“Wil, come to bed.” His wife, Saera, was standing in the doorway to their bedroom. Based on the scowl twisting her beautiful features, she wasn’t pleased that he’d brought work home to their quarters—not that she hadn’t done the same on numerous occasions in her capacity as TSS Lead Agent.
Wil leaned back on the couch with a sigh but didn’t close the report. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You can deal with it later.”
“I’m not so sure,” he replied with a frown. “This salvage ship attack is too bizarre to be a coincidence, given the proximity to the Rift.” Ever since the end of the Bakzen War thirty years prior, the Rift had been on his mind. The spatial tear was formed when a planet was destroyed in a massive telekinetic assault. Despite the TSS’ attempts to heal the wound, a sliver of it had remained—and was slowly growing again. He and others had been keeping an eye on it from afar, hoping nothing more would come of it. I should have known better.
Wil gestured to the report on the viewscreen and waited for Saera to get the gist of the contents.
“This can’t be right,” she murmured.
“I can’t find any evidence of it being falsified. In the event it is genuine…”
“Stars…” She sunk down onto the couch next to him.
“We can’t take any risks with the Rift. We need to be ready to respond if this situation develops.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with what Jason alluded to in his message?”
If it does, we’re in more danger than I can imagine. He took a steadying breath. “This attack was days ago, though.”
Saera smoothed her hand over her auburn hair. “Have you spoken with him yet?”
“No, I wanted to finish going through this first, since I’d rather keep the conversation rooted in observable facts.” Wil knew firsthand how visions from the nexus were cryptic and difficult to interpret. Years ago, when his son had visited the nexus, they had interpreted what he’d seen to be a sign of the coming revolution within the Empire. At the time, it fit, but it could have meant anything.
Wil stared at the impossible report on the viewscreen. “I’ve always feared that what he saw was actually another impending threat. Though Jason has never said as much, I think he’s wondered the same. I don’t know why else he’d bring it up now.”
Saera groaned. “Because things can never be easy for us.”
“Hey, we had a few years without a galactic-scale disaster to worry about.”
“Not funny.” She continued reviewing the frustratingly sparse information—so far, only a transcript of an interview and a single image.
“Have you evaluated scan data from the area?” she asked.
“I was just about to.”
Saera leaned forward, fully engaged. “Then let’s figure this out.”
— — —
“We have a problem.”
The telepathic warning intruded into Jason’s mind, snapping him awake. Beyond his father’s mental presence, his bedroom was quiet and dark. Jason rolled onto his back and threaded his fingers through his hair, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. He’d only made it into bed an hour prior, after having quite the heated competition with Gil. “Can’t it wait until morning?”
“It’s about the Rift.”
Jason bolted upright, his heart pounding. “Is it related to that attack?”
“Yes, a salvage hauler was destroyed.”
“By what?”
“We’re not sure,” his father replied.
Jason’s mind raced. I’d hoped I was just being paranoid.
The sector around the sealed spatial rift had been unoccupied for decades. Salvage ships had been instructed to stay clear of the area, though it wasn’t a surprise that at least one had gone in search of valuable scraps left over from the Bakzen War. Perhaps a rival had attacked the ship, but he suspected that his father wouldn’t have woken him in the middle of the night if the explanation were that straightforward.
“Meet me in my office,” his father instructed. “The threat may have come through the Rift.”
Jason threw back the sheets on his bed. “I’m on my way.”
He hurriedly dressed and grabbed his handheld from the charging pad on his nightstand. Shit, we don’t need another conflict. He slid the device into the inner breast pocket of his black overcoat and jogged to the door.
The hallways in TSS Headquarters were all but abandoned in the wee hours of the morning. Sconces lining the paneled walls were dimmed to half-brightness for the night, giving Jason the opportunity to let his senses adjust to wakefulness. As much as he and the other Agents in the TSS liked to believe that the organization’s charter was now driven by academic excellence, alerts like this in the middle of the night were a reminder that their duty was to protect the Taran people, first and foremost. There would always be new threats to vanquish, and they needed to be ready for anything. Their skills were too unique for anyone to take their place.
The familiar comfort of the environment helped settle Jason’s nerves as he jogged to the central lift connecting the facility’s rings. He took the lift to Level 1—the administrative center for TSS Headquarters—and hurried to the TSS High Commander’s office down one of the four primary corridors radiating from the dark-tiled central lobby. For most, getting called to the office would either be a great honor or a sign of impending punishment for a major indiscretion. For Jason, being the son of High Commander Wil Sietinen, a veritable living legend, it was a place for a casual family get-together as much as anything else. Tonight, however, was definitely not a social call.
One half of the wooden double-doors to the office stood open. Jason’s father, mother, and three other senior Agents were waiting inside. All were dressed in Agent black, though many weren’t
