGATIVELY CHARGED SUBATOMIC PARTICLES AND 146 PARTICLES OF NEUTRAL CHARGE.

“Ninety-Two…?” It took Blye a moment to dredge up her basic physics education. “You mean Uranium-238?” she said curiously.

FILE NOT FOUND.

“... right,” she sighed. “Well, assuming my memory is accurate, let’s say for now that ²³⁸U is the same as that… Kerenide thing.”

UPDATED DATA PARAMETERS.

“Great… splendid,” she replied. “Now, can you pinpoint the last time you had an accurate fix on… Mother Terra, what was it called?... oh, yes, Threshold.”

AFFIRMATIVE.

“Excellent. Now, can you extrapolate that data to where it is currently located?”

There was a long pause.

… AFFIRMATIVE, Aleph said at last.

Something about that pause made her cautious about its answer. “Aleph, just how certain are you about that prediction?” she asked.

GIVEN THE LACK OF DATA AND PROTRACTED TIME FRAME, THERE IS A FORECASTED MEAN ERROR CONSTANT OF PLUS/MINUS 39% OF THE AREA OF THE KNOWN LOCAL GALAXY.

Blye sagged in defeat. “So… again… it could be anywhere.”

REPLY UNRESPONSIVE. PLEASE RESTATE.

“Never mind,” she told the machine, “it’s not important. I don’t know why they assumed you could solve the n-body problem.” Truth be told, Aleph wasn’t very smart. She knew its databanks contained immense amounts of information, but as far as raw intelligence went, she’d come across far more intuitive systems in her time.

I wonder why they didn’t make it more intelligent? she asked herself. Given how advanced their technology is, they must have had the ability to do it, so why didn’t they?

Although, considering that the Perseus Arm was currently under siege by a race of rogue AIs, the same evil intelligence that destroyed Earth, maybe they had a damned good reason for keeping Aleph a little dull-witted.

“... Aleph, do you have historical records of the Hesed’Emek on file?” she asked suddenly.

AFFIRMATIVE.

“And did they have a peaceful or turbulent history?” she continued. “Did they have wars, did they fight amongst themselves, did they break into factions?”

HESED’EMEK HISTORY CONTAINS MULTIPLE EXAMPLES OF ARMED CONFLICT, OF VARYING TYPES. PLEASE SPECIFY PARAMETERS.

Blye was suddenly very interested. “Do your files contain any examples of small, poorly armed groups successfully overthrowing larger, more powerful conquerors?” she asked hopefully.

AFFIRMATIVE. 781.034 POST DIASPORA - GADOLONIAN CONSPIRACY. 1294.783 POST DIASPORA - MERAZKAH PORTAL INCIDENT. 2399.015 POST DIASPORA - MESIYK DOWNFALL. 4011.837 POST DIASPORA - …

“... that’s enough,” she said, interrupting its litany. It seemed the Precursors' history was just as colorful as Terra’s had been… which made sense if they really were Humanity’s ancestors.

All right then.

The Aggaaddub still had no idea where New Terra was located, which meant they still had time. And with Aleph’s Historical… and hopefully Tactical... knowledge stored in its memory banks…

Maybe they still had a chance after all.