As the vapour began to clear the room, Miran stood coughing and swatting until she could breathe again. The monster Hari had been formidable, a horror to behold, but now it lay dead at the east wall of the cleanroom. Oscar sat perched atop it.

  “What was that?” Miran asked, “what did you just gas us all with, Nora?”

  “The cure, distilled from the concoction gathered from Soren,” she explained. Miran’s upset at the sight of what had been Soren dissolving into the terrace pavement finally made sense.

  “You infected us with the thing that killed Soren?” Miran pressed, “aren’t our lives now forfeit?”

  “No,” said Oscar, standing, “What has been dispersed throughout the room by Tolly and Nora’s ingenious effort using the crop sprayer should have no ill effect on the uninfected. I have designed it to affect only those already touched by the malignant phage.”

  That was good, at least, Miran thought. “What next?”

  “Well, we have a cure, and we’re synthesising more as we speak,” said Tolly.

  “And we have a sort of dispersal method,” said Nora, “what we lack is a mode of conveyance.”

  “A non-zero hole in our schemes,” Oscar admitted. “Not to mention, from what Matriarch Kerrigan has told us, there’s a host of citizens under the thrall of my brother tearing through the city trying to get to the estate.”

  “Well, we have the cure now. Nin must know that,” Nora reasoned, “what can he do now to stop us?”

  “He will exhaust every avenue in an attempt to slow us,” Oscar said.

  “What more can he want with us?” asked Tolly.

  Oscar thought for a moment before speaking, “From an outside observer, the main uniting force – the one that this all revolves around – appears to be Miran. A fact that Nin would not have deemed coincidence.”

  “He wants me,” said Miran.

  She thought for a long moment over the implications of Nin’s fixation on her. They had a cure and a method to disperse it, Nora was right. What they lacked now is a way to get it into each body the Ghede had infected, and simultaneously at that.

  “What we need is a way to get all of the infected in one place instead of scattered throughout the city,” said Nora, echoing Miran’s own thoughts.

  “I will see it done,” said Miran, deep thought hidden in her lips. The rest of them in the room stared at her, each with varying levels of concern.

  “I do not think you understand the risks, Miran,” said Kerrigen as she entered the room, eying the body of the monster as she did. “This will only work if we can get the attention of the whole Ghede host.”

  “I thought you were preparing the frontlines?” asked Miran.

  “I am, but came here as soon as Hari’s men tipped me off,” she explained, “I am sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

  “She may have a point,” Oscar said, despite a disdainful look from Tolly. “Nin has taken some aberrant interest in Miran. He has marked her as his plaything.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Tolly objected, “Miran should not have to risk her life to do this.”

  “Besides, we may have a cure. What Nora has said, what we lack now is a vehicle to deliver it,” Oscar said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Nora, “What we need is a way to allow the agent to infect each of the Ghede drones simultaneously. If we could carry about the converted crop sprayers and disperse it from above the city... maybe through the use of a handful of shuttles, we may be able to blanket them.”

  “No, they’ll see right through that,” Miran said, “am I wrong, Oscar?”

  Oscar considered that before nodding. “The enemy you face is cunning. You will need to outwit them for this plan to succeed. Be unexpected.”

  Miran thought long and hard in an attempt to distil a solution. In her mind, she walked back along the path that brought her here, from the Hari drone to Soren’s fight to survive, from The Hammerfist’s bullish sacrifice, all the way back to her time in sepak. She thought of the sands billowing as they moved across the squat dunes beyond city limits, of the structures that shielded them.

  “What if we draw them out,” she said, a plan still codifying in the space before her. “What if we bring them to us?”

  “Here, to the estate?” asked Kerrigen, “You realise we are at the centre of the densest part of Hisshou. We would be hiding behind countless citizens that the Ghede would slaughter to reach us.”

  “Not the estate. We go outside the city and we turn them around. On the other side of Eidao, we get them out in the open,” said Miran. “Once we have a line of sight, we hit them with the cure.”

  “What then? We still can’t use shuttles. You said they would see that coming,” Nora said.

  “We use the sands. Kicked up with enough force, the winds and fine particulates might carry the cure into the host, and past them, cleansing the city,” Miran said.

  “Use the dust storms….” Nora thought aloud, “That may actually work. What you will need is a sort of dispersal pack to house and disseminate the agent upwind from the blast source.”

  “A bomb?” asked a bewildered Tolly.

  “Can’t we just strap the cure to the bomb and be done with it?” Kerrigen asked bluntly.

  “If you want to vaporise it in the initial blast, sure,” Nora said sardonically. “No, in order to reach maximum dispersal, we will need several dozen of these packs, mounted on pylons several hundred metres from the initial blast source.”

  Nora cast a visualisation over to the wallscreen. A three-dimensional layout of the city was overlaid with the dispersal pattern created by the blast passing over the crop sprayer pylons and eastward on to the city. The pattern created covered only a thin strip of the city’s central-most districts. Nora studied the lack of coverage this plan presented.

  “Doctor, a crescent formation might work,” Tolly offered, drawing out the pattern and adding it to the image. The pattern cast on the wallscreen now covered the whole of the city.

  “Right,” Nora said without any accolades. “A crescent should do. We will need more pylons, though. Based on this simulation, I believe this plan will work.”

  “You’re all forgetting,” Kerrigen interrupted, “we can’t influence them into doing anything, let alone lead them on an exodus from the city.”

  “I may be able to assist in this,” Oscar said. “If I can influence the Will, I may just be able to draw them out.”

  “You can do that, take control of the whole host?” Kerrigen said dismissively. “Why not just have them leave this world entirely? Or better yet, walk them all out into the desert to starve?”

  “My own Will is not loud enough. I lack the ability to take complete control,” Oscar said. He cast a sheepish look in Tolly’s direction. “One foot in the building isn’t enough to order around the waitstaff. No, what I offer is a whisper into their collective minds, to dangle Miran as a carrot before them.”

  “You think this will be enough to draw them out?” Miran asked.

  Oscar nodded.

  “So we have a mechanism, and we have our bait,” Miran said, “Where do we get a bomb?”

  “I can have one brought down from The Dream,” Kerrigen offered.

  “Too visible,” Oscar interjected.

  “We land a ship west of the city,” Miran said, “We can plant the bomb nearby and mask its radiation pattern as it were a generator; make it look like we’re setting up a relief camp for the disease.”

  “A blast that close to a ship will cause untold devastation,” Kerrigen said, seemingly the only voice of reason. “You would be risking the ship’s entire crew, not to mention your own life.”

  “I will go alone. I’ll land the ship, set up camp, and place each of the pylons,” Miran assured her, already a ship in mind. “Nora, get to work?”

  Nora didn’t need approval and had been hard at work tracing designs and equations into her terminal. Tolly was looking over her shoulder, offering hushed input.

  “Oscar, what do you need to send this message?” Miran asked.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “Time,” he said.

  “You’re sure? That fight took a lot out of you,” asked Tolly, concerned.

  “Worry not. I will be ready,” he confirmed.

  “You haven’t told me how you plan on procuring a ship,” Kerrigen said, walking over to Miran.

  “Do you remember my engagement with the Ghede over Bordeaux?” she asked. Kerrigen nodded. “One of the Cattleheart fleet that came out unscathed was The Seragam, Soren’s cousin’s ship. I mean to borrow it.”

  Kerrigen considered this before answering; “I cannot force any crew to abandon their home like that. You know this as much as I, but a Matriarch cannot ask a crew to forfeit their vessel. Nor would I,” she said, “I will not have the wider public learning of the outbreak lest it place the rest of the planet at risk of being turned into glass from fearful captains in orbit.”

  “I know,” Miran said. “Take care of The Dream for me?”

  “I still don’t like this plan,” Kerrigen said.

  “It’ll work,” Miran lied.

  “I’ve mobilised a line of Hisshou and Flock ground forces to gather against the enemy. Best we keep them out of the city and protect the remaining citizens,” said Kerrigen.

  She paused, something weighing heavy on her.

  “I’ve had to lie to them,” Kerrigen admitted. “I told them nothing of the outbreak. As far as they know, it’s a band of rebels tearing through the districts.”

  “You did what you had to,” said Miran.

  “Not enough. That’s why I’m headed back to the front,” Kerrigen said, “I’ll be damned if I throw their lives at this threat without risking my own.”

  “You’re a better Matriarch than I ever was, Jhen,” Miran said, “I’m glad The Dream is in your hands.”

  Kerrigen smiled at this, Miran’s words seemingly having struck a buried nerve.

  “Take care of yourself, Miran,” Kerrigen said. “I plan on seeing you after all this is over.”

  Several hours later and out on the estate lawn, Miran checked over the manifests of completed dispersal pylons sent over by Dr. Gaul and Oscar. The shipment showed all but one had arrived, with a note scrawled at the bottom of the page; the last one is just off the printer, be yours shortly.

  “I believe this is yours,” a welcome voice said. Miran looked up to see Tolly pulling in the last pylon on a skiff. “I wanted to bring this one over personally.”

  “Gods are you pale,” Miran said. Tolly’s unease was barely concealed despite her smile. “You don’t have to be afraid for me.”

  “I’m not afraid. Just unwilling to see another of my friends go,” she said, setting the pylon down. “Is that not okay?”

  “It’s more than okay, Tolly,” Miran said. She grabbed hold of the young girl and squeezed. “You’re sister, and Connor would be proud of you. Soren would be proud.”

  Surprised by her candour, Tolly squeezed back. “Soren was proud of you also,” she said. “Even until the end.”

  “Sometimes I forget what you and he went through on Bordeaux’s Folly. You two are more alike than you know.”

  “I hope I can live up to his quality.”

  “You don’t need to live up to anyone’s standard, Tolly. Or should I say, Captain Ignacio? You do justice by yourself. That’s all this universe can ask of you.”

  “They never did have a funeral,” Tolly said.

  “They who?”

  “Soren, my sister Blane, Connor… it’s been months,” said Tolly.

  “After all this is done, I’ll make sure they each have a proper send-off,” said Miran.

  Stepping back, Tolly said something she wasn’t expecting.

  “I’m proud to know you as well.”

  The ramp to the shuttle opened, and as Miran readied to board, she remembered each of the threats her flock had faced. She and what’s left of her task force had removed all traces of the infiltrators in the flock. Now, if only she could save them from this final threat.

  “I’m proud of her too,” Rissa said from the top of the ramp.

  “Rissa,” Miran said, surprised to see her.

  “Lawson’s up there. Thought I should warn you.” Rissa said.

  “I can hear you,” Lawson shouted from where he had strapped himself into a shuttle seat.

  “He insists on going with you,” said Rissa, tears held back beneath the surface. “I tried to talk him out of it.”

  “Rissa, you don’t think I’m going to sacrifice myself out there?” Miran asked, stopping and taking Rissa’s hands in hers.

  Rissa didn’t speak, and Miran knew why.

  “He’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” Miran assured her.

  “You better be,” Rissa sobbed. Miran held her for a moment just as she had with Tolly. It was only then, turning around, that she noticed Tolly had left.

  “You should go too,” Miran said to Rissa. “I need you to help coordinate with Kerrigen’s ground forces. I need my task force.”

  Rissa smiled and nodded before heading back into the estate.

  “She loves you, you know,” Miran said, strapping herself into the seat beside Lawson.

  “I know,” Lawson said. “Trouble for her.”

  “You look pale. Did you say the wrong words to her?”

  “No. Trouble is me. I haven’t been the same, you know?” he said, “not since Bordeaux, not since my brother… Hell, planning the Parade was the last normal thing I remember.”

  “From what I remember, the last normal thing you did was share a lovely dinner in Brenna Lathe’s estate with that beautiful woman that just walked out of here, pleading for you not to throw your life away.”

  “So you do think it’s a suicide mission,” he said behind a biting smile. “Either way, you need my help.”

  “I don’t see your naval jacket, and I didn’t think you were a part of the task force anymore.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m here because you need me.”

  Miran didn’t argue. She was glad to share this burden with someone. She only wished he didn’t hold himself to a higher calibre. As the shuttle lifted off, the two of them sat in silence, listening to the whir of the engines.

  As they neared the flock in orbit, Miran opened a bulletin to Captain Remus Djucovik of The Seragam. In the bulletin, she offered her sympathies over Soren and offered to brief Remus on the circumstances surrounding Soren’s death, a request he was hard-pressed to refuse. Her shuttle was granted access to approach The Seragam’s shuttle dock mere moments after her request was sent.

  The shuttle docked, and as she disembarked, a small procession was waiting at the airlock. A decorated man in tight naval garb stood at the front, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Soren.

  “Captain Djucovik, thank you for this warm welcome,” she said in deep-rooted formality.

  “Greetings…” Remus Djucovik said, trailing off. “I’m afraid I do not know what to call you.”

  “Miran will be just fine,” she said, saluting the man who was now her superior. “And this is Ensign Lawson Ha.”

  Lawson stepped through the squat airlock behind her, throwing a poorly practised salute.

  “You’re not dressed as an ensign,” said Remus pointedly.

  “Recently reactivated, sir,” said Lawson.

  “Come,” said Remus, “I believe we had matters to discuss.”

  As they walked the corridors of the ship with Lawson trailing far behind, Miran couldn’t help but realise how similar it was to The Winterspell, Soren’s now lost vessel.

  “I’ll admit,” the Captain said, “I was surprised to hear from you.”

  “Captain Djucovik, I owe you much more than my silence surrounding Soren these last weeks. For that, I hope you can forgive me,” she said.

  “I was surprised,” he reiterated, “but that was before Matriarch Kerrigen notified me of your intention for my ship. She pressed the urgency of this cause but refused to go into specifics.”

  Miran was surprised. She hadn’t expected Kerrigen to go around her like that and notify the crew of The Seragam of the reasons surrounding her visit. It makes sense, she thought. Kerrigen had an obligation to her flock regardless of what that meant for herself. It was something Miran could understand.

  “I did hope we could talk about Soren first,” Miran hoped.

  “Soren, rest his luckless soul, is a monument of the past,” he said. “Be straight with me. What are your intentions for my home?”

  Miran thought deep. She knew she had cheated this man and his family their dignity over any sort of mourning over Soren. Before her now was convincing him and his crew to give up their home for a cause they weren’t yet fully aware of. She looked back up the corridor to Lawson. Lawson knew what was ruminating inside her and offered nothing but a shrug.

  “You deserve a greater explanation than what I have time to give. Kerrigen was right to forewarn you, as what I am about to ask of you will not come easily,” she started before pausing to take a breath, “what we need – what I need – is a ship with significant enough shielding, with no unfinished repairs and a remarkable track-record, and stocked with a nuclear warhead.”

  “Flattery will only get you so far, Miran. I understand that you need my ship. What I struggle to see is an appropriate reason for why.”

  “Why…” she started, “why is that there is an enemy fleet hiding on the edge of the system that is responsible for unleashing a contagion on the population of the world beneath us. A contagion that, as it turns out, remakes the victim’s flesh into becoming a walking, unthinking slave bound and determined on tearing through the city streets, armed and cutting down civilians with impunity.”

  The Captain, not expecting her level of honesty, stepped back in reflection.

  “You mean to say an enemy waits outside the range of our sensors, the same enemy that decimated us in Bordeaux, and we do nothing?” he said, cherry-faced.

  “We are not doing nothing,” Miran clarified. “We have a plan. A plan that will only work if we have the cooperation of you and your crew.”

  “A plan that involves the sacrifice of our home.”

  “Unfortunately,” Miran said, “but it will not be for nothing.”

  Miran laid out the rest of the plan; the cure pylons, the bomb, the sandstorm, and when she was done, Remus turned to leave. He was angry, it was obvious, but it was not directed at her. She had seen this type of rage before, a raw, deep-seated fury that regularly surged through her. It was only in this reflection of her own ferocity that she realised she had remained calm.

  Remus strode down the hall before turning back.

  “I would point out that as Matriarch, you had not once graced the corridors of The Seragam. Now you wish to risk it?” he spat indignantly.

  “Captain– Remus, regret doesn’t begin to expose the depth of loss I feel in the wake of Soren’s loss,” she said, refusing to back down, “nor does it excuse any neglect I showed in my time as Matriarch. I owe you and your family much more than I can give, especially now as little more than a citizen myself.”

  “Then what can you offer?” he spat. “What can you do to fill Soren’s place? I see little reason to help you. I should take my ship and ram it straight into the enemy as the good Captain Felder had. The man was deranged, sure. I remember as much from my time as his second. But his plan was easily far more effective than waiting while the enemy taunts! Ronald saw the way forward, as did Soren.”

  Miran thought about retaliating and divulging Soren’s dereliction of duty and sullying everything of value in the Herd. However, seeing little need to piss on the fallen any further, she said: “I’m sorry, but I can’t take no for an answer.”

  The look on Remus’ face was hot like an iron. Enraged and sorrowful, the man needed something to ground himself. He was asking for help, and Miran knew what could fill that need.

  “Believe me, Remus. What I am doing, I do not for myself. I do it for Herd, for our people down on Ganon, and I do it to strike back at the enemy that has taken everything from us. Soren would understand this need. Look into your heart. You know this to be true.”

  Remus pondered and paced as he considered her words. They hadn’t been as inspired as she had imagined in her head. Miran could only hope that it would be enough to get through to him.

  “Fine,” he said after a long, painful silence. “You have served Soren well for many years. Whenever we spoke, he never had any words but the best. You can take my ship. I will explain it to the crew. I only hope you know what you are doing.”

  “Thank you, Remus,” she said.

  “I pray to the Gods that you stop another Bordeaux from happening. The Herd cannot bear another slaughter.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Gods forgive me,” he said, “I will have a warhead prepped and waiting for you in the portside surface-access airlock. It will take the day to clear the crew over to The Dream of Earth. Then you will have your ship.”

  As reluctant as he remained over the next few hours, Captain Remus Djucovik delivered on his promise. He and The Seragam’s crew set about making preparations in all decks of the vessel. They wound down each and every non-vital subsystem, removed countless valuables and cargo still to be of use, loaded the bomb onto a mobile skiff in the ground-level airlock, and configured all vital systems to run on auto. All so that when Miran was handed the keys to this modestly sized warship, it would take her where it needed to go at the press of a button on her terminal.