The unknown ship clung to the surface of the Dormant M-Gate like a shadow of pure, terrifying potential.

  Admiral Kaala Veyra stood in the precise center of the I.S.S. Valiant's bridge, her posture rigid, her gaze locked on the central holographic screen. The colossal structure of the M-Gate—forty-five thousand kilometers in diameter, a ring of gleaming, seemingly indestructible Magesteel—dominated the display, a monument to a power humanity could only guess at. And there, pressed against the inner surface of the ring, like a parasite on an ancient god, was the alien stealth cruiser.

  It was holding station impossibly close to the Magesteel ring. The distance was estimated at less than a kilometer—a reckless proximity that defied logic. Any sane Imperial captain would maintain a minimum buffer of fifty kilometers from a structure of such incomprehensible mass and gravitational potential, even a dormant one, fearing micrometeoroid ejection or a catastrophic, uncontrolled wake-up event. Yet, this vessel remained tethered, its hull almost touching the smooth, perfect Magesteel. It was as if the ship sought to blend into the gate itself, using the immense, self-aware structure as both cover and camouflage.

  And the maneuver had been entirely successful.

  For how long the ship had maintained this silent vigil, Kaala did not know. But the thought—the icy realization that an alien vessel of superior technology had been watching their every move for weeks, perhaps months—sent a profound chill through her. The core principle of Imperial Naval Doctrine was the elimination of the unseen threat; the current situation was the utter failure of that principle.

  The bridge was saturated with the deep, throbbing silence of Red Alert status. The low hum of the Valiant's A/V reactor systems provided a counterpoint to the distant, faint alarms that still echoed through the ship's massive, angular corridors, reminders of the fleet's coiled tension. Weapons arrays were hot, their targeting matrices locked onto the quantum signature. Shields were up, the plasma fields barely visible as a faint blue flicker across the hull. Around the flagship, the rest of Taskforce 9 held its defensive, circular formation, every sensor and weapon trained on the single, diamond-shaped distortion in the void.

  But the alien ship did not move. It did not transmit. It did not respond to the sudden, aggressive posture of an entire Imperial taskforce.

  It simply was there. Silent. Waiting.

  Kaala felt the immense weight of command settle over her like a suit of heavy, cold armor. Every decision she made now, every word spoken, every order issued, would be recorded in the annals of history, rippling across the Human Empire and potentially sparking a conflict, a disaster, or a war. And she had no precedent. Her entire career—twenty-five years of service in the vast, known galaxy of man—had not prepared her for this moment.

  This was humanity's First Contact with an alien intelligence. And the alien had chosen, deliberately and effectively, to hide.

  Lieutenant Alira Drav stood at the sensor station, her hands moving across the gesture controls with the nervous, almost surgical precision of a pilot maintaining orbit in a gas giant's storm. The holoview above her crash couch displayed a magnified image of the alien ship, its outline shimmering and distorted, a ghost projected onto the hard reality of space.

  She had been staring at the visualization for ten minutes, and the sight was still an act of cognitive dissonance. It was there, but it wasn't supposed to be.

  "Admiral," Drav reported, her voice tight, formal, and barely above the procedural hum. "I’ve completed the preliminary structural and energy analysis. It is unequivocally alien. No human design component, no scrap of known technology."

  Kaala turned, the command presence she exuded demanding complete, unvarnished data. "Go on. Detail the structural specifics."

  Drav adjusted the filters on her holoview, and the alien vessel resolved slightly further. The image was still grainy, fragmented by the stealth technology, but the basic details of its Functional Aesthetic were unmistakable.

  "The core structure is a diamond-shape," Drav continued, pointing a gloved finger at the projection. "Extremely tapered at the front for what appears to be high-velocity efficiency. The primary engines—three massive, recessed drive units—are mounted at the rear, suggesting incredible thrust-to-mass ratios. But the weapon and sensor arrays are the most peculiar element: they are distributed across the hull in a seemingly asymmetric, non-patterned configuration. There are no visible torpedo tubes, missile bays, or standardized laser lances. It’s not like anything in our Empire's databases, or in the known records of the exploratory scholars.

  Kaala stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the sleek, angular, and profoundly predatory profile. The diamond shape suggested streamlined efficiency, but the asymmetrical array layout spoke of a design philosophy fundamentally different from the Empire's doctrine of Symmetrical Redundancy.

  "The hull material, Lieutenant. That is the critical factor. What is it made of?" Kaala pressed.

  Drav shook her head slowly, her expression a mixture of awe and professional defeat. "Unknown, Admiral. Our conventional sensor systems—the primary gravimetric, EM, and spectral arrays—register only the faint, distant background of the M-Gate itself. The material is actively refracting and bending electromagnetic radiation around its surface. It’s not a simple cloaking field; it’s integrated into the very structure. The ship is, by all Imperial standards, completely invisible."

  "Then how, Lieutenant, are we seeing it at all?" Kaala asked, the implicit political and military weight of the answer hanging in the air.

  Drav hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the specific diagnostic overlay glowing on her screen. "The Angelic Republic Sensor Module, Admiral. The ASDP upgrade we received at Coorbash."

  Kaala's jaw tightened. She had known the moment of truth would come. The ASDP—the covert software and hardware upgrade gifted to Taskforce 9 by Selene Kaelen, the second-in-command of the enigmatic Angelic Republic, and the creation of its CEO, Isaiah Kaelen—was now the single key to the survival of her fleet.

  The module had been installed under a veil of quiet suspicion. Some of her senior staff, dedicated proponents of Imperial Technological Superiority, viewed it as a potential Trojan horse, a possible backdoor for the Republic to gain access to Imperial systems. Yet, Kaala, through a combination of intuition and a deep-seated, complex trust in Selene's judgment, had allowed the integration.

  Now, that judgment was vindicated, but the cost was the realization of Imperial obsolescence.

  "Detail its function, Lieutenant," Kaala ordered, needing to hear the mechanics of their temporary salvation.

  Drav pulled up a low-level diagnostic overlay, revealing the module’s complex, interwoven code. "The ASDP interfaces directly with the raw data stream from our primary arrays. It doesn't look for visible light or EM distortion. Instead, it runs a secondary, continuous analysis, filtering out cosmic background noise and actively detecting minute irregularities in the ship’s quantum signature leakage—the fractional mass-energy displacement that occurs when a massive object interacts with the space-time continuum. It's operating on a level of physics far beyond anything the Imperial Research Division has publicly developed."

  Kaala absorbed the chilling truth. "And without this specific, gifted technology, Taskforce 9 would have sailed right past this stealth cruiser, completely oblivious."

  "Yes, Admiral," Drav confirmed, the starkness of the admission hanging between them. "The alien ship is effectively bending light around itself, achieving complete conventional stealth. The Angelic module is cutting through that field by detecting the ship's mass, not its light. The image is grainy and distorted because the module is fighting the ship's field to produce the signature, but it’s enough for target lock."

  Kaala stared at the alien vessel, the ghost ship silent and still. The implication was staggering.

  "I don't like this, Admiral," Drav reiterated, dropping her voice to a quiet, tense whisper. "Wanderer Outpost and Destroyer Squadron 16 have been operating in this system for over a year. Their records show nothing. No sightings, no anomalies, no warnings. If this ship has been hiding against the gate for the duration of the Imperial presence..."

  She did not need to finish the thought. The meaning was devastatingly clear. The Empire had been operating under the assumption of unchallenged supremacy in the Arqan system, while an unknown, highly advanced alien predator had been silently observing their every move.

  Kaala stood in a state of suspended silence, her mind processing the data with the speed and efficiency of a 100-teraflop central processor.

  How long has it been here?

  The question was no longer theoretical. If the alien ship had maintained station near the M-Gate for a year or longer—the approximate duration of the Imperial mission—it had accumulated intelligence on an unparalleled scale. It had observed the arrival of the colossal Goliath cargo ships carrying the prefabricated modules of Wanderer Station. It had watched the station assembled, piece by piece, in high orbit around the second gas giant. It had cataloged Destroyer Squadron 16’s patrol routes, the frequency of their sensor sweeps, the deployment patterns of mining drones, fuel reserves, crew rotations, and all ship-to-ship communication protocols.

  The concept of Imperial security in the Arqan system was a catastrophic fiction.

  Are they already compromised?

  If the alien ship had been watching Wanderer for a year, it knew the complete tactical playbook of the Empire’s forward elements. Ship compositions. Defensive capabilities. Vulnerabilities. Every detail had been laid bare before an unknown, highly intelligent, and technologically superior entity.

  And if that intelligence was not merely local, but had been transmitting reports back to a distant fleet—if there was a fleet—then Taskforce 9 was not merely at a disadvantage. It was likely entering a pre-prepared trap.

  Kaala’s jaw tightened, the potential fallout echoing in her mind. The political ramifications would be instantaneous and savage. The discovery of a dormant M-Gate outside Imperial territory was already a political minefield, the Emperor himself having intervened to delay the taskforce deployments, fearing the reaction of the powerful Dukes and the perpetually aggressive Senate.

  But now: First Contact.

  The discovery of a sentient, intelligent alien species, capable of advanced stealth technology, hiding near a precious, unreplicable piece of ancient technology.

  Kaala could already hear the cacophony in the Imperial Senate Hall. The Dukes, always hungry for territorial expansion and a new enemy to conquer, would demand immediate military action, a Retribution Fleet deployment, and a full-scale declaration of war to seize the gate. The Frontier Senators, scarred by past conflicts, would call for extreme caution, diplomatic outreach, and restraint. And the Emperor, sitting upon his throne of Magesteel, would silently calculate how to best leverage this discovery—this threat—to solidify his own power against the fractured, self-serving body of the Senate.

  All of it—the historical record, the political disaster, the responsibility for billions of potential lives—rested on her command deck.

  She forced the grand, abstract politics out of her mind. The Senate was two months in jump-space away. The Emperor’s decree was irrelevant in the face of an immediate, unblinking threat. Her sole focus was the safety and survival of Taskforce 9, and the immediate determination of the alien vessel's intent.

  And yet, the choice of the alien to simply hide was the most disturbing fact of all. It suggested not fear, but patience. Not desperation, but calculation.

  Captain Marcus Reneld stood near the tactical station, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression a mask of professional, tightly controlled tension. He had remained silent since the Red Alert call, allowing Kaala absolute authority over the fleet operation. But Kaala could see the strain in the slight tremor of his left hand, the way his jaw muscles flickered beneath his skin.

  Reneld was a paragon of Imperial professionalism, a veteran who understood the delicate, unspoken balance of command. The Valiant was his ship, but Taskforce 9 was Kaala's fleet. And in this moment of First Contact, the situation demanded a single, unified chain of command, devoid of democratic consultation.

  "Captain," Kaala said, breaking the silence and turning to face her second-in-command. "Your formal assessment of the tactical situation. Assume the worst-case scenario."

  Reneld met her gaze, his eyes sharp and assessing. "Admiral, if that ship has been holding station for the duration of the mission, as Lieutenant Drav suggests, we must operate under the assumption of total compromise. It knows our patrol patterns, our ship compositions, and our core defensive capabilities. It has had sufficient time to study the subtle energy signatures of our weapon charging cycles. More than that: it has studied us. It has prepared for our response."

  "And if it’s been sending reports back to a coordinated alien fleet?" Kaala pressed, forcing the question into the official record.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Reneld’s jaw tightened, the skin pulling taut over his cheekbones. "Then we are not merely compromised, Admiral. We are facing a coordinated, technologically superior, and prepared enemy force. Our only advantage is our knowledge of their stealth, derived from the ASDP."

  The heavy, cold words settled over the bridge.

  The tactical situation was a nightmare. Taskforce 9, designed for Endurance Campaigns against known enemies, was now pinned by a hidden observer, its numerical superiority negated by the enemy's complete stealth advantage.

  At the tactical station, Commander Draeven Soren stared at the alien ship's blurry signature on his holoview, his face a grim mask of military reality.

  "Murphy's Law, amplified," he muttered, his voice just loud enough for Reneld and Kaala to hear.

  Reneld raised an eyebrow slightly. "Specify, Commander."

  Soren looked up, his expression bleak. "We had a quiet journey, sir. Two months in Jump Space, a smooth arrival, a clean rendezvous with the Outpost. The universe was too quiet. And now we find an unknown technologically superior alien vessel hiding behind the Empire’s greatest artifact, watching us like a patient predator. It’s the worst-case, most statistically unlikely scenario, and it is reality."

  Soren turned back to his holoview, his fingers flying across the controls, cross-referencing the alien vessel's profile with every archived database—pirate vessels and rogue colony ships. "Nothing matches, Admiral. This is a dedicated, sophisticated military vessel. It is new, patient, and disciplined. It has the technological capacity to destroy us, and yet it has chosen silence and observation. That is a tactical decision, Admiral. It means it’s part of something bigger."

  The command team had reached a consensus: they were facing the forward element of a hidden, organized alien civilization.

  Kaala then addressed the final, procedural problem. "Lieutenant Mylen. What is the status on First Contact protocols?"

  Mylen, at the communications station, looked stressed. "Admiral, we are in a state of protocol failure. Imperial Doctrine assumes an identifiable vessel and immediate hostile action, or an immediate non-hostile reply. This ship is stationary and silent. We have initiated the Universal Broadcast Protocol (UBP-3), transmitting basic mathematical constants, the universal hydrogen line, and low-frequency repeating audio greetings in all common Imperial languages, but... there is no reply. No acknowledgment."

  The alien ship was not merely silent; it was ignoring the official, desperate outreach of the Human Empire.

  The pressure of the unacknowledged UBP-3 transmission hung heavy in the air, a testament to the alien's deliberate refusal to engage.

  And then, a new piece of data shattered the tension.

  "Admiral! I’m detecting a transmission," Lieutenant Jora Mylen announced, her voice strained but clear.

  Kaala’s head snapped toward the communications station. "A reply? From the alien ship?"

  "Negative, Admiral," Mylen replied instantly, her hands flying across the sensor relay controls. "The transmission is inbound from one of our destroyers. The Hawklight – DD-12. They are reporting a laser pulse detection."

  Kaala’s blood ran cold. The Hawklight was on the far edge of Taskforce 9's formation, running high-resolution surveillance, designed for early detection of light-speed threats.

  "Show me," Kaala commanded.

  The holographic screen flickered. A new overlay appeared, showing the current disposition of Taskforce 9. A thin, faint green line extended from the position of the Hawklight's primary sensor dish, tracing a perfect, light-speed path across the void.

  The line of fire originated from the alien stealth cruiser and terminated at a precise vector in deep space.

  The line led directly to the third gas giant.

  Kaala stared at the projection, her mind racing to connect the pieces. The laser pulse had been incredibly faint, almost imperceptible—a tight-beam transmission designed to be undetectable over such a vast distance. But the Hawklight, its systems tuned to maximum sensitivity under Red Alert status, had been in the perfect spatial alignment to register the fractional light-speed deviation.

  "Could it be a signal relay or a sensor beacon?" Captain Reneld asked, stepping closer, his voice low.

  "Signal relay is the most probable explanation," Mylen replied. "The pulse was tight-beam, highly encrypted, and extremely short-duration—less than a single microsecond. It was designed for covert, secure communication."

  Kaala felt her jaw tighten in a silent curse. The third gas giant. The same massive planet where Ensign Mira Kael had detected the flicker of an engine signature days ago, a signature dismissed by Wanderer Outpost's older sensor systems as mere interference from the planet's perpetual storms.

  "Tactical," Kaala said, her voice like grinding stone. "Deploy a full complement of deep-penetration sensor probes toward the third gas giant. I want every millimeter of that region swept. If there is another ship hiding there—if there is a fleet—I want to know about it now."

  "Aye, Admiral. Probes deploying on maximized acceleration vectors," Soren replied, the thrill of actual, quantifiable action replacing the tension of the wait.

  Kaala turned back to the holographic screen, her gaze fixed on the distant gas giant. The planet churned in the void, a swirling mass of orange and brown storms, looking vast and serene. But Kaala knew better. If the stealth cruiser was a single, hidden predator, the gas giant was the perfect lair for its pack.

  If one ship was hiding behind the M-Gate, others were almost certainly using the atmospheric distortion and gravitational interference of the massive planet as cover. Taskforce 9 was not only outmaneuvered; it was dangerously exposed to a concerted, coordinated attack from an unknown enemy.

  Kaala stood in the center of the bridge, the variables multiplying into an unsolvable equation. The stealth cruiser. The hidden fleet. The M-Gate. The overwhelming information void.

  She made a command decision that bypassed standard protocol but was born of utter necessity.

  "Communications," she said, her voice cutting through the procedural noise. "Open a secure, internal channel to Engineering. I need to speak with Chief Engineer Torvek. Immediate priority."

  Captain Reneld glanced at her, his expression briefly questioning the breach of protocol—the direct line to a department head. Kaala met his gaze and gave him a brief, measured nod of apology. Time was no longer a luxury; it was a lethal constraint. Reneld, the consummate professional, inclined his head slightly, a silent, absolute gesture of consent.

  The holoview above Kaala's command station flickered, and Chief Engineer Brann Torvek's image appeared. He was seated in the engineering crash couch, deep in the heavily armored, structurally reinforced lower decks of the Valiant, surrounded by flickering holoviews displaying critical reactor outputs, fuel levels, and system diagnostics. His face was gruff, his expression perpetually weary from years of wrestling with recalcitrant plasma conduits, but his eyes, beneath the deep lines of fatigue, were sharp, focused, and completely engaged.

  "Admiral," Torvek said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I've been monitoring the bridge feed. I know precisely what you need, ma'am."

  Kaala felt a profound, unexpected surge of relief. "Chief, I need you to compile a complete data package on the Angelic Republic Sensor Module. I require the full diagnostic files, the integration protocols, the exact quantum signature parameters—everything. I need it sent to my console immediately for external transmission."

  "Already done, Admiral," Torvek replied, without hesitation. His thick fingers moved across the gesture controls, executing a command that had clearly been staged. Kaala's holoview emitted a distinct, high-priority ping, indicating a new, heavily encrypted data packet. "Package is on your console now. Encrypted to Level-9 standard. I even included the raw sensor sweep data from the moment of detection, just in case the Outpost’s processing is substandard."

  Kaala blinked, briefly losing her composure. "You were prepared for this exact request, Chief?"

  Torvek’s lips cracked into a rare, faint smile. "I've worked on a lot of ships with a lot of captains and admirals, ma'am. I've learned to anticipate the logical needs of my leaders when they are facing the statistically impossible. After all, when things go fundamentally broken, the engineers are the ones who have to patch the reality back together."

  "Thank you, Chief. That will be all."

  "Aye, Admiral. Torvek out. Stay safe, ma'am."

  The holoview flickered, and Torvek’s image dissolved. Kaala turned toward Captain Reneld, a faint, apologetic smile on her face. "My apologies again, Captain. That was essential."

  Reneld inclined his head. "No apologies necessary, Admiral. Necessity over protocol. You made the correct call. Now, the message to Wanderer."

  Kaala returned to her command station and pulled up the newly delivered data package. The ASDP's complex, Angelic Republic code was contained in the impenetrable file. She confirmed the data was complete, the encryption secure, and the files were ready for transmission to the forward element.

  She then turned toward the communications station.

  "Lieutenant Mylen, prepare a Laser Burst Transmission to Wanderer Outpost Station. Priority alert, Level-1 urgency. Attach the data package from Chief Torvek and initiate immediate transmission."

  "Aye, Admiral. Encoding and initiating now."

  Kaala stepped toward the communications station and dictated the message, every word chosen for its strategic weight and immediate impact. It needed to be clear, concise, urgent, and contain the absolute truth, regardless of the political repercussions.

  "Lieutenant, record the following. This is a high-priority, encrypted transmission to Commodore Sighter at Wanderer Outpost Station."

  Mylen activated the recording interface, and Kaala spoke with an unwavering clarity that commanded attention.

  "Commodore Sighter, this is Admiral Veyra aboard the Valiant. Attached to this transmission is a data package containing the Angelic Republic Sensor Module (ASDP). This module was provided to Taskforce 9 by Selene Kaelen, second-in-command of the Angelic Republic, stationed at Coorbash Fleet Headquarters. You are to treat this technology with the highest security. The module is the only system capable of detecting a specific, lethal stealth technology."

  "Using this module, we have detected an unknown alien stealth cruiser holding station near the Dormant M-Gate. The vessel is diamond-shaped, approximately cruiser-sized, and constructed of an unknown material that actively refracts light, rendering it invisible to all standard Imperial sensors. The ship has been hiding against the surface of the M-Gate, likely for an extended period, potentially for the duration of the Imperial presence. It is highly probable this vessel has been observing Wanderer Station and Destroyer Squadron 16 without your knowledge. Assume your perimeter is compromised."

  "This is humanity's confirmed First Contact with an alien intelligence. The vessel has made absolutely no attempt to communicate, and has remained motionless since our arrival. It is exhibiting extreme, disciplined patience."

  "Additionally, one of our destroyers, the Hawklight, detected a tight-beam laser pulse emanating from the alien cruiser, directed toward the third gas giant. We believe this pulse was a covert signal to additional hostile vessels hiding in that region. You are to assume there is a coordinated alien fleet operating within the Arqan system."

  "I am deploying sensor probes to investigate the gas giant, but I strongly recommend that Wanderer Station and Squadron 16 increase alert status to maximum defense and prepare for potential, immediate engagement. You are to install the ASDP immediately and begin sweeping the gas giant and your patrol lanes."

  "I will attempt to reposition Taskforce 9 to provide support if necessary, but our current position near the M-Gate limits our maneuverability. The strategic threat of this alien ship prevents a full repositioning. I wish you luck, Commodore. Stay vigilant. Veyra out."

  Kaala paused for a beat, the gravity of the message—a simultaneous confirmation of a new war and the reliance on an unsanctioned, foreign technology—settling over her.

  "Lieutenant Mylen, attach the data package and transmit. Confirm signal integrity."

  "Aye, Admiral. Message encoded. Transmitting now. Confirmation of clean burst and trajectory lock to Wanderer Outpost established."

  The powerful laser beam shot out from the Valiant's communications array, an invisible thread of encrypted light threading through the void toward the distant outpost. The vastness of the system meant that the light-speed delay was critical: the message would take roughly one hour to reach Wanderer Station, and another hour for a reply.

  Two hours of waiting. Two hours of silence. Two hours until the forward element of the Empire was either safe or engaged in a devastating, unexpected first contact war.

  The bridge lapsed into a secondary, more profound silence. The Red Alert klaxons were muted, replaced by the procedural efficiency of the crew managing the crisis.

  Kaala, unable to stand still, walked toward the command station and initiated a final, desperate act of protocol.

  "Lieutenant Mylen. Re-initiate the Universal Broadcast Protocol. Disable all Imperial codes. Transmit on the primary band using simple EM pulses. Send the first 100 prime numbers. Send the universal constants of physics. Send a simple, non-aggressive geometric shape—a slowly rotating cube, followed by a sphere. Repeat sequence every three minutes."

  "Aye, Admiral. Initiating Silent Outreach now."

  The Valiant’s communications array began to pulse, sending silent, unencrypted, and universal messages into the void, messages that spoke of mathematics, logic, and a desire for peaceful engagement. Kaala watched the visual representation of the broadcast on her screen—the ghostly, digital prime numbers radiating outwards, a last, desperate hope for dialogue before the inevitable conflict.

  The alien ship hung in the void, a diamond of profound, unbroken silence.

  Kaala stared at it, her hands clasped behind her back. Around her, the bridge crew worked in tense, focused quiet, their eyes flicking between their procedural holoviews and the main display. The red ambient lighting of the alert status continued to bathe the bridge in a perpetual crimson twilight.

  The ship was diamond-shaped, its hull shimmering slightly in the pale light of the twin suns, a ghost made manifest by the Kaelen technology. It was still pressed against the surface of the 45,000 km M-Gate, so close it seemed to draw silent energy from the ancient structure itself. And it had not moved a single meter since its detection.

  No communication. No acknowledgment of the aggressive Imperial posture. No response to the universal greetings.

  It simply watched.

  Kaala felt the crushing, terrifying weight of the moment. This was humanity's first contact. And the alien had chosen to respond to the greatest display of Imperial military power and the most sincere attempt at communication with absolute, cold silence.

  What did that mean?

  Was the alien ship a scout? A predator? A guardian of the ancient gate?

  The prolonged, deliberate silence was infinitely more threatening than any hostile transmission could have been. It communicated one thing: You are beneath our notice.

  She glanced at the tactical overlay, at the thin, faint green line that was the ghost of the laser pulse, pointing a silent, accusing finger toward the churning chaos of the third gas giant. The signal had been sent. The alien fleet had been alerted.

  And somewhere in the void, hidden behind storms and planetary mass, something vast and unknown was waiting for the 2-hour light-speed delay to end.

  Kaala exhaled slowly, her gaze returning to the diamond shape that held her fleet hostage.

  Two hours. That was how long it would take for Wanderer to respond, or for the fleet at the gas giant to receive their final orders.

  Two hours of silence. Two hours of waiting. Two hours to prepare for a war against an enemy whose existence was only confirmed by a single, silent, contemptuous ship.

  She stood in the center of the bridge, the embodiment of Imperial resolve, and stared into the profound void of the unknown.

  Who are you?

  And why have you chosen to observe us, only to ignore us?