Chapter 5
📚 Need to catch up? Here’s Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, and Chapter 4.
The Threat
Adam bursts into Mission Control, Lilith right 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.
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.
“Is that… blood?” says Lilith, eyes wide.
Adam leans closer, squinting at the screen. The sharp scent of acetone fills his nostrils.
“No,” he murmurs. “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. “An intern found it this morning. No alarms, no unauthorized access.”
Adam frowns. “So, our culprit’s been here the whole time?”
The chief nods grimly. “Logs, surveillance, environmental data—everything’s normal. Like a ghost did it.”
Lilith’s laugh is brittle. “Ghosts don’t paint delusional ramblings.”
Adam doesn’t respond, his focus already shifting. His gaze sweeps across Mission Control, scanning for the familiar glint of LED eyes among the sea of strained faces. Everyone looks tense, but too busy—or too guilty—to meet his eye.
“Tartar!” he calls.
The android pivots sharply as it registers Adam’s signal. “Sir?”
Adam gestures with a flick of his head toward a quiet corner near a bank of unoccupied consoles. “Over here. Now.”
Tartar moves with its usual precision, stopping just short of Adam. “How may I assist?”
Adam glances around before leaning in slightly, voice low. “What’ve we got?”
Its gaze sweeps the room. “Someone clever and patient, sir.”
He hates that kind of vagueness.
“Meaning?”
Tartar’s head tilts, amber LED eyes narrowing slightly. “They bypassed every level of security. That requires a detailed knowledge of system architecture—and its weaknesses.”
Adam’s gaze dashes across the room as though he could spot the culprit just by looking. “That kind of knowledge doesn’t just fall into someone’s lap. They’ve been here for weeks. Watching. Waiting. Working under our noses.”
“Precisely,” Tartar replies. “This suggests patience and deliberate planning. They had to remain undetected in a facility with strict protocols and limited freedom of movement.”
Adam exhales through his nose. “Fantastic. Weeks to plan, and we’re only catching up now?”
“They were methodical,” says Tartar says. “No system is perfect, and no saboteur is flawless. There will be residual data—anomalies in access logs, redundant commands, or altered protocols. With targeted scans, I can isolate them.”
Adam narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “You’re sure?”
“Highly probable. However—”
“Don’t hedge. If you can find something, find it. Quietly.”
“Of course, sir,” Tartar responds.
Adam watches it disappear into the maze of consoles, his unease deepening. He’s not sure what unsettles him more—relying on a machine for answers, or the fact that he’s starting to suspect everyone around him.
As his eyes shift back toward the room, his attention snags on Lilith. She’s leaning casually against a console, talking to a nervous-looking intern who fidgets with his glasses as they threaten to slide off his nose
“—from the book of Bittruc,” the intern stammers.
“The book of what?” Adam asks, stepping into the conversation.
The intern’s eyes dart between Adam and Lilith. “Bittruc, sir. Religious text. I studied it at university.”
Adam’s gaze lingers on the intern, suspicious. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he signals to a nearby android. The machine steps forward, its servos whir softly as it activates.
“Give us an overview of the book of Bittruc,” Adam orders, curt. “Summary, not a dissertation.”
The android raises its hand, palm facing up, and a hologram flickers to life above its projector, displaying the image of a weathered book. The illusion is meticulous—cracks along the leather binding, faded text on the cover—and the faint scent of aged parchment fills the air, a programmed sensory detail meant to immerse.
“The book of Bittruc,” the android begins. “A sacred text of The Way. The book describes a prophet’s visions of divine glory, celestial beings, and the majestic throne of Yael, the sovereign Creator. It emphasizes humanity’s potential redemption through trust in Yael, contrasting obedience and faith with pride and rebellion.”
“What does it have to do with the text on the screen?” asks Adam.
The android tilts its head, LED eyes flickering as if processing the query. “The text displayed is from a passage of Bittruc. In it, Yael commands humanity to remain on the land he gifted them ‘below the heavens above.’ The interpretation of this text asserts that humanity’s destiny is tied to their home world and warns against venturing beyond it. Thus, the inclusion of this passage suggests an ideological objection to the Hybris Prime mission.”
Lilith’s eyebrows arch, a skeptical smile twisting her lips. “So, someone’s using a religious myth to scare us off?”
“Possibly,” the android replies.
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Let’s base our decisions on fairy tales.”
Adam frowns, rubbing his temples. “Isn’t Dr. Clesia part of The Way? She’d never do anything like this. Are you sure you have the right religion?”
The android nods, its gaze unwavering. “The Way has many denominations and sects, some of which believe the fertility crisis is punishment for humanity’s sins. Leaving the planet is seen as evading divine justice.”
Adam sighs, his hand falling away from his head. “Okay… so, someone here thinks the mission is sacrilegious,” he says, connecting the dots, “and they’re trying to stop us by scaring us away?”
The security chief steps forward, solemn. “Or by finishing what the Ecocentrists started.”
Adam and Lilith exchange a look. It’s wordless, heavy with meaning.
“We can’t let them stop us, Adam,” she says.
His voice steadies as he turns to address the room. “Alright, folks. We’ve got work to do. Chief, keep security tight. Sentinel drones—max sensitivity. And you,” he nods to the android, “look deeper into this Yael group. If there’s anything to find, I want it.” He glances at the crimson message still burning across the main display. “Someone get a photo for records. Then… get rid of it.”
A low hum of voices spreads through the room—some steady and ready, others edged with uncertainty. Adam can feel the hesitation in the air.
“Aren’t you the Training Ops guy?” a faceless voice challenges from somewhere in the back. “Who put you in charge?”
The room falls into a heavy stillness. Adam’s ComSpec chirps. He clamps his hand over the device to quiet it, the tremor in his fingers barely under control. His eyes scan the faces in front of him.
Waiting.
Judging.
Before he can respond, Tartar speaks. “Commander Elwin has assumed leadership effective this morning, as per mission protocol.” The android’s glowing eyes sweep the room, almost daring another challenge. “His authority is not in question.”
Lilith steps forward, her posture effortless. “It’s true. The announcement was scheduled for later today, but…” She lets the pause linger just long enough. “Given what’s happened, there’s no reason to wait.”
A whisper cuts through the room from a knot of technicians in the back. “Elwin? The backup guy?” one murmurs. Her companion hesitates, then shrugs, glancing nervously between Adam and the screen.
Adam catches the exchange but keeps his gaze forward. He forces his voice to steady, to rise above the murmurs. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting. It wasn’t what I was expecting either. But we have a job to do, and none of us can afford to lose sight of it—not now.”
The room stays still for a moment that stretches unbearably long.
Finally, a grizzled engineer near the front clears his throat. “Aye, Commander.” His voice is quiet but firm, carrying over the hushed crowd.
One by one, others nod, their postures straightening. The energy in the room begins to shift—uneasy but determined.
Adam exhales softly. His eyes meet Lilith’s, who offers a faint, almost imperceptible smile. For now, it will have to be enough.
Across the room, a pair of technicians stand on a ladder, carefully scrubbing the crimson text from the main display. Adam’s eyes linger on the fading letters as they wipe away, streaks of the message smudging before disappearing entirely.
“What do you think Zoe would say about this?” he asks, almost to himself. “Her religion’s text, twisted into… whatever this is.”
Lilith pauses, her gaze flicking to him before returning to her ComSpec, checking the time. “She’d probably call it a misinterpretation or some fringe reading. Isn’t that what they always say?”
Adam exhales, his eyes lingering on the technicians scrubbing the crimson text. “Maybe. She doesn’t hide behind easy answers, though.”
The thought sparks a pang of unease. He hasn’t seen her since earlier that morning.
“Where is Zoe?” he asks, scanning the room.
Lilith shrugs. “Beats me. Haven’t seen her since yesterday.”
“She had a media interview this morning with Levi, but—”
“She’s probably still in the media wing, then. You know how those interviews can drag,” she says, glancing at the time again.
“Right, but the lockdown. She should be here.”
He lifts his ComSpec. “Zoe, report.”
Nothing.
“Come in, Zoe.”
Silence.
Lilith surveys the room until spotting 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.
“There’s PA over there. Maybe they know something,” she says, motioning briskly.
After a quick, confused glance at each other, a man breaks off and approaches.
He gives a tight, polite nod. “Ma’am?”
“When did Mr. Nabal and Dr. Clesia finish their interview this morning, and why didn’t they come with you to Mission Control when the lock down initiated?”
The man frowns, clearly caught off guard. He glances between Lilith and Adam, his confusion evident. “What interview?”
Lilith’s composure wavers for a split second, her gaze darting to Adam.
“The media interview,” says Adam. “They left for the media wing first thing this morning.”
The man shakes his head slowly. “Sir, there were no interviews scheduled today. Public Affairs came straight here when we were summoned—right before the alarm went off.”
The 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 Order’s religious calendar: The Day of Redress.”
Adam’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. “What’s the Day of Redress?”
“In ancient times, the Order provided annual burnt sacrifices as evidence of their devotion to Yael. 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, 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 abducted Zoe and Levi, intending to offer them up in some twisted ritual of penance.
Adam clenches his fists at his sides, his jaw set in grim determination. That morning, he’d made a promise: I won’t let her get hurt. I’ll protect her, no matter what.
He can’t lose people—not again.
Not her.
