XVII. The Man In The Iron Mask

 CHAPTER XVII: The Man in the Iron Mask

PART 1: Leaving Jellsius IV

When the time came to embark aboard the transport ship I.A.S. Tevloe, a light shuttle was dispatched to carry the band members high into the upper stratosphere of Jellsius IV, where the Tevloe waited in orbit.

Though not large by transport standards, the vessel was still an impressive sight—sleek, angular, and bristling with external sensor arrays and cargo arms. Its matte-black hull shimmered faintly as it caught the distant sunlight, like a predator silhouetted against the stars.

The ascent from Jellsius’ surface was swift, taking only minutes. The shuttle moved with blistering speed, cutting through cloud layers and magnetic fields with practiced ease. Inside, the passengers felt only the faintest hum of acceleration—a testament to the ship’s engineering and the silent power beneath its hull.

Mike and the other band members didn’t get a long or clear look at the shuttle. Much of it was obscured by the station’s loading array as they made their way down a narrow corridor toward the embarkation tunnel. From what Mike could see, though, it was a lighter-class vessel—meant for short-range hops between surface worlds and orbiting ships.

Its overall shape reminded him of an arrowhead, with twin thrust engines embedded near the rear and a smooth, rounded underbelly. The hull was painted a soft sky-blue, a rare colour choice for most shuttlecraft, and gave it a strange, almost serene appearance. A tall boarding tunnel extended from the loading array to meet the shuttle’s lower hatch—designed, clearly, with Ardoccan passengers in mind.

The band didn’t care much about the specifics. They could feel it in their bones—this wasn’t going to be a routine shuttle ride. It was going to be a thrill. And they were right.

The shuttlecraft itself was surprisingly spacious—large enough to transport around thirty passengers in relative comfort. On this trip, it carried the four members of the band, accompanied by their usual entourage of fourteen Fengu roadies, each a seasoned specialist in stagecraft, sound, or security.

Colonel Oblika was aboard as well, traveling with three other Fengu of a distinctly different kind—more reserved, more formal in bearing. One of them was known to the band simply as the Maestro. He was the chief among the Fengu, responsible for keeping the roadies organized and disciplined. He was present at every show, without exception.

This tour was something different, though—their first off-world performance, taking place on the distant colony of Hollien. It made sense the Maestro would travel with them. And yet, as far as the band was concerned, he was more myth than manager. Between performances, he was rarely seen. Always distant. Detached. Almost as if he operated on a separate agenda entirely.

The Maestro stood a full three feet taller than the Forest and Plains Fengu varieties the band was used to working with. His frame was leaner, more upright, and his body bore far less hair. In fact, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the male Dancing Fengu they had seen performing at several of their concerts on Jellsius.

Unlike the smaller Fengu—who typically went barefoot—the Maestro wore a strange pair of tan-brown boots that enclosed his clawed feet completely. When standing still, they looked comically oversized, like his feet were submerged in twin buckets. But when he walked, the boots flexed and shifted strangely, wobbling as his feet moved within—as though made from some kind of leather-like jelly.

The sight was, to say the least, bizarre. It was hard to imagine how footwear like that could be practical. But then again, so much of what the band had experienced in this new reality defied logic. What disturbed them more wasn’t the weirdness of it all—it was how quickly it was beginning to feel... normal.

Other aspects of the Maestro’s appearance only deepened the sense of unease he inspired. He was tall and slender, and—for a Fengu—something of a dapper dresser. He wore a long, gold-colored coat cinched at the waist and buttoned down the front with a line of ten ornate fasteners. The upper portion of the coat flared out into a short cape that draped over two subtle bulges on his back.

Mike had quietly guessed they might be wings. Perhaps the Maestro was a Mountain Fengu? But if so, he lacked the thick fur typical of that breed.

His head was feathered—vivid and patterned, not unlike a Budgerigar from Earth—and his beak was thick and arched, more akin to that of a cockatoo. But it was his eyes that made him truly unsettling to look at: a pale pastel blue, each iris centered by a red, diamond-shaped pupil that shimmered with an unnatural light.

Being caught in his gaze felt like standing too close to an exposed wire. Everyone on board instinctively avoided eye contact with him. It wasn’t just discomfort—it was something deeper. Primal.

None of the humans ever attempted to speak to him directly. The discomfort was too strong, too instinctive. The Maestro was... odd. Ominous. A presence best avoided.

He never appeared cheerful, and his looming figure cast a long psychological shadow—especially over the smaller Fengu. Whenever he clicked or clucked at them in his sharp, rhythmic tones, they immediately doubled their efforts, as if afraid of falling short.

The band didn’t try to hide their feelings. As far as they were concerned, he was the one thing souring the entire tour. Every time he showed up, the mood dipped. What was meant to be a bright, joyful, high-energy entertainment experience was dragged down by his brooding, watchful presence.

He was a killjoy. A walking cold front.

As one of the members put it bluntly over dinner the night before:
“Oblika needs to fire him.”

And that sentiment was growing stronger by the day.
The Maestro had to go.

From where the band was strapped in, they had a partial view of the shuttle’s forward cabin. The two Ardoccan pilots sat in contoured seats surrounded by a tangled mass of tubes and wiring, which fed into bulky side-packs mounted beside each of them.

One of the pilots twisted halfway around and barked something in a guttural, staccato language that echoed down the passenger aisle.

Seated just ahead of the band, Colonel Oblika leaned back slightly and spoke in a low voice:
[“We’re about to lift off, lads. Buckle those harnesses— right now.”].

“Yes, sir,” Neil replied crisply.

The band obeyed without hesitation. One by one, they pulled the thick restraint straps across their chests and locked them into the circular buckles at their centers.
Click… click… click-click… click…
The mechanical rhythm of compliance echoed through the cabin.

Satisfied, the gruff pilot who had spoken earlier reached behind him and slammed the cockpit door shut. The view into the pilot cabin vanished. So did the pilots themselves.

“Nice. Welcome aboard,” Mike said with a grin.

The other band members let out a nervous laugh, the tension easing just a little.
Even Colonel Oblika allowed himself a low chuckle—more of a growl, really—but it counted.

 

A low rumble began beneath them, growing into a deep, shuddering vibration. Suddenly, the shuttle bucked upward, then curved sharply to the left, sweeping all the passengers sideways in their seats.

The nose arced skyward, tilting the craft into a vertical climb. The pressure slammed everyone back against their harnesses, like a giant hand pressing them into their seats.

They were basically lying on their backs now, pinned firmly—but thankfully, the seats were thickly padded, cradling them comfortably through the force.

The shuttle had no windows, so the outside world remained a mystery—a silent black beyond the hull. The band could only hope those two antisocial, psycho pilots knew exactly what they were doing.

The journey would only take a few minutes. Soon enough, they would dock alongside the TEVLOE.

A follow-on shuttle was scheduled to dock with the TEVLOE shortly after. Its purpose was to ferry the remainder of the band’s retinue—backup instruments, luggage, equipment, additional stagehands, and the growing collection of sound, lighting, and special effects gear that seemed to multiply with every new show.

This larger shuttle was designed more for cargo pods and heavy loads, though it could accommodate extra passengers if needed. Fortunately, the band itself had traveled on the first, smaller shuttle, along with their essential luggage: favorite guitars, microphones, Mark’s drumstick bag, and Neil’s song lists and lyric sheets.

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Captain Glepko, accompanied by Colonel Oblika, gathered the lads outside their quarters to brief them on the itinerary for the trip.

They were to enjoy an evening meal in about two human hours, after unpacking and settling into their rooms. There would be no late nights—the following morning, they were to be escorted to the Transportation Laboratory for a quick medical check-up.

Once aboard the TEVLOE, the passengers from the smaller shuttle disembarked without incident. Colonel Oblika was soon met by the freighter’s captain, who would oversee their transport to Hollien.

Captain Glepko was a stout, grizzled Ardoccan who greeted the band members warmly, wearing a Translator Helmet that instantly converted their Earth English into fluent Ardoc. The band, grateful for the ease of communication, responded in kind.

Two Ardoccan orderlies appeared as well, also equipped with Translator Helmets. They explained that the band would be shown to their passenger quarters shortly. Meanwhile, several Fengu servants began hauling guitar cases, luggage, and personal effects from the stowage holds, following closely behind the orderlies and the four bandmates, laboring under the weight of their belongings.

The four Bandmates were instructed to wear light clothing and prepare to be placed into Travel Capsules for the journey—basically to ‘take a nap.’ Before that, they would be given a cleansing treatment to ease the process, making it less strenuous on their bodies while they slept. The whole procedure sounded mysterious and rather daunting. None of the band wanted any part of it, and they protested quietly to Oblika.

But it wasn’t a choice. This was Captain Glepko’s order. Humans wandering freely around the ship for weeks was not an option. Oblika, with a tone brooking no argument, reminded them firmly, “He’s in command. That’s the rule. No debate.”

All the Bandmates were given a quick snack—a cereal-like food that resembled a sweet porridge, except it was an unusual shade of blue. Despite its strange color, the taste was surprisingly pleasant, and the band was quite impressed. Each was allowed only a single portion, served alongside a hard, dry biscuit that—once dipped into the porridge—softened instantly and complemented the sweet flavor perfectly. They washed it all down with a large jug of cold, crisp water. Though the meal was modest, it was satisfying enough, and the band found it surprisingly enjoyable.

Afterward, the four lads chatted quietly, wondering about the mysterious “cleaning” they had been told to expect. So far, nothing had happened.

Mark was the first to notice something unusual about the water: when he held his goblet up to the light, tiny silver particles shimmered within the clear liquid—so small they were almost invisible to the naked eye. Despite the bewildering circumstances they’d faced so far, the band realized they had yet to be mistreated or harmed by the Ardoccans or Fengu—at least, nothing they were aware of.

Their quarters were large but basic—a simple room with four beds lined up neatly along one wall. A long window stretched across the opposite side, offering a breathtaking view of planet Jellsius far below, set against the inky blackness of deep space.

Two large storage boxes occupied a corner, each with small doors revealing shelving inside for clothing and personal effects. The room was utilitarian, with no frills. Off to the side was a shared washroom, which the lads inspected cautiously.

Surprisingly, it seemed designed with humans in mind—familiar fixtures and fittings made it comfortable enough. But what caught their attention was a strange glowing disc embedded in the middle of the washroom floor.

No one could say what it was for. It emitted a soft, steady light, serving as an odd and eerie source of illumination—far too unusual a place for a lamp.

A knock came at the door from one of the Ardoccan orderlies who had shown the lads to their room earlier. Carrying a small tray with four diminutive drinking vessels, he announced it was time to rest and head to bed. The glasses held a golden liquid—the promised “tonic for the troops.” The lads sipped cautiously at first, then with growing approval, finding the liquid surprisingly pleasant. They drained their glasses and thanked the orderly politely.

The Orderly wore a Translator Helmet, and he mentioned that he would be stationed just outside in the hallway through the night, ready to assist if they needed anything. That was reassuring... and a reminder—they were under watch. They were NOT FREE to roam the ship at will. It is a fully operational Starship. But honestly, where would they go? Despite their fame and the devoted Fengu fans they had at every concert, the band had not been given the “class A” tour of the starship. And to anyone else but their Fengu followers, they were a group of odd Primate Aliens, with strange habits, tastes and behaviours. However, on this ship, they were merely expensive Cargo. And that was as simple as that. It was best to simply go with the flow.

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Sleeping overnight in beds designed specifically for humans, within quarters tailored to their species aboard this medium-sized Ardoccan starship, was a novel and awe-inspiring experience for the bandmates.

Though it was their first time on a starship, they were no strangers to travel. They had traversed Jellsius itself, hopping between gigs on smaller shuttle craft—dragging their roadshow tour across a variety of alien venues. But upon leaving the beautiful, mysterious world of Jellsius behind and venturing into the vast unknown beyond, was something entirely new. It was a daunting experience, yes—but also exhilarating. Tomorrow promised to bring an experience unlike any they had known before.

After a night filled with pensive thoughts and quiet apprehension, the lads were gently awakened by the orderly stationed outside their room in the hallway. The sentry informed them it was time to rise. Soon, a small snack would be delivered to kickstart their day. Afterward, they were to freshen up with their morning ablutions and prepare by wearing light clothing. Apparently, there was a schedule and protocol to be followed.

“If you don’t have anything suitable,” he added, “thin fabric suits will be available in the transit area to change into.”

The orderly also reminded them that any food left unfinished by the appointed capsules later. The bandmates acknowledged his instructions quietly. With a nod, the orderly stepped back, closing the door softly behind him.

Jumping out of his bed, Mike hurried across the room to the window.

“Look, fellas! We’re on our way!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with excitement.

Neil, Mark, and Patrick quickly joined him, pressing close to the glass.

Below them, the pale blue and green speck of Planet Jellsius IV slowly receded into the distance.

“W…wow,” Neil stammered, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

“That is so cool!” Patrick added, his voice full of wonder.

“Look at the speed we’re moving, guys—and we can’t even feel a thing,” Mark said, clearly impressed.

“Gentlemen, let our new adventure begin!” Neil declared with a grin. “Wherever this takes us.”

Mike nodded thoughtfully. “I never would’ve imagined we’d end up in a situation like this, lads.”

The four bandmates stood together, fully aware that they had embarked on what might be the greatest adventure of their lives.

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  PART 2:            Glepko’s Dilemma.

Captain Glepko had not been fully briefed on the condition of all his human cargo—his so-called “sleepers”—enroute to the planet Hollien.

What lay beneath the surface of this routine mission was a mystery even to him.

Meanwhile, Technician TAI had been pestered by an irate Colonel Oblika, who had been hellbent on the resuscitation of the Human called Parris. He meant to question him in detail, and then to detain him in a punitive manner, all to satisfy his higher-ups. This was a rather distasteful order for Oblika to have to follow, considering he had invested many Months in Earth Years in gaining their trust as this Human Band’s Handler. He had to walk the fine line in keeping their activities in check as an authority figure, while being mindful as to not lose their Trust in him by doing so. Oblika feared that his next actions could fragment the faith these Humans had for him. Any mistreatment could undo all the efforts he had achieved to this point. He had been ordered to awaken Mike Parris for interrogation and now had a fresh worry for the well-being of Patrick.

Patrick had become a growing concern among the transportation staff responsible for the safe transit and maintenance of the Earth band members within their sleeper capsules during the voyage.

For the Humans, the journey would span several weeks—far too long to wander the ship, risk eating strange alien foods, or interfere with the duties of the serving Ardoccans.

For the Ardoccans, the trip between Jellsius and Hollien was much shorter. But with their tendency to tire easily and their unusual sleeping patterns, they too would be confined to deep, controlled sleep during the voyage.

Thus, all slumbering passengers had been placed in an induced, deep sleep for the entire journey.

Specialist TAI, responsible for overseeing the humans’ wellbeing, remained vigilant—at least as vigilant as an Ardoccan could be. Routine check-ups monitored respiration, pulse, and organ function, showing little sign of fluctuations or abnormalities. Yet Patrick’s transformation progressed steadily, eluding detection by the very systems designed to catch such anomalies.

Beneath his facemask—supplying the precise gas mixtures necessary for human survival—his physical changes unfolded, unseen and unchecked. Too little or too much of any mixture could prove fatal, but so far, the delicate balance was being maintained.

TAI was known for his keen eye for detail.

A few Earth weeks into the voyage and the band’s suspended animation, he decided it was prudent to remove the masks covering the humans’ mouths. The goal was to ensure the masks and airflow weren’t causing any irritation or harm to their faces. When it was Patrick’s turn, TAI quickly lifted the mask—and immediately sensed something was very wrong. He had documented his findings carefully, discussing them with his assistants before reporting directly to Commander Captain Glepko. Glepko had thanked him for his thoroughness and instructed him to maintain close monitoring of the situation. TAI had complied, increasing the frequency of his checks and watching Patrick with heightened concern.

Captain Glepko held little regard for the humans—viewing them as weak, puny, and ultimately unworthy of respect. His concern was limited to ensuring none of them perished during transport; any loss would reflect poorly on his record. Known for his unwavering diligence, negligence was not in his nature. He trusted Specialist TAI implicitly and expected regular updates as the situation with Patrick evolved.

TAI, familiar enough with human frailties, suspected what he saw might be a case of Zart poisoning—a condition known to provoke severe reactions if left untreated. Throughout Patrick’s time in the transportation capsule, his face had been covered and his eyes tightly shut, concealing much of the change. But on close inspection, TAI noticed telltale signs: Patrick’s eyes were unnaturally bulging, and his chin and nose had warped from their original shapes since boarding the TEVLOE.

Patrick was known to be addicted to ZART—a pungent, sweet alcoholic beverage derived from the fermented milk of the female Mountain Fengus. This potent drink was a staple at Fengu functions and festivities on Planet Jellsius, roughly equivalent to vodka back on Earth. The Fengus themselves had developed a high tolerance to it.

For humans, however, ZART’s effects could be catastrophic.

Through his research and studies of humans, Oblika had learned that they were prone to addiction to various substances—some specific to certain cultures, others more universal. Exposure to ZART, however, went beyond toxicity and lethality; it was transformative. Oblika ought to have known better than to bring several young male humans from their home world, thrust them into a bewildering new reality, and then let them loose on ZART.

It was a reckless oversight—one with potentially dire consequences.

Oblika was a slow learner when it came to understanding human nature, but he gradually grasped one undeniable truth: the more depressed a human becomes, the likelier they are to seek out anything that dulls their hidden pain. Patrick had fallen hard for this exotically potent, sweet, and milky liquid—best served warm—and it had ultimately gotten the better of him.

One of the most bizarre and alarming effects of ZART on the human body is the rapid transformation of facial features. ZART doesn’t just affect the mind—robbing a person of common sense and the ability to function—it also triggers a rapid buildup of calcium deposits that attach to the facial bone structure. This causes a drastic distortion of the face: the cheeks swell, and the orbital bones around the eyes and the mandibular areas—particularly the chin—accumulate large calcium deposits, making them substantially enlarged. The result is puffiness over the brows and a pronounced, projecting chin. In severe cases, the nose lengthens and droops downward. Altogether, these changes give the victim a grotesque and comically exaggerated appearance—one so hideous it cannot easily be concealed.

Patrick had been under closer observation during the later gigs on Jellsius. His bandmates had even urged him to curb his habit of drinking the potent liquid late at night—those solitary hours when homesickness weighed heaviest on him. They had noticed subtle but troubling changes: his chin growing more prominent, his eyeballs seeming to swell as the orbital bones around them enlarged. At first, these shifts were barely perceptible, but over time they became impossible to ignore. No one realized the connection to ZART. Instead, they speculated that the altered gravity on Jellsius might be responsible. They wondered if Patrick’s behavior differed from theirs in some unknown way, sparking the transformation.

Eventually, the concern grew too great to keep quiet. It was Neil’s responsibility to inform Oblika of Patrick’s condition.

The observations about Patrick’s changing face were quickly relayed to Oblika. Upon seeing the subtle but unmistakable transformation for himself—and after conferring with Neil—Oblika immediately ordered a complete ban on ZART within ‘his Band.’ He issued stern warnings to any Fengus caught supplying the substance to his charges. With some luck, the human body might gradually reabsorb the calcium deposits with proper treatment—but the key was strict avoidance of any further exposure.

Oblika was no medical expert, but one thing was clear: the touring shows had to go on, no matter what.

 

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“TAI! You’ve dragged me all the way down here to look at a human’s face? I’m busy enough already. This better not be a waste of my time, old friend.” Captain Glepko grumbled, his voice thick with annoyance.

TAI flinched slightly, the captain’s irritation sinking in. {“I hoped you would have more trust in me than this, Captain. I would not ask for your attention if I didn’t believe it was worth your time”}. His words were measured but tinged with unease.

{“You did see the human called Patrick when the Band boarded, didn’t you, sir?”}. TAI continued, trying to steady his nerves. {“You didn’t notice anything... unusual about him?”}.

“No, I did not,” Captain Glepko replied, his tone flat, dismissive. “He seemed like any other human to me, TAI.”

“Then please follow me, Captain,” TAI urged, his voice growing more insistent. “I need to show you something.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and led the way toward the Sleeping Capsule rooms. Glepko followed him, his boots echoing down the narrow hallway.

They left the bustling reception area of Deck 6’s Transportation Wing and made their way deeper into the quieter section of the ship. The corridor opened into a series of small, interconnected rooms, each housing a sleeping capsule. There were six in total, but only three were occupied.

TAI halted in front of one of the empty capsules, its clear front panel lifted, like a translucent petal unfolding. The space inside was dark and still.

{“This was the sleep chamber occupied by Parris},” TAI said softly, his hand gesturing toward the empty capsule. {“He is now being held in detention”}.

Glepko nodded, his gaze lingering on the vacant capsule. “Yes, indeed. Not my choice, but Oblka’s orders. Probably not his choice either.” He exhaled slowly, rubbing his chin. “I hope they’re satisfied with whatever punishment they’ve chosen for him. The man did little wrong—he only tried to reconnect with his previous life, wherever it was. Something I might have done myself, in his place.”

TAI looked at his captain, understanding in his eyes. “Indeed. I can hardly blame him. The transition between worlds, between alternate realities—it’s disorienting, even for the most grounded of beings. And humans…” He paused, his tone growing softer. “Humans are fragile, mentally. More so than many realize.”

Glepko gave a thoughtful grunt in response, walking beside TAI as they moved past the other sleeping capsules. First, they passed ‘Mark’s, then ‘Neil’s, and finally came to ‘Patrick’s capsule, still open and vacant. The soft hum of the ship’s atmosphere filled the silence between them.

The next two capsules remained empty, their occupants elsewhere—unseen for now.

{“Here is ‘Patrick,’ Captain,”} TAI said, his voice low and almost apologetic. {“Let me remove his mask. He should be waking soon—his body’s systems are reactivating, and his vitals are normal, except for one thing: his face”}. The captain raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, his curiosity piqued.

With a soft hiss, the clear frontal lid of Patrick’s sleep capsule lifted, disengaging from the lock seals. TAI leaned down toward the control panel, his fingers sliding over the levers and buttons. He pulled one of them, and the mask that had been affixed to Patrick’s face began to rise. As the mask lifted, the sight beneath it was… unsettling. Patrick’s face was grotesquely distorted, as though it had been warped and reshaped by forces far beyond natural. His skin was pulled in odd directions, features jumbled and swollen, as though something was tearing at the very fabric of his humanity. Glepko’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “So, THIS is what ZART does to humans, then, TAI?” he gasped, his voice thick with disbelief.

As the mask and its breathing apparatus lifted away from Patrick’s face, the transformation became immediately evident. It was as if his face had been violently altered—his skin swollen, stretched tight over his features.

Glepko leaned in, his gaze fixed on the grotesque change. Patrick’s once familiar features had become monstrous. His chin jutted out sharply, angled upward, while his cheeks ballooned unnaturally. His eyes were unnervingly large, bulging out like two grotesque ping-pong balls, unblinking and wide.

“Oh dear! It looks like we’ve got ‘damaged goods’ here, TAI.” Glepko said with a grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “He sure looks ridiculous now, doesn’t he?” He chuckled, a short, dismissive sound.

{“I wish I could share your humor, Captain,”} TAI replied, his gaze falling to the ground, clearly uncomfortable. {“I fear this is a result of negligence on my part”}.

“Perish the thought, old friend,” Glepko scoffed, waving a hand. “I’ll cover for you. It’s ZART’s doing, after all, and he did this to himself!” He chuckled again, this time a little louder. “Silly-looking human now, eh? That’ll teach him.”

Just then, a door hissed open behind them. The hunched figure of Colonel Oblika appeared, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way toward them. He cast a glance at each capsule as he neared.

“Oh. Oh! Here comes trouble,” Glepko muttered under his breath, a wry smile playing on his lips. “This ought to be fun, TAI.”

TAI’s eyes darted nervously from side to side, bracing for the inevitable outburst. At this moment, he wished he could vanish.

Oblika’s sharp gaze flicked first to TAI, then to Glepko, before settling on Patrick’s distorted form in the capsule. His expression twisted in silent fury as he stepped closer. He inhaled sharply, a low hiss escaping from his throat, his body stiffening as he absorbed the sight before him. It was clear: he was deeply distressed by what he saw.

[“NOW I HAVE TWO PROBLEMS TO FIX!!”]. Oblika shouted, his voice filled with a strange, excited frustration. He let out a second, longer hiss, his tail twitching in agitation. [“What am I supposed to do now?”]. He scanned both Ardoccans, his eyes flicking from TAI to Glepko, clearly searching for an answer.

He bowed his head low, his claws cupping in front of his face as though shielding himself from some unseen weight. For a moment, he seemed utterly defeated, overwhelmed by the mounting pressure of the situation.

The two crewmates stood in silence, neither daring to speak. They knew better than to interrupt Oblika’s outburst. His anger was a storm, and it was best to let it pass in silence.

[“Why can’t things just be SIMPLE? You board a ship, go to sleep, wake up after the voyage—and go about business as usual!?”]. Oblika’s voice crackled with frustration, his claws trembling in the air as he gestured wildly. [“But NO—HERE I am, with a MESS…. I didn’t ASK for!”].

He stabbed a claw in their direction, pointing accusingly at both TAI and Glepko. [“YOU TWO... must FIX HIM!”]. His tone was sharp, almost demanding.

[“And like I asked, Captain—wake up the rest of them. The last two. Maybe I’ll have two more problems to deal with?!”]. Oblika’s voice faltered slightly, as though the weight of it all was starting to drain him. He seemed deflated, the usual command in his stance now replaced with the burden of his overwhelming situation.

[“What did you do to him, TAI?”]. Oblika’s accusatory gaze locked onto the Specialist.

“It wasn’t any of us, Colonel,” Glepko spoke up quickly, stepping in between TAI and Oblika. His voice was steady, shielding his old friend from Oblika’s wrath. “It was Patrick himself. He drank ZART—and its effects were magnified while he slept in there.”

{“Please, Colonel, it’s true. We didn’t do this to him”}. TAI said, his voice firm but pleading, trying to calm the escalating tension.

[“Then fix him! Treat him! I need him presentable—he can’t go on stage looking like... like that... that freak!”]. Oblika stammered, his claw pointing accusingly at Patrick, as if the sight alone could be blamed for the disaster.

“Might I suggest something, Oblika?” Glepko ventured cautiously, choosing his words carefully.

[“Go ahead, Captain. At this point, I’m open to any suggestion”]. Oblika’s voice was weary now, his earlier bluster replaced by a strained patience.

Glepko stood tall, locking eyes with Oblika. “Since HOLLIEN is a new planet to the Band, and the Fengus there aren’t familiar with what the Band looks like... it stands to reason that they don’t know what Patrick looks like either.” He paused for a moment, allowing the idea to settle. “Perhaps, like they do with costume changes at different concerts... we could fabricate a metallic mask—a face shield of sorts—for Patrick?”

Oblika blinked, his thoughts racing. [“What!? Wait a minute, Captain...you may be onto something there?].

A moment of silence passed, and then Oblika’s gaze grew sharp, his mind whirring with possibilities. Yes, maybe... just maybe, they could pull this off. Like all the bizarre circumstances that had unfolded, the options seemed endless. He began to see the plan form, the spark of an idea lighting his path.

“We have a variety of metals and alloys to choose from,” Glepko said matter-of-factly. We have Crew who could fabricate something “It doesn’t need to be a large covering. In fact, I have a few talented crew members like this quickly. It could even enhance the concert’s stage presence, all while Patrick is undergoing treatment for... this malady.”

[“I do believe you’re onto something, Captain!”]. Oblika’s tone was one of genuine surprise, his earlier frustration beginning to fade.

What had started as a disastrous beginning to the concert season on Hollien had now, with a single suggestion, evolved into an opportunity. With this new idea, the stage performances could be something truly unforgettable for both the viewers and concertgoers. As Oblika thought over it, a faint smirk crossed his face—why hadn’t he conceived of this plan himself?

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PART 3: A matter of Principle.

 

“AAAAAGGGHHH! I FEEL SO SICK!!!” Patrick shouted, his voice hoarse with distress.

Patrick was awake—and in serious trouble. The early wake-up protocols weren’t settling well with his digestive system. TAI quickly placed his Translator Helmet over his head, trying to stay calm while addressing the panicked human now sitting up in his capsule.

{“It will be alright, Patrick. I can administer a gas that will calm your stomach cramps in just a few seconds. It’s a normal reaction after being reactivated from this chamber”}. TAI’s voice was soothing, trying to reassure Patrick, but the human was still struggling, his body trembling as he tried to rise.

As Patrick began to push himself up with trembling arms, he was met with the firm pressure of a strong, clawed hand. TAI, for the first time, applied gentle but unyielding force against Patrick’s chest, halting his movements. Patrick pushed against TAI’s hand, his muscles straining, but it was like pressing against an immovable wall. There was no give, total resistance; TAI stood as solid as steel. Patrick’s eyes shot up, meeting TAI’s impassive, almost menacing gaze in protest. Without a word, TAI’s other hand swept up, holding a small chrome device that clicked over Patrick’s mouth and nose. The cold metal pressed against him, offering no room for argument.

{“Don’t even think about it, Patrick!”}. TAI’s voice was firm, a sharp command. It was immediately clear to Patrick that he had no hope of moving past the imposing Ardoccan—his strength was far beyond anything Patrick could muster. Resigned, Patrick sighed, his shoulders slumping as he slumped back down into the capsule. Resistance was futile.

The small burst of gas that TAI administered quickly took effect. Within moments, the sharp stomach pains and burning sensation faded, as if they had never been there. The discomfort evaporated in an instant, leaving Patrick alert yet unexpectedly calm—free from the pain that had been consuming him moments before.

Patrick’s mind buzzed with questions, a thousand things he wanted to ask TAI, but as he tried to form the words, he found himself at a loss. The language barriers felt as overwhelming as his physical pain had been. His thoughts were there, but the words... weren’t.

{“Patrick, I know you can hear me. This is TAI. I had to wake you before the others due to a sickness that has affected you. We’re aware of your... fondness for ZART, and we now understand that it has had a much worse effect on you than we ever anticipated. Because of this, it’s necessary to move you to a separate laboratory for tests. These tests will treat the reaction that ZART has caused in your body. Nod if you understand what I’ve said.”}

TAI’s voice was deliberate, measured, making sure Patrick had a chance to process each word. Patrick nodded obediently, though his movements were slow, and his expression strained. The nod wasn’t just a simple gesture; it was a sign of his acquiescence, his surrender to the reality of the situation.

{“Very good, Patrick. My assistants have already prepared, and they will be here soon.”}

True to his word, TAI’s two assistants arrived. Efficient and silent, they moved swiftly to unhinge the sleeping capsule from its floor mountings. One positioned themselves at the front, the other at the back, and together they began to slide the capsule down the corridor that connected the six sleeping cubicles. The capsule glided along the floor with eerie smoothness, as if moving across ice—silent, controlled, and unhurried.

TAI followed behind, his presence calm but purposeful. He would oversee the necessary vital checks before beginning the testing and treatment process. The goal was clear: to minimize the deformities Patrick had suffered and to counteract the harmful effects of ZART as best as he could.

Once Patrick was stabilized, TAI’s task would shift to the others—he would need to wake the remaining two members of the Band.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where are the other two, TAI? And WHY is Mike’s capsule open? TAI, why is Patrick’s capsule missing?!” Neil asked, his voice laced with indignation.

It was a reasonable question, given that half the band was unaccounted for. Was there a failure in the process? Had something gone wrong during the procedure? Neil hadn’t been given any explanation, and Mark, who was just now regaining consciousness, was asking the same questions.

TAI remained silent, his face expressionless. He simply pointed to his Translator Helmet, as if indicating some malfunction in his apparatus.

Neil’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t buy it. It seemed like TAI was purposefully dodging the questions. His act of "playing dumb" didn’t feel genuine—it felt more like a delay tactic. Stonewalling, Neil thought. The truth was being kept from them. He was certain of one thing: somebody was going to have to reveal the truth soon enough. If they were alive, and unhurt, that was all that mattered.

Captain Glepko made his entrance first, followed closely by Colonel Oblika. Both wore their Translator Helmets, and their serious expressions signaled that the moment of truth had arrived. Neil and Mark were now awake, sitting up in their capsules with the transparent lids raised, their eyes sharp, waiting for answers.

TAI, acknowledging the presence of his senior officers, quickly made his exit, stepping backward toward the door while pretending to fiddle with his helmet as if it were malfunctioning. The gesture seemed more like an excuse than anything.

Oblika’s gaze shifted from the departing TAI to Glepko, a bemused flicker in his eyes.

[“I wonder what he told them?”].

“If anything.” Captain Glepko replied with a sheepish shrug.

Oblika didn’t seem to care much for speculation. He looked at Glepko and then back at the two band members, a hint of discomfort in his voice.

[“Well, Glepko, it’s your starship, your transport lab—maybe you want to tell these two what’s going on?”].

Glepko’s eyes flicked to Oblika, sensing the shift of responsibility. He held Oblika’s gaze for a moment before responding.

“Not so fast, Oblika. It's YOUR mission, remember? Your band. And, after all, Neil is your friend… I'll back you up with the details, of course." Glepko’s tone was playful, but there was an edge to it, as if he was enjoying watching Oblika squirm.

[“That sounds reasonable, Glepko”].

[“Neil, I’ll get to the point. The passage to HOLLIEN was safe, and all went well. The Band is intact, and no accidents occurred.”]. Oblika’s tone was dry, almost mechanical, like he was reading a report.

Neil gave a slight nod but didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Good to hear, Oblika. A solid start, then.”

Oblika continued with little change in tone. [“Mike transitioned back to his old life in London, still inside his capsule. Foolishly, he attempted not only to contact his old connections but also tried to escape to another part of the country to hide”].

Neil’s expression hardened, and his voice rose with disbelief. “Wait… you’re telling me he tried to escape? But his body was still in the capsule! That’s not his fault—he didn’t leave, did he?”

[“It’s not as simple as that, Neil.”] Oblika’s voice was calm, almost clinical. [“Mike manifested in a parallel version of himself, not fully ‘whole,’ but solid enough to interact with reality. As his body began to fail, he slipped back into the capsule, but not before convincing several people that he was the real Mike. He altered our timeline and involved others in his deception. He compromised the mission”].

Neil’s jaw tightened as he processed this. “So where is he now, then? Is he still stuck in London?”

[“Mike is here again”]. Oblika’s answer came with a sense of finality. [“He’s been questioned thoroughly and is now… detained”].

The weight of Oblika’s words settled on the room, and for a moment, Neil stood frozen, trying to wrap his mind around it. He couldn’t believe it—Mike was detained. But he knew better than to press too hard.

“You locked him up?” Neil's voice softened, but there was a flash of anger behind it, tempered by the reality of who he was addressing. “Is that really necessary, Oblika?”

Oblika’s eyes flickered for just a moment—he could sense Neil’s agitation—but his posture remained unyielding. [“Yes, it is necessary. And you would do well to remember your place here, Neil”]. Oblika’s voice was still calm, but the subtle threat was there.

Neil clenched his fists briefly, his gaze flicking toward the towering insectoid alien before him. He was angry, but he knew pushing further could provoke a dangerous reaction. Forcing a controlled breath, Neil nodded, accepting that he had to let it go—for now.

[“Believe it, Mark, you’ll need to take this up with him… eventually. It’ll give you plenty to discuss. We were able to monitor his actions—his plan was to escape to a place called… Wales, to stay with a relative. Running like that is strictly forbidden. His actions brought about bad tidings for his former landlords”]. Oblika explained, his tone detached, but with an edge.

“How so, Oblika?” Mark’s voice trembled slightly with disbelief. Neal, on the other hand, kept his eyes on the floor, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Oblika’s gaze shifted briefly to Neal, his voice sharpening just slightly. [“Yes, Neal, do you remember when you tried something similar? When you planned to escape while on YOUR return trip… but thankfully, you realized it wasn’t wise. Your actions saved the lives of several people you cared about”].

Neal tensed, his face paling. He avoided eye contact but nodded, speaking with a quiet heaviness. “Yes… I remember.”

“LIVES??” Mark burst out, his shock giving way to a surge of panic. “Oblika, whose lives? Was it… KATE?!”

Oblika held up a claw, signaling for calm. [“Do not raise your voice to me, Mark. Kate is quite safe”]. The reassurance was firm, though there was an edge of irritation in his voice.

Mark swallowed, the tension in his body easing, but the relief was palpable. “Well… I bloody well hope so!”

Neal, still processing the reminder of his own past mistakes, gently steered the conversation back. “What happened to them, Oblika?” His voice was softer now, his curiosity piqued but respectful. “His landlords, I mean.”

[“We’ve been rewarding their silence with additional funds deposited into their bank accounts, to keep them from getting too curious about Mike’s disappearance. The same goes for his former boss—seems he’s been doing quite well since Mike vanished. The landlords, too, have profited. But Mike got careless. He told them too much. And that… that made them a liability.”]. Oblika’s voice was grim, his eyes narrowing slightly. [“They had to be silenced. Not my decision. The higher-ups made that call. But I fought for his boss’s life… and Kate’s as well, Mark.”]. Oblika's gaze flicked briefly toward Mark, searching for any sign of emotion, anything that might give away how much the news had impacted him.

Captain Glepko’s voice cut through the quiet tension, firm and unyielding. {“What Oblika is trying to say is that Mike crossed a line. He endangered the entire mission, the band, the tours… and nearly got himself killed in the process.”} Glepko paused, his expression hardening. “This wasn’t just a personal failure. It was a massive risk to everything we’ve been working for. We need to be smarter than this.”

{“If you two want to direct your anger anywhere, it should be at me. This is my ship, and I was the one who had this happen under my command. Ultimately, I lost control of Mike’s welfare… and Patrick’s, too”}. Glepko’s voice was steady, but the weight of the words hung heavy in the air. He knew he was taking a lot of heat for this, but he was willing to take the blame to protect the Band's internal harmony. {“If anyone should be demonized, it’s me. Not Oblika. He’s just doing his job. We don’t need to tear each other apart over this”}.

Oblika glanced at Glepko with a look of faint appreciation, though it was quickly replaced by the burden of his own explanation. [“Thank you, Captain. As for Patrick... you could ask where he is. He’s being treated. The ZART he ingested during the voyage affected him much worse than we anticipated. TAI is conducting further tests on him in another section of the wing. He will recover”]. Oblika's voice was calm, but it held the edge of someone who knew he had a lot more to explain.

Mark and Neil exchanged a glance. There was something unsettling about how Oblika just slid past the details. “And Mike?” Mark asked, his voice firm.

[“Mikes dealt with. He’s detained. We had to make sure the damage wasn’t worse than it already was”]. Oblika’s words hung in the air like a grim verdict.

{“Not right now, Neal},” Glepko interjected, his tone firm but not unkind. {“He’s being tested in a different part of the wing. It’s not a place for visitors currently. You’ll see him soon enough. He’s being fitted for a new addition for your next concert”}. Glepko glanced over at Oblika, silently asking for approval before continuing, careful not to reveal anything more than necessary.

“Fitted out… for a new addition to the show?” Mark’s confusion was palpable, and his concern for Patrick was clear.

“How… fitted out… Captain Glepko? Oblika?” Neal pressed, sensing there was more to the situation than he was being told.

[“His facial features have been distorted beyond recognition,”] Oblika replied, his tone clinical. [“He will be wearing a treatment mask, which will also double as a stage prop. It will add to the theatrical effect of the show. What has happened to his face won’t affect how he plays his bass guitar, I assure you.”] Oblika looked between Neal and Mark, his expression serious. [“I promise you, lads, the concerts will go on without a hitch. Mike… on the other hand, may require a reschedule for the first show”].

Oblika now had to approach Mike’s dilemma and detention as best that he could. And it was only right to explain things to the Band members. If a show had to be scratched because Mike was locked-up—they ought to be aware, and what the reasons for his situation were.

            [“Neal, Mark…I shall tell you what has happened to Mike, Patrick is unaware of mike’s problems, as he has some different ones entirely of his own. Wait! Let me continue Neal…”], as Neal tried to interrupt him. Oblika waving an arm at him. [“You as well Mark!”].

              Oblika began.

[“I was contacted by a Supreme—who decided that after Mike attempted to abscond from the Mission, in his ‘Alta-reality’—which was not that real to begin with, as his body remained here in his capsule; that a consequence needed to be demonstrated to him. Even though his Body in his Trip Home, was fading fast there ‘in the field’, returning his MIND back to his Capsule to join his BODY, he jeopardized the rest of you and our Mission. Several others had to be …eliminated. It only would have gotten worse had he not been returned when he did”.] …

“Eliminated!? And KATE Oblika, would she have ended up getting ‘ELIMINATED’ too?”, barked an indignant Mark.

[“To answer your question, in all likelihood—why YES, she would have Mark!”]. Answered Oblika.

“So, I have YOU to thank for preventing this?” Quizzed an alarmed Mark.

  [“Yes, and I saved Mike from also getting eliminated!”]. Oblika almost sounding proud. [“I could not save his two Landlords, they resided together—so died together; and his Former-Employer is too valuable to our Mission. Who do you think makes your Musical Instrument and Equipment Storage Boxes? —Exactly. Long story, and Mike will fill you in when you see him. Take it up with him.”].

                     [“The Supreme had recommended we ‘Detain’ Mike in a separated Custody Area as…a punishment for his transgressions. I disagreed with two weeks for him…”]…

                    “TWO WEEKS!?!? Oblika—WHAT have you done!  Neal blurted out.

                   [“Not I Neal…Mark, the ‘Supreme’ ordered it, but I can re-interpret that…I have decided to…to…hold ONE WEEK over his Head, suspended… as a warning. If he screws up in any way in the next little while—I can re-impose one week upon him. I think this is fair, and I am probably sticking my neck out in doing so, If I had a Neck.”].

[“Yes, Mark. It was a necessary action. If Mike had stayed in that false reality of his, the risks would have multiplied exponentially. Kate, the others, and the entire mission could have been wiped out entirely. I made sure he was returned, safely, before that happened.”] Oblika’s voice was steady, though the weight of his words hung heavily in the air. Glepko was staring at Oblika, who thought he was taking a risk defying a ‘supreme’.

                  {“Well, aren’t you getting soft in your Middle Age Oblika!”} Glepko teased.

                  [“Keep it up Glepko…just keep it up!”], shot back Oblika, a little annoyed.

                   “When can we see Mike, Oblika?” Neal ventured.

                 Oblika stepped back and cast his gaze to the floor--- he seemed to be in deep deliberation and thought. Neal hesitated to press him further but watched for any small signs of understanding for the Bandmate’s concerns for a comrade. Oblika let out a resigned sigh- looked across at Captain Glepko for approval, who gave a short and approving nod.

[“I shall tell you what I will do Neal. You will come with me, alone, and we shall go to see him now.”], still looking at Glepko.

                  {“That will be alright with me Colonel. You must take care of matters and carry on with your Mission. To do so requires fairness and compromises, you have the care of your Band to consider after all”}. Stated Glepko, both diplomatically and wisely.

[“Good Captain, I was hoping you would agree with my overture.”]. Looking at Neal, [“We must go now, I have other matters to attend to, and right now I’ll have the time to squeeze in a quick visit. Glepko, can you explain to Mark what we are trying to do for Patrick, who, all going well, shall be just fine. And I will brief Neal, on Patrick’s situation on the way to see Mike”]. Oblika courteously requested.

         {“Absolutely Colonel, soon we shall have all four of your Band Members back in circulation and weaving their way through their Mission, while performing their allotted Concerts to FENGUs, and possibly other species—I wish you all well. Patrick ought to make a striking appearance once his Stage Mask is finished”}. Glepko said assuring the two Bandmates.

 

Mark’s face tightened. He wasn’t sure whether to feel gratitude or anger. His mind raced—Kate, his past, everything he held dear—could have been lost. And Mike... Mike had put them all at risk. But in the end, Oblika had acted. He had saved them, whether they liked it or not.

“So, what now? What happens to Mike?” Neal asked, his voice subdued, though there was still a flicker of frustration in his tone. The shock of hearing what could have happened was still settling in.

[“Mike is facing the consequences of his actions, Neal,”] Oblika replied firmly, his tone leaving little room for argument. [“He was detained, is currently monitored, and he being evaluated. His actions are under review by my superiors, and once his fate is decided, he will either rejoin the mission or remain isolated. His future lies in his own hands now.”].

Mark, still processing everything, looked between Oblika and Glepko, as if seeking some reassurance. [“And what about the show? Will it go ahead without him? Can we still perform?”] His voice was thick with both concern and confusion.

[“The show will go on, Mark,”] Oblika said with confidence, taking charge of the situation. [“The mission, and the performances, will not be derailed. We’ll manage without Mike for now. But we need to stay focused on the greater objective. This is bigger than one person.”]. His words were clear, though they lacked the comfort Mark was hoping for.

Oblika, sensing the tension in the air, added, [“Mike’s actions don’t define the Band. The rest of you are here, and we’ll carry on with the mission. I expect you both to maintain your composure and keep your focus. This is not the end. It’s simply a setback.”].

Neal nodded slowly, still uneasy but willing to accept the situation—for now. He understood the need for consequences, but the betrayal stung deeply. And Mark—Mark was still wrestling with his emotions, a mix of anger, relief, and confusion all at once.

“I just don’t know what to think anymore,” Mark muttered, his eyes clouded with doubt. “Mike…is… was one of us. How did it all go so wrong?”

Oblika gave him a hard look, the kind only a creature of his kind could give, a stare that felt both intense and impersonal. [“People make choices, Mark. And those choices have consequences. We cannot change the past, but we can control what happens next. We’ll carry on.”].

Neal exchanged a glance with Mark, both feeling the weight of Oblika’s words. They had no choice but to continue. They were soldiers in this mission—no room for weakness. But deep down, they both knew it wasn’t just about the show or the mission—it was about trust. And right now, that was shaken.

“Alright,” Neal said after a pause, his voice resigned but steady. [“We do this. For the mission. For the Band.”].

Mark remained quiet, but his eyes showed that he was still processing. The anger hadn’t fully gone, and the unease about Mike lingered in his mind. But there was nothing to be done about it now. They would carry on.

[“Good,”] Oblika said, nodding once, then turning towards the door. [“You’ll see Mike when it’s time. For now, focus on your preparations. The next concert is fast approaching, and there is much to be done.”].

[“Neal, come with me, I have little time to lose”]. Ordered Oblika.  With this he bade the captain a brief farewell nod, then turned towards the long corridor behind them Neal walking behind him as he did not know where Mike was being housed.

        “Oblika! Hold up, wait for me”.

      [“Keep up with me then, I have not got all day to wait for your kind.”]. Oblika blurted out.

With that, Oblika left, taking Neal. And Glepko followed him out, leaving Mark alone with TAI and his own thoughts. The silence that fell when the others left was heavy. But there was work to be done. The mission would continue, whether they were ready for it or not.

As Neal struggled to keep pace with the large Ardoccan, whom he thought was rushing him deliberately to put him psychologically on the back step. He watched as the large black Bulk of his handler lurched and stalked along the Corridor’s opaque and almost glowing walls towards a ramp heading downwards to another deck. Downwards the two went. There was a corner to the right—and they continued their descent. At the end of the reverse directional ramp, there was a large rectangular door, which slid open left to right submittingly as Oblika approached it. They walked through this door and entered a narrower Corridor. Neal could tell that its length travelling some hundred feet or so. Off this corridor were more doors…perhaps a dozen, six per side. Oblika stopped at the second door on the left side of this corridor. He seemed to wait, then turned to Neal and began to speak.

[“You should prepare yourself,”] Oblika added, his voice carrying an odd weight.

The first thing Neal noticed was the silence. It wasn’t the quiet of a well-kept facility, though. There was a tension in the air, a quiet that felt unnatural.

[“Mikes on the other side of that door,”] Oblika said, nodding toward the heavy Doorway. [“There’s a sentry posted inside; I’ll request permission for you to see him. Glepko’s on board with it. I only hope the sentry isn’t overly zealous about his duty.”].

We won’t be long, but I want you to keep your composure—and tell no one about this yet. I’m working to secure Mike’s early release; I have two Supremes to plead with today. If all goes well, I expect to have him out by tomorrow.”]. Oblika’s voice was steady, self-assured; you could hear the confidence in every clipped word.

However, Mike does have another Problem to deal with; there is the situation with Agamemnon the Assassin. It will not forget Mike for inflicting pain upon it in his apartment and now has him marked for Death. Agamemnon, unless destroyed, will not rest until it locates and hunts Mike down to kill him. But this is a problem for another time. Right now, Neal was promised to see him and be assured he is well.

         [“We shall have to make this fast Neal.”]. Oblika said.

           “That’s okay with me Oblika, I just want to see if he is okay, comfortable and healthy”. Neal stated.

With a turn back to the door, and a wave of his right Claw, this door opened obediently, again left to right. Oblika stepped in and was immediately saluted by a smaller Ardoccan sentry left on guard to ensure Mike’s wellbeing. The quick salute, a tapping of the central Breastplate all Ardoccans have mid-torso, as sign of fealty and respect. Neal noted that the saluting was less formal between Oblika and Glepko—and Colonel and a Captain of an operating Starship on active duty—perhaps the same rank under these circumstances? The sentry moved aside to reveal Mike languishing on a cot at the far end of a large room. He appeared to be asleep. Moving around Oblika, Neal spoke up. “May I enter this area Oblika?” [“Yes, you may- let me deal with the sentry first.”]. Oblika requested.

The door closed quietly behind them, leaving Neal in the still, air-conditioned quiet of the room. The space was larger than he'd expected, more like a suite than a prison cell. The walls were smooth, dark metallic panels with faint glowing lines that traced a soft blue hue along the edges, giving the space a calming, almost soothing atmosphere. The furniture, though sparse, looked comfortable enough, familiar. A simple cot, a small table, and a clean, transparent window through which he could see outside the ship’s silhouette. The room was clearly designed for minimal comfort, not confinement.

Mike was curled up on the cot, his back turned. He was clearly asleep—or pretending to be. The faint rise and fall of his chest told Neal all he needed to know; his friend was still alive, still breathing, but perhaps not in the most restful state.

The sentry, standing at attention with its posture stiff, caught Oblika’s attention as the tall Ardoccan gestured to the smaller guard with a sharp, almost imperceptible movement of his claws. With that, the sentry gave a quick salute—its talons tapping against the chest plate in the traditional gesture of respect—and then it moved to one side of the room, retreating to a corner.

Oblika’s eyes were fixed on Mike as he approached, careful not to disturb his slumber.

[“I’ll have words with him in a moment, Neal. Just give me a second with the sentry.”].

Neal nodded quietly, feeling both grateful and uneasy about the situation. He had no idea what this ‘sentry’ was truly guarding against, but there was a part of him that appreciated the Ardoccan's dedication to keeping Mike safe—whether in restraint or protection, he wasn’t sure. He waited quietly, observing the dim, tranquil environment, his thoughts on Mike. What had really happened while he was unconscious? What was it about Mike’s decision that had made everything go so wrong?

He barely noticed when the sentry gave another quiet salute and retreated toward the door, leaving Neal and Oblika alone with Mike.

Oblika stepped towards the cot, his long, clawed feet barely making a sound on the floor. He leaned over slightly, glancing at Neal before speaking.

[“Mike,”] he said, voice softened. [“Mike, wake up. It’s time to talk.”]. Again, but louder.

Neal held his breath for a moment. He wasn’t sure what kind of state Mike would be in, but he was about to find out. Would his friend be angry? Relieved? Confused? Neal could only hope Mike hadn’t lost all hope during his time isolated in this sterile, quiet place.

Mike shifted, his face still contorted in sleep, before he slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the soft lighting.

“Mike!! MIKE!! Wake up mate!” Neal yelled to his friend.

“Oblika? Neal?” Mike’s voice was hoarse, the last remnants of sleep still lingering in his tone. It was clear that Mike had been separated from everything and everyone for some time, even though the surroundings were comfortable. He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, looking from Oblika to Neal with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“You alright, Mike?” Neal asked cautiously, stepping forward now.

“Neal?!? NEAL!!! Is this really you?” Mike yelled back in excitement.

Mike blinked again and cleared his throat. “I’ve been better... but I’m not dead, so I guess that’s something.”

Neal chuckled, despite the tense situation. “Not dead, definitely something.”

Mike gave a half-hearted smirk but then turned serious. “What happened, Oblika? Why am I in here? Why can’t I just... leave? I need to talk to someone... anyone. I don’t know what I’ve done, but it feels like I’ve screwed up everything.”

Mike leapt from his cot like he had received an electric shock and moved across to where Neal was standing, throwing his arms out to brace himself against the invisible barrier, but now there was a barrier. Mike looked like a Mime artist trying to feel for a transparent window.

           [“No Barrier Mike, we lowered it so the two of you may visit easier.”]. Oblika explained.

Mike was looking thinner from what Neal remembered, and he seemed tired. His eyes looked red and bloodshot. But he had been eating as there was ample evidence of the traces of food on Trays about his bed. He was looking a little disheveled and had a hoarse voice, but he was alive and alert.

            “What have they done to you, Mike”, asked Neal sympathetically.

Oblika stood silently for a moment, considering how to explain the complexities of Mike's situation without sounding too harsh.

[“Mike, you did what you thought was right, but the consequences have affected more than just you. Your actions on Earth caused ripples that threatened everyone’s safety. And, in some ways, they’ve changed the course of our mission here. The Supremes were concerned about your breach in the system—your escape, the information you shared.”].

“Oblika had said I had gone on a journey home, but never leaving my capsule. I had a fight with a huge Spider in my old apartment and cannot explain it at all. It tried to kill me Neal”. Said Mike, close to tears. “I think it did some terrible things to some people I know… knew…but I cannot understand this whole thing as I never left this Starship at all. I never left the capsule room!? “Mike was very confused and seemed depressed.

Mike’s brow furrowed. “Escape? I didn’t escape... I was... I was trying to go home.” He seemed genuinely confused. “I thought—" He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I thought. I just needed to go. It felt like the only option.”

Neal watched carefully, his eyes softening. He could hear the desperation in Mike’s voice, that desire to make sense of what had happened, even though it was all too overwhelming. Oblika’s tone softened too as he explained more carefully.

[“Mike, I know you needed to go back. But what you didn’t realize was that by acting on your own, you put yourself—and all of us—at risk. You might not understand it now, but you caused damage to our mission. I couldn’t have that, and neither could Glepko. We had no choice but to contain you for now, to prevent the timeline from unravelling further.”].

Mike sat there, silent for a moment, before his eyes dropped to the floor in quiet understanding. “I never wanted to hurt anyone...” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “I just wanted to fix things.”

Neal walked over and sat on the edge of the cot, looking at his friend with empathy. “I know, Mike. But we must stick together on this, alright? What’s done is done. We just need to figure out how to fix it.”

Mike looked up, meeting Neal’s gaze. He looked lost, but there was a flicker of hope there. "And how do we fix it?"

Neal smiled, offering a small nod. "Step one: get you out of here. Step two... we take this one day at a time."

He could not comprehend why he was getting punished, just that he had obviously experienced a very real Nightmare and this had led to him getting blamed for a series of events within his own dream, that physically he had not done. It was wild?!?! And made little sense at all. He felt like he was getting punished for something he had not even done and tormented not only by the captain and crew of this starship, but by Oblika himself- who prior to this he had considered a friend. No one had seen him until now, and his story had not been told. Mike had not been in his detention chamber very long but had already lost track of the days in there.

Oblika, watching them, gave a slow nod. [“Tomorrow, Mike. You’ll have your chance. But for now, we’ll let you rest. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about the rest”].

Mike nodded slowly, settling back on the cot. He was still trying to process everything, but the fact that Oblika and Neal were here giving him some reassurance. The room wasn’t as much a cell as it was a waiting room—a space to breathe, to think, and, just maybe, to start figuring out what had gone wrong... and how they would all progress.

[“I have explained to you what transpired, Mike. On your Home World. In your own Timeline. You began to noticeably fade the moment you awoke back there—your body here in the capsule, your mind still trying to live somewhere else. I will not repeat to Neal what you were engaged in doing,”] Oblika’s mandibles clicked once, sharply, a sign of his restraint. [“You can fill him in on your own time. Currently, this little rendezvous is on my time.”].

Oblika took one step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over the small, softly lit room. His black carapace gleamed faintly under the muted glow. The force-field shimmered faintly at the edge of Neal’s vision as Oblika extended his arms in a rare, open gesture.

[“Mike, I am prepared to put my career on the line, in just a couple of your hours, before the Supremes, to argue your case—on your behalf. That is not something to take lightly.”]. His voice, low and resonant, carried the weight of both irritation and conviction.

He moved closer still, tone softening fractionally.
[“I hope to have you out of here—earliest, by tonight. If not, first thing tomorrow. Then you can rejoin your bandmates. I must check on Patrick next.”].

Oblika tilted his head slightly, his compound eyes narrowing with what almost passed for regret.
[“I trust the food has been to your liking, Mike, and that you have been treated well—albeit while confined against your will. For this…”], he hesitated, just for a beat, [“…I sincerely must apologise.”].

The air between them felt heavier now, the tension not of threat but of truth and stakes. Neal could tell Oblika was both irritated and sincere—two things rarely seen together in an Ardoccan of his rank.

“And this fellow…” Neal said nodding towards the silent sentry “…has not given you any grief either?’

“No, he has not, I have been treated satisfactorily, left alone and unmolested—but I have Questions Oblika…and angry at why I am held in here in the first place, if I never even physically left the Starship!?”

[“So, I shall be blunt,”] Oblika’s voice had lost any trace of softness now, the deep timbre of his words vibrating in the walls of the chamber. [“Because of what you did, people you knew had to die. Ordered eliminated by the Supremes as security risks. And now you have Agamenon on your back too, Mike. He will not stop until he kills you.”].

He loomed closer, compound eyes locking with Mike’s.
[“The deaths of two people are now on your conscience. Your two landlords—are dead.”]. The words landed like hammer blows.

Oblika’s mandibles flexed once before he continued, voice cold but deliberate:
[“And I saved your scrawny little neck from the jaws of the assassin sent to snuff out all the loose ends you exposed. I was able to save you, and yes—Kate, whom you were flirting with quite well. And your former employer, Charlie. We still have uses for him.”].

He straightened to his full height, his claws clicking together once, a punctuation mark of finality.
[“But these pointless deaths… are something you will have to console yourself with when you can, Mike.”].

Mike lowered his head, the weight of Oblika’s words sinking deep into him. His chest felt tight, as if the gravity of everything he'd set in motion had pulled him downward. The realization of the unintended destruction he had caused, the deaths he’d been blind to, pressed on him like a thousand tons. He had been oblivious, lost in his own dream of escape — but it had been real.

For the first time since being pulled from the timeline, Mike understood the scope of his actions. The regret was raw, painful. He had jeopardized everything. A long pause hung in the air before he spoke, his voice strained but sincere.

“I’m sorry, Oblika. I didn’t know. I thought it was just another dream — like all the others I’ve had... but I can see now. I had no idea the danger I was putting everyone in.” He swallowed hard, the weight of his own guilt almost unbearable. “The Cables… they didn’t deserve any of that. I didn't even know what I was exposing them to."

He looked up, searching Oblika’s face for any sign of forgiveness, but the Ardoccan's expression remained impassive.

“What was that... assassin Spider, anyways?” Mike continued, trying to distract himself from the crushing weight in his chest. “How did it get so huge?” His voice was more curious now, as he wrestled with the jarring reality of what had nearly happened.

Oblika’s voice became softer as he spoke of the creature. The harshness that had marked his words earlier seemed to ebb away, replaced by something more... reflective. His gaze drifted off as if he were reliving the past in real time.

[“I named him Agamemnon, after the Greek king from one of your ancient Human books called ‘The Iliad’. A fitting name at the time, I thought.”]. He paused, glancing at Mike to see if the name resonated. When Mike didn’t seem to react, Oblika continued.

[“I first encountered him on Habessos II. It’s a harsh, sweltering world, teeming with gigantic insects and volcanic landscapes. The planet was in its infancy, its ecosystem still unstable. I was there on a life-form gathering mission for the Pioneer Corps, checking to see what species might be useful to our cause. The little creature was nothing but a hatchling, trapped by an amphibian predator with a penchant for fire. It would have killed him like it did his nest and his parents — but I saved him.”].

Mike blinked, still processing the bizarre tale.

“Wait... so you helped raise him?” Mike ventured cautiously, piecing the story together.

Oblika nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked back at Mike. The weight of his words seemed to hang in the air like a cloud.

[“Yes, I did. In your terms, I suppose you could say I raised him. He became something of a... companion, a 'pet' as you humans might call it. He was never easy to control — killing was second nature to him, just as instinctive as breathing.”].

He gave a short, bitter chuckle, almost like a sigh.

[“The 'Supremes' saw potential in him, though. They took him away from me, subjected him to enhancements — gave him the ability to adjust his size and strength at will. It’s rather impressive, when you think about it.”].

Mike’s eyes widened as the implications hit him. Agamemnon was no ordinary creature, and now he had been made into an even more dangerous weapon. Mike didn’t know how to react. The sheer power of what Oblika had shared was dizzying.

“So, you raised a killing machine...?” Mike asked, a bit of disbelief creeping into his voice.

[“Not by choice. But yes, Mike, I did. He’s more than just a creature. He’s a product of the 'Supremes'... and now, because of you, he’s on a direct course to find you. That’s why I said—he’s coming for you. He’ll never stop until you’re gone.”].

Mike was quiet for a moment, the realization settling over him like a suffocating weight. Agamemnon — the name alone carried a chilling history now. This wasn’t just some random creature; this was a weapon. One that Oblika had cared for and turned into something far deadlier than he’d ever intended.

Finally, he spoke.

“So, what do we do now?”

Oblika stood tall, a shadow falling over his face.

[“We survive. That’s all we can do.”].

“Are we Humans your ‘pets’, Oblika? For you to do with as you wish?” snapped Neal, his patience fraying. The whole exchange had tipped from strange to absurd.

Oblika’s mandibles clicked once, his compound eyes narrowing in an unmistakable grimace of irritation.
[“With all respect, Neal — no! You are not my pets.”] His voice rose, a low, resonant growl vibrating in the room. [“I communicate with you on a meaningful level. We cooperate. I provide you with housing, with work — a purpose. You’re not toys to me. You’re part of something far larger.”].

He stepped forward, looming over Neal just enough to make his point.
[“And never forget we have an enemy to defeat. You lads are not pets — you are my weapons.”].

Mike, who had been listening with wide eyes, shifted uneasily on his cot. His voice cracked as he spoke, the edge of desperation seeping through.
“**When you talk to the Supremes, Oblika… really push to get me out of here. Please!”

The plea hung in the air like a note struck off-key, the contrast between Oblika’s iron authority and Mike’s nervous humanity making the scene feel even more precarious

[“Mike… leave this with me.”]. Oblika’s voice lowered slightly, his mandibles clicking once in thought. [“I’ll be joining them for a remote meeting soon. They have news from Eastern Fleet Command — unusual, but I doubt it concerns you. I will offer a compromise — a reduction of your last week of confinement — and see what comes of it.”].

It was as close to a personal pledge as Oblika ever made.

“That would be wonderful… thank you, Bars.” Mike tried to soften the edge of his plea by using the Colonel’s given name, hoping it might shine a light on his dilemma, make him seem less like a prisoner and more like a friend.

Neal, sensing the moment, leaned forward and spoke carefully, his tone almost diplomatic. “That would be a very good thing, Colonel. Getting Mike out of here means we can focus on our jobs — on playing music — instead of all these unfolding dramas pulling us away from the mission ahead.”

He held Oblika’s gaze. “Please… try your very best to get him out. We all need him if we’re going to remain a band.”

[“Like I said, I’ll do my best. If they’re not willing to budge and insist on playing hard, we’ll know soon enough.”].

Neal nodded, meeting Oblika’s gaze with a quiet trust. “I trust your word… Bars. Thank you very much.”

Oblika turned toward the Sentry, muttering something in Ardoc, a series of clipped syllables that neither Mike nor Neal understood.

[“I told the Sentry we’re leaving — that I’ve important matters elsewhere. Also instructed him to close the portal once we’re gone. And to arrange for a good dinner for you, Mike. Hopefully, it’ll be your last in this… cage.”].

Mike’s eyes brightened slightly. “Thanks, Bars. I’m getting hungry again, and you’ve given me some renewed hope.”

[“Leave it with me. I’ll do the utmost to get you out of here early.”]. Oblika nodded once, his expression unreadable but determined.

Neal took a step back, his tone softer now. “I know you’ll do your best, Colonel. That’s all anyone can hope for.”

Oblika moved back toward the portal doorway, his large form blocking the passage as he waved his arm at Neal, signaling him to step out. Neal glanced back at Mike, his expression a mix of frustration and concern, then turned and followed Oblika out of the room. The Sentry, who had remained at attention, raised his hand to the control device strapped to his wrist. With a low hiss, the translucent barrier began to form, obscuring Mike’s figure as it slowly solidified, leaving only a vague outline of his form behind.

“Bars! I want to see you first thing in the morning, my friend, I’m counting on you—one way or the other, to see me!” Mike’s voice trailed off, muffled now by the force field. “And keep that Spider away from me, PLEASE…”

The final words were barely audible as the door fully sealed.

Neal exhaled sharply as the two of them retraced their steps down the corridor. The hum of the ship was a steady reminder of the task ahead, but Neal couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in his gut. As they approached the intersection that would lead them back to the main hall, he spoke, his voice firm.

“Bars… I get it, I do, but this whole situation—Mike locked up like that—it’s unacceptable. He’s our friend, our bandmate. We didn’t sign up for this.” Neal’s frustration was evident, though it wasn’t aimed at Oblika directly, but at the circumstances.

Oblika slowed, nodding slowly. [“I agree, Neal. I know you do. It’s a damaging situation for all of us. Mike’s safety, his well-being—it’s important, not just for him, but for the integrity of the mission. Believe me, if I could’ve handled this differently…”] He trailed off, his antennae twitching slightly, as though weighing the gravity of the situation.

Neal gave a sharp nod. “Just make sure he’s treated better than this, Bars. We need him. And we need him alive.” His voice softened a bit at the end, the weight of the mission ahead pressing down on him.

Oblika didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they continued down the corridor. Finally, he muttered, [“I’ll do what I can, Neal. I’ll make sure he’s out of there as soon as possible. But you have my word, he’ll be treated better than he was.”]

Neal gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but for now, it was enough. The tension still lingered, but the faintest sliver of hope remained.

[“Look, Neal—that’s likely a sheet of Baroon being placed right there,”]. Oblika said, pointing toward the busy work crew ahead. [“Probably has more metal content than ceramic, though meant to shield against blasts.”].

Neal squinted in the direction indicated, watching as the silvery slab was fitted into place along the corridor wall. “Why would you need armour plating inside a cargo ship, Oblika?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

Oblika gave a low grunt of acknowledgment. [“We may be in deep space, and nearing Hollien, yes—but every Ardoccan starship is equipped to perform self-repairs and upgrades. Internal modifications like these? Common. External hull work requires drydock. But all our vessels—cargo, transport, even medical—are designed to be reclassified as combat ships if the need arises. That’s policy.”].

Neal gave a thoughtful nod as they watched the progress of the workers. It made sense in a way only war-torn civilizations could appreciate.

[“A galaxy this large,”] Oblika continued, [“could swallow a million starships without leaving a trace. Neal—we don’t have a million starships. I wish we did. We might have a few thousand at best. Each one is expensive, slow to build, and critical to our survival.”].

He looked down at Neal, his tone low and grim.

[“That’s why we must make every ship, every crew, every mission count. Especially against the Vastians. They outnumber us—four to one, by our last estimates. If we’re going to survive, we can’t afford to waste a single advantage.”].

The two of them resumed walking, the hum of nearby construction echoing in the corridor behind them.

After what seemed like a circuitous route and down labyrinthine corridors, a large room was finally entered. Neal could never re-locate his way back to the Transportation chamber areas without Oblika’s help. They had not passed that many crew members walking through the corridors, so Neal would have difficulty getting directions.

A doorway slid open, and a medical orderly, wearing their customary blue Sashe across the chest walked over to greet Oblika. The two seemed to know one another, and a small exchange ensued. Neal was irritated that his tuning of the Ardoc to Human English on his Language Network Translator was not picking up this new dialect of Ardoc, as like with Oblika’s exchange with Mike’s sentry. Oblika glanced across at Neal and seemed to understand that he was growing frustrated.

[“Neal, don’t worry. It’s Battle dialect — a version of Ardoc we use in times of heightened alert. It’s designed to block out understanding from outside species. Security reasons. I can translate it into standard Ardoc, if you'd prefer.”]. Oblika said, her tone gracious but firm.

“That’s alright, Oblika. I just want to see Patrick, that’s all.” Neal replied, his impatience seeping through despite his efforts to keep it in check.

[“As you wish, Neal. I’m pressed for time as it is.”].

Oblika muttered a few words to the medical orderly, who nodded with a curt bow before gesturing for them to follow. They walked toward the far corner of the room, where a raised cot stood. A white sheet was draped over what appeared to be a humanoid figure, resembling a corpse at rest beneath the cover.

“Oh! My God! Is this Patrick?” Neal let out in fear.

[“Yes, he is SEDATED…not DEAD Neal, calm down’]. Said Oblika, reading Neal’s shock. The orderly reached down and pulled back the white sheet to reveal a shocking sight. There laid a slumbering Patrick, his face and eyes apparently bruised as the result of surgical procedures to lessen the warped effects of the ZART poisoning that had misshapen his features.

“WOW!! What in all creation have you guys done to him?!” An alarmed Neal blurted out.

[“No, Neal — not us. He did this to himself. Secret drinking, alone in his quarters. The Fengus who were supplying him with ZART have been dealt with appropriately. There's now an active investigation into who was providing them with ZART outside of the sanctioned festivities. It’s a controlled substance — lethal to Humans. We can’t afford this kind of... what you would call, ‘bullshit.”]. Oblika’s voice bristled with irritation.

[“I suspect this is an inside job, Neal — for profit. Someone’s lining their pockets at our expense. Patrick’s paying the price... no — we all are, really.”]. A cold edge of vengeance crept into his tone.

“Will the bruising go away, Oblika? And his chin... that swollen nose. Even with his eyes closed, they’re bulging — like... golf balls,” Neal said, incredulous.

[“Which is why a mask — or two — is being made for him. But only for the concerts, mind you. You’ll need to adjust to seeing his face as it is, without any mask. Take heart, Neal — over time, his features will gradually return to how they were... not too long ago.”]. Oblika reassured him.

“Good. I wouldn’t want him to feel embarrassed — or be ridiculed,” Neal said firmly.

[“Any ridicule would only come from his bandmates — and I expect they would be sensitive enough not to do so. Please — be respectful.”]. Oblika’s tone softened into something like a request.

“Don’t even suggest we’d tease him, Bars. We’re his friends — he’ll have our full support,” Neal promised.

[“That is exactly what I would expect, Neal.”].

The orderly had stepped out briefly but returned moments later holding what looked like a sheet of paper. He extended it toward Oblika, who took it, glanced at the image, and let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.

[“I’m not sure what’s worse — this ridiculous mask, or Patrick’s ridiculous face.”]. Oblika said with dry resignation, handing the paper over to Neal.

Neal accepted the drawing and studied it closely. Oblika watched him, scanning Neal’s face for any sign of approval — or disapproval.

After a few long moments of thoughtful silence, Neal finally spoke.

“Well... my my... this is pretty ornate. A dazzler, for sure.”

“It’ll work... I think. Might even add a bit of inspirational energy to our shows,” Neal said, nodding thoughtfully. “I like it, Oblika.”

[“Then that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”]. Oblika replied, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, indeed it is, Bars,” Neal said, clearly impressed.

[“Well, we must be going. I have a meeting to attend — and, hopefully, I’ll get Mike out of detention before much longer.”]. The Colonel added with a glance at the time panel.

With that, the orderly re-covered Patrick, murmuring a few words in the clipped cadence of the battle dialect. Oblika nodded in thanks, then gestured for Neal to follow him back toward the Transportation chamber.

Neal was more than happy to comply — getting lost in the maze of corridors was not something he wanted to repeat.

[“I’ll escort you back to Mark and TAI. You’ll be shown to some quarters where you can rest and get something to eat. I’ll leave you there — I’ve got a remote meeting to attend in my own quarters. Wish me luck!”]

“You’ve got my blessings on that one, Bars,” Neal replied politely.

Retracing their earlier path, it felt like a small eternity before they finally reached the Transport and sleep chamber area again. Oblika dutifully dropped Neal off, and he quickly located Mark.

Neal wasn’t sure who — if anyone — would be joining them first. Mike? Patrick?

Only time would tell.

Specialist Tech TAI had escorted the two band members back to the shared quarters they’d occupied before entering their stasis chambers. He arranged for the resumption of their meals and basic routines.

Meanwhile, Colonel Oblika had returned to his private quarters to prepare for his meeting with the Supremes. But his mind drifted — back to quieter times on Jellsius IV, when things had been more relaxed, more manageable.

He recalled those days fondly — before Mike had accidentally transgressed within his chamber, creating friction between Oblika and his own superiors. That single misstep had forced his hand in a direction he hadn’t wanted to take — a path that stirred anger among the higher-ups.

Before Patrick’s addiction had begun — quietly, unnoticed — in a less monitored environment. A problem that had grown in the shadows, hidden even from Patrick himself.

He had enjoyed the lack of formalities with the band members back on Jellsius IV — the way they called him by his first name, the easy laughter, the inside jokes. He thought back fondly to the wild energy of those tour dates, the carefree chaos of the gigs, the abandon of it all.

He missed the innocence of those relationships. The outrageous behavior of the Fengu crowds. The prodigious dancers who seemed to melt entire audiences into collective ecstasy.

More than anything, Oblika yearned to be done with his time aboard the TEVLOE — to step away from screens, from prying eyes, from underlings filing reports on his every decision.

Something had been lost now that they were all crammed together on this obsolete, worn-out starship — surrounded by other Ardoccans, in an atmosphere that felt rigid and unwelcoming. Gone was the casual camaraderie of Jellsius IV. Here, Oblika's presence was barely tolerated. He could sense it — the entire crew was on edge, elusive. Something was coming. Something beyond his control. The tension aboard the aging freighter could be cut with a knife.

His rank and service status now had to be formally acknowledged — at every turn, every movement. At first, he’d welcomed the deference. But as days wore on, it became oppressive — like wearing a heavy, soaked cloak that refused to dry. Especially when dealing with Glepko, Tai, or the junior sentries, orderlies, and general crew.

Captain Glepko was at least a breath of fresh air — a fellow veteran of past combat engagements against their sworn enemies. But even that came with pressure. Holding his own in the presence of another Ardoccan of parallel distinction — with a loyal, hand-picked crew at his side — only deepened Oblika’s sense of being the outsider.

And it showed. The crew kept their interactions with him brief, transactional. More out of duty than respect. He’d also noticed the new reinforcements being welded into bulkheads between the decks. Security layers. Battle-readiness protocols.

The I.A.S. TEVLOE was being prepped for conflict. Yet another sign that something was coming.

Oblika was due to join the meeting shortly. He prepared his notes carefully — a series of papers and counterpoints — fully aware of what was at stake.

He was willing to fall on his sword for Mike's case, even if it meant a demotion… or the quiet death of any hope for further advancement within the Pioneer Corps. A post he already felt he'd been passed over for — his once-promising career reduced to an experimental sideshow.

How long before this strange assignment was finally shut down? Perhaps this was the catalyst. Much to consider. Too much.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The meeting had gone well — far better than Oblika had expected.

In fact, he had received news he never thought he'd hear. His heart was pounding. Without hesitation, he activated the internal comms network.

[“Glepko,”] he said, his voice steady but urgent. [“I need to speak with you... Immediately.”].

Captain Glepko made his way to Oblika’s quarters without delay. He could tell from Oblika’s voice that something was wrong.

The meeting with the two Supremes had apparently centered around the Human called ‘Parris’ — still languishing in isolation for a transgression Glepko barely had time for, let alone believed in. He had only carried out the punishment because he was ordered to. It had always seemed... pointless.

Arriving at Oblika’s quarters, Glepko stepped inside. He found Oblika standing with his back to the door, gazing out at the blackness of deep space — at the countless, minute specks of light that were distant stars.

“Oblika… what is it?” Glepko asked quietly.

[“Hello, my friend. We are to release Parris — effective immediately. No further punishment is required. He is to be left unmolested. The entire incident has been swept under the floor.”].

Oblika turned slightly, his voice carrying a note of grim disbelief.

[“We’re to proceed to Hollien as quickly as possible and resume our mission — Performance Art... and Preventative Countermeasures. As crazy as it sounds. As impossible as its intentions might be.”].

Oblika finally turned to face Captain Glepko.

[“A massive Vastian fleet — and nearly twenty of their Light Divisions — have crossed the Eastern Boundary, well beyond the Treaty of Temparlos stop-points. The line drawn after the Second Vas-Ardoc War.”]

He paused for only a beat.

[“More than three hundred Vastian warships have violated Ardoccan space. Several hundred more are moving in from the flanks in support. They’ve hit multiple star stations and defensive trigger points along the boundary — destroyed some, scattered any ships in their path. Captain... we are in a state of war with the Vastian Galactic Empire.    Again.”].

Glepko’s expression didn’t shift much — but the steel in his voice was unmistakable.

“So... it’s happening. It’s on,” he said grimly.

Both veterans stood in silence for a moment.

They understood what lay ahead: the trials, the sorrows. The euphoria of victories, the weight of losses. The cost in lives and worlds. The sacrifices that would be made — and the ones that wouldn’t be remembered.

But above all, they knew one thing with certainty.

The Ardoccans had not been ready.

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(End of Chapter 17 : The Man In The Iron Mask)