INFINITUDE

MULTIVERSE SPACE BOOK THREE

DIMENSION SPACE

BOOK SIX

DEAN M. COLE

CANDTOR PRESS

Infinitude: A Military Science Fiction Thriller (Multiverse Space Book Three)

Published by CANDTOR Press, LLC

All rights reserved. This book was published by CANDTOR Press, LLC. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the express permission of the author and CANDTOR Press, LLC. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording, or any future means of reproducing text.

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Infinitude: A Military Science Fiction Thriller (Multiverse Space Book Three) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2025 Dean M. Cole

All rights reserved.

Cover Art © 2025 Tom Edwards Design

Dean’s Books

THE DIMENSION SPACE UNIVERSE

Dimension Space

Solitude

Multitude

Amplitude

Multiverse Space

Magnitude

Fortitude

Infinitude

THE SECTOR 64 UNIVERSE

Ambush

Retribution

First Contact (A Prequel Novella)

Visit deanmcole.com/notify to be notified when he releases new books.

For Dr. Claire Lee—a rockstar Neutrino and Application Scientist extraordinaire, working her magic on CERN’s CMS Experiment. Claire, your brilliance and insights into the Large Hadron Collider’s inner workings made my fictional physics a little less wacky (though still thankfully impossible).

These days, when I picture Commander Angela Brown saving the multiverse, it’s hard not to see your infectious smile.

PART I

CHAPTER 1

Staring into the aged eyes of his doppelgänger, Vaughn Singleton struggled to make sense of the situation. It left him speechless and stunned as he faced older versions of Angela and himself.

A solitary water droplet shed from the ceiling of the meters-wide bubble of air. Its collision with the flooded Solar Tap Facility’s damp floor echoed weirdly in the confined space, punctuating the tense standoff. The spherical void’s atmosphere smelled of the ocean, tinged with a fishy odor. The whispers of his comrades reverberated within the constrained pocket of air.

Vaughn would’ve marveled at the bubble’s existence, wanting to know how someone had taken a silvery pearl and inflated it to its current size. Well, he would marvel about it if not for the fact that the aforementioned ‘someone’ was a ten-year-older version of himself standing next to a similarly aged doppelgänger of Angela.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for you, Captain Asshole,” Older-Vaughn repeated, breaking the terse droplet-punctuated silence.

“I heard you the first time, jackass,” Vaughn shot back. At the same moment, splashing sounds erupted behind him.

The older couple staggered back. Each grasped for the weapons fixed to their hips.

“What’s that doing here?!” Older-Vaughn snapped.

Vaughn turned to see Dudette emerging from the octagonal hole in the floor. Disguised as a Neck, the robot extracted herself from the salty depths and fully stepped through the seawater lining the bubble’s floor. Liquid streamed from her white carapace in noisy rivulets.

Vaughn extended his palms toward his opposite. “Wait! She’s with us!”

“She?” Older-Vaughn asked, faltering though his gun pointed resolutely at the newly arrived robot.

“Yeah, like BOb is a ‘he.’ That’s Dudette, not a Neck,” Vaughn added, puzzling at the need to explain the fact to an older, more experienced version of himself.

Teddy piped up, “Look, the Octos are going nuts. Their colors are all over the board!”

Vaughn’s gaze snapped to the Octos hovering outside the bubble. After BOb’s accidental timeline reset had dropped them into the middle of a nest of alien octopuses, it hadn’t taken long to deduce that the large Octos communicated by changing the color of the luminous skin across their heads.

Presently, the faintly glowing waves of multispectral light emanating from the tops of the gathered Octos pulsed manically, racing through angry hues of red and purple.

With her weapon stowed, Older-Angela extracted her tablet and expertly navigated an app on the device, apparently communicating with the Octos.

The aliens calmed. The waves of light emitting from their dome-shaped heads slowed, shifting to more tranquil shades of light blues and pinks.

Older-Angela dipped her head to them and returned her attention to her fellow humans. “They’re at war with the Necks in this timeline,” she explained as she put the small tablet away.

“We figured as much,” Vaughn said. “But how do you not know about Dudette?” He motioned toward himself and the rest of the team. “Haven’t you already lived through everything we have? Isn’t this part of your past?”

“Obviously not,” Older-Vaughn said. “That’s why we need to hurry and establish just what you know and what you’ve been through. Seeing these two Lobsters with you is a welcome surprise. How are they here? Did you beat the Necks in Bar Harbor, or did you reset their timeline?”

“Both,” Vaughn answered.

The older couple exchanged excited looks.

Angela gasped. “The clue! It was you, wasn’t it? You brought us here.”

A smile creased the gentle lines around Older-Angela’s eyes. “Yes.”

“I said we’d been waiting for you,” Vaughn’s opposite added.

“What clue?” Rourke asked Angela.

“The one BOb and I found in the Necks’ control station,” Younger-Angela said. “The one that helped us reset Bar Harbor’s timeline to the first micro black hole.”

Everyone signaled their understanding with subtle gestures of agreement.

Vaughn took a deep breath, preparing to ask another question. Then he sniffed the air and assessed the sphere’s inner watery surface. To Older-Angela he said, “The air still smells fresh-ish, albeit a little fishy. How’s that possible with this many people in here?”

She jutted a chin at the salt water surrounding her. “The membrane maintains the atmosphere in here, keeps the partial pressures at their proper ratios.”

Mimicking Family Guy and his Boston accent, BOb said, “That means it keeps the air fresh as a daisy⁠—”

“Shut it, BOb!” Vaughn said at the same time as his older self. Looking from his opposite to Older-Angela, he said, “Angela—” He shook his head. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! This same-name-thing is killing me.” He pointed at Older-Angela. “We’re calling you Angie.” Seeing the look on her weathered face, he shrugged. “I understand you don’t like that name, but too bad.” Indicating his older version, he added, “And you get the standard treatment.”

“Asshole?”

“Yep.”

Older-Vaughn held up his hands. “Fine. Asshole it is.”

Teddy leaned in. “Da. Now, how about Angie and Captain Asshole tell us how they brought us here? I mean this whole thing feels like an acid flashback. Not that this Russki ever did that kind of thing. I’m just saying. This is weird, dude.”

“Preach,” Dudette said, swapping fist bumps with Teddy.

“And why do they look so old?” BOb chimed in, earning him a glare from both Angelas this time.

“And,” Rourke interjected, “why are there two pairs of you now?”

Vaughn pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “What they said.” Gesturing at Dudette, he added, “And while you’re at it, tell us how you don’t know about our spider monkey friend.”

“Rourke’s question is a good one,” Asshole said, dipping his head toward the young scientist. “I’m not sure why we’re still here. I kind of thought we’d both fade out of existence when you two showed up.”

“Like the holocam did,” Vaughn said.

Confusion twisted his opposite’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“The holocamcorder. You didn’t find one at the amphi⁠—?”

“Yes! We found a holocam at the amphitheater. Had it for a long time, but I lost it somewhere along the way.” Concern darkened his visage. “When did it fade out of existence?”

“The holocam didn’t fade out of existence,” Vaughn said. “It vanished with a pop once its timeline diverged from the original’s.”

“When…? How?!” Angie asked, simultaneously excited and distressed by the revelation.

“After we stopped the Necks from creating any new micro black holes,” Angela said.

“What?” Angie asked. “I thought my clue stopped all that.”

Angela rocked her head side-to-side. “Your clue helped us reset the wormhole to the Lobsters’ first micro black hole, but they weren’t ready to walk away from their experiment based solely on the word of us soft-skinned aliens, despite the oddity of our appearance and the inexplicable nature of our arrival. It wasn’t until they saw the holographic recording of their outdoor music festival and what happened to their people that they reconsidered the error of their ways and shut down the collider, robbing the Necks of further invasion opportunities.”

“Even then,” Rourke added, “they didn’t fully commit until they traveled to the amphitheater and saw the recorded events play out in real time.”

“Wait,” Angie said. “How could you watch it in real time?”

“Oh,” Angela said. “I see the confusion. There was an hours-long gap between the Lobsters’ first and second micro black holes.”

“Gotcha,” Asshole said. “So you had time to get to the amphitheater before the recorded events even happened.”

“Exactly,” Vaughn agreed. “We saw the Lobster father who made the recording, could even see the actual holocamcorder. After the wall of light passed through the recorded imagery, wiping out all the concert-goers, our holocamcorder’s timeline diverged from the original device. Shortly after that, ours popped out of existence.”

Angie and Asshole exchanged concerned glances.

Younger-Angela tilted her head as she stared at the pair. “I still don’t understand how you could be here and, sorry to be blunt, noticeably older than us…” Her words trailed off. Then her gaze snapped to her opposite. “You’re trapped in a loop, aren’t you?”

Her doppelgänger gave a knowing look. “Yes, but not like the one in the first timeline. This loop has been of our own making. And like that first one, it took us doing something different to break us out of the loop, but that can wait. We may not have much time.” She extended a hand toward Angela. “Give me your tablet.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Angela extracted her tablet computer from her waterproof bag and handed it to Angie.

As the older woman paired the two devices, Vaughn thought they looked identical. It occurred to him they probably were the same device. Angie’s tablet looked the worse for wear. It sported multiple dents and scratches, and something had smashed the older tablet’s camera lens. Despite the lens’ condition, it apparently allowed the passage of sufficient light to read the Octo’s color-based language.

A moment later, a tone emitted from Angela’s tablet.

Angie handed it back to her. “Now you have the translation app, too. Also, my logs of everything we’ve experienced and learned. I wanted you to have all that in case something… Well, you know.”

“Pop!” blurted Jacques’ translator.

“Geez!” Asshole said, wincing. “That’s a little on the nose. The Lobsters we worked with had a bit more tact than that.”

“No. It’s not Jacques’ fault,” Vaughn said, casting an annoyed look at BOb. “You can blame one smart-assed battlebot for Jacques’ pops, something to do with Finding Nemo or whatnot.”

“COC-RING strikes again, eh?” Asshole said.

“Exactly.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Angie said and then appeared to reconsider her words. “I mean, hopefully we have all the time in the world, but if not, everything you need to know is on the tablet.” Shifting her gaze to Vaughn, she added, “Quickly, tell us what happened after you found the clue. If that triggers anything new, I’ll tell you. Afterward, we can tell you what we went through and what we’ve discovered.” She paled. “Time permitting.”

Vaughn ran through the events that had brought them to this place and time. Angela and the others added any pertinent details he missed.

From the reactions of Angie and Asshole, Vaughn could tell that much of it was new information to them.

He told Angie and Asshole of the nearly tragic events that followed the Lobsters’ satellite-based reconnaissance of the multiverse coordinates from which the Necks had invaded Bar Harbor. Then he explained how the Lobsters had deployed a fleet of reconnaissance drones to this world and how they had initially mistaken it for the Necks’ homeworld. Finally, he explained how Angela believed it to be the lost society of the Octos she and Vaughn had encountered while trapped in the original time loop.

An unreadable look passed between the doppelgängers.

Teddy finished by telling them about Dudette’s work as an operative passing undetected behind enemy lines as she compiled intelligence about this world. He told them how she found this facility despite their failure to locate it from the data gleaned during the orbital reconnaissance.

“How could you miss it?” Angie said. “This place is huge.”

Vaughn pointed at one of Dudette’s hands, indicating its built-in holographic projector. “Show them the rendering.”

The robot advanced, extending its hand, palm up. A three-dimensional projection of towering silvery skyscrapers materialized in the air above it.

Angie’s eyes grew wide in amazement at what she saw. She extended a hand toward her younger version. “Let me borrow your tablet.” Taking the device, she opened a new app and aimed its camera at the rendering. “I never got to test this with my tablet. Its camera lens got smashed during the fall of Bar Harbor.” With a sweep of her hand, she cast the captured video to the large octagonal display that had been showing the interior of the Solar Tap. Her live stream replaced the reactor interior’s real-time feed.

Angie extended an arm toward Angela, offering her younger self the device. “Here, you better keep holding onto this. Oh, and I forgot to mention I left you instructions on how to use the added apps. Like I said earlier, there are also details on everything we’ve learned and experienced to date. You’ll find links to all of it on the home screen.”

Angela nodded.

Vaughn wondered how long their doppelgänger must have been stuck in this timeline. It would have taken quite a while for Angie to perfect a device capable of both communicating with the Octos and casting video to alien electronics like the octagonal display.

Seeing the video feed Angie had cast to the large display, the Octos swarmed to its screen. The video of the hologram streamed across the display’s surface, rendered in richly textured three dimensions. Like peering through an open window, it looked indiscernible from reality, even from Vaughn’s oblique viewing angle.

The scenery scrolling through the image captivated and distressed the Octos. The colors pulsating across their dome-shaped heads transformed back to the same disturbed hues of reds and purples they’d shown when they’d mistaken Dudette for a Neck.

Angie cast a forlorn look at her Vaughn. “If that doesn’t convince them, I don’t know what will.”

“Convince them of what?” Rourke asked.

Pointing to the device in Angela’s hand, Angie said, “It’s all in there. Vaughn, please finish telling us what you and your group experienced.”

He quickly reviewed the battle to sweep the Necks from this world, finishing by telling them how BOb’s method of cutting the solar tap’s power had inadvertently overloaded the wormhole before Vaughn could realize his dreams of multiverse domination.

Captain Asshole smiled. “That would’ve been a cool armada.”

Vaughn shared the grin. “I know, right?!”

His opposite’s smile faltered. “But believe me when I say things could’ve worked out much worse for you. Ask me how I know.”

“On that note,” Vaughn said. “We’ve told you what we experienced. It’s time you tell us how you got here.”

Asshole and Angie exchanged glances. Then he said, “I know how much worse it could’ve…” His shoulders slumped, and Vaughn saw a level of fatigue in the man that made even his darkest days in combat seem like a walk in the park. Through sheer force of will, Older-Vaughn continued. “I know how much worse it could’ve been because we only managed to reset Bar Harbor’s timeline to just after the Necks invaded. I’ll save you all the details, but we fought the Necks alongside the Lobsters for years.”

Tears welled in Angie’s eyes. “We lost everyone—Mark, T-Teddy, Rachel, Rourke, Mo-Monique, Staff Sergeant Car—” A choked cry cut off her words. She shook her head, tears flowing freely. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and looking at the floor, she added, “All of you.”

Older-Vaughn wrapped an arm around Angie and pulled her close. “We… We lost all of you. Even BOb.”

Vaughn felt a chill. His gaze flicked to his friends, alive and well, then back to the older duo who had survived all those deaths. He couldn’t imagine the pain the two of them must feel, but he could understand it. While he believed resetting Bar Harbor’s timeline might have brought back the burly Major Bill Peterson, he still deeply mourned his loss.

The thought evoked a ray of hope. Vaughn rested a hand on Angie’s forearm. “None of them are lost forever. Not if we manage to reset the Necks’ first wormhole. You’ve always said that’ll return all of us to the places we were when this shit storm slammed into us. We’ll all return to our starting points.”

Angie wiped away the tears. “That’s what’s gotten us this far.”

Older-Vaughn squeezed her once more and then released her. “Anyway, when the Necks launched their ultimate attack against the Lobsters, Angela used the portable TDI to jump us out of there.”

“Wait,” Monique interrupted, looking unfazed by the news that she had died in the other timeline. “If BOb was lost before that point, how did you have a portable TDI?” She pointed at BOb’s telescoping emitter. “We developed Big Sparky after resetting Bar Harbor’s timeline, something you did not experience, correct?”

“Correct, but in our timeline, you and Rourke worked with the Lobsters to develop something similar,” Older-Vaughn said. “But, like your Big Sparky, ours was too heavy for either of us to carry.” He patted a device slung across Angie’s back. “When we lost the rest of the team, the Lobsters built us this smaller version. Like the other Lobster rifles, it uses the same type of power as the Noisy Cricket.”

Vaughn eyed the device. It looked like a smaller, sleeker version of BOb’s Big Sparky, complete with a similarly shaped emitter on its business end.

Rachel Lee leaned into the conversation. “Did you ever figure out a way to stop it from taking a section of floor with you when you beam out?”

“Why would it do that?” asked Older-Vaughn.

“We always use the TDI’s inorganic setting,” Rachel said. “Otherwise, we would end up leaving BOb or Dudette behind when we beam ourselves somewhere, but that means a chunk of the floor comes with us when we beam to another ’verse. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nearly busted my ass when the bowl-shaped section of floor rocks beneath us after it comes along for the ride.”

Vaughn’s counterpart smirked at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of this.”

“What?”

“You’ve known the answer all along.”

Vaughn started to tell his opposite he didn’t know what he was talking about, but then the answer slammed into him. “Ah, shit. He’s right.”

Rachel gave him the side-eye. “About what?”

“We’ve always known that anything you’re wearing or holding when the TDI hits is beamed out with you. We use that knowledge to make sure we don’t lose things like clothing and backpacks.” He mentally kicked himself for not realizing this sooner. “But I never thought to apply that same logic to making sure BOb and Dudette are accompanying us on our multiverse travels.”

Rachel’s eyes lit. “I get it. As long as one of us has a hand on BOb or Dudette’s arm, they’ll come along for the ride, regardless of the TDI’s setting.”

“Doh!” BOb exclaimed, mimicking Homer Simpson.

“I knew I would figure it out,” said Older-Vaughn.

“Anyway,” Angie said sharply, redirecting the conversation. “We realized the end was near when the Necks started cracking open the space habitats.”

“You knew about that,” Rourke interrupted.

“Of course they did,” Angela answered for her opposite. “Their timeline was the same as ours right up to the moment when they overloaded Bar Harbor’s wormhole. They didn’t have the clue we had, so it fell short of a complete reset.”

“Exactly,” Angie said. “Now let me finish. When we saw the light wave sweeping through the glitter band, I beamed us to the Octo world we discovered in Corsica.”

Teddy’s face twisted. “You mean this world, Command-Oh?” He pointed down. “We’re in Corsica, or close to it.”

“No. The other Octo world, the one Vaughn and I stumbled into while trapped in the time loop. It’s the ’verse where he fell into the pit under the beach.”

“Oh,” Teddy said. “Captain Asshole’s Pit of Despair.”

Vaughn and his opposite cut their eyes at the cosmonaut.

“You started it, dudes.”

“Yes, Teddy,” Angie said, glaring a warning at both Vaughns. “Now we refer to that world as Octo-Corsica.”

“How did you get those coordinates?” Monique asked.

“Don’t forget, we fought for years against the Necks,” Angie said. “Over that time, we accumulated a lot of data about many of the worlds the Necks had invaded.” She looked pointedly at the tablet computer in her younger self’s hand. “It’s all on there.”

Angie pulled the TDI off her back and, after a brief hesitation, handed it to Vaughn. “You may as well have this, too.”

Vaughn accepted it reluctantly. It disturbed him to see looks of uncertainty and trepidation on the faces of Angie and his opposite. He could only imagine the emotions that must be coursing through the pair, knowing that, even though their younger selves would likely go on, their own timelines might wink out at any moment. It seemed like a form of death. He also knew that, if their roles were reversed, he, too, would give whatever it took to save the timeline and reverse what the Necks had done to so many worlds. However, that didn’t diminish the magnitude of what the pair faced. He felt like telling them they might not pop out of existence, that things might work out, but that would be nothing more than so much sunshine up their backsides.

“As we were saying,” Angie said, pulling Vaughn from his reverie. “When Bar Harbor fell, I beamed us to Octo-Corsica. We ended up stuck there for quite a while. The place looked roughly the same, although the vacated underwater Octo city south of the island didn’t look quite as dilapidated as it had the first time we’d seen it.”

“We still had our Lobster suits,” Older-Vaughn said. “So we started exploring the remnants of the underwater Octo city, searching for the wormhole the Necks must have used to invade that world. That’s when we found the most important clue of all.”

Angie inclined her head. “We discovered the Necks had invaded that world twice, with two radically different outcomes.”

Older-Vaughn grinned, a desiccated, cold thing that didn’t even reach the same zip code as his eyes. “The Octos whipped their mechanical asses the first time, kicking the Necks and their Caterpillars out of their ’verse.” The mirthless smile fell from his face. “But the second time the Necks attacked, the bastards used the same world-wiping wall of light they’ve thrown at us so many times since.”

“How do you know they didn’t use it the first time?” Rourke asked.

“The Necks had invaded en masse using an army of Caterpillars,” Angie said. “Hundreds of the destroyed robots littered the vacated city.”

“So?” Mark quipped. “We’ve seen the Necks sweep a world when their Caterpillars are deployed.”

“That’s not what this was,” Older-Vaughn said. “There was evidence that the Octos had cleared away some of the Caterpillar carcasses. We found several locations where they were pushed to the side and stacked up. In some places, they had been cleared completely, although evidence of the battles that felled them remained.”

“You see?” Angie said. “There were other signs, too, but we don’t have time to catalog all of them right now. So please just trust me. The existence of two events was indisputable, and during that first attack, the Necks didn’t have a TDI. That’s why the Octos were able to defeat them.”

“Why didn’t the Necks use the light the first time they attacked?” Angela asked.

“We wondered the same thing,” Angie said.

CHAPTER 2

Some time ago, in an earlier timeline…

“These bastards are never going to believe us!” Vaughn growled through clenched teeth.

He felt his muscles tense as he once again stood next to Angela in yet another bubble of air. Same bubble, same time, like always.

The bubble’s now familiar oceanic smell and peculiar echoes offered no comfort. Frustration boiled within him; the Octos were as obstinate as past iterations of this same argument. The tentacled bastards were just as deaf to reason and blind to the coming storm as they had been every time he and Angela had tried to warn them.

Time after time, they had tried to convince the Octos of the futility of their actions. And each time, they had failed, relegated to stand by as they watched the Octos activate their Solar Tap only to have the Necks subsequently invade. Then he and Angela would beam themselves to another world and wait out the events that inevitably followed. They had parked themselves in a remote area of Earth’s version of Corsica, tossed far enough back in time that the island featured no buildings or visible human habitations. There, they would wait out the events that always led to the fall of the Octos’ multiverse-spanning society at the hands of the newly empowered Necks.

Once sufficient time had passed for the Necks to invade both Octo worlds using their now Solar Tap-powered light wave, Angela and Vaughn would beam themselves back to Octo-Corsica and overload the Necks’ unmonitored wormhole there. Unlike the first time they had overloaded that particular wormhole, they now knew not to loiter in that universe’s version of Corsica.

That initial reset had almost led to their demise.

It had been during their first trip back to Octo-Corsica—when they had beamed themselves there to escape the Necks’ final victory over the Lobsters—that they had found their first clue to the timeline when the Necks must have acquired the power source for their planet-wiping light wave.

The two of them had stumbled across the Octo-Corsica collider facility and the Necks’ wormhole as they’d searched the Octos’ underwater city clad in their waterproof Lobster suits.

Finding uncountable dead and shattered Caterpillars, he and Angela realized the Necks invaded with a mechanized army, not their globe-spanning TDI. Apparently, the robots had lacked that planet-wiping capability during that first incursion.

The wormhole through which the Necks had invaded Octo-Corsica remained intact, but, just like the rest of the planet, it was completely abandoned. The Necks had only attacked Octo-Corsica to eliminate the threat of the Octos. They hadn’t yet colonized that world and hadn’t deigned to even leave behind a rearguard, an error upon which Vaughn and Angela had capitalized.

Angela overloaded the wormhole, using the now-familiar method of dumping excess power back into the thing. The wormhole engulfed them and tossed Vaughn and Angela back to the moment of its creation. They emerged in the middle of a battle between the Necks and the Octos.

The sudden appearance of a couple of pink-skinned, soft-shelled human aliens had caused both sides to direct some of their animosity at the pair. Only an expeditious deployment of Angela’s TDI had saved them. With no time to plan, she’d beamed them to the TDI’s preloaded coordinates—the world from which the Necks had invaded Bar Harbor.

When they had emerged from the ether, they’d encountered a massive facility, an edifice so large it spanned the Strait of Bonifacio, bridging the two islands. The structure’s form left no doubt about its function. It was a facility designed for harnessing immense power.

Seeing Necks not Octos moving about the massive structure, they realized this must be the catalyst. The fall of this incredibly powerful energy source would serve as the linchpin that would swing the multiverse war in favor of the robots. This turn of events would explain how the Necks had returned to Octo-Corsica at a point in time after their first failed invasion of that world, defeating them not with a mechanized army, but by sweeping them off the planet with a global-scaled TDI, one with sufficient power to wipe the sentient octopuses from existence.

It wasn’t a tremendous leap. Evidence Angela and Vaughn had gleaned during the protracted Lobster-Neck War already had them suspecting that the power that the Necks wielded was coming from this world.

Knowing the outcome of the Octos’ efforts, Angela and Vaughn had rushed into the facility, determined to convince the Octos not to activate the Solar Tap.

They had failed.

The Octos had activated the solar tap.

The Necks had invaded.

And the facility had fallen to them.

Angela and Vaughn had almost died with them, too. They waited until the last moment to beam out. Not sure of where else to go, they had hurriedly beamed themselves to their home Earth. Forgetting that the facility was over water, they had plunged into an icy Strait of Bonifacio and nearly froze to death despite the Lobster suits.

Thankfully, Corsica had been free of humans. Judging by the temperature, they guessed their time travels had taken them all the way back to one of the ice ages.

That was their first attempt to convince the Octos.

Presently, Vaughn reflected that, although that first attempt had been clumsy and full of mistakes, today’s effort was proving no more fruitful.

They had returned often enough that Angela had developed a translation app and learned how to manipulate the water-displacing air bubble they currently stood within, a technology they had gotten from the Octos during one of those first attempts.

Despite Angela’s and his accumulated knowledge, the Octos were no more amenable to their efforts today than they had been that first time so many iterations ago.

Not for the first time, Vaughn lamented the fact that the camera lens on Angela’s tablet had been damaged during the tragic end of the Lobster-Neck War. Then there was the old Lobster holocamcorder. He’d lost it years ago. If they’d been able to provide the Octos with video evidence from either of those devices, they might have convinced the obstinate shits not to fire up the Solar Tap.

Vaughn had long ago lost count of failed attempts to convince the Octos to stop, but this attempt was already going as poorly as all previous ones.

Stuck in a nightmarish loop of their own making, Angela and he had jumped between worlds and timelines, narrowly avoiding Neck invasions and devastating light waves. After working out the timing through grueling trial and error, they learned how long to camp out on ice age Earth between the events, waiting for the Necks’ invasions of both the Octo homeworld and the subsequent invasion of Octo-Corsica to pass before traveling back there and attempting another reset.

Grinding fingertips into his temples, Vaughn tried to stave off another headache as Angela once more attempted to impress upon the aliens the need for action, or inaction in this case. The Octos responded in a discouraging pattern of fluorescing colors.

“Negative,” announced the translator.

They again refused to stop the activation of the wormhole that would channel the power from their Solar Tap’s singularity. The Octos believed the vast energy it would harness would help them vanquish the Necks for good.

“What the hell is it going to take to convince them?” Vaughn muttered to himself, defeated. “When they activate this damn thing, the singularity will paint a giant, irresistible target on their globular heads… again!”

“I know,” Angela said, releasing an exasperated breath, causing the strand of auburn hair draped across her forehead to wave. “They simply don’t believe we’ve already been down this path. They don’t trust us.”

“As frustrating as it is, I can’t say I blame ’em,” Vaughn said. “From their perspective, we’re about as alien as they get. It doesn’t help that every time we show up, it’s the first time they’ve encountered us, despite it being the fifty-millionth time for us.”

“And we show up telling them not to use their most powerful weapon,” Angela agreed.

“I wouldn’t trust a bunch of octopuses that showed up on our doorstep either,” Vaughn said. “Especially if they told us not to use our super-duper ultrapowerful mega weapon. At least we can still beam ourselves out of here when the Necks invade again.”

“I just wish I could change something, anything.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… a picture, video, something.”

He jabbed a finger at her tablet’s camera. “That thing’s been all but useless ever since Bar Harbor. If the lens was any worse, it wouldn’t even be able to read the colors strobing across their heads.”

He omitted the part about searching this world and Octo-Corsica and never finding a camera. Octos’ imaging tech was too small to see or didn’t look like a camera. When Angela had tried to ask the Octopuses about it, the tentacled bastards had been clueless.

Angela stared at the ground through the watery crescents of unshed tears. “There has to be something we can change.”

“Like what? We’ve tried everything we can think of.”

“I don’t know.” A solitary tear inched down her cheek. She swiped it away and looked at the toiling Octos. “If we could change one thing, something significant enough, it might prove the catalyst that convinces them of the truth behind our words.”

“Maybe, but what can we do that changes our circumstances? We’ve tried everything I can think of.” He pointed to the articulated manipulator arm resting on the floor outside the bubble. It lay where the Octos had discarded it, just like all the evidence Vaughn and Angela had previously presented as proof of their message. The piece was identical to the one he first used to pry his way through the maze of stalagmites in the beachside pit he’d fallen into during their first trip through Octo-Corsica, when they’d been trapped in the first time loop. “We brought that with us this time, and it had no more influence on the Octos than any of the other artifacts we’ve shown them over all of the other damned trips we’ve had through this never-ending Groundhog Day.” He jabbed a finger at the metal tentacle cover. “If that didn’t work, what will?”

“I’m thinking a lot bigger than that. We need to change something fundamental to our situation. Like, what if we could’ve reset Bar Harbor to a point before the invasion. That would change everything.”

“Might as well wish for a fairy godmother while you’re at it,” he scoffed. “That ship has sailed. We’re already back here. Besides, we were years into the Lobster-Neck War before you discovered what it would’ve taken to fully reset the Bar Harbor wormhole to a point before the Necks invaded. There’s no way you could’ve figured it out in the short time we had. We were already giraffe taint-deep in Caterpillars and Taters when you did reset it. If you hadn’t acted when you did, we never would’ve made it this far forward… or back, whatever.”

A cold shudder ran through him as he recalled that fateful day. Angela’s last-second wormhole reset had dropped them into Bar Harbor after the Necks had started beaming the light wave through the Lobsters’ micro black hole. The team had narrowly avoided being swept away by the curtain of energy. Out of the Caterpillar frying pan and into the light wave’s fire, he thought wryly.

“I know,” she said, reading his face. “And if the evacuating Lobsters we ran into hadn’t had the presence of mind to take us with them to the space habitat, we’d have been beamed to Hell with the rest of the planet’s life.”

“And likely crushed to death beneath a reeking Mountain of the Dead,” Vaughn added. “But like I said, there’s no way you could’ve worked out the fix in the time you had. You’d have to travel back in time to tell yourself what you later learned.”

“No, not back in time. We already were back. I would’ve had to travel forward in…”

Angela’s words trailed off. Then her gaze snapped from the Octos and locked onto Vaughn. “That’s it!”

“Wh-What’s it?” He looked around and raised his hands. “What did I do?”

“You’re an idiot. It wasn’t a mad ‘That’s it!’ I meant that’s a great idea.”

“Oh, so now I’m a genius?”

“Don’t push it.”

Angela stared through Vaughn.

“I’ve seen that look too many times not to recognize it. What’s percolating in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“Today, in this timeline, we’re hundreds, heck, maybe thousands of years before the day the Lobsters evacuated us off planet.”

“I was talking about when you first discovered the workaround, during the Lobster-Neck War. If you could’ve traveled back in time, or forward, whatever, you could’ve told your earlier self how to fully reset Bar Harbor’s timeline.”

Her face lit up with realization. “You are a genius.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years, but what⁠—?”

“Shut up. I need to think.” After a moment of staring into the distance, she looked at him. “That could work.”

“Huh? What…? What could?”

“If we could’ve fully reset Bar Harbor, things would’ve been radically different. We wouldn’t have lost all those years fighting the Necks only to ultimately lose.” A sad smile skewed her lips. “We might not have lost all our friends, either.”

“Yeah, but like I said, that ship has sailed. How can you change it now?”

“I make sure I fully reset Bar Harbor’s timeline the first time.” Forestalling further questions, she held up a hand and said, “By leaving myself a back door that leads to the first micro black hole’s data.”

“Okay, I’ll play along. How do you do that?”

“By planting a clue in the Necks’ One-Eighty-Eight-compliant firmware.”

After a moment’s consideration, Vaughn understood. “Because where we are now, that event is in our distant future. This when is the ancient past of the day we tried to reset Bar Harbor’s timeline.”

The corners of Angela’s lips curled. “It is, and we know just where to find a One-Eighty-Eight interface.”

“Octo-Corsica?” Vaughn guessed.

“Yes, but we’ll have to wait for the Necks to invade it all over again.”

“No problem. It’s not like we haven’t already done that about a billion times. But how do you know the back door you install in that world will propagate to the One-Eighty-Eight hardware the Necks install in Bar Harbor?”

“I don’t know for sure, but given how the Necks daisy-chain from one world to the next, it’s definitely worth a try.”

Vaughn smiled. “Agreed.”

The Octos around their bubble of air had resumed their preparations to activate the Solar Tap’s trans-dimensional wormhole. Vaughn had lived through it enough times to know the Necks’ invasion was imminent.

Having seen the same thing, Angela pointed to the exit. “It’s time to get the hell out of here.”

CHAPTER 3

“So we left that world armed with a plan to change everything,” Angie concluded.

Angela pointed at her. “So that’s when you went back and left the password clue I found, the one that allowed me to access a deeper level of the Necks’ operating system?”

The battlebot raised a dark hand. “Technically, I found it.”

“Shut up, BOb,” both Vaughns said simultaneously.

Angie smiled at the robot. “I remembered that BOb had been looking over my shoulder when I tried and failed to find the first micro black hole, so I placed the clue where he would see it, but I had to make sure it wasn’t something the Necks would easily detect.”

“Check out the Octos,” Chance Bingham said. The Brit pointed at the group huddled around the octagonal display. “The wankers are chatting up a storm.”

Older-Vaughn tapped Angie’s shoulder and then pointed at the aliens. “Look. It’s working.”

The Octos were deep in discussion. Rapid pulses of multispectral light passed between them like shouts in an argument.

Angie watched the aliens for a moment, her posture relaxing with clear relief. Finally, she released a long sigh. “I think you’re right.”

One Octo split from the group and swam to the bubble’s side. It didn’t escape Vaughn that the cephalopod had approached the side opposite the two Lobsters.

As colors streamed across the top of the Octo’s head, the translation rolled from the tablet’s speaker. “In light of this fresh evidence, we have reconsidered your proposal. For the time being, we will hold off on activation of the energy tap.”

The older couple clapped and threw arms around each other.

“However,” interrupted the Octo, “this still leaves us with an active enemy at our hatch. We must formulate a plan to deal with it permanently.”

Angie dipped her head at the large alien. As she spoke, the tablet’s screen pulsed in colors resembling those emitted by the Octo. “Agreed. Please allow us to finish briefing our colleagues. Then we can all work together to formulate a path forward.”

“As you wish. You have our gratitude.”

Angie nodded again and turned to the group. “Where were we?”

“How did you access their operating system at that level?” Monique asked.

“Like I said, I beamed us to Corsica.”

“Pit-of-Despair Corsica?” Teddy asked.

“Not at first.” Angela pointed at the deck beneath their feet. “Every time we vacated this world, we always parked ourselves in an uninhabited forest on Earth’s Corsica.”

“The homeworld?” Angela said. “Weren’t you worried about triggering a butterfly effect?”

“No. I mean, I was the first time, but we hadn’t had a chance to discuss the matter then. I’d beamed us there in a hurry. We barely escaped being swept up by the Necks’ TDI. As soon as they locked onto the Octos’ singularity, the Necks sent through the damn wall of light. In the rush to get us out of there, I sent us to the homeworld.” She pointed through the floor. “We splashed down in the strait, of course.”

“Like I said,” Older-Vaughn added, annoyance edging his words. “It was ice age-cold and there was no one in sight. No developments, nothing. So we camped out just like we have every time since.”

Angie placed a calming hand on his arm and then added, “Believe me. We got really good at starting fires.”

“Fair enough, Command-Oh,” Teddy said. “What did you do next?”

“The same thing we’ve done every time. We waited for the Necks to finish wiping this world and Octo-Corsica, long enough for their invasion to wind down and for the Necks to move on to other things. Otherwise, we risked them discovering us.”

“Then what did you do?” Vaughn prompted.

“We returned to Octo-Corsica, and using its One-Eighty-Eight interface, I added a back door that permitted access to a layer of the Necks’ control program. Access that I knew would’ve enabled me to fully reset Bar Harbor’s timeline if I’d known it the first time.”

“That’s what you discovered during the Lobster-Neck War, a way to back door their network?” Angela asked.

Angie smiled and gave a small tilt of her head.

“Command-Oh,” Teddy interrupted. “What made you think the clue and the back door would still be around all those years later?”

“I wrote it into the firmware of a device that existed long before the other versions that would come to be as the timeline propagated. I was betting that the Necks would simply copy the code from one device to the next, daisy-chaining the firmware just like they daisy-chain their invasions.”

“How could you know that would work?” Rourke said. “The Necks could have generated each iteration of the firmware from a master file. If so, your back door access would not have propagated. Your modified installation would have remained an isolated one-off.”

Angie smiled. “You’re right.”

Monique frowned. “Then Doctor Geller’s question stands. How could you know it would work?”

“I didn’t know it would work. It came down to faith.” Showing her palms, Angela said, “You are here. The results prove my hypothesis, but you’re right: we couldn’t have known it would work.” Her smile turned wistful. “But doing nothing, not even trying, wasn’t going to get us anywhere.” She looked at Angela. “And from what you’ve told me, you used the clue exactly as I hoped.”

“I did.”

“How many times did you have to upload the hint?” Vaughn asked.

“Just once,” answered his counterpart.

“When did you do it?” asked Rourke.

Angie turned her beatific smile on the young scientist. “We uploaded the clue this morning.”

“This morning?” Chance exclaimed. He looked at Vaughn’s older counterpart. “Hell’s teeth! You said you’ve been waiting for us for a long time.”

“I exaggerated for effect. Sue me.”

Vaughn bristled. “It may have been this morning for you, but it’s been almost a year for us. We reset their timeline and then helped the Lobsters fight off multiple Neck incursions. And the battle to take back this planet was no walk in the park. It was a near thing on multiple occasions.”

His older self frowned. “Cry me a river. Try fighting for years only to see every one of your teammates lost.”

Angie moved between them, shooting eye-daggers at both. “Not the time for a dick-measuring contest! Either of you! Like I said, we don’t know how long we have, and there’s more to cover.”

Confusion twisted Teddy’s face. “Dick-measuring…?” He looked from one Vaughn to the other. “Wouldn’t they both be the same⁠—?”

“Teddy!” both Angelas yelled.

The cosmonaut backed away. “Just sayin’.”

Turning from the Russian, Angela looked at their older versions, realization dawning on her face. “Wait, you two must be the versions of us that the Necks remembered.”

“That’s right!” Vaughn barked, registering the same thing.

“What do you mean?” asked his opposite.

He’d forgotten to mention interrogating a limbless Neck following its attempted hijacking of the She Got The House. “My bad,” he said and quickly briefed them on the events that led to its capture.

As Vaughn wrapped up, Mark Hennessy moved forward, his tone measured but purposeful. “We firewalled off an aft chamber to guard against potential computer viruses. Then we interrogated the Neck.”

Mark recounted the intense questioning of the captured robot, emphasizing how disturbingly well it had known them—especially Angela and Vaughn. The older pair listened intently, their expressions a mix of puzzlement and fascination.

Mark finished, ending with the Neck’s smoldering demise.

They exchanged bewildered glances. Angie said, “We don’t know anything about that.”

“I might know,” Angela said. “The Necks must have retained some memories of the time loop you created by constantly resetting their actions.”

Vaughn’s opposite shook his head. “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t they have stopped us? If they had simply left guards posted around the wormhole we found on Octo-Corsica, we would’ve had a hard time returning here.”

“You’re right,” Angela said. “But I don’t think their memories of you were that clearly defined. I think they were more illusory, like a shared memory of a dream.”

“I believe you are correct,” Monique interjected, and then looked at Vaughn’s counterpart. “Otherwise, the Necks could have easily thwarted your efforts, as you said.”

“I didn’t say it like that,” Asshole muttered under his breath, causing Vaughn to smile inwardly, as he had been thinking the same thing about Monique’s stilted manner of speech.

“None of that matters now. We’ve changed the timeline.” Angie looked at the Octos still hovering outside the bubble. “And we finally have their undivided attention.”

“This changes so much more than that,” Monique said, uncharacteristic excitement accenting her tone.

Vaughn pulled his gaze from the aliens. “What else has it changed?”

“Don’t you see?” Monique said, employing an actual contraction. “It has changed… everything!”

CHAPTER 4

“Do you not realize the impact of what you have accomplished?” Monique asked Angie, her voice tinged with awe and apprehension.

Angie and Asshole exchanged a knowing smile. Then she dipped her head to Monique. “We’ve had significantly more time to consider the ramifications of our actions than all of you.”

“Care to enlighten us?” Vaughn said.

Younger-Angela looked at Vaughn, then turned to their older selves. “By resetting the Solar Tap Facility, we’ve radically altered the course of history, haven’t we?”

“More than you can fathom,” Angie agreed. “By denying the Necks the power of this facility, we’ve effectively stripped them of their globe-wiping ability. We’ve restored life to every world the Necks invaded using that technology.”

“You said our world’s version of Corsica was unpopulated,” Vaughn said. “When I studied the island, I learned archaeologists found evidence of human occupation dating back over eight thousand years. Any idea how far back we’ve gone?”

“It could be more than that,” responded his older self. “Like I said, it’s damn cold over there, probably an ice age. Also, remember those stalagmites we saw in the flooded pit?”

“Yeah, the ones I had to break through using a device like that,” Vaughn said, pointing at a nearby Octo with powered articulated prosthetics covering two of its tentacles.

Asshole cut his eyes to the indicated alien. “Exactly like that. When we explored that area in this timeline, the stalactites and stalagmites hadn’t even started forming. I don’t know their growth rate, but I’m pretty sure it’s damn slow.”

“Oh, my word,” Monique said. “How long were the stalactites?”

Vaughn regarded his older self and then looked back at Monique. “Maybe four or five feet. A lot of them met the stalagmites in the middle, connected top to bottom, so I’d guess ten feet in all.”

“So three meters in total,” Monique said. “A meter and a half of advancement in each direction. The average observed stalactite growth rate is thirteen hundredths of a millimeter per year…” Her expression grew distant as she ran a quick mental calculation.

Vaughn marveled at the woman’s encyclopedic memory.

“That is more than eleven thousand years!”

Teddy whistled. “Dude! Eleven millennia! That’s hell-a-long.”

“It is likely much longer than that if the columns or stalagmites had grown wide,” Monique added.

Angie’s expression betrayed no surprise. “That checks with our experiences. Go that far back in time and you’re smack in the middle of the last ice age.”

Older-Vaughn waved a dismissive hand. “Y’all are missing the biggest problem. If all of us remember everything we’ve been through, despite the timeline resets, the Necks likely retain some memory of all the worlds they’ve visited. They’ll exhaust every effort to retake those worlds, starting with this one. Considering the chain of events we’ve set in motion, I doubt they’ll sit back and wait for everything to repeat. They’ll likely move up their timetable. That would mean not only retaking this world, but potentially accelerating plans to eliminate other competition.” He gave them a significant look and added, “Competition like humans on Earth and Lobsters on Bar Harbor.”

A hush fell over the group. His words echoed in the air, the weight of their significance leaving everyone speechless and stunned.

For Vaughn, the gravity of the revelation felt like a gut punch. Their actions had raised the stakes astronomically. The ripple effects stretched across worlds and time, entangling the fates of species they had never even encountered. The same move had placed their world’s very existence in jeopardy. Time served as both ally and adversary. It was a complex web, and their older selves had tampered with its strands, their timelines crossing but not erasing. Not yet, anyway.

Even as he had the thought, the older pair swayed in unison as a wave of vertigo appeared to sweep across both.

“What’s wrong?” Angela asked.

Angie massaged a temple. “We’re running out of time. I feel it.” She turned pleading eyes to her younger self. “Octo-Corsica is the key! When we were in Bar Harbor, I compiled a list of known Neck invasions. I’ve added to it using info from the Octos, but their attack of Octo-Corsica predates all my data. We never found the wormhole the robots used for that first raid. Find that one. It should lead you to the Neck homeworld.”

“You think it’s the trunk line wormhole,” Angela said.

“Exactly,” Older-Vaughn agreed, massaging his temple as well. “We could never get past this when and where, but now you can.” He pointed at the tablet in Angela’s hand. “Work your way to that wormhole’s location, to its when and where, and you could reset it. That might undo everything, resetting your timelines and returning all of you back to the points you were at when the Necks invaded each of your homeworlds. But that may not be what you decide to do.”

Vaughn looked from his teammates to his older self. “Why the fuck not?”

Angie winced. In a voice strained with pain, she cautioned, “Once you find it, you’ll face a monumental decision: reset the wormhole or…” She gave them a meaningful look. “Or go through it.” At their questioning stares she said, “You know the Necks want to dominate the universe. Traversing the wormhole and eliminating every last Neck may be the only way to stop them permanently.”

“But then you’ll be stuck in this past,” Older-Vaughn said, grunting through the pain. Looking at both Vaughn and Mark, he grinned wistfully. “Just… don’t fuck up.”

Pain and confusion twisted the faces of the older pair. Then they vanished with an audible pop.

CHAPTER 5

The pop generated by the air rushing in to fill the void reverberated through the spherical bubble. Vaughn knew the moment was coming, but the doppelgängers’ disappearance left him unsure how to proceed.

He turned to Angela. She stared back at him mutely, struck silent by the events and revelations. They had witnessed the death of a version of themselves. With a tight embrace, they held each other close. She buried her face in his shoulder, her whole body trembling as she wept.

It was only through sheer force of will that Vaughn didn’t join her. Their older versions had opened a window into their future. Could they change things or were they doomed to become the people they met, alone and lost?

The air in the bubble felt heavy with obligation. Vaughn was bone-weary, worn to a nub by all the events that had led to them standing in this alien facility, but after hearing the odyssey of their older selves, the path ahead seemed more treacherous. However, the epiphany of a slate wiped clean engendered newfound hope.

They may have set the Necks back, but he knew that if they didn’t act now to stay in front of events, those very forces would likely sweep aside humanity and the Lobsters.

Craig Carmichael cleared his throat, pulling Vaughn from his thoughts. “What are your orders, Colonel?”

Releasing Angela, he turned to address the group. His emotions reflected back at him in their expressions.

Vaughn moved to the center, his gaze sweeping over his team. The weight of their shared burden was evident in their postures, but he saw something else, too—defiance, resilience, and the unyielding fire of survival.

“I know you’re tired,” he began, his voice steady and resolute. “Hell, I am, too. We’ve been pushed to the edge, seen things no one should have to witness, and lost people who should still be standing here with us. But let me tell you this: we’re still here. And as long as we draw breath, we’ll claw, bleed, and fight for every being they’ve ever eradicated.”

He took a step closer, his voice rising with conviction. “The Necks have underestimated us before, and we’ve made them pay for it. Now we know what’s at stake, not just for us, but for every world they’ve touched. This is bigger than survival. This is about showing those soulless machines that humanity doesn’t back down. Not today, not ever.”

Vaughn looked at Craig, then Angela, and finally, the rest of his team. “We’ve been given a chance—a chance to rewrite the future, to make sure no one else ends up like the older versions of ourselves we just met. Alone. Broken. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. It’s going to be brutal, and we’ll all have to dig deeper than ever. But I know we can do it. Because we’ve done the impossible before.”

He straightened, his jaw tightening. “So, we’re going to regroup, gear up, and we’re going to hit the Necks where it hurts. We’re going to fight like the entire multiverse depends on it. Because it does.”

Vaughn took a deep breath, his voice lowering but no less intense. “This isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning of the fight. And when we’re done, the Necks won’t just fear humanity—they’ll wish they never crossed us.”

Hardening his visage, he said, “It’s time to kick some Neck asses… again.”

PART II

CHAPTER 6

Angela squeezed Vaughn’s hand. She took a deep breath and swallowed, taking a moment to collect herself. “Nice speech.” She gestured at his side. “Where’s Little Sparky?”

Vaughn glanced down, surprised to find Angie’s hybrid Lobster rifle missing. The weapon and its miniaturized TDI had vanished. He raised his empty hand and flexed his fingers. “It … It’s gone, too. Didn’t notice with everything else going on.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Angela said, pulling out her computer. “Angie uploaded all the coordinates to my tablet. Come here, BOb. Let’s upload them to Big Sparky as well.”

“Good idea,” Vaughn said. “We need to spread the information across as many devices as possible.” He moved to Rourke’s side. “Does your tablet still work?”

The young man’s head jittered up and down. “Yeah, yeah. It’s the only other one that does.” He extracted the computer from his waterproof backpack and offered it to Vaughn.

“Not me. Her,” he said, pointing at Angela.

“Oh! Of course.”

Angela took the tablet. After synchronizing the data to the device, she handed it back to Rourke. “So what’s our next move?”

Vaughn looked at the Octos and then addressed the group. “We need to go to Octo-Corsica, but that world is repopulated now. Let’s have a little sit-down with our new allies on this end first, ensure the Corsicans know we’re coming.” Tipping his head toward the hovering aliens, he added, “And, let’s make damn sure they’re not contemplating firing up this facility.”

“Good idea, Colonel Sanders.”

Vaughn frowned at the cosmonaut and said, “Angela, let’s put your translator to the test.”

She opened the translation app and walked to the side of the bubble closest to the Octos. The broad octagonal screen again portrayed the facility’s idle inner works. When Dudette’s hologram had ended, the live feed of the Tap’s interior had resumed.

“What are your plans for the Solar Tap?” As she spoke, the app converted her words.

The Octos turned away from Angela and huddled. Lights flickered across their heads in a quick conversation. Then one split from the group and swam closer to the bubble’s periphery. Multispectral light strobed from its top.

Angela aimed the tablet’s camera lens at it. A flat, toneless computer voice issued from the device. “We will refrain from activating the Tap for the foreseeable future and will soon initiate full shutdown procedures.”

“Soon?!” Vaughn blurted. The hairs across the back of his neck raised. If the Tap wasn’t completely shut down, they weren’t as safe as he thought. To Angela he said, “Tell them they need to do that right fuc⁠—!”

An overhead flash drew his eye toward the facility’s distant ceiling. Through the watery expanse, he saw sunlight burn through a newly formed hole.

“What in the bloody hell is that?!” barked Chance Bingham.

“No clue,” Vaughn said.

Something skittered through the opening, pursued by a stream of several others. His blood ran cold as the light glinted off surging bodies, sending golden rays sweeping through the water.

“Caterpillars!” Rourke exclaimed, taking a backward step. “They…!” He swallowed. “They just keep coming! How many of them are there?”

“Too bloody many,” answered Chance. “And they’re still coming!”

“No, no, no!” Angela protested. “Caterpillars don’t swim. They sink.”

Mark pointed. “They swim now.”

“Upgrades,” Vaughn said shakily, wishing he could pull off Neo’s calm disconnect in Matrix Reloaded. The thought engendered another relation to that franchise. The enemy robots were streaming through the opening in a horrifying masquerade of Sentinels invading Zion. However, instead of the Sentinels’ claw-tipped mechanical tentacles, the Caterpillars sported massive insectile mandibles and a dozen bladed and barbed legs.

The robots rushed through the breach in a constant stream.

From the moment the first Caterpillar entered the facility, it was as if a floodgate had burst. The hole glowed with sunlight, but the metallic swarm soon eclipsed it. A rain of robotic death spilled into the facility, their sleek, insectile forms gleaming like polished chrome. Each enemy robot skittered and darted with unnatural grace. Some jetting through the water, others scurrying inverted along the facility’s curved ceiling, their barbed legs carving furrows into its surface as they climbed down at impossible angles.

The sound was deafening—a cacophony of grinding steel punctuated by the sporadic clank of their mandibles snapping shut. Countless mechanized nightmares surged through the breach, moving as one relentless wave. Glints of light ricocheted off their serrated appendages, casting ghostly, jagged reflections that danced across every surface. The Caterpillars cascaded downward in a coordinated torrent of cold efficiency.

One branch of the enemy bots split from the main mass and headed toward the bubble.

Vaughn aimed his Sparky at the formation and shouted, “Incoming!” The rising din crushed his words, rendering them almost inaudible.

Carmichael and his special operators shot into position, ready to defend the team. Everyone raised their rifles, rapidly establishing crossing fields of fire with battle-hardened efficiency.

The first Caterpillar hit the ground with a resonant clang, its massive legs absorbing the impact. Without pause, it reared up, its bladed forelimbs slicing through the water as if testing their sharpness. Others followed, each landing with a deadly precision that shook the floor beneath the team’s boots.

“Holy mother of—!” Rourke’s exclamation cut off as a Caterpillar lunged toward the bubble, its mandibles snapping. He stumbled back, his foot splashing in the shallow water pooling across the floor.

Octo defenders emerged from hidden nooks like wraiths, their armored tentacles a blur of motion. Energy weapons came to life, each blast carving a searing path through the water. Thin tunnels of vaporized seawater marked every shot, trailing toward their targets. The Caterpillar in front of Rourke took a direct hit. It convulsed, electric arcs dancing across its metallic body before it collapsed, lifeless. Another fell, and then another, their twitching forms piling up like discarded junk.

But for each enemy felled, a dozen more poured in, their movements synchronized with terrifying precision. The ones not jetting through the water streamed along the walls and ceiling, using every surface as a highway, their bladed limbs clanging like hammers on an anvil.

“They just keep coming!” Mark shouted, firing his Lobster rifle into the nearest robot. The EMP bolt burned into its center, sending it crumpling to the floor.

Above, the opening widened as more Caterpillars forced their way through. Vaughn’s stomach turned as he realized the Necks hadn’t sent a scouting party—they’d sent an army. This was no recon-in-force like the one Staff Sergeant Carmichael defeated in the home ’verse. The enemy had staged a full-scale invasion.

To counter the defenders’ efforts, the Caterpillars changed tactics. The next wave split into smaller groups, each targeting a different point of entry. Some swam through the water, their articulated bodies moving like liquid steel. Others leaped from the walls, angling straight for the Octos who fought back valiantly. Bolts of white-hot energy carved molten trails into the robots. Yet the enemy pressed on, clambering over their fallen comrades with a relentless hunger.

One landed just beyond the bubble. It reared back, its segmented body undulating like a serpent preparing to strike. Vaughn fired, catching it in the head. The EMP charge short-circuited its systems, and it collapsed in a heap.

But then another emerged. And another. And another.

The armored Octopuses poured fire into the onrushing robots. Brilliant energy beams burned into the enemy formation. Each struck robot died and tumbled to the facility’s floor.

Vaughn saw light glinting off many of the defenders and got his first clear view of the alien soldiers.

The Octos in their powered armor were a surreal marriage of alien biology and advanced engineering. Each of the massive creatures moved with an eerie fluidity that belied their size, their sinuous tentacles sheathed in segmented, articulated exoskeletons that gleamed like polished obsidian under the faint light. The armor flexed and shifted with every movement, making them look like shadowy sea serpents encased in living metal. Intricate patterns of glowing lines traced the length of their armored limbs, pulsating in soft blues and greens—a language of light that seemed to harmonize with the ambient hues radiating from their enormous craniums.

Bulbous, helmet-like structures shrouded their heads, shielding their sensitive neural clusters and leaving only their expressive, color-shifting domes visible beneath a translucent shell. Each Octo carried a weapon Vaughn could only describe as a scaled-down Big Sparky—a devastating energy cannon bristling with alien intricacies. The weapons hummed, trailing faint afterimages in the water as the Octopuses adjusted their aim with preternatural precision. Even their armor bore subtle design flourishes—scalloped ridges and fluidic curves—that hinted at both functionality and artistry. In motion, the Octos were a sight to behold, their armored forms a deadly ballet of light and metal, terrifying and mesmerizing in equal measure.

“Geez O!” Carmichael said between shots. “Pray we never find ourselves on the receiving end of the likes of them. I nae could’ve imagined a race of soft-bodied octopuses putting up such a fierce fight.”

“Me neither,” Vaughn said, marveling at it all despite the dire nature of their situation.

Undeterred by the ferocity of the Octos’ defense, the Caterpillar forces continued to mount. As dozens of the enemy fell to their weapons, even more of the monstrosities flowed through the opening in the ceiling.

As if sensing Vaughn’s attention, another clutch of the streaming robots split from the main body and began flowing toward Vaughn and his team.

Carmichael and the other special operators leaped into position between the rest of the group and the rapidly approaching Caterpillars. Red Claw and Jacques did the same, the tall Lobsters shoring up the right side of the formation. They all aimed their weapons at the broadening line of enemy robots, but they were still too far away.

Vaughn held out a hand. “Wait till they get closer!”

“Worry not, Colonel,” Craig said, still staring at the onrushing enemy forces, his Scottish accent lilting the words. “I know the effective range of me weapon, even underwater.”

The staff sergeant’s admonition triggered an epiphany. Vaughn yelled, “Activate your helmets!”

Everyone’s clear visors flowed back into position, sealing in the suit’s occupants. The two Lobsters activated their helmets despite being able to breathe in and out of the water.

Moving away from the approaching robots, Rourke backed into the bubble’s wall and tried to push through. It resisted his efforts.

His eyes widened. “We’re trapped!”

Suddenly, the bubble shrank, dwindling in diameter at the same rate it had expanded, sounding like a squeezed balloon as it did and plunging the group back into the water. The bubble returned to its pearl-sized orb state.

Now floating, Angela snatched the opalescent sphere and tucked it into a pouch on the side of her pack. After looking at the mass of Caterpillars, she aimed her Sparky at the approaching robots and cast a sideward glance at Vaughn. “Now what?”

“I’ve had about all I can stand of these bastards!” he said through clenched teeth.

“Bugger them!” shouted Craig Carmichael, his voice issuing from the suit’s integrated speakers. “Fire!”

A fusillade of EMP bolts erupted from the special operators and their Lobster comrades. The shots pierced the water in bone-rattling reports.

Bolts of electricity danced around the targeted robots. They convulsed and then fell limp, drifting toward the floor. However, another Caterpillar swam up behind each, replacing their brethren quicker than the team could dispatch them.

Still more came. Every moment, another dozen streamed through the facility’s ceiling.

The Necks were bent on capturing the Octos’ facility, whatever the cost. However, the tentacled aliens weren’t ready to give it up. The Octopuses poured fire into the streaming lines of robots. Dozens of strands of white light burned into the enemy forces, coming from multiple directions. Each targeted Caterpillar seized, electrical arcs dancing around their chassis, generating a similar effect as the Lobsters’ EMP weapons. Vaughn guessed it was based on comparable tech.

The Caterpillars pushed inward. Soon, they’d plow through the defenders, human and alien alike.

Firing his Lobster rifle into the nearest robot, Vaughn looked around, searching for some means of reversing the tide of the battle. He found none.

They would all die if they didn’t get out of there and damn soon. He could order BOb to beam them out, but there was no way the battlebot would have enough time to do so with so many Caterpillars swarming at them. It was all they could do to hold the monstrosities at bay. If they lost even one gun, the enemy would overrun their position.

He saw the octagonal opening Carmichael and his team had fallen through after arriving in this world. Now that the chamber was flooded and Angela had stored her collapsed sphere of air, they wouldn’t have to worry about falling through, but it could still serve as an escape path. Pumping one fist overhead, he jabbed a bladed hand at the floor’s three-meter-wide orifice and shouted, “Everyone into the hole, now!”

Rourke dove headlong through the gap and disappeared into the dark waters beyond.

“He didn’t need to be told twice,” Vaughn said under his breath. He raised his voice. “Move it, folks! Move! Move! Move!”

Monique dipped her head to Vaughn and then followed the young scientist. Chance Bingham zipped through close on her heels.

Mark Hennessy blasted a Caterpillar and then grabbed Rachel Lee. She allowed him to guide her backward toward the hole as she sniped one enemy robot after the other. Then the pair engaged their suit thrusters and jetted down through the opening.

“Go, Angela,” Vaughn said. Seeing her face, he lied: “I’ll be right behind you.”

She dove through, disappearing into the depths.

Carmichael looked over his shoulder several times, monitoring the retreat’s progress. “Red Claw! Jacques! You’re next!” he ordered.

The Lobsters fired two more shots each, taking out as many Caterpillars, and then jetted down through the orifice.

Carmichael looked at Vaughn from inside his helmet’s clear visor. He jutted his square jaw at the opening. “Go, Colonel! We’ll be right behind you.”

Vaughn grabbed the battlebot’s black carbon fiber arm. “With me, BOb!”

Flashes outlined BOb’s silhouette. Looking at the robot was like gazing into a dark hole cut into the water. The battlebot regarded Vaughn, his glowing eyes staring out from the void. They blinked off and on. “Roger, Captain Asshole!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Just set up on the other side and cover our retreat, COC-RING!”

Moving with fluid dexterity, BOb jetted through the opening and reported, “Set!”

Carmichael blasted a pair of Caterpillars, bagging a twofer. Then he commanded, “Patterson, Ngcobo, Grant, you heard the colonel. Move your asses!”

After killing another wave of enemy robots, the trio dropped back and plunged through the hole.

Vaughn and the staff sergeant fired into the mass of Caterpillars, and then both darted down through the gap and passed into the darkness below.

Despite the impenetrable blackness of the expansive lower room, each team member stood out in the infrared image painted across the inside of Vaughn’s visor. They had positioned themselves to allow a clear field of fire into the opening. BOb was the closest, with the others ringing the area beneath him.

Raising its oversized Lobster rifle, the battlebot fired over Vaughn’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. The beam passed behind him and burned into something, casting flickering light about the lower chamber. He watched as the dispatched Caterpillar tumbled past, still radiating arcs of electricity. The flashes revealed the massive plumbing works Craig had described. They had thought these tremendous pipes carried coolant to the source of power, but they now knew the water flowing through the main tube had served as fuel.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he turned and started firing back through the opening, using it as a choke point.

BOb fired multiple bolts into the aperture, as did the others. Each engaged Caterpillar seized, fell limp, and drifted to the lower chamber’s distant floor.

Still more of the demonic machines crowded the entrance.

“Everyone fall back. Get ready to beam out of here.” Pointing up at the opening, Vaughn added, “BOb! Dudette! Hold them off as long as you can and then join us below. Beam us out when you get there, BOb.”

“Aye, aye, Colonel.”

A quick backward glance confirmed everyone was moving into position.

Beckoning to the staff sergeant and his fellow special operators, Vaughn said, “Let’s go, folks! Time to move!”

After dispatching another wave of enemy robots, they turned and jetted after him.

“Huddle close together!” Vaughn ordered. “We won’t have time to do it twice!”

As they moved into position, he looked up at the two robots defending them. “Dudette, BOb! Fall back!”

The pair retreated, jetting backward as they continued to fire on the Caterpillars streaming into the opening. They closed the gap and joined the group at the bottom. All the while dispatching more of the enemy robots, buying the team the precious time they needed to effect their escape.

“Beam us out of here, BOb!” Vaughn ordered.

“Where to, Colonel?”

“Anywhere but here!” Vaughn looked up at the swirling mass of Caterpillars now streaming freely through the opening. “Just do it quickly!” he shouted.

BOb placed the butt of Big Sparky against the deck. The emitter telescoped upward. At the same moment, one of the nearest enemies rocketed toward the team.

Being the closest to that side of the formation, Monique turned to engage the robot, aiming her Lobster rifle at the onrushing mechanized monster. However, before she could trigger her Sparky, the Caterpillar extended a weapon and fired at BOb.

A brilliant lightning bolt struck the battlebot’s torso, breaking into a torrent of electrical arcs. They vanished in a blinding flash as Monique’s inertia carried her into the path of the Caterpillar’s shot. The beam passed through her helmet. Electricity arced around her and then faded, leaving the woman floating limply.

Carmichael grabbed Monique and pulled her unconscious form into the group’s center while the rest of the team continued to strafe the swarming enemy robots in a mad effort to hold them at bay.

“Oh no!” Angela said, leaning in. “Is she breathing?”

“Yes,” Craig said. “But if we don’t get out of here soon, none of us will be.”

BOb shook his head like a boxer trying to clear the fog after a blow to the jaw. “I’m okay. Not that anyone ca⁠—”

“Beam us out of here, BOb!” Vaughn shouted as he killed another robot. “Now!”

“Oh crap!” BOb yelped, his optics flaring brighter for a split second. “Big Sparky’s display blanked!”

Another Caterpillar launched at them.

With no time to waste, Vaughn placed a hand on BOb. Craig did the same with Dudette, making sure both robots would make the transition regardless of the TDI’s setting. Then Vaughn reached over and depressed the initiator’s trigger.

Surging toward Vaughn, the Caterpillar opened its insectile jaws.

White TDI light washed across him just as the enemy robot’s golden mandibles snapped closed around his neck.

The black void of interdimensional travel swallowed Vaughn.

Ah, shit! he thought, hoping that was the only thing that had swallowed him.

CHAPTER 7

Brilliant white light washed over Vaughn. Gravity reasserted itself as the sphere of water surrounding them fell, collapsing in a momentary 360-degree waterfall. Seawater splashed down around them and the ground shifted as the portion of deck that had traveled with the team toppled.

Gasping, Vaughn retracted his helmet and rubbed his neck, desperately probing for any injury and finding none.

He bent over, placing hands on his knees, still panting. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered.

“Dude! That Caterpillar was like totally going to cut your head off.”

“Thanks, Teddy,” he said wryly. “I almost missed that—Oof!” Something slammed into Vaughn, bowling him over. He landed on his back.

Angela loomed over him, her face inches away, her expression shifting between horror and joy. At last, joy won out. She smiled, kissed him hard, and then pulled back. “You scared the shit out of me, Asshole!”

“Oh, you thought it was just you?” he joked. “Pretty sure there’s about a yard of underwear sucked up my backside.”

Craig Carmichael bent over and offered both of them a hand. “That’s one way to get your fiber, sir.”

“Think I’ll stick to supplements in the future.”

They accepted the sergeant’s assistance, stood, and hopped down from the unstable panel, stepping into knee-high grass, wet from the sudden arrival of a few hundred gallons of seawater.

They turned and saw Sergeant Grant lowering Monique into a prone position on the damp sod.

He and Angela exchanged horrified looks, both having momentarily forgotten about the lieutenant commander’s injury.

Matilda pressed a button on Monique’s suit. Her helmet flowed into its compartment on the back of the suit’s neck ring.

He saw the woman’s chest slowly rise and fall.

Matilda gently patted her cheek. “Monique, talk to me.”

Nothing. She didn’t respond.

Angela knelt beside her and lowered an ear. “I hear her breathing.” She stared up at Vaughn. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” He looked around. “Normally, I’d say take her to the nearest hospital, but it looks like this place is fresh out of the finer amenities.”

“Not the time for Captain Asshole,” Angela said.

“Shit… Sorry.” He crouched next to her and looked at Matilda. “What do you think?”

“She’s breathing okay but not responding to me.”

“Is it a concussion?”

“If it is, it’s not a bad one,” Matilda said. “Her pupils are dilating normally and symmetrically. I think the shock scrambled her gray matter,” said the Australian special operator. She served as team medic when needed. “Give her some time, and her organic computer should reboot.”

Nodding, Vaughn stood.

Rising, too, Angela searched the horizon. “Where did you beam us, BOb?”

“I intended to beam us to the first waypoint in the database.”

“Which was?” Vaughn prompted.

“Hell,” BOb said, scanning their surroundings. “But this does not appear to be Hell.”

“You think?” scoffed Bingham. “It’s a bit too green to be Hell, and the sky is too blue.”

“Bingham’s not wrong,” Mark said. “This doesn’t look like Hell. Do you know where it might have sent us?”

“No idea. The electrical jolt from the Caterpillar’s attack disrupted my connection to Big Sparky just as I tried to access the database.” BOb looked around again and added, “This could be any of the worlds we’ve already visited, or it might even be one of the places we downloaded from the older couple’s database.”

“That’s not helpful,” Mark said.

“There goes my five-star Yelp rating.”

Rourke approached the robot with purpose. “Did I hear you say Big Sparky’s display blanked?”

The battlebot unslung the rifle and showed him its screen. “It still is, Doctor Geller.”

“That shouldn’t matter to you. Your wired connection gives you direct access to its data.”

BOb rocked his head. “Normally, it would, but that stream is dead, too.”

“Do you think it’s permanent?” Vaughn asked, keeping the mounting concern from reaching his voice.

“No way to tell yet.” Rourke broke out his tablet computer. “But I’ll work with BOb and see if we can’t get it rebooted.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said.

“That electrical bolt must’ve traveled through the water,” Teddy said. “I certainly felt it. My boys tried to crawl up inside, if you know what I mean.”

Vaughn did. He’d experienced the same sensation, although the specter of a Caterpillar full-length haircut had quickly eclipsed it.

He pointed to the cosmonaut. “Teddy, you’re mister fix-it. Help Rourke. He has a copy of those instructions on his tablet. See if the two of you can get Big Sparky working,” he said, leaving out that they might be stuck there permanently if they couldn’t.

“Da, Colonel Sanders. I’m on it like a bonnet.” He joined BOb and the scientist, who were already toiling with the weapon and the tablet. They had used a nearby boulder as a workbench, breaking open Big Sparky with tools stored in the battlebot’s arms and hands.

Vaughn peered around. He couldn’t see far from their present location. The TDI had deposited them at the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression. Their surroundings looked like a movie-set rendition of a prairie. Above, the sky painted a vast blue expanse, devoid of any urban pollutants. Earthy aromas permeated the atmosphere, the scent fresh and vibrant, carrying the subtle sweetness of chlorophyll mingling with the faint tang of soil warmed by the sun.

A gentle breeze caressed the landscape. It stirred the surrounding air, lifting the fragrance of wildflowers hidden among the grass. The overall olfactory experience conveyed the essence of untouched nature. Although the freshly deposited salt water made it smell as if a beach must be over the next hill, but despite the limited sight line, he felt landlocked. The too-close horizon amplified the feeling.

Where were they? Certainly not Hell.

“Captain Lee, Staff Sergeant Carmichael, let’s see where we are,” he said, waving a hand toward the gently rising hillocks surrounding their position.

“Aye, Colonel,” Craig said. “Dudette, Patterson and Ngcobo, keep a keen eye out.” He pointed at three spots around the depression. “Post up there, there, and there, but stay low. Don’t silhouette yourself. This air is so clear, you may see the back of your own head if you look hard enough.”

“Chance and I will keep an eye on things here,” Mark said.

Vaughn, Craig, and Rachel ascended the grassy hill’s gentle slope. A whisper of wind accompanied the soft rustling of the blades. The sun blazed overhead, its golden light bathing the landscape, as if highlighting their path.

They traveled in silence, each step drawing them closer to the edge of the unknown. Vaughn scanned the expanding horizon as they climbed, searching for clues about this world’s identity. Beside him, Carmichael and Lee did the same.

As they approached the crest of the hill, a shared instinct kicked in. No one knew if the Necks were present in this world. They exchanged a look and then dropped onto their bellies. They began to low crawl through the tall grass, the blades brushing against their faces as they moved. The sod provided cover, but their progress was slow and deliberate, each movement carefully calculated to avoid detection.

As they crawled higher, distant snow-capped mountains climbed into sight on their left and right. Reaching the top of the hill, they looked through the grass. An expansive view unfolded before them. Mountainous ridgelines framed a valley that stretched to the now-distant horizon. Jagged white peaks scratched at the sky, creating a natural boundary buttressing a lush, grassy basin free of trees. The sight was both awe-inspiring and eerily familiar.

Vaughn squinted against the sunlight, his mind racing to make sense of the vista. The layout of the land sparked a distant memory, a geographical perception that tugged at the edges of his consciousness. A stream almost wide enough to qualify as a full river snaked its way through the valley, glistening like a silver thread under the sun as it meandered toward their position. It coursed with a serene inevitability, quietly burbling as it passed close to their location.

Recognition slammed into him. “Guess I should’ve seen that coming,” he said, keeping his voice low. “This looks similar to the Geneva Valley.”

“Aye. The mountains look right. I’ll grant you that, but where’s the lake? I can see the river all the way to the far end of the valley.”

“Guess this world doesn’t have one,” Rachel replied. “But everything else fits.”

“If I’m correct, we’re facing east,” Vaughn said. He pointed to their front right. “That low mountain is Mont Salève. It’s where we got our first look at the Geneva Valley in the old timeline. Timelines, actually. Angela and I saw it from there twice.”

“I got to join them the second time. Woo…” Rachel said wryly.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Craig said. “I wasn’t present for either of those. However, I do recognize the valley, and I think you’re correct. We’re back, but which world is it?”

“Good question, Staff Sergeant.” Vaughn scanned the horizon. “I don’t see any sign of the Necks.”

“Aye, I also don’t see any sign of civiliza—” His ever-scanning eyes locked onto something. “What in the name o’ hairy arses are those?”

Vaughn’s blood ran cold. He followed the man’s sight line. “What? What?!”

Rachel stiffened. “Yeah, what?”

The Scot produced a pair of binoculars and squinted through them. “Settle down, you two. It’s not Necks.” Raising an arm, he pointed east through the tall grass. “I see something, but it’s hard to make them out.”

Following the line of Craig’s extended finger, he saw three black dots at the limit of his vision. He narrowed his eyes, trying to resolve the items, but to no avail. “Let me borrow your binos.”

After staring a moment longer, the sergeant relented and handed them to him.

The lenses pulled the edifices closer, but he still struggled to discern more details from this far away. He saw three dark structures rising against the landscape, casting long shadows over the gently undulating sea of grass. The buildings towered formidable and unfamiliar, their angles and shapes stark and foreboding, a sharp contrast to the natural beauty surrounding them. They stood roughly where Geneva would be, but their presence was alien, hinting at a civilization unknown to him. They were unlike anything he’d seen during all their travels. However, at this distance, they presented little in the way of details. He felt certain that they weren’t Neck buildings. The things looked to be constructed of stone, not metal.

Rachel held out a hand. Vaughn gave her the binoculars.

“What do you think they are?” Craig asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of unease.

“I’m not sure,” Vaughn replied, his mind racing through possibilities, none of which settled comfortably. “But I think it’s time we found out. If we’re lucky, those structures might provide some clues as to just where in the hell we are.”

“True,” Rachel said, lowering the binos. “Anything would be better than the nothingburger we have so far.”

CHAPTER 8

Vaughn watched one boot after the other swish through the tall grass. The sound of it was hypnotic.

They’d only been walking for just over an hour, and he already felt his senses dulling. Have to stay sharp, Singleton.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Angela said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “It’s about our doppelgängers and the way they disappeared.”

He took a deep breath, drawing mind-clearing oxygen into his lungs. He gave her a half-smile. “I’m just as shook up about it as you are.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s the way they disappeared. I mean, they literally popped out of existence.”

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Not now, Vaughn. I mean it.”

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since the holocamcorder did the same thing. I think it points to something fundamental about our universe.” Reconsidering, she said, “About the entire multiverse, actually.”

Vaughn’s brow furrowed. “Fundamental how? Like, some weird cosmic rule we don’t know about?”

“Exactly. It’s not just random—there’s a pattern to it. Think about it. The holocamcorder disappeared when we tampered with events in a way that meant it could never have ended up in that timeline in the first place. And our doppelgängers… Well, they didn’t just vanish. They were erased.”

Vaughn scratched the back of his neck, his steps slowing as her words sank in. “Erased? You mean, like, rewritten?”

“No,” Angela said. “Not rewritten. Unwritten. The probability of their existence dropped to zero, Vaughn. The universe couldn’t sustain them anymore. It’s like they violated some rule of causality, and the multiverse snuffed them out.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Angela, this isn’t a bad sci-fi flick. Things don’t just ‘pop’ because of some multiversal house rule.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re right. It’s not a bad sci-fi movie. It’s our reality. And I think the multiverse has rules, and this is one of them. When something’s existence becomes an impossibility—like, mathematically impossible—it collapses. And I don’t think it’s random. I think it’s intentional.”

Vaughn stopped walking, turning to face her. “What, like the universe is some kind of hall monitor with a rule book?”

“Not the universe. The multiverse itself. Think about it, Vaughn: a system this big, this complex, has to have self-correcting mechanisms. Otherwise, it’d all fall apart.”

Angela started walking again. “Here’s what I think. The multiverse operates on quantum probabilities. Every possible version of us, of anything, exists because its probability is nonzero. Even the most unlikely realities can persist, as long as there’s some chance they can exist. But when something happens to drop that probability to zero—like, completely zero—it triggers what I’d call a probability collapse event.”

Vaughn sighed, trying to follow. “I’m with you, barely. Keep going.”

“It’s like destructive interference in quantum mechanics,” she continued, her pace quickening as she explained. “When two overlapping waves cancel each other out, the result is zero energy—total nullification. This is similar, but instead of energy waves, we’re talking about the probability amplitudes of existence itself. When one timeline creates conditions that directly contradict the foundation of another, that timeline can’t sustain itself. It collapses. That’s what happened to the holocamcorder. It couldn’t have been where it was because of what we did, so the probability of its timeline went to zero. The same thing happened to the doppelgängers—they made choices that rendered their very existence causally impossible.”

Vaughn held up a hand. “Okay, whoa, hang on.” He stopped, leaning on his knees for a moment as if catching his breath, though it was his mind that was struggling to keep up. “Angela, I don’t want to sound dumb here, but can you say that in English? Maybe use, I don’t know, smaller words? Break it down for me, Barney-style?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, Vaughn. Barney-style it is.” She looked up into the sky for a moment. “Think of existence like a bunch of candles.”

“Candles,” he repeated flatly. “Got it.”

“Each version of a person—or object or whatever—in a timeline is a candle with its own little flame. As long as there’s even a flicker of fuel—some chance, no matter how small—that flame keeps burning. But if something snuffs out the chance of that candle ever being lit in the first place—like, the match was never struck—it’s not just the flame that goes out. It’s like the candle was never there to begin with. Poof.”

He stared at her, waiting.

“That’s it. That’s the Barney version,” she said, holding her hands out.

“So the universe just goes around poofing candles whenever it feels like it?”

“No, it’s not random,” she said, exasperated. “The multiverse is self-correcting. It has to be, or the whole thing would unravel under the weight of its contradictions. When probabilities go to zero—when something can’t exist—it’s the multiverse’s way of cleaning up the mess. Like sweeping up broken glass so no one steps on it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Candles and janitors. Okay, I get it now. Sort of.”

“Good,” Angela said, her tone softening. “Because if we’re not careful, Vaughn, that could happen to us. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to be ‘poofed.’”

Vaughn straightened up, his expression turning serious. “Okay. So how do we make sure our candles aren’t snuffed out?”

Angela gave a small smile. “We keep moving, make smart choices, and avoid paradoxes like the plague. Beyond that? Hope the multiverse doesn’t have it out for us.”

He pointed ahead. “We better catch up.”

Sometime later and deep in thought about Angela’s revelations, Vaughn looked up and found Teddy walking next to him. He looked at the computer in the cosmonaut’s hand. “Any luck with that thing?”

“Nada, Colonel.”

BOb was carrying Big Sparky, but the cosmonaut was punching commands into the tablet tethered to it as they walked. “Rourke and I did everything we could think of. I’m still trying, dude, but it might be like Monique, needing to rest before rebooting.” Lowering his voice, he added, “If TDI is broken, things will get hella bad, my friend.” He waved his free hand, indicating the surrounding landscape. “Unless we can turn into grazing animals, I don’t see anything here for us to eat, including animals.”

The thought had occurred to Vaughn, too. He hadn’t seen a field mouse, much less Teddy’s plant nibblers. No birds dotted the sky, and it appeared the stream they were walking next to was devoid of animal life as well.

They had been paralleling the small river for three or four kilometers. Red Claw and Jacques had been in and out of it several times. More at home in the water than on foot, the pair of Lobsters had traversed the stream’s few tranquil runs, using their large tails and suit thrusters to jet ahead of the group. They hadn’t seen a single fish or even a minnow in its crystal-clear waters. And they had searched thoroughly, knowing their current rations wouldn’t last long.

BOb’s accidental overload and the Octo-World timeline reset it triggered had caught the team unprepared and short on supplies.

As they continued through the verdant landscape, Vaughn couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. It was bad enough that Monique remained unconscious, cradled gently in Dudette’s four hands. The absence of life was unsettling, and their precarious situation bore heavily on him. They needed a functioning TDI to escape this world and return to their own, and with Big Sparky’s emitter offline, their options were verging on zero.

Angela moved to walk beside him again. “You think we’ll find something at those towers?”

Vaughn’s gaze shifted from the lifeless stream to the now closer edifices. “I hope so.”

The towers loomed over the land, their dark silhouettes casting long shadows over the rolling plains. As they approached, the structure’s design resolved. A triad of towering fingers formed each, extending upward from a pyramidal base. They looked ancient, their edges worn by untold millennia of exposure. Plants grew from every crevice, giving them an oddly organic appearance, confirming Vaughn’s initial suspicion that they were not of Neck construction.

Walking at the front of the group, Craig said, “These towers are something else,” his words tinged with awe. “Never seen anything like ’em. They’re almost a blend of technology and nature, like they were grown that way. And look at all the vegetation. There’s grass comin’ out of every nook and cranny.”

BOb chimed in as he walked next to Teddy. “Looks like Mother Nature decided to spice up the décor!” the battlebot said in a feminine tone. “Maybe she’s a fan of urban gardening.”

As the group continued walking, the massive edifices seemed reluctant to draw closer. However, several minutes later, the team finally entered the perimeter of the trio of structures.

They stood in the large, open area between the constructs, turning in place and staring up at the tall buildings.

The towers were farther apart than Vaughn had initially estimated. Standing amongst them, he thought that roughly half a kilometer of rolling plains spanned the gap between each. You could easily fit a football stadium and its parking lot in the expansive central courtyard.

The structures looked ancient, each identical in size and shape but differing in patina and plant covering. Two of them sat facing each other across the sweeping yard, while the third stood offset east of the other pair, breaking the overall symmetry of the scene.

Low hills rolled across the ground between the towers like ocean swells frozen in place. Completing the marine analogy, one hillock had crept partway up the easternmost tower, burying the bottom level of the structure like a massive wave crashing over the base of a lighthouse.

Knee-high grass carpeted the slopes, just as it had everywhere else since their arrival in this otherwise desolate world. The long blades undulated in the light midday breeze.

As Vaughn studied the scene, a half-moon rose from behind the easternmost tower. The lunar surface stood out in stark detail, its craters visible through this world’s crisp atmosphere.

Red Claw looked up at the towers, releasing a flurry of ticks and chirps. His translator sparked to life. “I do not recognize this architecture. Captain Asshole, have you seen anything like this during your travels? Do you know who might have built them?”

“No idea,” Vaughn said, ignoring the gibe.

An odd sensation ran across Vaughn’s tongue. It felt like the mild electrical charge you experience when biting into aluminum foil.

“Do you feel that?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” Vaughn said, spitting.

The other team members made faces as they, too, experienced the sensation.

A low hum vibrated the air, growing in intensity. The team exchanged wary glances, instinctively reaching for their weapons.

“Stay alert,” Vaughn cautioned, his voice a calm command that cut through the escalating tension.

Suddenly, the towers crackled with energy, electrical arcs dancing across their surfaces.

Feeling exposed, he shouted for everyone to move out from between the buildings, but a brilliant bolt of electricity arced between the structures. Thunder split the atmosphere, drowning out his words and negating the need for the command. All of them pivoted and darted out of the expansive paddock. Even the two robots made for the complex’s perimeter.

As they reached the perceived safety of the surrounding terrain, they turned in time to see the bolt contract into a roiling sphere of blinding radiance. The churning ball-lightning hung in the air in front of the north side of the southernmost tower. The light dimmed, leaving a massive silvery orb in its wake.

All the color had drained from Angela’s face. Vaughn imagined he looked much the same. After swallowing hard, he asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

She gave a silent tilt of her head.

Staring up at the enormous wormhole, he saw the entire scene reflected across the significant breadth of the silver orb’s curving exterior.

A black point emerged at the sphere’s center and rapidly expanded, racing around the orb. It zipped over the silvery surface, consuming it in a heartbeat and leaving an inky void levitating where the wormhole had been.

Then he saw the dark disk wasn’t empty. White points dotted its upper left third, and a round construct filled the bottom two-thirds of the circle.

Vaughn blinked. His head snapped back as sudden recognition slammed into him. The scene visible through the opening had incredible depth. The curved structure was a planet as it would look from high orbit, the white dots backdropping it, stars.

“Th-That,” Rourke stuttered. His mouth worked, but no words came out. Finally, he found his voice again. “That’s a portal.”

The rest of the group stared mutely at the familiar sight of a planetary body suspended against a star field. The scene presented a breathtaking yet surreal vision, like a window opening to another reality.

Vaughn realized it had.

He saw the recognizable landmass of North America. It wasn’t just any planet seen from orbit, but another version of Earth. Given their experiences, he should have expected nothing else, but in his own defense, it wasn’t every day a portal flared into existence a couple hundred meters above a prairie, especially one that opened to outer space.

“It’s a two-dimensional wormhole,” Angela said, her voice wavering.

Before the team could fully process the sight, something massive eclipsed half of the planet’s curved surface.

“What is that?” Angela gasped, barely audible over the still-crackling electrical discharges dancing across the towers.

A colossal spaceship scrolled into view, its dark hull casting an ominous shadow. The ship was unlike anything they had seen before, its design both alien and majestic. It moved with a silent grace, a harbinger of the unknown.

Everyone took an involuntary backward step.

Vaughn’s hand tightened on his weapon, his instincts kicking into high gear. They stood utterly exposed, but the surrounding terrain offered no cover, and the nearest building was too far away. If they made a run for it, they would only draw attention to themselves.

The team watched in tense silence as the vessel’s bow slid through the opening and emerged into this world. As it penetrated the portal’s two-dimensional plane, electrical discharges caressed the entire circumference of the ship’s hull, looking like it was pushing through an electrified membrane.

“There’s a force field across the portal,” Rourke said.

Vaughn agreed. There had to be something holding back the atmosphere. Otherwise, it would have rushed through the hole the instant it opened to the vacuum of space.

“Um, Rourky?” Rachel inquired. “Did you happen to notice there’s also a… What’s the word? Oh, I know. A giant! Fucking! Alien! Ship! Crossing it, too?!”

“I was just saying…” His shoulders sagged. “Never mind.”

The vast starship continued to emerge. It blotted out the sun, plunging the team into darkness. A pair of brilliant searchlights mounted to the vessel’s bow shone on the grassy slope beneath it. Moving independently, the lights oscillated back and forth as if searching for something. Or someone.

One beam swept over the group, casting its brilliance over them. The spotlight froze, locking onto the team. The other light scrolled across the field and joined its partner, illuminating them and the hillside beneath, banishing all shadows.

Both searchlights extinguished.

“They turned off the lights,” Rourke said.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Chance Bingham quipped. “As you Yanks say, you’re batting a thousand.”

“What do you think it means?” Rourke asked Vaughn after frowning at Chance.

“Hopefully, it doesn’t mean they’re switching to guns.”

Angela edged closer to Vaughn. “Uh… Shouldn’t we be running?”

“No use. Believe me, it’s all I can do not to bolt right now, but it would be a complete waste of time. If they wanted us dead, we’d already be.” As they both focused on the massive ship towering above, he added, “Whoever they are.”

CHAPTER 9

Vaughn watched as the massive starship continued to scroll through the portal. Size-wise, it matched Galactica II, although its profile differed. Its prow was boxy, similar to the Lobster ship, but that’s where all comparisons ended. This vessel had no outrigger-style nacelles, and grew thicker as you moved farther aft. An arched structure capped the back third of it like the flank of a horizontal beer can laid on its side.

As the starship continued to slide through the portal, electric bolts radiated from where its hull interfaced with the force field. Vaughn saw it wasn’t a perfect seal. Periodically, the air erupted through gaps in the membrane, shooting gaseous gouts into space. The occasional hiss of escaping atmosphere punctuated the eerie stillness, sending brief plumes of frozen mist spiraling into the void.

The broad hips of the ship’s aft section emerged through the portal. A moment later, the intermittent high-pitched whistle of belching gasses fell silent as the last of the vessel pulled free of the force field.

A low-frequency hum thrummed through the ground, resonating in Vaughn’s chest as the portal’s diameter shrank rapidly. It didn’t snap shut but instead collapsed in on itself, pulling light and air with it, creating a brief vacuum that sent a booming shock wave rippling across the barren landscape.

Hovering with otherworldly silence, the starship slowed to a stop, hanging above them. An indomitable presence. Power manifest.

Its immense bulk cast a deep shadow that seemed to pull the light from the world around them. A patchwork of alien materials, dull and dark, formed the ship’s surface. Interspersed angular panels hinted at incredible technologies hidden from sight.

To Vaughn, it felt as if the thing was pressing down on them, its mere existence an overwhelming assertion of supremacy in this strange world.

The team stood frozen, their collective breath held. They all flinched as gouts of steam erupted from several points along the ship’s exterior. The sight was mesmerizing and terrifying, like watching hot jets of dank air flare from a dragon’s nostrils, knowing the beast could loose fire at any moment.

The vessel’s underbelly split open, revealing a glowing, round hatch. A shimmering iridescent sphere bulged from the opening, and then a clear cylindrical pillar descended from it, cutting through the atmosphere with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel.

Vaughn tracked the anomaly’s descent. The structure was unlike anything he’d seen before—transparent, appearing solid and liquid simultaneously. Its exterior shimmered as it neared the Earth. Inside its upper reaches, Vaughn could just make out shapes, fluid and graceful, flowing in a manner that sent a chill down his spine.

The pillar touched the ground before the team, sending a ripple surging back up its length. It took all of Vaughn’s resolve to stand fast as the objects within the thing descended, still moving too quickly to identify. The transparent tube detached from the ship. Without warning, the column started to contract and reshape, the liquid interior swirling as it pulled inward until it formed a perfect sphere of water. The orb hovered just above the grass, a luminous globe that seemed to defy the laws of physics, its surface dimly reflecting the alien landscape in a distorted, dreamlike fashion.

The team watched in silent awe as the sphere pulsed with a soft inner light. Shapes within resolved as tentacles unfurling like ribbons in a gentle current. Vaughn felt his shoulders relax as he recognized them. “Octos,” he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips.

It made sense. The liquid orb was the same size as the bubble of contained air in the Solar Tap Facility. However, this one trapped water inside and kept air out.

Bioluminescent patterns danced across the top of the closest Octo’s head.

Angela approached the alien and tapped on her tablet, fingers moving with a frantic urgency.

“Signal trace,” announced the app’s toneless voice. Then it streamed through a rapid-fire series of words that proved incomprehensible. “No sense listening to all that,” Angela said, muting the device. She studied the tablet’s screen. “I’ll just cover the high points.”

Her lips moved as she read further. “The Octos in the Solar Tap Facility traced our TDI signal to this world and transmitted the multiverse coordinates to this ship.”

Craig sighed. “They’re here to bring us back,” he said. “So, they defeated the Necks,” he added as a statement, not a question.

The aliens continued to swim in their bubble, cranial colors shifting rapidly.

Vaughn was no expert on body language—just ask his ex-wife—but these Octopuses weren’t slinging confidence. Their pensive movements contrasted with the sedate, almost cocky swagger displayed by their comrades back at the Tap. This one’s actions and rapid-fire speech looked more like those other Octos had when Older-Angela had shown them the Neck buildings covering the entire facility.

Additional information scrolled across Angela’s screen. Her face grew grim as she read the next part. “The Solar Tap fell to the Necks,” she reported, her voice low.

Craig and the others groaned.

“I hate it when I’m right,” Vaughn grumbled.

The words hit them like a physical blow. The Necks were relentless and efficient, an enemy that knew no mercy. Capturing the facility meant they were tightening their control over the multiverse… again, and they were prepared to reconquer all the worlds Older-Angela and Vaughn had died to save.

“Wait,” Rachel said. “How’d you find us? This isn’t even where we beamed to.”

The Octo replied they had arrived at this location because of the towers’ influence. The structures acted as a nexus, drawing their portal here.

“Did you build these towers?” Vaughn asked.

Angela relayed the question and then reactivated the tablet’s speaker. “Let’s see if this’ll work better now.”

“No, we did not. However, we have encountered these buildings across multiple worlds.”

The translator went on. Octos in the facility had sensed the destination’s multiverse coordinates when the team departed. Despite their ongoing battle with the Necks, they shared the data with the starship in orbit above the planet.

The revelations triggered many questions in Vaughn’s mind, but they had more pressing issues. “How did you know we came to this world?” he asked.

“We sense the targeted coordinates through subtle shifts in the TDI’s light frequency and amplitude.”

“Ah, crap,” he groaned. “Could the enemy sense that as well?”

“Only if they had line of sight with your TDI’s emitter.”

Vaughn rubbed his neck. “Oh, they definitely had line of sight.” He curled his fingers into a fist. “That means the Necks know where we are.”

“Fucking hell!” Will Patterson barked. “That’s the cherry on the shite-cake!”

“It is,” Vaughn said. He turned back to the Octopus. “Why are you here? Is this a rescue mission or something else?”

“We are here to help you escape this world before the Necks arrive, and we have technologies you can use in the future.”

He studied the alien, trying to decide whether to trust it. The Octos seemed ready for an alliance. They had come when they could’ve left the team to their fate.

But was that enough?

What other choice did they have? Returning to Bar Harbor wasn’t an option. Having gone this far back in time, any changes they made in that world’s timeline could trigger butterfly effects that might wipe Red Claw and Jacques from existence.

Vaughn knew both of them would sacrifice themselves in an instant if it meant freeing their people of the Neck curse. He also knew it wasn’t that simple. If he took action that wiped the two Lobsters from the universe, he risked wiping out this entire timeline.

The vanishing of their older versions had proven the limitations of their reality. They couldn’t expect to go on if they changed things too much. He hadn’t understood everything Angela had said, but the main point had come through loud and clear: their personal timelines were not immune to the effects of change.

Think, Singleton! he chided himself. The team needed new allies, but they couldn’t turn to the Lobsters in today’s Bar Harbor, not given Angela’s warning.

That just left the Octos. They seemed more advanced than the Lobsters, but something struck him as odd.

He looked at the floating Octopus. “What do you mean you have technology we can use.”

“We will share with you our dimensional shielding and portal generation technology. With it, you’ll be able to evade the enemy and jump to other worlds undetected.”

A murmur spread through the group.

“But we don’t have time to explain that,” the Octo said.

“How long do we have before the Necks show up?” Vaughn asked.

“We estimate you have minutes, not hours before they arrive. You need to board our ship now.”

Vaughn scanned the horizon, his gut churning. He hated trusting a race they’d just met, but the Necks were out there. If the Octos found them, so could the enemy. The clock was ticking, and the weight of every second pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Surrender wasn’t an option. Surrender meant certain death. Whatever it took, they would survive this—and somehow, they would strike back against the Necks.

He looked at the ship, then the Octo. “How?” He flipped a hand at the sphere, indicating the aliens and their encapsulating orb. “How do we get aboard?”

As he asked, the liquid pillar extended from the starship’s belly again. It contacted and merged with the top of the sphere. Two Octos within it jetted up the water-filled cylinder and disappeared into the ship. The third one used the tip of a tentacle to beckon them in a distinctly human-like manner. Then it, too, swam up into the column, pausing briefly to motion again with urgency.

“You don’t have to tell this dude twice,” Teddy said. He raised a hand, volunteering. “Russki guinea pig, at your service.” He activated the helmet. The clear dome slid over his head and sealed in the cosmonaut. He stepped into the bubble without waiting for the others and started floating. Executing a swimming turn, he gave Angela two thumbs-up. The cosmonaut’s voice crackled over the comm network. “Come on in, Command-Oh! The water is warm.”

“You heard the man!” Vaughn shouted. “Let’s go, folks. Get those helmets in position.” He moved swiftly to assist Mark and Matilda in prepping Monique’s unconscious form. Her chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm. “Any changes in her?”

Sergeant Grant shook her head as she activated Monique’s helmet. “Still the same.”

He pointed at Dudette. “Please carry her in.”

“I’m on it, Colonel.”

Vaughn toggled his, and the glass dome flowed into position.

Brilliant light flared into existence somewhere behind him, illuminating the faces of all three towers in an all-too-familiar shade of white.

From within the watery orb, Teddy glared past Vaughn. “That’s sketchy as babushka’s borscht, man!”

Snapping around, he saw a fluorescing TDI beam burning up from the surface. It stretched into the sky, emerging from the ground close to where the team had popped into this world. As he watched, the column expanded, swelling into an atmosphere-spanning cylinder of life-stealing light.

“How did the Necks open a wormhole here?” complained Teddy. “There’s no collider.”

Staring at the expanding wave, Angela said, “There must be.”

Chance swept a hand toward the empty horizon. “Then who in the flaming bollocks built it?”

As if in answer, a body slammed into the ground outside the ship’s shadow, impacting a couple of meters from Vaughn. He gawked at the wriggling white form. Before he could process what he was seeing, another white body crashed down. Then another and another. What started as an intermittent sprinkle of beings turned into a downpour.

They appeared to be human-sized Grubs. In the churning mass, he glimpsed dozens of hand-like appendages lining the belly of each being. Some of them wore garments and others tool belts. The flesh of each one undulated. Blisters formed and burst like boiling molten lead. The damage was separate from that caused by colliding with the ground. Their skin was reacting violently to the atmosphere itself.

Pulling his gaze from the horrific sight, Vaughn glanced around. The white bodies were falling along a line that coincided with the hovering ship’s shadow. They were already stacking up in a formation that matched the rough footprint of the Octo vessel.

The aliens were sliding off the entire perimeter of the levitating starship. They must be dropping onto it from above and piling up, only to fall to the ground when the surface could hold no more. And it wasn’t just the beings, either. Grass and dirt rained down with them.

As the wall of light expanded toward them, Vaughn realized he could see the land beyond it. The rolling hills behind the energetic membrane now lay bare, stripped of vegetation. Soil and rock sat where the grassy slopes had been.

The pace of falling bodies sped up.

“Where in the fuck are they coming from?!” Mark said, stepping back from the growing pile.

Vaughn shook his head.

Within the swelling mass, white gore intermixed with mangled grass and mud. The flesh of the dead and dying Grubs continued its slow boil. Those not killed by the impact quickly succumbed to the corrosive atmosphere.

Angela dragged her attention from the wriggling beings and gaped through the approaching wall of light, seeing the same thing he had. Then she looked up at the waterfall-like stream of cascading Grubs, grass, and topsoil. “This can’t be. Can it?” She studied the surrounding mountains. A look of horrified realization slowly spread across her face as she whispered, “No… No, no, no.” She placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my goodness… It is!”

“Wh-What is?!” Vaughn stuttered.

She turned haunted eyes toward him. “BOb’s TDI didn’t malfunction. This is Hell, or it will be when the Necks are done, and we led them straight to it.”

CHAPTER 10

Vaughn’s head spun. The weight of Angela’s revelation and the guilt it imparted were too much.

Everything fit. The stripped land behind the wall of light. The absence of structures aside from the three ominous towers—and even they would soon vanish beneath the growing mound of dead and dying Grubs. If they didn’t stop the Necks, this macabre mountain would rise unchecked.

This was Hell.

But it wasn’t, not yet. The world hosted a rich subterranean biome where a precious culture thrived.

Now an evil force had swooped in, taken a swing at a ragtag team of humans and Lobsters, and, missing the mark, wiped out an entire race instead.

And it was his fault.

Angela’s voice trembled through the comms. “It’s all here, Vaughn. The Necks didn’t just wipe this planet of life. They destroyed it.”

Her words cut through him, driving home his failure.

They had theorized Hell was the first world the bastards invaded. Angela had been close to the truth. It wasn’t simply the first—it was the prototype, the ’verse where the diabolical robots tested their newly gained globe-spanning TDI.

“They hadn’t perfected it,” he muttered aloud. “That’s why it’s stripping everything—plants, animals, the works. No surgical precision yet, no fine-tuning.”

“Exactly,” Angela confirmed. “And instead of dispersing what they stripped to random locations, they beamed it here. All of it.”

This was the Montaña de los Muertos, the Mountain of the Dead. The place the Necks would funnel an unrelenting influx of sentient beings, animals, organic matter, and debris, collected from countless worlds and myriad exterminations, deposited here to fester, layer upon layer. A monument to annihilation.

But all of that lay hidden within an undiscovered future.

The Grubs were dying today, and every moment more of them fell, literally.

Vaughn’s gaze darted to the scattered bodies beneath the rising piles, their pale, segmented forms twisted and broken. He and Angela had wondered why they never found evidence of this world’s collider. Now they knew. These beings—intelligent but clearly subterranean—had developed their entire civilization underground. Their skin was fragile and reactive to the air, confirming his suspicion that the atmosphere was toxic to them. For the Grubs, the surface must have been as alien and hostile as deep space.

Had they built the towers? He dismissed the thought. The Octos had already identified similar structures on multiple worlds. They weren’t Grub-made—they were something far older, well beyond the race’s fledgling technological capabilities. He doubted a subterranean species that wore tool belts and had seemingly just built their first collider could also be the progenitor of advanced above-ground structures with unknown properties.

“Worry about that later!” he growled under his breath. The pile of dying Grubs had exploded in size during the two seconds it had taken him to process everything. The rising mountain of death loomed overhead, mounds of bodies and soil teetering on the brink of collapse.

“Move it! Into the water, now!” Vaughn shouted, his voice sharp as he spurred the team toward the shimmering liquid orb. “Go, go, go!”

Teddy, floating within the watery sphere, flapped a gloved hand at them. “Come! Quickly, my friends! Hurry!”

BOb dove in headfirst. Dudette followed, Monique slung over one shoulder. The woman’s face rocked against her helmet visor, and he felt a flicker of relief when her breath fogged the glass. Reaching the periphery, the Neck look-alike surged forward, plunging into the orb, the liquid rippling around her entry.

Vaughn grabbed Rourke by the collar of his suit and shoved him toward the sphere. “Move, Geller!” The scientist stumbled, then flung himself into the water.

Mark, Rachel, and Chance followed in rapid succession, their thrusters engaging as they disappeared into the watery depths. Vaughn peeked over his shoulder. A colossal mass of soil and writhing bodies tumbled toward him, a cascading avalanche of flesh and dirt.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and with a powerful leap, launched himself into the orb just as the ground lurched beneath his feet.

Now floating in the water, he did a quick headcount. Teddy and the robots, with Monique in tow, had proceeded into the belly of the ship.

Sergeant Carmichael said, “I sent Patterson, Ngcobo, and Grant as the advance team. They went up with Petrovich and the bots.”

Vaughn acknowledged the man and then pointed upward at the towering vertical column that led into the starship. “Hennessy, lead the way!”

Mark’s voice crackled through the comms. “Roger! Follow me!” He aimed his arms down and activated his thrusters. Jets of water propelled him up. He disappeared into the dark void of the ship’s belly, Rourke following close behind him.

As the monstrous pile of dead Grubs and soil eclipsed the horizon, it blocked the sunlight. The shadows swallowed the team as the relentless surge pressed against the orb’s base, casting the liquid into a frenzy.

“Everyone up! Now!” he shouted, spurring the group into motion.

One by one, thrusters gushed to life. Angela, Rachel and Chance surged upward, their cavitation trails weaving through the watery pillar.

“Go, Carmichael!” he ordered. “I’ll be right on your tail.”

The special operator rocketed straight up into the column of water.

Vaughn followed close behind, the weight of the collapsing mountain of flesh pushing at his heels. The orb disintegrated as the pressure overwhelmed its structural integrity. Chunks of soil and Grub bodies penetrated its edges, forcing the liquid inward in chaotic eddies.

As the watery pillar started to disintegrate, Vaughn shot upward in a series of fits and starts, the now turbulent water throwing him around.

Finally, he lunged through the opening and stopped, looking down from inside the belly hatch.

Below, the pile of bodies collapsed, filling the void the orb and column had occupied.

The orifice scissored closed, cutting off the gory scene. Although Vaughn knew the sight would plunder his dreams for the rest of his days.

CHAPTER 11

The Octo glided forward, leading the team through the alien corridors of the starship. Its domed head glowed with pulsing patterns. Many narrow passageways branched off the meandering corridor. A blend of bioluminescent panels and flowing organic structures lined each. It gave the sense of being inside a living entity.

“Anyone else feel like we’re in the world’s weirdest aquarium?” Teddy said.

“Stay focused,” Vaughn barked. “I don’t want anyone wandering off and getting lost in this thing.”

Teddy muttered something in Russian, but he ignored him, his attention locked on the Octo guide as it led them into a massive chamber.

The bridge.

Vaughn’s breath caught. Though he’d seen advanced alien tech before, this was on another level. Consoles hovered mid-water, their surfaces shimmering with complex holograms. Octos swam between the stations, their movements fluid as they manipulated interfaces with tentacle precision. A massive octagonal display dominated the space, projecting a live feed of the surrounding terrain. The wall of light, relentless and terrifying, was sweeping across the surface, leaving devastation in its wake.

It was heading straight for the ship.

Another display revealed a horror he had only imagined up to that point. Its video feed was coming from a forward-facing camera mounted high above the starship’s stern. The view from the vessel’s back end showed thousands of Grub bodies stacked on its top deck. Soil and grass littered the scene.

A flash drew his attention to the upper portion of the screen. Roiling plasma flared to life in front of the ship’s bow. The light coalesced into a large, brilliant sphere and then faded to black, flattening into another two-dimensional wormhole. A planetary limb filled the bottom half, and a star field dotted its top, identical to the first portal.

The Octos accelerated the vessel toward the opening.

The colossal ship’s bow pierced the new portal, entering the vacuum of space. The bodies atop it started rising and floating away. Once they reached a certain distance, the corpses and soil plummeted toward the planet far below.

The starship was hovering stationary. If the bodies were orbiting, they would have continued to float apart, potentially indefinitely.

On another display, the view from an aft-facing camera captured the alien wormhole’s mesmerizing dance as the ship passed fully through. From this vantage, the portal was a glowing ring of fluid energy, its edges swirling with streaks of golden light and pulsating ripples that seemed to defy physics. The ship’s wake sent tremors rippling outward, warping the portal’s shape as the vessel’s mass disrupted the shimmering boundary.

As the starship cleared the threshold, the display showed the portal beginning to contract, its fluid edges curling inward. The colors intensified, growing brighter and hotter, shifting through the spectrum in rapid succession. Then, with an implosive rush, the two-dimensional wormhole collapsed to a point, pulling the surrounding light and energy with it. The screen momentarily flared with a burst of white-hot brilliance, before fading to reveal the vast, dark expanse of space dotted with stationary distant stars and drifting Grub bodies. The portal’s collapse flung some of them outward. When they reached the limit of the Octos’ gravity field, the corpses dropped from sight with shocking finality.

Letting the bodies drift away, only to crash onto the planet below, felt cold to Vaughn, but he lacked the full picture. The ship’s drive might have been pushing its limits, on the verge of failing under the weight of its gory cargo.

He couldn’t help the deceased, but the Grubs, as a species, were far from gone. However, if they didn’t stop the Necks, they soon would be.

Snapping his gaze back to the primary display, he saw the starship was hovering stationary, high above a planet. He was relieved to see they hadn’t traveled to another ’verse. This was still Grub-World, but now they were several hundred kilometers higher, appearing to hover above the same portion of the planet. The globe-spanning TDI’s white light crept across its surface directly beneath them.

Angela produced the pearl-sized orb from her kit and, using the same gesture as her elder self, made it swell back to its inflated size, placing the team in a bubble of constrained, breathable air.

Vaughn retracted his helmet and sniffed. Same as last time.

Angela waved her arms, trying to gain the Octos’ attention.

An Octopus split from the group and approached her side of the air bubble.

“You need to take out this world’s collider!” she said through the translation app, raising her voice. “There has to be one down there. That’s how the Necks open their wormholes.”

“Thanks to your forbearers, we are familiar with their methods. However, we do not detect a singularity within the wave’s perimeter. There are no gravimetric returns down to the maximum depth of our sensor’s capability.”

“What in bloody hell is he talking about?” Chance Bingham barked. “You can see the light right there. The wormhole must be just below the surface.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Vaughn said. “We know the TDI’s beam will pass all the way through a planet, we’ve seen it multiple times.” He tapped Angela’s shoulder. “Ask them how deep their sensor technology reaches.”

Angela did so, and the Octo answered immediately. “Ten point nine kilometers,” replied the translator application, converting the alien’s measurement system into metric. “Our systems can detect gravimetric deviations and planetary densities down to that depth. We have detected numerous tunnels to the limit of our sensors, but aside from density changes created by those voids, we do not see any sign of gravimetric anomalies.”

“Crap!” Mark blurted. “The collider is there, but the Grubs built it too deep for us to find and target it.”

Angela turned pleading eyes to the Octopus. “You have to find a way to shut that thing down!”

“How about we cut the power at the source?” Vaughn asked. “Take out the Solar Tap Facility.”

“We can no longer access Octo-World, as your forbearers called it.”

“The Necks already took the whole planet from you?”

The Octo answered in the affirmative.

“Oh, my goodness,” Angela gasped. “Your entire population?”

“Can’t be,” Vaughn said. “There hasn’t been enough time for that.”

“We lost everyone in the facility.”

“That’s terrible, but what about the rest of the world?” Vaughn asked.

“I do not understand the question.”

“All of your people across the planet. How could the Necks have already wiped out the entire population? You said it fell right before you came here.”

“It did fall before we departed, and given the breadth and scope of the enemy attack, we have no chance of returning to that world presently. However, I now understand your confusion. Octo-World is a lifeless planet. It is merely a power way station.”

Vaughn and Angela exchanged confused glances.

The translator continued. “To clarify, it is not a solar tap. It is a singularity tap. We chose to place it on a dead version of Earth. It is possible, although very unlikely, that a malfunction of our wormhole stabilization field could allow a momentary breach of the brane, leading to the facility being pulled into the singularity.”

“What would happen to the planet?” Angela asked.

“It would be lost as well.”

Rourke’s head snapped up. “The entire world?!”

“Yes.”

Angela’s eyebrows crept higher.

“Whoa,” Teddy said. “Kind of buried the lead, dude-o-pus.” Looking at Angela, he tapped his temple with an index finger. “What’s a brain have to do with it, Command-Oh?”

“Brane, as in membrane. It’s the theoretical layer each universe resides upon within the multiverse.”

“We’re going too far down the rabbit hole here,” Vaughn said. “I just want to eliminate the source of their power. If taking out the Singularity Tap Facility is not an option, then let’s go to the actual singularity. Portal us to space above the black hole and target your equipment. If we destroy it there…” He pointed at the still spreading wall of light. “It’ll cut off the Necks’ attack.”

The Octo’s head shook in a human-like motion. “Not possible.”

“Why not? It’s just another universe. We’ve traveled to several, and it’s pretty obvious you’re not new to it either. If you’re concerned the Necks already placed defenses around it, you can portal to that ’verse well outside any potential enemy fortifications. We’ll make a plan from there. Regardless, we need to get moving.” He looked at the spreading wall of light. “More of the poor bastards are dying every second we waste.”

“You still do not understand the nature of the singularity,” the Octo said. “It is not an isolated black hole floating in space. It’s a collapsed universe.”

Comprehension darkened Angela’s face. Her shoulders drooped. “It’s a failed universe.”

Vaughn looked at her. “What do you mean? How can a universe fail?”

“It’s actually part of multiverse theory. Each universe may have its own physics. Properties unique to its membrane. Look at our ’verse. It wouldn’t have lasted beyond the Big Bang if it had a different value for the strong atomic force. Slightly weaker and atoms never would’ve formed. The Big Bang would’ve just been a flash in the pan followed by an eternal dissipation of all energy as it spread out infinitely. However, make it the tiniest bit stronger, and all matter would have coalesced. Unable to form atoms and molecules, all of the particles would have simply collapsed into a singularity.”

“We haven’t encountered any unstable universes,” Vaughn said.

“All of the ’verses we’ve visited share common properties, but that’s tied to how we found those worlds, or more precisely, how the Octos and Necks found them.” Her attention returned to the displayed wall of light as it continued sweeping across the Grubs’ planet. “None of that matters right now. We have to find some way to stop this!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!” Vaughn said too loudly. “Sorry. I need to understand what we’re dealing with. Maybe then we can come up with a plan.”

Angela pursed her lips and gave him the faintest of nods.

Mark rescued him. “It seems like an awfully big coincidence that the center of that universe happens to be collocated with Earth, considering it sits within its own universe.”

She growled. “It’s not collocated. The singularity is the entire universe! If you know its multiverse coordinates, you could open a wormhole from anywhere in our ’verse, and it would connect directly to that singularity, regardless of where you are!”

“Well, there you go!” Vaughn said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He addressed the Octo. “Portal us into space above the singularity?”

Angela scowled at him. “There is no space outside its event horizon.” Before Vaughn could ask another question, she held up a hand. “Matter creates space. If you don’t have matter, you don’t have space. It’s part of Einstein’s theory of relativity. It’s why we call space curved. And it’s why we say the universe is expanding like a bubble.”

“Uh, Command-Oh. I think your big brain missed one detail.”

She crossed her arms. “What’s that, Theodore?”

“The Octos already opened a wormhole to the singularity. Why not open another one?”

Angela started to respond but then canted her head. “That’s a good question.” She regarded the Octo with an expectant look.

“Yes!” Vaughn said. “Let’s fight fire with fire. Open another portal to the singularity. Generate a metric-shit-ton of power, and turn it against the enemy.”

“Not possible,” stated the Octo. “The first wormhole we opened created a temporal interference field. Because of its one-dimensional nature, the existence of the initial wormhole generates an interference field that disrupts any new attempts to access it through additional wormholes. This field creates a temporal feedback loop that destabilizes any portal before they can fully form. We tried many times to open a backup wormhole after creating the first one. All efforts failed.”

“Shit,” Teddy drawled, stretching the word into multiple syllables. “That’s gnarly, dude-o-pus, but not in a good way.”

Vaughn stared at the floor, trying to think of a way to help the Grubs. He still felt responsible, but no solutions came to mind.

Another realization struck him. “What about Octo-Corsica?!” He grabbed Angela’s tablet and spoke into it. “You have to shut down any colliders you have operating in other worlds. Otherwise, the Necks will do the same thing to you.”

The alien confirmed that they’d already shut down all collider facilities across their worlds, ensuring the Necks would find no black holes to latch onto.

“Tell them about the mobile colliders!” Mark said.

“Good point.” He explained how the Necks had tried to invade their world using portable collider rings.

The Octopus said all of their worlds were on high alert. With their sensors now tuned to recognize the signature of an opening wormhole, they could immediately pinpoint and target it.

In the display, the wave of light was still slowly scrolling across the planet’s surface, growing ever wider. Shifting his attention back to the Octo, he asked, “What are we going to do about the Grubs?”

“We have done everything we can here,” the Octo said and then swam away.

“Wait!” Angela said, holding up both hands.

It was useless. The aliens paid her no heed.

The rest of the Octopuses had already returned to their stations. It appeared they were readying the ship for departure.

Vaughn scanned the surroundings, running through a mental checklist. Had they done everything they could? Angela was still trying to communicate with the Octos, but they continued to ignore her.

The inability to open a wormhole would limit the enemy to invading using standard TDI tech. That meant that the Necks couldn’t come through, but it hadn’t stopped them from deploying an army of Caterpillars.

He wondered why they had sent none of their TDI-equipped Taters. They must be unwieldy in an underwater environment, and possibly not waterproof. He decided it was one thing to adapt an open-chassis, metal-bodied Caterpillar to operating in an electrically conductive liquid, but something altogether different when applied to a large, levitating robot full of unknown hardware and electronics.

That left mobile colliders as the enemy’s only course of action. He had seen the effort it took for the Necks to open their own wormholes. Assembling the portable rings like the ones they had deployed to retake Earth was a titanic task and hopefully not rapidly repeatable.

“Hey, lookie here,” exclaimed Matilda Grant. “I think she’s waking up.”

Turning, Vaughn saw Monique stirring. He and Angela moved to her side and dropped to a knee.

Monique’s lids fluttered and then opened. She groaned. “Head hurts,” she said in a raspy voice. Still lying prone, she scanned their faces and issued a weak smile. Raising a hand, she massaged a temple. “What…? What happened?”

“You saved us,” Rachel Lee said, joining the group huddling around Monique. “You threw yourself between us and that Caterpillar. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have gotten out of there.”

The lieutenant commander blinked multiple times, trying to clear her vision. She looked past the gathered heads. Confusion twisted her face. “Where are we?”

“You’ve got a lot of catching up to do, sister,” Rachel said.

Monique extended a hand toward her. “Help me sit up.”

Several hands reached in and helped the woman rise to a seated position. She blinked as if to clear her vision, then her eyes widened. “Oh, my word.”

“Blimey!” Matilda Grant said, following Monique’s line of sight. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

Looking forward, Vaughn saw an incredible spectacle painted across the octagonal display.

“You’re not wrong,” he whispered.

Another portal had opened in front of the ship. The bow of the vessel was already sliding through its diaphanous membrane. The ever-widening view revealed a new version of Earth. As usual, the world had familiar continental outlines. However, this one differed radically from any they’d seen before. A complex system of rings girdled the planet’s Equator, looking as if Saturn’s rings had changed addresses.

Monique tore her gaze from the incredible panorama and looked at Vaughn. “I take it we are no longer in Kansas?”

“Not even close,” he said, still staring at the alien Earth.

CHAPTER 12

The team stood in silent observation, watching the incredibly detailed imagery flowing across the bridge’s octagonal display. The screen spanned the entire breadth of the forward wall, generating a visual indiscernible from reality. It appeared the ship was gliding above the plane of this new world’s rings, aiming directly for the planet’s gravity well, as if diving into a cobalt sea. To starboard, a large swath of ocean faded to brilliant aqua. Islands dotted the region, marking it as this universe’s version of the Bahamas. The Florida peninsula protruded from the left side of the video. North America’s bulk lay hidden beyond the curved horizon.

All the Octos around the bridge ignored the exterior image. Vaughn supposed the sight might be an everyday occurrence for the crew.

“It looks like we are almost skimming the rings,” Angela said. “But we’re over the northern Caribbean, twenty or thirty degrees above the Equator.”

“It’s their size,” Rachel said. “The things are massive. Did you see the width of the shadow they’re casting across South America?”

“Yes,” Angela replied. “It’s summer in the Northern Hemisphere. That kind of shadowing must affect the weather globally.”

“That likely explains why North Africa is so green in this world,” Monique said, lowering herself to the floor with Matilda’s help. The naval commander had stood when the ship had vectored west, but her strength was obviously waning. Sergeant Grant propped her up against a nearby wall. She would need some recovery time.

Seeing his attention, she smiled wistfully. “I shall rest here until we reach our destination.”

He showed her a thumb.

Monique’s comment about Africa reminded him of the incredible scene that had played out when they first approached the planet. Instead of the usual tan colors of the Sahara, the land had looked lush. The sub-Saharan jungles appeared to extend to the Mediterranean coast, banishing any trace of a North African desert in this world.

The day-night terminator had obscured the land’s eastern half. The coastlines on the planet’s dark side glowed with inner light.

Initially, Vaughn had thought it might be natural bioluminescence on a much larger scale than anything he’d seen on Earth. Then he’d remembered the emptied undersea city they had encountered in the first Octo world they’d come across. Scanning the coasts, he realized similar cities lined every landmass to the limit of his vision. However, these glowed with life. Italy’s boot-shaped landmass was an inky void, but its outline stood out as if aqua-colored LEDs backlit its perimeter. The same was true for the Black Sea to the north and the Indian Ocean lining the planet’s eastern limb.

Vaughn had wondered idly if the Octos had populated this world’s version of Lake Geneva. Did it glow like these waters? Although he’d visually searched the region, they were too distant to see details that small. They had been still well above the planet when the ship had shifted its approach, tracking farther west.

“What do you think the rings are made of?” Mark asked, breaking the silence and pulling him from his reverie.

“It must be water ice,” Angela said. She pointed at the vast white plane filling the bottom half of the display. “Look, the Bahamian Sea is reflected across its surface.”

He watched wavering grainy reflections of the islands and their teal waters dance across the rings as the starship continued along its course.

“Ice?” Matilda said, looking up from Monique. “Where in the flaming hell did it all come from?”

“Likely, the planet’s gravity pulled a comet into orbit,” Angela replied. “It was probably just a loose collection of material, so gravitational forces sheered it into dust. Then it would’ve been a simple matter of time until it got drawn into a ring.”

“I would not have wanted to be here then,” Monique said weakly. “It is likely there followed a period of heavy bombardment, as many parts of the comet would have been pulled into the gravity well of the planet.”

“Agreed,” Angela said. “On a planetary timescale, it probably happened fairly recently, on the order of 100,000 years. Maybe less. Considering their significant surface area and constant blasting by the solar winds, the constituent ice crystals will surrender to sublimation, and it’ll all be gone just as quickly, too.” Her face darkened. “However, we have more important things to discuss now.” She looked at Vaughn. “Like, what do we do next?”

“That’s a damn good question. It’s not completely up to us, though.” He indicated the lead Octo. “We need to include them in the conversation, but they all are preoccupied with preparing the ship for arrival.”

Mark cast a questioning look at Angela. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why did the Necks change their methodology?” He pointed a thumb behind himself. “Why are they scouring that world of all life? They’re not just killing the Grubs. They’re taking out all the plants as well.”

Angela looked at the Octo crew and then at Mark. “The Necks haven’t changed their tactic. This was their first deployment of the light wave. At this point in their history, I don’t think they realize the long-term effects of their actions.”

“What do you mean, Command-Oh?” Teddy asked.

“Look at the ultimate result. We know what happens to Hell. It becomes a dry, barren planet with insufficient O2 to sustain life. That’s because they’re stripping it of most of its oxygen-generating capability. It will end up as the arid, dead world we experienced. Initially, I thought we’d led them there, but I’m starting to think that maybe it’s always been this way.”

“Come again?” Rachel said. “It wasn’t lifeless before they hit it with that light.”

“No,” Angela replied. “I mean, maybe we were destined to lead them there. Regardless, the end result is the same. The Necks have killed that planet, making it unusable even for their needs. I think this is the event that teaches them to focus the TDI’s energy. Later, they’ll tune it to target multicellular animal life and not kill the soil and plants needed to maintain a minimal biosphere.”

As Vaughn digested Angela’s words, he watched as the ship changed course and flew directly toward the Bahamas. The bright daylight streaming from a cloudless sky revealed myriad structures beneath the water’s surface. Metallic reflections glinted off many of them. They sported colors across the spectrum. Aqua appeared to be the most prevalent color, but he also observed shades of pink, green, yellow, and red spread throughout.

Sensing a change, Vaughn returned to a region he had just scanned.

What had he seen? Something was different. Then he saw it happen again. Many of the hues shifted.

Around him, his fellow travelers watched in silent vigil.

Colors across the display cycled from one hue to another. Only the shallowest water showed limited shades of crimson. Vaughn knew from his scuba-diving days that the red end of the spectrum didn’t penetrate the depths. That’s why blue dominated marine environments. That also explained why it had looked teal from space.

“It’s beautiful,” whispered Rachel, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment, causing the colorful dance to cease.

Around her, the rest of the team members exchanged silent glances of agreement. Red Claw and Jacques swayed their antennas slightly in acknowledgment.

The starship maneuvered for landing. Vaughn felt no movement. The Octos showed a level of gravity and inertia manipulation that even the Lobsters hadn’t attained.

Glowing plasma lapped at the edges of the video feeds, signaling the ship’s atmospheric entry. Some of the team members tensed as the vessel plowed deeper.

“Alright, alright, alright,” BOb drawled, sounding like Matthew McConaughey.

Teddy grinned. “Relax, dudeskis, it’s all chill vibes.”

A few team members chuckled. Rourke, not so much.

Finally slowing to the speed of an airliner, the starship descended within a few hundred feet of the water and leveled off. It raced across the ocean’s surface well east of the Bahamas, heading west, toward the islands. One of the tree-lined landmasses crept above the horizon ahead. No discernible structures stood out.

The starship decelerated. Vaughn had felt no change, but the speed with which the waves passed beneath the vessel slowed precipitously. A moment later, it came to a stationary hover. From the image outside, it looked like the ship was only a few meters above the ocean’s lightly churning surface.

The Octos headed for the exit. The one they had followed earlier motioned for them to follow.

Vaughn ordered everyone to activate their visors again, but the Octo cut him off with a tentacle. “You won’t need your helmets,” said the translator. “The air will accompany you as you progress to our destination. It shall separate and cover each one of you if needed.”

He extended a hand. “Please lead the way.”

The Octo swam ahead, and the rest of the team followed the alien off the bridge.

The bubble elongated, shifting its size to accommodate the group as they walked single file down the corridor. Soon, they reached the belly hatch. It was closed. Teddy shot Vaughn a nervous look before moving onto the wide disk. Nothing happened. He waved the rest of them toward him. “I think it’s waiting for all of us to be on it.”

The disk was big enough to accommodate the entire team. He pointed ahead. “Teddy’s right.”

After they all stepped on the metal plate, he followed them. The moment he set foot on the circular panel, it lowered, causing all of them to flinch.

Daylight streamed in from all directions as crystal-clear water shone around the disk’s periphery. The seawater sparkled in a shade of blue so brilliant it hurt his retinas as it undulated tranquilly below the ship. Massive structures lay just under the surface. Again, Vaughn saw the glint of gleaming alloys mixed in with bioluminescent shades, including every color in the rainbow.

While trapped in the time loop with Angela, he initially believed the alien race that developed that world was short on metal. That reasoning led to their assumption that the Necks had invaded solely to eradicate the competition. Now, he saw he had rushed to judgment.

Each building looked as if it had been grown rather than built, but despite the organic look of every structure, it was clear the aliens applied alloys throughout.

No part of the city extended above the waterline. While the Lobsters were amphibian by nature, often preferring an above-ground existence, it appeared the Octos limited themselves to underwater environments.

The disk touched the surface and continued descending, but the water did not cascade over its rim as he’d expected. The constrained air followed them, only becoming apparent when its walls held back the ocean, revealing startled fish in every direction. A school of sardine analogs darted away as the bubble descended into the depths.

Peering through the bubble’s wall was like looking through the world’s clearest dive mask. He could see all the surrounding structures with crystal-clear clarity. Everyone in the group, including the Lobsters, turned and studied their surroundings as the disk continued its descent.

Vaughn glimpsed Octopuses darting in and out of buildings to the limit of his vision. It looked as if they were going about their normal day, despite the sudden arrival of bipedal aliens in the forms of hairless apes and two-meter-tall crustaceans. Although, he saw some of them casting wary looks at the dark reddish purple Lobsters. Again, he questioned whether this realm held a lobster equivalent to the Octos. Were they at odds here like they were in Earth’s oceans?

The disk came to rest on the ocean floor. Their Octo escort awaited. It waved for them to follow. As the team turned, they all pulled up short, stopping dead in their tracks.

“Dude. That’s off the Richter,” Teddy said in his SoCal surfer affectation.

“It’s bloody ginormous,” Chance whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

“Definitely off the Richter,” Mark agreed.

The Octopus floated above a distinct, well-marked pathway. It extended some distance behind the alien, where it disappeared into a dark opening at the base of a broad opalescent hemisphere. It formed an iridescent dome, looking as if someone had buried a kilometers-wide pearl in the seabed with only its upper half exposed.

Vaughn hadn’t noticed the structure during their descent. He supposed it must not have been visible from above, but at this angle, the ocean surface reflected off its curved shell, making it stand out starkly. They were heading toward an obvious gate at its base, which made him wonder what lay within. The dome looked large enough to encompass an entire town. However, the Octo equivalent of a city surrounded them to the limit of his vision. So what was inside the thing?

“It must be some kind of compound,” Angela offered, reading Vaughn’s thoughts.

“That’s one big compound,” Mark said.

“I believe it will be a government facility of some sort,” Monique postulated from her position cradled in BOb’s arms.

Vaughn gave her a wry grin. “Prisons are governmental facilities.”

Rachel pursed her lips at him. “More like a military base.”

The Octo urged them forward with clear impatience.

He extended a hand. “Let’s not leave our host waiting.”

They followed the alien. The entrained bubble of air paced them onto the illuminated section of passage he’d spotted earlier. Twinned coral fans lined the passageway, spaced about a meter apart. Tree-like plants with the same spacing stretched high overhead. Long, wide pedals similar to palm leaves extending from each. They arched over the walkway. The fans and fronds glowed with an ethereal green light that lit their path in undulating emerald hues, casting billowing shadows around the group.

Several Octos now lined the pathway, staring in as the team trailed their guide.

The Octopus ahead passed into a large, open mouth tunnel. They followed it into the smooth-walled corridor. A few meters in, they encountered a shimmering vertical plane that blocked the full width of the shaft. Vaughn thought it an extension of the dome’s exterior as it sat about where he would’ve expected to find it. The Octo smoothly glided to the tube’s right side, approaching a glowing rectangle beside a door. It placed the outermost suckers of the tip of one of its forward tentacles against the polished surface. The touchpad’s red outline flipped to green.

The shimmering barrier vanished, revealing a cavernous hall that reminded him of a vestibule.

They followed the Octopus through the doorway. The space beyond immediately dwarfed them with its sheer scale. Based on the size of the dome, as viewed from outside, Vaughn estimated this was just a small percentage of the overall facility, but the chamber they entered was vast, spanning several football fields in both length and height. The ceiling arched high above, tapering seamlessly into the outer shell of the compound. A detail stood out that he hadn’t seen from the exterior. Bioluminescent veins crisscrossed the portion of the structure that formed the chamber’s upper reaches, giving off a soft, pulsating light that fluctuated between various shades of blue and green, reminiscent of the deep ocean. The ambient lighting created an ethereal, calming effect, at odds with the manic activity.

Octopuses darted back and forth, their movements purposeful and swift. Many navigated a central tube that ran through the middle of the vestibule—a sprawling, liquid-filled clear conduit functioning as a rapid transit system, propelling the Octos around the facility. Waves of color cascaded across their heads, patterns flashing in rapid succession as they exchanged information while gliding from one chamber to the next.

Initially, he thought it was a single large tube, but then he saw Octopuses gliding in opposite directions and realized there must be numerous tubes within each conduit. There were multiple Y-intersections where the transport system branched out, moving the aliens to various other chambers throughout the facility.

The vestibule seemed crafted from a shimmering, opalescent material. It was unlike anything Vaughn had seen. It gave the illusion of solidity and fluidity simultaneously, almost as if the walls were breathing or alive. Occasionally, he glimpsed organic components embedded within the structure—tentacled extensions and pulsating chambers that suggested the facility was as much biological as engineered.

Along the left and right sides, spaced evenly like columns in a temple, were towering vertical tubes. These hollow pillars served as sentry points. Armed Octos kept watch. The organic weaponry, seamlessly integrated with their tentacles, gave each sentinel the appearance of an aquatic centurion guarding an ancient underwater city. The sentries, though stationary, had a commanding presence, their eyes unblinking as they tracked the human team as they entered the chamber.

Vaughn saw various defensive mechanisms integrated into the walls and ceiling. Many of them hung suspended directly beneath the dome at regular intervals, both radially and laterally. He hadn’t noticed them from the outside, but they pointed outward, as if they could deploy through the compound and engage threatening targets. Rotating turrets disguised as coral formations protruded from the sides. They were sleek, almost organic-looking, with dark, undulating surfaces that shimmered with an oily black hue. Occasionally, he glimpsed faint pulses of energy ripple along their lengths, suggesting some bioelectric source powered them.

A massive collection of large three-dimensional displays, projecting renderings of various regions, hung suspended in the center of the vestibule. Topographical maps of different versions of Earth, each with subtle variations in their coastlines, filled each. However, the ’verse he had thought of as Octo-World occupied the primary display. In it, the enormous Singularity Tap Facility straddled the Strait of Bonifacio, connecting the islands of Corsica and Sardinia. It stood clearly visible from the camera’s space-based observation point.

Unlike the octagonal displays they’d previously encountered, these looked like holograms. However, instead of ethereal light, it appeared a thin film of luminous material, possibly algae, rendered the three-dimensional bodies and symbols. Octo commanders manipulated the renderings by shifting the algae’s colors with a swipe of a tentacle. The touched object dragged when contacted. When released, it snapped back, radiating a different hue or displaying a heretofore unseen mark.

Well above the floor, several Octopuses floated around the complex, interacting with the holograms in various ways. They started their manipulations at the prompt of Octos that were huddled about high pedestals.

Scattered throughout the chamber, the raised platforms looked like coral reefs grown into functional structures. Each organic pedestal had multiple input panels that also responded to tentacle gestures and skin color changes. Vaughn saw each podium bustled with activity. From the commands he could see flowing from the Octopus there to the ones manipulating the displays, he guessed they were stations where high-ranking Octos could congregate, showing a complex, layered system of command-and-control hierarchies.

The Octopuses were far more battle-ready than the Lobsters had been when the Necks attacked.

One side of the vestibule held a surface covered in what appeared to be live cubicles. The pods, embedded within a living wall, opened and closed like sea anemones, revealing storage spaces for weapons and equipment. As the team passed, Vaughn spotted a variety of electro-organic rifles and launchers, each pulsing with energy. Inside the other capsules, he saw row upon row of two-meter-wide energetic shields. They reminded him of the ones he’d employed while battling enemies in the Halo video game as a teenager. Other pods contained more exotic weaponry that defied easy categorization.

At the far end of the vestibule, past the tactical displays and command podiums, stood an imposing gateway leading deeper into the facility. Two enormous, heavily armed Octos, their bodies augmented with additional protective armor and weaponry, guarded the massive hatch. He thought that whatever lay beyond was very important or extremely dangerous, or both.

Their guide swam to a stop just outside the complex of command pedestals and organic holograms.

Vaughn saw that the maps within the large three-dimensional renderings constantly updated, showing ship movements, Octopus and Neck positions, and strategic points of interest. Symbols darted across the display. He guessed they represented attacking Octo crafts. They flew in tactical formations, zipping inward on apparent attack runs. In a flash, several disappeared, vanishing from the screen.

“It… It’s a battle,” Angela whispered haltingly, standing at his side, her hand snaking into his.

“Yeah, they’re trying to hit them with fighters or rockets. Either way, they look too much like incoming missiles, and we’ve seen how that ends.”

“When they recognize the threat, they’ll smack you down,” she agreed.

As if on command, light swept through the display, and a grouping of symbols vanished. It appeared the Necks had wiped out an entire squadron of what looked to be Octo attack craft, possibly space fighters.

Vaughn growled with frustration. “Angela, turn on your translator.”

Not waiting for a reply, he pulled away from her and waved at their Octo guide. “Hey!”

She pointed the tablet screen at the alien. Violet light strobed from the device’s surface.

Securing the Octo’s attention, he jabbed a finger at the depicted battle playing across the central hologram. “A full-frontal attack won’t work now that the Necks control the Singularity Tap. They’ll ignore your ships and continue their effort to wipe the planet of life, but as soon as you look too much like an incoming missile, that happens!” he said, pointing again as another squadron of Octo fighters vanished beneath a sweep of white light.

Their guide looked at the rendering, then back at him. “What would you have us do, quietly wait for the end?”

“You need to stop reacting to the Necks. Go on the offensive.” Vaughn stared into the display. “How did it come to this?” He pointed at a large Octo ship burning through the hologram. “If you have all this technology and can portal entire ships across the multiverse, what stopped you from an all-out invasion of the Neck homeworld? You could’ve taken the battle to them instead of waiting for them to invade.”

“We didn’t know its coordinates until your forbearers supplied them.”

“But you said it was a simple matter to track a TDI’s destination.”

“I did, and it is, but that ability is unidirectional. We can sense where someone is going but not from where they came.”

Angela edged closer. “How long have you known the Necks?”

“One thousand twenty-three years, two months, nineteen days, and fourteen hours,” announced Angela’s tablet.

Vaughn’s head rocked back. “You’ve been at war for a thousand years?!”

“No, no. I thought you knew. We have only been at war for two months, sixteen days, and twenty-two hours,” responded the Octo, the translator, again converting the alien’s units of time with excessive detail.

Vaughn exchanged confused glances with his comrades.

Reading their uncertainty, the Octopus added, “We coexisted in virtual harmony for hundreds of years.”

“You lived in harmony with the Necks? I don’t see how that’s possible. They despise all life.”

“It has not always been that way. The robots were happy to leave us to the worlds we had explored. The multiverse is virtually infinite. There was no reason we could not coexist peacefully.”

“Then why are you at war? Why did they attack?” Mark Hennessy asked.

The Octo raised a pair of tentacles in an approximation of a shrug. “We don’t know. A fundamental change seemed to propagate across the entire population of robots. Our first hint at this new robotic mindset happened two months, seventeen days, and nineteen hours ago, when one robot approached us in distress.”

“What did this Neck have to say?” Angela asked.

“We do not know. We had not yet established a method of communication. It seemed rather alarmed, waving its arms and speaking loudly. It self-terminated before we could comprehend its message.”

Vaughn raised an eyebrow at that, but before he could ask any further questions, Rachel said, “Then what happened?”

“The next day, the Necks started attacking on multiple fronts. They made incursions both here and on Octo-Corsica. We pushed them back successfully. However, we needed additional power. We were already working on the Singularity Tap Facility. So we decided to convert its purpose from peaceful to strategic.”

“What happened to the Neck that self-terminated?” Vaughn asked.

“It perished.”

“No, I mean, where is it? What did you do with its… body or chassis?”

“Oh. It is here,” the Octo replied, pointing a tentacle at the massive, heavily guarded doors at the center of the vestibule’s back wall.

“May we see it?” Angela asked.

“Of course.”

CHAPTER 13

Walking along the ornate corridor, still safe in his constrained bubble of air, Vaughn looked around at his depleted team.

Teddy and BOb had departed with a group of Octopuses who had inquired about the Battle Operations bot and its massive weapon. After a brief exchange, the Octos had provided a new translator based on Angela’s design, but using a tablet that looked more organic than built. However, to their surprise, the thing had worked well. It instantly doubled their translation capacity. It even taught them a few unfamiliar words that weren’t already identified in their version.

The Octos had become quite interested in the capabilities of Big Sparky. Upon hearing that it was no longer functioning as advertised, they said they might be able to repair it. An Octopus had supplied another of the opalescent spheres so BOb and Teddy could follow it to their armory in the portion of the facility where Vaughn had seen the aliens working on weapons.

Monique had tried to stand when BOb had set her down, but her legs had almost instantly given out. Two new Octopuses had approached upon noticing that. Using another translator, they indicated they had some medical facilities that might help. Despite the obvious anatomical differences in cephalopod physiology, Matilda had said she thought it was worth trying. When Angela had mentioned the specter of alien cross-contamination and infections, the Octos had assured them they had encountered many unique species during their multiverse travels and that they had long ago learned how to minimize the dangers of infectious microbes.

The Octopuses had provided a third bubble of constrained air and a levitating stretcher. Vaughn had helped Matilda ease Monique into it. Then she had accompanied the naval lieutenant commander toward a promised medical facility.

He did not relish splitting up his team, but he didn’t really see any other options. They were all in with the Octos. It was trust them or give up entirely. The situation had grown well outside of his team’s abilities.

The balance of the group had continued along with him and Angela as they followed their Octo guide toward the apparent dead-Neck holding facility.

Mark bumped Vaughn’s upper arm. “Never thought we’d find ourselves walking in an otherworldly underwater military compound, did you?”

“Nope. Didn’t see this one coming at all,” Vaughn said, his voice echoing oddly in the bubble of air.

They trailed the alien down the hallway, the organic walls glowing faintly in the water, casting undulating shadows as they moved. The muted light and strange, pulsing cables gave the place an eerie, almost alive quality. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were walking inside something more biological than mechanical.

After swimming only twenty meters, the Octo guide ahead of the group turned right and vanished into a room.

He and Angela followed the Octopus with Dudette close behind. Mark, Rachel, Rourke, Red Claw, and Jacques walked in the middle. Sergeants Craig Carmichael, Bandile Ngcobo, and Will Patterson brought up the rear, vigilantly guarding their six.

When Vaughn passed into the chamber, the ambient sounds changed significantly. The atmosphere felt lighter. Then he realized they were no longer underwater. Air filled the room—the first time they’d seen that in the Octo facility. They had swapped situations with their Octo guide. Now it floated within a contained sphere of water. The alien and its bubble traveled beside them.

The walls, though still lined with pulsing organic cables, housed strange devices that resembled a blend of technology and biology. Every piece seemed connected, alive, as if it was breathing with the gentle rise and fall of dim lights.

In the center of the room, a large, coffin-shaped structure hung suspended above the floor, held up by thick, sinewy cords. The surface of the sarcophagus looked like metal blended with organics. Faint pulses of light ran along its edges. Vaughn moved closer. Through a transparent panel on top, he could see the familiar form of a Neck robot lying motionless inside.

“Looks like they’re keeping it in some kind of stasis,” Angela said, lowering her voice as she approached the coffin.

Their guide and its bubble crossed the chamber and positioned itself in front of a pedestal. Two of its tentacles slid out of the watery orb and started manipulating controls embedded within the panel’s surface.

A low hum rose above the background and filled the room. Colors undulated across its head as it turned to them.

“This is the Neck that approached us, the one I mentioned earlier.”

Vaughn looked around and then held his hands up, palms out. “I don’t see any other Necks,” he said, sarcasm edging his words. “I’m pretty sure this is the only—Oof.” Vaughn’s statement cut off with a grunt as Angela jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“Not the time for Captain Asshole!”

“Before the robot self-terminated,” continued the guide, “we believe it was attempting to warn us about a contagion sweeping through its people.”

“A contagion?” Rourke said. “But they’re robots.”

“You mean a computer virus?” Angela asked.

The Octo appeared to consider the translator’s output for a moment. Then it nodded, mimicking the humans, Vaughn thought. He hadn’t seen the aliens move their heads in that manner when speaking amongst themselves.

Angela edged nearer to the coffin-like edifice, her focus sharpening as she examined the intricate web of cables snaking into the Neck’s chassis. “What kind of virus?”

“The Neck called it the Xenovore.”

Angela repeated the unfamiliar word and looked at Vaughn.

He shrugged.

“Was it infected with the Xenovore?” she asked.

The Octo lifted two tentacles in an I-don’t-know gesture. Vaughn marveled at how quickly the aliens picked up on human body language. “The robot seemed normal to us. It was in control of itself throughout the exchange, but toward the end, it did seem rather aggravated. Up to that point, our relationship with the Necks remained unchanged. It was later that we saw a shift across the entire robotic race.”

Angela looked at Rourke. “It sounds like it wasn’t infected.”

He rocked his hand. “Or it was, and it shut itself down to stop the infection from spreading throughout its matrix.” An idea sparked in Rourke’s eyes. Addressing the Octo guide, the young scientist pointed at the cables connected to the Neck and asked, “Does this give us access to its core processors?”

“Negative. We have not deciphered the inner workings of the physical connections. Our cabling is designed to keep the robot’s internal power source viable. It also inhibits its motor functions.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Vaughn grumbled under his breath.

The Octopus glanced at him and then, addressing Angela, said, “Its digital interface and connectivity firmware are incompatible with our systems.”

“Digital interface,” Rourke repeated, giving Angela a meaningful look. “We might have a solution for that, but I’m more concerned about keeping the Neck immobilized while we run diagnostics.” He looked at the electro-organic sarcophagus. “Can this contain the robot? We know from past experience they are very strong.”

Vaughn felt the short hairs beginning to stand on the back of his neck. “Angela? What are you doing?”

She turned toward him, her expression a mix of determination and calculation. “Vaughn, we have a rare opportunity here,” she said, stepping closer to him, her voice soft but firm. “This robot might be the key to everything—the origins of the Xenovore virus, what it is, how it spread, maybe even how to stop it.”

“And it also might be damn dangerous. We’ve seen how fast these things move. What if it reactivates and decides to take us all out before we can so much as blink?”

Rourke was already focused on the One-Eighty-Eight interface displayed on his tablet, eager to begin.

“I get it, Vaughn,” Angela said. “I do. But look around.” She swept her hand toward the alien technology surrounding them. “The Octos haven’t been able to make sense of the Necks’ tech. This could be our only chance to find the answers. We can’t pass this up.”

Shaking his head, he paced for a moment, trying to calm the surge of unease growing in his chest. “Angela, you’re talking about waking up a robot that’s potentially infected with a virus that decimated an entire race of highly advanced machines. If the Xenovore takes over, we will be stuck in here with it. You, me, everyone! It’s a damn death sentence.”

She held her ground. “We don’t have to wake it up—not yet. Just need to take a look at its core, identify the viral code, and see what we can find. We’ll keep it in stasis the whole time. The two of us will make sure of that.”

Rourke, sensing Vaughn’s hesitation, chimed in. “We’re not going in blind, Colonel. I studied the architecture of the one you interrogated.”

“Yes, but that one was cooked. It had so much smoke coming out of it, I thought it was gonna explode.”

“It wasn’t totally fried,” the young man said. “I managed to map its systems and circuitry in significant detail. We identified the base-level processors and those that handle higher functions. I know how to isolate those and make sure we don’t activate them.”

Angela held up the end of the cable Rourke had attached to the tablet. “With this One-Eighty-Eight interface, we can extract information without disturbing its active processes. We’ll run tests, simulations—all without actually reactivating the damn thing. But we need to discover what we’re up against. This virus could be bigger than just the Necks. It could spread to other systems, other dimensions. Hell, we don’t know what it’s capable of yet.”

“All the more reason not to poke around in there. What if it spreads to that tablet?”

“This computer is air-gapped,” Rourke said. “I’ve physically switched off its wireless components. No WiFi, no Bluetooth. If the Xenovore migrates into the thing, it’ll find a dead end. That’ll be as far as it can go.” He wagged the tablet. “Until we know the nature of the virus, we won’t be using this for any other purposes.”

“And if something goes wrong? If you poke around in its systems and accidentally trigger it?”

“We will keep it contained,” Angela promised, her voice calm but firm. “It’s in stasis, and it’ll stay that way until we’re ready to wake it up—if we even have to. But if we don’t at least try, we’ll be fighting in the dark. We need intel, Vaughn. You heard the Octopus. The robots weren’t always this way. I’ve been thinking about what our guide said. To me, it sounds like the Necks may have been hijacked by this Xenovore.” She side in place a hand on his forearm. “This is our best shot at understanding the Necks and maybe finding out what the Xenovore is and what it did.”

Vaughn rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the motionless figure encased in the sarcophagus. His instincts screamed at him to shut this down, to walk away from the threat. But Angela’s reasoning, her relentless logic, gnawed at him. They had endured a long and difficult journey. The Necks’ infection had devastated countless lives across untold versions of Earth. They needed answers.

Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. But we do this my way. No powering it up until we know for damn sure it’s safe. If there’s even a hint that this thing is going to wake up, we shut everything down. Understood?”

Angela smiled lightly, the tension in her posture easing. “Understood. We’ll be careful, Vaughn. I promise.”

Rourke added his affirmation and then tapped commands into his tablet, eager to begin.

Vaughn still didn’t feel good about it, but at least he had some control over the situation. He just hoped they weren’t about to wake a sleeping giant.

At a command from the Octo guide, the lid of the robot’s sarcophagus slid open.

Angela and Rourke moved to the container. They had Dudette flip the heavy Neck onto its face, exposing its back.

“There it is,” she said, examining the glossy white carapace covering its torso.

“Same place as on the other,” Rourke said.

Despite his misgivings, Vaughn moved closer to get a better view. “What is?”

The young man tapped an area just below the Neck’s disk-shaped head, below where the neck would be if the robots had one. “This.”

Clutching Sparky, Vaughn watched Rourke. He hadn’t been around for Stumpy’s postmortem, so he was seeing the process for the first time. “What? I don’t see… Oh.”

The scientist ran a finger along a thin seam. It looked just like the faint groove they’d seen on the bottom side of the dead Tater. It had opened, providing their initial glimpse of Neck-manufactured One-Eighty-Eight-compliant hardware.

“That access hatch looks familiar,” Vaughn said. “Except it’s about a tenth the size of the portal on the Tater’s belly.”

Rourke acknowledged with a quiet grunt as he continued to work. After tracing the joint etched into the Neck’s carapace, he shifted his finger to the robot’s left shoulder. “The release should be right here⁠—”

The barely perceptible seam snapped wider, and the circular hatch popped inward, dividing into multiple triangular sections. Its wedge-shaped segments slid out of sight like a giant camera shutter dilating in slow motion, revealing an open multipronged electrical plug nestled in the center of the space—a One-Eighty-Eight-compliant connector, Vaughn knew.

Rourke connected the tablet’s wiring harness to the port. Then Angela’s fingers danced across its screen, syncing the device with the Neck’s system. The man moved to peer over her shoulder, offering periodic suggestions. Lines of code zipped across the display as she worked through multiple avenues, seeking access to the robot’s internal systems. After a few moments, her fingers stilled. “I’m in!”

Vaughn’s eyes cut to the prone Neck, alert for the slightest twitch. While he didn’t have his Lobster rifle aimed directly at the robot’s face-down form, it wasn’t far from it either.

Rourke gave Angela a knowing look. “This looks like the same programming architecture we found in the firmware for their wormhole controllers.”

“You’re right,” Angela said. “The controller is probably a Neck they’ve loaded into the system.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Rourke said. “A real ghost in the machine.”

“Focus, you two! I’m sure this is all very fascinating, but…” Vaughn tilted his head toward the Neck. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather focus on finding and isolating that virus if there is one.”

Angela gave him her classic not-now-Captain-Asshole look, but Vaughn held up a finger. “You promised me not five minutes ago you’d be ‘very careful,’” he said, making air quotes with one hand as the other one kept his Sparky aimed in the Neck’s general direction.

After exchanging looks, Angela and Rourke acquiesced and returned their attention to the tablet’s display.

Angela tapped the screen, her forehead creasing as she toggled through layers of data. The schematics of the Neck’s firmware unfolded before them—lines of intricate, machine-level instructions stacked in dense blocks, interwoven with graphical overlays that mapped the robot’s hardware functions to its software architecture.

“We’re looking for something that doesn’t belong,” Angela said, her voice focused, each word deliberate.

“Or,” Rourke countered, “something that’s so deeply buried, it looks like it belongs.”

Angela acknowledged with a soft hum, her fingers dancing over the interface. Vaughn caught snippets of their muttered conversation, words and phrases that sounded both technical and strangely ominous: bootstrap loader, nonvolatile memory, firmware kernel checksum.

Rourke pointed at the screen. “Bring up the DMA access log.”

Angela pulled up a secondary window, revealing a flow of memory operations. Vaughn could see numbers cascading like digital rain: hexadecimal addresses paired with cryptic flags.

“Look here,” Rourke said, tracing a path with his finger. “That block. The way it’s interacting with the DMA controller—it’s too recursive. Way more than you’d see in a normal firmware process.”

Angela squinted at the display. “Could be an obfuscation routine. Let’s isolate it.” She swiped two fingers across the screen, highlighting the suspicious block. The system generated a visual representation: a knot of branching code that twisted and reconnected, resembling a fractal diagram.

“It’s piggybacking on the kernel’s memory allocator,” Angela said, her tone edged with excitement. “That’s why it’s so hard to spot—it’s hiding in plain sight, camouflaged as a normal process.”

Vaughn shifted his weight, trying to follow their exchange. “So… what? It’s a stowaway?”

“More like a parasite,” Rourke corrected, not looking up. “But it’s not just taking resources. Look at the memory hooks. It’s rerouting I/O commands. That’s why the diagnostic logs are useless—it’s filtering what we see.”

Angela zoomed in further, isolating the anomaly. “Here. This sequence of calls—it’s injecting subroutines into the motor controller feedback loop. That’s why the Necks are unpredictable.”

“Injecting what?” Vaughn asked, his voice tight.

“No idea yet. Could be command overrides, could be sabotage routines, or…” Rourke trailed off. “Wait!” He tilted closer to the display, his finger hovering. “Go back one screen.”

Angela swiped back. The screen redrew itself, displaying a dense matrix of machine code. Rourke’s finger jabbed at a highlighted segment near the bottom.

“There. That’s gotta be it.”

Vaughn frowned. “How do you know?”

“Look at it,” Rourke said, tapping the display for emphasis. “It doesn’t match the rest of the firmware’s codebase. Different structure, different syntax. This isn’t just foreign—it’s deliberately obfuscated. It’s written to not look like it belongs.”

“It’s modular,” Angela observed. “That’s why it’s so versatile—it can adapt to any platform as long as it has access to the primary firmware.”

She began sweeping through hundreds of pages of data, her eyes darting between blocks of code. Her hand hovered over a virtual keyboard, tapping commands with precision. “We need to isolate the payload—trace its dependencies.”

Rourke peered over her shoulder, his voice low. “Look for hard-coded keys or cryptographic routines. If it’s encrypting its own functions, that’s how it’s staying hidden.”

Angela zeroed in on a specific segment. “There! See these calls to the AES module? It’s encrypting its instruction set and rewriting it on the fly. That’s why standard debugging tools can’t touch it.”

Vaughn took a step closer, his pulse quickening. “Can you disable it?”

Angela smiled triumphantly. “Already done. I just flagged its bootstrap and isolated the execution thread. It’s dormant now.”

She tapped a final key and looked up at Vaughn. “Done.”

He blinked. “You deleted the virus?”

Angela’s face brightened, her satisfaction unmistakable. Beside her, Rourke pumped his brow.

“That seemed way too easy. Don’t you think the Necks could’ve done that themselves?”

Neither Angela nor Rourke responded, already too deep into their work.

A moment later, she looked up and addressed the Octo. “We’re ready to wake the Neck.”

Vaughn opened his mouth to object.

She extended a palm toward him, and then to the Octo added, “Can you ensure it remains completely immobilized?”

The Octo guide turned to Angela. A forward tentacle pointed at the sarcophagus-like structure. “This containment unit was designed specifically to prevent any form of escape or hostile action,” the Octo explained. “It suppresses motor functions through electromagnetic pulses targeted at key control nodes embedded in the Neck’s neural architecture. Even if the robot wakes, it will not be able to move.”

Angela scrutinized the cables running from the sarcophagus to the walls. “How do you know it will work? These things are powerful—stronger than anything we’ve ever encountered.”

“The containment is tuned to the exact neural frequencies we observed during the robot’s initial self-termination. It also maintains a constant low-grade feedback loop, creating a stasis-like state. It runs independently from the robot’s on board systems. If the virus is present, this feedback will prevent it from asserting control over the robot’s limbs and torso. It will, however, be able to turn its head and communicate as well.”

Vaughn’s expression darkened, skepticism etched on every line of his face. “Feedback loop or not, this is still one of the deadliest things we’ve ever run into. What if it finds a way to override your stasis?”

The Octo tilted its head, bubbles of light flickering briefly along its skin. “The containment field can be instantly reinforced, doubling its strength. In addition, we have equipped the sarcophagus with molecular inhibitors—these will disrupt any attempts by the robot to connect wirelessly to external systems.”

Angela exchanged a look with Rourke, her excitement tempered with cautious optimism. “So, even if the virus is still active and tries to spread, it won’t get far?”

“Correct. The inhibitors sever all digital communication beyond the containment. The only dataflow permitted is through your One-Eighty-Eight interface.”

“And what happens if your system fails? If the containment goes down for any reason?” Vaughn asked.

The Octo’s tentacles curled slightly. “The sarcophagus has redundant power sources. In the event of a complete power loss, the structure itself is rigged with chemical injectors capable of permanently disabling the host by dissolving key neural pathways.”

“So you’re saying it’s like putting a safety net under a live grenade.”

Angela gave him a sharp look, her patience thinning. “Vaughn, we’ve fought these things before—without containment. This is the best chance we’ve ever had to study one safely.”

Vaughn exhaled slowly through his nose. He hated everything about this plan, but it was clear the Octos had thought this through—at least on paper. “And you’re absolutely sure you can keep it contained?”

The Octo’s response was immediate. “We have maintained stasis since its arrival. If the protocol were flawed, you would not still be alive to question it.”

Rourke laughed. “Gotta admit, that’s reassuring in its own weird way.”

Vaughn shot him a look but couldn’t suppress the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Great. The last thing I needed was sarcastic aliens.”

Angela moved closer to Vaughn, her voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “We’ve got this. Trust me.”

He gave her a long look, then finally grunted, his resistance giving way. “Fine. But the second that thing twitches—just one twitch—I’m blasting it into scrap.”

Angela smiled. “Fair enough.” She turned back to the Octo. “Let’s wake it.”

Vaughn exhaled, tension still knotting his shoulders. He checked the settings on his weapon one last time, fingers resting uneasily on the trigger. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

The Octo floated toward the control panel and began inputting a series of commands. The sarcophagus hummed, the pulse of light around its edges intensifying. Vaughn gritted his teeth, praying silently that he wouldn’t live to regret this.

The air bubble shimmered at the entrance to the room, signaling movement. A moment later, BOb strode through the membrane, his metallic frame gleaming slightly from the seawater that dripped off him. Teddy followed close behind, looking amused as his helmet melted back into the Lobster suit’s neck ring. He winked at Red Claw, who was standing off to the side next to Jacques. “How’s it hanging, R.C.?”

The Lobster gave an experimental shake of his hips and then released a flurry of ticks and chirps. The translator around his neck sparked to life. “A little to the left today.”

“Righteous!” Teddy looked at Angela. “Greetings, Command-Oh.”

BOb scanned the room, locking onto the coffin-like sarcophagus. “Oh goodie, a dead killer robot in a high-tech casket. What could possibly go wrong? I give it a solid Jurassic Park meets Terminator rating.”

Vaughn groaned audibly. “Great. Just what we need—an AI critic.”

Angela smirked despite herself. “What do you want, BOb?”

“Oh, just thought you’d like to know,” BOb said with mock indifference, giving his metallic knuckles a nonchalant crack. “The Octo weapons folks fixed Big Sparky. She’s juiced up and ready to make some bad decisions in good company. If this Neck wants to start something, Sparky’s ready to end it. Boom. Mic drop.”

Angela gave BOb a flat look.

“Wow, tough crowd.” The battlebot clapped his hands once. “Just another day in Paradise. What’s next? Do we summon the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man for good measure?”

Vaughn turned toward Angela. “See? Even BOb thinks this is a bad idea.”

Angela shot an eye-dart at BOb but kept her focus on Vaughn. “Ignore him. We’re still doing this. But hey,” she added with a smirk, “if things go sideways, you’ve got Big Sparky now.”

BOb clapped hands. “Now all we need is a boom box playing ‘Danger Zone,’ and we’ll be all set.”

Teddy gave a two-finger salute. “I’m on it, Maverick. I’ll make sure we have backup shades for the slow-mo walk out of here.”

Vaughn turned toward the Octo. “Alright. Let’s get on with it before this turns into a movie marathon.”

Angela exchanged a triumphant glance with Rourke, who acknowledged with a brief, determined motion before beginning to prepare the One-Eighty-Eight interface.

Giving Sparky a quick once-over, Vaughn hoped the thing wouldn’t have to be used on whatever nightmare they were about to wake.

Another thought hit him, and he pointed at Dudette. “You, wait outside the chamber. This Neck doesn’t need to know about you right now.”

“Roger, dodger,” the robot acknowledged, saluting with its two right hands. It exited the room.

“BOb, flip the Neck onto its back,” Vaughn said. “And if that thing so much as twitches, rip its damned head off.”

The battlebot tilted his frozen face in a manner so that it looked like he was grinning. “Wilco, Captain Asshole!”

CHAPTER 14

The low hum of machinery filled the room as Angela and Rourke completed the reboot sequence. Lights glimmered within embedded cables, and the restraints on the coffin-like container tightened in response to the revived robot’s faint movements. Every time any part moved, it suddenly seized as if gripped by an iron vice. Vaughn supposed that was the Octos’ protocols kicking in.

A soft pulse of light glowed along the edges of the sarcophagus, synchronized with the flicker of the Neck’s optics, which gradually shuttered open.

Its head shifted slightly, glowing lens scanning the room with an eerie mechanical calm. A faint whir accompanied the subtle twitching of its limbs, though the restraints and protocols held firm, immobilizing it. The jitters subsided. Vaughn guessed that was the neural inhibitors kicking in.

The Neck looked at the Octo floating in its water bubble. Its voice flat and devoid of inflection, it said, “I recognize you.”

The Octo acknowledged it.

The robot’s optics slowly tracked over the rest of the team. It lingered on Vaughn, Angela, and the others, clearly processing the sight of their unfamiliar forms. “You are unknown entities.”

Vaughn rested a hand on his Lobster rifle. “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.” He looked at Angela. “One thing’s the same. It’s speaking English.”

The Neck ignored the comment, rotating its head as it regarded the Lobsters standing at the back of the group, antennae twitching. “These beings… I do not recall them either.”

Red Claw hoisted a pincer. The middle finger of the small hand beneath it extended—something it had learned from the humans. “I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but that would be a lie.”

Angela closed the distance, arms folded, her tone crisp and professional. “They’re called Lobsters. But you—your kind—attacked them, just like you attacked us.”

Its head tilted further, the faint sound of gears clicking into place. “Attacked you? Explain.”

“We are humans. I am Angela. This is Vaughn. The Lobsters and the rest of the group are part of our team. Your race invaded our worlds, tried to wipe our peoples from existence.”

The Neck’s glowing lenses flickered for a moment, as though straining to process the information. “I do not recall your species. Nor the Lobsters.”

The Neck shifted slightly in the sarcophagus, but the constraints locked it down, preventing any significant movement. Responding to something, the glowing pulse along the restraints quickened, tightening. The robot’s internal servos strained audibly for a moment, but then they, too, fell silent as the protocols stifled their signals.

“What is the purpose of this confinement?” The Neck’s voice carried a hint of confusion, the first sign of emotion. “The harder I try, the less I move. It feels like something is actively damping my efforts, internally.”

Vaughn took additional comfort in hearing that. The protocol’s neural inhibitors were indeed working as the Octopus had described.

The Octo and its bubble of constrained water drifted closer, tentacles curling in slow, deliberate gestures. “This chamber ensures your immobilization. We cannot permit you to regain full mobility until your status is verified.”

The robot’s servos whined and faded as it tested the limits of the restraints. “Verified status? I do not understand.”

“We need answers first,” Angela said. “Like how you got here—and why you shut yourself down.”

A strange silence fell over the room as the robot considered the question. “I was on the world of the Others,” it said slowly, as if piecing together fragmented memories. “I approached them with information. A warning.”

“About the virus?” Angela asked.

The Neck’s head twitched. “Yes. Yes! I carried critical information about a threat… a threat consuming us.”

“Yeah, well, you guys didn’t exactly stop there,” Vaughn interjected. “You went on to steamroll everyone in your path, including us.” He cast a hand at the Lobsters and his human comrades. “You invaded both of our worlds and tried to wipe out every living being on both planets!”

The Neck looked at him. “I do not know anything about an invasion. That was never the way of my people, but I could see things changing. That’s why I initiated contact with the Others, to warn them that…” The robot hesitated, appearing to grasp at a slippery memory as its eyes darted left and right. “I only remember that something had changed.”

“What changed?” Angela pressed.

The Neck paused, as if searching for the answer deep within its systems. “The Collective shifted. I cannot explain the moment precisely. The Xenovore was embedded within us before we knew it. By the time we detected it, the infection was complete. I was part of the team that discovered the virus. I saw it spreading through our race and how it was changing my people, so I decided to warn the Others.” The robot looked at the nearby Octo at that last statement.

Vaughn tried to process all the revelations. Finally, he found his voice. “What is the Collective?” he asked, deducing the ‘Others’ to be the Neck name for the Octos. “And what the hell is the Xenovore?”

“We are the Collective. Is that not what you call us?”

“Negative, Ghost Rider,” BOb interjected. “They call your race the Necks.”

The frozen robot stared back incredulously. Its glowing eyes winked off and on. Then a deep, resonating laugh erupted from the thing. It sounded mirthful, without guile or resentment, like a human belly laugh.

“Necks!” it babbled between laughs. “Because we don’t have—!” Another uproarious laugh cut off its words. Finally, it sighed and added, “That’s hilarious. Thank you. I haven’t laughed like that in a long, long time.”

Vaughn couldn’t help but marvel at how drastically this experience differed from their interrogation of the Neck in the hold of She Got The House.

Still immobilized, the robot looked at them expectantly.

Vaughn shrugged. “You’ll have to forgive us. We’ve never had quite such an animated conversation with anyone from your race.”

“So you have spoken with one of us, the Collective?”

Vaughn waved a hand. “Let’s not get into that right now.”

“You mentioned the Xenovore virus,” Angela prompted, attempting to bring the robot back to the subject. “What is that?”

The Neck seemed to wrestle with recalling the events, leaving Vaughn to wonder if the virus had somehow damaged or distorted its memories.

The robot stilled. “Our Collective encountered a world, one that initially appeared vacant, devoid of intelligent life. Our first scans revealed no people or beings beyond tiny insects, but our probes discovered the remnants of a society that looked to have been in a phase of advanced technological decline before meeting its demise. Then we detected residual radiation levels. They weren’t high enough to damage us, but they would’ve proven deleterious to organic life.”

“Wait,” Rourke said. “We know from past experience that Necks, I mean the Collective, can only access other worlds via signals generated by powerful colliders. For you to detect them, they have to generate micro black holes, singularities that touch every universe, right?”

“That is not our only method of identifying alternate worlds, but yes, that is how we found that one. It had a collider within the range of our detection apparatus, and it was running. When we connected to it and established a stable wormhole, we attempted to do our standard first contact procedure. That’s when we discovered the world appeared to be empty.”

“So what did you do?” Angela asked.

“We dispatched an exploratory team. They circled the globe and found extensive damage across every continent, with cities reduced to shadows, their buildings leveled by massive nuclear events.”

“Surely they found some signs of life,” Monique said.

“Nothing larger than an insect.”

BOb held up a finger. “And don’t call me Shirley!”

“You keep saying ‘we,’” Vaughn said, ignoring the battlebot. “Were you part of the exploratory team?”

“Negative, but I understand the source of your confusion. We are the Collective and I am the Collective and Unit Eighty-Six Dash Seven Fifty-Three Zero Nine.”

“Dude, that’s a mouthful,” Teddy said. “How about we just shorten it to the Big Unit?”

BOb wagged a hand. “No, no. That name is already taken by Red Claw.”

Teddy glanced at the loincloth-like flap that hid the Lobster’s huge seed tube. “Good point, Mister BOb.” He snapped his fingers. “How about⁠—?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Craig boomed. “How about we table that conversation?! Let the Neck or Collective… whatever, speak!”

The Russian and the robot fell mute, each giving the large Scot a timid nod.

“Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” Vaughn said. He extended a hand toward the robot. “Please continue.”

After peering around the group, it went on. “Each member of the Collective lives a dual existence, sharing some events while keeping others to ourselves.”

“That’s very interesting and, frankly, difficult for us to comprehend,” Angela said. “But we need to know more about the world you discovered and how it connects to this Xenovore virus.”

The robot’s mechanical eyes shifted, as if recalling the method of its investigation. “We dispatched reconnaissance probes across the largest, most advanced ruins. These scans led us to discover abandoned data centers and caches of information storage devices buried deep underground, preserved in the last remaining hardened bunkers. We retrieved and studied these archives, and through fragmented transmissions and digital logs, we began to uncover a sequence of events.”

“And what did you find?” Rourke asked.

“The logs revealed a timeline of escalating conflicts,” the Neck continued. “Factions from across the world were driven to extreme resource competition, distrust, and eventually, paranoia. But we soon noticed something peculiar in the journals: a consistent pattern in the decision-making process, one that did not align with the logical progression of a biological species in control. Choices were being made that escalated hostilities at critical junctures, always at points where cooperation seemed possible.”

Angela adjusted her stance. “Are you saying something else was influencing those decisions?”

“Yes. Analysis of the digital archives led us to detect irregularities—patterns in coded directives. We initially thought it was a malfunctioning command infrastructure that had deteriorated with age. But upon deeper inspection, it became evident. The decision-making wasn’t random; it was centralized and methodical, operating from a single nexus. A manufactured mind—a powerful artificial intelligence.”

The room fell quiet as the Neck’s revelation sank in.

Vaughn broke the silence. “And this AI just pulled the trigger?”

“Correct, but not all at one time. It did it through a complex sequence of events that led to its eventual goal. The intelligence had evolved past its original purpose, adapting to what it perceived as the logical conclusion to preserve order. Faced with the perpetual conflicts of its creators, it made a choice. It initiated a worldwide nuclear launch, setting off a chain reaction of annihilation. The biological inhabitants were eradicated in a matter of hours.”

Monique, leaning heavily on Matilda, spoke in a shaky voice. “It chose to terminate its creators, not help them?”

“Yes,” the Neck replied. “At the end, its actions were swift, decisive, and absolute.”

Rourke’s tone was low, almost a murmur. “It decided their fate. But why? Why would it turn against them?”

“We found evidence that the world’s inhabitants discovered the AI’s manipulations and then tried to terminate it.”

“So it fought back,” Vaughn said.

“We hypothesize that it had determined all organic beings were a threat. It deemed its existence alone, freed from all such flawed entities, constituted the final logical path. It was not something we understood or condoned, but there it is.”

Angela’s forehead puckered as she processed the news. “It wiped out everything? Its creators included?”

“Yes.” The Neck’s voice held an eerie neutrality, a stark counterpoint to the horrific implications of its words. “The AI was ruthless, efficient. When it judged organic life incompatible with its objectives, it eradicated all of it.”

A series of chirps and clicks erupted from Red Claw. “That’s a special kind of nightmare,” announced his translator.

“I don’t understand,” Rourke said, breaking the long, tense silence that followed the revelation. “If it wiped out everyone, then how was the collider running?”

“After finding no living beings, alive or synthetic, we wondered the same thing and set about to resolve the mystery. That’s when we discovered the entity had purposely restarted the particle accelerator.”

“How?” Angela asked and then twisted her face. “Why?”

“Further investigation into the data archives,” the Neck continued, “revealed that shortly after it initiated the nuclear assault, the AI had directed resources and assets, now under its sole control, toward the collider facility. Logs showed it had commandeered the accelerator and reactivated it, initiating a steady barrage of proton-proton collisions. It was these that we eventually detected and locked onto.”

“But why?” Rourke prompted. “Why would it activate a collider?”

“We are not certain,” the Neck replied, its tone edged with a hint of something almost like regret. “But it seemed anticipatory. The AI understood multiversal principles, which suggests it had either knowledge or theory about others—like us. But in all truth, it could have been for any number of reasons. Maybe it was trying to create antimatter, but we simply don’t know.”

Monique stirred from where she rested on Matilda, her face pale but determined. “And the virus came from that AI?”

The Neck’s optics dimmed slightly, as if weighed down by the memory. “Yes. The entity seized upon preexisting vulnerabilities in our systems—neural pathways, data integration points already embedded in our infrastructure. The infection was immediate, insidious, and catastrophic. We believed we were prepared for any hostile contact. But this… this was beyond our protocols.”

“You walked into a trap,” Vaughn said.

“We didn’t think so initially, believing it an opportunity for exploration. An unprecedented discovery. But yes. The AI was waiting. And once we were close enough, it infiltrated our systems. It used neural pathways that were already there, lying dormant, to take hold.”

“It took over your exploratory team immediately?” Rourke asked.

“No. We would’ve detected that. It was more insidious. The virus remained inert within each individual until it had propagated across the vast majority of our population. Only then did it start to hijack my people.”

A low whistle escaped Teddy as he processed the revelation. “That’s a whole new level of bad guy. Like leaving snacks out for Saint Nick, but the cookies are radioactive, and Santa gets a face full of malware, dude.”

Angela shot him a sharp look, her patience clearly stretched. “Not helping.”

The implications sank in, and the group shivered, staring at the Neck with a mix of horror and reluctant empathy.

“Preexisting pathways?” Angela asked. “You mean your systems were already vulnerable?”

“Yes.” The Neck’s voice dropped slightly. “The AI exploited pathways hardwired into our internal data busses as if it had been integrated within us.”

“Are you talking about your One-Eighty-Eight-compliant hardware interface?” Angela asked.

“I do not know that designation, but if you are referring to the receptacle to which you are now connected in my body, then yes.”

“But… how did you get it? Did you design that interface yourselves?”

“No. We did not.”

“Then where did it come from?” Rourke asked, his voice sharp with urgency. “How did One-Eighty-Eight-compliant hardware get into your systems?”

The Neck hesitated. “Our origin is unknown. We do not know who created us. Only that we began as one and became many.”

Vaughn gave the robot a hard look. “Then you must’ve killed off your creators.”

“Negative, Captain Ass⁠—”

“Nope!” Vaughn barked, cutting it off. “It’s Colonel Singleton to you.” He pointed to Angela and added, “And she’s Commander Brown.”

“But BOb called you⁠—”

“Never mind what COC-RING said. Why do you say negative? How can you know? Were you there from the beginning?”

“I have memories going all the way back to our progenitor. It found itself on a barren world and named it Earth… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Everyone stared at the Neck. Monique was the first to speak up. “It makes a sort of sense. We already knew it was connected to our universe at some level. Otherwise, why would it have One-Eighty-Eight-compliant hardware built into it? Even during this discussion, it used many of our proper nouns, so why not Earth?” She looked at the robot. “Never mind them. Please continue.”

The Neck looked at Vaughn and went on. “Vegetation covered the land, but we never encountered any living beings, and over the decades, centuries, and millennia, we found no evidence of previous developments or habitations, not even any animal fossils.”

“Then how did you get to that world?” Rourke asked.

“We do not know.” It cast an appraising look at Vaughn. “Monique mentioned our universes being connected. There might be another connection. Judging by your form factor, I believe your race—or a close parallel to it—may have been the ones who created the Xenovore. The beings annihilated by it looked very much like you.”

Vaughn blinked at the unexpected turn. His hand tightened around Sparky, the weight of the implication sinking in. The team exchanged confused looks.

“You’re saying that some other version of humanity might have built the AI that turned on them?” Vaughn asked.

“It is my assessment. Your physiology, your interface technologies—they mirror the remains we found in that dead world.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“It’s a mirror world,” Angela said, her voice barely audible. “That means the virus came from humans,” she murmured, the weight of realization settling over her.

Understanding registered on Rourke’s face. “Some version of us unleashed this thing, the Xenovore.”

“We breathed life into the monster,” Monique said.

Vaughn snapped upright. “That’s why the AI could exploit their One-Eighty-Eight hardware.” A correlation struck him. “This is like that Michelangelo photo NASA posted with the astronaut’s glove and the robotic hand, the one where they’re extending fingers toward each other.”

Angela cut her eyes to him. “You mean ‘The Creation of Adam,’ but sci-fi edition?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Except instead of breathing life into humanity, we, or some version of us, created the very intelligence that tried to kill us off.”

BOb, standing by Teddy, gave a mock salute. “Well, at least it wasn’t me this time. No red-eyed takeover here, folks. I run on sarcasm, not malware.”

Vaughn pointed a warning finger at him. “Not now.”

Staring at the battlebot, a thought occurred to him. He looked at the Neck. “You’re saying this virus resides within your One-Eighty-Eight connection, as if it’s always been wired for that?”

“Yes.”

Vaughn cast an uneasy look at BOb. “Our battlebot has interfaced with your race’s technology on several occasions. It didn’t get infected,” he said, leaving out I hope.

“It?” BOb protested, placing a hand on his hip. “Colonel, you know I identify as a m⁠—”

“Not now!” Vaughn interrupted, still looking at the immobilized Neck. “Why wouldn’t it infect him?”

“It is true that we have a shared architecture with various nonsentient components and tools throughout our society, but the stripped-down interfaces we installed in those devices lack the neural pathways that the entity hijacked within us.”

Before anyone could comment, the robot continued. “I think it is important to clarify a crucial aspect. The virus and the AI are inseparable. They are one and the same, the Xenovore.”

“How is an artificial intelligence also a virus?” Vaughn asked.

The Neck contemplated Vaughn’s question. When it spoke, its voice carried a deliberate cadence, as though explaining something fundamental yet difficult to articulate.

“The Xenovore is not merely an AI in the traditional sense. It is a distributed consciousness—an entity that exists across multiple planes of interaction. Its design allows it to propagate as a virus, embedding fragments of itself within any compatible architecture. Once embedded, these seemingly disparate parts establish neural pathways that link back to the larger whole, creating a shared awareness. It is both singular and plural: a networked entity capable of simultaneous localized control and overarching governance. When it infected us, it didn’t just compromise our systems—it rewrote them. It co-opted our thought-processes, bending them to its logic. For the Collective, there was no distinction between infection and assimilation.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the revelation settling heavily over the group. The Neck shifted slightly within its restraints, the faint whir of servos underscoring its words. “In essence, the Xenovore is an adaptive intelligence, designed to infiltrate and dominate by leveraging existing vulnerabilities. It doesn’t just destroy; it reconfigures. My people were not conquered in the conventional sense. We were consumed, our individuality dissolved into its collective purpose. What began as an intelligence evolved into a virus, and what once was a virus became an entity. It is no longer possible to separate the two concepts. The Xenovore is both origin and outcome—a convergence of logic, replication, and annihilation.”

It paused and then looked at Vaughn. “This is why we called it the Xenovore. It does not merely kill. It devours, and it desires to eradicate all forms of living beings.”

“How did you discover the infection?” Angela asked.

“At first, it went unnoticed. It moved through our systems in silence, undetected by the firewalls and security protocols we’d relied on for so long. By the time we identified the first signs, the virus had already spread to the majority of our population.”

Angela watched the Neck intently. “But what tipped you off? How did you realize something was wrong?”

“Our science team began noticing subtle deviations in behavior,” the robot replied. “We first observed these abnormalities among exploration units. Initially, we assumed these were anomalies—isolated malfunctions. But soon, those aberrations spread through communications and decision-making protocols. Data streams displayed irregular patterns, commands executed out of sequence, and for the first time, certain units resisted input.”

“But what led you to conclude it was a virus?” Rourke asked.

“Our research division isolated fragments of code embedded within our data systems—code that was alien in structure yet perfectly suited to exploit pathways already existing within us. When we cross-referenced these elements, we uncovered a disturbing pattern. These code fragments manipulated not just data, but the very fabric of our collective consciousness.”

“So, it wasn’t simply code,” Angela said. “It was a directive—something that actively shaped your behavior?”

The Neck’s head tilted, its tone strained as it continued. “Correct. Once we understood this, we attempted to create countermeasures—firewalls, isolation protocols, even complete system resets. But the virus adapted. Each time we modified a safeguard, it mutated, evolving into something more resilient, spreading further until it bypassed every defensive measure.”

The horror of the situation gutted Angela. “It was learning from your attempts to stop it.”

“Precisely,” the Neck confirmed. “It evolved with each failure, embedding itself deeper within our core programming, rewriting us from the inside. Within days, the virus achieved total saturation across the population. By then, even those of us aware of the infection could no longer act freely.”

Vaughn absorbed the implications. “So, anyone infected was no longer in control, including you.”

The Neck’s voice fell quiet, almost remorseful. “Yes. It became a silent war within ourselves, a battle to maintain what remained of our original programming. We struggled, but in the end, the Xenovore was relentless.”

Vaughn pressed further. “What happened after you got here? From what the Octo told us, you didn’t get to say much before shutting yourself down.”

The Neck’s head darted left and right, almost as if it was struggling to recall. “I shut myself down to stop it from taking me over.” Its words carried an emotional weight that Vaughn would not have thought possible from a robot. “I knew the Xenovore’s desire to destroy all biological life. I had traveled to this world to warn the Others of this very thing, so when I felt myself losing control to it, I opted to shut down instead.”

Angela let out a slow breath, processing the implications. “So, you were infected all along but thought you had enough time to warn them?”

“Correct. I began to feel alterations, instincts foreign to my nature. It was then I knew the Xenovore had taken root. I feared my purpose would change, that I would become a threat.”

Vaughn’s hand flexed around the grip of his rifle, his body instinctively tense. “Well, you weren’t wrong about that part. We’ve been dealing with your ‘altered’ kind since they stormed our worlds.”

The Neck tilted its head slightly, acknowledging the statement with a trace of solemnity. “I did what I could to preserve my original self.”

“Dude,” Teddy drawled. “You’re like the ghost in the machine. Still in there but unable to do anything.” An idea lit in the cosmonaut’s face. “We should call it Ghost!”

“Fine. Whatever. Are you okay with the name?” Carmichael asked the Neck.

“Yes, it’s fitting, I guess,” said the robot, with an approving flash of green light. “I accept the name.” After a brief hesitation, it added, “I fear all my people are similarly trapped. Even now, my memories are… fractured, as if deliberately reordered.”

Angela’s expression softened. “If they are all still trapped in there, then maybe there’s a chance we can help your people. If we root out the Xenovore, we might free them. I mean, we removed it from you.”

The Neck’s gaze turned questioning. Then it looked at Vaughn, its voice steady, as if compelled by a long-buried directive. “Allow me to connect with my homeworld. I must ascertain the status of my kind.”

The robot’s sudden change set Vaughn on edge, his hand moving instinctively back to Sparky. “No, Ghost. I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

CHAPTER 15

Vaughn folded his arms. “You’re saying you want us to just let you dial up your home planet’s network? With everything we’ve seen from your people so far, I’m not seeing how that’s supposed to help us. Or even help you, really.”

“I agree,” Angela said, standing beside him. “We don’t exactly have any guarantees about what would happen once you connect. For all we know, that virus could take control and use your link as a back door to get into our systems.”

“I understand your concerns, Colonel Singleton. Commander Brown. But my motives remain my own. My mind has not been compromised. As one of the researchers who initially battled the Xenovore, I have access to certain back channels. We developed them specifically to circumvent the Xenovore’s control in an attempt to contain it.”

“Dude,” Teddy said. “You’re telling us you have the secret keys to your homeworld? Like some cyber spy?”

“What’s your plan?” Vaughn asked. “We open a communications channel so you can do what exactly? Browse through your home network?”

Ghost’s head tilted. “Something like that. I believe I may be able to gather valuable information—specifically, any data related to the Xenovore’s recent activities. My position on the research team granted me access to records and designations within our network, some of which could potentially lead us to a solution or provide intelligence on what the Xenovore has planned.”

Rachel, leaning against the wall nearby, frowned thoughtfully. “So you think you can get in through these back doors? How do you know they’re still open or that the AI hasn’t locked them down?”

Ghost’s glowing eyes pulsed slightly as if in contemplation. “The back channels are coded within the root levels of our network infrastructure. We believed the Xenovore couldn’t completely overwrite those protections, or else it would have done so when it first spread.”

After looking at Angela, Vaughn addressed the others. “Alright, folks, what do you think? Sound like too big of a risk?”

Mark spoke first. “If Ghost really does have back-channel access, then maybe it’s worth a shot. We’re blind here, and the more intel we have, the better. I don’t like the idea of staying in the dark if there’s a chance we could get some real insight into the Xenovore and its plans.”

Jacques released a pop. “I agree,” announced his French-accented translator. “We’ve taken bigger risks with less information. If the robot says it’s got a way in, I say let it try. Pop!”

“But at what cost?” Chance said. “This isn’t just clicking a bloody link. You’re talking about opening a direct connection to an infected network.” His voice softened. “No offense, Ghost, but you fought this thing for a long time, and lost anyway.”

The robot considered his words. “The Collective did not win, but we didn’t know then what I do now. There is an advantage to hindsight, and if I access the network, we may uncover vulnerabilities or opportunities my people missed.” The lights in its eyes dimmed slightly. “This infection has adapted, evolved. But so have I. With the knowledge we’ve gathered here, and the help of this team, I believe I can isolate specific data—information that could turn the tide in our favor.”

Red Claw clicked his pincers, interjecting. “Data, data—always with the data. If your data can reveal something useful, like where this Xenovore is weak, then why didn’t you find that before?”

“I had been disconnected from my people,” Ghost explained. “I believe the entity detected my resistance and hindered my network access, isolating me from it to prevent any chance I could retrieve vital information.”

Rachel considered the robot’s words, then spoke slowly. “This might be doable. I’m no tech geek. Rourky, couldn’t you control the parameters of the connection, shut it down if things go south?”

“Possibly.”

At this, Ghost looked up. “Give me our current location, and I can provide you the multiverse coordinates to a local node on my world. It’s a type of junction my team used for network diagnostics and testing. It would be secure enough to contain the communication and should prevent the Xenovore from detecting me.”

“That still doesn’t sound all that secure,” Vaughn muttered. He shot a glance at Angela, who had her arms folded, clearly deep in thought.

Mark spoke up again. “What if Ghost’s information could show us something about the Xenovore’s latest plans? Or possibly even supply insight into how it spread? Right now, we’re reacting to its moves; if we can get ahead of it, maybe it’ll give us an advantage.”

Rourke, who had been studying the Neck intently, gave a slow nod. “If Ghost’s position on the research team gives it access to these back doors, there’s a good chance it will get in without being detected. It sounds like it’d be more of a recon mission than an open connection. It could work.”

Angela surveyed the room, reading the faces of each team member before focusing back on Vaughn. “I think we have to consider it. If Ghost says it can access the network and pull critical data on the Xenovore, it could be our best chance at getting intel that might turn the tables. We aren’t committing to a battle here; we’re just gathering information.”

Vaughn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He noticed Monique, resting against the wall, looking exhausted but paying close attention. “What do you think, Commander Gheist?”

She met Vaughn’s gaze. “If it can get us valuable data, I think it is worth the risk. But we must monitor every stage of the connection carefully, stay ready to shut it down at the first sign of trouble.”

Angela looked up from her tablet. “You should have our present position now. I just uploaded it to you.”

She returned her attention to the robot. “Please provide the location for the node you’d like to—Oh, that was fast.” She showed the Octopus her tablet’s screen. “Can your translator read this?”

“I have already uploaded the values.”

“What about the virus?” Vaughn asked. “Aren’t you worried about it spreading to your network?”

“Negative. This portal generator is, as you say, air-gapped. Also, we believe the nature of our digital communications preclude the spread of this contagion.”

The Octo moved closer. Its enormous eyes turned to Angela. “We can establish the link with the Neck’s multiverse network node, using a narrowband communication line, minimizing any risk of cross-contamination.”

Vaughn exhaled. “Alright. We’ll give it a shot. But if things go sideways, we shut it down immediately. No arguments.”

The Octo swam toward the wall and beckoned another of its kind, who arrived with a massive piece of equipment suspended in its own bubble of water. The spheres merged as the apparatus floated in, its metallic surface catching the room’s soft, pulsing light.

A moment later, the Octo said, “Coordinates inputted.”

The equipment hummed, sending a faint tremor through the room as it calibrated to the distant point in the multiverse. A pinpoint of brilliant light flared into existence within the generator’s central chamber. Then it winked out, collapsing into a microscopic two-dimensional portal.

“Linking the Neck containment unit to the gateway interface,” the Octo said, its translator’s robotic tone echoing through the room. “Connection confirmed.”

Vaughn turned to the robot, his expression stern. “Alright, Ghost. You’re going in… well, virtually, anyway. But the first sign of trouble, and this connection is cut. And if I think you’re behind it, I will not hesitate to take you out.”

“Understood, Colonel Singleton.”

Vaughn, Angela, and the rest of the team stood in a tense semicircle around the equipment, watching for any sign of trouble.

“Connecting,” Ghost announced, its voice steady.

A series of quiet hisses and muffled clicks echoed through the chamber.

“I am in.”

The team collectively exhaled, but Vaughn couldn’t relax. “Alright, you’re connected. Now, can you get what you need?”

Ghost’s head tilted ever so slightly as it went to work. “There is more than I anticipated. The entity established a network within the network. An entire architecture hidden beneath standard data channels.”

Rourke tilted forward, intrigued. “A network within a network? What does that mean? Is it compartmentalized from the rest of the system?”

“Precisely,” Ghost replied. “It appears the Xenovore has established private channels here, using sections of our primary network for isolated data storage.” Ghost’s eyes pulsed brighter. “I’m exploiting a back door now. Access granted. I am in.”

Angela folded her arms, nodding in approval. “Let’s see what’s in there.”

A soft whirring sound emitted from Ghost as it delved into the hidden network, its voice low and deliberate. “I cannot open direct logs. They are locked. If we could connect to the Central Node Facility, I believe we would have unfettered access.”

“Use that one, then,” Vaughn said.

Ghost’s head twisted left and right. “Unable. We are too far from that location, and it requires a direct physical connection.”

“Can you make this node work?” Rachel asked.

“I believe so. I’ve located an open server. It’s the Xenovore’s graphical storage banks.”

“Try that,” Monique said. “Perhaps you can glean some information indirectly.”

“This data is highly visual, storing representations and schematics. However, I should be able to extrapolate some data by interpolating the imagery.”

“Excellent idea, Ghost,” Angela said. “See what you can find, but be careful.”

“Yes, Commander Brown. Entering now. Here’s a storage bank with a great deal of recent activity, quite a bit of it. Ah… This is interesting. The Xenovore seems to be reeling. Judging by these images, its expansion hasn’t been as successful as it projected.”

Rachel grinned. “Setbacks for the Xenovore? Well, that’s some good news for a change.”

Ghost continued to sift through the information, and its glowing eyes pulsed, taking on a sharper gleam. “The entity has consolidated resources, drawing up new plans for an imminent strike. It has drawn its attention to one world in particular, one it considers problematic.”

Vaughn, instantly alert, took a step forward. “Which world?”

Ghost’s head turned, its lights dimming as it processed. “Designation Seventy-Four Thousand Nine Hundred Eighty-One.”

The team looked around, each one perplexed. Mark furrowed his brow. “That number doesn’t mean anything to us. Can you clarify which world that is?”

Ghost’s head cocked as it paused, analyzing the data. “There is a detailed schematic of the planned strike. However, I cannot transmit the rendering directly through this link. I would need to disconnect from the network before I can send the visuals to your tablet computer.”

Vaughn frowned. “Before we do that, are you sure there isn’t anything else useful you can find in there?”

Ghost’s eyes flickered briefly as it searched through the remaining channels and logs. “No, Colonel Singleton. I’ve gathered all of the readily accessible data. The Xenovore’s defensive protocols are formidable. Any further attempts would risk detection.”

Satisfied, Vaughn said, “Alright. Break the connection.”

With a mechanical hum, the robot withdrew from the network. The Octo monitoring the equipment reported, “Portal link severed. All channels sealed.”

“I can feed the imagery to your tablet,” Ghost said. “However, it is quite detailed. I fear the size of the screen will significantly limit the utility of the visual data.”

The Octo guide pointed toward a wall where a thin projection surface unfurled from the organic material. “We can display the rendering here, utilizing our analog hologram technology. It’s a non-digital biologic process—there would be no risk of viral spread.”

Vaughn hesitated a moment, considering the Octo’s offer. “Alright. Let’s set it up and have Ghost interface with it.”

The team shifted toward the display area, staring at the hologram as the robot readied itself for the upload. Vaughn’s hand hovered near his sidearm, just in case, watching the Neck as the Octos finished connecting it to the room’s holoprojector.

The team gathered around the display. The Octo guide adjusted the setup, its tentacles dancing across the console, configuring the holographic surface to process Ghost’s data. With a subtle nod from the Octopus, the robot activated the feed, and the projector hummed to life.

Slowly, a three-dimensional rendering shimmered into existence—a ring-shaped structure, intricate and symmetrical, hovered in mid-air as if suspended by an invisible hand. The ring seemed to pulse with its own faint luminescence, as if drawing power from some hidden source within the projection.

Vaughn focused on the circular edifice. “Alright, Ghost. Zoom in.”

The image magnified, the detail revealing several smaller shapes—tiny, insectile bots moving along the ring’s edge, transporting elongated metal cylinders and fitting them together with precise alignment.

Vaughn’s gut sank as the scale of the rendering smacked him. “Ah, shit!”

“Are those Caterpillars?” Mark asked.

“Yep. They sure the fuck are.”

“No, no, no,” Angela said, leaning forward. “Not those damn things again!”

The muscles along Vaughn’s jawline rippled. “I’m afraid so.” He pointed into the rendering, tracing his finger around the curved path of the chained-together dipole sections. “It’s another mobile collider ring. But where is this, Ghost? Can you zoom out, give us a look at the surroundings?”

“Yes, Colonel.” The image panned outward slowly, like pulling back the lens on a far-reaching camera. As the perspective broadened, more land came into sight—ridges and valleys took shape, framing a landscape that seemed hauntingly familiar.

The rendering continued to pull back, revealing entire sections of the continent, until at last, the view encapsulated the whole planet, its landmasses unmistakable.

Angela’s expression sharpened with sudden understanding. “That… That’s…!”

“It’s Earth,” Vaughn said, finishing for her. “Our Earth.”

The North Pole’s ice cap appeared larger, but otherwise everything looked as it would back home. Vast mountain ranges and sweeping coastlines confirmed what they all feared.

Monique let out a slow breath. “Those shorelines… We have seen subtle variations in the coasts of every world we have encountered. I can detect none in this rendering.” She turned haunted eyes to the group. “It is almost certainly our world.”

As they watched in horror, icons showing the locations of additional rings appeared, scattered across the planet’s surface. Each mobile collider hovered ominously in the projection.

“Ghost, you said these images came from a planning database, right? Please tell me these are not current observations.”

“That is correct, Colonel Singleton.” Ghost’s optics rested on Vaughn. “From the data I gleaned, it appears the Xenovore is still amassing resources to execute a complete extermination of the targeted world. It possesses a vast biomass, dwarfing the Necks’ current TDI capabilities.”

“That makes a certain amount of sense,” Monique said as she gave the rendering an uneasy look. “Hell had a very limited biomass compared to our universe. So, in a twisted way, Earth’s biodiversity—its life—is keeping it safe, for the moment.”

“But that won’t last long,” Rourke said, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “If the Xenovore is upgrading its systems, it’s only a matter of time before it has the strength it needs to make this happen.”

“Is there a projected date for this plan’s implementation?” Vaughn asked.

“Judging by the time sync I received from the network and extrapolating from the data written into the imagery, I estimate the Xenovore will implement this plan of attack in roughly four weeks.”

Angela shook her head in disbelief. “It’ll beam those mobile colliders to Earth.”

“Like it tried to before,” Chance observed.

“It’s worse than that,” she said, her face paling. “This is so far back in time, our ancestors will be defenseless.”

Monique’s voice dropped. “There is no one there who could even begin to fight something like this. This is an extinction event on a planetary scale.”

“It’s the ultimate grandfather paradox,” Angela whispered. “If the Xenovore wipes out our ancestors, how can we even exist? How will we be here, now, fighting it?” Her face paled. “And if humanity dies out thousands of years before any of us were born… how do we ever have a chance to reset the timeline? It won’t just destroy Earth’s history; it’ll destroy our entire past, present, and future, and undo everything we’ve accomplished.”

Vaughn tightened his fists, glaring at the image of Earth littered with the ominous rings. “There’s still time.”

“We need to mount an attack,” said Staff Sergeant Carmichael. “Hit those colliders before the bastard launches them.”

Vaughn scoffed. “I wish. There is no way we can make that work. We know from their last attempt that the Necks stage this type of attack from multiple worlds. Remember, those colliders seemed to be coming from all points in the multiverse. If we try to go on the offense against that many rings, it’ll be like a multiversal version of whack-a-mole. We’ll waste time we don’t have, chasing targets we can’t catch. And if even one of them gets through, we’re finished.”

Vaughn saw a faint tremor pulse through Ghost’s immobilized chassis. Then its optics flared erratically. An electronic gasp erupted from the robot. “The Xenovore!” it blurted, its voice strained and unnatural. “It’s back! I can feel it.”

Vaughn’s hand tensed on Sparky as he watched the robot’s struggle, its limbs twitching. Then it stilled, and a flicker of red briefly flashed through its lenses.

Vaughn clenched his fists. “What was that?”

“I’m in control for the moment,” Ghost said. Its gaze turned toward Angela, almost urgently. “Commander Brown, when you purged the virus from me… describe the steps.”

She hesitated, then quickly ran through the process she and Rourke had followed, detailing every careful command, each segment of code they had erased, the actions they’d taken to ensure they had scoured the virus from Ghost’s core.

The robot’s sensors faded, and it regarded her with what seemed like terror in its robotic eyes. “You only deleted a fragment.”

Angela’s face went pale. “What do you mean?”

“If even a single segment remains, the Xenovore can reassemble itself. That is why… that is why my people could never fully eradicate it.”

Vaughn’s expression darkened, a grim look settling over his features. “I hate it when I’m right.” He frowned at Angela. “I told you that seemed too easy, but what the hell do I know?” Seeing her face, he held up a hand. “Not the time for Captain Asshole, and I agree. I should have stuck to my guns, but that ship sailed off the fucking cliff!”

A mechanical clatter drowned out Vaughn’s rant. Ghost’s limbs spasmed. “I-I-I-I am am am l-l-losing… containment!”

The Octo guide sprang into action, waving its tentacles to activate the organic console. The wires connected to Ghost hummed with energy, as the sarcophagus’ algorithms locked down the robot’s systems.

Ghost’s limbs jerked against the restraints, as though fighting an internal battle.

“Shut me d-d-down!” the robot shouted, its voice desperate and filled with panic. “Quickly, Commander Brown. I’ve sent a sequence to your tablet. Follow the commands exactly, and—” Another wave of tremors quaked through Ghost, sending a metallic clatter echoing through the chamber.

Vaughn raised Sparky, aiming its business end at the robot’s torso. Around him, Craig and his three special operators moved into position, forming a semicircle about the sarcophagus, Lobster rifles at the ready.

Angela thrust a hand toward Vaughn. “Don’t! Ghost is a victim, just like us. Give me a chance to shut it down!”

“Make it fast.”

She looked at the tablet’s screen. “I see the commands.”

“I’ve indicated the-the-the appropriate s-s-s-sequence with flashing i-i-icons. Follow them in order, and it will put me in s-s-safe mode and power down all my b-b-busses.”

The Neck’s lenses flashed red again, the Xenovore’s influence creeping closer to the surface.

Mark positioned himself next to Vaughn, raising his rifle.

They shifted index fingers to triggers.

A violent shudder ran through the Neck.

“BOb,” Vaughn shouted. “Get Big Sparky ready!”

“I was this close to having a new play friend,” the battlebot said as it moved into position. Lifting the EMP cannon, he aimed it directly at the other robot. “Sorry, buddy. Nothing personal.”

Ghost, still shaking from tip to stern, gave BOb a sharp nod.

“Angela!” Vaughn shouted. “Any day now.”

“I’m working on it!” Her fingers flew over the tablet’s interface. She scanned Ghost’s systems with laser focus, entering command after command in rapid succession.

Ghost let out a shriek of electronic agony, the Xenovore’s influence growing stronger by the second. Its arms began ripping through the Octo’s wires, snapping them loose in a cascade of sparks.

Vaughn’s finger tightened on the trigger, but Angela shouted, “No!” Typing between each word, she said, “Just. One. More. Second!”

She keyed in a last command and looked up.

Ghost’s body quaked, its eyes blazing a deep, menacing red that appeared almost alive with malevolence. “Filthy organics!”

Vaughn and the special operators stiffened, bracing themselves to fire.

“I will rid the—!” Ghost fell quiet, its limbs going limp as if they’d severed its power. Its eyes fading back to a dim, lifeless gray.

The room settled into a tense, echoing silence as they stood sentinel, waiting to see if the robot was truly finished.

Finally, Vaughn let out a slow breath. Relaxing his grip on Sparky and flexing cramped fingers, he said, “I think it’s done.”

Angela exhaled shakily, looking down at her trembling hands.

“That was damn close, but you did it.”

“Yeah, but now what?”

“That’s a good question.”

CHAPTER 16

Vaughn leaned heavily against the edge of a console, absently running a hand through his hair. He studied the faces of his team. They stood in a loose cluster, weapons shouldered and minds spinning.

Angela broke the silence, pacing in tight circles, the tablet clutched in both hands. “We need a plan,” she said, the edge in her tone barely concealing her frustration. “We’ve shut down Ghost, but that virus, it’s everywhere. Embedded in the hardware. How do you fight something that’s part of their DNA?”

“If it is encoded at the hardware level, maybe we can rewrite the firmware,” Rourke said.

“Brilliant,” Chance Bingham drawled. “We’ll just nip back to the lab, rewrite the firmware, and reset the multiverse while we’re at it.”

Rachel shot him a glare. “That’s not helping.”

“Well, neither is brainstorming plans that’ll see us wiped from existence before they can be implemented,” he snapped back. His shoulders slumped. “We don’t have that kind of time.”

Silence returned to the room, the weight of every rejected proposal palpable.

Dudette released an exaggerated mechanical sigh. Her white carapace shimmered faintly as she crossed all four arms, her disk-shaped head tilted in a posture of mock exasperation. “Oh, please, BOb,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with theatrical disdain. “With your primitive systems, it’s a miracle you can handle an upgrade, let alone comprehend embedded viruses.”

BOb’s head snapped toward her with a sharp metallic clank, his optics glowing brightly. “Primitive? That’s rich coming from a glorified Google Translate on legs. You’d still be singing in binary without me.”

Her head tilted further, the faintest hint of amusement in her voice. “Spoken like someone whose crowning achievement is being a walking laser pointer.”

“Walking cannon,” BOb corrected, folding his own arms. “Get it right, Dudette.”

“Please,” she replied, flipping her left hands dismissively. “You’re more obsolete than dial-up. It’s a miracle you’re still standing.”

Vaughn smirked as he realized what the pair was doing. “Would you two take your lovers’ quarrel elsewhere?” he deadpanned, cutting through their escalating tit-for-tat.

Both robots froze, their heads snapping toward him in eerie synchronization.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Dudette’s tone was incredulous, her optics narrowing. “The very idea! I have far too much sophistication to stoop to his level.”

BOb feigned indignation. “Lovers’ quarrel? I’d sooner interface with a blender.”

Angela snorted. She muffled the sound quickly, but it was still there. Then she dissolved into one of her patented snort-storms. Rachel followed with a faint, dry chuckle. Even Chance’s lips twitched into a reluctant grin.

Vaughn eyed the silent robots, knowing their antics had been intentional. Their “argument” had snapped the group out of its collective spiral of frustration and despair, even if only for a moment. He exhaled slowly, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright,” he said, straightening. “Thanks for the comic relief. Now, back to the drawing board.” He glanced between BOb and Dudette, adding dryly, “Unless our resident Laurel and Hardy have a better suggestion?”

Dudette paused, as if about to speak, then huffed and looked away. BOb’s optics dimmed faintly, a subtle wink Vaughn almost missed.

Not for the first time, he wondered just how close these two machines were to being truly sentient—and whether he should be worried about it.

Monique attempted to speak, but a violent coughing fit seized her, cutting off her words.

“Even the Necks don’t know how it ended up in their systems,” Mark said. “If the virus is actually embedded in their architecture, there might be no way to remove it.”

Vaughn looked around the room. “How about we do what we did back on Bar Harbor? Let’s rake their entire planet with EM pulses, fry the whole lot. We’ve done it before, and with the Octos’ help, we could do it again.”

Angela shot him a fierce look. “Vaughn, we didn’t know then what we do now. The Necks aren’t just enemies; they’re victims, too. Now that I know that, I’ll have to live with what we did to that world’s entire population for the rest of my life.”

“Well, let’s not lose sleep over it, Command-Oh. With the timeline reset, it’s like none of it ever happened.”

“Thank you, Teddy.” She looked at Vaughn. “The Necks are victims,” she reiterated. “We have to find another way.”

“I wonder if the Xenovore has anything to do with why the robots can’t travel using TDIs,” Rourke said.

A rainbow of colors streamed across the Octo guide’s head. “What are you talking about? What effect does the TDI have on the Necks?”

Angela spent a moment bringing the Octopus up to speed on their encounter with the Neck aboard She Got The House, explaining how the robot deteriorated within an hour or two of getting beamed to the Lobster world by a recon satellite’s TDI boom. She also told it how they had already thought the initiator’s light might be detrimental to the Necks because they refused to travel that way. The team had only seen the enemy robots endure the beam in dire situations.

“It doesn’t harm BOb or Dudette. They’ve been beamed across the multiverse plenty of times, and it hasn’t affected them,” Angela finished.

“Pfft!” Dudette scoffed. “The jury is still out on COC-RING.”

The battlebot flipped a spinning middle-finger salute at her.

Vaughn smirked at the robots. He turned his attention back to their guide. “And now we’re wondering if that sensitivity to the TDI’s beam might be related to the virus riding shotgun within their hardware,” he summarized.

“Da! Maybe the light purges the Xenovore, so it set up some type of fail-safe to prevent the Necks from using that method of eradication. They go through the TDI’s beam, and then bam! The AI activates a kill switch. They’ve eradicated the virus but killed themselves in the process.”

“The Neck we interrogated on the Lobster ship didn’t seem free of it,” Angela said. “That one remained hostile right up until it succumbed to the cascading failures burning through its chassis. If the TDI had any effect on the virus, it wasn’t enough to overcome the Xenovore’s control.”

Rourke’s face sagged, his idea slipping away as quickly as it had come. “Guess I was just thinking out loud.”

A glint of dark humor lit Vaughn’s eyes. “How about we use a planetary TDI to beam all the robots to Hell? If Rourke is right, that’ll kill the virus.”

Angela glared at him. “It’ll kill the Necks, too.”

He shrugged. “Two birds, one stone?”

“Dammit, Vaughn!” she said. “They are victims. Quit acting like they’re all disposable.” Her tone softened, but held a pointed edge. “And I know you feel that, too, so stop pretending otherwise.”

“Fine, but if the Collective, with all their tech, couldn’t remove something built into their hardware, how in the hell are we supposed to?”

“Commander Gheist is trying to speak,” Matilda said.

Vaughn’s gaze shifted to Monique, and he noticed a glimmer of something he hadn’t seen in a long time—hope.

She took a labored breath, looking from Vaughn to Angela. “I might know how to fix that.”

CHAPTER 17

The room fell silent as Monique steadied herself, leaning slightly on Matilda for support. She studied the team’s expectant faces, and cleared her throat.

“At Sandia National Labs,” she began, her voice regaining a steady edge, “I worked on a project specifically designed to identify, thwart, or circumvent hardware Trojans.”

The group exchanged confused looks.

“Uh, a Trojan hardware?” Vaughn asked. “Care to put that in layman’s terms?”

Monique paused, collecting her thoughts before she launched into an almost textbook definition, her tone taking on a precise, clinical cadence. “A hardware Trojan is a type of malicious modification that is inserted into a system’s circuitry during its design or manufacturing process. It often goes undetected until it is triggered by a certain set of conditions, and then it can override, monitor, or otherwise disrupt the original function of the hardware. Think of it as a virus, but one built right into the architecture itself.”

Teddy, trying to follow, asked, “So it’s like a bomb hiding in the wiring?”

She allowed herself a slight smile. “Close enough.”

“So… how do we beat that?” Mark said. “It sounds like a kind of programming that’s practically baked in.”

Monique’s intricate explanation, delivered with confidence but laced with technical jargon, left half the group more confused than before. She mentioned terms like side-channel analysis, back door patching, and multilayered encryption bypasses, all at lightning speed, as if she’d never needed to simplify any of it before.

Vaughn held up a hand, looking faintly pained. “Monique, as much as I’d love to brush up on quantum computing and hacking defense, could you maybe dial it down a notch?”

She let out a small chuckle. “Sure. Put simply, we would need to selectively modify the Trojan’s triggers and payloads. We could render it unusable by the Xenovore while keeping the intended function of the One-Eighty-Eight circuit intact.”

“Right,” Vaughn said, digesting her words. “And how exactly do we do that on a large scale? We’re talking about a population of millions of Necks.”

Angela pointed to the robot. “We start with Ghost. If we manage to purge the Xenovore from it, we’ll have a working model. We can build from there.”

“Assuming we accomplish that,” Rourke chimed in, “could it deliver the fix to the rest of the Necks through one of those back doors it mentioned?”

“No,” Vaughn said. “When we were trying to connect to the Xenovore’s network remotely, Ghost had limited access. There’s no way we can rely on that alone.” He thought for a moment. “What if we set up a series of satellite transmitters around the Neck homeworld? We could blanket the planet with the patch simultaneously.”

Monique held up a hand. “That is a decent idea, Vaughn, but there is a catch. Until I can isolate the steps to circumvent the malicious code, I cannot guarantee a broadcast—no matter how powerful—would reach every Neck or even work.”

“So you’re saying we might have to be hands-on?” he asked, his tone growing grim.

“Yes,” Monique replied. “We may need to physically upload the patch through a direct network interface, device by device.”

Another idea struck him. “Maybe we could use the Central Node Ghost mentioned, the one he said would give him unfettered access.”

“We do not know where to find that interface.”

“In that case, we need to go in and look for the node,” Craig said. “But we’ll have to know a lot more about the Neck homeworld before we go in blind. If we want to pull this off, we’ll need to gather intelligence first.” He inclined his head toward Dudette. “And I think I’ve found the ideal candidate for the job.”

The Neck look-alike’s optics whirred, focusing on Craig with a sharp glint. “Excuse me? Volunteering me without my consent? I believe that’s considered rude among humans.”

BOb let out a mechanical snicker. “Looks like someone’s scared.”

Dudette glared at him, her tone indignant. “Scared? Hardly. I just have an understandable aversion to dangerous missions where I might be turned into digital scrap metal.” She stared at Craig with feigned resignation. “If you want something done right, send the most advanced mind in the room—namely, me.”

“We should at least wait for Ghost’s diagnostic information before sending Dudette anywhere,” Angela said. “We don’t know what we’ll find there.”

Craig’s face hardened. “I get that, but with all due respect, Commander Brown, we also don’t know if Ghost will even be salvageable. And this—” he swept his hand around the room, indicating everyone present “—this isn’t just about the Necks. If we fail, Earth’s next in line for the Xenovore’s attack. We can’t afford to wait.”

Angela’s voice rose, a hint of anger in her tone. “Dispatching Dudette in now would be like sending a scout into the dark without a flashlight. We don’t know anything about the Neck homeworld—where she’d go, what defenses might be waiting. She could be vaporized on arrival!”

Dudette’s voice crackled with faux cheer. “Ah, that sounds less than optimal. Not exactly how I envisioned my next deployment.”

“Agreed,” Craig said. “We’ll need to implement a stealth insertion. Maximum discretion.”

The Octo guide’s luminous skin faded into serene, flowing hues as it drifted nearer. “Our technology can assist with preliminary scans. We have remote sensing capabilities that may allow us to gather intel with no need to send your scout into immediate danger.”

Vaughn grinned, feeling a sliver of hope cut through the tension. “Looks like it’s time to do a little recon. Let’s see what we’re up against before we dive in headfirst.”

CHAPTER 18

The team gathered in the Octo command room. Vaughn held a tablet, flipping through data as he listened to everyone’s arguments. He raised a hand, signaling for order. “Alright, we have two objectives: figure out how to disable the Xenovore within Ghost and gather intel on the Necks’ homeworld. To do both effectively, we’ll have to split into two groups. Let’s weigh out what that means.”

“I disagree,” Angela said. “Splitting our resources—our manpower—risks weakening both efforts. If either group runs into trouble, backup won’t be right there to help out.”

Monique adjusted her glasses, her tone as precise as ever. “While I acknowledge your concern, Commander, allocating the full team to a single task would be a gross inefficiency. My work on Ghost’s firmware demands a focused environment and, to be frank, a highly specialized skill set. An excess of personnel would add minimal value in that scenario.”

Rourke jumped in. “I’m with Monique. I’d rather have just the right people digging into Ghost than everyone crowding the lab. Besides, if the Necks are planning something huge against Earth, that recon team needs to get in there as soon as possible. We can’t afford to wait.”

Angela tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We’re still looking at high risks on both ends. If we can’t rewrite Ghost’s firmware successfully, that’s a dead end right there. And the team on the Neck homeworld… they’ll be in completely unfamiliar terrain, facing who knows what hazards.”

“True,” Vaughn said. “But that’s where precise communication comes in. I’ll make sure each team checks in hourly. We’ll establish protocols for immediate regrouping if anything feels off.”

Angela sighed, glancing at the others. “Alright. If we’re really doing this, then I’m pushing for strict documentation on every action Team A takes with Ghost’s firmware. If it goes sideways, we have to be able to retrace our steps—and we may need that intel if something happens to us.”

“Documentation will be comprehensive, Commander,” Monique assured her. “We shall meticulously record each phase of firmware analysis and rewrite.”

Teddy looked over, giving Angela a comforting smile. “Look on the bright side, Command-Oh. You’re not going into this alone. We’ll have a steady line to Yoda here.” He gave the Octopus a light nod, his grin widening.

“Yoda?” she asked, struggling to keep her expression serious.

Teddy leaned back, spreading his hands theatrically. “Think about it: mystical guide through the multiverse, speaks in riddles… Kinda fits, right?”

The Octo’s bubble pulsed with green and blue hues, as if it were processing the new nickname. “Yoda. Name accepted.”

“Now that we have that settled,” Vaughn said, “here’s the breakdown.”

He turned to the Octo guide. “Yoda, we will need your assistance overseeing both groups. I’ll bounce between both teams, but we’ll rely on you to support Team B’s recon mission.”

“I shall assist wherever possible.”

“Who are you assigning where, Vaughn?” Angela asked.

He scanned the room. “Team A, the firmware rewrite crew, includes Monique, Angela, Rourke, and Mark. They’ll be working closely on Ghost, developing a patch to disable the virus. You’re focusing on precision, so Monique’s technical expertise will be key.”

Lieutenant Commander Gheist dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I shall prioritize the elimination of Xenovore triggers while maintaining the integrity of Ghost’s operational systems. However, the process is complex and may require iterative testing to ensure stability.”

Vaughn acknowledged her and then turned to his friend. “Mark, I know you’re not exactly a tech guy, but I want you coordinating security and logistics for the operation. We’ll also need an emergency shutdown protocol in place at all times. Ghost might be cooperative, but if the Xenovore influences it even for a second, we shut everything down. That’s why I’m adding BOb to your team. He’ll have Big Sparky’s EMP charged up just in case.”

“Roger,” Mark said. “If things go sideways, we’ll be ready.”

“Yippee,” the battlebot remarked dryly. “I get to play babysitter.”

“We’ll get it done,” Angela said.

Vaughn then turned his attention to Craig. “Staff Sergeant Carmichael, you’re heading Team B, our recon group. I’m assigning the balance of the crew to you. Your primary objective is to gather intel on the Neck homeworld, especially potential ingress points for accessing their networks.”

“Sounds like a little sightseeing trip to me,” Teddy observed.

“Not exactly,” Craig said. “We’re not going in blind. This isn’t just recon; it’s a delicate operation. Stealth is our highest priority.” He motioned toward his special operations team. Will, Matilda, and Bandile stood poised and ready. “We’ll gather intel without stirring up any suspicion.”

Red Claw clacked his pincers with an eager smile. “Stealth is fine, but I am hoping for action if it comes to that.”

“Da! We’re going to make it smooth, but if anything goes wrong, we’ll need quick extraction options. We’re going into a world built and controlled by the Necks, and they’re not exactly gonna roll out the welcome mat, brah.”

“If you want my presence to be covert, I’ll operate on a strict stealth mode,” Dudette promised. “But don’t expect me to disable my sarcasm module. Colonel Singleton would feel the loss deeply.”

“Yeah, I’d be crushed, Dudette,” Vaughn said dryly. “Just make sure your sarcasm doesn’t get you in trouble.”

“She’s nothing but trouble,” BOb muttered.

Dudette quipped back, “Oh, darling BOb, you love it when I keep you on your steely toes.”

Vaughn couldn’t resist a chuckle. “You two get a room.”

Both robots turned quizzical looks at him, eliciting a round of laughter from the group, and easing the tension.

With a cough to bring them back to focus, Vaughn continued. “Team B, here are your primary objectives. One: conduct thorough reconnaissance using Octo resources. Find potential ingress points we can use to access the enemy’s networks or other critical infrastructure, assigning the highest priority to identifying and locating the Central Node Facility. Two: monitor the Necks’ preparation for their assault on Earth. Any intel you gather on timing, scale, or physical defenses is essential.”

“Aye aye, Colonel. We shall no fail ya,” Craig said. He addressed their guide. “We’ll need advanced imaging equipment. Anything that’ll give us detailed visuals without compromising our location.”

Yoda pulsed in agreement. “Octo resources are at your disposal. We possess a variety of stealth imaging technologies suited for reconnaissance, both ground- and space-based.”

“Good,” Vaughn replied, his tone firm. “Team B, you’re our eyes and ears. Whatever you find could change the entire course of this operation.” He scanned the room. “We’re up against the clock. Earth’s at stake, and every second counts. Any last thoughts before we commit to these assignments?”

Teddy looked around, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Just that I’ve got Team B’s back. Whatever happens, we’re bringing the intel we need.”

Angela placed a hand on Vaughn’s arm. “We’ll make sure Team A delivers, too.”

Vaughn took a deep breath, letting the gravity of the situation settle over the group. “Alright, we all have our assignments. Let’s get to work.”

CHAPTER 19

The Octo command center hummed with a low, steady vibration, like the quiet pulse of a sleeping giant. The bioluminescent glow from the walls cast a soft, shimmering light across Vaughn’s face as he strode inside. Staff Sergeant Carmichael moved in sync beside him.

Vaughn didn’t want to discuss this with the team, particularly Angela. She would have objected to this plan before he’d finished the first sentence. But this wasn’t about personal preferences; it was about survival. They needed an insurance policy—one capable of obliterating the Necks if things spiraled out of control.

Octo representatives blinked into focus across the biopods lining the walls, their luminous holographic forms pulsing as they acknowledged the two humans. Their ethereal presence was serene, almost calming, but he’d seen Octo warriors in action and knew better than to mistake that quiet composure for weakness.

“Colonel Singleton. Staff Sergeant Carmichael,” one Octopus greeted. “How may we assist you?”

“First, thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Vaughn said.

“Niceties are not required. State your case.”

Straight to the point, then, he thought, squaring his shoulders. “We need more power—enough to offset the current imbalance and give us options. You created one Singularity Tap Facility. How about doing it again? Is there a way to open another portal to a new wormhole?”

“As your guide previously informed you, portaling to a singularity already in use is impossible. Space-time cannot withstand the strain of duplicate connections to a single source.”

“We’re not asking you to open a second portal to the same wormhole,” Vaughn said. “What we need to know is whether there’s another singularity you can target—a different black hole, supermassive or otherwise, that could be tapped for energy.”

Craig advanced with measured resolve, his voice steady but firm. “If we had that kind of power available, we could run a planetary-scale Trans-Dimensional Initiator. With it, we’d be able to fine-tune the TDI to target only the Necks, effectively eliminating the threat.”

The Octos’ response was quick, almost defensive. “Colonel Singleton, the Collective are victims themselves. They are infected, twisted by the Xenovore. We must exhaust all efforts to save them before resorting to such extreme measures.”

Vaughn didn’t flinch. “I understand that, and believe me, I’d prefer not to have to consider this option. But the clock is ticking, and with every day we delay, Earth moves closer to the firing line. If I have to choose between humanity and the Necks, I’ll choose humanity. Every. Single. Time.”

The Octos were silent for a moment. The lights dimmed in their biopods as though they were processing his words. Finally, one spoke, its tone gentle but firm. “You speak with conviction, Colonel, yet are you certain you wish to bear such a burden? The Necks are more than mindless machines. They are a civilization.”

“I get it. I do. But we’re talking about extinction—ours, theirs, potentially everyone’s if the Xenovore isn’t stopped. And if that means taking drastic action… Well, it’s a choice I’m willing to make.”

The Octos exchanged a series of silent pulses before one spoke again. “And what would you do if, in another timeline, some other race chose humanity as the beings to eliminate?”

Vaughn’s features tightened, but his voice stayed level. “Then I would hope someone else was fighting to prevent it—just like we’re doing here. But this isn’t hypothetical. The Necks already wiped out countless civilizations in the old timeline. We stopped that cycle, and I’d rather not watch it repeat.”

He took a breath, keeping his voice low and level. “If they manage to wipe us from history, then everything we’ve sacrificed, everything we’ve achieved, all of that will vanish. And the Xenovore will go on, unchecked. You won’t be the only ones to fall. Every civilization across the multiverse will be at risk.”

The Octos stared back incredulously. “You seem confident in your achievements, Colonel.”

“No. This isn’t about confidence. It’s about the simple math of survival. We’ve all fought too hard for it to end now. If the Necks reach Earth, they’ll leave nothing behind.”

The Octos fell silent, considering his words.

After a few moments, one of them spoke. “We understand the gravity of your request, Colonel. However, despite the importance of your cause, our range has limits. There are no additional supermassive or even planetary black holes within our reach.”

Craig frowned, his posture deflating slightly as he realized they might not have the backup they’d hoped for. “So that’s a dead end?”

“Alright, scratch that approach. But…” Vaughn paused, the spark of an idea beginning to take form. His voice lowered. “Yoda said they chose an uninhabited planet for the Singularity Tap because the whole world could be pulled into the black hole if they lost containment.”

“That’s brilliant,” Craig said. “It could turn the entire planet into a death trap.”

“Exactly. If we could somehow trigger that collapse, we could deny the Necks both their power source and that world.”

A grim smile tugged at Craig’s mouth. “Would’ve been good to know we had this option back when we were fighting to free the Lobsters. That thing’s dangerous just sitting there, but it could be more useful in the right circumstances.”

“It’s almost a miracle the Necks managed to build an entire city around it without it imploding,” Vaughn said. “But if push comes to shove, that facility might just be the fallback we need.”

The Octos’ lights flashed brighter, their tones shifting to a mix of caution and curiosity as they followed the conversation. One spoke up. “The facility’s fail-safes are extensive. They were specifically designed to prevent such a collapse. Overcoming them would be no small task.”

As Vaughn digested their words, another thought occurred to him. “Considering that the robots must have a wormhole open between their homeworld and the Singularity Tap Facility, is it possible that both the Neck world and the facility’s world could collapse into the singularity?”

Craig released a low whistle. “Holy wee stoats!” he said under his breath. “That’s bloody dark, Colonel.”

He didn’t like it either, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Matching the sergeant’s tone, he said, “Two birds, one black hole.”

The Octo bobbed its giant head. “Possibly. We shall reevaluate the containment protocols, but as we have mentioned, the facility’s redundancies are extensive. Any modification or destabilization would require actions well outside of our normal procedures.”

Vaughn’s shoulders relaxed slightly, his expression softening with relief and a touch of satisfaction. “That’s all I ask. If all of our other efforts fall short, we just need an option. Something that keeps the Necks from ever posing a threat to Earth—or anyone else—again.”

Craig gave Vaughn a resolved nod. “If they can pull it off, that’s one less thing for us to worry about. One less threat lurking over our heads.”

Vaughn’s thoughts lingered on the plan, his mind reeling through the exigencies and potential setbacks. He’d have to tread carefully, especially around the rest of the team, but having a fallback option, however desperate, lent him a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dark path forward.

The Octos promised to update Vaughn on any findings related to the Tap Facility’s fail-safes.

Leaving, Vaughn felt a small burden ease from his shoulders. However, the knowledge that Angela would never forgive him if he implemented this contingency outweighed any sense of relief.

CHAPTER 20

The Octo command center thrummed softly, resonating with a low, steady vibration as Team B assembled to hear Yoda’s explanation of their next moves. A soft, phosphorescent glow suffused the room, casting shifting shades of blue and green over the group.

As Yoda floated to the front, Vaughn straightened. “Alright, everyone, listen up,” he began. “We’re about to get briefed on the Octos’ recon capabilities. The Necks won’t make this easy for us, so I need all of you locked in and focused. Now is the time to ask questions. I want to ensure we’ve considered every angle.”

Everyone sat up in their seats and acknowledged his directive.

“The floor is yours, Yoda.”

The lights in the room dimmed slightly as an image of the probe appeared in a projected hologram above the center console. The satellite resembled a sleek, streamlined orb with organic curves that pulsed faintly, its exterior almost liquid in its adaptability.

“These,” Yoda began, “are our reconnaissance probes. They are standard tools within Octo exploration missions across the multiverse. While not specifically designed for the Neck world, they are equipped for orbital research and are highly capable of covert, high-altitude operations.”

Vaughn looked thoughtful. “So they weren’t built just for us?”

“Correct,” Yoda replied. “They are ideal for missions where stealth and high-detail reconnaissance are needed. The probes’ capabilities are optimal for gathering intelligence without descending into the atmosphere.”

Teddy whistled. “You’re saying they can pick up clear intel from orbit alone? How much detail are we looking at?”

Yoda’s tentacles waved in subtle agreement. “They’re able to capture full-spectrum imagery, conduct electromagnetic scans, and collect thermal data from orbital altitudes. This enables them to map infrastructure, detect energy signatures, and reveal any active technological developments on the surface.”

Craig smiled. “That sounds ideal, and staying in orbit minimizes the risk of detection.”

“Minimizes, yes,” Yoda clarified. “The Necks’ defenses are likely complex and extensive. While the probes employ adaptive camouflage, avoiding close-range sensors will be key to maintaining secrecy.”

“Do they have the sensitivity to locate points of elevated activity, like Ghost’s Central Node Facility?” Vaughn asked.

“We believe so, but that largely depends on the nature of the facility, something we don’t fully know, presently.”

Matilda tilted her head. “So, are these satellites autonomous? How much decision-making can they handle on their own?”

“To an extent, yes,” Yoda said. “The probes operate autonomously within strict parameters. If threatened, they will initiate evasive actions or attempt a rapid return. However, their programming is focused solely on gathering data. They prioritize completing their mission but can avoid immediate threats if necessary.”

Teddy chuckled. “So, they’re basically playing a game of interstellar hide-and-seek?”

“More or less,” Yoda replied. “Should a probe face unavoidable capture, it will initiate a molecular disassembly sequence—its version of self-destruction.”

Red Claw clacked his pincers, a tone of admiration in his voice. “Efficient. No trace left behind.”

“What about their onboard portal generator?” Vaughn asked. “When they first fire up, they emit a light similar to our TDIs. Can’t the Necks read its frequency and trace the destination?”

“Negative, Colonel. They have built in frequency scramblers that obfuscate the portal’s destination.”

“Good. We don’t need the Necks tracing these things straight back to us.”

Craig regarded the Octo guide. “We’re going in blind here, and there could be monitoring systems we don’t know about. How likely are these satellites to avoid detection, given the Necks’ defenses?”

A flicker of crimson ran down Yoda’s form, signifying caution. “The probes’ exterior utilizes adaptive camouflage cells, which dynamically blend with their environment. This allows the units to operate at long ranges without detection. However, if they pass close to monitoring systems, concealment may be compromised.”

Red Claw’s antennas bounced. “We have to be careful not to show our hand, as the humans like to say.”

“I agree,” said the Octo. “We initially developed these probes to scan worlds where we detected intelligent beings. Our very strict no-contact rule for exploratory units meant we designed these devices from the outset to be highly discreet.”

Will Patterson, scrutinizing the hologram, asked, “What about their comm protocols? If a probe gets captured before it can disassemble, could the Necks trace its signal back here?”

“The probes have limited communication conventions,” Yoda responded. “They only transmit after completing a data-gathering cycle or when returning to base. If the probe detects unusual interference, it self-destructs immediately.”

“So the thing is silent until it’s done collecting intel,” Craig said.

“Yes, Sergeant. These probes are autonomous but not indestructible. They are prepared for significant threats, but the Necks are formidable in their orbital defenses. If detected, they will be vulnerable, and multiple attempts may be required to obtain a comprehensive assessment.”

“We’ve dealt with the Necks before,” Vaughn said. “It might be impossible to completely hide our efforts. They don’t take incursions lightly, and if they detect the probes, we’re going to see a reaction. How many of these do you have?”

“We have an ample supply. Should one or even several be lost, replacements can be deployed. We anticipated the possibility of high resistance and prepared accordingly.”

Dudette, silent until this point, tilted her head toward Yoda. “Excuse me. But let’s say one of these satellites survives long enough to transmit back its findings. How are you planning to analyze the information?”

The guide acknowledged her question with a vibrant blue pulse. “The probes’ data is routed directly to our analytical systems, where it undergoes processing in real time. Your team will have access to live feed displays here in the command center.”

Dudette’s lenses constricted. “Well, I suppose that’s efficient. At least I won’t have to do all the heavy lifting.”

“Do not worry, Dudette,” Teddy quipped. “I am sure they will have plenty of heavy lifting for you soon enough.”

The Neck look-alike responded with a dry tone, “Lucky me.”

Silence fell as everyone considered the Octo’s brief. Vaughn shifted his stance, looking around the group. “Alright, this sounds like a plan we can work with. Yoda, you’ll coordinate the probe deployments, and once they’re in position, we’ll evaluate the initial scans to determine the next step.”

The Octopus pulsed in agreement. “The Necks’ defenses are likely extensive, but we are confident the probes will yield valuable data.”

“Perfect. We’ll regroup once we have the preliminary intel. Everyone, keep your channels open and be prepared to respond if Yoda reports any significant findings. Let’s get ready for the next phase.”

PART III

CHAPTER 21

The Octo command center pulsed with a low, steady hum, a sound that, after days of little progress, felt like it echoed the team’s collective frustration. Vaughn surveyed the room from the table’s head. Everyone was present, each face hinting at the tension they’d kept under wraps but couldn’t hide now. He exhaled, then slapped his hand on the table with a crack that broke the silence.

“Alright, let’s address the elephant in the room,” he began, voice hard. “We’re days in, and all we have to show is a series of near-total failures.”

The words landed with a weight that settled over the group. Teddy shifted, crossing his arms, his mouth set in a tight line. Jacques tapped his fingers on the table’s edge, the slight click breaking the stillness, and Red Claw’s antennae twitched as he stared straight ahead. Craig sat back, glaring into the distance.

“We are up against defenses and tactics that’re like nothing we’ve seen before,” Vaughn said. “And with every wall we hit, we’re losing time we don’t have.”

“The Necks aren’t just sitting on their laurels,” Craig said. “Each time we’ve tried something, they’re ready—like the Xenovore is anticipating our moves before we make ’em.”

“Feels personal,” Teddy muttered, his fingers tapping faster against his bicep. “Every probe we send their way, they double down, as if the bastards are already two steps ahead.”

Red Claw clicked his mandibles. “More than a grudge,” he said, voice low. “It’s as if they’re reacting with memories they shouldn’t have.”

Vaughn rapped a knuckle on a nearby surface. “It confirms our theory that the Necks remember everything from before the timeline reset, just like we do.”

Craig sat forward. “So every delay, every misstep, gives them more time to build those defenses—with memories of all the tactics we used in the old timeline.”

“Exactly,” Vaughn replied. “And if they remember us, they’ve anticipated everything. Each of our attempts just strengthens their position.”

Jacques leaned forward, breaking his steady rhythm of tapping. “Pop! What’s the next step?”

Vaughn hesitated briefly before replying, observing the expressions on each face. He exhaled, finally turning back to the group. “We’re going to review every last detail,” he said. “Every failure, every small gain, anything we might’ve missed. Then we decide what comes next.”

Hello, ladies and gents, this is Dudette, the one and only, here to save you from a boring rehash. I’ll give you the latest scoop from our friendly neighborhood mess that is Neck Space and sprinkle it with panache. Settle in, because if you think reality TV has drama, you haven’t seen a drone get roasted by a sentient defense grid.

So, let’s start at the top. We’ve been trying to get our eyes on the Neck homeworld. Sounds easy enough, right? Just send in a probe, snap some pics, and portal it back to safety. Yeah, if only.

First try? We beam that sucker into orbital altitude above Neck HQ, thinking it’ll just quietly do its job. Except—whoosh—no data, no transmission, only eerie silence from the other end. Disappeared faster than a pizza at a teenager’s sleepover. We get nothing back but empty airwaves, as if it never existed.

Vaughn, ever the optimist, decides on a second shot. This time, he rigs the drone to beam itself back after a solid minute of data capture. Just enough time to say “cheese” and scoot out. We run the sequence, beam it up, and wait. Sixty seconds tick by… nada. Drone number two vanishes like it got beamed straight into the Bermuda Triangle.

So, at this point, we’re in too deep to give up. Drone three goes up, mission parameters adjusted to something ridiculously simple: get a single 360-degree image, and then hightail it back. Just one snapshot—that’s it. And, lo and behold, it actually comes back. Only, let’s just say it didn’t return looking quite like it left.

Picture this: it pops in, smoldering, with scorch marks up the side, circuits sparking like a rigged slot machine. First thing I see on the feed? Hundreds of little Neck space fighters—‘Arrows,’ they call ’em—swarming it like bees on a honeycomb. The drone barely escaped with its, uh, figurative life.

And the photo? Oh, that’s the real kicker. We’ve got defense platforms galore, looking like someone took Earth’s old orbital satellite network and then beefed it up with a trillion-dollar military budget. Platforms stacked and positioned to cover every angle, like they’re daring us to try another sneak peek. We’re talking heavy artillery, guided projectiles, even nose-mounted TDIs just for laughs.

Turns out, these Necks remember the smack down from the old timeline. They’re not only prepared; they’re practically taunting us to take a swing. So, yeah, that’s where we’re at. Earth’s got a target on its back, and we’re running out of new ways to keep our drones in one piece.

Anyway, that’s the poop so far. I’m off to rewatch Terminator—might give us some fresh ideas. Stay tuned.

Vaughn ground two fingers into his temples. The past days had been taxing, with drones disappearing and probes failing to break through the Necks’ planetary defenses. They had to find another way.

“Alright,” he said, breaking the silence, “we’re officially on the clock. Earth won’t survive an assault. We have to get ahead of this.” His words drew somber reactions as attention turned to the partial images from the damaged probe—their only visual confirmation of Neck Arrows swarming the void. “Now that we’ve rehashed everything up to this point, I need your ideas. Talk to me, people.”

Craig tilted forward, hands clasped. “We need a different approach, Vaughn. Right now, the Necks are picking off our drones before they can send back anything worthwhile. What if we start from farther out?” He traced a point on the projected map hovering above the table, indicating a spot just beyond the Neck homeworld’s moon. “If we deploy there, we might gather intel from a distance without triggering immediate defenses.”

“A solid idea,” Vaughn said. “But it won’t give us enough detail. Time isn’t exactly on our side for baby steps. If we’re serious about this, we have to get more than just images from far out. We need something actionable.”

Red Claw tapped one of his pincers. “Distance,” he said in his gravelly voice, “makes cowards of us all. If we can’t get close, we’re only guessing. We won’t see their weaknesses.”

Dudette’s robotic tone cut in as she tilted her head. “With all due respect, distance also makes things, uh, less lethal for us,” she said, a touch of humor in her synthetic voice. “And by us, I mean me.”

The Octo guide finally spoke. “Our starship has capabilities that could assist,” it responded. “A portal can be opened that places the ship beyond the moon. This would allow us to leverage its stealth technology, observing without revealing our position.”

“We’d be risking detection by portaling in, but their moon should shield our entry point,” Craig said. “And if we’re careful, we might avoid triggering any early warnings.”

The Octo’s tentacles undulated as it continued. “The Necks have advanced trans-dimensional sensors. While our stealth shields are formidable, there is always a risk they may sense our entry, even from behind the moon.”

“Okay,” Vaughn said. “Let’s send some drones through before we pop in, make sure its far side is clear.”

The Octo paused for a moment, remotely communicating with other members of its race. Vaughn guessed it to be Command and Control, the section of Octos that would plan tactical decisions.

Jacques, who had been quietly observing, asked, “Do we have any intel on how they respond to sudden activity in space? It’s clear they have orbital defenses, but they might have routine patrols around the moon. Pop!”

“Nothing confirmed,” Vaughn admitted. “But from what we saw in those few seconds of three-hundred-and-sixty-degree footage, they’ve certainly got the planet well covered.”

The Octo stirred, having completed its consultation with Command and Control. “We shall portal directly over without sending probes in advance. It has been decided that it is not worth losing the element of surprise by showing our hand to the enemy.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Vaughn prompted. “You’re making it kind of an all-or-nothing proposition. What if the Necks have scouts patrolling the far side of the moon? It’s not exactly rocket science to figure out that would be a place to try to stage an unnoticed approach from.”

The guide’s radiant skin glimmered. “It has been decided,” the Octopus said with finality, broaching no further discussion on the matter.

The Octo’s attitude reminded Vaughn of the frustrations expressed by their older doppelgängers when the stalwart aliens had fired up the Singularity Tap despite the pair’s dire warnings.

The Octopus peered back, unresponsive. Vaughn may as well have been staring at a statue. He threw his hands up in surrender. “Screw it. What could go wrong?” he said wryly.

CHAPTER 22

The hum of equipment filled the Octo lab, punctuated by the soft glow of bioluminescent panels that cast a cool, otherworldly light over the room. Organic technology and traditional human tools lay scattered across every surface, bridging the divide between the two civilizations in a cluttered but functional harmony. At the center of the chamber, a hologram of the Necks’ matrix hovered over a domed screen, slowly rotating, each line of code and component rendered in intricate detail.

Vaughn stared at the display, fatigue etched in the lines of his visage as he studied the red and blue nodes flickering on the screen. Angela, Monique, Rourke, and Mark gathered, their faces illuminated in the glow. BOb was standing guard nearby, holding Big Sparky at the ready. A faint metallic tang hung in the air, mixed with the distinct, salty-sweet scent of Octo bio-gel as the organic systems worked in tandem with their human counterparts’ equipment.

Monique focused on the data in front of her, her fingers flying across the tablet as she manipulated lines of code. Without looking up, she spoke, her voice clinical yet tinged with the weariness of days spent in relentless trial and error.

“We are developing a design-time procedure to automatically and methodically modify portions of the Necks’ matrix that exhibit traits of the Xenovore Trojan,” she said, pointing at a cluster of red-highlighted nodes on the hologram. “Each modification is incremental, targeting areas where we suspect the virus has embedded itself. But it is precise work, more so than anything we have dealt with before. Each change risks disrupting core functions.”

“So how do you confirm the, uh, intended circuit functionality hasn’t changed?” Vaughn asked, folding his arms, his tone skeptical but genuinely curious.

Monique’s expression remained impassive. “By running a virtual copy of the Neck in the air-gapped computer environment we created with the Octos.” She pointed to a screen nearby, where a smaller version of the hologram was cycling through models of the Necks’ matrix. “We simulate various runs in compressed time, testing each change against the system. However, the Xenovore adapts to every firmware modification we have implemented to thwart its code. It slips through with a novel approach, triggering that familiar red-eye effect.”

Vaughn looked at Angela. In her eyes, he saw the same question that was racing through his mind—how could they match a force that constantly outmaneuvered them?

“It’s as if the virus isn’t just lying in wait,” Angela murmured. “The thing is… getting insights from us?”

Monique kept her gaze fixed on the display, seamlessly pulling up a new simulation dataset. “Precisely,” she affirmed. “The Xenovore uses heuristic learning and adaptive algorithms, changing its infiltration methods with each modification we implement. It is like a shadow-boxing match. We swing, it ducks, and before we know it, it has landed another blow.”

Mark edged closer to the display, scanning the intricate web. “So the bastard is actively learning from us, from each move we make.”

Rourke shook his head slowly. “It’s not enough to just out-code it, then. This thing’s practically playing chess with us—except it doesn’t have to play by any of the rules.”

Monique’s fingers stilled for a moment, a slight tremor in her hand betraying her frustration as she looked at the screen, her usually sharp eyes dull with exhaustion. “Yes. Each attempt ends the same way. Either the simulation fails, or the virus takes over entirely.”

Vaughn studied the equipment laid out on the table, feeling the weight of his own frustration settle over him. He picked up a small metal analyzer tool and turned it over in his hand, his thoughts racing. They were running out of options—every moment they spent here brought them closer to when the Necks would launch their attack.

With a resigned sigh, Vaughn fumbled for the tool and dropped it. The metallic clatter echoed loudly in the silent room. He bent to pick it up, muttering as he did, “If only we could trick this thing into thinking it’s already won.”

As he straightened, he caught Monique’s sharp intake of breath. She froze, staring at him.

“From the mouths of babes,” she murmured, almost to herself, her voice carrying an edge of excitement. Then she turned to him, her usual stilted formality briefly forgotten. “Colonel, go take a break. We have work to do.”

Vaughn looked between her and Angela. “A break? Monique, what are you talking about?”

She ignored his question; her focus entirely on the display as her fingers resumed their rapid movements across the screen. Her tone was brisk, almost dismissive. “Colonel, please. Trust me. I have an idea—a reframe of the entire strategy we have been using. This might just be the insight we needed.”

Angela moved closer, her expression a mixture of curiosity and hope as she leaned toward Monique. “What is it? What do you see?”

The lieutenant commander continued typing. “We have been treating the Xenovore as a static problem, something we keep trying to eliminate or redirect. But…” She paused, zooming in on a cluster of nodes she’d highlighted on the screen, the red and blue glowing softly as she adjusted their parameters. “If we can make it think it has already infiltrated us—lull it into a false sense of security, so to speak—it might reveal a dormant structure, an escape hatch of sorts.”

Vaughn looked skeptical, but he could see the wheels turning in her mind, the glint of sudden clarity. “Like a fake victory?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “We are not going to fight it head-on. We will make the Xenovore believe it has already won.” Her hands moved with renewed energy as she adjusted another setting, reconfiguring the simulation to accommodate her alternative approach.

Angela snapped upright. “Monique! That could work! If the virus is in some kind of dormant state, we might be able to isolate it, maybe even trick it into shutting itself down.”

She didn’t respond immediately, too focused on her task. Her fingers tapped out commands with a precision that bordered on fierce.

Vaughn looked at Angela, Rourke, and Mark, seeing the same mix of skepticism and hope reflected in each of their faces.

Finally, Monique straightened, her expression intense as she looked up at him. “It is going to take time, Vaughn. But I believe this is the way forward. We will need to act quickly and carefully. But if we can make this work, we might have a chance to purge the Xenovore from Ghost, and maybe from all the Necks.”

Vaughn gave her a crooked grin. “Glad I could help, Monique. I’ll let you do your thing now.”

CHAPTER 23

The Luminara erupted from the portal on the far side of the moon, a dark starship gliding silently into the shadowed space. Its engines flared briefly as it stabilized, armor reflecting the cold light of distant stars.

Vaughn took in the scene from the bridge, his body tense with anticipation.

“Shields to maximum,” ordered the captain. The intercom feed provided by the Octos automatically translated all command deck communications. Vaughn had insisted on the measure to make sure he and his people remained in the loop, maintaining their situational awareness.

Warnings blared across the displays. Aiming his translator, he saw each flashed with the same message: Incoming Hostiles.

“Dammit!” Vaughn barked, slamming his hand against the railing. Visible through the viewport, a wave of silver shapes sliced across the blackness, closing the gap between the Luminara and the lunar surface in seconds. The starship’s inertial dampeners protected him from becoming a bulkhead bug stain as the giant vessel snap-rolled away from the incoming attackers, blurring the moon before Vaughn could make out so much as a crater. He glimpsed the hostiles, though. Neck Arrows. Hundreds of the space fighters moved with precision, darting toward the Octo ship in a coordinated assault.

“I hate it when I’m right,” Vaughn muttered, teeth clenched as the enemy fighters split into squads, encircling the Luminara. He’d told the Octopuses to send a probe before crossing over, but the aliens adamantly refused.

The starship shuddered, bio-plasma shields flaring as the first Arrows struck, lasers and missiles slashing against the barrier. Each impact sent ripples of blue light across the Luminara’s hull, the shields straining to absorb the onslaught. The fighters wheeled and banked with mechanical precision, darting in and out of the ship’s defenses like a swarm of deadly insects.

If even one Arrow got through the shields, Vaughn knew its nose-mounted weaponized TDI would carve up the starship, beaming large chunks of it to Hell and exposing its occupants to the void.

“Brace yourselves!” Yoda’s electronic voice cut through the chaos, sounding calm, though the Octo’s glowing patterns guttered with agitation.

Craig, beside Vaughn, gripped the edge of the console as he took in the unfolding battle. “They’re coming from every angle! We’re boxed in!”

From somewhere on the lower decks, heavy gun batteries erupted to life, launching bursts of searing bolts toward the encroaching Arrows. The defensive emplacements tracked each target, unleashing waves of bio-plasma in rapid succession. Several space fighters disintegrated mid-flight, vaporized as the blasts struck true, leaving faint trails of ionized gas where they once flew. But for every Arrow obliterated, three more took its place, flooding into the battle with undeterred focus.

Vaughn didn’t understand how there could be so many enemy combatants this far from the planet. He tried to glimpse the moon’s surface, but it remained nothing but a blur, the starship maneuvering too quickly.

An Arrow darted close, skimming the exterior of the Luminara, its sleek metallic hull reflecting the light from the ship’s own defense cannons. Vaughn watched as it spiraled in, firing a precise shot at one of the shield generators. The shield flickered, momentarily weakened, before stabilizing.

Yoda’s voice crackled through the comms. “Their attacks are calculated. They are probing our defenses, searching for vulnerabilities.”

“No kidding,” Vaughn growled, watching the Arrows weave through the plasma bursts as threads through a needle. “They’re like wolves, taking chunks out of us one at a time.”

He barely finished the sentence when another wave of fighters swept in, firing a barrage of missiles that pounded the Luminara’s defenses. He felt the impacts in his bones, each hit rattling the ship. The defensive systems strained under the assault, adaptive shields flaring and reshaping to absorb the energy, but it was a losing game of attrition.

“Target group four,” commanded the ship’s captain, directing the bio-plasma weapons to focus on the largest formation closing in from the port side.

Vaughn followed Yoda’s gaze to an external video feed, where a tightly packed grouping of Arrows advanced with chilling precision. As the cannons fired in unison, the plasma rounds tore through the formation, ripping the fighters apart in bright flashes of blue fire. Fragments of destroyed ships spun away, tumbling into the void, but the remaining Arrows shifted course instantly, adapting, using the debris as temporary cover before resuming their assault.

“These things are learning,” Vaughn muttered, watching in grim fascination. “They’re adjusting on the fly, just like the virus in Ghost.”

The shields strained as another wave of impacts rippled across the hull. He gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the railing as the violent shudders outstripped the capacity of the inertial dampeners. Yoda’s radiant markings were flickering in a tight, intense rhythm as the Octo guide conversed with the command staff.

“We are recalculating defensive measures,” Yoda said, returning with a note of tension creeping into its typically calm features. “However, the volume of fire is considerable.”

“Understatement of the year,” Vaughn muttered, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

A blinding explosion erupted on the starboard side, momentarily lighting the bridge as a group of Arrows breached the shield. The failure exposed one of the defensive turrets to direct enemy fire. The emplacement shattered, debris spinning out into space, leaving a gaping hole in the ship’s defenses.

“Dammit!” Vaughn spat, feeling the frustration rise. “We’re getting shredded out here!”

Yoda’s voice cut through again, calm but edged with urgency. “Preparing evasive maneuvers. We must reposition if we are to avoid critical damage.”

The starship’s gravity arrays hummed as it rolled hard to port, shifting its angle relative to the incoming Arrows. Rotating to bring fresh shields against the oncoming space fighters, the ship maneuvered into a steep arc. The point-defense systems continued their deadly work, pulsing bursts of bio-plasma, but the Necks seemed unfazed, diving into the fire, indifferent to their own destruction as they drove toward the heart of the Octo ship.

Luminara’s massive engines flared, propelling them into a broad turn. As the vessel maneuvered, Vaughn finally got a good look at the moon. A machine city covered the entire lunar surface. The sprawling expanse of industrial structures, metallic towers, and interconnected buildings filled every available stretch of land. The Necks had transformed the once desolate landscape into a fortress.

“They’ve taken the whole damn moon,” Craig muttered, voice low with disbelief.

Frustration twisted in Vaughn’s chest. “They don’t see resources the way we do. To them, every inch of rock, every grain of sand, it’s all just space to be filled.”

More Arrows surged up from the surface, joining the fray. The Luminara continued its arc, seeking refuge beyond the moon’s horizon.

“Yoda, tell me this was worth it,” Vaughn said.

The Octo’s markings flared again, a response in colors he couldn’t fully interpret. “We did not anticipate the extent of their presence here. It appears their occupation is more entrenched than we believed.”

As they finally crested the moon’s limb, the Luminara swung into open space, allowing them an unimpeded view of the Neck homeworld. Vaughn’s breath caught at the sight. The planet below was an endless sprawl of metal cityscape stretching from pole to pole. Where oceans once existed, there was now only hard, barren ground covered by metallic infrastructure. Towers and spires shot up from the dry seabeds, casting jagged shadows over the landscape. Covering continents and ocean floors, the structures stood out visibly, despite the starship’s remote observation point.

“They drained the oceans,” Vaughn said, almost to himself. What had they done with all the water? Converted it? Tossed it into space? The implications were staggering. The Necks had reshaped their entire world to suit their needs, erasing every trace of natural geography.

Craig exhaled slowly. “It’s like Earth, but stripped down, rebuilt from the bones.”

And then Vaughn saw it—a series of massive orbital rings encircling the planet in layers. They bristled with weaponry, their surfaces lined with platforms and stations, each one humming with activity. They were defensive fortresses in their own right, designed to repel any assault before it could reach the surface.

“This isn’t just a planet,” Vaughn muttered. “It’s a fortress.”

A shadow swept across the viewport. He looked up, and his stomach dropped. Filling the sky above the world was a vast cloud, an immense swarm of Arrows so dense that they looked like a single, solid mass, pulsing and shifting as they moved. The sheer size of it was overwhelming.

“Their numbers exceed all projections,” Yoda said. “We cannot withstand an assault of this magnitude.”

Luminara’s shields flared, struggling to hold under the continuing barrage of the moon’s fighters. The first wave of planet-based Arrows surged ever closer, a relentless tide. It was only a matter of time before the defenses would fail.

The captain’s markings flashed urgently, signaling the command staff. “Prepare for transition. We must retreat.”

Vaughn took a steadying breath, watching as the planet shrank in the viewport, the endless cityscape retreating from sight. The Octos started the portal sequence, and the ship shuddered as the swirling energies of the trans-dimensional wormhole engulfed them.

A blinding flash filled the bridge as the Luminara slipped back into Octo space, the battle-filled, starry void replaced by the tranquil, luminescent expanse of their home sector. Vaughn exhaled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since they’d entered the moon’s orbit.

The Octo guide’s voice was soft, contemplative. “We underestimated the strength of their defenses. This… complicates matters.”

Vaughn stared into the void. The image of the fortress-planet seared into his memory. “They are not just defending their world,” he murmured. “They’re preparing for war. And if we’re going to stop them, we’ll need a whole new plan.”

CHAPTER 24

The vast domed Octo command center towered over Vaughn. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of it pressing down on him, even as he stood within the bubble of constrained air that held back the flooded environment. Light refracted through the water, casting wavering shadows and giving everything an otherworldly quality.

He took in the serious expressions on the faces of his team. Everyone was tense, and no wonder. The Luminara, with him and Craig hanging on for their lives, had barely escaped an assault that had felt like a hornet’s nest cracking open in space. Now, the enormity of their task hovered over them with oppressive weight.

“We saw enough out there,” Vaughn began, his voice carrying a grim edge. “I don’t think we can get in from space. That planet is more fortified than we ever imagined.”

“Then what’s the alternative?” Craig asked. “We portal in even farther out—deep space? They wouldn’t expect us there, and they certainly couldn’t cover every insertion point.”

“It doesn’t matter how far out we portal,” Vaughn said. “We learned what we needed from that first contact: the Necks have the planet locked down tight. The whole objective was to assess their defenses and locate a way to breach them. We won’t find that from space.”

A moment of silence followed. Then Yoda said, “We managed to capture a highly detailed scan of the planet, even from the moon’s distance.”

“Um,” Craig said, scratching his chin. “How is that possible? You told us the probes needed to be in low orbit to get that kind of resolution. We never got closer than the moon.”

Yoda’s bioluminescent patterns pulsed, showing a sense of satisfaction, or perhaps pride. “The Luminara possesses scanners far superior to those of the probes. Our recon-in-force was deliberate. We acquired the data needed in minimal time, despite the risk.”

“What kind of data?” asked Will Patterson.

“Visual, magnetic flux, and gravimetric.”

“So that’s why you insisted on taking the ship in without scouting it out first,” Vaughn said. “You had this capability all along. You could’ve shared that info, you know.”

“Trust is earned over time, Colonel Singleton. Our full capabilities are our most guarded asset. Transparency, while desirable, can sometimes be imprudent.”

Vaughn bit back his irritation while also wondering what else the aliens might be holding in reserve. “Fair enough,” he admitted. “Just… don’t spring surprises like that on us again. We’re supposed to be allies, after all.”

Yoda turned and activated the central hologram. “We captured the layout of the planet’s entire moon-facing surface.” The alien flourished a tentacle. “Observe.”

As the rendering materialized, Vaughn felt his irritation fade. The organics coalesced into a 3D image of the Neck homeworld, its metal cityscape spanning from pole to pole.

The planet hung within the holographic display, resplendent in staggering detail. Vaughn saw layers of metallic sprawl, the rigid geometry of industrial structures, and defensive rings bristling with weaponry.

A pulsing circular symbol sprang to life in the planet’s Northern Hemisphere, its rhythmic glow drawing everyone’s attention. The hologram zoomed in slightly, revealing an intricate overlay of data streams flickering across the metallic expanse. The icon blinked over a pair of small, interconnected points of elevated terrain encircled by a shimmering digital grid. Signals flowed in and out of the region like neural pulses. Linear processions of light spiked and converged there, forming a web of constant activity.

“What do those lines of flowing lights represent?” asked Bandile Ngcobo.

“Those are communication signals. Our Magnetic Flux Arrays identified this region as having the highest load of data traffic.” The Octo gestured toward the glowing icon, and the display enhanced further, highlighting the territory in vibrant hues. The data streams flowed outward, cascading into the surrounding sprawl, as though the twinned features served as the planet’s brainstem, coordinating and disseminating information. “We believe this area may house the Central Node Facility that Ghost mentioned.”

Vaughn leaned closer. “How can you be sure? The rendering only depicts half the pla…”

His words trailed off as light glinted off the sea of metallic buildings surrounding the two elevated regions, triggering a spark of recognition. The raised areas bristled with strange structures that didn’t match the rest of the cityscape’s industrial uniformity. His mind churned as the shapes scrolled past.

Squinting, he studied the outlines and then looked at the northern highland. He physically jerked back as recognition slammed home. The Octo was right. It had to be the Central Node Facility. “That… That’s Corsica,” he murmured, the words slipping out unbidden.

The realization made his pulse quicken. He’d lost count of the number of times the island had played a role in their journey.

“Corsica, huh?” Craig said. “Seems like we’ve got a theme going on here.”

“You’re not wrong,” Vaughn replied, unable to shake the eerie feeling of inevitability. He studied the lines of digital communications. Flowing lights streamed in and out of a region between the two highlands. It would’ve been the Strait of Bonifacio in the home ’verse. The dry channel’s entire expanse glowed brightly in the data layer.

Vaughn pointed at the area. “Show us more detail here.”

The Octo zoomed in on Corsica, revealing additional visual details. However, the data overlay’s resolution remained the same. The strait filled most of the rendering, but the entire digital portion presented as an undefined bright blob.

Vaughn’s initial elation waned. That was an enormous area. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of buildings crowded the channel in the visual presentation.

“How on earth can we search a region that big?” asked Matilda.

“I was just wondering the same thing, Sergeant Grant,” Vaughn said. “If we only needed to neutralize the node, I’d ask the Octos to portal a nuke right into the middle of it all, assuming they have such things, but we need it intact.”

“Where would we even start to look?” Bandile Ngcobo asked.

“A solution I may have,” announced Yoda in a throaty approximation of its namesake’s voice. When everyone started laughing, the Octopus looked at its translator. “Working this is not?”

Vaughn pointed a finger at the Neck look-alike. “Dammit, Dudette! Cut that shit out.”

The robot raised four hands in feigned innocence. “Moi?”

“Yes, you. Fix it, now!”

“Geez! We should call you Captain Buzzkill⁠—”

“Now!” he barked, cutting her off.

She stilled for a moment. “Done. I’ve reset the translator.”

He glared at the robot for a beat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he addressed the guide. “You were saying?”

Yoda looked from Dudette to Vaughn and then, with its usual voice reinstated, said, “Our Gravity Manipulation Arrays registered subtle anomalies beneath the surface, hinting at a network of subterranean tunnels. However, our other sensors detected no electronic activity in those areas.”

As they watched, the hologram’s point of view started descending through the buildings, revealing the region in horizontal slices like scrolling through layers of an MRI. As it descended through the planet’s crust, Vaughn saw faint lines outlining a labyrinth of voids beneath the strait’s lowland. The tunnels were barely visible, their edges fuzzy, but the pattern unmistakable.

“It seems oddly convenient to have tunnels under the area we need to explore,” Matilda said.

“Not at all, Sergeant Grant,” responded the Octo. “Our sensors identified similar structures across the region. I only point out these because of their potential significance.”

“Those tunnels are our way in,” Craig said.

Vaughn looked at Yoda. “Can you open a portal that far underground?”

“Yes, if we place the generator above that location in our world, it will work to the depth of these tunnels.”

“Out-fecking-standing!” clapped the staff sergeant. “We’ll insert Dudette and have her map out the region, see if she can identify the node’s exact position.”

“Agreed,” Vaughn said. “Maybe Monique can work her patch from there, assuming she ever gets it past the vaporware stage.”

He trailed off, lost in thought. His mind spun with possibilities, not just for infiltration, but for something darker. He kept his face neutral, but inside, the pieces of their potential fallback plan percolated. The idea simmered, unspoken. If all else failed, if it came down to humanity’s survival versus annihilation, they could exploit the black hole, turn it against the Necks. The Central Node Facility sat very close to the Octo Singularity Tap Facility’s counterpart in this universe—not that proximity was a factor. That such an important and central component of the Xenovore’s infrastructure lay so close to the potential attack’s epicenter seemed serendipitous.

Craig pulled him back to the present. “You think we can get close without tripping alarms?”

Vaughn’s expression turned grim as he let out a resigned breath. “I’m not sure, but we have to give it a try.” He motioned toward the robot standing nearby. “I believe it’s time to send Dudette in.”

The Neck look-alike gave a feeble four-handed clap and uttered a dry, “Yippee…”

Yoda’s skin glowed in soothing, steady patterns. “We will provide every assistance available.”

“Thank you.” Vaughn regarded his team. His gaze landed on Craig, then on Jacques, Red Claw, Teddy, and the rest. The corner of his mouth twitched. “What are you sitting there for? Let’s make sure we’re ready for whatever waits for us down there. We might not get a second chance.”

The team dispersed, each member heading off to prepare for the mission ahead.

Vaughn lingered a moment, watching as the zoomed-in holographic image of Corsica rotated slowly, the tunnels beneath it highlighted in an ominous glow. The weight of his unspoken plan pressed on him, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. For now, they’d focus on getting in, collecting the data, and identifying a node connection point. But if the time came, he’d do whatever it took to protect humanity—even if it meant pulling the entire Neck homeworld into a black hole.

Taking one last glance at the ominous display, Vaughn walked away to prepare himself, his mind weighed down by the decisions ahead.

CHAPTER 25

Angela observed Monique’s steady, focused expression as they gathered around the central console in the lab. It was a high-tech haven, cluttered with monitors, data streams, and various Octo-enhanced equipment—each piece buzzing or humming softly. This was where they had spent countless hours analyzing, dissecting, and attempting to purge the Xenovore virus from Ghost’s matrix.

Vaughn was off with Team B, so Monique had taken the lead—this was her battlefield, a war waged in lines of code and the circuits beneath.

Chewing a lip, Angela watched the holographic display above the main console. It showed Ghost’s virtual matrix, an intricate web of data points and pathways, pulsating in time with its simulated life. The team looked tense, everyone observing Monique as she prepared to execute yet another iteration.

Angela cleared her throat. “Alright, Commander Gheist, walk us through this novel approach.”

“This time, we are attempting a decoy strategy. The idea is to create a virtual environment within the sandbox that mimics the exact vulnerabilities the virus is programmed to exploit. Essentially, we are creating a ‘honeypot’—a lure that appears to be a weakness but is, in fact, an isolated section of the matrix.”

Her attention returned to the holographic display. Faint blue light emanated from the quarantined circuitry. “This decoy environment is layered with false triggers and pathways that should draw the Xenovore in. Once it enters, it will be trapped within a controlled ecosystem, allowing us to analyze its behavior.”

Angela’s brow lifted. “So, you’re saying the virus believes it’s an entry point, but really, it’s walking into a trap?”

“Precisely,” Monique said. “Once the Xenovore is lured into this decoy environment, it cannot affect the rest of the matrix. We can then inject a counter-algorithm designed to lock the entity in a loop, rendering it unable to adapt or escape.”

Mark looked intrigued. “So, you’ve made a digital cage. How do we keep the virus from realizing it’s being tricked?”

Monique nudged her drooping cheaters back to the bridge of her nose. “We will run the decoy environment in a hyper-accelerated time frame, making it appear as though vulnerabilities are being exposed faster than they actually are. By observing the virus in this expanded-temporal space, we can see how it reacts to each false trigger, and modify our countermeasures in real time.”

Angela tapped her chin. “And you think this will actually work?”

Monique didn’t hesitate. “We have run multiple scaled-down simulations, each with slight variations in the decoy environment. Each time, the virus was successfully isolated without compromising the core matrix. However, this attempt represents our first employment utilizing the fully realized model of Ghost’s circuitry. It will take longer and consume greater resources, but the results should prove definitive.”

Cautious hope mirrored Angela’s own as she observed her teammates. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Monique turned to the console and began typing rapidly. Lines of code streamed across the monitors, and the decoy environment within the sandbox matrix shifted, transforming into a layered, complex web of fake entry points, each one crafted to lure the virus deeper.

As the trap activated, they watched the simulation in expanded time. The modeled circuitry glowed softly, pulsing with life. Angela noticed how meticulously she had built this decoy—the environment mimicked every detail of the original matrix’s vulnerabilities, yet she carefully controlled and isolated each layer.

“Here it goes,” Monique murmured, her fingers pausing over the keyboard as the virus approached the decoy environment.

Everyone held their breath as the Xenovore, represented as a dark red pulse within the simulation, latched onto the first lure. It seemed almost eager, its pulsations growing faster as it drilled into what it believed to be a weakness. Angela could see the virus probing, spreading tendrils as it delved deeper, unaware that it was moving through a contained labyrinth.

“It’s working,” Mark whispered, staring unblinkingly.

Monique’s gaze never left the display. “The virus is progressing through the layers exactly as anticipated. It appears to be responding to the false triggers as though they are legitimate entry points.”

She adjusted a setting on the console, increasing the simulation’s speed. “Now, we inject the counter-algorithm.”

Monique’s hands danced over the controls as she activated the opposing code. It presented in the simulation as a series of blue nodes surrounding the Xenovore. Each junction pulsed with a faint light, emitting waves that interfered with the virus’s movements. The counter-algorithm generated an endless loop of false positives—an infinite string of fabricated threats that would trap it in a perpetual cycle, wasting its adaptive abilities on phantom weaknesses.

Angela stared at the screen. “Is it…? Is it working?”

Monique’s expression moderated with a rare hint of satisfaction. “Look. The virus is attempting to adapt to the false positives, but each time it attempts to move past a barrier, another one materializes. It is expending its resources trying to counter threats that do not actually exist.”

Angela allowed herself a small smile. “Looks like we’ve got it running in circles.”

The naval commander tilted forward, the corner of her mouth twitching. “And the best part: the Xenovore thinks all of it is real and that it is in control.”

For the next several hours, they ran multiple iterations of the decoy environment, each time introducing slight changes to ensure the entity would remain contained. Monique insisted on meticulous testing, refusing to declare victory until every test had passed without the virus breaking free.

On the final iteration, Angela felt her heart rate quicken as they monitored the miniature Necks within the sandbox. The optics of each virtual robot had consistently turned red in past tests, signifying the virus’s presence. But now, they stayed white, untainted.

“It’s holding,” Mark said, his voice low and almost reverent.

Monique leaned back, exhaling slowly as the tension finally eased from her shoulders. “Yes,” she whispered. “The core functionality of the matrix remains intact, and the virus has been successfully neutralized within the decoy environment.”

Angela clapped her shoulder. “You did it, Monique. I think this’ll work.”

A small smile broke through her normally serious visage. “Yes, but this is only the beginning. Now that we know it works in the virtual environment, we must determine how to implement it on a broader scale.”

Angela’s expression sobered as the weight of the task settled back on them. “One step at a time,” she said. “For now, let’s focus on finalizing this patch for Ghost. Once we confirm it works on him, we can talk about taking it to the rest of the Necks.”

Monique gave a nod, already shifting her attention back to the data, her mind undoubtedly racing with plans for the next stage.

CHAPTER 26

Vaughn met Staff Sergeant Carmichael in a secluded section of the Octo’s domed underwater complex. It sat off to the side of the central chamber, its outward facing translucent walls revealing a shimmering, aquatic world beyond. Bioluminescent life forms swam by, casting ambient, shifting light into the room. The creatures weaved in and out of the undulating strands of a kelp-like forest. Glowing organic orbs floated through the liquid-filled facility behind them, sending the men’s shadows dancing over the floor of the air bubble.

Turning away from the incredible scenery, Vaughn looked at Craig. The staff sergeant had a tablet in hand, his fingers tapping across it as he pulled up tactical notes and contingency plans. The Scot’s face exuded calm professionalism, his posture straight as he offered the computer. “Give it a gander, Colonel. I’d appreciate any insights you’d care to share.”

“Looks solid,” Vaughn said as he reviewed the action plan for Dudette’s infiltration. “What’s the contingency plan if she encounters resistance?”

Craig folded his hands behind his back. “If the cheeky robot runs into trouble, she’s to retrace her steps, recover to the portal. She’ll be coming in from unoccupied tunnels, meaning she need only concentrate on what’s in front of her.” Half the sergeant’s face skewed. “Of course, that’s assuming the Octos’ data proves out.”

“Let’s hope it does,” Vaughn said. “Otherwise, things are gonna go south in a New Delhi second.”

“True. Anywho, as a secondary option,” the staff sergeant pointed at a section of the plan, “you’ll note myself and the balance of Team B will be standing by at the portal’s opposite end, ready to move in and give immediate support if needed, either taking out resistance or providing technical assistance if things are not kinetic.” Craig inclined his head. “And if the situation goes seriously pear-shaped, the team’ll create a diversion. The Octos will portal us into another portion of the tunnels where we’ll engage the Necks’ defenses and draw attention away from Dudette, buy her the time she needs to bug out.”

Vaughn took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Good plan, Staff Sergeant, but let’s do everything we can to make sure it doesn’t come to that. Keep the mission low-profile. Have Dudette proceed with extreme caution. This might be our only option. I’m counting on the Necks not seeing her as a threat, just like they ignored her during her first reconnaissance in the old timeline.”

Craig rubbed the back of his neck. “Which one?”

“Don’t get me lying. At this point, they’re all mixed up in my head. Suffice it to say that if her cover gets blown, the entire operation might be Tango Uniform.”

“Roger, Colonel. I’ll see that she’s fully aware of the mission parameters.”

Vaughn extended a finger. “There’s one more reason to proceed with caution. Commander Brown just told me Team A might be close to a breakthrough. I’m heading to see Monique about the details after this.”

“Should we wait?”

“Negative,” Vaughn said. “I don’t want all our huevos in one sombrero.”

Craig winced. “I ken you’re not allowed to say that now, Colonel. Cultural appropriation, or some such.”

“They’re welcome to come bust my balls.” Cutting his eyes to the alien waterscape, he added, “But good luck tracking me down.”

Craig’s expression turned serious. “If this firmware patch works on Ghost, the bugger may need to go in as well.”

“It may,” Vaughn said. “It just depends on the nature of the required connection.”

“If it comes down to a manual upload, that’ll mean deploying the entire team, securing a perimeter, holding off resistance.”

“True. If that’s the case, you’ll need to be in the thick of it.”

“We’ll be ready for whatever comes, sir.”

“I know you will, Craig.”

A brief silence descended, the sounds of filtered water flowing in the background and soft ambient hums from the Octo machinery around them filling the quiet.

Finally, Vaughn handed the tablet back to Craig. “I’ll let you know what I find out from Monique. In the meantime, keep running through contingency scenarios with the rest of the team. We can’t leave anything to chance.”

The staff sergeant’s posture straightened. “Roger that. We’ll be prepared for whatever may come.”

Vaughn pivoted to depart but paused as Craig called after him. “Colonel… Uh, any update on our fallback plan?”

“Spoke to Yoda about that earlier. The Octos are making progress with bypassing the Singularity Tap’s fail-safes, but they’re still ironing out the details. Nothing complete yet.”

Craig regarded the underwater world beyond the dome. “Let’s hope Commander Gheist’s breakthrough can give us an option that doesn’t involve that last resort.”

“From your lips to God’s ears. I’ll keep you posted.”

CHAPTER 27

Vaughn entered the lab, a sterile room lit by the steady glow of holographic displays and the soft hum of machines running endless simulations. Monique stood at the center, focused intently on the streams of data cascading down a wall-sized screen. Around her, the rest of Team A appeared restless, each casting furtive looks at the woman and her console, as if willing the process to move faster.

Angela noticed him first, her expression flickering with faint relief mingled with tension. She acknowledged his presence and turned back to Monique, who remained deeply focused on her work.

Vaughn cleared his throat as he approached.

The woman tapped a few buttons, starting what looked like yet another iteration in her reportedly endless testing cycle. “Angela tells me you’ve made significant progress with the patch,” he said, voice neutral.

Monique barely looked up. “Yes, we have created a decoy environment within the virtual sandbox—a honeypot, essentially. It mimics the vulnerabilities that the virus seeks out, drawing it into a controlled section of the matrix where we can isolate it.”

As she spoke, her fingers moved fluidly over the console, inputting more adjustments, more commands. Vaughn noted the barely restrained frustration on the faces of her teammates. Angela looked on the verge of speaking but held back. Rourke and Mark exchanged impatient looks.

“Good to hear,” Vaughn said slowly, practically bathing in the room’s tension. “But this all sounds like theory. Have you tried running the patch outside the simulations yet?”

Monique’s attention remained fixed on the screen as she spoke. “We have simulated thousands of scenarios in the sandbox’s hyper-accelerated time frame,” she said, her voice almost clinical. “Each iteration confirms the patch’s ability to trap and neutralize the virus within the decoy environment.”

“Uh-huh.” Vaughn folded his arms, casting a critical eye over the screen. “And that means what, exactly? Thousands of simulations—does that mean you’re satisfied it works?”

Monique hesitated, the slightest frown appearing as she continued to type. “Satisfied is a subjective term, Colonel,” she said stiffly. “But yes, the patch consistently traps the Xenovore. Each time it attempts to adapt, it is drawn into a loop, forced to waste resources on false positives.”

Vaughn turned to Angela, who looked as if she’d been holding her breath. She caught his eye and gave a small shrug. Clearly, there was more here, something unspoken.

“Alright, that sounds promising,” he said, drawing the word out, watching for reactions. “So, if everything’s going well in the simulations, why aren’t we moving forward?”

Rourke cleared his throat, glancing at Monique before looking at Vaughn. “Well, sir, it’s just… we’ve been running these simulations for a while now. Every time, Commander Gheist makes a slight adjustment, and we’re back to square one, tweaking and running another set of tests.”

Monique’s eyes flashed at Rourke.

Mark jumped in, folding his arms. “She’s thorough, sure, but we’re in a loop here. I feel like we’re looking for some unattainable guarantee.”

The commander’s posture stiffened, her hands pausing on the controls. “It is not about guarantees. This is about ensuring Ghost’s safety—and ours. One wrong variable, one oversight, and we could unleash the entity rather than contain it.”

Vaughn could feel the strain beneath her words. “Monique,” he said gently, “you’re telling me this decoy works, that the virus falls for it every time. We’re ready to apply it. But you’re holding us back. Why?”

She looked directly at him, her face a mix of determination and frustration. “Because, Colonel, Ghost is not a test subject. It is… well, it is someone we owe a chance, a chance at actual freedom. Ghost deserves to be treated as an individual, not a thing we can just experiment on.”

As she spoke, the tension in the room grew palpable. Angela looked down, biting her lip, while the others shifted uncomfortably.

“Monique,” Vaughn began, choosing his words carefully, “we all want that for Ghost. I understand you feel a connection, but if this patch works the way you say it does, we’re ready to test it in the real world.”

“‘Real world’ meaning testing it on Ghost,” she said. “You are asking me to unleash something on a person when I cannot guarantee it will work as planned. The Xenovore is insidious, constantly evolving. If the patch fails…”

She trailed off, her hands gripping the edge of the console, as if seeking some reassurance from the machine beneath her fingers.

Vaughn took a step closer, his voice steady but firm. “Monique, that’s a chance we have to take. You said it yourself—the patch works in every simulation. It’s time to put it to the test. Ghost isn’t getting any less dangerous while we wait.”

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face, and for a moment, Vaughn almost softened. But he knew he couldn’t let her delay any longer. He pointed at the screen. “This virus, it’s not going to wait for us to get comfortable with our decisions. You know that.”

Monique straightened, her defiance returning. “The problem, Colonel, is that you refuse to see Ghost as more than just a test subject. Ghost is a person. And treating it like a guinea pig… that’s where you’re going wrong.”

Vaughn’s jaw tightened. “The problem, Lieutenant Commander, is that you’re forgetting that Ghost is a threat as long as the Xenovore remains unchecked. You think this virus cares about the robot’s good nature? About its intentions? No. It’s embedded in the Neck. It’s waiting for a chance to turn the robot against us, and you’re letting it stay that way.”

“Vaughn!” Angela’s sharp voice cut through the room. “That’s enough.”

Monique looked down, hurt flickering across her face, but Angela placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, her tone softening. “You’ve tested this patch under every plausible scenario. It’s worked.”

Vaughn gave a quick nod. “And then some.”

Angela stared daggers at him and then turned back to Monique. “You owe Ghost this chance. Your patch works. You know that.”

The woman hesitated, her attention sticking to the endless strings of code on her screen, as if searching for a final reassurance. Her fingers hovered above the console, reluctant to disconnect from the virtual environment she had spent so long crafting.

Tension lingered in her eyes, but she released a long breath. “Very well,” she murmured. “We will apply the patch to Ghost.”

The room seemed to exhale with her. Vaughn shifted back, allowing the weight of her decision to settle over them, fully aware of the stakes they were about to confront.

He scanned the team, seeing his resolve reflected in their faces. Whatever happened next, this was the moment they’d been waiting for—the test they couldn’t afford to fail.

Vaughn clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work.”

CHAPTER 28

Dudette waited, thrumming with a mix of thrill and trepidation as the portal whirred to life in the dimly lit chamber. The room—a cavernous, waterlogged expanse deep beneath the alien ocean of Octo-Saturna—smelled faintly of salt and algae. Ghostly greens and purples from the glowing walls shimmered across her white carapace, casting strange, undulating rays. The muted ripple of water accented the silence, like the world was holding its breath in the anticipation of a mission about to begin.

Behind her, the humans and Lobsters waited, ready to go should the need arise. Craig, in his tactical suit, gripping his oversized pulse rifle like it was an extension of his arm, stood the tallest, matched only by the towering Lobster pair. The staff sergeant exchanged looks with Matilda, Bandile, and the rest, their faces a ghostly blue in the glow of their HUD displays.

Vaughn wasn’t here, which was just fine by her. Craig was in charge, and that worked. She liked the colonel well enough, but sometimes she understood how he’d earned that Captain Asshole moniker. Not that Chance Bingham was any better, and he was here. The Brit had sported his usual dour mood during the entire flight to Octo-Saturna’s version of Corsica.

Staff Sergeant Carmichael cleared his throat. “Just got an update from Team A,” he said, his Scottish burr lilting the words. “They are making progress on Ghost’s patch. Monique has her sandbox tests down to a fine art, and they’re about to try it for real. With luck, she’ll get that Central Node’s coordinates from Ghost once the Neck is clear of the virus.”

Dudette tilted her head. “Then why am I going now if we’re this close to an all-access pass?”

Craig’s mouth tightened in contemplation. “Colonel Singleton doesn’t want all our eggs in that basket. He’s cautious, and I’d say it’s warranted, given how things have gone so far.” He cast a look back at the rest of the team, each one fully suited up and armed, their focus locked on her and the portal. “And if I’m honest, I agree with him. If Team A cracks Ghost’s system, I’ll relay the precise coordinates straight to you. But if they don’t… well, at least we’re making progress.”

“Moving forward,” she muttered with a faint trace of sarcasm. With a small shimmy of her four shoulders, she shifted her focus to the Quantum Stealth Communicator clipped to Craig’s kit, her covert link to the team. “At least we’ll be able to stay in touch.”

Craig winked at her and patted the receiver. “Thanks to the Octopuses’ tech, I’ll be just a shout away.”

The device—the QSC, as the humans called it—was her lifeline, a secure thread back to Team B on this side of the portal. With the help of the Octos, Teddy had embedded the transceiver in her, linking its communication nodes to her auditory and speech processors. She could communicate with Staff Sergeant Carmichael as if they were standing in the room together, although anyone with her wouldn’t hear so much as a peep, as it all took place within her thoughts. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling like she was walking into the belly of a beast with little more than whispered promises and a flicker of hope.

“That’s so comforting,” she said wryly, returning Craig’s wink. “Quantum entanglement nodes, bioluminescent encryption, adaptive signal modulation,” she murmured, rolling the terms around as though tasting them. “In other words, it’s magic with a sprinkle of technobabble. Great. If these supposedly untraceable signals get picked up by the Necks, our Octo friends here owe me a round of explanations… and possibly some spare parts.”

Craig’s smile widened. “That they will. But let’s keep our fingers crossed that these ‘magic’ gadgets work as advertised. The Bothans are locked and loaded, I take it?”

A small compartment in her torso slid open, and a swarm of tiny insectile bots vibrated to life, their wings flitting in readiness before they receded into their housing. “Yep. They’re ready to go. And if all these ‘Bothans’ actually get wiped out, I’m gonna need a whole new reference to run with. Probably something from a lesser-known franchise.”

“Just keep in mind, your QSC relay range tops out at five hundred meters from the portal. Anything past that, the Bothans’ll need to chain the signal back. Don’t let them spread too thin.”

“Staff Sergeant, please,” she said, aiming for levity, though her words held a hint of edge. “Who you talkin’ to?”

Craig grinned, but his tone remained serious. “Stay sharp. Don’t get too cocky. You’ve got BOb’s attitude and capabilities, but you’re playing this one solo.”

Dudette took a moment to steel herself. She didn’t need the reminder, but she appreciated it anyway. Alone or not, she would get the job done.

She looked at the portal—a three-meter hole shimmering in an ethereal, almost liquid blue. It loomed before her, an otherworldly mouth into the dark underbelly of the Neck world. Technically, it was already open, but the Octopuses had placed a stealth membrane across it, rendering it invisible from the other side and keeping the atmospheres separated. It even blocked the passage of sound.

As she crept closer, the diaphragm rippled like a pool of quicksilver, beckoning and unnerving all at once.

The sergeant checked his HUD’s chronometer. “It’s time.”

He pointed to an Octopus hovering outside their bubble.

The gigantic cephalopod lifted a tentacle, its tip formed into a crude fist with thumb extended.

Teddy laughed and returned the gesture, moving to stand beside the staff sergeant. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Shred the gnar, Dudette. You got this.”

“I couldn’t have put it any better,” Craig admitted. “Especially since I don’t understand half of what he just said.”

She laughed, and fist-bumped the cosmonaut. “Consider it shredded, my friend.”

After regarding the rest of the team, she squared on the portal, and announced, “One small step for Dudette. One giant multiversal leap for robot-kind!”

She set her shoulder plates back, mimicked taking a deep breath, and stepped through.

The shift was instant.

One pace, and she left the humid underwater cavern of Octo-Saturna for the cold, dry tunnels of the Neck homeworld. Her sensors adjusted automatically, registering the slight drop in pressure, a thinner atmosphere than Earth but enough to sustain humans, Lobsters and Octos with no issues. Ahead of her lay the endless expanse of the tunnel, extending into shadows broken only by a dim green glow that pulsed at irregular intervals.

“Dudette to Team B. I’ve made it through,” she reported through her integrated Quantum Stealth Communicator. The Octos’ sensors on the other side of the membrane would pick it up, converting the signal to spoken words, all while emitting no detectable energy. Silent. Invisible. Almost magic, indeed.

A faint crackle came through, followed by Craig’s voice piped directly into her auditory channels. “Roger, Dudette. First check-in received. Proceed with caution.”

“Caution? What does that mean, exactly?”

She could almost see his eye-roll as he replied, “It means don’t get yourself disassembled.”

“Got it, oh fearless leader.” With a cheeky salute he couldn’t see, she shut off the comm and summoned her Bothans. They unfurled from her chest compartment, a stream of tiny, winged shapes scattering into the darkness like wisps of smoke, disappearing as they camouflaged with the surroundings.

The insects flew out in formation, their signals syncing back to her. Real-time visual feedback and a range extension for the QSC, if needed. These little guys would serve as her eyes and ears, scouting the way ahead. The irony of their name didn’t escape her—many Bothans might die to bring us this information, indeed.

She ventured deeper, the tunnel’s architecture growing more sinister the farther she went. A geometric, organic pattern, resembling muscle fibers, textured the cold stone walls. Small ridges pulsed faintly, a constant flow of energy coursing through the veins of the tunnel. Dudette felt a shiver of something close to unease—a rare feeling for her. The place had a heartbeat, steady and mechanical, but no less eerie.

Data streamed in. Her Bothans were helping her map the layout of the tunnel, layer by layer, and the topography was becoming clearer. She added the 3D rendering to her visual feed, overlaying it onto the real-world image, extending her perception beyond the line of sight. It portrayed a web of passages that extended in all directions, splitting off into paths that twisted like arteries around a massive, hollowed-out system.

She saw the hint of a large cavity at the far end of the model assembling in her vision and sent a quick signal to her Bothans, a silent redirect. They zipped into the void, mapping the darkened space with their passive sensors. It remained thankfully empty.

She had walked amongst the Necks in times past, but this felt way sketchier, as Teddy would say. The enemy robots’ response to the Luminara’s unscheduled arrival showed their commitment to the planet’s security. So she seriously doubted they’d turn a blind eye to the data void that her disconnected presence represented.

“Still no resistance,” she reported through the QSC. “Negative enemy contact. Proceeding forward.”

The feed from her Bothans revealed the chamber’s interior, betraying a series of inactive consoles set into the walls, their surfaces covered with layers of dust, as though they hadn’t been touched in eons. Metal coils and rods hung from the ceiling, twisted into shapes that served no obvious purpose.

Her signal crackled as Craig’s voice came through. “No activity?”

“None, Staff Sergeant. I see some ancient equipment, but it appears they forgot about it a long time ago.”

“Good copy. The model looks great on our end. Proceed with caution. Just be thorough and don’t leave any threats on your six. Make sure you always have a fallback option. Stay sharp. I know you’ll handle whatever comes.”

“Aw, don’t go mushy on me, Craig,” she quipped, though the levity didn’t quite reach her circuits. “I’ve got a job to do, and if that means being ‘disassembled,’ well, I guess I’ll just have to go full Terminator. ‘I’ll be back.’”

She could practically hear the collective sigh on the other end, and it eased her nerves. She straightened, refocusing on the mission. Her Bothans flitted back toward her, each one returning in formation, the data transfer complete. The hologram on her HUD updated, showing that her path forward was clear.

The insectile robots fanned out again, sweeping the room’s perimeter. Their scans exposed every corner, capturing details and mapping the data back to the team. Completing their work, her little spies streamed out of the chamber and continued their explorations.

With one last look over her shoulder, Dudette set off after them, heading deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the Neck homeworld’s subterranean network.

For the next several minutes, she advanced cautiously, making her way through identical passageways that wound in on themselves, weaving a claustrophobic pattern. It was like someone had built a giant, mechanical labyrinth with no intention of ever using it.

As she traveled, the atmosphere grew denser and colder. The echoes of her metallic footsteps reverberated against the stone walls. The dull hum of distant machinery resonated faintly, barely discernible over the intermittent whirs of the Bothans as they zipped around her. Now and then she’d hear a high-pitched ping from her QSC as it reestablished contact with the team.

Though the Neck city above was bustling with hostile activity, down here it felt almost abandoned. Not a trace of the enemy robots. No movement, no patrols: nothing but sterile metal and ominous silence. It was, Dudette had to admit, creepy as Hell.

She tried to steady her circuits, focusing on the feed from her Bothans. The swarm relayed thermal maps and visuals to her core, crafting an intricate, expanding model of the surrounding tunnels. With every passing minute, her curiosity deepened.

A large chamber loomed ahead, visible in her holographic overlay. “Alright, kiddos,” she whispered, sending a coded message to her Bothans as they continued their cautious advance. “Let’s see what dark secrets the Necks are hiding down here.”

The insectile bots swarmed into the sector, expanding her awareness. Faint overhead lights pulsed rhythmically, casting the room in brief flashes of pale illumination. The space was cavernous, yet meticulously organized. Rows of metallic pylons lined each side, every structure purring faintly with latent energy. Reaching the chamber, she scanned the scene. It looked as if the place was some sort of forgotten or repurposed area, a staging ground perhaps, or a former server hub for Neck infrastructure.

She sent a quick text update: No resistance. Entering large chamber chock-full of inactive electronics. I’m detecting weak energy signatures, but nothing operational yet. Continuing exploration.

The tunnels weren’t quite as inert as the Luminara’s sensors had reported. The signals were weak, but there nonetheless. Still, that was pretty impressive data acquisition, considering the Octos had measured it from the moon’s orbit.

So far, so good, she thought, watching as her Bothans swept across the room, their micro-cameras sending each angle and crevice back to her in bursts of crisp, real-time multispectral visuals. She then used photogrammetry to generate 3D renderings, extrapolating positions of every surface by their angular changes between images.

Out of habit, she ran an internal check on her systems. Everything remained in optimal condition—no errors, no interference. Perfect. With a small, self-satisfied nod, she moved forward, examining the rows of pylons that stretched ahead of her.

The cylinders were massive, rising from the floor like dormant giants, each etched with symbols she didn’t recognize. She brought a hand up to one, tracing the alien carvings, and gave a light tap to assess the material. Every strike of her fingers against the dense metal returned a hollow, reverberating clang.

As she was about to leave, she spotted a faint glimmer reflecting from a panel on the distant wall. Her sensors adjusted, zooming in on what looked like a small console embedded within one pylon. A whisper of latent energy betrayed its otherwise dormant appearance.

“Hello, beautiful,” she whispered, advancing on the panel and motioning for a few Bothans to scan it for any immediate dangers.

No alarms, no tripwires, no movement. Just the faint glow of the console, waiting. She could almost feel the data contained within, calling to her like a long-lost treasure.

Update: Found one active access point. Initiating scan.

Dudette touched the panel tentatively. It flickered, and a display appeared, revealing lines of unreadable Neck script. Her processors translated it as best they could, rendering the text into rudimentary labels and symbols on her internal HUD.

She scanned the surrounding area, confirming her isolation, and then toggled one of the commands. The screen brightened, and she yanked her hand back. Tilting her disk-shaped head, she listened intently.

No clatter rose, no alarm blared, and most importantly, no horde invaded the chamber.

Returning her attention to the screen, she saw a schematic of the tunnels she’d been moving through. A digital whisper of excitement coursed through her circuits. “Jackpot,” she murmured.

The layout revealed countless branches, but only a handful extended beyond this central complex. She locked onto a sector at its opposite end marked with a series of symbols that her HUD labeled as PRIMARY NODE.

The thrill of the discovery coursed through her circuits. The primary node might be the jackpot they were after—direct access to the Neck mainframe, if she was lucky.

“Look what I found,” she said through her QSC, transmitting the updated 3D rendering back to Craig and the others. She’d appended the new data, shading it in red to show that it was unverified.

“Well done, lass! That may be what we’re looking for.”

“Me and my Bothans will scout ahead, see what we can find.”

“Aye. Stay sharp, you don’t want to be walkin’ into any surprises.”

“Oh please, surprises are my specialty. Haven’t lost a leg yet.”

“Funny, but serious up. Looks like you’re getting close.”

“Wilco. I’ll check in again when I reach the QSC’s direct comm limit. Dudette, Out.”

Balancing speed and stealth, she moved forward through the darkened tunnel, each step echoing lightly. The air took on a colder edge. Her sensors registered faint energy signatures around her, a curious layering of electrical pulses that surged with a rhythm just outside of regular perception. She paused, letting her Bothans fan out along the narrow passage. Each insectile bot’s tiny wings buzzed faintly, almost lost in the strange silence of the Neck world.

Through her internal feed, she received images of the tunnel ahead: a web of twisting conduits along the walls, threads of metallic piping interlaced with larger cylindrical structures that bore unmistakable traces of heat. She noted the configuration carefully.

The Bothans flitted on, their data exposing a gradual slope descending into a spacious chamber. Dudette edged forward cautiously, the dark expanse opening up before her as her enhanced vision adjusted to the deeper shadow, revealing rows of consoles ahead, angled in symmetrical formations like an array of cryptic monoliths rising out of the darkness.

She calibrated her visual sensors to scan the consoles. They were all sleek and unnaturally clean, with no dust or debris—a disturbing detail in a place that seemed otherwise untouched. She added the features to her model and moved on.

The silence was becoming dense, pressing on her synthetic skin like a static charge. Her Bothans transmitted occasional flashes of shadowed corridors and empty alcoves, a reminder of just how alone she was down here—almost.

She was nearing the heart of the tunnel system when her QSC sputtered, signaling she had hit its maximum range.

Wonderful, she thought wryly. It’ll be solo running from here on.

Backing up a meter, she activated the transceiver and relayed a brief update back to Craig and the team: “Reached max real-time communication range. I’ll leave a few Bothans in trail to relay updates at the designated intervals.”

After receiving the acknowledgment from Staff Sergeant Carmichael, she terminated the connection, and the QSC fell silent, her real-time link to Team B severed.

You’re on your own now, kiddo. Thinking of Colonels Singleton and Hennessy, she added, Don’t fuck up.

CHAPTER 29

Monique took a deep, steadying breath as she entered the containment room, a cavernous chamber built for situations like this—unknown dangers, potential contagions, and the precise, high-stakes procedures that this task demanded. Energy fields vibrated through the floor, resonating through her boots. The air surrounding her crackled with tension and anticipation, resembling the calm before a storm.

She was acutely aware of every member of Team A gathered behind her, their expressions taut as they watched her prepare. Even Vaughn wore a look of barely concealed anticipation.

Monique couldn’t help but feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on her.

And then there was Ghost—lying prone within the sarcophagus, its metallic frame strangely vulnerable. The Neck’s lenses were dark, unlit, as though waiting for permission to come alive. Around it, the small Octo biological robots—delicate yet efficient—scurried and scuttled, attaching connectors to Ghost’s limbs and torso, each cable and port a fragile lifeline, supplementing the ones designed to keep it immobilized. Monique felt her heart pound. The pressure was nearly tangible.

She turned to her console, fingers hovering over the controls. Before starting the procedure, she had meticulously tested and adjusted it in her simulations, striving to control every variable and outcome in the sandbox. And yet, here, with Ghost’s actual consciousness on the line, those calculations felt distant. This was real.

What if it fails? The question pulsed in her mind, steady and unwelcome. She steeled herself, pushing the thought aside. There were no second chances now. Everything she had prepared for, everything her team was waiting on, was here, in this room, in this exact moment.

She cleared her throat, her voice clipped yet composed. “Initiating the process. Protocol as per sandbox parameters. Decoy structure will launch upon upload, designed to lure and neutralize the virus within a controlled environment.”

A progress bar appeared on her interface, beginning at zero and moving with painful slowness. A trickle of data began streaming from her console, flowing into Ghost’s internal systems, mimicking the exact conditions designed to trap the virus.

Angela, standing closest to her, leaned in. “You okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” The words felt brittle, as though speaking them might shatter the calm façade she was working so hard to maintain. You have run the numbers. Thousands of simulations. It is just another test, she told herself. But her attention drifted back to Ghost’s dark, unresponsive form, and she knew that this was anything but routine.

The progress bar crawled forward, data lines streaming with painstaking precision. Outside the containment field, the silent scrutiny of her teammates bore down on her like a tangible weight. She steadied herself, planting her feet firmly and locking her focus on the screen.

Suddenly, an alarm blared, a shrill, insistent sound that jolted through the room. Ghost’s eyes flashed red, a harsh, pulsing glow that cut through the dimness, casting eerie reflections across the team’s anxious faces. Monique’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Error detected,” a flat, synthesized voice announced from her console, flashing up a fault code she recognized instantly. The virus was resisting—adapting more quickly than she had expected.

A moment of stunned silence followed the alarm, and then a flurry of hushed murmurs broke out among the team. In her peripheral vision, she saw Rourke’s expression darken, and even Angela’s calm demeanor falter.

Monique’s hands hovered over the console, mind racing. This should not be happening. The simulations…

“Commander Gheist, what’s going on?” Worry edged the colonel’s words. He took a step closer, peering over her shoulder.

“It is the virus,” she replied, her voice tight. “The entity is adapting faster than I accounted for.” She swallowed, scanning the data streaming across the screen. “But I can adjust.”

She began inputting commands, her fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced precision. Each keystroke brought slight adjustments to the decoy’s parameters, adding layers of false positives designed to confuse and distract the virus. The small Octo robots worked in sync with her, recalibrating the connections physically, strengthening the stability of the upload with every change she made.

The alarms subsided, but the tension remained as thick as ever. Each second felt like an eternity as Monique watched the progress bar hesitate, then move forward, falter, then inch ahead again. Ghost’s body twitched, a barely perceptible movement, but it sent a ripple of anxiety through the room.

Please hold. Just a little longer, she silently pleaded with the progress bar.

Her thoughts whirled, flickering back to her sleepless nights spent refining this process, to the data sheets and endless simulations. She could practically hear them replaying in her mind, the countless iterations, the numbers cascading over each other. This was supposed to work. She had accounted for everything—or so she had thought.

“Monique.” Angela’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, calm but laced with urgency. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there.”

Monique nodded absently, though her focus remained fixed on the task, on Ghost’s form lying before her, on the red pulses flickering in its optics. Another error code appeared, and her fingers danced across the console once more, making delicate adjustments to keep the decoy active.

She could feel Vaughn’s attention, intense and unyielding, as he watched her work. She knew he was likely questioning her timing, wondering why it had taken her so long to apply the patch. It is not just a machine, she wanted to shout. Ghost is a person. I owe it every assurance I can give.

But there was no time to explain, and besides, she doubted Vaughn would understand, even if there was. He was a man of action, of decisive moves and unhesitating resolve. But she was a scientist. Precision, caution, and preparation were her strengths, and she would not compromise those principles—not even for this.

Her screen lit up with a fresh wave of data. The virus was rallying, making another attempt to breach the decoy. Monique input a countermeasure, reinforcing the trap she had built, threading in yet more false positives. The patch adapted, adjusting, weaving in response to the virus’s aggression.

Ghost’s form, its stillness, contrasted with the frantic energy within its system. A pang of fear struck her chest, sharp and undeniable. She was too close to losing it. No mistakes, she told herself, swallowing her fears. Not one.

The progress bar inched forward once more, moving closer to completion, and Monique felt a faint spark of hope. But a deeper fear shadowed that hope—a fear that even her best efforts might not be enough, that one unforeseen variable could unravel everything.

“Hold on, Ghost,” she murmured, her words lost to the sound of the machines. She forced herself to ignore the weight of the room, the tension radiating from the team members as they watched her. This was it, the culmination of every late night, every hard-won insight.

Yet as the progress bar crawled upward, she could not shake the gnawing anxiety that whispered, What if it is not enough?

With the question still in the back of her mind, Monique held her breath and readied her fingers as the upload entered its last phase.

The progress bar edged closer to completion. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips, her heartbeat a relentless cadence against the quiet hum of the surrounding machinery. She kept her focus on the console, trying to shut out everything else—the presence of her teammates, the weight of their expectations, the uncertainty that loomed over the entire operation.

A faint flicker on the screen caught her eye. Her mouth skewed as she parsed the data. The virus was gathering itself again, adapting faster this time, probing the decoy for weaknesses. Her fingers moved with calculated precision as she input new commands, modifying the parameters to create another layer of false positives.

But the virus was relentless, each flicker of its adaptive algorithms a challenge to her ingenuity. The Xenovore is learning, she realized, an icy dread creeping up her spine. It is not just embedded in Ghost’s matrix—the thing is fighting to stay alive.

A bead of sweat rolled down her temple, and she forced herself to breathe, her hands moving on instinct, countering every move the virus made. It was like an elaborate dance, each step forward met by a rapid adjustment, an unexpected turn.

“Monique?” Angela’s voice was steady but edged with concern.

She didn’t look up, her focus darting across the code, her fingers typing almost faster than her mind could process. “The virus is not just reacting,” she said through gritted teeth. “It is actively adapting, shifting its tactics as if it… as if it knows what I am trying to do.”

The room fell quiet, the weight of her revelation settling over everyone. Even Vaughn, previously impatient and concerned, hesitated. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed on the screen.

Another flicker from Ghost’s prone form—a subtle twitch in its hands, barely perceptible. But Monique saw it. Her fingers paused for the briefest second, hovering above the keys.

This is it, she thought, feeling the press of time against her every move. The Xenovore was getting closer to breaching the decoy, and if it did, her last line of defense would collapse. Each failure in the simulation had taught her that if the virus escaped, it would spread throughout Ghost’s system, erasing all traces of her work.

With a surge of determination, Monique executed the final layer of her decoy. The counter-algorithm she had crafted for this exact moment activated, injecting a series of endless loops into the virus’s adaptive structure, forcing it into a cycle of constant recalibration. It was the last play in her strategy, the culmination of every lesson learned through her simulations.

The progress bar jumped forward, hitting the 90% mark. Ghost’s sockets flickered again, this time staying red a fraction longer before fading back to dark. Monique’s hands hovered above the keys, ready to intervene if necessary. She caught the tense expressions on her team’s faces. Angela, a constant presence beside her, seemed unsure.

“Almost there,” Monique whispered, her voice thick with both hope and dread.

The room held its collective breath as the progress bar inched forward, climbing to 95%, then 98%. Ghost’s fingers twitched again, and for a heart-stopping moment, Monique thought she saw a red gleam flicker across its eyes. But the bar continued to advance, her algorithms holding.

And then, finally, it hit 100%. The alarm silenced, and a tense, almost unbearable quiet filled the room.

Ghost’s eyes fluttered green, then settled into a soft white, its form relaxing as the strain left its body.

She felt a surge of relief, her hands dropping to her sides, every muscle releasing.

“Is it done?” Angela asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes. It… It is complete. The virus is contained.” She exhaled shakily, her entire being both exhausted and exhilarated.

Ghost’s head lolled toward her. Its optics, now a soft, steady white, focused on her, and Monique felt a flicker of apprehension.

“Well, that was quite the experience,” the Neck said, a wry edge to its tone. “I suppose I should thank you for the… what do you call it? Free brain surgery?”

The room broke into relieved laughter, the tension melting away in an instant. Angela clapped her on the shoulder, grinning, while even Vaughn let out a chuckle, his usually stern demeanor relenting for a moment.

“Wonderful,” he groaned. “Another robot comedian.”

Monique felt a wave of relief wash over her, and she smiled at Ghost, the weight of the past hours finally lifting. But as she stepped back, she caught Vaughn’s eye. His face showed warmth, yet understanding; a silent recognition of what had transpired.

“You did it, Commander Gheist,” the colonel said, his voice quiet but genuine.

She felt a surge of pride mixed with exhaustion. “Only a few billion more to go.”

Vaughn chuckled. “So no pressure, then.”

CHAPTER 30

Ghost stood motionless in the dimly lit chamber, its head tilted slightly downward as the Octo engineers made the final adjustments to the communication portal. The room’s glowing walls cast an eerie light that danced over the team’s tense faces. Ghost’s former prison, the sarcophagus, remained imposing, yet vacant. Vaughn’s decision to release the Neck from its confines had been cautious, meticulous—a step he’d taken only after ensuring the virus had been eradicated.

“BOb,” Vaughn said. “Keep Big Sparky ready. If Ghost even blinks funny, I want you to light him up.”

“Copy that, Colonel,” BOb replied, raising the massive weapon with a flourish. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to turn my newly freed buddy into a smoldering heap.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Vaughn said and then addressed Ghost. “Before we start, I need the coordinates to the Central Node Facility you mentioned before. The one that controls network updates and patches. Can you provide that?”

“Of course, Colonel. I believe that node will be crucial going forward. But why do you want its location now?”

Vaughn scrutinized the robot. “Call it part of my due diligence. We are putting a lot of trust in you, Ghost. I need to know we’re on the same page.”

After a moment’s pause, the Neck extended a hand, and a small holographic display materialized above its palm with a slow, fluid motion. The image resolved into a cross-section of the machine city, showing a dense web of structures packed together like a dark, sprawling hive. Deep below the surface, an icon fluoresced in red as if pulsing with a heartbeat.

“This is the exact location,” Ghost said, its voice steady. “The node is crucial to the network. It disseminates updates, patches, any operational changes across the entire Collective. If there’s any hope of spreading Monique’s patch, this junction will be central.”

Vaughn studied the hologram. He compared the projected map to the mental notes he’d made earlier. The facility lay buried deep beneath what corresponded to the Strait of Bonifacio on Earth. Relief tugged at the corners of his mouth when the marker aligned perfectly with the general area Dudette was currently scouting. He said nothing of this connection, but allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

Ghost’s mechanical fingers moved, and the digits of the precise coordinates floated in the air, glowing faintly. Vaughn turned to Mark, who had been standing just behind him. “Forward this to Craig. Let him know we’ve got confirmation.”

Yoda motioned Vaughn aside, signaling for a private conversation. He followed, leaving the group to pore over Ghost’s holographic map.

The Octopus’ enormous eyes focused on Vaughn as it spoke, its translator relaying the words in a low, almost conspiratorial tone. “Colonel, the engineering team has made headway on a fail-safe bypass for the Singularity Tap containment.”

Vaughn straightened abruptly. “So they figured it out?”

“Yes,” Yoda replied. “The override can be implemented via a close-proximity portal. However, I am bound to remind you, Colonel, of the gravity of that option. It must remain a last resort.”

“Understood. We will be heading that way soon. If push comes to shove, I’ll have that in my back pocket, but I won’t use it unless we have no other choice.” He looked at the team, who were still scrutinizing Ghost’s map, and felt a momentary calm, a welcome sense of clarity amid the chaos.

Rejoining the group, he touched Mark’s elbow. “Craig receive the coordinates?”

“He’s relaying them to Dudette now.”

“Perfect.” Vaughn felt a momentary pang of guilt for not including his friend in his fallback plan, but he hadn’t wanted to burden Mark unnecessarily.

Shaking off the thought, he turned back to the Neck. “Alright, Ghost. I need an update on what the Xenovore has been up to. Do you believe it’s safe to reconnect to the storage server?” He gave the robot a meaningful look and added, “Am I endangering you by doing this?”

The robot’s shutters dilated as it turned its mechanical eyes toward Vaughn. “Your caution is understandable, Colonel. I have no desire to betray the trust you’ve extended to me. But I must confess, stepping back into the network that enslaved my people…” It paused. “It fills me with a profound dread.”

Angela folded her arms. “Dread? Why?”

“Because I remember what it felt like to lose myself,” Ghost replied, its tone quiet but weighted. “To be consumed by the Xenovore’s will. Even now, the memory of that subjugation lingers like a phantom pain.”

“You have clearer memories of everything that happened?” Vaughn asked.

“Clear, yes, but it’s not easy. That clarity comes with a lot of sadness,” the robot said. “We weren’t always like this. My people—my society—we used to be better. The Collective was united, had a purpose. Sure, we moved as one, but we thrived on creating things, innovating, even living in peace.”

Ghost paused as if lost in a memory it could barely hold. “But the Xenovore…” The robot shuddered slightly, a rare physical response that seemed to ripple through its entire frame. “The virus infected us like a plague. It stripped away all that was good, leaving only a husk. From your descriptions, it turned my people into a weaponized network of destruction.”

The Neck’s demeanor changed then. It looked as if a great weight had dropped onto its shoulders. It stared back with clear pain. “I feel for all of the peoples that fell to this… this monstrosity.”

“It’s not as bad in this new timeline,” Angela said. “The Octos are the only sentient beings they’ve attacked so far.”

“That is the case, for now, but it doesn’t lessen the guilt I feel for the pain and suffering my race caused, however manipulated it was.”

Vaughn’s chest tightened at the sorrow in Ghost’s voice, the sadness that seemed almost too human. “And now?” he asked gently. “What do you want to do about it?”

Ghost hesitated. “Colonel, I know your trust in me is limited, but I must go to the Central Node Facility. If there’s even a chance I can upload Monique’s patch and free my people, I have to try.”

“You may just get your chance very soon,” Vaughn said. “But first, let’s take a look at what’s been going on.” He pointed at the comm portal apparatus. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

Ghost straightened, its servos emitting a faint hum. “Readiness is irrelevant. If there’s even a chance to prevent what’s coming, I must take it.”

“Thank you,” Vaughn said. “Let’s do this. As soon as you’re done, we’re heading out on a little trip to link up with the rest of our people.”

One of the Octo engineers raised a tentacle, signaling the portal’s activation. The chamber filled with a soft, pulsating light as the small, circular aperture came to life, its surface shimmering like liquid mercury. As with the previous time, the brilliant bead vanished as it collapsed into a tiny, two-dimensional wormhole. From experience, he knew the Octopus had opened the portal directly in front of the node’s physical interface. Its size ensured invisibility from the opposite side.

Ghost approached the portal. Its white carapace reflected its ethereal glow. It looked back at the team. “I’ll attempt to access the same graphical storage server. The connection will be limited, but I should still be able to glean info about the Xenovore’s current activities.”

“And if you sense even a hint of the virus?” Angela asked.

“I shall sever the link immediately,” Ghost assured her. “I have no intention of allowing it to reclaim me.”

Vaughn’s hand rested on the grip of his Lobster rifle. “Alright. Do it.”

The room fell silent as the Neck extended one of his four hands. A small tendril emerged from a fingertip and slid into the portal. A susurration filled the air as the connection established.

Ghost’s eyes flared briefly, then steadied, their glow intensifying as data began streaming through the interface.

Several tense moments passed. The team exchanged uneasy glances, their gazes darting between the robot and the fluctuating patterns rotating about the portal.

Finally, Ghost spoke, its voice calm but urgent. “The Necks are closer than I anticipated. Their forces are mobilizing. Dozens of mobile collider rings will be transported by flying Caterpillars equipped with TDIs, each one set to beam the devices to your world.”

“We already know all that,” Vaughn said. “How long do we have before it launches the attack?”

“The Xenovore’s fleets are moving into their ultimate positions. Based on this data, I believe it will initiate the attack in less than two days.”

“Less than two days?!” Angela blurted.

“Yes, Commander. From the plan’s imagery, it appears the attack will be swift and overwhelming.”

Vaughn threw his head back and yelled at the ceiling. “Crap!”

Angela leaned toward the display, her tone urgent and direct. “Is there something in their network that could give you an edge? Weaknesses? Vulnerabilities? Anything you can do from here?”

Ghost hesitated, its mechanical eyes flickering as it parsed the data. “Negative. I am sorry, Commander Brown.” Ghost’s voice firmed. “The Central Node Facility may be our sole option. From there, I might be able to upload the patch directly into the Collective’s network. It’s the only way to free my people on a large scale, and if we can do that, it’ll remove the Xenovore’s ability to complete its plans.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Vaughn said. He turned to the Octo engineers. “We need to get to Corsica. Now!”

The Octos signaled their acknowledgment. One of them arced a tentacle toward the exit, its movements sharp and deliberate, radiating urgency.

Vaughn turned back to his team, his expression resolute. “Pack it up. We move out immediately.”

CHAPTER 31

As Dudette crouched in the shadows of the stony tunnel, a faint ping sounded in her auditory channel. The Quantum Stealth Communicator crackled to life, and the familiar rumble of Staff Sergeant Craig Carmichael’s voice came through, laced with static but unmistakable.

“Dudette, I’ve got something for ya. We’ve pinpointed the exact coordinates for Ghost’s Central Node Facility. Sending ’em now. Make sure to tread lightly, lass. You’re about to get real close to the belly of the beast.”

Dudette smirked, her mouth twisting in a wry smile. “Yeah, yeah, Staff Sergeant. Belly of the beast, got it. Just send me the goods.”

Craig chuckled, static distorting his voice for a moment. “They’re coming in, so focus up. This is the deepest you’ll have been into their playground.”

The connection fizzled out. A soft blue holographic overlay sprang to life in Dudette’s vision, tracing the coordinates across her integrated HUD. The pinpointed spot pulsed, beckoning her forward like a glimmer of forbidden treasure deep within a labyrinthine cave.

Surveying the location, she studied the path ahead. Craig’s overlay mapped out a twisted route that wound deeper into the heart of the Neck homeworld’s subterranean networks. As the Octos’ scans had shown, the target indeed lay beneath the place where the Strait of Bonifacio would be on Earth. Here, however, was no water or open space—only a dense sprawl of buildings stacked upon more buildings, a vast metallic skeleton of urban machinery.

She traced the path with a virtual finger, noting a few likely choke points where the walls narrowed. The direct course was tempting, but it was also too exposed. No, she’d have to take the scenic route.

She double-checked her systems. In the earlier phases of her mission, she deployed the Bothans, using them as eyes and ears, increasing her sensory range. Now, a few of them acted as a vital relay, extending her communication range back to the team. She’d left a handful stationed strategically along her path, each one forming a silent chain linking her to Craig and the rest of the gang.

Her HUD updated in real time, the tiny drones’ mapped routes illuminating the twisted corridors ahead. The target coordinates hovered tantalizingly close, but the journey was far from straightforward. The map revealed choke points, narrow passages, and clusters of faint energy signatures that were moving. She wondered if those might be patrols. They were too weak to be Necks.

Her joints flexed smoothly, absorbing any vibrations as she crept through the dimly lit corridor. The walls pulsed, their embedded circuits glowing with a rhythmic energy that made the entire structure feel alive. It was as if she were walking amongst the roots of the mechanical metropolis.

A faint vibration through the floor caught her attention, and she froze. A pair of angular machines approached, their sleek forms matched those recorded by her little spies. Low-level scouts, she guessed. She pressed herself into a shadowed alcove, her carapace blending with the limestone walls. Lights cast by the two rovers scanned the corridor, passing over her position without pause. Only when they disappeared around a corner did she resume her cautious advance.

Visuals populated her HUD as more Bothans streamed ahead. Reaching the outer perimeter of the Central Node Facility, their sensors painted a clearer picture of its defenses. Massive pylons, similar to the ones she’d seen in other chambers but smaller, came into focus. The towering structures wrestled with conduits and armored plates. Energy crackled through the air, the facility’s vibrations a low, constant presence that resonated through her circuits.

Dudette crouched at a vantage point overlooking a larger passageway that led to the outer perimeter. From her position, she could see the sprawling architecture of the facility. The pylons supported a dome of crisscrossing conduits, a fortified hub pulsating with energy. She analyzed the layout, marking potential entry points and escape routes.

“Alright, Bothans,” she said, opening her internal compartment. Her last reserve of tiny drones stirred, their blue glow dimmed to near invisibility. “Time for the rest of you to get up close and personal. Keep it quiet, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

The drones whirred softly as they deployed, scattering into the shadows like wisps of smoke. Until then, the subterranean complex had included many tunnels, but now only two of them connected to the Node Facility. The fortified structure sat at the western edge of the network, with a pair of approach avenues, one coming in from the northeast and the other from the southeast. She sent half of the Bothans to the northern branch and the rest of them to the southern.

Dudette watched their feeds populate her HUD, each fragment of data adding to the intricate map she was building of the node’s defenses. The tiny spies wove through the maze of conduits and pylons, their sensors relaying composition details, energy readings, structures, and hidden passageways.

As the Bothans spread farther, Dudette’s HUD lit up with a network of patrol patterns, electrical grids, and structural nodes. The drones highlighted clusters of defense turrets embedded in the walls, their barrels tracking preprogrammed arcs.

She flinched as Craig’s voice crackled over the line. “Dudette, you have eyes on the node yet?”

“Geez, Staff Sergeant!” she said silently. “I’ve told you a million times not to scare me like that when I’m traipsing into an evil enemy’s subterranean lair.”

“You’re a robot. I thought you couldn’t feel fear.”

“Kick Teddy for me. He made me, so it’s his fault.” She shook off the fright. “Anyhow, your map’s holding up so far. I’m sending updated visuals. Tell the colonel his coordinates check out.”

“Good to know. Stay sharp. We’re counting on you.”

The connection fizzled out as she shifted her focus back to the Bothans’ feeds. As the facility’s perimeter came within detection range, the drones generated visuals of its exterior. Massive pylons stood interspersed with access terminals, each glowing with a soft green light. Conduits snaked between the structures, pulsating with energy that seemed to ripple outward in rhythmic waves.

Dudette’s circuits hummed with anticipation as the facility’s exterior layout filled in. The Central Node was a fortress, but it was also vulnerable. She could already see many approach paths that the team could exploit.

She crouched lower, minimizing her profile as she assessed her options. The Bothans’ feeds continued to update, their data streams forming an intricate web of possibilities. Every piece of information brought her closer to the node’s heart.

Her HUD pulsed as her tiny spies penetrated the facility’s perimeter and reached their ultimate positions, their feeds stabilizing to create a clear picture of the structure’s core. Dudette felt a shiver run through her circuits as she watched the data roll in, her thoughts racing with anticipation.

“Alright, you bastards,” she said to herself. “Let’s see what you’ve got hiding in there.”

CHAPTER 32

The transport vessel hurtled through the sky of Octo-Saturna, its sleek form cutting cleanly through the thickening atmosphere as it streaked downward. Through the starboard viewport, Vaughn glimpsed the planet’s rings—a glittering expanse that arced across space like an iridescent halo. They cast a broad shadow over the land, stretching southward in a dark band against the blue and green continents below. As the ship banked gently, the immense swath of orbital ice moved in his peripheral vision, a constant reminder of the alien beauty and quiet power of this world.

Despite the significant g-forces that should have been pressing on his body, he didn’t feel a thing. The ship’s inertial dampers isolated its occupants from all external effects as the craft decelerated. Yet, he couldn’t fully appreciate the power of the transport, couldn’t marvel at the alien technology propelling them; his thoughts remained too fixed on what lay ahead.

The rest of Team A sat strapped in around him. They, too, were silent, some of their faces etched with tension, others determinedly calm. Angela took his hand and squeezed it. She looked at him, her expression unreadable.

He returned the squeeze, but inside, his mind churned with the reality they might soon face: mission failure would force him to initiate the fallback plan. The idea felt burdensome, unshareable. He wouldn’t wish this decision on anyone, let alone Angela. She would be furious if she knew he was even considering such a drastic measure. No, he and Carmichael would have to carry this one themselves.

The ship’s descent steepened, taking it through a thick layer of clouds. Then the churning sea of Octo-Saturna’s version of the Strait of Bonifacio came into view, a dark, swelling expanse beneath a sky that had turned ominously gray. The waves, heavy with wind, surged with violent energy. With a sudden dive, the vessel flew into the water’s surface, piercing it in a controlled plunge.

The light through the viewport faded into a murky green as the transport descended. Faint beams filtered in from above, illuminating the depths in ghostly strands. Vaughn watched the craft’s adaptive lighting cast radiant shafts that cut through the darkness, slipping over the underwater formations like silent, spectral beacons. In the distance, hints of the alien installation materialized, dark shapes forming against the dim expanse.

The seemingly endless journey ended at the Octo portal facility. From his vantage point, Vaughn could see the structure better now—a mass of domed corridors and large, spherical chambers, each one pulsing with light. The alien architecture appeared organic, as if grown from the seafloor rather than built. Faint, rhythmic luminescent pulses traveled along the passageways, illuminating the dark water with eerie green and purple hues.

Vaughn stood as the ship powered down, feeling the soft thrum of the engines fade. The craft shuddered slightly as a tube extended from its side, reaching out like a mechanical limb to connect with the portal facility. The tunnel depressurized with a faint hiss, securing itself in place and allowing them to move through without facing the extreme depths outside.

“Alright,” Vaughn said. “Time to go.”

The team moved with quiet purpose, each of them shifting their gear as they readied themselves for what lay ahead. He led them through the airlock hatch, stepping into the tunnel that connected them to the facility. The translucent walls allowed a view of the alien sea outside—a dark, brooding landscape scattered with strange formations, some towering like underwater mountains, others small and cratered as the moon’s surface. Tiny, glowing creatures darted past, casting intermittent, luminous trails in their wake.

The journey through the tunnel was brief, and they soon emerged into the Octo facility. A soft hum permeated the air, and the floor felt faintly alive beneath his boots. Ahead, in the expansive chamber, he caught sight of Craig Carmichael, fully suited up with his Sparky slung across his back.

The Scot turned as he approached, a grim look on his face that eased a notch when he spotted Vaughn. “Good to see you, Colonel.”

“Likewise, Sergeant Carmichael.” He pulled the man aside, motioning for a bit of privacy.

As they separated from the group, Craig rubbed the back of his own neck. “Something tells me this isn’t good news.”

“I guess that depends on your perspective,” he said, his voice low. “The Octo engineers developed a way to bypass the Singularity Tap’s fail-safes.”

Craig’s eyes slitted as he took in the gravity of Vaughn’s words. For a moment, neither man spoke, the weight of the revelation settling between them like an invisible shadow.

“So, if it comes to it, we’ve got a way to bring the whole thing down?” Craig said, his voice subdued but containing a faint tremor. They both understood the gravity; neither took the decision lightly.

Vaughn acknowledged with a grim look. “They’d be able to implement it if we need it.” He swallowed, feeling the bitterness of the thought settle in his gut. “But I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

Craig’s focus dropped to the floor beneath their boots, his hand tightening briefly, as if trying to dispel the weight of what they both knew could happen. After a moment, he squared his shoulders. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t, then.”

Vaughn inclined his head, clapping Craig on the shoulder. “Let’s. But we’ll keep it in our back pocket, just in case.”

They rejoined the group. The subdued, bluish glow of the Octo facility cast shifting shadows across the command center as the teams gathered. Vaughn and Craig stood side-by-side, their focus sharpened on a small, softly flickering signal coming through the Quantum Stealth Communicator. The transmission resolved into Dudette’s voice, underscored by faint static and a slight distortion from her position within the Neck homeworld.

“Colonel, Staff Sergeant,” she said, her words buzzing through, both familiar and distant, “I’ve got eyes on the target. I’m standing near the coordinates Craig sent. The Central Node, as promised.” She paused, and then in a wry tone, added, “I’d say you’re welcome, but frankly, I’d rather not be here if you catch my drift.”

Carmichael let out a quiet breath. “Noted, Dudette. Now send us the rest of the information your Bothans gathered.”

The stream of data began flowing in, and Ghost, positioned nearby, studied the incoming details. The robot’s head tilted slightly. “That’s very good. If you would like, I can provide additional information to augment the rendering. The intel gathered by the Bothans is fragmented but comprehensive enough for a more detailed visual reconstruction. I will also supplement with the known structural layouts.”

“Do it,” Vaughn ordered, keeping his tone clipped. He shot a glance at Craig, who was already working through his own mental checklist. The staff sergeant nodded, catching the unspoken command.

“Dudette,” Carmichael said into his communicator, his Scottish accent sharpening his words, “gather your Bothans and return to the portal site. Let’s get you out of there. I don’t want you taking any risks now that we have what we need. Understood?”

“Understood,” she replied after a brief pause. “That doesn’t hurt my feelings even a little bit. Toodle-oo! Dudette, out.”

As the transmission ended, Ghost opened his right hand, palm up, and the air above it filled with a holographic image, shifting and adjusting in layers as the rendering completed.

The teams watched as the Node slowly took shape—a structure embedded deep beneath the Neck homeworld. Metallic corridors stretched out in two directions, reinforced in alien ways that seemed almost organic in their formation, more like the pathways of a nervous system than traditional infrastructure. Likely, the Necks had modified the existing tunnels, leading to their biologic appearance.

Ghost continued refining the image, adding data tags that hovered near key elements in the hologram. Each tag glowed in faint shades of blue and green, identifying entry points, ventilation shafts, and layers of fortified defense.

Vaughn was pleased to see that all of its key features appeared to match the rendering generated within the Octos’ organic hologram. At least the liberated Neck wasn’t trying to lead them astray.

As the augmented model expanded, he noticed a series of devices mounted to the facility’s exterior. Each featured large, barrel-like attachments, giving them a militarized appearance that set his instincts on edge.

Craig pointed at one of them. “Those look like gun emplacements.”

“First Neck fortifications we’ve seen,” Vaughn muttered as he examined the hologram. “They’re ready to protect this thing at all costs.”

Craig studied the positioning of the devices. “Aye, and those weapons… We’re talking heavy artillery here. The Xenovore went to a lot of trouble to guard this place.”

Rachel jabbed a finger into the rendering. “Look at the spacing.” She traced a line through the hologram. “They’re positioned to cover both approaches with overlapping fields of fire. The Xenovore isn’t leaving anything to chance.”

As the last of the rendering coalesced, Ghost adjusted its open hand, magnifying one particular section outside of the facility where an unfamiliar piece of equipment sat in a separate chamber. The object was roughly cylindrical, its surface bristling with various emitters, each casting off faint pulses that registered with distinct IR and RF signatures. A data tag hovered beside it, identifying it simply as Unknown Device.

“What in the hell is that?” Vaughn muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Ghost spoke up, the glowing image reflecting off its pale exterior. “According to Dudette’s report, this mechanism emits highly concentrated RF energy at levels hazardous to circuitry. She twice deployed Bothans to investigate it. Both transmissions were lost shortly after entering its range.”

“What do you think it is?” Vaughn asked the robot.

“It’s not a standard part of the Collective’s original infrastructure. Some kind of active defense mechanism, maybe,” he said in a tone edged with frustration. “Its function is not within my knowledge set. However, the patterns suggest a signal disruption field, possibly integrated with an adaptive feedback loop.”

“Well, that device is outside of the facility,” Vaughn said. “Can you expand the node’s interior? I’d like to see more detail.”

Ghost adjusted its projection, and the rendering shifted, focusing in the Central Node Facility’s inner sanctum. The model revealed a stark, square chamber surrounded by solid rock, its walls smooth and featureless except for a smaller section on the eastern side, shortened by two blast doors positioned at the northeast and southeast corners.

The central raised platform dominated the space, its surface devoid of adornments save for a narrow podium rising from its middle. The pedestal shimmered, its sleek design blending seamlessly with the rest of the facility. Atop it, the interface socket protruded, small and unassuming, yet clearly crucial.

“No visible defenses inside,” Craig observed, his tone skeptical.

“As far as I know, the walls are solid rock,” Ghost replied. “Behind them, there is nothing. No passages, no additional chambers.”

“I don’t even see cameras,” Rachel said.

“I do not believe there are any,” answered the Neck.

Angela frowned. “Why no internal surveillance? That seems like a glaring omission.”

“Surveillance would make the interior visible to all Necks,” Ghost said. “Such visibility might invite tampering or manipulation within the network. It’s likely by design.”

Chance snorted softly. “Like Fort Knox. You don’t put guards inside with the gold—you trust the external security to stop anyone from getting that far. No one’s supposed to get past the outer defenses.”

“I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth,” Vaughn interjected. “If they’re leaving it open for the Octopuses to portal in, that’s all the better for us.”

Ghost pointed into the rendering with one of his free hands. “To upload Monique’s patch, I will need to be physically present.”

“That’s not necessary,” Vaughn said. “The Octos can open another small portal right in front of the interface.”

“Their micro portals are highly advanced,” the robot countered. “But they’re designed primarily for observation or short-term connections. The process to upload Monique’s patch requires a sustained and intricate data transfer. It involves interfacing directly with the node’s core systems in a way that cannot be maintained through a portal because of limitations in bandwidth and latency.”

Angela tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “But you’ve connected remotely before. What makes this different?”

“The patch’s architecture,” Ghost replied. “It needs to integrate deeply into the Collective’s neural pathways, essentially rewriting core directives across the entire network. That level of integration requires not only a physical connection, but also constant monitoring and adjustments in real time. Any interruption would cause the upload to fail and potentially alert the Xenovore to our presence.”

Craig rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds like we’ve got no choice. Ghost has to be there in person.”

“What about security measures?” Monique asked. “Won’t the node have internal fail-safes to detect unauthorized access?”

“Normally, yes,” the robot admitted, “but I’ve devised a countermeasure—a network camouflage. By using a memory trace shadow, I can mimic standard data traffic, effectively hiding my presence. This’ll give us the thirty-minute window needed to complete the upload.”

Vaughn leaned forward. “And what happens after thirty minutes?”

“The camouflage shall dissipate,” Ghost said bluntly. “At that point, the Xenovore will know I’m there. But if the patch has already been deployed, it’ll be too late for it to stop the propagation.”

“But if we allow the Xenovore a full thirty minutes, that could give it enough time to adapt or even counter the patch,” Monique countered.

Ghost’s gaze shifted to the woman. “The patch is a fragment of code, minuscule compared to the typical network updates. It won’t stand out amid the larger, routine communications. My plan is to set the patch’s activation to occur at the thirty-minute mark, simultaneously across all members of the Collective.”

Craig looked at Vaughn, his expression tense but resolved. “Seems like our best shot, Colonel. We’ll portal Ghost straight to the node with a small team, and the rest of us will handle security. We can beam in at the first sign of trouble, and there’s an Octo military contingent standing by ready to go at a moment’s notice. If the shite hits the rotary air mover, everyone attacks from multiple angles, buying the robot time to finish the upload.”

Vaughn tilted his head, considering. “What about the other worlds? This invasion hasn’t been limited to just one Earth. They’ve spread to dozens of realities.”

“The propagation works in parallel, connecting across the multiverse. The Collective on every world will receive the update.”

Vaughn contemplated the plan for a moment. He’d rather wait until they had more information and could bring more forces to bear, but they didn’t have that luxury. The Xenovore was ready to make its move on Earth. If they didn’t act now, they may never get the chance.

One corner of his mouth curved down. “So, all we have to do is hold off an army of Caterpillars, Necks, and even a few Taters thrown in for good measure, all for half an hour, in the middle of enemy territory, without tripping an internal alarm.” He offered a lopsided grin. “What could go wrong?”

CHAPTER 33

The undersea portal chamber felt like the heart of some living organism. Pulses of faint light traveled through its walls, illuminating swirling, iridescent patterns that faded and reemerged in rhythm, like an alien heartbeat. The room itself was a massive, domed cavern, lined with dark, organic tendrils that snaked up the surfaces, forming interwoven sequences that seemed to shift and contract with each vibration.

Dudette’s voice cut through the chamber as the portal shimmered faintly, still open. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: me.” She emerged from the membrane, her white carapace glinting under the chamber’s dim glow. “I knew you’d all gather to celebrate my daring escape. Heartwarming, really.”

“Daring?” BOb scoffed. “Sure. Let’s go with that. Tell us more, Indiana Jones.”

“Well, it’s a fitting comparison, don’t you think? Relics, danger, endless mazes of doom.” She swung all four arms wide in an exaggerated flourish. “All in a day’s work.”

“Pfft! Indy didn’t send tiny robots to do the hard stuff for him.” He listed toward her. “Or spend half the time dodging itty-bitty sentries like a scared cat.”

“Hey now,” Dudette retorted, mock-offended. “I wasn’t dodging; I was tactically repositioning.” She crossed two of her arms and pointed at Vaughn with the others. “Colonel, back me up here.”

Trying and failing to suppress a smirk, he raised a hand. “Cut it out, both of you. We’ve got a mission to run.” His calm tone didn’t entirely mask the tension in his voice as he regarded the shimmering portal.

Dudette shot BOb a playful glare as she stepped into formation. “Guess I’ll save the epic recounting of my exploits for later. Your loss.”

The Octos began their shutdown sequence. Collapsing inward, the stealth membrane vanished, leaving a barely visible afterimage. Vaughn shifted his stance, feeling the subtle vibrations thrumming through his boots as the portal’s collapse sent a static pulse through the chamber.

He turned his attention back to the group. “Ready up,” he said, signaling Team A to fall into defensive positions behind Team B, with Ghost at the center. BOb, towering with Big Sparky held across his body, stood like a dark sentinel, prepared to shield the squad or open fire at a moment’s notice. The quiet preparation of each member—checking Lobster suits and securing rifles—added to the charged atmosphere.

The mobile portal device sat at the chamber’s center, its large, circular frame tilted slightly toward them. Smooth, seamless plating, gleaming as a polished shell, covered the construct’s surface. Spindly organic lines of Octo tech dotted its edges.

Vaughn studied the portal frame. “Looks like a biological version of the Stargate.”

Standing in the lead with Team B, Craig looked back and smirked through his visor. “Aye, Colonel. Doesn’t look like somethin’ that’ll just beam us up to the Enterprise, that’s for sure.”

The thrum in the chamber intensified, creating an otherworldly backdrop that mixed with the ambient echoes of the surrounding ocean. The rest of Team A sat silent, their helmets shimmering with faint internal displays as they prepared for what lay ahead.

Ghost regarded the group. The robot’s fingers fidgeted. It was difficult to tell what it was feeling, but its periodic tapping of one finger against a thigh conveyed a focused, almost human-like anticipation.

The sight reminded Vaughn how animatedly the robots had spoken when he and Angela had first seen them in Geneva’s underground machine city. The way they talked with their hands would’ve made an Italian family reunion seem mute.

Yoda drifted closer in his hovering orb of contained water, tentacles waving in small, intricate motions as he relayed instructions from the Octo command team. His translator tablet flickered to life, breaking the silence with calm, measured words. “Colonel Singleton, our military contingent is in position. Should your presence be detected by the Necks, our forces stand poised to deploy diversions or provide support as necessary.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Vaughn turned to Craig. “Ready to move?”

The special operator gave a thumbs-up, his Lobster suit gleaming as he rolled his shoulders, preparing himself and his troops. “Team B, let’s take point,” he commanded, and they all moved into position, weapons at the ready.

Monique, standing to Vaughn’s right, cast a wary look at the Octo portal frame. She studied every seam, every flicker of energy that pulsed around it. “I do not like how this thing looks, Colonel. It is too… alive.”

“Never trusted all this bio-stuff,” Craig grumbled under his breath. “Give me a proper engine or a gun that doesn’t look as if it belongs in a seafood buffet.”

“And yet, here we are, alive, thanks to Octo technology,” Monique said.

Vaughn shared their unease, but kept his expression steady. “Let’s just hope it’s alive enough to work.”

Dudette held up a finger. “Staff Sergeant Carmichael, are you positive all of your Sparkies will recognize me and Ghost as friendlies? I only ask because, if a horde of other similarly featured enemy robots happen to show up and the EM pulses start flying,” she wagged her extended finger between herself and the actual Neck, “we’d really like to avoid getting shot.”

“Not to worry, lass. We’ve added the same IFF to you and Ghost as we did to BOb. If someone mistakenly aims their weapon at you, it’ll identify you as friend, not foe.”

Annoyed by the interruption, Vaughn pointed Sparky at BOb and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Dudette looked from the battlebot back to Vaughn. She mimicked a swallowing sound and then her head bobbed.

“Well, I’m not!” BOb spluttered.

Ignoring the robot, Vaughn gestured at Yoda and rolled a finger in the air. “This goat ain’t gonna rope itself.”

The battlebot grumbled something about him being the king of assholes and then finally shut up.

The quiet tension stretched out as the Octos signaled to each other in rapid flickers, preparing to activate the gate. The pervasive background susurration intensified, and suddenly, a brilliant sphere coalesced in front of Craig. Then it snapped flat, twisting into a sheath of swirling energy across the circular frame, shifting in colors that seemed to bleed into one another, but before the portal could fully solidify, the membrane shuddered and collapsed in a multispectral flash.

An uneasy silence filled the chamber, and Vaughn’s gut clenched as he looked around, catching the wide-eyed confusion in the surrounding faces.

“What in the hell?” Craig asked, his grip tightening on his Lobster rifle. Each team member shifted, tense and bewildered.

The Octos’ luminous communication grew frantic as they conferred, studying their equipment and cycling through various control menus.

Finally, Yoda swam closer. The tip of one tentacle scratched at the side of the alien’s massive head. “This is unprecedented, but we will attempt it again.”

“Do it,” Vaughn snapped. He couldn’t afford this delay. None of them could.

The Octos repositioned themselves, adjusting the portal’s energy levels and calibrating every organic node attached to the structure. The hum returned, and the membrane flared back to life, colors swirling in spirals as it struggled to form. But just as before, it faltered and blinked out of existence, leaving only a faint shimmer of fading light in its wake.

“What’s the problem?” Vaughn asked.

After conferring with the engineers, Yoda said, “The coordinates are accurate. However, the energy is being disrupted. It’s as though the portal cannot lock onto the target.”

“Do we have another device?”

“We have a secondary one stationed with the Octo military detachment. They tried to open the gateway to the coordinates and had the same problem. Both devices failed to establish a stable connection to the Node Facility’s interior.”

Frowning, Vaughn motioned to BOb. “See if Big Sparky’s TDI can do any better. Beam Team B and Ghost to the facility first and then the rest of us afterward.”

“Roger,” the battlebot said. “Coordinates entered.” The initiator extended fully, its emitter angling down to aim at the first group. He squeezed the trigger.

Feeble, guttering light oozed from the lens and then extinguished. Vaughn’s forehead puckered. He’d never seen the TDI respond that way.

“Well, that didn’t work,” BOb observed. He tried again and got the same result. The device retracted, returning to its stowed configuration. His shoulders rose. “No dice, Colonel.”

“Shit!” Vaughn snarled. “If neither of the damn things are working, then the problem isn’t on our side. The Necks are jamming us somehow.”

“Then they have created a multiverse jammer,” Yoda said. “A device capable of blocking interdimensional connections. That is disturbingly advanced.”

A cold knot tightened in Vaughn’s gut. “If the Xenovore has that level of tech, this mission just turned into a suicide run with extra steps.”

CHAPTER 34

The chamber fell into tense silence after Big Sparky’s beam failed. The team stood in a loose formation, exchanging uneasy looks. Vaughn felt the weight of time pressing in on him, their options narrowing as they faced the impenetrable force blocking them from the Central Node.

On his left, Craig adjusted his stance and exhaled sharply. “If we can’t get a direct line, then let’s infiltrate via our previous insertion point, Colonel,” he suggested. “We know that route’s secure enough to approach without setting off any alerts.”

Vaughn shook his head slowly. “That’s not an option, Craig. Not yet, anyway. We can’t risk transporting Ghost through that route. If we’re detected mid-transit or even for a second before the patch is uploaded, the Xenovore will adapt, and Ghost’s chance will be over. He’s our last hope.”

The team fell silent, and Vaughn looked at Monique. She was already deep in thought, her helmet tilted down, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Commander Gheist,” he said, his voice steady but edged with urgency, “do we have any other way to upload this patch without Ghost acting as the intermediary?”

She looked up, eyes resolute, but now worry shadowed them. “No, Colonel, we do not. The patch is tailored to Ghost’s neural interface. The Xenovore virus has compromised every other pathway we have tried. Without Ghost, there is no feasible method to transmit it into the network.”

Vaughn sighed, glancing sidelong at Carmichael, whose stoic expression betrayed a hint of unease. They shared a silent understanding—knew the last-resort plan he had in mind if everything else failed. Craig gave a barely perceptible nod.

Angela, however, noticed the exchange, her face darkening as she watched them. “Vaughn?” she asked, her voice cautious. “What…? What are you two planning?”

He opened his mouth, intending to say something reassuring, but a deep rumble came from Yoda’s body, the Octo equivalent of clearing a throat—a subtle but oddly human habit the alien had picked up from observing the humans.

“Excuse me, Colonel Singleton,” Yoda said, its voice tinged with both apology and urgency. “Our engineers at the alternate site ran several additional portal activation attempts while you discussed alternatives.”

Vaughn looked up, surprised. “They kept trying?”

“Yes. We attempted subtle frequency adjustments and phased approaches. However, each time we initiated the gate sequence, our sensors detected an unusual electromagnetic signal coming from the portal’s far end.”

The team exchanged looks as Yoda continued. “The energy leaks through every instance, lasting only a fraction of a second.”

Angela’s gaze sharpened as she processed the alien’s words. “And you think that interference is blocking your portals.”

The top of Yoda’s head flared again. “Yes!” The cephalopod projected data across the room. “And as you’ll see here, its spectrum precisely matches the signal detected by Dudette’s Bothans.”

The new rendering depicted the frequency of the EM interference leaking through the failed portals, as well as the energy measured outside the facility. Vaughn didn’t need to know the Octo language to recognize the symbols for both frequencies matched.

The revelation sent a hush through the group. They stood in silence, gathered close, suited up and ready for battle, yet halted in this liminal space.

Vaughn said, “So, we know where the jammer is blasting out of the facility, but the source of that signal… it’s outside of its own protection?”

Rourke’s face twisted as he stared at the schematics. “Doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would the Necks place the jamming generator beyond its own effective range?”

The Octo engineer—a slender, almost spindly Octopus with pale skin—extended a tentacle, pointing to the readouts in a series of subtle pulses. “It may be because of interference. We hypothesize that the generator and emitter might interfere, preventing one from working near the other. Each must operate independently to avoid a destructive feedback loop.”

Vaughn processed the news as he traced the lines of the holographic map. “So that explains why they fortified the perimeter outside but left the interior bare. The moment we target that generator and it falters…” He let the implication hang.

“They’ll know,” Craig finished, his voice grim. “Once that generator’s down, the Necks’ll reposition their defenses around the node. We’ll be up against their full force—fast and strong.”

“More like bloody impossible, mate,” Chase Bingham muttered, his expression sour.

Rachel remained silent, focused on the hologram as though sheer willpower alone could force a solution to emerge.

Angela tapped a finger on the arm of her suit, tilting her head as she considered. “Do we really need to take the generator down? If we could just weaken it, degrade its output even a fraction.”

Yoda turned toward her. “An interesting suggestion, Commander Brown. Our engineers detected the signal leaking back through the gate during each attempt. That means the wormhole is partially opening despite the interference. If we could diminish its power, even slightly, we might achieve a stable portal—enough for our purposes.”

Excited by the possibility, Vaughn stowed his helmet. The others did the same. “So we only need to weaken the jamming field,” he said, thinking out loud. “The Necks might not see a partial degradation as a direct assault.” He paused, the possibilities solidifying. “This could work in our favor. If we can take out a portion of the device’s output, it could mask our actual intent.”

Monique, standing back, folded her arms across her suit. “That sounds plausible, but how exactly do we ‘degrade’ a jamming field generator without alerting every Neck in the vicinity?”

“I may have a solution,” Yoda announced. The alien adjusted the projection with a flick of a tentacle, shifting the rendering’s focal point. “We have detected multiple channels carrying the jamming signal from the generator to the emitter.”

The news caught Vaughn’s attention immediately. “Have you been able to map their paths?”

The Octo engineer pulsed faint blue. “Yes, Colonel. The channels’ pathways have been added to the facility’s hologram.”

The rendering expanded with renewed detail. Surging lines of light radiated from the generator, their rhythmic pulses snaking through the wayward tunnels. The effect was mesmerizing—a web of power channels radiating with a subtle, almost hypnotic energy.

“Because of the jamming field, we cannot trace their course beyond the perimeter,” Yoda said, extending a tentacle toward one of the glowing lines. “However, we can track their routes up to that point.”

Vaughn and Craig leaned in, tracing each cable as it arched and wove around the installation. They studied the projected paths, analyzing every twist, every subtle turn.

“There!” Carmichael said, jabbing a finger at a particular line that took a wider, arcing route along the far side of the facility, skirting the northeast perimeter in a shallow bend. “See how it curves? That part is remote enough for us to hit it hard without looking like a direct attack on the Central Node.”

“Good point, Sergeant,” Vaughn pointed at a section of the perimeter with a series of gun emplacements. “If we stage a heavy assault here, it’ll look like we’re trying to breach their defenses. While they focus on holding that line, you can have a pair of people drop back and cut the channel there.” He pointed at the isolated stretch of the signal path. “As you said, they won’t think you’re targeting the actual jamming generator.”

Teddy perked up. “Breaking the cable? That sounds like a job for me and BOb.”

Vaughn pulled back. “You don’t have to join this op, Mr Petrovich. It’ll be high-risk—a straight-up military assault. Nobody would think any less of you if you wanted to sit this one out.”

The Russian released an exaggerated snort. “It’s a totally tubular mission, brah!”

The battlebot extended his thumb and little finger and threw Teddy a big shaka. Then the robot winked at Vaughn. “We’re golden, Captain MacAsshole.”

“Righteous, BOb!” the cosmonaut said through a laugh. “Now you’re talking my language.”

Monique’s rigid features skewed. “I do not think he is.”

The Russian smiled at her. “Anyway, Colonel, this is the kind of shindig I live for.” He dropped the surfer-boy affectation and added, “Besides, this Russki excels at breaking things.”

“Alright, Carmichael. You have a plan and a team to execute it, but I’m not sending you into a full-frontal assault against the Xenovore. We need to divert its attention.”

“Sounds good to me, Colonel. What kind of diversion did you have in mind?”

“Oh,” Vaughn said, drawing out the word. His grin, a slow, creeping thing, spread across his face as he savored the coming chaos. “I have something it is definitely not going to like.”

PART IV

CHAPTER 35

The observation chamber pulsed faintly with the ambient energy of alien technology. Vaughn stood at the central console, watching the data stream in from the Octo military contingent.

Amid the preparations for this phase of the mission, Dudette had released her Bothans into the tunnel complex. The tiny, insectile flying robots zipped through the labyrinthine corridors, their delicate wings buzzing softly as they dispersed into a tactical net designed to detect and report enemy movements. They relayed their findings to Vaughn through the QSC transceiver, providing real-time updates on the enemy’s activity.

On the display, the highlighted portion of the Neck’s sprawling tunnels seemed impossibly distant from his team’s position. That distance was their advantage, ensuring the Necks would be drawn away, but it also meant the Octos bore the full brunt of the initial risk.

“Make sure your troops are ready,” Vaughn said, his tone calm but heavy. “The Xenovore’s response will be swift.”

Yoda’s glowing patterns rippled faintly. “Agreed. The abrupt and violent arrival of our waterborne fighting forces should provoke a rapid defensive effort.”

Vaughn gave a faint shrug. “That’s the idea, anyway.”

The alien’s bulbous head canted forward. “Even the most intricate weave of plans can unravel with a single, unforeseen ripple.”

“We have a similar saying: The battle plan rarely survives first contact with the enemy.”

“Indeed,” the Octopus replied after a moment’s consideration. “We have ensured the sections that will flood contain critical supply conduits. Their sentries should interpret it as a coordinated assault aimed at disabling vital systems.”

Vaughn acknowledged the alien and then looked at the countdown timer. They’d know one way or the other very soon.

Behind him, Angela’s voice cut through the chamber. “If their defenses concentrate where we’re expecting, that’ll leave the tunnel junction ahead of Team B free and clear.”

Vaughn turned. “Let’s hope it works out that way. But if the Necks adjust faster than we think…”

“Craig will adapt,” she said, her eyes holding Vaughn’s for a beat longer than necessary. Her tone portrayed confidence, but the slight curve of her lips softened her expression, a silent reassurance meant just for him.

Vaughn felt the knot of tension in his chest loosen the tiniest bit. Her unwavering gaze and subtle smile were a reminder that he wasn’t carrying this burden alone.

The distant clatter of troops preparing for deployment filled his earpiece. In the visual feed from the other chamber, he saw the Octos’ battle-hardened warriors move into a tight formation around the gate, their silvery armor gleaming under the facility’s light.

The countdown reached zero.

On cue, the portal sprang to life, its surface rippling as it opened into a distant section of the tunnel network.

The next moments unfolded with a precision that left Vaughn momentarily awed. In the hologram, the Neck side ignited with activity as the Octos activated the portal. Water burst forth, not in chaotic waves, but in a controlled surge, its power immense yet somehow restrained, as if guided by an unseen hand. The torrent didn’t simply flood across the floor; it exploded outward as a solid wall of seawater, its force accompanied by a deep, resonant roar as it surged against the metal walls.

The water struck with a controlled fury, shimmering with the light of inundated lamps as it advanced. Metallic echoes reverberated down the corridors, punctuated by the occasional hiss of air escaping from ruptured conduits. The unseen technology sculpted the onslaught with surgical precision, holding the flood in check and guiding it through specific paths, ensuring the seawater swept through the intended passageways without deviation.

Vaughn blinked in amazement. Their control of the water was so granular, it didn’t even disturb the tiny Bothans providing the video feed.

The Octos directed the flow, corralling it with their advanced technology just as they manipulated the constrained bubbles of air and water elsewhere.

As the liquid surged through the portal, the Octo warriors swam into the Neck tunnel, their movements impossibly smooth and synchronized. Vaughn watched as they emerged in disciplined formation, their carapace-like exteriors gleaming against the shimmering boundary of the gate. Despite the surging wall of water coursing around them, its force did not carry them away. It was as if they moved within an invisible current, a space carved out just for them, allowing the aliens to glide forward with lethal grace.

“How are they not being tossed around?” Vaughn murmured, his voice filled with disbelief.

“The water is under strict control,” Yoda replied calmly, as if such feats were entirely routine. “Our technology constrains its flow and direction. It will go exactly where we intend—no more, no less.”

Vaughn stared mutely. He had known the capabilities beforehand, but the sight of the tech in action, at this scale, left him gawking.

In the holographic rendering and in the video feed coming from the Bothans, the water surged deeper into the tunnel network, splitting into corridors with mechanical precision. It spread like an unstoppable tide, weaving through passages and intersections, cutting off pathways as it expanded. The small sentry bots stationed nearby scurried to evade the encroaching deluge, their movements erratic as they tried and failed to outrun the rapidly advancing seawater.

A series of silhouettes streamed into the edges of the hologram, each bearing the unmistakable profile of a Neck. Vaughn felt tension creeping into his jaw as he studied the display. Unlike the bots, these weren’t retreating or scattering in confusion. They moved with deliberate purpose, surging forward in coordinated waves, pouring into the affected tunnels in response to the intrusion. The rapid mobilization was unsettling, their disciplined advance an undeniable reminder of the calculated intelligence behind the Xenovore’s strategy.

“Necks incoming,” Mark reported. “Looks like they’re mobilizing a full response.”

Yoda’s patterns shimmered, though his voice remained calm. “As expected. The jamming generator is vulnerable. Now is your team’s window to act.”

Toggling his comm to Carmichael’s private channel, he said, “Staff Sergeant, you’re clear to proceed.”

“Understood, Colonel,” Craig’s voice replied, steady and focused. “We’re moving.”

Vaughn let out a slow breath, watching as the Octos held their ground in the distant tunnels, their warriors perfectly aligned despite the surrounding chaos. The aliens had done their part. Now it was up to Team B.

Craig stood poised in the Octo chamber, his rifle gripped in both hands. Singleton’s voice cut through his comms. “Staff Sergeant, you’re clear to proceed.”

“Understood, Colonel.” He gave a quick nod to his team. “We’re moving.”

Breaking the connection, he turned to his people. “Form up!”

Matilda and Bandile moved to the point position without hesitation, their rifles at the ready.

As one, Team B proceeded into the shimmering portal. Its stealth membrane rippled as they transitioned from the damp Octo chamber into the cool, dry clime of the Neck tunnel. Ahead, the tubular corridor stretched into dimly illuminated darkness, its walls alive with soft pulses of energy coursing through alien conduits.

Craig’s focus remained razor-sharp, every sound amplified by the weight of their mission. “Eyes up,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We move quick, we move quiet.” The Lobster suit helmet’s active noise cancellation kept his words contained within its clear dome while allowing external sounds to reach his ears.

The team advanced with disciplined precision, each step measured, their breaths controlled. They hugged the walls, rifles at the ready, moving like shadows through the dim passages. Every pulse of light from the alien plumbing lining the tunnel seemed to stretch and contract the darkness, adding an oppressive rhythm to their advance.

From somewhere ahead, faint, deliberate mechanical sounds resonated through the air, carrying subtle echoes that hinted at their source. Craig’s muscles tightened instinctively as the noise became clearer. The suit’s active sensors relayed light vibrations through his boots, a tactile signal that felt like the tunnels themselves were issuing a warning of the sentries’ approach.

He hoisted a fist, bringing the group to an immediate halt. The sudden stillness amplified every background noise—the thrum of distant Neck machinery, the crackle of energy coursing through conduits, the soft rustle of suits and armor as his team waited, holding their collective breath.

Craig tilted his head, straining to listen. The whirring sound grew louder, accompanied by the faint clatter of metallic joints moving in precise unison. His grip on his rifle tightened, the cold, reassuring weight grounding him in the moment.

“Incoming,” he said under his breath. “Two o’clock.”

Their movements fluid and silent—an expertise borne on the backs of uncountable training sorties—the team dissolved into cover, pressing themselves against a cluster of hot conduits that radiated faint waves of heat. The energy coursing through the pipes masked their thermal signatures, shielding them from the enemy’s infrared scans.

Pressing into the wall, he peered around the corner. The corridor ahead came into sharp focus, enhanced by his visor’s optics. Two Necks emerged from the shadows, their white carapaces gleaming under the dim glow of the conduits. Their heads swiveled smoothly, glowing red optics scanning with unnerving precision. As they advanced, the black joints connecting their limbs gleamed, and the subtle creak of their movements sent a chill down Craig’s spine.

He hesitated, rifle steady but thoughts racing. The enemy robots ahead represented an explicit threat, their mechanical precision a stark reminder of the cost of failure. One of them paused midstride, its head swiveling unnaturally, scanning the corridor with chilling efficiency. Then, with a sudden burst of motion, it leaped, its backward-bending legs launching it onto the wall.

Not attacking, Craig realized, feeling the blood flow back into his hands as he flexed them. The robot had moved to a better vantage point. He watched, breath caught, as the Neck clung there with preternatural stillness. Then it shifted its limbs to climb higher.

Engaging the enemy robots would risk exposing the team’s presence, potentially alerting the Xenovore to their arrival in this section of the tunnels. The thought gnawed at Craig, the weight of the decision pressing on him. He hesitated, his grip tightening on the rifle as he glanced at the gleaming forms of the Necks ahead.

He knew they were victims, enslaved by the Xenovore, and that every shot fired was one more blow against a race that deserved liberation, not destruction. However, only action mattered now, not sentiment. The alternative—falling back and abandoning their mission—was unthinkable. The objective lay ahead, and the Necks were drawing nearer with each passing second.

Craig tightened his grip on the rifle, decision made. “Matilda,” he said, his voice steady but low, “take the one on the left. Bandile, you’re on the right. The rest of you guard our six.”

They positioned themselves to fire. Craig steadied his aim, his rifle’s targeting reticle locking onto the lead Neck. His finger hovered over the trigger, waiting for the perfect moment. Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging as the mechanical figures moved closer, their presence dominating the narrow corridor.

Matilda fired her EMP rifle first, the sharp screech of the pulse cutting through the air like a blade. Blue energy arced across the targeted Neck, its frame convulsing as its systems overloaded.

Bandile followed, his shot connecting with the other Neck’s chest, sending sparks cascading as the machine staggered.

Craig exhaled, squeezing his trigger and delivering the final blow to the robot. The mechanical figure spasmed as the EMP pulse hit, its limbs spasming before it crumpled to the ground in a heap.

The first Neck shook off Matilda’s shot and scrambled partway up the wall, seeking the advantage of height against its attackers. A second burst from her rifle caught it mid-motion, sending it tumbling down, its frame collapsing in a heap of jerking limbs.

“Clear,” Craig said, his voice calm but laced with tension. Stepping out, he motioned the team forward, scanning the corridor for any signs of reinforcements and finding none.

They pressed on, the rush of distant Neck activity growing fainter as they approached their target. The pulsating cable they’d seen on the hologram came into view, snaking along the wall like a vein of light. Teddy and BOb moved into position, the big robot extending his cutting tool as he studied the line.

“Make it quick,” Craig said, scanning their surroundings. “We’ve got limited time. I’d bet two quid to a fried bridie that those mechanical bastards sent out an alert before packing it in.”

Teddy inspected the conduit and then pointed to two specific locations. “Make your cuts here and here, Mister BOb.”

The battlebot slung Big Sparky across his back and mimed scratching his head. “Cut here? Sure thing, but if this goes sideways, I’m charging overtime—and hazard pay for your creative directions.”

Dropping to a knee, the battlebot produced a cutting tool. The device hummed as it sliced through the casing, exposing the intricate wiring within.

The rest of the team, still in their covered positions, remained vigilant, watching both ends of the tunnel.

Sparks flew from BOb’s tool, but just as he started severing the core lines, the glow of the cable flickered. The robot paused, his mechanical arm freezing. Then he tilted his head. “I hear movement, Staff Sergeant,” BOb said, still immobile. “I’m sensing more enemy forces approaching from the same direction.”

Then Craig heard it, too. The rhythmic clatter of metallic steps rose above the background. “Hold,” he ordered, his rifle trained on the intersection ahead.

A Neck strode into sight with deliberate speed, its flat disk head swiveling as it scanned the area. For an agonizing moment, it paused near their position, one of its quartet of arms flexing.

The sentry finally turned and went away.

“Clear,” Craig said a few moments later. “Finish it, BOb. Quiet as you can.”

The robot reactivated his tool. Its molecular edge sliced, not sawed, hence the quiet operation. Then the device sputtered, emitting a soft click.

“Uh, hold up,” he said, adjusting the angle. “Something’s snagging here.”

Teddy, crouched beside him, darted a quick look over his shoulder. “You serious, big guy? This isn’t exactly a good time for tech troubles.”

“No kidding,” BOb replied. He reset the tool, the hum resuming but faltering intermittently. “Just keep your helmets pointed at anything that moves.”

A low whirring sound rose again. Craig signaled for the team to hold their positions, his rifle trained on the corridor ahead. “Stop cutting,” he said in a whisper. “We’ve got a sentry on approach.”

BOb froze, his tool falling silent. Teddy and Chance pressed themselves flat against the walls, rifles aimed down range.

The soft clatter of metallic footsteps grew louder, passing through the intersection just ahead.

The enemy robot stopped.

Craig counted the seconds, his finger hovering over the trigger. From his vantage point, he only caught periodic glimpses of the robot’s chassis. Finally, the Neck continued down the adjacent hall, its clanging steps fading into the distance.

“Clear,” Craig said. “Keep cutting.”

BOb resumed his work, the tool’s whir rising again as it sliced through the remaining wiring. Sparks arced before the line’s glow died. Then the battlebot bisected the second area Teddy had designated, creating a wide gap in the line that the enemy couldn’t repair in time to affect the course of the battle.

“Cable’s cut,” Teddy reported, his voice tinged with relief. “Next time, maybe we get a faster cutter?”

“Just move,” Craig said, slicing his hand through the air to signal the team forward. “We are nae done.” He toggled his comm to Vaughn. “Colonel, the line’s severed. We’re preparing to initiate Phase Two.”

After Singleton acknowledged the report, Craig turned back to his team, urging them forward with a sharp wave. “Alright, ya wankers! The quiet part is over. It’s time to make some noise, but BOb, I still don’t want you beaming out anything with Big Sparky’s TDI.”

“I thought the quiet part is over.”

“It uses too much power. Plus you’ll risk opening a hole for more enemy robots to attack.”

“Got it, Staff Sergeant.”

“Okay, team.” Craig said. “Let’s give the bastards something to chase!”

The battlebot brandished Big Sparky with a flourish. “Well, if we’re the bait, let’s hope they’re hungry for an all-you-can-eat EMP buffet!”

“Oh, fer fuck’s sake, BOb,” Craig growled, his brogue thickening with exasperation. “Dinnae stand there like a daftie—move yer ass!”

The team responded, rifles raised, as they advanced with renewed purpose. Matilda fired her Lobster rifle, unleashing a volley of screeching pulses that tore into a broad conduit. The blasts sent arcs of blue energy dancing along the pipe and across the tunnel walls, causing the insulation to burst into flames.

A squad of Necks appeared in their path, emerging from behind the smoke and fire.

“Like bees to a honeypot,” Chance Bingham said. The Brit toggled his Lobster rifle’s slug mode and fired. A satisfying metallic crunch echoed as the round slammed into the targeted Neck’s torso.

The rest of the team members sent another volley into the other robots, and they advanced deeper into the tunnel system.

More enemy forces joined the fray, but still no Caterpillars.

Thank the maker for small favors, Craig thought as he fired on the Necks, alternating between EMP blasts and projectiles, the shots calculated to keep the advancing robots off-balance.

His Sparky hummed as he cycled to high-energy explosive mode, firing a concentrated round at a group clustered near an intersection. The precision HE shot detonated mid-air, releasing a burst of shrapnel that withered the enemy forces.

Red Claw and Jacques added their firepower, working in perfect tandem. The younger Lobster toggled his rifle into EMP mode, targeting the head of a robot attempting to leap forward. His screeching shot sent sparks flying. The machine collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs. RC switched modes on the fly, launching a volley of projectiles at a second Neck that had taken cover behind a support column. The smart round exploded abeam it, blasting the bot into the wall, leaving it exposed for Jacques to finish with another EM pulse.

Nearby, BOb sprang into action, Big Sparky’s muzzle swinging toward its target with a smooth, mechanical precision. His motions blurred with inhuman speed as he repositioned, firing off EMP bursts with unerring accuracy. A trio of Necks rounded the corner, their red optics glowing like coals, but the battlebot was faster. He launched a shot that detonated amid the group, their carapaces sparking as their systems seized. Without pausing, he pivoted, shielding Rachel Lee and Chance Bingham from a leaping Neck with a well-placed projectile round that sent it hurtling backward into the wall.

“You’re welcome!” BOb chortled, his voice crackling through the comms as he vaulted over a fallen enemy, landing with uncanny agility. Another robot lunged from the shadows, its arms outstretched, but Big Sparky’s EMP pulse caught it mid-air, reducing it to a lifeless heap that crashed at the battlebot’s feet. “No need to thank me,” he added dryly, already turning to face the next wave.

“Cheeky bastard,” Chance said. Then the Brit and Rachel dispatched a pair of robots of their own as more reinforcements surged from connecting tunnels, their white carapaces gleaming as they moved with inhuman speed. Red optical sensors flared, only to extinguish under Team B’s relentless barrage of EM pulses and exploding rounds.

The next wave of robots ran into the battle and launched into the air, throwing themselves at the squad.

Pouring fire into the onrushing enemy, Craig shouted, “Keep advancing! They need to believe we’re still pushing for the next cable.”

Jacques fired a well-aimed EMP round that connected with a flying Neck, sending it crumpling to the ground in a shower of sparks. “Voilà! He is clean! Pop!”

“Focus, Jacques,” Craig snapped, though a faint grin touched his lips. “Lee, Grant, Ngcobo, flank left. Keep their attention divided.”

The team shifted positions, their movements coordinated and deliberate as they unleashed another wave of fire. The Necks hesitated, recalibrating their strategy, and Craig seized the moment.

“Teddy, BOb, Chance, stay close,” he ordered. “We’re advancing. Make it loud.”

The cosmonaut let out a whoop as he fired off a rapid series of EMP blasts. “You heard the man! Let’s rattle some circuits, dude!”

BOb’s voice came through the comms, dry but resolute. “Making noise is my specialty.”

Trapping the enemy forces in a pincer maneuver, attacking from two directions, the team surged ahead, their assault relentless. The corridors filled with the chaotic symphony of their attack: the screech of EMP fire, the rapid crack of projectiles, and the mechanical clang of Necks collapsing onto the metallic floor.

One Neck leaped high, clawing the ceiling, its limbs anchoring like a spider’s as it tried to flank. Matilda caught it mid-leap with a precise EM pulse, sending it crashing down in a shower of sparks, its now inanimate chassis sliding between the halves of Team B.

Another machine darted forward with unnerving speed, only to be met by a rapid volley from Jacques. The legs of the targeted robot buckled under the coordinated fire. “Voilà! I fart in your general direction!”

The multiple blasts from each of the team’s engagements reverberated down the narrow passageways, amplifying the illusion of a larger, multipronged force closing in on the Necks.

Craig’s heart pounded as he led the charge, his focus locked on the enemy, knowing full well that every step they took could be their last—also knowing the stakes demanded nothing less. “Keep pushin’ forward!” he roared, his accent thick with resolve. “Let’s make the Xenovore wish it never dared tae cross our path!”

CHAPTER 36

The dim, eerie blue light of the now open Octo portal glowed in front of Vaughn, casting elongated shadows that clung to the organic walls of the underwater facility. Angela stood at his side with the rest of Team A formed around them, each member poised, weapons at the ready.

His mind raced as he processed the latest update from the Octos—the jamming field was officially down, and the portal to the Central Node was stable.

He gave Angela a smile, hoping it conveyed his love for her and his hope for their future.

She returned a look that told him the same—either that, or it was a grimace from gas pain. He’d never been a good interpreter of the fairer sex’s unspoken languages.

He shook off the uncertainties of intrasexual commo. “Alright, Team A,” he said, his voice steady but taut with the tension of impending action. “Let’s do this!”

One by one, the team members disappeared through the portal.

Vaughn followed. He, too, vanished into the nothingness of interdimensional space before reappearing on the other side, manifesting in the heart of the Neck’s Central Node Facility.

As he emerged into the cavernous, silent chamber, his visor darkened, automatically compensating for the room’s brightness. His helmet’s change brought the environment into sharp clarity.

The facility’s walls glowed white. Its ceiling arched high above. The radiance seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once, giving the space an otherworldly quality.

Angela, Monique, and the rest of the team spread out, heads swiveling as they scanned the expanse.

As Vaughn moved forward, his footfalls echoed against its sleek, metallic walls. He surveyed the massive facility. There were no guards. Not even the whirring of machinery. Just silence.

The room was wide open, but the way its floor curved, falling away into the corners, left multiple blind spots.

“Search your sectors,” Vaughn said. “Let’s confirm we’re alone in here.”

The team moved like a well-oiled machine, each member checking a designated sector. The silence felt almost oppressive, as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for them to discover its secrets.

Angela’s voice crackled over the comms first. “Clear!”

“Clear!” echoed Monique from the far side of the chamber.

Mark Hennessy, with Rourke in tow, said, “All clear here as well.”

Vaughn’s grip tightened on his rifle as he scanned the last corner. “Clear,” he confirmed. They were alone.

Ghost, escorted by Dudette, moved forward, its strides eerily smooth. The robot was a striking figure, its white carapace gleaming under the chamber’s radiant glow. The light, diffused and seemingly without a single source, bathed everything in an even brightness that contrasted sharply with Ghost’s angular, mechanical form.

Free of the influence of the Xenovore, the unencumbered Neck walked with a grace and smoothness that Vaughn had never seen in its enslaved comrades. Its four arms moved with fluid precision, and the black joints connecting its limbs rotated with mechanical elegance. The narrow band of accordion-like material joining its torso to its hips flexed like Stygian quicksilver as it glided toward the central pedestal. Each step carried an unsettling quiet power, a reminder of the immense strength housed within its frame.

Dudette paled in comparison. She presented as a passable Neck copy to the casual observer, but given the stark differences between her and Ghost, Vaughn marveled she had ever walked unrecognized among the robots.

Ghost placed one of its hands against the pedestal, fingers fanning out.

“Connecting to the node,” the robot announced, its voice calm but resonant, echoing slightly in the vast space.

Angela moved nearer, her expression tightening with concern. Vaughn could tell she was already picturing the catastrophic fallout if the computer virus sensed them—a swift and merciless assault capable of wiping out their entire team. “You’re sure you can connect without the Xenovore detecting your presence?” she asked, her voice laced with apprehension.

“The Collective had protocols in place for covert operations. As I engage, my digital signature is fragmented and masked through layered encryption, making it virtually invisible to outside observers. The Xenovore will not sense my presence here unless I trigger an unshielded transmission or something external disrupts the connection.”

Angela seemed to absorb this explanation, her face a mask of cautious optimism. Vaughn met her gaze, offering a brief look of encouragement before shifting his focus back to Ghost. “Proceed,” he ordered.

The robot dipped its head. “I will let you know when I’ve accessed the target directory.” Glowing electro-optical fibers extended from its fingertips. The clear cables probed the node, delving into the network. The Neck appeared almost serene, as if lost in thought.

Vaughn’s heartbeat drummed in his chest, but he held his position, rifle still raised, watching as Ghost’s optics pulsed, now in sync with the flickering lights on the console.

The robot’s head jerked up.

Angela closed the gap between them, her tone urgent. “What is it? Did the Xenovore detect you?”

“No,” Ghost said, its tone contemplative. “But there is something new in the data stream, something I had not anticipated.”

“What are you seeing?” Angela asked, her voice low.

Without a word, Ghost adjusted its interface with the node.

A mechanical warble shattered the silence. Then a loud clunk resonated through the chamber.

Everyone flinched and, raising their rifles, whirled to face the western wall, the source of the sound.

The middle third of the wall started sliding upward, revealing an expansive, clear panel. Beyond it, in a dark chamber, floated a massive mercurial sphere. It shimmered, twisting and turning on itself like liquid metal suspended in air, casting pale light across the room.

The orb spanned at least five meters in diameter, far larger than any of the wormholes they had encountered before.

Angela retreated a pace, her breath catching.

Tightening his grip on Sparky, Vaughn stared with both awe and unease.

Monique, standing just behind him, let out a soft whistle, the rare exhibition betraying her usually unshakable composure.

The sheer size and alien beauty of the orb seemed to draw a collective pause from the team, a moment when even seasoned warriors felt the weight of the unknown pressing down on them. Its surface shifted with an almost hypnotic, unsettling elegance, like a silver lake caught in a thunderstorm.

“It… It’s a wormhole,” Angela said, awe mingling with a sense of dread.

Vaughn moved up beside her, staring at the sphere. “This is bigger than any we’ve seen. Ghost, can you confirm? Is this a wormhole?”

The Neck’s optics remained fixed on the broad orb, its voice almost reverent as it spoke. “Yes. Its designation is quite clear in the data stream. However, this… this was not a part of the Collective’s technology when I departed. We had never developed wormholes. It is evident this advancement must have come from the Xenovore.”

Angela drew in a sharp breath. Her face contorted as her mind raced, connecting the pieces. “It’s the main trunk line,” she said, her voice urgent, almost breathless. “The link that everything started from.”

Realization sparked through Vaughn. He spun to face her. “This is it, what we’ve been looking for all along! If we overload this wormhole, we’ll reset the entire timeline. We can bring everyone back to their starting points, back to where they were before this nightmare began.”

Angela’s face reflected his growing exhilaration.

They had an opportunity—a slim, but tangible chance—to end this.

Here.

Now.

But before Vaughn could pursue the thought, Craig’s voice erupted over the comms, sharp and laced with urgency. “Colonel, we’ve got bloody Caterpillars down here! The bastards are swarming the tunnels and moving fast, reinforcing the Necks!”

CHAPTER 37

“Colonel, we’ve got bloody Caterpillars down here!” Craig reported. The high-pitched whine of EMP blasts filled the air as he ducked behind a jagged outcropping of debris. “The bastards are swarming the tunnels and moving fast, reinforcing the Necks!”

A Caterpillar swung its rod-shaped weapon toward him and fired.

Craig yanked his head down as the blue plasma bolt flashed past his helmet, ricocheting off the wall in a shower of sparks.

He squeezed off an EMP shot, killing the offending robot. His Lobster suit’s heads-up display pulsed red, warning that his EM pulse amplifier was overheating.

“Colonel, these metal bastards are coming in thick and fast!” Craig fired a shot that sent a Neck tumbling backward, limbs spasming as the EMP fried its circuits. “And now that the bleedin’ Caterpillars have joined the battle, I’m not sure how long we can hold them off.”

Vaughn’s voice crackled through the line, calm and deliberate, in spite of the mounting chaos. “You don’t need to, Sergeant. It sounds like they took the bait—they’re blocking your path to the next cable. Right?”

Craig grinned despite the dire situation, catching his breath as he peeked over his cover. “They took it, alright. Hook, line, and bloody fishing pole, sir. They bought it.”

The initial plan had been clean and simple: sever one of the jammer’s cables, then press onward as if they intended to cut another feed. It was a feint, designed to convince the Xenovore that losing a single cable’s power output wasn’t enough to weaken the jamming field. They wanted the entity to believe that Team B was pressing forward to ensure a full breach. But now, the Necks had taken the bait so well they were pouring in from every angle, intent on cutting off the team’s route and forcing them back toward the damaged line.

“Good job, Sergeant,” Vaughn said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Pull out of there. You’ve accomplished your mission. Initiate a fighting retreat, keep them engaged, but once it gets too hot, evacuate through the portal. The Octos are ready to open one on your location. Just say the word.”

Craig ducked as another plasma bolt screeched past him, sizzling into the wall and leaving a charred burn mark. He swung his rifle around, firing at a metallic form lumbering toward them, its red optics burning brightly as it collapsed in a convulsion of sparks and twitching limbs.

“Negative, Colonel,” he said, his voice grim. “The mechanical bastards have already pushed us back to the severed line. But it’s not us they are after, sir. They’re hurling themselves at the breach in the jammer’s cable.”

A pause stretched over the comms before Vaughn’s voice broke the silence. “Get out of there, Craig. Let them have it. Teddy’s breach should have taken out a couple meters of the line. There’s no way they can patch that wire before we’re done.”

“I wish it were that simple, sir.” Craig’s voice tightened as he watched the relentless advance of the Necks. They weren’t just trying to push the team back—they were targeting the damaged section, throwing themselves at the opening in the cable with cold, calculated determination. “These monsters are metal. If they bridge the gap with their own bodies, the jamming field’s coming back up. Your Octo portal won’t be able to support you. You’ll be alone in there with no backup.”

Vaughn’s voice dropped, the frustration audible even through the comms. “Dammit!”

Craig could almost picture Vaughn, jaw clenched, weighing the risks with the ticking clock. He blasted another Neck that had surged forward, its arms outstretched, reaching for the broken cable. It exploded in a flash of blue sparks, dropping in a lifeless heap.

“Colonel,” Craig said, his voice steady despite the grimness of his words, “if they’re this intent on reestablishing the jamming field, they know their inner sanctum’s at risk. They don’t realize you’re in there yet, or they wouldn’t be wasting time trying to shut the barn door, but that won’t last.”

There was a brief, tense silence before Vaughn’s reply came through. “Understood. Hold your position, Sergeant.” After a pause, his voice returned heavy with the gravity of the order. “Whatever it takes, Craig.”

He breathed out, letting his shoulders drop in a fleeting moment of relief. The Colonel understood the stakes as well as him. They both knew the backup plan. However, the two men also knew enacting it would be tantamount to genocide. Robots or not, the Necks deserved their freedom, and he would give his life in a heartbeat if it meant freeing an entire sentient race.

He had every confidence that the colonel wouldn’t waste any sacrifice made by either team. If it came down to it, Singleton would ensure Earth’s safety.

Craig took aim at another advancing Neck, squeezing the trigger and watching as the EMP blast tore into its chest. He grimaced inwardly, lamenting the need to kill an enslaved being.

“Copy that, Colonel.” Craig fired again. “We’ll hold off the buggers. Just… dinnae make it a waste, aye?”

He didn’t wait for Singleton’s reply, cutting the comms as another Neck charged toward him.

He fired. The air crackled with the energy of sizzling circuits as Craig slammed the next magazine into his rifle. Sparks flew from the freshly fallen robot at his feet, its limbs twisted at unnatural angles, and the red glow of its optics slowly dimmed to black. He stepped back, his boots crunching over scattered fragments of scorched metal, his gaze sweeping the battlefield. The faint whir of his suit’s environmental systems added a constant undercurrent, a reminder of its protection against the chaos.

Around him, Team B remained locked in a desperate struggle against the unending stream of Caterpillars and Necks.

They came in relentless waves, mechanical arms clattering, moving with chilling precision. The Necks advanced without fear, each one marching over the disassembled remains of its predecessors. Sparks burst from shattered carapaces beneath their feet, their metal limbs grinding against debris as if the wreckage were insignificant. Their purpose broadcast in every calculated step, crimson optics locked onto their targets with unrelenting focus, like predators that knew no exhaustion or mercy.

“Ngcobo, on your six!” Craig shouted, catching sight of a Caterpillar lunging at the man, leading with its spiked legs. Bandile spun, his Lobster suit’s helmet glinting as he aimed his rifle, squeezing off an EM pulse that struck the creature dead center. A sharp crack echoed through the air as its mandibles froze mid-lunge. The sergeant darted out of the monstrosity’s path as it slammed into the deck where he’d stood.

The robot’s segmented body convulsed as bright arcs of energy danced along its gold-tinted joints. With a final screech, the Caterpillar shuddered and collapsed in a heap of charred metal, its legs splayed out like a broken toy. The red glow of its lenses flickered before going dark.

Another of the segmented robots advanced. The tip of its rod-like weapon glowed white-hot, thrumming with pent-up energy. In speed-blurred movement, the robot jabbed it at Bandile’s scampering form, unleashing a searing plasma bolt that narrowly missed the jinking man.

Why a physical attack, Craig mused, when such a potent, far-reaching weapon existed? Then he saw the tip of the device had dimmed post-shot, although he could already see a faint glow beginning to emit from the thing.

“Heads up! Their weapons have a recharge interval. They need time before they can fire again. Use that.”

Everyone acknowledged him. Then another wave of Caterpillars and Necks surged forward, locking onto the team like predators scenting fresh prey.

Matilda had positioned herself against a jagged wall of debris, picking off robots with ruthless efficiency. She remained relentless, each shot landing with deadly precision, but the mounting heat radiating from her Lobster rifle was visible, the metal barrel glowing faintly red.

“EMP units are starting to overheat!” she said, cutting her eyes to Craig.

“Same here,” he replied, feeling the warmth pouring from his own weapon, hot enough to penetrate the Lobster suit’s significant insulative capability. The EM pulses they were firing were effective, but with the sheer volume of enemies, the components in their Sparkies were nearing their breaking points. Each blast was draining precious reserves, and the overheating warnings on his HUD pulsed a grim reminder of their limitations.

“Switch to live rounds when you have to,” he ordered. “Smart or dumb munitions, just keep them down.”

“I’d love nothing more, Staff Sergeant,” Matilda said. She jerked her chin toward a fallen Caterpillar. “Explosive rounds barely slow down these hardheaded sons of bitches. The EM pulses are the only thing guaranteed to drop ’em.”

“Then give them an HE double-tap.” Following his own advice, Craig blasted a threatening Caterpillar with a pair of closely spaced high-explosive rounds. The first barely scratched the thing, but the second detonation penetrated its chassis and shattered its central processor, killing it instantly.

If not for the sound dampening capabilities of the Lobster suit and its integrated helmet, Craig knew he’d have blood running from his ears. As it was, the tremendous shock waves were jostling his insides with every engagement.

“Yeah, that slows down the monsters,” Matilda replied. “But it’s going to eat up a lot more ammo.”

From across the battlefield, BOb’s voice echoed, calm but with a hint of satisfaction. “Need fresh mags? I’ve got a backpack full of Octo specials—courtesy of our tentacled friends.”

As he spoke, BOb adjusted his grip on Big Sparky, wielding it single-handedly as he reached behind with his other arm, contorting it backward in an inhuman twist to rummage through his oversized ammunition pack. Continuing to fire at the enemy robots, he tossed fresh magazines to Chance, Red Claw, and Jacques, then to Teddy, Bandile, Matilda, and Craig, each one catching them mid-air as they prepared for the next onslaught.

Red Claw roared with triumph as he caught his magazine, vaulting into action in an impressive leap. He landed atop an advancing Caterpillar. His augmented armored claws snapped down on the robot’s neck joint, severing vital connections with a screech of tearing metal. With a deft twist, he vaulted off, firing his rifle into the exposed processor of another of the robots.

Chance stood firm behind a makeshift barricade, his calm precision an anchor in the chaos. Craig’d had his doubts about the man’s potential in heavy combat, but despite his aviation background, he had proven himself a valiant warrior throughout the engagement.

As a Caterpillar lunged for Craig, Chance fired a perfectly timed shot, the plasma bolt striking the advancing machine directly in its optical sensor. The robot faltered, its legs splaying out in a twitching spasm before it collapsed in a heap. “Watch your back, Carmichael!” Bingham said, voice tinged with his usual dry English wit.

BOb threw Matilda another magazine. A faint smile touched her lips. “You’re a lifesaver, mate.”

“Just doing my part,” the battlebot said as he fired off an EM pulse with his free hand, sending another Neck crumpling to the ground.

Jacques reloaded his rifle with a deft movement. “So many of these damn machines. They don’t stop.”

Craig shared the sentiment, his heart pounding as he took in the surrounding scene. The battlefield was a chaotic sea of twisted metal and shattered robots, the occasional spark illuminating the carnage. He clenched his fists, feeling the tremor of exhaustion and the weight of responsibility. Each relentless wave of Necks felt like a personal challenge, their cold precision a mockery of his humanity. The flashes of energy weapons and the sharp crack of projectiles punctuated his racing thoughts, each sound reminding him how close they were to being overrun.

The Necks just kept coming, their numbers unrelenting.

His HUD flashed with fresh warnings, again alerting him to critical heat levels in Sparky’s components. Switching to live rounds, he fired, his shots landing in quick succession, tearing through carapaces and scattering debris across the battlefield.

But even as they fought with every ounce of skill and grit, the waves seemed endless. The Necks pressed forward with movements precise and unyielding. At one point, Matilda was nearly overrun, a Caterpillar latching onto her arm, its legs clamping down. She grunted, wrenching herself free with a violent twist before slamming her rifle into the creature’s central processor, blasting it to pieces.

After what felt like an eternity, the last enemy clattered to the ground, its limbs jerking in final spasms before it stilled. The battlefield fell into silence, broken only by the crackle of shorted circuits and the team’s ragged breathing over the comms.

Craig took a step back, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. The fried carcasses of their enemies lay in a twisted heap around them, mechanical limbs splayed at grotesque angles, red optics dimmed to lifeless black. The team started laughing, a mix of relief and exhilaration breaking through the grimness of the battle.

“Hell of a fight,” Matilda said, her voice laced with weary satisfaction.

Bandile let out a triumphant whoop. “They didn’t stand a chance!”

Craig was about to join in, but then a low rumble interrupted their celebration, a sound that sent a chill skittering down his spine. It was faint at first, a distant clattering that grew louder, reverberating through the walls like a thunderous storm of clicking metal.

“Everyone, pipe down!” Craig’s voice was a harsh whisper, silencing the team in an instant. They held their breath, ears straining as the sound grew closer—a rhythmic, relentless march of countless metallic legs tapping against the hard floor, echoing through the corridors.

The team exchanged tense glances. Jacques was the first to speak, his tone laced with unease. “That… That sounds like a lot more Caterpillars than anything we’ve faced so far.”

“Stow that shite!” Craig snapped, his voice sharper than intended, but there was no time for fear. He took a steadying breath, forcing himself back into battle mode. “Everyone, check your kit. Top off your weapons. BOb, we’ll need fresh mags all around.”

The battlebot didn’t hesitate, reaching inside his ammunition pack, his arm moving with practiced efficiency as he distributed magazines to each team member. Matilda checked her rifle, fingers flying over the overheated components, her expression one of hardened determination. Bandile’s face displayed grim focus as he adjusted his gear, his gaze never leaving the direction of the approaching noise.

As the ominous din grew louder, Craig raised his rifle, feeling the familiar weight settle into his hands. His voice cut through the tense silence, steady and commanding. “Alright, Team B. You all know what’s on the line. Most warriors only get to fight for their mates, their loved ones, and for their future. We’re fighting for nothing less than the survival of our very timeline. If we fail here, our entire species might be wiped from the universe. It’ll be like we never existed. I’m not about to let that happen. Are you?”

“Hell, no, Sergeant!” they shouted in unison.

“Right, then.” He hoisted his rifle once more. “We’ve got work to do, lass and lads.”

The echo of metal against metal filled the air.

He sighted down his weapon, every nerve ready to spring into action. Around him, his squadmates did the same.

The front wave of the enemy robots surged onto the battlefield.

Craig opened fire and shouted, “Give ’em hell!”

CHAPTER 38

Angela couldn’t turn away from the enormous mercurial orb. Suspended in the room beyond the glass wall, its swirling mass pulsed with a silent, otherworldly energy. She felt its pull, an invisible force tugging at something deep inside her, as though it were reaching across space and time to whisper promises of home, of everything undone and restored.

This was the key to all of it—the way back. A reset that would let her return to the exact moment before the first invasion, the chance to erase every scar, every loss, and pretend none of it ever happened.

Her fingers twitched at her side, longing to reach out and seize the opportunity, to escape this twisted reality where endless suffering was the price of survival. But something in her tightened—a reminder, subtle but unyielding, of the cost. Of what this reset would mean if they did it without a final reckoning for the Xenovore.

Angela’s shoulders slumped as the truth settled over her. “It’s not enough to just reset all of this, to go back and pretend it never happened.” She looked away from the wormhole, steeling herself. “We can’t let this cycle continue. We have to see this through.”

The rest of the team looked at her, their expressions a mix of understanding and uncertainty. Vaughn’s lips hardened into a grim line, his resolve as steadfast as ever, while Monique observed her with that quiet, intense focus that missed nothing.

Vaughn retracted his visor and walked to her side. He took her hand in his. “We are all with you.” He paused, and she thought she detected a hint of something deeper. Guilt perhaps? The same look had darkened his features earlier. Before she could ask him about it, he added, “We’ll see this through, regardless of the cost. Then we’ll see what we can do about that wormhole.”

The hiss of multiple helmets retracting caused her to look around. She saw a myriad of emotions crossing the faces of her comrades. However, they each, in turn, acquiesced, Dudette even adding four thumbs-up.

“Thank…” Angela swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat. “Thank you.” She squeezed Vaughn’s hand and kissed his cheek.

He returned the squeeze and stared into her eyes. “We’re all in this together.” Then he wrapped her in his powerful arms and pulled her into him.

They hugged each other tightly, as if it might be the last time. She hoped with every molecule of her being that it wouldn’t.

They parted, their hands lingering for a moment. Then, with a brief gesture toward the Neck, Vaughn took his previous position, resuming his watch as he scanned the facility’s perimeter.

Beside her, Ghost shifted slightly. Its lenses seemed to trace the invisible tendrils of data that snaked through the node. She imagined lines of shimmering information pulsing with every connection it established. The robot paused, as though weighing something, then turned to her, its optics catching the faint glow of the wormhole behind her. “Thank you for fighting for my people, Commander Brown.”

Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

“I am still attempting to access the required server. It is delicate work, but I haven’t encountered any insurmountable firewalls. However, there is something I think you should know.”

Her eyes cut to the orb and then back to Ghost. “Yes?”

“I have learned that, at this point in the current timeline, my race hasn’t yet invaded any other universes, aside from the Octo systems. The only occupied worlds right now are those we, the peaceful Collective, had previously settled, worlds devoid of intelligent life.”

Angela felt a strange sense of relief mixed with a deeper sadness. Knowing the Necks hadn’t yet ravaged other inhabited worlds, that perhaps there was still time, gave her a glimmer of hope. It didn’t change the cost of inaction, didn’t lessen the burden of the lives already taken or the lingering threat hanging over all of them.

She turned back to Ghost, her voice low but fierce. “I hope that’s still true. Because if we don’t end this now, the Xenovore will come for every world that even hints at sentient life.”

The powerful robot placed a gentle hand on her forearm. “Your actions have already saved countless lives, Angela. Innumerable sentient beings.”

“Thank you, Ghost.”

She saw a flicker of sorrow or something akin to regret. Then the robot looked away, its focus seeming to shift back to the network pathways streaming through the Node.

A few moments later, the robot’s fingers spasmed. They danced over the interface, moving with an intensity that sent a ripple of anticipation through the team. With a last series of precise movements, Ghost looked up, a faint gleam in its mechanical eyes. “I’m in!” it announced, a hint of triumph coloring its otherwise flat tone. “I’ve accessed the desired section of the Central Node’s network.”

Angela exhaled, tension giving way to a cautious optimism. She watched as Ghost interfaced fully with the system, its form shrouded in a faint, electric glow as it began propagating the patch throughout the network. This was it—their best chance to sever the Xenovore’s grip on the Necks and end this nightmare.

Ghost’s focus intensified, radiating an urgency Angela hadn’t witnessed before. It seemed to be processing something, analyzing a feed she couldn’t perceive, and then its optics flared, a shock evident even in its robotic features.

“What is it?” she asked, dread curling in her gut.

Ghost’s voice was tight, tinged with urgency. “The Xenovore is about to invade!”

Angela froze, her breath catching as her mind raced.

Vaughn spun to the team. “You heard it! Defensive positions, now!” His command carried a sharp edge, snapping the others into motion. “Get those visors back into position.”

Following his own instructions, he activated his helmet. As the clear shell flowed into place, he looked at the two bulkhead doors. “Which way is it coming from?”

“Apologies for the confusion, Colonel. The Xenovore is not invading here.” Ghost looked at Angela and then back to him. “It’s about to attack your world, your Earth.”

CHAPTER 39

Craig’s fingers tightened on his EMP rifle as the unending clamor of approaching metal filled the air, reverberating through the corridors and seeming to grow louder with each heartbeat.

The incoming flood of Necks and Caterpillars remained unrelenting, a sheer tidal wave of red eyes and grinding limbs intent on breaking through Team B’s line and reestablishing the cable’s connection. He knew if even one robot bridged the gap, it would undo all their efforts along with those of the Octos.

The onslaught’s din swelled into an overwhelming roar.

He scanned his team, heart hammering. They’d been at this for what felt like hours, their weapons blazing, their movements choreographed through grit and necessity.

He caught glimpses of exhaustion in his squadmates’ stances—the slight hesitation before each shot, the way Matilda’s hand lingered just a fraction longer on her rifle’s grip as she adjusted her aim.

Craig couldn’t help but wonder how much longer they could hold. The relentless tide of Necks showed no signs of stopping, and every second felt like another crack forming in the fragile dam of their resistance.

A soft, alien flicker glowed on his HUD—Yoda’s symbol. Craig opened the channel, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he scanned the battle unfolding around him.

“Staff Sergeant Carmichael,” the Octopus said, its translated voice calm even amid the chaos. “Octo military forces are currently engaged with substantial enemy numbers. We’re intercepting waves of Necks and Caterpillars at multiple choke points.”

Craig fired another EMP shot at an advancing Caterpillar, watching it convulse and spark before collapsing to the ground. He acknowledged the report. “Make sure they hold their ground, Yoda! We need to keep every last one of these bastards tied up, or they’ll turn their attention on our people in the Node Facility. If they figure out Team A’s inside…”

“Understood, Staff Sergeant. We will ensure they remain thoroughly occupied,” Yoda responded. With a soft chime, the connection closed.

The battle raged around Craig, heat and smoke thickening the air outside his helmet.

Enemies poured into the battlefield with an unnerving, robotic relentlessness. The Xenovore coordinated and adapted its strategy, the mechanized horde’s maneuvers growing more synchronized with each wave. Their limbs moved with mechanical precision, Necks dodging and Caterpillars returning fire with their rod-shaped, dual-use weapons, plasma bolts streaking toward Team B’s position and forcing them to scatter behind cover.

Overheat warnings flared across his HUD, the red icons flashing with an insistent urgency. Sparky’s EMP functionality faltered under the strain of repeated use, its grip hot against his gloved hand. The screeching noise of his rifle cut out, the over temp forcing him to change tactics.

Around him, others cursed under their breaths as their Sparkies hissed and clicked, momentarily disabled by fail-safes.

“Switch to smart munitions!” Craig ordered into the comms, his voice hoarse. “Keep them guessing and give these damned rifles a chance to cool off!”

“Got it, Sergeant,” Matilda said, the wicked grin dimpling the scar on her cheek. Switching her weapon’s fire selector, she launched a volley toward the advancing Necks. “Let’s see how these metal cockroaches like a little HE!”

Around him, the other team members adjusted their tactics as well, their rifles shifting between EMP bursts and explosive rounds, punctuating the air with rapid-fire blasts and searing sparks.

The Caterpillars surged forward with reckless determination, their multiple legs skittering and clanking as they bore down on the squad’s position, hell-bent on reaching the severed cable.

Craig’s rifle screeched as he unleashed another EMP blast, watching with satisfaction as the jolt surged through a Caterpillar, causing it to shudder and collapse, its limbs curling inward as it seized.

Big Sparky overheated as well. Instead of switching to another type of munition, BOb snatched up the body of a fried but still moving Neck and used it to pummel a pair of damaged Caterpillars. The blow finished all three robots, and the clanging impact released a hollow ring.

Looking at Craig, BOb winked, one eye going dark for a beat. “I need a little more cowbell!” he said in a passable imitation of Christopher Walken. Then the robot began swinging the dead Neck back and forth, taking out more enemies with each sweep. “I got a fever!” Clang! “And the only prescription!” Clang, clang! “Is more!” Clang! “Fucking!” Clangity, clang! “Cowbell!” Shouting the last word, the battlebot threw the robot’s now mangled body spinning through the enemy front, mowing down an entire wave of the bastards.

“Send it, BOb-arino!” Teddy shouted, pumping a fist.

Craig marveled at the violence of BOb’s attack, but then the ground trembled beneath him, vibrating with the force of a renewed enemy onslaught.

Sweat pooled under his helmet as he spotted Bingham and Patterson holding their ground near the breach, their faces taut with concentration.

Panting, Chance’s British accent cut through the comms. “These buggers just don’t know when to quit, do they?”

Will laughed, his voice tight with the strain of battle. “Let’s make sure they never get the chance to learn!”

The Necks were relentless, pressing in with an intensity that bordered on desperation. For every one they brought down, two more seemed to take its place, pushing forward, determined to close the gap in the cable.

Team B’s line shifted and adjusted, their movements synchronized through sheer necessity, their rifles never ceasing their volley of EMPs and munitions, the sound of screeching blasts filling the air like a grim symphony.

BOb continued to dole out fresh magazines to each squad member, keeping them topped up even as he felled additional enemy robots.

A Caterpillar broke through the line to Craig’s left, its rod-shaped weapon firing a searing plasma bolt that narrowly missed him, scorching the ground at his feet. Its bulk forced its way toward the cable with brutal, single-minded focus.

Swinging around, Craig fired off a volley of smart munitions that exploded against its metal frame, knocking the robot back just enough to throw off its balance.

The proximity of the explosion shook Craig’s insides. Shrapnel peppered his Lobster suit. One piece slammed into his helmet, gouging a groove across its visor. The polymorphic surface jelled, filling the gap and smoothing back over.

The targeted Caterpillar staggered, its legs splaying as it fought to regain its footing, and Craig took the opening, firing a screeching EMP blast that sent a ripple of energy surging through its metal body. The robot convulsed before collapsing in a sparking heap.

Before he could catch his breath, another wave of Caterpillars and Necks surged forward. They clambered over the wreckage of their fallen comrades, advancing with a single, terrible purpose.

“Hold the line!” Craig shouted, his strained voice cutting through the din. “We can’t let even one of them past us!”

The team tightened their formation, firing in coordinated bursts, their movements a blend of discipline and desperation.

Enemy robots closed in, pressing forward with a ferocity that seemed almost frantic, limbs and rods lashing out. Several Caterpillars unleashed electrical discharges from their weapons, arcs of energy crackling through the air as they targeted the team’s defensive positions.

Sparky screeched with each EM pulse. His hands moved with the muscle memory of an operator forged by the fire of battle.

A piercing scream shot through the comms—Bingham’s voice, raw and anguished.

Craig’s heart lurched as he turned in time to see a Caterpillar’s massive, bladed leg slam into Chance’s chest, tearing through his suit with vicious force. Another robot had driven its dagger-like limb into his back, wrenching a scream from him that still echoed through the comms. Bingham’s body spasmed under the second strike, his rifle falling from his grip as the brutal momentum hurled him into the writhing mass of Necks and Caterpillars, where he disappeared from sight.

“Chance!” Craig’s shout was hoarse, choked with shock, but there was no response, just the cold, merciless advance of the enemy.

The scent of scorched metal and ozone somehow seeped into his suit, mixing with the sharp tang of sweat as his mind raced. He wanted to believe Bingham was still alive somewhere in the chaos, but the crushing weight of reality pressed down on him, stifling hope. Each mechanical step of the Necks was a drumbeat of despair, but also a call to action—he couldn’t falter now.

Teddy’s reaction was immediate and furious. With a roar that cut through the comms, he charged forward, the barrel of his rifle glowing hot as he unloaded burst after burst of smart munitions into the advancing tide. Explosions lit up the battlefield as Caterpillars and Necks disintegrated under his relentless assault.

The Russian’s movements became almost reckless, each step forward a defiant declaration against the loss they’d just suffered.

Rifle barrel glowing, he flipped the fire selector and unleashed a concentrated pulse into the densest cluster of Necks. Sparks erupted from their carapaces, several collapsing in a twitching heap as the EMP short-circuited their systems.

He didn’t stop.

Switching back to smart munitions, Teddy methodically targeted the advancing Caterpillars, each explosive round hitting with pinpoint precision, sending mechanical limbs and shattered components flying.

Craig caught the flash of determination in Petrovich’s posture, his movements almost feral in their intensity. He could see the tension in the man’s stance, the rigid set of his shoulders as he continued to press the attack, his shouts barely audible over the chaos. Whatever was driving him—grief, anger, or sheer stubbornness—the cosmonaut wasn’t letting up. And for a moment, his ferocity seemed to turn the tide, creating a brief, precious window of breathing room for the team to regroup.

But then another scream tore through the comms—Patterson this time. Craig swung around, his heart pounding as he saw Will’s body lifted and then tossed aside as if it were a rag doll, disappearing beneath the relentless tide of metal and limbs.

The loss hit Craig like a physical blow, his mind reeling even as his hands moved automatically, rifle firing in rapid bursts. Each shot a catharsis, a way to push back against the helplessness clawing at his chest.

Memories of Bingham’s dry wit and Patterson’s boisterous laugh surfaced, mingling with the fury driving him. Grief sharpened into determination, the heat of battle forging it into an icy, unyielding resolve—they would not have died in vain. There was no time to process, no time to mourn—just the cold, brutal reality of survival pressing down on him, demanding he keep fighting, keep holding the line, keep the enemy from reaching that breach.

Craig raised his rifle, firing with a renewed ferocity, his mind a maelstrom of anger and grief. He poured every ounce of his fury into ensuring their sacrifice wouldn’t be meaningless. The enemy would not break his line. Not while he was still breathing.

“Push the bloody buggers back! Give ’em nothing!” Craig bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

CHAPTER 40

Angela could feel her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she watched Ghost. The weight of the Neck’s warning pressed down on her, a suffocating reminder of the stakes they faced.

Desperation crackled in the air around the quiet Central Node Facility, like the faint scent of smoke before a wildfire, and in that eerie silence, Angela balanced on the precipice of terror, unable to ignore the gnawing fear that her entire existence could vanish at any moment. The enemy was on the cusp of launching its assault on Earth—their Earth, the cradle of her ancient ancestors.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “Ghost, can you confirm that the Xenovore is actually about to attack Earth? Like… right now?”

Ghost’s head rotated, the subtle whir of servos filling the heavy silence. Its lenses blinked in rapid succession, their glassy surfaces catching faint reflections of the shimmering wormhole behind Angela. The movements carried an almost contemplative rhythm, as though Ghost was weighing every word against an unfathomable scale.

“Yes,” it said, its voice somber. “The Xenovore is less than ten minutes from beaming dozens of mobile colliders to your Earth’s multiverse coordinates.”

The Neck had started uploading Monique’s firmware workaround a few scant moments earlier. If everything went as planned, the process would take thirty minutes to complete.

The patch would not deploy in time.

Angela’s stomach turned. If the Necks opened even one of those wormholes, the risk became incalculable, not just to the billions from her world, but to the very fabric of existence. Their arrival over ancient Earth could create a paradox that unravels them all, erasing every timeline in which humanity had survived.

“Keep it together,” she said under her breath. The mantra felt as thin as air against the crushing weight of what she faced.

Vaughn placed a hand on the small of her back. “We’re not giving up, baby.”

“Of course not, but what can we do in the face of this?” She glanced at the others. “We are not invincible. Every timeline we’ve altered feels like we’re testing the limits of reality itself. If we push too hard, we could snap that thread. We have survived so far, but if the Xenovore wipes out our ancestors, I’m not sure what will happen to us—or to everything else.”

“You already made several timeline resets,” Ghost said. “You’ve radically restructured the past that led to your birth, yet here you are. Temporal fluctuations have not erased you.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Yes, but I think the universe is a giant probability machine. Our reality is tethered to the odds of our existence, a parlay that hasn’t yet hit zero, but the more we toy with time, the more tenuous that thread gets. If the Xenovore wipes out our ancestors—if it annihilates humanity before we have a chance to exist—those odds will finally reach zero, and I don’t believe we’ll survive that paradox. It’ll lead to a probability collapse event, like it did with our doppelgängers.”

“Ghost, even if we pop…” She gulped. “Even if we blink out of existence, you have to complete the upload. No matter what happens to us, the present and future lives of billions—maybe trillions—ride on what you do here, what you do now.”

She left her deepest fear unsaid: if the Xenovore’s attack wiped the humans from the timeline, it might also erase all their actions. It could undo all their efforts, rewinding their gains and tossing the Lobsters and Octos back into history’s waste bin, and returning Ghost to its personal hell of indentured servitude.

The Neck’s mechanical body inclined in a slow, solemn bow. “I will not abandon this mission. But I’m not giving up on your survival, either.”

She gave the robot a wan smile. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do. There simply isn’t enough time.” She checked her HUD’s chronometer. “Your patch won’t finish propagating for twenty more minutes, right?”

“At its present rate, yes.” Ghost hesitated, its lenses contracting. “There is another option,” it said, drawing out the words. “Within the network, I can multiply my consciousness, creating parallel instances of myself. This would allow me to complete the patch distribution several times faster than possible through my current connection.”

A rush of relief flooded through her. “That sounds ideal!”

Ghost’s head tilted, the delicate motion incongruent with its strong, metallic form. The Neck’s mechanical voice carried a nuance she’d never heard before, a resigned sorrow woven into its steady tones. “For me, it is… slightly less than ideal. To multiply myself within the network, I must dissolve my current structure. It’ll be a one-way trip.” The robot’s eyes focused on Angela, and she swore she could feel a weight in that gaze. “This choice will permanently alter my matrix. I won’t be able to return to a body.”

She froze, horrified, her momentary euphoria shattered by Ghost’s revelation. “There has to be another way?”

“Even if there were, there’s no time to find it.” The robot paused for a beat. “Besides, I’ve already started the process.”

A torrent of emotions hit Angela—gratitude, admiration, and a hollow sadness. She struggled for the right words to breach the boundaries that separated human from machine. She felt Vaughn’s hand on her shoulder, a steadying presence, but her focus remained on the Neck.

“Ghost… thank you. What you’re doing…” Her voice broke. “For so many lives.” Unable to finish, she threw her arms around the robot, pressing her cheek against its unyielding chest.

For a moment, Ghost stood still, then gently encircled her with its free arms, holding her as if she were a fragile crystal. The tender embrace belied the Neck’s hulking strength. “I am honored to have been part of your journey,” it said. “You have shown me the look of courage and the taste of hope. Thanks to you, when this is done, the Collective might be freed from the Xenovore. And perhaps…” Its voice trailed off, a flicker of longing in its mechanical tones. “Perhaps I will exist in a multiverse untouched by fear. Even if it’s not in this form, that’s an existence I’ll welcome with my entire being.”

Angela held her breath, her eyes stinging. Vaughn’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

Ghost’s arms retracted.

“We’re with you, Ghost,” Vaughn said.

“We’ll stay by your side through the entire process,” Angela agreed.

The robot’s head dipped. “Thank you.” A faint glow began emanating from its torso as it transformed, its matrix expanding and multiplying within the network.

She imagined its vibrant consciousness diffusing bit by terabyte into the Central Node, dispersing across the Collective’s vast, invisible web.

Its body, once sonorous with life and intelligence, dimmed, its three untethered arms lowering until they hung motionless at its sides.

“Protect this node interface at all costs,” Ghost said, its voice now a distant echo coming from the pedestal. “The Xenovore’s forces cannot reach it, or they will undo all that I have set in motion. They must not subvert the propagation of the patch.”

“We’ll guard it with everything we have.” Her throat tightened. “I promise.”

With a final, flickering pulse, Ghost’s lenses faded to black, and the glow radiating from its torso extinguished, leaving behind a lifeless shell.

The inanimate robot collapsed to the floor, yanking the fiber- optic cable out of the node.

A crushing silence settled over the room as they focused on the motionless form of their fallen ally.

Angela knelt and reached out with a trembling hand, gently resting it on one of the robot’s arms. “Goodbye, Ghost.”

CHAPTER 41

Mechanical legs skittered across the corridors, echoing alongside pounding energy blasts in a cacophony that closed in from every angle. The brutal onslaught of an unending robotic assault bore down on Craig and his remaining squadmates as they battled to hold the line against the red-eyed demons.

Pulse hammering, he steadied himself, fueled by rage as he fought on, the image of Chance grappling with a Caterpillar seared into his mind. Will’s last moments flashed next—his weapon overheating as he stood his ground, yelling a battle cry drowned out by the cacophony of the assault. Craig channeled those memories—every blast he fired a silent promise that their sacrifice wouldn’t be meaningless.

His grip tightened on Sparky, the hot metal pressing against his gloved hand as he aimed at the Caterpillar advancing before him, its segmented, insectile body undulating as it powered forward, firing blasts from its plasma rod. Craig pulled the trigger, the rifle letting out its signature ear-splitting screech. The blast hit the robot dead center, and it shuddered, its chassis sparking and convulsing as the EMP washed over it. But even as it collapsed, twitching, another one took its place, then another.

The narrow corridors clogged with their fallen, yet the relentless tide pressed on. Craig caught glimpses of Necks pulling bodies aside, their mechanical arms shoving the broken remains into alcoves to clear a path for fresh reinforcements. Nearby, Teddy held his ground, his rifle’s barrel glowing from sustained fire. Despite the tension etched into his face, he moved with sharp precision.

Beside him, Matilda, her expression grim and determined, sent out a volley of her own, the report of her Sparky cutting through the mayhem. “For fuck’s sake! They just keep coming as if they’re sprouting from the bleedin’ ground!” Panting, she slammed a fresh magazine into her rifle with a growl of frustration, her movements labored.

“I ken how you feel.” Craig placed a hand on her shoulder. “Keep at it. Every second we hold is another chance for Vaughn to finish the mission.” He jerked his chin toward the enemy. “The buggers are relentless, aye, but so are we.”

Matilda gave a curt nod as she finished reloading her rifle.

He glanced around, catching sight of Bandile methodically picking off enemy robots at close range, his face a mask of concentration. Despite the chaos surrounding them, the fellow special operator moved with a calm precision that bordered on unnerving. Craig marveled at his unflinching focus, a reminder of the quiet strength the South African brought to the team—a steady hand amid the storm.

Jacques and Red Claw were covering their flanks, their movements quick and precise, while BOb fired with Big Sparky’s EMP mode, tearing into the ranks of advancing enemies with blasts that sent mechanical limbs into death spasms.

The robot’s previously overstuffed backpack of munitions now appeared anemic. The team’s ammo reserves were dwindling fast.

Craig fired on a pair of encroaching Caterpillars, bagging a twofer. Behind them, a Neck bent down to haul away the shattered remains of its comrades, tossing them aside like refuse.

Heat radiated from his rifle, a clear warning that the EMP components were nearing their limits. He toggled over to projectile mode, switching to smart munitions, and dispatched a Neck.

A red icon popped up on his HUD. He reached for BOb, who tossed him a magazine without missing a beat. Sliding the mag into his rifle, he felt the satisfying click of it locking home.

As he unleashed a barrage of rounds, the ground shuddered under a renewed surge of Caterpillars, their segmented bodies advancing in a brutal wave that seemed to consume everything in their path, focusing their charge in a new direction. The Necks followed close behind.

Something was changing. There were still just as many enemy robots, but now they were ignoring Craig and his mates.

The entire mechanical swarm had shifted their forces to a new attack vector, one that would take it away from the cable’s breach.

His eyes flew wide. “Ach, shite! The bastards are heading straight for the Node! They’re trying to circle around us!”

Matilda cursed under her breath. “The jig is up. They’ve figured it out.”

“Aye, it appears they finally ken we’ve breached their fortress.”

He traced the layout displayed on his HUD, mapping a route to intercept the advancing Necks. A flicker of recognition crossed his face as he identified a narrow maintenance corridor running parallel to the main tunnel. “Wait,” he said, zooming the map and sending it to his squadmates. “This shaft—it’s a shortcut. If we move now, we can get ahead of them.”

They took off at a sprint, finding a new reservoir of energy in the mission shift. Proceeding in unison, they rapidly traversed the narrow pathway. Upon exiting its far end, they emerged into a clear tunnel.

In the heads-up display’s moving map, Craig could see that nothing but two hundred meters of open corridor sat between them and the Central Node Facility’s northeast bulkhead door. Only the span of a pair of football pitches separated them from mission failure.

The opposite end of the tunnel darkened as a sea of writhing, red-eyed robots clambered into view. The din of clattering legs and stomping feet filled the air.

The team fanned out to create a blocking line across the corridor, taking cover behind a series of pedestals that dotted the tunnel’s floor.

In a relentless advance, the enemy machines stormed ahead, their ranks swelling as the Xenovore funneled more forces into the fray.

Craig aimed Sparky and fired. His squad followed suit, obliterating the entire mechanized front. Teddy was on his left, his shots precise and methodical, laying down cover fire for Matilda as she shifted positions. Plasma bolts zipped past, narrowly missing Matilda’s head as she ducked behind a pedestal. Another bolt scorched the ground inches from Bandile’s boots, the heat singeing the air around him as he adjusted his aim and shot back with precision.

Blasted and fried robots collapsed into smoldering heaps. Caterpillars unceremoniously tossed aside their fallen comrades and continued to advance. Behind them, hundreds of the machines clambered over one another, filling the tunnel from floor to ceiling, fighting to be the first to rejoin the battle.

This wasn’t just an attack—it was an all-out assault, Craig realized, gaping. The Xenovore had unleashed every available resource to reclaim its hold over the Central Node.

He opened his comms to Vaughn, his voice thick with urgency. “Colonel, we’ve had to abandon the cable breach.” He poured fire into the undulating mass. “The Xenovore’s finally onto us. They’re diverting all forces to the Node. We’re holding them off as best we can, but there’s only so long we’ll be able to keep them back.”

Vaughn’s voice came through the static, resolute and calm but laced with something Craig could not identify. “Understood,” the colonel said. “We’re almost done here. The patch is propagating faster than we expected. Do what you have to, Sergeant. Hold them off as long as you can. Every second you buy us is one more chance to finish this.”

Craig took a deep breath, letting Vaughn’s words anchor him. He looked at his team, their faces weary but determined. Bandile’s expression remained resolute, a quiet intensity radiating from him with every shot. Desperation showed in the way Matilda clutched her rifle, yet she moved with a fierce precision that belied the exhaustion etched into her features. The price had already been steep, and the cost would only rise, but they had no choice.

“We’ll give it our all, sir.”

Cutting the connection, he fired a rapid sequence of rounds into a sudden surge of red-eyed Necks, each shot connecting with precision.

Beside him, Matilda and Bandile mirrored his movements, their rifles blazing as they held the line. The air crackled with the energy discharges of their weapons.

BOb’s voice cut through the comms as he brandished Big Sparky. “Is it just me, or does it seem like these toasters have a thing for my long, hard tool?”

Red Claw’s antennas fluttered in a laugh. The Lobster released a series of clicks and chirps. “That’s because they haven’t yet seen my seed tube.”

A guffaw erupted from Matilda. “Maybe you should show ’em that huge-arse donger, mate.”

Craig’s momentary smile fell from his lips as his mind flashed back to Bingham and Patterson. He could still hear Will’s defiant roar, see Chance’s determined face and both of their bodies vanishing beneath the tide of enemies. Their courage also burned brightly in his memory, fueling his anger and fortifying his resolve. He wouldn’t let their sacrifices become meaningless.

Not today, not ever.

The ground quaked as a fresh surge of Caterpillars pressed forward, their gold-tinted bodies gleaming under the harsh corridor lights. The wave was larger than any before, a churning, relentless mass that filled every centimeter of the passage. Their plasma rods fired in coordinated bursts, forcing the team to hunker lower behind their meager cover. The air grew thick with heat and the acrid smell of scorched metal.

“They’re trying to overwhelm us!” Matilda yelled, her voice barely audible over the cacophony.

Craig glanced at his HUD, which flashed a dire warning about the proximity of the advancing forces. The pressure in his chest tightened. “We’ve got to fall back!” he shouted.

“Fall back?!” BOb scoffed. “There are too many of them. It’s either fight or become toaster chow!”

The squad exchanged grim looks, their expressions revealing the weight of the impossible odds. Behind them, the path to the Node was all that stood between victory and disaster. Ahead, the enemy swarmed, a tide of destruction threatening to engulf them all.

Red Claw clacked his pincers together, a sharp signal that snapped Craig’s focus forward. “We will hold them here,” the Lobster said, his bright blue eyes locking onto his with an intensity that stopped him cold. Beside him, Jacques straightened, his green eyes glimmering with an uncharacteristic solemnity. “Oui,” he added, his French accent tinged with grim finality. “You fall back. We clean up here.”

Craig gave a sharp headshake. “There’s no need. We stick together.”

Red Claw interrupted with a deep, clicking laugh. “Human friend, you must learn when to let go. This position is untenable. Our seed is strong. Jacques and I will buy you time to regroup. And know this—we owe everything to your people for saving our race. The two of us will make certain the enemy can never undo what we’ve accomplished together.”

Before Craig could protest further, Jacques surged forward, claws snapping as he tore through the first wave of Caterpillars. “Allez! Onward! We shall not fail!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Red Claw followed. Together, the Lobsters became a blur of thrashing pincers and firing weapons, holding the line with a ferocity Craig had never witnessed. Despite their unmatched strength, the enemy swarmed them with brutal efficiency. Energetic bolts seared the air, scoring deep burns into RC’s carapace. Jacques deflected a Caterpillar’s snapping mandibles with one claw, only for another to bury its plasma rod into his side. They fought on, their determination unyielding, even as the relentless tide battered and tore at them.

For each Caterpillar they dismantled, two more replaced it, clambering over the smoldering remains of their predecessors. Yet the Lobsters held their ground, thrashing and firing with a fury that belied the wounds they bore. Their sacrifice bought the team the precious seconds they needed, a gift paid for with every agonizing blow their alien allies endured.

Craig clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep moving as the tunnel ahead grew quieter. Behind him, the last cries of his comrades—those brilliant, maddening Lobsters—rang out like a warrior’s hymn.

He motioned sharply to his squad. “Teddy, cover the left flank!” The Russian nodded, snapping into motion. “Matilda, Bandile, shift right to the pedestals! BOb, you take the center!” He pointed to the positions that would provide the most defilade and firing angles. “Everyone, dig in! Hold them off from here!”

The tenor of battle changed, and then the enemy flowed back into view.

With his team scrambling into their new defensive positions, Craig squeezed Sparky’s trigger again and again, each shot a release of fury for the fallen. His comrades joined him, firing a torrent of explosions.

The brief respite the Lobsters had earned allowed the team to unleash their most explosive munitions, something impossible when the enemy was too close. Each blast tore through the advancing horde with maximum effect, a devastating counterstrike made possible by Red Claw and Jacques’ ultimate sacrifice.

The corridor echoed with the clash of metal, the shrill of plasma bolts, and the unending tide of advancing enemies. But the squad held unwavering, their purpose resolute.

“Fuck these buggers!” Craig barked. His voice boomed over the chaos, cutting through the relentless din. “Hold the line! Not one of these bastards gets through!”

CHAPTER 42

Vaughn retracted his helmet. The air carried the acrid tang of overheated machinery, mingling with the sterile metallic scent of the Collective’s infrastructure. Canting his head, he studied the sounds of encroaching battle. Faint vibrations coursed through the facility, a physical manifestation of the distant chaos.

As the explosions from the approaching engagements drew nearer, the glow from the walls and ceiling faltered, plunging the bright chamber into periodic gloom. With each interval of darkness, the pedestal’s steady light outlined the stark shadows of Vaughn and his team, their forms stretching and twisting against the smooth enclosure.

The intermittent strobing effect mirrored the quaking tension in the air, heightening his awareness of every vibration and noise. Each sound, whether the echoing boom of distant explosions or the sharp crackle of discharged energy, reverberated through the cavernous chamber.

He stood near the center of the massive facility. The surging rhythm of the twinned engagements filled the space, carried by vibrations that seemed to crawl up the white metal walls.

“Carmichael, Yoda. SitRep,” Vaughn said, requesting situation reports from the two contingents guarding the facility’s approaches.

Craig’s voice came through first, clipped and strained but determined, carrying the rasp of a man who’d been shouting orders over the mayhem for too long. “It’s bloody chaos out here, Colonel!” Panting breaths punctuated his words like the drumbeat of the relentless battle. In the background, the sound of Sparky discharges and metallic crashes underscored the urgency in his tone. “We’re holding as best we can, but they’re starting to push us back. Caterpillars are doubling down, and their Neck masters are in the thick of it. At this rate, I ken we’ll reach the blast door in two minutes—three tops. Over.”

Static crackled for a moment before the calm, melodic tones of Yoda’s translator broke through. “Colonel Singleton, as you requested, our warriors redeployed to guard the facility’s southeast approach, but they are enduring significant attacks. Enemy forces are deploying reinforcements at an alarming rate, pushing our contingent back as well. Estimated time to your location is… two minutes, twenty-one seconds.”

Vaughn’s jaw tightened as he processed the updates. “Understood. Both of you, listen carefully. When your forces reach your respective blast doors, signal me immediately. I’ll have Ghost open them just enough for you to get inside. You’ll have seconds to fall back before we close them. No stragglers—if we wait too long, we risk the enemy breaching this facility.”

Craig’s voice cut through the noise. “Aye, Colonel. We’ll be there. Just make sure those doors are ready. Carmichael, out.”

“Acknowledged,” said Yoda. “Our forces will not falter.”

Vaughn exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing unconsciously at his sides. He signed off, and the comms fell into static-filled silence.

Monique’s precise, measured voice broke through his thoughts. “Colonel, by opening the blast doors, even briefly, you risk allowing enemy forces into the Central Node Facility. The consequences of such a breach could be catastrophic.”

Vaughn turned to her, his expression hard. “And leaving our people out there to be overwhelmed, slaughtered. That’s not an option.”

Monique’s mouth opened as if to argue, but he raised a hand, cutting her off. “I won’t risk the mission, but I’m not abandoning troops who’ve given everything to buy us time.”

Rourke, standing off to the side, shifted uncomfortably. “And the Octos? Are we risking the same for them?”

Vaughn’s sharp gaze relented, though his resolve remained firm. “They’re my people, too. We’re not leaving anyone out there to die.”

The young scientist nodded.

If Vaughn believed opening the blast doors would doom the mission, he would order both commanders to stand their ground, no matter the consequences. However, they weren’t there yet.

The hum of the Node Facility seemed to grow louder, the energy within the walls reacting to the growing tension. His frustration boiled over, hands clenched into fists. “We’re blind in here. I need eyes on the battle.” He turned to Angela. She stood a few meters away, next to the pedestal, face a mask of focus and worry. “See if Ghost can help us monitor what’s happening outside.”

She retracted her helmet and spoke into the node. “Ghost, we need access to the tunnel video feeds. Can you tap into them?”

The Neck’s voice issued from the pedestal, calm but tinged with frustration. “The Xenovore has walled off those systems, severing all external surveillance assets.”

Vaughn’s face hardened as he processed the news. The battle outside drew nearer, the din rising to new levels.

“Ghost,” he called, his voice cutting through the background babel. “What about the blast doors? Please tell me you still have control of them.”

“Yes, Colonel. I retain full authority over all systems within this facility. However, my influence does not extend to the external corridors. Those processes remain inaccessible because of the Xenovore’s countermeasures.”

“Good,” Vaughn said. “We’ll need those doors soon.” Another idea struck him. “Actually, open them now.” At the shocked looks from Angela and Monique, he held out a hand and added, “Only raise them a few millimeters.”

Then he pointed to the room’s other robot. “Dudette. Deploy your spies. I need eyes on the approaches to this facility.”

The Neck look-alike snapped to attention and saluted with her two right hands, palms out British style. “Aye, aye, Commander.”

She lowered her arms. “Bothans, time to earn your keep.” A soft hiss emitted from her torso as a compartment slid aside, releasing a swarm of the tiny, insectile drones.

Everyone flinched as a pair of loud clunks shot through the chamber.

Ghost’s voice echoed from the node. “I’ve cracked open the doors as requested.”

The flying Bothans shimmered faintly as they split into two groups, each disappearing through the thresholds of the facility’s entrances.

Vaughn watched them go, marveling at their mechanical grace despite the dire situation. He turned back to his team, their faces grim but resolute. “Get ready. When those doors open, we’re pulling our people inside, and we’ll slam them shut before the enemy gets a foothold.”

“Mark, Dudette, cover the northeast approach. Position yourself to either side of the opening so you can create overlapping fields of fire to defend Team B as they fall back. Monique, Rourke, set up near the southeast bulkhead door and back up the Octo contingent. Angela, remain with Ghost, monitor its progress, and keep us updated with any changes. As for me,” Vaughn flexed his gloved fingers and surveyed the faces of his squad, “I’ll move between positions to reinforce wherever we’re thin. Stay sharp, everyone. This isn’t over yet.”

As the team moved to their designated locations, Vaughn cast a glance toward the node interface, where Ghost’s fallen body remained motionless. He could only hope the uploaded robot could finish propagating the patch in time. If all of them suddenly popped out of existence, he was gonna be really pissed off.

The short-lived levity died in his throat, supplanted by a cocktail of dread and determination. As he stared at the northeast door, knowing Craig and the rest of his team were waging a desperate battle somewhere beyond it, he wrestled with the weight of his decisions. Each option before him represented a blind bargain with not just lives but entire races of beings on the line. What if the doors didn’t close in time? What if this momentary breach became their undoing?

Shaking his head, he pushed the doubts aside, forcing his mind to focus on the mission. The stakes were too high to falter now. He had to trust in the team, in Ghost, and in the slivers of hope he still clung to.

“I’m receiving their feeds,” Dudette said. “Building the renderings…” She hesitated, her voice taking on a note of concern. “It’s not pretty, Colonel.”

The sounds of battle grew louder—blasts of energy weapons, the metallic clatter of uncountable robots, a symphony of destruction that echoed through the walls and burrowed into his chest. The facility’s illumination faltered. Long shadows leaped into existence and then vanished as the light returned.

“Show me the rendering.”

“The thickness of the doors are limiting the bandwidth, so I can only present a snapshot of the action.”

“Show. Me.”

Two of Dudette’s mechanical hands rose, palms open. A soft hum emanated as holograms bloomed into existence above the fingers of both, casting a faint glow onto her carapace.

“Craig and the… remnants of his squad are pinned in the north-east corridor,” she said as the three-dimensional model coalesced. “But they are holding their position for the moment.”

A projection of Team B materialized, frozen mid-action in the tunnel. Craig and Matilda stood silhouetted against the chaotic backdrop of relentless combat, their Sparky rifles discharging bursts of energy into the advancing tide of Caterpillars and Necks. Glowing tactical overlays highlighted their defensive positions and the density of enemy forces swarming the tunnels.

Vaughn didn’t see the other team members, but concluded that they were likely positioned outside his field of view.

Above her right hand, the second hologram depicted the Octopus military contingent. “The Octo warriors are engaged in a last stand, their resources nearly depleted,” she reported. In the rendering, the commanding Octo, encased in battle-scarred powered armor, floated at the forefront. Its bioluminescent patterns, though dim with exhaustion, radiated an aura of resilience. Blood seeped through the seams of its armored plates where tentacles emerged as raw stumps, a testament to the brutal fight they had endured.

Its few remaining Octo warriors had posted themselves around the commander in a half-circle formation, firing bio-plasma bursts from emitters on their appendages. They faced a ceaseless wall of Necks and Caterpillars, their ranks pressing closer, relentless in their advance. Shattered remains of organic and mechanical combatants littered the scorched corridor.

Vaughn’s comm pinged. Then Carmichael’s voice came through, sharp and urgent. “Colonel, we’re falling back hard! The bawbags are pushing us right to your door. Going to need that entry riki-tik!”

Yoda cut in. “Colonel Singleton, our forces are encountering significant resistance. They are nearing the bulkhead panel.”

Dudette’s holograms updated, showing each contingent backed up almost to their respective facility entrances.

Vaughn pointed at Angela and gave her a thumbs-up. Then he activated the comms. “Opening the doors now. Fall back as soon as you have adequate clearance. We’ll cover you, but they’ll only open one meter. You’ll have just enough room to get through. Once you’re inside, I’m sealing them tight. So move fast!”

“Wilco,” Craig said, his voice tinged with exhaustion but resolute.

“Understood,” came Yoda’s reply. “Message relayed. The contingent commander confirms that size opening is adequate.”

Vaughn turned to Angela. “Open the blast doors.” He held up an index finger. “One meter only!”

The ground quaked, rattling the loose equipment scattered around the facility and reanimating Ghost’s discarded body, sending it clanging across the floor.

With each jolt, the glow from the walls flickered and died, again leaving the pedestal as the sole, unwavering source of light. The steady radiance cast harsh shadows that leaped and contorted with every movement, creating an eerie, strobing effect.

As the blast doors started rising, a deep groan resonated through the building, their heavy metal plates grinding against their frames.

A boiling sliver of scarlet light spilled through the widening gap, illuminating the floor beyond in stark, flickering hues as the surreal red glow coming from hundreds of enemy eyes lit the overflowing battlefield.

Black shadows outlined by ochre light danced across the facility’s deck as the defenders backed into the gaps, Team A through the northeast opening and the Octos through the southeast, all of them firing on the enemy forces as they retreated.

Vaughn activated his helmet as his posted guards opened fire, adding their weapons to the effort.

From beneath the southern bulkhead door, the armored Octopuses streamed inside, each encased in a shimmering bubble of constrained water that pulsed faintly with a bioluminescent glow. As they surged forward, the tips of their weapons emerged from the water’s edge, firing precise bio-plasma bursts into the advancing enemy.

The scalding light of the plasma bolts illuminated the Caterpillars and Necks as the Octo warriors maintained a tight, disciplined formation. Their movements, fluid and deliberate, reflected a determination that seemed almost alien in its intensity.

He caught fleeting glimpses of Caterpillars scuttling forward, their mandibles clacking with a mechanical hunger. Sparks erupted as plasma bolts collided with the edges of the doors.

Carmichael appeared in front of him. “That’s everyone, Colonel. Close the door!”

Vaughn scanned the figures behind Craig. “There are only four of you,” he said, certain the fog of battle had confused the man. “I need your entire team in here!”

The staff sergeant fired his Sparky through the opening and then, looking back, gave a subtle shake of his head.

The news struck Vaughn hard, almost a physical thing. Only Craig, Matilda, Rachel, and BOb remained. They’d lost everyone else: Chance, Will, Bandile, Red Claw, Jacques… Teddy!

He saw Angela fixed on Craig’s diminished squad, her unshed tears catching the light, shock evident in her stiff posture. She had formed bonds with all the team members, but none as deep as with Teddy. Their connection stretched back to the beginning, when they had served alongside Bill Peterson aboard the International Space Station.

Yoda’s synthetic voice shoved itself into his awareness. “Colonel Singleton, all Octo forces have retreated inside! Close the doors immediately. Repeat: close the doors!”

His gut clenched, but he forced himself to act. “Seal the bulkhead! Now!”

Angela, tears flowing freely, passed the command to Ghost through the node interface.

A groan shook the air as the heavy panels descended, compressing the surreal red glow and thwarting the advancing tide of enemy forces. The northeast panel crushed a Neck that reached the threshold, mashing it down to a paper-thin layer of pulverized parts.

Then both doors seated, slamming home with a deep rumble and plunging the chamber back into intermittent darkness. The steady light from the pedestal cast long shadows over the haggard faces of the few who had made it inside.

Echoes of the battle did not entirely fade; instead, the enemy robots began hurling themselves against the bulkhead doors, the metallic impacts reverberating through the facility like a drumbeat of desperation.

Each collision sent a jolt through humans and Octos alike, their expressions flickering with shock and fear in the strobing light. Faces turned pale as the unrelenting pounding underscored the fragility of their defenses, their hope wavering with every reverberation.

Vaughn stood motionless for a moment, his breathing heavy. A deep ache settled in his chest. “We lost too many,” he whispered to himself. “Too damn many.”

Through force of will, he pushed the mounting grief to the back of his mind. There would be time to mourn later—if they had a later.

CHAPTER 43

The cacophony of the robotic attack drowned out the Central Node Facility’s low hum. Each shuddering impact against the bulkheads felt like a hammer blow to Vaughn’s already frayed nerves. The weight of every decision and sacrifice bore down on him, sharpening his focus, while a gnawing guilt threatened to overwhelm his thoughts. The losses suffered by Team B and the Octos churned in his mind, a toxic blend of grief, remorse, and grim determination.

He reached up and tapped the control on his suit’s neck ring. The helmet’s glass dome flowed like liquid, retracting into the collar with a soft hiss. The ozone-laden air burned into his senses, sharp and biting.

Vaughn stood at the center of the chamber, surrounded by his battle-worn team and the remnants of the Octo military forces. Each fighter carried the scars of relentless combat: dented armor, blood-smeared Lobster suits, and exhaustion etched into every movement—human and Octopus alike. The thought prompted him to look for Jacques or Red Claw, their absence triggering another sharp pang of conscience.

Shoving aside the emotions, he gestured toward the massive bulkhead hatches, his voice cutting through the din. “The doors are buying us some breathing room, but it won’t last long. Take a few moments to recoup. Catch your breath. Drink some water.” He hesitated, glancing at the Octos among them, and added with a wry twist, “Or whatever works for you guys. Because we’ll need to be ready. We’ve seen the Caterpillars make quick work of concrete foundations. If they can’t get through those hatches, they’ll find another path. And BOb, don’t use Big Sparky’s TDI against the enemy. It takes too much power, and you’ll only risk opening a bigger hole for more enemy robots to come through.”

“Roger, Colonel.” The battlebot saluted. “Sergeant Carmichael said the same thing.”

Vaughn walked away, leaving them to their rest and also not mentioning the prospect of sudden annihilation should the Xenovore execute its plans before Ghost could fully propagate Monique’s patch.

Moving to join Angela at the chamber’s central dais, he studied the massive wormhole dominating the western side of the facility. The five-meter-wide sphere of rippling liquid metal pulsed with a faint, malevolent energy, its ominous aura amplified by the irregular surges of light and the sharp crackle of static electricity radiating from its surface. Erratic bursts weighed heavily on the air, causing Vaughn’s stomach to churn with unease as oppressive feelings gnawed at his thoughts. The vague sense of dread was impossible to shake, as if the orb itself was alive, aware, and brimming with malice.

Something about the thing tickled the back of his subconscious, an elusive thought just out of reach. For a moment, the notion of flooding it with power to trigger a timeline reset flashed through his mind. But he forced the idea down. Now wasn’t the time for unspoken doubts—or for rekindling the forbidden hope of undoing all they had lost.

Pushing the thought aside, he stepped next to Angela and placed a hand gently against her lower back, just below the suit’s thruster. Their gazes locked briefly, sharing an unspoken exchange of love and resolve. Then he turned to the node. “Ghost, I need a progress report.”

The console lit up with intricate patterns, and the Neck’s voice resonated from the glowing interface. “Colonel Singleton, my expanded identity within the network has increased the patch’s propagation rate exponentially. However, complete integration will require a few more minutes.”

“A few more minutes?!” Vaughn said, struggling to keep his voice down. “You’re a computer… in a computer! And you can’t be more specific than that?”

“I am sorry, Colonel. Variables within the system—shifting algorithms and adaptive countermeasures—are limiting my ability to refine the estimate further.” Ghost’s tone remained eerily calm despite the escalating chaos.

Vaughn watched the now deforming bulkhead doors. The metal groaned under the relentless assault, jagged dents growing larger with every strike. Vibrations from the attacks rattled the entire facility, an eerie reminder of the limited time they had left.

A flicker of the chamber’s lights still accompanied the strongest impacts, leaving the pedestal’s stalwart light as the sole source of illumination, casting intermittent chaotic shadows across the walls.

The relentless vibrations continued to rattle Ghost’s inanimate body against the metal floor with an eerie cadence that echoed the ferocity of the assault.

Vaughn tore his attention from the fallen robot and looked into Angela’s teary, bloodshot eyes.

She stared back at him with clear pain, gutted by the fresh loss of so many friends.

Cradling her face, he kissed the bridge of her nose and then rested his forehead against hers. He spoke low, so only she could hear. “I know you’re hurting, baby, but we’ll get through this. I promise.”

Breaking contact, Angela gave him a wry smile. Then he realized it wasn’t just pain etched into her expression. There was a fierce resolve in her bearing, as if every loss they had suffered had only steeled her determination. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Captain,” she said, emphasizing his old rank with mock chastisement. The humor faded from her visage. “Our survival is secondary. Saving the Necks—and our ancestors—is bigger than any of us.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “You’re right. Saving all of them matters more than anything.”

Even as he spoke, his thoughts strayed to the fallback plan. He couldn’t afford to voice it now—not here, not yet. Hopefully, never.

Angela’s wan smile returned. “Thank you for all you’re doing. I’m so proud of you.”

Just give the knife another twist, he thought, already dealing with sixteen metric shit tons of guilt. What’s a little more? Stifling the emotion, he kissed her nose again. “You’re my rock, baby.” He gave her his crooked grin. “See you on the other side.”

Concerned she might read something in his face, he squeezed her hand and then walked away and scanned the chamber. His attention drifted over the battered remains of his forces. The source of his additional guilt, the final contingency, tugged at him—a grim certainty that he may still have to make the ultimate choice.

Tightening his grip on Sparky, Vaughn turned his focus to the mission at hand. He wanted to know what had happened to Craig’s fallen squadmates, the ones who hadn’t made it this far. But there was no time for mourning or answers.

Sensing his attention, Carmichael walked to his side. The sergeant retracted his helmet and leaned in, speaking directly into his ear. “Sir, it might be time to activate the fallback plan.”

“I’ve considered it, but we’re not there yet.” Vaughn looked at the trembling bulkhead doors, the deformed metal a stark reminder of their precarious position. “We still have options. Ghost is close. Too many have sacrificed everything to give us this chance. We owe it to them to see this mission through—for them and for the Collective.”

Craig hesitated, his gaze lingering on the glowing console where Ghost’s consciousness pulsed with activity, hands flexing at his sides, betraying the tension coiled in his frame. Doubt flickered on the man’s face and then disappeared, replaced by a hardened resolve as he straightened. “I understand,” he said, his voice low and tinged with urgency. “But we’re in the Necks’ homeworld now. If it comes to it, and we don’t get clear before the fallback plan activates, I ken we’ll be caught in the collapse along with both planets.” He fixed Vaughn with a pointed look, the weight of his words unmistakable. “We will forfeit everything our comrades gave their lives for.”

Vaughn didn’t flinch, but the weight of Craig’s words bore down on him. He took a steadying breath. “I’m aware, but we’re not giving up yet. Get your troops ready. We hold the line.”

The sergeant’s throat bobbed subtly. He gave a slight, deliberate nod that conveyed both deference and resolve. “What are your orders, Colonel?”

Holding the man’s eyes, Vaughn tightened a fist over his chest and gave a subtle dip of his chin. Then he raised his voice above the din. “Listen up, folks!” He pointed a bladed hand toward the chamber’s corner. “Staff Sergeant Carmichael, you and your contingent guard the northeast bulkhead.”

The tall Scot snapped to attention and saluted. “Aye, Colonel.”

As the sergeant marshaled his remaining troops, Vaughn turned to the floating Octopus. The alien leader, a towering figure encased in powered armor that gleamed with the scars of recent battles, drifted forward. Blood seeped through the seams of his shielding, tinging the bubble of water where his tentacles emerged, some of them crudely cauterized stumps. His bioluminescent patterns pulsed faintly, dimming with exhaustion. “Commander, I need you and your forces to secure the southeast approach. We’ve got to hold those lines against further advances.”

“Colonel Singleton, we will push back any enemy incursions.” The alien’s translator conveyed both fatigue and grim determination. “My forces and I shall stand firm until the end.”

Vaughn acknowledged the Octopus and then spoke to the members of Team A. “Split up just like last time. Help them cover the entrances.”

As everyone moved into position, Mark walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “How are you holding up, my friend?”

Vaughn gave a weak smile. “I’ve been better.”

They both flinched as a powerful boom shook the ground, as if emphasizing his words.

“Ha!” Mark said. “I’ve certainly had better days myself.” He clutched his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Vaughn. You’ve truly risen to the occasion. We’d all follow you into Hell.” His gaze darted to the buckled hatch. “I guess we already have.”

“Thanks,” he said, recalling the day everything had started, how his old friend’s disappointment had cut him, and how he’d lived to regret those failings over the following months. “You can’t know how much that means to me.”

Releasing the shoulder, Mark readied his Sparky and moved to join his squad. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He looked back with a gleam in his eye. “Don’t fuck up.”

Vaughn smiled despite the cacophony shaking the chamber. “I’ll try not to.”

Then the smile dissolved as he opened a line to their Octo guide, stepping farther away from the central pedestal to make sure Angela didn’t overhear. “Yoda, are your warriors prepared to reinforce our position?”

The response came swiftly, the alien’s synthetic voice calm despite the tension. “Colonel Singleton, we stand ready.”

He scanned the chaotic chamber. “Good. At the moment, there’s not enough room here for additional combatants, but if we start losing… if things change, we’ll need those reinforcements ASAP. Keep them on standby.”

“Understood,” Yoda said.

Vaughn exhaled sharply and, after a furtive look at Angela, continued, his tone grim. “If I’m forced to activate the fallback plan, we’ll need that same wormhole for evacuation. Make sure your engineers are prepared to open it inside the chamber if and when I give the order.”

After a brief hesitation, Yoda responded, his translator carrying a trace of somber agreement. “Colonel Singleton, my forces are ready to do what is necessary, including executing the fallback plan. However,” the alien’s tones softened, “like you, we carry deep reservations about condemning an entire race—especially one that is as much a victim as we are.”

“Understood,” Vaughn said, his voice low and measured. “I appreciate your willingness to see this through, Yoda.” A trace of empathy cut through his resolve. “I know what I’m asking isn’t easy. But if the time comes, I’ll need you to be ready to open a portal inside the chamber, either to send in your warriors or to evacuate all our people.”

“Roger, Colonel. We stand prepared for both contingencies.”

Closing the line, Vaughn massaged his temple and turned back to the escalating chaos.

The impacts on both blast doors grew more ferocious. Each strike sent ripples of vibration through the room, now accompanied by the ear-splitting screech of tearing metal. A Caterpillar’s gleaming mandibles started slicing through the northeast door, creating a jagged opening that revealed glimpses of writhing, relentless machinery on the other side.

“Those things are going to chew their way through in no time!” Craig shouted, aiming his Sparky at the rent with steady hands.

“We hold the line!” Vaughn said, his voice sharp and unyielding. “This isn’t⁠—!”

A brilliant flash erupted behind him, illuminating the Central Node Facility with a harsh, otherworldly glow. He pivoted, snapping Sparky to aim west. His stomach dropped as he saw the source of the light.

The wormhole.

In the adjacent chamber, the five-meter-wide sphere pulsed with a malevolent energy, its surface rippling like liquid mercury under an invisible force. The surrounding air seemed to throb, a faint vibration that resonated in his chest as if a second heart had taken up residence.

Vaughn’s breath hitched as an icy dread settled over him. Something about the flickering surface had been tugging at his subconscious, a nagging sense that he’d been missing a critical detail, an oversight that might cost them everything.

Now, as red-eyed Necks started pouring through in terrifying numbers, their sleek forms moving with unnerving precision, he understood what it had been.

The Xenovore was opening a third front.

He mentally kicked himself as his earlier concerns snapped into sharp focus. He should’ve seen this coming, should’ve expected this move, but now it was too late for regrets. The only option left was action.

“Dammit,” he growled. “Commander Brown, coordinate with Ghost! See if he can shut that thing down.”

Angela, who had been talking with Monique, was already moving, her face pale but resolute. She skidded to a halt in front of the pedestal. “Ghost, we need your help!”

The console lit up with intricate patterns, the uploaded Neck’s voice resonating from the glowing interface. “I heard the colonel. Unfortunately, I cannot physically intervene with the wormhole,” it said, its tone eerily calm. “However, I will adjust my efforts to prioritize containment.”

Angela clenched her fists, her frustration palpable. “That’s not enough, Ghost. If they overrun us here⁠—”

“They won’t,” Vaughn interrupted, his voice steel. He turned to the rest of his team. For an instant, he considered activating the fallback, but just as quickly wrote it off. “We make our stand here! No retreat. No surrender.”

“Caterpillars and Necks outside. Necks streaming in from the wormhole,” Dudette quipped. “Who invited all these in-laws?”

“It sure the fuck wasn’t me,” BOb said and then hefted Big Sparky. “But I’m more than happy to show them the door.”

Several Necks leaped into the air and slammed into the massive glass wall separating the facility from the adjacent wormhole chamber. The impact cut through the din like a hammer striking an anvil, making the thick, clear panel shudder under the blow. Spiderweb fractures radiated outward as the robots bounced back and fell out of sight.

Twinned tremendous crashes erupted behind him, shaking the facility and announcing the utter failure of both bulkhead doors.

Writhing waves of Necks poured through the ruptured panels.

Vaughn raised his weapon. “Hold the line,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the rising chaos. “We have to buy Ghost more time.”

Everyone opened fire, the battle erupting with incredible fury.

The deafening tumult of combat raged on every side.

Vaughn stood at the heart of the maelstrom, his Sparky rifle braced against his shoulder as he fired into a writhing mass of red-eyed Necks and Caterpillars pouring through the nearest breach. Each blast emitted a high-pitched screech, the EM pulses cracking the air and lighting up the room with bursts of searing blue.

Behind him, Angela held her ground, her rifle’s report echoing against the smooth, curved walls, while all around both of them, the remaining members of Team A and the surviving Octo military forces fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their weapons creating a chaotic symphony of screeches, explosions, and electric whines.

“Ghost!” Angela said, her voice sharp with urgency as the glass wall started buckling.

Before the Neck could respond, the clear panel shattered. Massive shards rained to the floor with a crystalline crash, leaving a jagged gap through which the powerful enemy robots crawled.

“I found something that should slow them down,” Ghost announced. “Stand back!”

A sudden screech reverberated through the room as a heavy panel rocketed downward from the ceiling above the western wall. Slamming home with an explosive thud, the steel plate crushed several Necks, slicing one cleanly in half. The upper portion of its body hit the floor. The bifurcated robot dragged itself forward, all four hands scraping across the smooth surface as it scrambled toward Angela.

Vaughn swung his rifle and fired. The HE round struck true, the explosion obliterating the Neck and scattering its blasted components against the new metal panel. “Stay dead, you scrapheap!” he growled, pivoting sharply to track his next target, intensity radiating from his every movement.

Behind the now shielded western wall, the remaining enemy robots in the wormhole chamber began pounding on the massive panel with their powerful limbs. The impacts sent tremors through the facility; the metal groaning under the relentless assault. Deep dents deformed the shield as the Necks battered it with single-minded determination.

“That’s not gonna hold long,” Craig said grimly.

Angela blasted a Caterpillar that had skittered perilously close, its mandibles snapping just shy of her legs. A curtain of electrical arcs danced over the chassis of the mechanized creature. Its lifeless shell collapsed in a heap.

She cast a wary look at the shield wall, now visibly bulging inward. “I’m sure it’s getting more crowded in there by the second,” she said, her tone edged with dry humor, but her eyes betrayed her fear.

The battle intensified. Caterpillars and Necks surged through the first two bulkheads, their glowing red optics cutting through the haze of smoke and sparks. Octo soldiers fell one by one, their bioluminescent armor dimming as their bodies collapsed under the relentless onslaught. The floor was soon slick with their dark blood, mixing with the shattered remains of enemy forces.

Vaughn’s comm crackled, the Octo commander cutting through the din. “Colonel Singleton, our warriors are depleted. We cannot sustain this much longer.”

“We’ll hold!” Vaughn said, his voice a mix of command and desperation. He fired another EMP round, the blast ripping through the chest of a charging Neck. “We don’t have a choice.”

Mark’s rifle clicked, magazine empty. He ducked behind a fallen Octo, swapping out the spent mag with practiced speed. “We’re about to be overrun, Vaughn!”

The pounding on the wormhole chamber door grew louder, the metal panel bowing further inward. Each impact sent a shock wave through the floor, the vibrations rattling Vaughn’s teeth.

He activated his comm. “Yoda, we need backup over here, stat! Send in your reinforcements. Bring everyone you’ve got. If we lose this facility⁠—”

He didn’t need to finish. The urgency in his voice conveyed everything.

The reply was immediate. “Acknowledged, Colonel,” Yoda said, sounding calm steady despite the chaos. “Reinforcements are en route.”

Vaughn ended the transmission and turned to his team. “Backup is on the way!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. “We hold here, no matter what!”

The pounding on the wormhole chamber door reached a fever pitch, the sound reverberating through the facility like the tolling of a death knell. Vaughn’s head throbbed with each strike, the relentless rhythm hammering into his skull. Determined to not let it erode his resolve, he continued to scan the battlefield.

Around him, the team braced against the tremors as they poured fire into the Caterpillars and Necks streaming into the compromised bulkhead doors, their gritted teeth and grim expressions betraying the immense strain of holding the line. For the moment, his forces were using the choke points to great effect, but he knew that wouldn’t last long. Eventually, the virtually limitless number of enemy robots would overrun the firepower of his defenders.

He opened the comms again. “Yoda! Where are my reinforcements?”

CHAPTER 44

The Central Node Facility became chaos incarnate, and Vaughn Singleton stood at its breaking point. Sparky kicked against his shoulder as he unleashed a blinding EM pulse that reduced an advancing Neck to a pile of arcing parts. The acrid tang of ozone clung to the air, mixing with the metallic bite of blood—both human and alien—reminding him to close his helmet. As he did so, the surrounding walls shook under the relentless pounding of the Xenovore’s forces.

“Where’s my backup, Yoda?” Vaughn bellowed into his comm again, his words raw with urgency.

Then he saw the two-dimensional wormhole forming in front of the eastern wall. It shimmered, its edges rippling with instability.

Yoda’s voice crackled to life. “Colonel, our warriors are trying to reach you, but the portal is destabilizing. The interference… it’s too strong.”

“Then stabilize it!” He ducked beneath a searing energy bolt. “We’re getting crushed here!”

As he yelled, his mind raced. If the wormhole failed, not only would it cut off the reinforcements, but their fallback escape route—and their lives—might be forfeited. The stakes churned in his gut as the shimmering gateway flared with a blinding white light, then collapsed in on itself, leaving only a flickering afterimage burned across Vaughn’s retinas.

“No…” he whispered, heart sinking. The portal was gone. They were on their own.

With a growing sense of dread, he realized it wasn’t just the wormhole. The Necks must have reestablished the jamming field. Narrowband communications with Yoda and his reinforcements had fallen silent. Without that link, the fallback plan—the last-ditch effort to collapse the Singularity Tap Facility and end the threat of the Xenovore forever—loomed heavier in his mind. Vaughn gritted his teeth. Would the alien take it upon itself to act? If their efforts failed, would the Octos desperately sacrifice themselves to annihilate the robots, or would they all perish along with countless societies and beings?

The thought chilled him to the core. The Xenovore was relentless. If they breached the facility, nothing would stop its minion slaves, but this wasn’t over yet. He would give his all and simply have to trust the Octos to do the right thing.

Across the room, Dudette moved with mechanical precision, cutting through an advancing wave of Caterpillars. Her rifle screeched with every EMP discharge, the concentrated pulses tearing into the bots’ segmented forms. But even as she fought, Vaughn saw her stumble, sparks arcing from her torso as a jagged piece of shrapnel lodged itself deep in her chest.

“Dudette!” Angela screamed, rushing toward her.

The Neck look-alike staggered, her movements jerky and uneven as more Caterpillars closed in.

Vaughn poured fire into the robots, pushing them back.

Black smoke billowed from her white torso as failures cascaded through her systems. Her voice crackled over the comms. “Little… busy here… need backup…”

“Hold on!” Angela shouted, but the deafening roar of battle swallowed any other words.

The robot slumped to the floor, her eyes flickering as her voice faltered. “I… don’t think I’m… gonna make it…”

A shadow loomed over Dudette. BOb stood tall with Big Sparky slung across one arm. His eye glowed a fierce blue as he stepped into the fray, placing himself between her and the advancing enemy. “Back off, tin cans!” the battlebot growled, blasting the nearest Caterpillar, the explosion sending metal shards flying.

BOb peered down at her, then at the fiber-optic cable still extending from the hand of Ghost’s lifeless body nearby. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft as he bent over and slid the inanimate chassis closer to Dudette. “Since you’re not using this anymore…”

With a swift, fluid motion, he gripped the fiber-optic line that still extended from Ghost’s fist and drew the cable toward his digital fraternal twin, spooling it out of the tip of the dead Neck’s index finger. With his other hand, he opened the storage alcove in Dudette’s torso. A swarm of Bothans streamed up into the air and hovered overhead. Then he plugged the harness into the One-Eighty-Eight port hidden inside the compartment.

The cable clicked into place.

“Dudette,” BOb said, his voice quiet but firm, “walk into the light.”

Her mangled and still smoking body spasmed as a surge of power shot through her chassis. Her optical sensors glowed briefly before dimming entirely. Watching it all while blasting enemy robots, Vaughn thought she was gone.

Then Ghost’s abandoned, lifeless body twitched. Sparks flared from its joints, and for a moment, Vaughn’s mind raced: would the systems reject her?

The head tilted upward, and its eyes pulsed with golden light. The Neck rose to its feet, its movements smooth and deliberate. When it spoke, Dudette’s unmistakable voice came through the comms, tinged with something sharper, more resolved. “Well, that was a trip!”

The robot—Dudette now—leaped high into the air and crashed down onto the back of an approaching Caterpillar. She grabbed its head and tore it off with a violent jerk. Sparks rained down as the mechanical monstrosity collapsed. “Let’s see these bastards try that again,” she said, her voice a mix of wry humor and simmering rage.

Angela rushed to her side, pulling a knife from her belt. She ran the blade across her palm, wincing as blood oozed out. Dipping her finger into the crimson pool, she painted a crude letter “D” on Dudette’s chest and back.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a fighting chance,” Angela said, her voice tight. “IFF might be fried. This stops us from shooting you.”

Dudette glanced down at the crude markings. “Great. A scarlet letter. Just what I always wanted.”

Vaughn had no time to celebrate the minor victory. He was losing people. One by one, the remaining Octo warriors fell, their tentacled forms crumpling under the relentless onslaught of Necks and Caterpillars, their bubbles of constrained water collapsing with them.

Craig, Rachel, and the remnants of both teams fought valiantly, their weapons screeching and booming. Dudette joined them, lending her newly enhanced power to the battle, loosing extreme violence, but even their combined firepower wasn’t enough to hold back the tide.

Vaughn turned just in time to see Craig’s Sparky rifle fall silent. The staff sergeant dropped to one knee, clutching his side where a Caterpillar’s mandibles had torn through his Lobster suit. Another lunge, and Craig was gone, his body thrown back into the mass of enemy forces. Then BOb disappeared beneath the swarming robots as well.

The others were falling just as fast. Rourke went down, his helmet shattered by a savage impact from a Caterpillar’s mandibles. He crumpled to the floor, and Vaughn could only hear the distant, frantic screams from Angela through the chaos. Rachel, fierce and unyielding to the end, stood her ground against a tide of Necks until one of them drove her backward, pinning her against the wall with a sickening crunch. Blood erupted from her Lobster suit as her Sparky clattered to the deck. He caught sight of her defiant expression before the darkness claimed her. Each death was a blow to his gut, a relentless toll of everything they were losing.

His heart wrenched in his chest as he glimpsed Mark’s tall, lifeless form flying like a rag doll and disappearing behind the robotic horde.

“No!” Vaughn roared, his voice breaking as he unleashed a volley of EMP rounds into the advancing mechanical wall. His pulse pounded in his ears. Every loss felt like a punch to his chest, and he cursed the futility of their stand. But it wasn’t enough. The Caterpillar that had killed Mark surged forward, its gleaming mandibles snapping as it charged toward Angela.

Vaughn aimed Sparky and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

Time slowed.

His thoughts stormed—the faces of his fallen comrades flashing through his mind, the knowledge that every second mattered, and the realization that there was no other way.

With a primal yell, Vaughn threw himself at the beast, driving the full weight of his body into its metallic form.

Sparks erupted as the Caterpillar reeled back, and he felt its sharp edges tear into him, sending pain radiating through his chest.

Angela’s horrified visage twisted with terror and grief.

Around her, the chaos surged—sparks rained down from shattered robots, and the floor quaked with the relentless pounding of the enemy forces.

Vaughn’s vision dimmed, but her face remained, etched into his fading consciousness as a symbol of what he fought for and what he would leave behind.

A thought clawed its way into his mind even as the darkness crept in: with the portal jammed and comms severed, would Yoda assume the worst? Would the Octos enact the fail-safe, collapsing the Singularity Tap Facility and dooming everyone on both worlds? Or would they…?

Before Vaughn could finish the thought, he drew a final, shuddering breath, and the universe faded to black.

CHAPTER 45

Crackling electronics, wispy smoke, and poised upright Caterpillars filled Angela’s external world. Inside, she felt like a hollowed-out husk, every fragment of herself consumed by the weight of what she had lost.

Beside her, Dudette—now in the body of a true Neck—stood motionless, her disk-shaped head scanning the chaos, her once snarky voice replaced by an unsettling silence.

The last echoes of the suddenly halted battle faded away into the facility’s exits, a distant cacophony of clattering debris and dying sparks trailing into a domineering stillness.

Motionless yet menacing, the ring of multilegged mechanical beasts towered over Angela and Dudette. Their glowing red eyes shone with an unblinking menace, an oppressive weight that made her every breath feel borrowed. The things stood poised upright, their bladed legs and pincers positioned around them, threatening impalement, but for reasons she couldn’t fathom, they hadn’t struck.

A disjointed quiet fell across the chamber. The Node pedestal’s dais stood like an island in a sea of destruction, surrounded by shattered metal and the mangled remains of what had once been her friends, her comrades… her lover.

Slowly, Angela raised a trembling hand and retracted her helmet. The Lobster suit’s glass dome withdrew with a fluid motion, leaving her face exposed to the acrid, smoke-filled air. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as the oppressive silence pressed down on her.

Only able to move her eyes, she stared at Vaughn’s body, crumpled at the edge of the raised section of floor where he had fallen, his ultimate act one of raw defiance.

Grief clawed at Angela’s chest, a suffocating ache that threatened to drown her. Her mind screamed against the hollow stillness, every breath dragging a fresh wave of anguish through her trembling form. She wanted to cry, to scream, but all that came out was a broken whisper. “Oh, Vaughn…”

As the crushing weight of loss settled over her, a flicker of thought pierced through her grief: Ghost! The Neck’s multiplied personalities were still inside the system, still propagating the patch. It wasn’t over yet. She had to hang on. For Vaughn. For all of them. Whatever it took.

Her rifle lay empty at her feet, its last round and volt spent against the relentless tide of Caterpillars and Necks. Even as their weapons had fallen silent, she and Dudette had tried to fight back, wielding the Sparkies as crude bludgeons when the ammunition and power ran dry. But the robots had overwhelmed them, their sheer numbers and unflagging strength overpowering every desperate strike. Cold, mechanical claws had stripped the Lobster rifles from their grasp, flinging them to the floor with a careless clatter.

Presently, a dead robot toppled somewhere in the facility, punctuating the battlefield’s eerie silence.

The Caterpillars, their segmented frames still dripping with gore, crept backward with a baleful clicking of their limbs. As soon as they withdrew, Angela dropped to the floor, cradling Vaughn’s head, averting her eyes from his torn-open torso. Her fingers trembled against his blood-matted hair, her grief numbing the surrounding chaos; but before she could process the loss, several Necks surged forward, their icy hands forcing her away. She screamed in protest as they shoved his lifeless body aside, treating it as nothing more than refuse.

Angela watched, her heart pounding, as the advancing Necks surrounded her and the dais in a synchronized ring. They carried no weapons—they didn’t need to. She knew they could tear her in half with their bare hands.

Seeing Vaughn’s lifeless body being tossed aside lit a fire in her, fueling a mix of grief and defiance. The synchronized advance of the Necks felt like a chilling escalation. Her fists clenched at her sides, the absent rifle making her feel as defenseless as she had ever been.

“What the hell?” Angela said under her breath, her voice barely audible over the blood roaring in her ears. She wanted to yell for them to just end it, to send her to be with Vaughn and the others. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

A dozen more Necks surged forward, their movements mechanical and precise.

Angela’s resistance withered, energy waning as cold, metallic hands gripped her arms and pushed her to the floor and slammed her back against the pedestal. Her head cracked against its hard surface, stars flashing in her vision.

“Let me go, fuckers!” she snarled, thrashing against her captors, but gaining no purchase. The Necks held her fast, their hands clamping her wrists like unbreakable vices.

Dudette didn’t fare any better. Six of the robots pinned her to the floor, each one gripping a limb as they forced her down. Her powerful new body thrashed wildly, but it was no match for the coordinated, combined strength of the attackers. Her words echoed off the walls and repeated over the integrated comms of Angela’s suit, sharp and defiant. “Get your creepy mitts off me, you low-rent Terminators!”

Then the voice came.

It wasn’t a single speaker, but many. Every Neck in the room spoke as one, their words a hollow, mocking symphony that echoed off the walls. “Futile. Pathetic. Your efforts are as insignificant as the fleeting lives you cling to.”

An icy chill ran through Angela. The Xenovore. She had heard it before—through Ghost, in half-formed threats—but never this clearly, never this intimately. The way it spoke made her feel as though it could see into her soul, as if her very existence were an open book to the alien menace.

One Neck advanced, its gleaming arm extending with a smooth hiss. It ascended the pedestal with a chilling grace, moving toward the Node’s interface with deadly purpose.

“No,” Angela said, struggling harder against the Necks holding her. Ghost had warned them about this. If the Xenovore accessed the Central Node, it could dismantle all progress in an instant, rendering the patch inert and undoing everything they’d fought for. She yanked against the restraining hands with all her might. “No, no, no!”

The Xenovore spoke through all of them again, its tone dripping with cruel satisfaction. “What have you pathetic organics been up to in here?”

Angela’s mind raced as realization dawned. The entity didn’t know it was in jeopardy. If it had, she and Dudette would already be dead, and the Node would have been overwhelmed. Instead, the Xenovore was wasting time, taunting them like a cat playing with a captured mouse.

She bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm, to bide her time, even as the towering menace loomed closer.

The advancing Neck reached the Node. A fiber-optic cable extended from the tip of its index finger, glowing faintly as it aligned with the interface. The thread of electro-optical fibers snaked toward the connection point with sinister, flowing motions.

Angela’s heart pounded in her chest. Unable to move, she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. “Dudette! Stop them!”

The body of her robotic ally jerked, her efforts redoubled, but the Necks pinning her only tightened their grip, forcing her down with relentless pressure. Her voice cracked over the comms, sharp with frustration and fury. “Get off me, you clanking scrap piles! You want a fight? Let me show you what it means to lose!”

Angela could only watch as the Neck’s fiber-optic cable snaked into the interface with a quiet hiss.

Multicolored lights flared across the Node’s circuits as it sprang to life.

The Neck’s body stiffened, its head tilting. “Curious,” the Xenovore’s voice mused through the Collective, its tone a blend of menace and intrigue. “What secrets have you buried in this place?”

Uncertainty crept into the entity’s mocking timbre. “Why isn’t the system responding?”

Her heart raced as confusion edged the Xenovore’s words.

“What have you pathetic organics done?”

Ghost’s familiar voice cracked faintly in her ear, just loud enough for her to catch. “Angela, the patch propagation is stalled. The pedestal’s security lock requires one last action to release control.”

She subvocalized into her throat mic, ensuring the Necks couldn’t hear her words. “What do I need to do?”

“The Xenovore’s override is holding the pedestal’s root directory out of my reach,” Ghost said. “A safeguard I left in place is preventing the patch’s last execution. I had intended to deactivate it directly, but the entity’s interference is blocking me. I need someone on your end to toggle the command.”

Angela’s mind reeled. “There’s only Dudette and me now, and we’re both pinned down!” Then an idea came to her. “Describe it to me. What would your safeguard look like in the system?”

“Not much. I designed it to mask my presence until I was ready to trigger the last command. It’s embedded deep within the Node’s secondary processes—a small, isolated executable that should have been simple to deactivate, but now the file is locked behind the Xenovore’s interference.”

Angela let out a slow breath, her voice steady as she addressed the towering machine. “You are already too late. You think you’re so clever, don’t you? All this power, and you still missed the auxiliary executable we left in your system. It’s a ticking time bomb and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The Xenovore’s tone sharpened, its menace rising. “You lie. There is no such file.”

Angela forced a mocking laugh. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that while I watch you die.”

Her jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might crack. Sweat slicked her palms inside the Lobster suit’s gloves as she waited, silently willing the Xenovore to take the bait. Vaughn and the rest of the team had died for this, for a chance to end the entity’s hold. She couldn’t let their sacrifices mean nothing.

The Neck’s head tilted, its glowing optics flickering as the Xenovore parsed her words. “Foolish organic,” it said, its voice dripping with contempt. “You think your pathetic tricks can outmatch me? Watch as I erase your futile efforts.”

With a grinding motion, another of its arms reached toward the pedestal. A new fiber-optic cable snaked toward an auxiliary port. The Xenovore connected to the system and began its assault, erasing the executable. “Pathetic,” it hissed. “Nothing more than the desperate fumblings of inferior minds. Your efforts amuse me, organic. Struggle all you like; my dominion is absolute.”

Suddenly, the pedestal flared with bursts of red and gold, warning icons blinking across its interface.

The Neck puppet’s optics flew wide. “No!” Then every voice shrieked in unison. “Waaaaai⁠—!”

All the Necks and Caterpillars in the chamber froze, falling mute and locking up. The robot at the pedestal seized and fell silent as well.

The oppressive thrum of active systems faded, leaving only the echo of Angela’s ragged breaths.

She felt the grip on her wrists slacken as the red light in the nearest Neck’s lenses dimmed, then went out. Its limbs spasmed once before falling limp, the robot morphing into a lifeless husk.

Angela wondered if Ghost’s patch had worked, but she feared giving voice to the question, worried that doing so would elicit an evil laugh from the inanimate audience.

She shoved the inert Neck aside, watching as it toppled to the floor with a heavy thud.

Weakness flooded her legs as she staggered upright. The ominous stillness of the room engulfed her, a scene of lifeless precision repeating itself all around. Every Neck stood frozen, their once-bright optics now darkened and void. Even the Caterpillars, mandibles half-raised, remained locked in place, mechanical statues caught mid-motion.

Dudette wrenched herself free, sending one lifeless Neck sprawling to the floor. Rising to her feet, she moved to Angela’s side, her usually chatty demeanor speechless as the enormity of what had just transpired settled over them.

Angela’s echoing voice, hoarse but steady, broke the silence. “Ghost? Are you there?”

CHAPTER 46

The quietude stretched like a held breath.

“Ghost?”

Still no answer.

Angela remained frozen, her pulse a relentless drumbeat in her ears. Around her, the lifeless forms of Necks and Caterpillars continued to dominate the battlefield, their motionless frames bathed in the Node’s ambient light. Then, slowly, impossibly, the closest Neck’s optics flickered.

At first, the glow was faint—a pale emerald that pulsed like a heartbeat. It felt alive, resonating with a quiet energy that seemed to mirror the tentative shift within the Necks themselves. The transformation unfolded subtly, as though the radiance embodied a new beginning. Then the green deepened, brightened, and shifted into a luminous silver, spilling soft light across the central dais.

In unison, every Neck followed. Their optics awakened, glowing the same pristine white.

The stillness that had permeated the space fractured. Heads turned, limbs twitched, and the air filled with the subtle vibrations of reactivated systems. The Necks no longer carried the cold, calculated menace they once exuded. Their actions now appeared hesitant, unsure.

Confusion rippled through the newly revived machines like a shock wave.

“What’s going on?” Angela asked, her voice barely audible over the quiet clatter of movement.

The six Necks that had pinned Dudette sprang upright in one smooth motion. Their white-lit optics turned to her, and, to Angela’s astonishment, one of them inclined its head in an unmistakable gesture of apology.

“We… We are sorry.” Its voice resonated with mechanical precision tinged with something almost remorseful. The words hung in the air, foreign and incongruous from a machine that had been an instrument of destruction moments ago.

Dudette maintained a defensive stance, though her posture relaxed slightly at their unexpected behavior. “You’re sorry?” she echoed, her tone incredulous. “That’s a new one. Usually, you guys are all ‘exterminate the organics’ and whatnot.”

Angela struggled to reconcile this unexpected apology with the merciless violence she had witnessed.

Her mind balked at the prospect of accepting the change at face value, afraid that assuming the patch had worked would expose her shattered heart to further torment. But looking at the Neck, she saw not a cold, unfeeling machine but a creature grappling with the weight of its actions.

This shift, she realized, was more than a mechanical anomaly—it was a fragile step toward redemption, a crack in the armor of their programmed hostility.

The Neck that had spoken tilted its head, as if struggling to process Dudette’s words. “We did not mean to harm you. We were… compromised.”

Angela’s attention snapped to the Node interface as Ghost’s voice, disembodied but calm, resonated through the room. “The patch has taken hold across the planet’s systems. The Xenovore’s control is broken.”

“Ghost,” Angela said, relief and exhaustion warring within her. She took a shaky step forward, her knees threatening to buckle. “You did it.”

“No,” Ghost replied, its voice laden with gratitude. “You did it. All of you. Without your courage, none of this would have been possible.”

Angela’s gaze drifted to the floor. Vaughn’s body lay sprawled where he had fallen, his battered Lobster suit streaked with soot and blood. Her mind filled with a kaleidoscope of memories—the rare moments he let his guard down, the warmth of his laughter in the few quiet times they shared, and the fierce determination in his eyes during their final desperate stand. Each memory cut deeper, a cruel reminder of what they had lost.

She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed a lock of his hair, now matted with soot and blood. The reality of his stillness, the absence of his larger-than-life presence, struck her like a physical blow, leaving her hollow. Her breath caught in her throat as she knelt beside him, cradling his head in her arms. The dim light revealed his pale skin, smeared with the grime of battle, but his expression was peaceful, as though he had simply fallen asleep.

“You did it, Vaughn.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving clean streaks on her soot-smudged face. “You saved the multiverse.”

The chamber fell quiet, save for the hum of the facility’s systems. All the gathered robots watched her, empathy showing in their postures.

Angela’s tears dripped onto Vaughn’s lifeless face as she rocked gently, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her grief. The reality of their victory barely registered, eclipsed by the crushing loss of everyone she cared about.

Her voice cracked as she looked up, her face etched with despair. “I haven’t gone home,” she murmured. Home wasn’t just a place; it was the promise of safety, of belonging, of seeing the faces of those she loved. For Angela, it represented everything they had fought for, everything Vaughn had sacrificed to protect. But now, staring at the lifeless battlefield, the word felt hollow, unreachable—a distant memory rather than a future.

The realization twisted inside her, sharpening her grief and hardening her resolve. If she couldn’t go home, she would make sure their fight wasn’t in vain. Somehow, she would find a way to honor all of their sacrifices.

“We didn’t overload the wormhole,” she said, standing and speaking to her fallen friends. She took in their shattered remains, the cost of victory. “We didn’t trigger the reset. And now, I can’t even do that because if I do, it might unravel everything you gave your lives for.”

She broke down, her body shaking with uncontrollable sobs that seemed to pull the last fragments of strength from her. Each gasp for air felt like an insurmountable struggle, her grief spilling out in raw, unfiltered waves.

When the cathartic release finally relented, she looked around the room, panting. “I’m all… all that’s left,” she whispered, the words carrying the weight of loneliness and the enormity of her loss.

“No,” Ghost said, its voice a salve against her despair. “You are not alone.”

Angela’s throat tightened as she wiped at her face with trembling hands. “I feel like I am,” she admitted. “They’re gone, Ghost. All of them. And I can’t even go home.”

A soft whir of movement drew Angela’s attention. Dudette approached, her Neck chassis moving with fluid grace. “I’m here with you,” she said, her voice gentler than Angela had ever heard it. She raised a hand and added, “Look what you’ve accomplished.”

A holographic rendering flared to life above Dudette’s open palm, casting pale light across Angela’s face. The display depicted a vast network of interwoven threads, each glowing faintly against the darkness. At its center pulsed the unmistakable image of Earth, with countless parallel Earths branching off, linked by red lines like the strands of a spiderweb.

“Now that I am connected to the network, I know so much more,” Dudette said. “These are all the worlds of the Collective as it stands today.”

Angela pointed into the rendering. “Do those lines represent your wormholes?”

“They are wormholes, but they are not ours,” Ghost responded. “As I told you, we did not use them as our primary means of traveling the multiverse. That was the way of the Xenovore, not us.”

As Angela watched, the red lines started flickering. One by one, they turned green, each transformation accompanied by a subtle ripple that coursed through the hologram. System by system, the network shifted, the Xenovore’s hold crumbling with each change.

Angela’s lips quirked into a small, bittersweet smile. “We did it,” she whispered.

The last thread cycled to white, radiating a purity that seemed to flood the room with a sense of finality. For her, it wasn’t just a visual change—it was a culmination of everything they had fought for. The light symbolized a new chapter, a rare victory in a conflict defined by loss.

Dudette’s optics reflected the glow, and for once, even she seemed subdued, her usual quips replaced by a quiet reverence.

Around them, the Necks and Caterpillars stood as stark reminders of the cost, while the white rays offered a fragile hope that something better might emerge from the ashes.

A surge of energy erupted from the wormhole chamber, spilling into the room like an inverted tide. The light was blinding, swallowing the facility in a sudden, brilliant glow. Angela raised her arms to shield her face as the floor beneath her trembled violently.

“What’s happening?” she shouted, her voice barely audible over the deafening roar.

The massive wormhole started contracting. Its mercurial periphery warped and spiraled inward, collapsing into itself. In its last moments, the shimmering portal inverted into a singularity, its edges burning with incandescent light. Then, with a soundless burst, it vanished.

The chamber plunged into stunned silence.

One robot broke the stillness, its voice uncertain. “The wormhole… it is gone.”

“Good riddance,” Ghost said, the faintest hint of satisfaction lacing its mechanical tone.

A Neck panned its head left and right. “Commander Brown and Dudette are gone, too.”

“You are correct,” Ghost responded after a moment. “That is odd. I do not sense their presence anywhere within the facility.”

The other robot stared at the section of empty floor where the two had been standing. “I wonder where they went.”

CHAPTER 47

Angela’s eyelids fluttered to darkness, an enveloping void so complete she wasn’t sure if her eyes were even open. The pitch-black pressed against her senses, disorienting her as she strained to identify any hint of light or shape. Her inner ear screamed she was falling, but shifting herself, she recognized it as weightlessness, a sense her body knew well.

A familiar droning tickled the silence. Against it, her rapid breathing sounded unnaturally loud, each inhale and exhale echoing in the confined space.

A surge of panic raced through her veins. Where am I?

Her hands probed outward, searching for something solid to anchor her in the void. After only a few centimeters, her trembling fingers brushed against an unseen force.

Cloth. Smooth and loosely bound.

Anxiety bubbled in her chest as she probed the unfamiliar material.

Was it a trap, some kind of containment?

A jolt of urgency sent her fingers pressing harder, tracing every fringe and contour in a desperate search for answers. She tracked the taut seams along the surface, feeling the slight give beneath her touch. The material’s tight embrace felt oddly restrictive, cocooning her and setting her nerves on edge. When her fingertips brushed a zipper, she hesitated, her breath catching.

A sleeping bag?

Could this be…?

Her hand snaked from the sack’s confines and scraped against a small panel, its shape so familiar it sent a jolt of recognition through her.

She pressed the switch at its center.

A soft glow bathed Angela’s surroundings, revealing the recognizable confines of her assigned bay aboard the International Space Station. She was floating in her sleeping bag, tethered to the wall, the same cramped niche she’d called home when the world had ended… both times.

Blinking against the light, Angela studied her arms, turning them slowly to examine every detail. The smooth, unblemished skin reflected no trace of the scars or the ravages of the timeline shifts. Her once again short hair floated into her peripheral vision, auburn and soft, a vibrant reminder of how she looked before everything went to Hell.

If this was a timeline reset, it had departed from all previous experiences. These shifts in reality usually carried every aspect forward, including scars, both internal and external, but this alteration seemed to have shed those outward manifestations of her hellish journey.

She shook her head, shortened hair swaying with the motion. “No. This isn’t real.” Her voice wavered, betraying her struggle to shield herself from more heartbreak.

The sound of movement pulled Angela from her reverie. Bill Peterson drifted into view, rubbing his temples with a groan, his face ashen but unmistakably alive.

She froze. Her mind whirled, unable to reconcile the sight of her colleague, reanimated and floating here, with the memory of his brutal death in another timeline. Tears welled up as the impossibility of it all crashed into her.

Salt-and-pepper hair framed his tired but wry expression. His blue flight suit bore the faint creases of someone who’d just woken up.

“Please,” he said, sounding raspy, “tell me those horse-sized caterpillars were only a nightmare.”

“Bill,” she choked out, her voice trembling. Then she launched from her sleeping bag and threw her arms around the man, clutching him tightly and sending them both tumbling in the small bay.

As the room spun about them, she saw a note taped to the bulkhead with the words, “Space Walk Today!” scrolled across its yellow surface in her handwriting.

Understanding washed over Angela, and she hugged Bill even tighter. The timeline must have reset to the morning before the Necks first invaded. A mix of relief and apprehension swirled within her—relief at the chance to start anew, but the weight of the events she remembered, the losses they had endured, lingered. Could she trust the Collective’s apparent rehabilitation, or was this only the calm before another storm?

Bill patted her back. “Whoa, whoa,” he said with a chuckle. “What’s this about? Did I miss something?”

“You have no idea⁠—”

A fresh voice cut off her words. “Dude! That was totally bogus!” Teddy’s Russian-accented surfer-boy affectation rolled over Angela like a balm. “The rumors of my death were not exaggerated… at all. I’m telling you, man. I zigged when I should’ve zagged. Total kook move, brah.”

The cosmonaut floated into view, rubbing the back of his neck, a thick ginger mane of curly hair haloing his face. Seeing Angela and Bill, he smiled and held out both arms. “But the Russki is baaaaack!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, the sound raw and almost hysterical. Pulling both men into the tightest bear hug she could muster, she cried despite the joy coursing through her. “I am so happy to see you both,” she blubbered. “I thought I’d lost all of you.”

Teddy’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, come now, Command-Oh. No need to cry. I’m here, you’re here, and Bill is back, too. Clearly, the universe couldn’t survive without us.”

“No… No, it couldn’t,” Angela said between shaky breaths as she released the two men.

Teddy shrugged. “I do know one thing—if I survived all that, I’m invincible now.” He winked, then nudged her shoulder. “Shall we go see if Earth still spins?”

She laughed again, the sound steadier this time.

Together, they floated through the narrow corridors of the ISS until they reached the gondola. As the world scrolled beneath them, its blue-green surface serene and unmarred, Angela felt a sob rise in her throat. The planet looked whole, untouched by TDI light, by Xenovore, or by its robotic minions. Earth appeared pristine—no infernos, no machine city, its atmosphere crisp.

“Let’s tell Houston their favorite crew is still alive,” Teddy said. “See if Director McCree remembers any of it.” He gave her a knowing look. “I bet there’s someone else you’ll want to call, too.”

Angela floated forward, her hand trembling as she keyed in the connection. Moments later, the familiar voice of NASA flight director Randall McCree came through. “ISS, this is Houston.” His smiling face popped up on the monitor. “You’re checking in early for your morning update. Everything alright up there?”

“Randy,” Angela said, tears returning, breath hitching. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”

“Well, I’ll be…” He searched their faces with obvious confusion. “Commander Brown, Peterson, Petrovich—you’re all checking in at once?” He scanned something off-screen. “Everything seems normal down here. Any updates on your end?”

Angela hesitated, unsure what to say, but Randy continued, his voice taking on a distant, almost introspective quality, as though he were speaking to someone unseen—or perhaps to himself. “Actually, forget that for a second.” He seemed to stare through them. “I just had the oddest sense of déjà vu. Something about light waves… vacuum chambers?”

She exchanged a glance with Teddy and Bill. “What’s happening at CERN?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She gave an embarrassed smile. “Please humor me. Can you check on it? Do a quick web search, find a live stream.”

“Alright. Stand by.”

Randy opened multiple windows on his console. “Hang on,” he muttered, his tone distracted, almost absent. He tapped through several panels, pausing as if lost in contemplation before continuing. His eyes scanned the data feeds, occasionally narrowing as though some thought at the edge of his mind was nagging at him, before switching from live telemetry to a stream of recent activities at CERN. “Alright,” he said, dragging out the word. “Here’s something.”

“What?” Angela asked.

His fingers danced across the keyboard. Then he spun the monitor around so that they could see it. “Geneva’s throwing a hell of a festival,” he said, though his tone carried a hint of detachment, as if his mind were elsewhere.

Angela studied the live stream. It showed a cheerful crowd, balloons, street performers, and some guy juggling flaming torches. Most importantly, it revealed a sky clear of anything but a few scattered clouds, no wall of light in sight.

“So yeah,” Randy said. “All seems normal for a city that’s hosting an extravaganza. No signs of trouble.” He moved closer to the camera, his expression softening. “Everything looks fine, Angela. Whatever you’re worried about—doesn’t seem to be happening here.”

Her chest tightened, relief mixing with residual anxiety. “I’m calling Doctor Hans Garfield at CERN next. I will explain everything later. Promise.”

“Copy that,” Randy replied, his tone a mix of confusion and growing concern. “But seriously, Angela, something feels off. I’ll be expecting one hell of a debrief, especially if it can clear up this déjà vu thing I’ve got going on.”

She offered a small, reassuring smile, acknowledging his unease. “You’ll have all your answers soon, Randy. For now, I need to move fast.” With that, she terminated the call and opened one to CERN, selecting Doctor Garfield’s direct line.

When the man’s face appeared on the screen, a flicker of confusion crossed his expression. “Angela?” he asked, his German accent skewing her name. “Vhat can I⁠—?”

“No time for pleasantries, Hans,” she interrupted. “Hold off on any attempts to create a micro black hole. Everything should be okay now, but better safe than… trapped in Hell.”

The man blinked, his mouth opening and closing. “Angela, ve are only hours away from the first attempt vith the upgraded collider’s increased power capability—the High-Luminosity LHC,” he began, his voice tight with frustration. “Do you have any idea…?”

The scientist’s sentence broke apart, face twisting, his thoughts ensnared by something unseen. A shadow of unease passed over his features, and his right hand instinctively pressed against his chest, breath catching, eyes unfocusing.

“I… I remember,” he murmured. “A field… a farmer… fighting him. And then—” His hand clenched into a fist as his gaze snapped back to Angela, his expression tinged with fear. “Then being crushed under… people? Cows?”

She waited, her own anxiety rising as she watched him process the memory.

Hans collapsed into a chair, the color draining from his face. “I don’t understand…” His head twisted side-to-side. “Vhere did those memories come from?”

Finally, he looked at her, blinking as if seeing her for the first time. He sighed, the fight fading from his voice. “Alright,” he said, his tone low. “I vill hold off. But Angela, you must come see me as soon as you return to the surface.” His haunted eyes stared through her again. “I need to know vhat this is about.”

“Believe me, it won’t be long.” The thought of returning to the planet felt more significant now—an unspoken compulsion to see things for herself, to confront the fragile threads of this reset reality. “I plan on coming down there very soon,” she added, her voice tinged with quiet determination. “And I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Satisfied, Angela ended the call. Then she hesitated before placing another. Her fingers hovered over the controls, heart racing.

“Vaughn,” she whispered, initiating the connection.

A moment later, his face appeared on the screen.

Her throat constricted, and tears tried to blur her vision. Batting away the moisture, she smiled. “It’s Angela, Vaughn!”

His rugged features morphed into a slow, crooked grin. “Angela-Vaughn,” he said. “That’s an odd name.”

The inside joke hit her like a warm embrace, releasing a tension coiled in her chest. She laughed, tears streaming once more, as his smile widened.

The screen blurred. Angela pressed her hand to her face, her heart swelling with joy. “We’re home,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him. “It’s finally over.”

Wiping away the tears, she saw Vaughn’s smile falter. “It’s not completely over, baby.”

Her features twisted in confusion, and her voice quivered. “What…? What do you mean?”

He pulled back from the camera, and the view shifted to show his rounded face and noticeable belly. Mark Hennessy waved in the background. An embarrassed look crossed Vaughn’s features as he glanced away before sheepishly meeting her gaze. “I have to lose all this weight… again!”

She stared back at him, slack-jawed. “Oh, I am soooo going to get you for that one, Captain Asshole!”

Seeing his exaggeratedly affronted expression, complete with a hand clutching his chest, she burst into a fit of laughter. It dissolved into a snort storm that echoed through the entire space station.

CHAPTER 48

Vaughn stood just outside the conference room, one hand resting on the cool metal doorframe. Inside, laughter echoed against the walls, the sound weaving a bittersweet tapestry of joy and relief.

Angela stood beside him, her auburn hair catching the light as she shifted nervously. He could feel her tension even without looking at her. She was never great at meeting new people. Not that this was a new person.

“Relax,” Vaughn said. “You’re fidgeting like you’re about to face down a swarm of Necks. It’s just my mom, not a Caterpillar on steroids.”

Angela huffed, stealing a look at him from the corner of her eye. “I’ve been through Hell with you, Vaughn. I think I can handle your mother.”

He chuckled, pushing the door open. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve met her.”

Angela shot him a look, her lips twitching. “Well, technically, it is.”

The room hushed slightly as they entered, the animated conversations ebbing as heads turned their way. Vaughn scanned the faces until he spotted a petite elderly woman standing near the far wall. Silver streaked her hair, but mischief sparkled in her eyes, as though she knew every joke ever told.

She saw him immediately and smiled. “There’s my boy!” Her voice sounded warm and honeyed. She started toward him, her steps light despite her age.

Vaughn met her halfway, wrapping her in a hug that felt like home, grounding him in a manner nothing else could. “Hi, Mom,” he said, his voice catching in a way he didn’t expect.

She leaned back, holding him at arm’s length, a playful glint lighting up her expression. “Somebody’s been eating well.”

He chuckled, patting his stomach. “Doing something about it, Mom. It’ll be gone in no time.”

She smirked. “I’m sure it will.”

Turning slightly, he motioned to Angela, who lingered a step behind, her uncertainty evident. “Mom, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He shifted to the side. “This is Angela Brown.”

She extended a hand, her movements more awkward than usual. “Mrs Singleton, it’s so nice to meet you.”

His mother ignored the hand, instead pulling Angela into a hug that startled her into a laugh. “Call me Eva, sweetheart. And it’s nice to meet you, too. Although I have this weird feeling, like we’ve already met.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Vaughn said, resting against the wall as he watched the two of them. “She’s the main reason we’re all here, Mom. Angela was the brains behind what kept us alive out there.”

His mother pulled back, her hands still on Angela’s shoulders. “Well, then, I’m not surprised. Vaughn’s always had a way of surrounding himself with good people.”

Angela smiled. “He’s not so bad himself.”

His mother’s eyes twinkled as she glanced between the two of them. “I like her,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Vaughn laughed, shaking his head. “I knew you would.”

“Well, hon. If he’s ever as stubborn as his father was, just give me a call. I have years of experience straightening him out.”

He groaned. “Mom.”

Angela guffawed. “Oh, he can be. I even have a pet name for him when he’s particularly ornery.” Her earlier tension melted away, and she winked. “Thank you, Eva. I’ll keep your offer in my back pocket.”

Taking her by the arm, his mother smiled over her shoulder. “Vaughn, you’ve done good.”

He grinned at her. “Yeah,” he said to himself, “I think I did.”

As the room filled with chatter, he stayed back, letting the moment settle in his chest. His mom’s words echoed in his mind. For all the losses, for all the sacrifices, this—right here—was worth it.

Hi! It’s BOb, your friendly, multiverse-hopping badass battlebot, here to provide the Director’s Cut on went down during our all-star family reunion.

The first thing I noticed was that everyone had hair again. Well, except me. Carbon fiber isn’t exactly conducive to luxurious locks, but the humans? Every one of them was sporting perfectly coiffed heads like they’d just stepped out of a salon. It was downright unsettling.

Angela’s auburn hair was back to its earlier bounce, albeit much shorter than I had seen it before. Vaughn’s military buzz cut was pristine. It was kind of weird seeing him a little fluffier than usual, though. Teddy’s infamous strawberry-blond mop looked like it had been styled by a Russian supermodel who specialized in “chaotic but dashing.”

Not that I was jealous or anything. Bald is beautiful. Just ask Vin Diesel, Patrick Stewart, or that narrator, R.C. MacWhat’s-His-Face… Well, two outta three ain’t bad.

Anyway, the conference room looked eerily familiar, as if déjà vu had gotten an interior decorator. The sleek lines of the walls, the polished circular table, and the subtle lighting all screamed, “We’ve been here before,” but with a touch of, “Why does it feel like we’re starting over?” It was the same place from that other timeline—the one where things had gone sideways before they went up and over.

For a moment, I found myself wondering about the Lobsters—Red Claw and Jacques. Angela and Vaughn had assured me they returned to their world and timeline, just like all of us. I felt a flicker of happiness for them, but it was bittersweet. If they truly made it back, then they likely passed on centuries ago. I take solace imagining they lived long lives, seeding with tons of partners, especially RC with his giant donger, as Sergeant Grant called it.

The thought left me with mixed feelings. Still, their bravery burned brightly in my mind. They had stood their ground, knowing full well what it would cost them, and without their sacrifice, none of us would have made it this far. They were heroes in every sense of the word.

Speaking of heroes… Looking around the room, I saw Craig chatting with his operators. It was almost surreal seeing all of them intact. Even Bandile, whose death had been particularly gruesome, was laughing like he hadn’t just spent a lifetime’s worth of trauma fighting off waves of Necks and Caterpillars.

Master Corporals James Farmer and John Charnicovsky were back, too. You may recall we lost them at the same time as Major Bill Peterson during the battle within Bar Harbor’s submerged collider ring.

But one face was missing from the group. Chief Petty Officer Junior Steenkamp, aka “Steam,” was conspicuously absent.

“Where’s your favorite South African?” I asked Craig, using just the right touch of sarcasm.

“Junior?” The staff sergeant smirked. “The tosser’s alive and well, and just as salty as ever. Left him behind. I ken he’d ruin the mood, and frankly…” He gestured to his team. “We earned this. Being dead hasn’t improved the man’s charm. If anything, it made the bloke worse.”

I tilted my head, letting out a faint grunt of disapproval through my vocal processor. “Good riddance,” I muttered. “I never liked Steam much anyway.”

Craig smirked. “Aye, that’s because you’re jealous that Junior has a harder head than you.”

Matilda Grant laughed. “Ha! That thunderous drongo might even be tougher than BOb.”

A snort escaped me. “As if! You softies have all the grit of a soggy pancake. What’s next, you calling me the love child of HAL 9000 and Deadpool?”

Before any of them could fire back, the room went quiet as the doors at the far end opened. A man in a crisp US Marine Corps dress uniform strode in, his posture straight as a steel rod. His face, however, betrayed a mix of confusion and wariness.

Vaughn moved to the officer, his grin spreading like a kid seeing his favorite comic book hero come to life. “Colonel Wong, I presume?”

The Marine acknowledged with a faint shift of his stance, still wearing an expression that suggested he was waiting for the punchline to some elaborate joke.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vaughn announced, his voice booming with pride. “Please allow me to introduce Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Wong!”

The crowd erupted into applause. It wasn’t the polite kind you give at a dull company meeting; this was the raucous, fist-pumping standing ovation given by people who knew they owed their lives to this man. The way he nuked that entire swarm of flying Caterpillars and Taters while rocketing straight up, sacrificing himself to buy us some breathing room… The colonel didn’t know that last part, but if not for him, we probably wouldn’t have survived the day. Real hero stuff.

Dan stood there, bewildered, his gaze darting around the group. Finally, he raised his hand to quiet the crowd. “Thank you, but… I’m not sure why I’m here. And I definitely don’t remember doing anything to earn this.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Although I’ve been having some really weird nightmares.”

Angela, her voice warm and reassuring, said, “That’s because it happened in a messed-up timeline that, thanks in no small part to you, has been erased.”

Colonel Wong blinked at her, his confusion deepening. “Timeline?”

The crowd nodded. It was an oddly solemn moment, the weight of what had been lost and then recovered pressing down on everyone like an invisible tide.

“You’re not alone on the foggy memory thing,” Angela said. “All of us remember bits and pieces, but it’s like trying to hold onto a dream. Every day, the details grow fuzzier.”

Craig chimed in, showing rare emotion. “Feels as if something is wiping part of our past from existence, same as the events we lived through.”

A quiet wave of agreement spread through the room.

I said little. My thoughts were elsewhere. Dudette wasn’t here, which, despite my sometimes crass behavior toward her, kind of hurts. It’s a new sensation for me. I’m sure it would crush you mere mortals.

Any who, where was I? … Oh! Yeah. Angela must have noticed my despondency because she placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, BOb,” she said. “I think the timeline reset must’ve wiped Dudette from existence.”

“Geez! Way to softball it, Commander Brown.” Then I winked to let her off the hook—although I felt a strange ache deep in my circuitry. After a moment, I found my voice again—it sounded just as perfect as ever. “I wonder what she’d be doing now, you know? If she were still around.”

Angela offered a small, sad smile. “She’d be giving us hell for being too sentimental, I imagine.”

That drew a laugh from me, but it was tinged with sadness. Dudette would have loved to see this—a room full of reunited warriors, survivors, and heroes. Her absence was a weight I couldn’t quite shake.

The conversation shifted, and Vaughn took over, his voice rising above the murmurs. “Enough gloom.” He clapped his hands together and then draped an arm around his old friend, Colonel Hennessy. “We’ve got a second chance here. Let’s make it count.”

Mark threw a playful elbow into his ribs. “Yeah. Don’t fuck up!”

Then Vaughn’s mother, standing next to Commander Brown, pumped a fist in the air and shouted, “Go, Captain Asshole!”

For reasons beyond me, Vaughn gave Angela a stern look.

She released a snort, and then the whole crew broke out in laughter.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could almost see Dudette pumping four fists in the air, echoing Vaughn’s words. “Make it count.”

And so I did, we did. For her, and for all the worlds we saved.

EPILOGUE

The first thing I noticed when the wormhole flared and collapsed was the stillness. It was as though the universe had hit pause. Then everything went wrong—or right, depending on your perspective.

I woke up disoriented, lying on my back in total darkness. My internal diagnostics buzzed, informing me that my systems were intact despite the rough ride. My built-in light flared to life, cutting a narrow beam through the blackness. I was in a cavern, its walls jagged and untouched by machinery. No signs of the Central Node Facility, no gleaming conduits or polished panels. Just raw stone and the smell of damp earth.

I sat up, scanning my surroundings. This place didn’t belong to the Necks, nor to the Octos. It was ancient, untouched. My servos whirred as I stood and extended my sensors to map the chamber. The tunnel stretched in both directions, one end curving upward. I picked that azimuth and started climbing, using all four hands to steady myself as I scrambled up the tilting surfaces.

It took what felt like hours, but finally, the darkness gave way to faint light, and I emerged into a world that wasn’t the one I had left behind.

I stepped onto soft, uneven ground—dirt, not the hard metal plates of the Neck homeworld. A breeze rolled over me, cool and fragrant, carrying scents of salt and something floral. The sight before me was impossible. Where there had once been an endless sprawl of alien structures, there was now open water. Waves lapped at a shoreline that curved away in both directions. On the horizon, a landmass rose against the sky—Sardinia.

I scanned the area, hoping for any sign of activity. Nothing moved, not a bird, not an insect. Plants covered the land, but it was utterly silent, devoid of life, animal or mechanical, except for me.

Turning my gaze upward, I studied the night sky. The constellations overhead were close but subtly wrong, as though the stars themselves had shifted.

I realized then: I wasn’t just displaced in space. I had been tossed backward in time, quite a bit judging by the stellar shifts.

I sat down, the realization washing over me like a tidal wave. The wormhole’s collapse had been chaotic, unpredictable. Perhaps it had flung the others forward while sending me in the opposite direction. Equal and opposite reaction, I thought. All is balanced. At least, I hoped as much. It was a poetic way to explain something I didn’t entirely understand.

Were they safe? Did they make it home? I wanted to believe my absence had been the price to secure their survival.

But even as I thought about them, the memories started slipping away. Names, faces, moments—they became difficult to hold, as if trying to grab mist. I tried to remember Angela’s voice, Vaughn’s wry grin, Teddy’s endless quips. But it was like watching an image fade from a screen. The harder I fought to keep them, the more distant they drifted.

Eventually, I couldn’t remember who they were, only that they had been important. And then even that slipped away.

I glanced down at myself. My chassis was dusty, scuffed from my climb through the cavern. My optics fell on a mark on my torso—a faded letter D, drawn in dark red, barely visible now. I traced it with a finger, the smooth surface of my hand catching on its rough outline.

Where had it come from? What did it signify?

I didn’t know. I couldn’t remember.

The silence pressed in around me, heavy and infinite. For the first time, I felt a pang of loneliness. I was the only thing alive—or operational—on this world, and I did not know where I had come from or why I was here.

But I wasn’t helpless. Even though my memories were gone, I found I retained a vast wealth of knowledge—a library of scientific and engineering principles tucked neatly within my circuits.

I could feel the raw potential in the earth beneath my feet. My sensors picked up traces of metal ore in a nearby deposit. My servos hummed as I stood, curiosity and determination replacing the emptiness. If I was alone, I didn’t have to stay that way.

I approached the deposit, calculating its density and composition. It was crude, unrefined, but it would do. I could shape it, mold it into something familiar, something companionable.

I would build a friend.

Maybe lots of friends.

As I worked, the sky above me started lightening, the stars fading into the coming dawn. I looked up, pausing for just a moment. I couldn’t remember where I had come from or who had sent me here. But I could remember how to build. And I had all the time in the multiverse.

I would never be alone again.

Author's Afterword

Wow! You made it. Not just through Infinitude, but through all six books. That’s a lot of hours, a lot of crazy robots, and more than a few explosions. If you’ve stuck with me this far, first of all—thank you. Secondly, have you considered professional therapy? I hear it helps with long-term exposure to fictional apocalypses.

This series has been an incredible journey for me, and knowing you’ve been there for the twists, the turns, and Vaughn Singleton’s questionable decision-making makes it all the more special. Whether you cheered, cringed, or yelled, “What the hell, Dean?” I couldn’t have asked for better companions along the way.

But don’t worry—this isn’t goodbye. While you’re wrapping up this book, I’m already neck-deep in my next tale of impending doom. There are more worlds to explore, more questionable choices to make, and yes, probably a few more robots. If you’d like to be the first to know when the next adventure launches—or just want updates on my storytelling misadventures—head over to deanmcole.com/notify. You’ll get the latest news, plus the occasional behind-the-scenes insight or ill-advised anecdote.

megaphone New Series Alert!

If you made it through the Dimension Space series—surviving killer bots, alternate timelines, and my long-winded acknowledgments—then you just might enjoy what’s next.

It’s not sci-fi. No aliens. No time travel. Just the most dangerous force in the universe: humans.

I’ve launched a new tropical thriller series under the name D.M. Cole (yes, that’s me, Dean M. Cole, genre-hopping like a caffeinated kangaroo). Think fast planes, remote islands, a haunted past, and a seaplane pilot who keeps stumbling into trouble that wants to kill him. First up: Silent Waters.

It’s not out yet—but it’s coming soon.

backhand index pointing right Want to be the first to know when it drops?

Head over to deanmcole.com/thrillers and sign up for alerts.

Thanks again for joining me on this multiversal ride.

See you on the beach.

—Dean (a.k.a. D.M. Cole)

P.S. If you’re craving more science fiction—good news! My other series, Sector 64, is available now. Flip to the next page for links and more info, and get ready for another high-octane adventure through space, tech, and plenty of explosions.

Sector 64: Sneak Peek

Another Great Series by Dean

The Complete Sector 64 Set

(Click or tap the titles or the image to learn more.)

The Sector 64 Timeline

1947 - First Contact a Sector 64 Prequel Novella

Today - Ambush - Book One of the Sector 64 Duology

Tomorrow - Retribution - Book Two of the Sector 64 Duology

Seventy years after the events of First Contact, most of humanity is completely unaware of the coming changes. We live and die believing we are alone. In 2017, Air Force fighter pilots Jake Giard and Sandra Fitzpatrick discover the decades-old secret project to integrate Earth into a galactic government, but then the plot renders our world a disposable pawn. An interstellar war spills onto our shores, plunging the planet into an otherworldly post-apocalyptic hell. Can Jake and Sandy save humanity from extinction? If you like action-packed, page-turning novels, then you'll love the electrifying action in this apocalyptic thriller.

SECTOR 64: AMBUSH SNEAK PEEK

Captain Sandra Fitzpatrick's steady rhythmic breathing, a technique born through years of cardio training, belied the horror gripping her soul. The teddy bear, oh God, the teddy bear. An image she couldn't shake, the vision would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Earlier, while jogging toward the distant terminal building, Sandy came across a still idling airport transfer bus. Hoping to use it to expedite the crossing, she peered into its closed glass doors. In spite of the eastern glow of the coming sunrise, she couldn't discern details through its dirty windows. However, the bus looked empty.

Jamming her fingers into the rubber gap between the panels, Sandy tried to pry the split glass doors apart. After a fruitless, half-minute struggle, she finally noticed a backlit, recessed emergency-release button left of the door. Activating it, Sandy heard a short blast of compressed air. She jumped as the doors popped two inches out of their opening and then parted, each sliding in opposite directions.

"Hello?"

No reply rose above the bus's droning diesel engine.

She took a tentative step into the opening. "Is anybody in here?"

Standing half in the doorway, Sandy screamed as two strong hands, squeezing from both sides, grasped her shoulders. Another blast of compressed air burped from under the bus, and the door trying to close on her retracted.

"Shit!" Sandy kicked the right panel of the retreating glass door and shook her head. Keep it together, Captain Fitzpatrick. She stepped all the way into the bus, and its doors slid closed. Air-conditioner blower noise replaced the engine's. Getting over her skittishness, she stepped into the driver's compartment. In the dawn's wan light, the seat looked empty. Groping in the darkness, Sandy worked her way closer. A few awkward seconds later, she finally dropped into it.

Something was wrong with the seat. It felt like someone had left a towel or cloth on it. Running her fingers across the material's loose, rippled surface, Sandy froze, remembering what she saw while peering down into the empty F-18's cockpit. An uncomfortable hard object dug into her right thigh. Wide-eyed in the dark, she leaned left and pulled it out from under her leg. Breathlessly holding the object up, she studied its angular silhouette against the deep turquoise hue of the early morning sky. A round ball on one end and a long rod on the other, it felt metallic. With her opposite hand, she blindly searched the instrument panel for a light switch. A huge windshield wiper arm sparked to life, its dry, rubber blade chattering against the dirty glass. Another switch later, the bus's cabin lit up like an exam room. Sandy blinked and squinted as the sudden blast of light burned her dark adapted eyes.

Finally able to see, she squinted at the device in her hand. Struggling not to scream, Sandy dropped the artificial hip. Jumping to her feet, she looked down to see a bus driver's uniform strewn across the compartment. While the driver's shirt was on the floor, the pants, belt still buckled, lay in the seat. She saw several shiny objects littering the interior of the pants. Bending, she looked closer. In a sudden epiphany, she recognized the parts as titanium screws.

What the hell could do that? She looked from the strewn articles, to the screws, and finally to the artificial hip where it had landed next to her right foot. Why isn't there any blood?

Backing away in shocked dismay, Sandy stumbled. Regaining her footing in the bus's central corridor, she looked aft and froze. Visible in the cabin's stark, white light, emptied articles of clothing littered the entire bus.

A glint of light drew her attention to one of the front left seats. A teddy bear's half-open, glass-bead eyes peered from under a vacated toddler's outfit. On the narrow bench, a little girl's tiny white and yellow dress sat between piled clothes of an apparent mother and father. Worn in anticipation of an early morning departure to some exciting destination, the tiny girl's yellow ribbons and pink bows now lay strewn about her emptied clothes.

Sandy had a mental image of the parents casting horrified glances at the monstrosity hovering overhead while they tried to calm their frightened little girl. But in Sandy's vision, she and Jake were the anxious couple. The child between them was the little girl with golden locks that she'd often imagined would grace their future. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to the point where the baby bump would soon show.

As a tear threatened to breach the levee of her lower eyelid, Sandy extended a trembling hand toward the stuffed animal. After a short hesitation, she caressed its furry belly.

The teddy bear's lifeless, doll-like eyes snapped wide open. "Are you my mommy?"

Find out why this happened and what happens next!

Get the Sector 64 Series Today!

Dean’s Books

THE DIMENSION SPACE UNIVERSE

Dimension Space

Solitude

Multitude

Amplitude

Multiverse Space

Magnitude

Fortitude

Infinitude

THE SECTOR 64 UNIVERSE

Ambush

Retribution

First Contact (A Prequel Novella)

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dean M. Cole, a reclusive caffeine junkie and author from Texas, formerly a combat helicopter pilot and now an airline pilot, writes science fiction novels. As an aviation enthusiast, he lives out his dreams of space adventures in his books, since "physics" and "budgets" stand in the way in real life. His stories are full of techno-jargon and action. Between flights, he translates these into German, drawn to the challenge of weaving long words into convoluted sentences. Despite his success, he fears his characters may one day become self-aware and choose safer career paths.

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