Chapter 4
📚 Need to catch up? Here’s Chapter 1, Chapter 2, and Chapter 3.
The Threat
Adam bursts into mission control, his pulse hammering in his ears, breath coming in sharp gasps.
Lilith is close on his heels. The doors close behind them with an ominous locking click.
The cavernous room, normally filled with the hum of technology and focused chatter, is now enveloped by suffocating silence and unsettling tension.
It’s as if the entire place is holding its breath
All eyes—human and android alike—are glued to the massive display screen dominating the front wall. Instead of the usual cascade of data, six crimson lines of text blaze ominously against the black backdrop:
Yael, the Lord, declared,
“Here, then, is the heavens above and the land below.
For man this was created, to this he is assigned.
You, o man, shall remain in this estate;
Above the land below and below the heavens above.”
For he has said it, the Lord Yael.
Adam’s gaze locks onto the display screen. He squares his shoulders, a vein pulsing at his temple.
“Is that… blood?” Lilith’s voice is a low whisper. Her eyes are wide, face drawn tight.
Adam leans closer, squinting at the screen. The sharp scent of acetone fills his nostrils.
“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Pain. Red paint.” He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck. “But who would—”
“Overnight job,” the Chief of Security interjects, striding up with an air of urgency. His boots click on the tiled floor, slicing through the quiet. “An intern found it this morning.” He holds up a small tablet, scrolling through surveillance logs as he approaches.
Lilith’s fingers tap rhythmically against her thigh—tap, tap, tap—as if the motion might yield answers. “So, our culprit’s been here all along?”
The Chief of Security nods, his jaw clenched.
Adam’s knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the console, inhaling sharply. “We monitor everything here. How did—”
“That’s the kicker,” the officer cuts in, his voice low. “Logs, surveillance, environmental data—all normal. Like our intruder was a ghost.”
Lilith’s laugh is brittle. “Ghosts don’t paint delusional ramblings.”
Adam’s gaze sweeps the room for his android. “Hey, Tartar,” he calls, waving the android over.
The android’s head snaps up, eyes flickering to blue ovals. “Sir?”
Adam jerks his head towards a quiet corner, motioning for Tartar to follow. As they move away, the hum of worried whispers fades.
“What’ve we got?” Adam mutters.
Tartar’s gaze sweeps the room. “Someone clever, sir. And patient.”
He hates that kind of vagueness. “What do you mean?”
“If they bypassed surveillance, there will be traces. Subtle, but there.”
Adam nods, exhaling through his nose. “Find them.” His words are sharp, but the android can detect the underlying desperation.
“Of course, sir,” Tartar responds before moving away, disappearing into the cluster of consoles.
Adam turns back, his eyes narrowing as he sees Lilith deep in conversation with a young, nervous-looking intern. The intern’s hand is trembling slightly, the edge of a laminated access card tapping against his leg.
“—from the book of Bittakon,” the intern stammers, adjusting his glasses as they threaten to slip off his nose.
“The book of what?” Adam asks.
The intern’s eyes dart between Adam and Lilith. “Bittakon, sir. Religious text. I studied it at uni.”
“He’s right,” Tartar chimes in, the android’s voice carrying from across the room.
Adam shoots the android a look. “Stick to scanning,” he barks.
He calls over another android, gesturing with a quick flick of his wrist. The new android steps forward, projecting a hologram of an ancient book. The scent of old parchment seems to fill the air—a sensory illusion, but effective.
“The Book of Bittakon,” the android begins, its tone reminiscent of a patient teacher. “Part of the sacred text of the Way of Yael, prophetic and apocalyptic. The book emphasizes humanity’s duty to care for the planet as Yael’s stewards. The religion experienced a resurgence after the environmental catastrophes that led to the fertility crisis.” The android pauses, as if gauging the reactions of its audience. “People turned to the Way for comfort and guidance. The teachings about living in harmony with nature struck a chord during those turbulent times.”
Lilith’s eyebrows arch, a skeptical smile twisting her lips. “So… what? They’re using some mythological religious book to shame us?”
“Possibly,” the android replies. “It’s a warning against leaving the planet, thereby defying Yael’s will.”
Lilith rolls her eyes with a dramatic flourish. “Right. Let’s base our decisions on fairy tales.”
The android continues, unfazed by her skepticism. “The religion’s followers believe that Yael created this world specifically for humanity, and that their purpose is to serve as caretakers of his creation. They see any attempt to leave the planet as incongruent with Yael’s plan.”
“Of course they do,” says Lilith.
Adam frowns, rubbing his temples. “I had a friend who was part of the Way,” he says, his voice softening. “But he’d never do anything like this. Are you sure you have the right religion?”
The android nods, its gaze unwavering. “Some factions within the Way hold more extreme beliefs,” it explains. “They see the fertility crisis as punishment for humanity’s sins—particularly our mistreatment of the planet. Fundamentalists believe that the only way to atone is through absolute dedication to healing the planet. Any attempt to leave is seen as escaping justice and, thus, blasphemous.”
Adam sighs, his hand falling away from his head. “Okay… so, someone here thinks the mission is sacrilegious,” he says, his mind racing to connect the dots, “and they’re trying to stop us by scaring us away?”
The security chief’s lips press into a thin line. “Or by finishing what the Ecocentrists started,” he says grimly.
Adam and Lilith exchange a look. It is wordless, heavy with meaning.
Lilith speaks first. “We absolutely can’t let them stop us, Adam.”
He straightens, squaring his shoulders. “All right, people. We need to find who did this, and why. Chief, keep security on high alert. Activate the nano-drones, max sensitivity. Tartar, keep scanning. You,” he points to the second android, “keep looking into this Yael cult. Deep web if you have to.”
The android nods, a flicker of yellow signaling acknowledgment before its eyes return to blue.
He gazes up at the red text, jaw set. “And after someone takes a picture of that screen, scrub that nonsense off.”
A murmur ripples through the gathered personnel. It is a mix—some nod, their expressions hardening with determination; others exchange uneasy glances, doubt clouding their eyes.
“Who put you in charge?” a faceless voice calls out from the crowd.
The challenge hangs in the air, the silence unbearably heavy. Adam’s ComSpec chirps—a cruel reminder of his rising stress levels. He covers it with his hand, fighting the tremor in his fingers. He swallows hard, scanning the room. Every second feels like a minute, every eye trained on him, waiting.
Before Adam can speak, Tartar’s voice cuts through the tension. “Because Adam Elwin is our new Mission Commander,” the android declares, without pausing in its scanning.
The words land with the weight of authority, startling even Adam.
Lilith steps forward, her voice cutting through the murmurs that start to rise. “Commander Elwin’s appointment was supposed to be announced this afternoon,” she says, her eyes darting across the gathered faces. “But given the circumstances, it seems appropriate to make it official now.”
A low murmur ripples through the crowd. Near the back, a technician whispers to her colleague, “Elwin? The training guy? Really?” Her companion shrugs, eyes darting nervously between Adam and the ominous message still glowing on the screen.
Adam catches the exchange, his jaw tightening. He can’t let himself flinch—not now.
He clears his throat, forcing strength into his voice that he isn’t sure he has. “Look,” he begins, deliberate, “this isn’t how we planned today, let alone the mission. But we have a job. We can’t let this”—he jabs a finger at the blood-red text—”derail us. Not for everything we’ve sacrificed so far. Not for everything this mission means.” His voice grows firmer, more resolute with every word. “Be thorough. Be relentless. Now, get to work.”
The room hangs in tense silence for a heartbeat until a grizzled engineer in the front row nods firmly.
“Aye, Commander,” he says, his voice steady and loud enough for all to hear.
The tension dissipates like the morning fog lifting.
Heads begin to nod, postures straighten. Mission control erupts into a flurry of activity.
Adam exhales slowly, relief washing over him. He catches Lilith’s eye, and she gives him a small, approving smile.
He clears his throat, shifting back to the issue at hand. “I think it’d be good to see if Levi can double-check Tartar’s work. Levi knows these systems backward and forward.”
He clears his throat, shifting his focus back to the matter at hand. “I think it’d be smart if Levi double-checks Tartar’s work. He knows these systems backward and forward.”
Lilith’s gaze sharpens, lips pressing together. “Tartar’s been thorough so far,” she says, voice level but edged.
Adam shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “You know I’m not comfortable putting faith in a machine. Especially with something this serious.”
Her eyes flash, a challenge brimming just under the surface. “But do you really trust Levi?” The question comes out quiet, deliberate.
“More than metal, apparently,” he mutters.
A flicker of something—maybe understanding, maybe resignation—crosses her face. She drops her gaze, tapping at her ComSpec to check the time, a subtle sigh escaping her lips.
She looks around the room.
“Where is Levi, then?”
“Media wing,” he answers, loosening his stance. “He and Zoe had an interview this morning, so they should be with Public Affairs. Shouldn’t be hard to track down.”
Lilith spots a small cluster of personnel off to the side, dressed in the polished, pristine uniforms of Public Affairs—distracted by their tablets and busy chatting.
“Well, that’s PA over there.”
She lifts a hand, motioning briskly to one of them.
After a quick, confused look exchanged among them, a man breaks off, trotting over with a slightly nervous expression. He gives a tight, polite nod.
“Ma’am?” he says.
“When did Mr. Nabal and Dr. Clesia finish their interview this morning, and why didn’t they come with you when they were paged to Mission Control?”
The man’s forehead creases in confusion. He looks from Lilith to Adam, clearly out of his depth. “What interview, ma’am?” he asks. Lilith shoots Adam an uneasy look.
“The media interview,” Adam clarifies. Something about this feels wrong—too wrong. “They left for the media wing first thing this morning.”
The man shakes his head, his frown deepening. “Sir, there are no interviews scheduled today, and we came straight here from PA after we were summoned, right before the lockdown alarm went off.”
The second android steps forward, its eyes shifting to a bright yellow, signaling urgency. “Sir, this detail may be pertinent to our investigation. Today is the most holy day on the Way’s religious calendar: The Day of Redress.”
Adam’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. “What’s the Day of Redress?”
The android’s eyes remain fixed on him. “In ancient times, followers of Yael were instructed to provide annual burnt sacrifices as evidence of their devotion. The most preferred ‘gifts’ were a pair—one man and one woman—deemed the most egregious sinners of the year.”
The blood drains from Adam’s face. He sways slightly, reaching for the console to steady himself. The implication crashes into him, sharp and jagged as shards of broken glass.
The Day of Redress. A holy day for atonement—a day of sacrifice.
Someone has taken Levi and Zoe, intending to offer them up in some twisted ritual of penance.
Adam clenches his fists at his sides, his jaw set in grim determination.
He can’t lose people—not again.