Outside

The door slammed hard as Bernard Roe stumbled back into his house. He had been away for far too long. The journey into the solar system dubbed “The Tempest” had beaten the life out of him. Since getting back to the explored regions of space, he and the few other surviving crew members had been assaulted by reporters asking for his story of how the adventure had ended and what they had discovered. He had done his time talking to reporters. Now it was time to come home and sleep.

As he gazed around his living room, he was appalled. The house was surely clean, thanks to the cleaning service his family had employed for the last three generations, but he was appalled rather by the piles of mail scattered around. For years he had thought physical mail would die out completely, and yet here it was, piling up by the mounds in the few months he had been away. A cursory glance told him it was all either junk mail; fan mail from people who were excited the “brave” (or as he thought, stupid) explorers on the rescue mission were back; or from media representatives who wanted more interviews, pictures, and so forth from the mission. Bernard didn’t care about any of it. Bed was what he wanted.

He trudged slowly up the stairs, each step sending waves of pain and aggravation through his body. That accidental ingestion of super soldier serum years before had been a life saver. No way he could’ve survived a trip like that in his mid-50s without it. Finally reaching the bedroom, he fell face forward on his mattress. How he had missed it. The question of whether to just lay here or to get up to change out of his ruined clothes weighed heavily on his mind. Soon he didn’t have to think anymore about it, as he fell into a deep sleep.

“Docky!” came the shout echoing through his house. He awoke with a jolt. Looking at the time, he seemed to have been asleep for 13 hours. As he deliriously tried to get up, a very familiar and very unwelcome face popped into his room.

“Hello Vanessa,” he replied in a monotone. “How kind of you to … did I forget to lock my front door?”

“Nope,” she said back, putting her lock picking kit back in her travel bag. “I tried calling a few times but got no response, so I let myself in.”

“Of course. Missed me that much, did you?”

“Nah. But I do need your help.”

“Please no.”

“Yes. You see, unfortunately we need you. Like, you are genuinely the only person who could help us at this point.”

“I just returned from an incredibly dangerous trip to the Tempest syst…”

“Nobody cares about the stupid Tempest. This is interesting. Remember Alonso Wells?”

“No.”

“Come on! Of course you do! There was a big explosion on the NKA407 mining station, a Niiz K police officer named Alonso Wells sent me in to lead the investigation, you and I met, and that was when you learned you needed me in your life to experience true joy.”

“I clearly recall never thinking that even once in my life.”

“You know you love it. Point is, he has a job for us.”

“I just got home. Just. I really want to get back to a normal routine.”

“The moment you met me, your life stopped being normal.”

“I am painfully aware of that, yes.”

“You know you love it. Come on, let’s go!”

# # #

Bernard was escorted into the ornately decorated office of Alonso Wells, head of Niiz K’s criminal investigation division. Alonso was younger than you’d expect of a man in such a position, barely over 40 years old, but that’s what happens when your superiors keep dying in a string of mysterious circumstances. Bernard recalled having asked Vanessa about that once, but she shushed him immediately. He was convinced she knew something about it that she didn’t want to share with anyone.

“Have you ever heard the name Cosmic Phantom?” Alonso asked him.

“Never.”

“Good,” he replied, sliding a tower of paperwork across the desk to Bernard. “Do me a favor and review all these papers. All of them. It will likely take you several hours. When you’ve finished, tell me your observations on it. I apologize for consuming so much of your time, but you will be paid handsomely for this.”

“Um, thanks?” Bernard responded as he lifted the mass of paperwork and photographs. “Do I get any indication what this is about?”

“The less you know the better, but I’ll tell you this. These all relate to a string of events which have been getting nonstop media coverage. The media has been grabbing at any source they can get, and the public hysteria has led to innumerable people calling police agencies as being supposed ‘eyewitnesses’ and consuming huge amounts of our time and resources. Simply put, this case has become such a mess that no one can approach it objectively anymore.”

“Except you,” added Vanessa. “Since you’ve been out of the known galaxy for so long, you have completely fresh eyes. We’re hoping you can examine these and see if there’s anything, literally anything we’ve missed.”

“OK, sure,” he replied, standing up slowly. “You have a room I can go to so I can peruse this in peace?”

He was escorted back out and into a meeting room with an enormous conference table, ringed by a dozen very uncomfortable chairs. He laid the pile of evidence next to him and started reviewing the pages on top. Right from the beginning, he was disgusted. Crime scene photos of a murder victim who had been very carefully propped up in a seat and posed as though they were knitting. The body bore scars and showed clear signs of resistance, but apparently not enough of one. On the body’s right cheek was a laceration that looked like some sort of a signature.

“Police have definitely noticed that,” he muttered quietly, “unless they’re absolute morons.”

He looked to the next picture in the file and it was a closeup of the signature. The handwriting was indistinct, but scrawled in the margins of the photo was what seemed to be several detectives’ guesses as to what the signature spelled exactly. Seeing as they wanted fresh eyes, he chose to ignore the theories and interpretations of previous investigators. As he moved the photo aside, he saw some maps indicating where the crime scene was exactly. The neighborhood was one he’d never heard of, but it was in Tsukonian space near their capital city. He knew it well. Not enough that he could offer fresh insight on the case to police. He hadn’t spent time there exploring the backstreets and small neighborhoods.

After nearly an hour he moved on to the next folder. Another murder victim, this one posed at a dining room table as though they were carving a turkey. Once again, signature on the right cheek. Possibly this meant the murderer was left handed, but hard to be sure based off that alone. No other obvious clues in the photograph. He looked to the maps. Niiz K space, planet Ademar, capital city. Bernard noted the obvious connection to the previous case, each crime happening in the government’s chief capital city. Police would’ve noticed. He moved on.

Third victim again, same motif. A body with signs of resistance, seemingly killed and posed, this time standing up and washing dishes. Signature on the right cheek, more well done this time. It clearly spelled “N. Adler.” He noted this, but again assumed it was an obvious enough fact that the galactic law enforcement agencies would have done their due diligence and investigated every N. Adler they could get their hands on. He examined the map, expecting another capital city. To his surprise, it was another Niiz K planet, Farra, commonly regarded as the third best world they owned. Not nice enough to be the capital, and not nice enough to be the one tourists get sent to so they could have a good impression, but the planet for the best of the average citizens. Even more surprising, the crime scene was nowhere near the capital of Farra, but rather near a mid-size city hundreds of miles away. It was popular enough that you’d hear about it sometimes on the news, but not too often. He remembered there was a minor upheaval in the news over an election for their mayor a few years ago, but the CEO Heinrich Gates quickly made an appearance and announced that there was an attempted fabrication in the results, and that (unsurprisingly) the true winner was the man Gates himself endorsed. Typical Niiz K stuff. Bernard knew as well there was a respected university, that a few celebrities lived around there, and they had an annual film festival. All of which were things the police could’ve easily noticed.

As he pushed that file aside and reached for the fourth, he was startled to see something out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and saw a policewoman standing near the door, eyes staring straight ahead.

“How long have you been there?” he asked. She stood silently, continuing to stare ahead.

“Have you been here the entire time?” he added. She remained stoic. Bernard looked at her for a moment, and then added “Have you been told to be silent because I asked for peace while I examined the files?”

She nodded.

“Well in that case,” he said, sighing slightly, “I hereby authorize you to speak when spoken to.”

“Thank you sir,” she responded.

“How long have you been there?”

“The entire time. I’m the one who escorted you to this room. I take it you’re the type to fixate on something when you’re interested.”

“I suppose I am. Why are you standing here?”

“I was instructed to keep an eye on you to ensure you don’t take photographs or make copies of any of the evidence. We’ve had so many leaks to the media in this case that we can no longer take chances.”

“Makes sense. What’s your name?”

“Corporal Scott, sir. Cheyenne Scott.”

“I assume you’ve been told to not discuss the case with me so as not to put ideas into my head.”

“Correct sir.”

“Good. I do want to make sure, however, that I’m not wasting time looking at things that have been thoroughly examined already. Could you simply give me a yes or no answer to a few questions?”

She thought for a moment. “Maybe. Depending on what the question is, sir.”

“Please stop calling me that. Now, the name is an obvious lead. Have the police already done background checks on anyone matching the name N. Adler?”

“Yes s- … yes.”

“And they’ve also checked if it could be a pun, code name, secret message, etc?”

“Yes.”

“The scars on the face indicate there’s a decent chance the murderer is left handed. They’ve checked this?”

“Yes.”

“As well as the fact that the first two murders were …” he said, pausing briefly as he flipped through the fourth file. Just he expected, Voh Terra’s chief capital. “… three of the first four murders are in governmental capitals?”

“Yes.”

“Have they checked for possible connections between the murder victims?”

“Yes.”

“And have these all been dead ends?”

“Yes.”

No wonder they wanted help, Bernard mused. He expected at first that Vanessa was just exaggerating like she normally does, but this was indeed an interesting case. It was entirely possible the police already had the name of the murderer and yet there was still nothing to go on. No connection between the victims, the way they’re posed, or the places where the crimes happened. As far as he could tell from the photos, even the murder weapon seemed to change at times. The only consistent thing seemed to be the tool used to carve the N. Adler signature into the victim’s right cheek.

He continued poring over the files, as Corporal Scott remained steadfast in her post, speaking only when spoken to, and offering no information beyond “Yes,” “No,” and “I can’t answer that.” As the hours passed, Bernard kept getting more and more frustrated. There had to be a connection. Something everyone had overlooked. Something really really obvious.

And then, out of nowhere, it hit him.

# # #

“Before I continue,” Bernard began, having finally returned to Alonso Wells’ office, “I do first have to ask a very crass question: Is this a joke?”

Both Alonso and Vanessa seemed shocked. “No,” Wells replied with grave emphasis. “This is very much not a joke. Why do you ask?”

“The murder locations,” he said, laying all the maps out on the desk. “Nine murders, in six different solar systems.”

“And?”

“These are all places I visited.”

“I don’t see how that means anything,” Vanessa responded. “These are all fairly large population centers, and you’re a well traveled …”

“I don’t mean throughout my life. I mean on one specific trip I stopped at all of these places.”

“What was the purpose of the trip?” Wells asked, leaning eagerly forward on his elbows.

“After I left the military, I did a lecture tour to some medical universities, sharing experiences and field techniques to the students. I stopped in every single one of these cities as part of it.”

“Are you suggesting the killer has some connection to you personally?”

“No, not at all. But these places do have that connection. It’s all medical universities. Not just in the vicinity, but in the exact city limits.”

“Perhaps I’m missing something,” added Vanessa, “but don’t most cities have universities? I mean, this is like saying all the murder sites are near a library or a post office.”

“Yes, I know that,” Bernard replied slowly, “but these are different. I’m not the only one who did a lecture series in these same places. It’s common procedure for army doctors to do this when they’re leaving the force. Bastion’s Irongate Academy began hiring people like me from across the galaxy to come and deliver lectures to their students, and they’ve gradually expanded it to other schools inside and outside of Bastion. We say how many stops we’re willing to make, and the people organizing it choose the best medical universities for us to stop at so we can make the best use of our time. I stopped at fourteen, some will do dozens. But it’s always universities from the same list. The top hundred I think it is. Some are specifically medical universities, others are standard ones that offer medicine in addition to whatever other courses. But they’re all regarded as among the best for medical teaching. And I think that’s your pattern.”

“We’ll look into it,” Wells said, already snapping his fingers and calling in aides. He barked out an incomprehensible series of orders as Bernard and Vanessa sat and watched, unsure what to do with themselves, trying to keep out of the way of the masses of people rushing in and out of Wells’ office. Finally Wells turned his attention back to them. “Apologies. Would you mind waiting here just a little more until we hear some results?”

“I guess so,” Bernard said, staring up at the clock on the wall. Six hours. He had been in this station for six hours, and dreaded how much longer it would be. As it turned out, his relief came soon. Within twenty minutes Corporal Cheyenne Scott entered the room, handing some forms to Alonso Wells.

“It’s not great, chief,” she started. “Two of the murder sites don’t have medical universities.”

“That can’t be,” Bernard retorted. “I’ve been to them.”

“How long ago were you there?” Wells asked.

“It was when I left the military, so probably … um, at least seven years ago.”

“Well there’s our problem,” Wells replied looking at the forms. “One of the medical unis closed five years ago, and the other at the start of this year. They were there when you went through, but shut down before these murders started.”

Bernard sunk back in his chair. “And I here I thought I really had something for you.”

“Not so fast,” Corporal Scott interjected. “You did lead us to a possible answer.”

Bernard, Vanessa, and Wells all stared intently at Corporal Scott. “Well?” Vanessa barked impatiently.

“The university that shut down this year only shut down the medical division of the school. The rest remains in operation. As for the one that closed five years ago, it was a medical school, but after its closure the building was bought and is now an Arts Academy. In fact,” she added, setting down more files as proof, “all of the locations have highly regarded arts courses.”

Wells processed this slowly. “So you’re saying that the connection we’re looking for is schools specializing in arts classes instead of medical ones?”

“Could be,” she replied. “They all seem to be held in just as much prestige as the medical schools Dr. Roe was thinking of.”

“That would explain why the only places hit twice have been Niiz K and Shandücha,” added Vanessa. “They have insane amounts of art subsidies and stuff. They’re both desperate to convince the rest of the galaxy that they’re just as cultured and sophisticated as…”

“Enough editorializing,” snapped Wells. “Corporal Scott, thank you for this. Is it possible to use this information to find possible locations where the next murder will happen? If we can predict the next strike it would help to confirm this theory as a real possibility.”

“Officer MacLaren is checking now,” Scott said. “Seeing if there’s any list of reputable art schools that include all nine of the previous locations.”

“Excellent. If we have possible sites, no matter how many, we can contact local agencies throughout the galaxy and put them on alert. Even if we can’t stop the next killing, at least we’ll have a better idea what to look for.”

# # #

“91 teams,” said the first officer, his teeth chattering as he and his partner patrolled outside. “This has got to be the largest cooperative operation the galaxy has ever seen.”

“It helps that everybody in the universe hates this Cosmic Phantom,” replied his partner.

“And what a stupid name! Cosmic Phantom? That name applies to everybody in the galaxy whose location you don’t know.”

“You’re really more concerned about the name that Okain Studios gave a serial killer, than with the actual murders he’s been committing?”

“Or that she’s been committing.”

The partner groaned. “Come on, we both know that’s inherently implied as a possibility.”

Their quarrel continued as they patrolled the streets. Around the city blocks of 91 top rated art academies and colleges, massive teams of police and detectives kept their eyes open. Anything suspicious, out of the ordinary, at all, they reported to their local head office. No one was taking chances. Niiz K, despite their reputation as a morally bankrupt corporation, was giving their all to stop this public menace, and was keeping themselves on their best behavior. For once. Even solar systems where their public relations had soured, they pleaded for participation in this endeavor, and for the first time ever, everybody listened. The fact that this humanitarianism would provide Niiz K with good press was not lost on the CEO.

As the two officers patrolled the streets around the top university in the Pendeross Kingdom, their enthusiasm began to wane. It was now past 1 am. Nothing was happening. The streets were silent. Out of 91 schools, what were the odds it would happen here? For that matter, what were the odds that the Niiz K officials even knew what they were talking about? A city with a school? Hardly conclusive evidence. As they completed their circuit yet again, the radios started buzzing madly.

There had been a murder over twenty miles away.

# # #

“This shouldn’t make sense!” Vanessa shouted, pounding her fist on the conference table. “Out of the hundreds of thousands of colleges in the galaxy, you were able to narrow it down to less than a hundred options. And you were right! I get it. But why? Why an art college? None of the victims are students, right? They don’t live on school property. They don’t work at the school. They don’t have family members connected to the school. The murders don’t even happen near the school! The Pendeross Institute for Photography and Sketches is twenty-five miles away from the crime scene!”

“Twenty three point six,” corrected Corporal Scott.

“Thank you so much, Cheyenne,” she growled sarcastically.

“At least it’s a lead of some sort,” Bernard replied, trying to calm the room down. “We know the art schools are connected in some way. If we can only find out how, we’re on our way to a breakthrough.”

“And preventing an eleventh death,” added Corporal Scott.

They were seated around the conference table with an additional seven officers, each one reviewing one of the ten murders. After a time, they would rotate files and examine another case, hoping between them they could find some connection between the murder and the nearby school. After thirty minutes of silence, an officer suddenly cried “Aha!” only to pause, look confused, shake his head, and then go back to reading again.

Vanessa got up, stretched her back, and slipped into the adjoining break room. She grabbed a small carton of snacks and plummeted to the couch underneath her. A few minutes later, Bernard and Corporal Scott followed her.

“You doing OK Van?” Bernard asked.

“I hate this,” she replied. “I don’t like not being good at things. I don’t like not figuring things out. I don’t like not having Mateo in my ear helping me.”

“You don’t have Mateo?”

“We had to confiscate her earpiece,” Corporal Scott explained. “Again, leaks and all.”

Bernard sat on the couch next to her. “Look, I don’t like this either. People are dying, and odds are there will be another victim in a few days or weeks if we don’t figure this out. We’re all feeling the pressure. It’s OK to be stressed and angry over this. But if we give up, the Cosmic Creeper wins.”

“Cosmic Phantom,” Vanessa corrected.

“I really don’t care.”

Vanessa laughed. “You’re starting to sound like me now.”

“That’s how you know I’m exhausted. When I sink to your level, we know we’re in trouble.”

Vanessa laughed again. He had never insulted her before. She looked up at Corporal Scott. “Yo, Cheyenne, sit down.”

Scott very cautiously took a seat on the remaining portion of the couch. She was terrified. She had practically grown up hearing stories about Bernard Roe and his exploits in the military, his service at Azriel V, the prison break at Asturia … and who hadn’t been watching with bated breath everything going on in the Tempest system? Whenever this case was over she yearned to ask Bernard how it ended. And now here she was, not only sitting next to him, but with Vanessa Cuarón. Cheyenne had not yet dared to mention this, but being around ten years younger than Vanessa, she idolized her throughout her teenage years. So to be here now, sitting with them on a couch, being part of a conversation of laughter between them, she was paralyzed, unsure what to do or say. It had been easy to stand behind Bernard silently and watch him read. That was her job. But now she had a chance to maybe even befriend them both, but how to start? What to say? What abo-

“Hey Cheyenne,” Vanessa abruptly said, “where are you from?”

Cheyenne stammered, taken aback by how sudden the question was.

“I mean,” Vanessa continued, “you’re with the Niiz K police force, but your accent isn’t remotely Niiz Kiian. Where do you originate?”

“Oh, um, I was born in the RNP system.”

“Huh. I know nothing about that place. Not at all.”

You should, Cheyenne thought. My father was the fighter pilot who saved you from the Wreckers two years ago.

“You ever go to any of these colleges we’re looking at?” Vanessa asked.

“No. I wanted to, so I could study to be a botanist, help improve terraforming tech, stuff like that. But when I was really hard on cash, I had a cousin who had moved to Niiz K and he offered me a job doing ordinary secretarial stuff. I wound up doing that at the police station.”

“How the fez does a secretary become a corporal?”

“Oh, I uh …” Corporal Scott stammered, “I began offering suggestions about the investigations. I had a … you could say I had an idol I looked up to and wanted to be like. It turned out sometimes I was helpful so they eventually gave in and switched me to normal police work.”

“Never meet your idols. Always disappointing. They’re usually terrible in person.”

“But to go become a corporal at your age!” Bernard added. “That’s incredible. And without ever having gone to a police academy for it.”

“I tried my best,” Cheyenne replied. “It seems to be working out.”

“Rotten for us,” Vanessa said. “The only person on the team young enough to have been to college recently and give us insight into any of these murder sites, and she’s self-taught.”

“Don’t knock her,” Bernard retorted, “she’s cracked more of this case so far than anyone else.”

Cheyenne stood up and returned to the conference table in the other room, unsure whether to feel like she had been complimented or insulted by Vanessa. Soon the other two followed, and all present sat in silence as they read for another hour, switching files. Finally, Vanessa pulled out a calculator and entered some numbers. She looked confused. She pulled up information on the university closest to the crime scene. She looked more confused and entered more numbers in the calculator. Her head turned up sharply.

“Docky!” she exclaimed, “how far was the crime from the school?”

“In which school? I’m currently looking at…”

“Doesn’t matter, shut up and give me the distance!”

“Um, OK. Looks like it was … about 26 miles.”

“No, the exact distance.”

“Uh, 26.5 miles?”

“No! Listen would you? *Exact* distance.”

Bernard looked as though he were about to retort something in a very angry manner, but looked back down to his file. “26.515151515151 miles. So in other words …” and then paused. “Oh. Huh. Exactly 140,000 feet away.”

“Round number, right? Cheyenne! Same for you! Distance between school and whack job!”

“Whack job? You mean the murder? Um … 14.20454545 miles. Seventy f…. oh. 75,000 feet exactly.”

“Everyone here!” Vanessa cried, standing up. “Everyone quickly and silently calculate the distance in feet. If anyone has something besides a full round number, let me know.”

Around the table, seven heads looked down to calculators, entered numbers, and registered a look of shock on their faces.

“All ridiculously, specifically round numbers, right?” Vanessa asked. “Docky! You said the distance at your scene was 140,000 feet? What’s the total tuition a student at that school will have paid by the end?”

He quickly looked it up. “140,000 quin.”

“Cheyenne! Your murder was 75,000 feet away? What’s the tuition at your school?”

She checked as quickly as she could. “75,000 quin.”

“Someone correct me if I’m wrong,” Vanessa continued, “but our victims are always an equal distance from the crime scene as that school’s tuition! For, um, some reason.”

Murmurs went around the table as everyone checked the tuition at the school they were investigating. The murmurs turned into a stunned silence. Corporal Scott was the first to eventually speak up.

“So the victims themselves aren’t connected to school… this is more about their location when they’re murdered?”

“Not just when they’re murdered,” she replied, sitting back down in her chair, “their homes. All of these victims were murdered in their homes. Never a public place, never at a friend’s house, never in the woods or an alley, or at the school itself. The murderer is picking a school, learning the tuition, finding a private home an equal distance away, probably stalking the inhabitant a while, then getting in and murdering them. They set the body up in some way, carve their name in the face, and escape, leaving behind no other clues.”

“Signing their work,” added Bernard. “Like an artist.”

“Yes!” she shouted. “Exactly!”

“Hold on a minute though,” Scott interjected. “I’m no psychologist, and maybe we should take this to one, but … oh, how do I even say this … is this a frustrated artist?”

“Maybe,” Vanessa replied. “I’m also no psychologist, but I think it’s worth looking into.”

“Meantime,” added an officer seated at the table, “this gives us something more to look for! There’s 90 universities left on the list. We had police patrolling near each one last time, but that didn’t stop the murder. This time we know we need to have patrols an appropriate distance from the school, right?”

“Yes!” said Vanessa. “Have each local authority find the tuition at their respective school. Find all the homes an equal distance away from the school. Guard them.” She paused a moment, then started snapping her fingers in an excited manner. “Wait, more than that! All the victims lived alone, didn’t they?”

“That’s true,” the officer replied. “We’d investigated the significance of it being single individuals living alone, but like every other clue it ran us into a dead end.”

“Well now we have something to combine that with! Find the tuition, find any single occupant homes that distance away, and we can stop this monster from striking an eleventh time!”

# # #

The Galactic Robison Empire was a fearsome place. No one in their right mind would travel there unless they absolutely had to. The first government to openly declare war after the solar systems had been fairly divided, they were therefore the first to acquire a second solar system. Even on the rare occasions when most of the galactic governments were able to get along, the GRE was the only one to not even reply to the invitations. Therefore, the GRE was the last place Niiz K was able to get cooperation from in their Cosmic Phantom operation. Only when Niiz K threatened to intercept rum shipments from Rumania did the GRE agree to send policemen out on this patrol.

In the middle of the night, Kalob Grover-Brooer returned home from the Colosseum. As an aged veteran, he was permitted free entrance to watch the gladiatorial games. He had spent a long, exhausting lifetime in service to the GRE Space Marines. Now, as a retired old man, he was enjoying peace and solitude in what little time he had left. He entered his old house, watered his plants, and then realized he had lost his keys.

“How in the world,” he muttered to himself. “I just got home two minutes ago. Where could those have gone?” He meandered through the house, cursing loudly at every location that his keys were not. He was so occupied in his search that he didn’t notice the gentle sound of his window being pried loose, as a cloaked figure opened it and slipped inside. As Kalob shouted insults to the mothers of his plants, the cloaked figure drew nearer, silently pulled out a blade and …

The door was kicked open by GRE law enforcement officials who instantly began spraying bullets into the room. Kalob fell to the floor as the cloaked figure leapt through another window, shattering the glass pane, and vanished into the night. Two police officers pursued as the third leaned over the aged man, and checked if he was OK.

“Well,” Kalob replied, “you only shot me five or six times when you were aiming for that intruder. I’ve had worse. I’ll probably be fine.”

“Ah. Sorry about shooting you repeatedly. That was probably my bad.”

“Who taught you to shoot?” he asked, his consciousness slipping fast. “Your mom?”

# # #

“Welcome back to Okain Studios, the best news money can buy. Joining us today we have Heinrich Gates, CEO of the Niiz K Corporation. Mr. Gates, I just want to begin by saying congratulations on your recent success!”

“Please,” Heinrich Gates replied. “This is not a success for Niiz K. This is a success for the galaxy.”

“So true. After months of the known galaxy being plagued by the mysterious Cosmic Phantom killer, he has finally been stopped by a task force that you assembled.”

“Well, that is true. Even though it was a success for the galaxy, it was thanks to the hard working Niiz K law enforcement officials. Who answer to me. So it was thanks to me.”

“We couldn’t agree more. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but the Cosmic Phantom has not actually been apprehended, correct?”

“Right. But he was stopped in his tracks. Just as he infiltrated the home of his next intended victim, local law enforcement officials were able to rush in and prevent the murder. Thanks to tips from Niiz K. Obviously.”

“And the homeowner survived the ordeal?”

“Um, sure, let’s say he did. Point is, the murderer did not manage to kill the target he planned on! And the fact we were able to predict where he would strike next should definitely instill confidence in the safety of our galactic governments! So there’s no need to continue to postpone your family’s vacation plans, for example. Or any large purchases you plan to make soon. Go ahead and do those! All signs point to the galaxy being safe again, so there’s no need to hide at home and stockpile all your cash or anything anymore!”

“Wow, what excellent news. Thank you so much to our visiting guest Heinrich Gates, CEO of the Niiz K Corporation.”

# # #

“Where is that cretin?” howled Vanessa. “Since he was chased out of that GRE house he hasn’t been seen! Two months! It’s not like a serial killer to just give up after a single setback!” She stormed around the room in a silent fury.

“Look,” said Bernard, “I appreciate you coming all this way to inform me of this, but you really didn’t have to wake me up again just to tell me these things. I did know it already.”

He sat back in the best comfortable chair his home library had to offer. Vanessa had showed up at 3 am, picked the lock, come into the house, woken him up, and dragged him into this room so she could rant about how angry she was that the Cosmic Phantom hadn’t been caught. The carpet around Bernard’s piano was getting a rut dug into it from how often she furiously paced around it.

“But doesn’t it gnaw at you?” she cried. “A serial killer with ten victims who was never caught. He’s out there somewhere, no one knows where! He could be working at your hospital!”

“I highly doubt that. I know everyone at my hospital. Most of them are lovely people who would nev-”

“You get my point! We gotta catch this guy!”

Bernard could feel himself getting angry. The sleepiness was one thing, but this was another. He finally stood up from his chair and shouted at her “Look, you don’t actually care, right? Nobody is dying! That should be enough for you! But no, you’re annoyed that there’s a puzzle you haven’t solved. Get over it. Be grateful the murders have stopped, go home, and for once in your life just shut up! Set your ego aside for the first time and just please shut up!”

She crossed her arms and stared at him for a good long while. “You’ll regret this. You’ll regret this when the killing starts again. We could’ve taken this opportunity to put an end to it, but no, you’d rather sleep. Fine. We’ll see how your conscience is treating you when this starts up again.”

“Maybe it will,” he replied, “but maybe it won’t. Let’s be happy it hasn’t, and let’s hope it never does.”

# # #

Mere days later, Bernard was seated in his favorite restaurant. He came from old money, and he rarely liked to display it, but food was his exception. He would spare no expense to get the absolute best he could, and this place was Alssyria’s top source for gourmet. He had made his reservation weeks in advance, and even then it was difficult to get penciled in. Just as the food made its way to his table, his com device vibrated. He looked down and saw it was Vanessa trying to call. Immediately he feared the worst.

“Hello?” he asked, answering as timidly as he could. They hadn’t spoken since the last time she had broken into his house.

“It’s happened,” she replied.

“You mean the Phantom?”

“Yup. But different this time. He’s either spooked or trying to prove something. I’ve already contacted Wells. I need to get ahold of Corporal Scott.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let her know. Where do I meet you?”

“URM space. Capital city as usual.”

“On my way.” He hung up and put his com device back in his pocket. He looked up at Cheyenne sitting at the other end of the table.

“So he’s finally back,” she said.

“Seems so.”

“And I was really looking forward to this food.”

“I’ll see if we can get a rebooking.”

# # #

The motif was different this time. The body still had the distinctive N. Adler signature on the right cheek, but it wasn’t a large distance away from an arts academy. This time it was right on the front doorstep.

“This is what you call sending a message,” Vanessa said as she stood in the midst of the crime scene.

“How so?” Bernard asked, just arriving. Vanessa pointed to the right of the body. Written in the dirt, apparently by a finger, were the initials BR, VC, AW, and CS.

“Bernard Roe, Vanessa Cuarón, Alonso Wells, Cheyenne Scott,” sighed Wells, as an assistant took pictures of the initials.

“Pip,” muttered Cheyenne. “I definitely never wanted to be targeted by a serial killer.”

“It must be serious if he’s willing to break from his tradition of murdering someone a certain distance from the school.”

“Except he didn’t,” Vanessa corrected. “This school accepts scholarship students only.”

“Tuition costs zero,” Cheyenne said quietly, “so the murder is zero feet away from the school.”

“He is trying to send a message though,” Vanessa continued. “This school doesn’t appear on any lists we can find of top colleges. He broke with the tradition of using a top university, but his message remains steadfast. Distance equals tuition. He needed to change his approach enough to make us take notice, but not to change his inherent idea.”

“Well, we’re here,” Wells said. “Do you suppose he’s here too? Watching us?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“What do we know about the victim?”

“Absolutely nothing ironclad,” said Vanessa. “No ID, no record in URM’s civilian database. However,” she added, kneeling down to the body, “we can make some assumptions. Look at her. What do you notice?”

“Her clothes are old and tattered. Her fingernails are dirty.” Wells too knelt down and inspected the body more closely. “Teeth are in perfect condition. Feet have fallen arches. She’s been subjected to a life of hard work, barefoot, but with a healthy lifestyle nonetheless.”

“All the others were homeowners,” Corporal Scott added. “Was this woman homeless?”

“Couldn’t be,” replied Vanessa. “Too healthy for it.” She stood up and looked at the detectives gathered around, trying to ignore the masses of reporters being held back by the police cordon. “I think this is someone from Outside.”

“If you’re right,” said Bernard, “then this is a major change in motif.”

“Sorry,” asked Corporal Scott, “outside of what?”

Centuries ago when humanity was leaving Earth and terraforming the solar systems nearby, numerous pockets of people arose leading an anti-technology movement. Technology, they argued, was responsible for all the evils plaguing humankind. The Great Accident which nearly wiped out life as we know it; the Civil War in which Los Lobos tried to exterminate everyone who wasn’t with them; the Maelstrom, and the Rift at the center of it which threatened to rip apart the universe itself; all of these were caused by technology. This faction reasoned, then, that life would be better (not to mention safer) if we simply discarded all technology. The various national heads agreed. Sort of. They decided that, as the galaxy was terraformed, a small number of planets would be set aside for anti-tech people. Different planets for different desired levels of mechanization, or lack thereof. Race and national identity aside, when these people chose what level they wished to live at, they would be delivered to the appropriate planet and left to live out their days in a society they felt at peace with.

The Outsiders, as they came to be called, faced an obvious problem. What if a wannabe warlord landed on the planet and took it over using modern technology? The galactic nations arrived at a simple solution. Anyone could visit “outside” planets if they adhered to the accepted tech level. If anyone violated that, the galactic nations could send in armed forces with modern weapons to remove the threat. Once the threat was gone, the foreigners from modern planets would leave immediately, taking their technology with them.

“So,” Alonso concluded, “circumstantial evidence would seem to indicate that our Cosmic Phantom has fled to an Outside planet, nabbed this poor girl, and brought her back to serve as a message.”

“I wouldn’t say this looks like a message,” said Bernard. “I’d say this looks like an invitation.”

“Yeah,” added Vanessa. “Probably an invitation to a trap.”

“Well then,” said Alonso with determination, “let’s not keep our host waiting.”

# # #

Capulum was one of the most well-populated Outside planets. It had an overabundance of natural resources, which Niiz K and Bastion repeatedly tried finding ways to exploit, only to be stopped at every turn by galactic law which continued to uphold it as a protected reserve for the people living on the planet. During initial colonization, Capulum was selected as the world which would have a nearly medieval level of development. That era of human development appealed to many people weary of space age devices, interstellar travel, and the wars that inevitably came along with them. To have basic machines like levers, pulleys, and such afforded a degree of ease in life, while still preventing the population from becoming dependent on such machinery. As the generations passed, the approximately one hundred thousand pilgrims to that world grew into the many millions. No one knew exactly how many people there were on Capulum since nobody bothered to orchestrate a planet wide census. As these thousands became millions, nations and governments formed, each with their conflicting ideologies, making any sort of planet wide cooperation even more difficult. Soon enough, Capulum was subject to just as many conflicts as any other place in the galaxy, but the populace had never known any other way of life, so no return to a modernized lifestyle was ever considered. By the masses that is.

On occasion, a resident of Capulum would hear tales of life in the stars, and with their imagination piqued, they had the opportunity of flying out and seeing the universe for themselves. A spaceport had been erected to allow travelers to and from Capulum, albeit stationed a far distance from a metropolitan center called Chelyth. Once a week a ship would land to drop off visitors and pick up anyone leaving. Visitors were welcome as long as they didn’t bring technology with them and they agreed to abide by the rules and customs of the people on Capulum. When one of the locals had their fancy captured by tales from the other worlds, they had the freedom to go and see it, but many times they would find themselves quickly taken advantage of, robbed, or worse. It was not uncommon for them to never make it back home. All this led to residents of Capulum feeling very suspicious of any visitor who did not immediately assimilate into the local culture, or who spoke of the things beyond the planet’s realm of knowledge.

Alonso Wells and his team assumed this had happened to the woman on the steps of the URM National University. The style and material of her clothing was a clear indication she had lived on Capulum. It would have been easy for a stranger to arrive in her town, befriend the residents until they were accustomed to him, and then begin persuading her to accompany him on a trip. Unfortunately, having no form of ID on her, they had no reliable way of narrowing down where in Capulum she was from. They would have to start from the spaceport and explore outward, through the entire planet if necessary. But there was no other clear lead to follow.

# # #

“I won’t lie to you, troops,” said Alonso, standing before a mixed crowd of two hundred police officers, soldiers, and marines. “We’re in a tricky situation here. I don’t know how many of you have visited an Outside planet before, but galactic law strictly forbids us from using or even displaying technology on this planet, unless it’s been proven there is a threat who is using similar tech. In our case, that has not been proven. We are operating on suspicion only here. Which means two things.

1. We cannot use any of our modern gear. Only things which would’ve been at home in a medieval time period.

2. We strongly believe there is a threat out there who is in possession of modern technology, meaning if we get there and don’t have any equipment with us, we could all be easily killed. Therefore, we are operating on a very, very thin line here. Namely this:

By necessity we have to have tech on us at all times, but we must exercise utmost caution to not reveal it. If any of you as individuals are found to have such devices, we will deny any knowledge of you, and you will be left to suffer the consequences. We must blend in until such a time that we have definitive proof that the Cosmic Phantom is here and is armed with contemporary weaponry or defenses.”

“I don’t get it,” Cheyenne whispered to Bernard. “Why can’t we just arrive and explain to them the situation? Then we could wield our technology openly.”

“Sure, but just imagine if that were allowed. How long do you think it would take before the GRE or Shandücha show up, claim they’re present for a police action, and then turn it into a new colony?”

“Fair point I suppose.”

The ship rocketed toward the medieval world. The flight itself was unsteady, as the interstellar highway had no pathways leading to the planet, so they were hammered by small meteors and space junk the entire way. Only a well built ship could survive a journey like this.

“You’ve all been briefed on the planet, its background, their chosen level of mechanization, and their customs,” Wells concluded. “But a final reminder. They don’t mind people from civilization coming to visit them, as long as we respect their customs and archaic lifestyle. So you don’t need elaborate backstories or new identities. You can be yourself. You can even be open about our mission. But it is still unwise to draw attention to yourself, as that may get them inspecting you more closely, finding your gear, etc. And I don’t need to remind you again what will happen to you should they find everything. So be cautious but nice. Lie if that seems best in the circumstances. You’ve all been outfitted with period appropriate clothing and some various items that are standard for a traveler on Capulum. Get familiar with them. We have only a few minutes left before we land.”

Cheyenne looked through the satchel she was given. A leather bound book, a spindle of wool, and a few coins. “Not much is it?” she muttered.

“Judging from our outfits,” said Bernard, “I’m assuming we’re meant to look like peasants at a quick glance.”

“At least my book is an atlas of Capulum. Hand drawn maps and all. Whoever organized this mission knew what they were doing. A way to know where we’re going but without raising suspicion of locals.”

“Prepare for landing!” Wells announced. Cheyenne gripped her seat tightly. This was not going to be a comfortable experience.

# # #

Bernard and Officer MacLaren wandered the streets of Chelyth, sticking close together so as not to be separated in the throngs of people squeezing through the outdoor market place. Upon landing they’d been separated into pairs, men with men and women with women.

“So as not to draw undue attention from the locals,” Wells had explained, “no male/female pairs unless you want to pretend as though you’re married.” Vanessa had looked Bernard in the eye, laughed loudly, and whisked Cheyenne off in a different direction. Ultimately Bernard was assigned to explore with MacLaren. They entered the market with three other pairs, with instructions to simply keep an eye out. Nobody knew for sure what they were looking for. But some suggestions had been given:

For one, they assumed that N. Adler would have passed through this city. This was the only spot on the planet where permission was given for spaceships to land, disembark their passengers, and then exit immediately. Anyone trying to land elsewhere would be attacked. So if N. Adler had indeed come here, gotten a local woman, and taken her out into space, he would have either passed through Chelyth, or would have had to carry the woman through miles and miles of unexplored forest so that his ship wouldn’t be seen, and even then he only could have pulled that off if he owned his own ship that could survive the flight in and out. The team’s assumption (and hope) is that he would’ve taken the easier route. Meaning people in this city could have seen him. If that were the case, then they were looking for anyone who had noticed somebody new. N. Adler would have only come in the previous two months, so hopefully he would still stand out. Additionally, they could watch for left-handers, a statistically small portion of the population. More of a long shot, but it was something else to keep an eye out for. Finally, there was the matter of the murdered woman. They couldn’t bring photographs of her, but they had sketches and descriptions. If anyone had a missing daughter, aunt, cousin, mother, etc, then maybe there was a chance they could follow up on that. Of course, they had to deal with the added problem that, while N. Adler would’ve been a relative newcomer, this investigation team was more so. This wasn’t the day for the regular tourist ship to land, so the locals wouldn’t yet be expecting visitors. Bernard hoped he could leverage his age, gray hair, and scattered wrinkles to adopt a grandfatherly tone and gain the trust of the villagers in the marketplace.

“Good day neighbor!” he said gently to the young woman operating the stall in front of him. “My nephew and I are visitors from the town of Hogsfeet and we’re just passing through. Do you know of any good overnight lodgings for out-of-towners like us?”

“Right behind you,” she replied, pointing to a three story building at the end of a short alley. “Tallest building in the town. It’s expensive though. Usually used by those travelers from the stars. They take a rest there and get themselves acquainted before seeing the world.”

“I’m afraid we have very little money on us. We’re passing through on our way to Frostford to look for work. Is there any cheaper option?”

“Usually fellas without money stay in the horse barn outside the market.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

As they wandered off, MacLaren coughed slightly. “Hogsfeet? What kind of names are you making up for this mission?”

“Actually I checked the geography in Corporal Scott’s book. It’s a real town nearby. Wanted to be able to speak with some authority.”

“Considering how bad this town smells, I can only imagine what Hogsfeet is like.”

They located the barn and took a look around. It was much larger than either had expected, and they noted there were already many other travelers settling in, laying down their luggage and making makeshift beds of hay wherever they could find that was dry and relatively clean.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to go back to the ship to sleep like everyone else?”

“I don’t want to take any chances. The more time we spend in the village, the better I hope our chances will be of finding this guy.”

# # #

Three days of investigating in the village led to more dead ends, with the only result being that the locals kept getting more suspicious of this flock of strangers who showed up and kept insisting they were “passing through” but kept hanging out and asking questions. The decision was made to split up into smaller teams and tackle the surrounding towns. By coincidence Bernard and MacLaren were sent to Frostford after all, along with one other pair, Officers Lily Bronte and Marilyn Tesh.

“If anyone asks we’ll tell them you’re my daughters,” Bernard offered.

Frostford was smaller than Chelyth, much smaller. But in Chelyth they’d had 196 others helping them search. For this town, they had comparatively large swaths of land to cover, as well as a sizable population of nearly two thousand to question. All without raising suspicion.

Vanessa and Cheyenne, on the other hand, had been tasked with Sawrell, along with over fifty of the other pairs. Sawrell was one of the largest cities on the planet, serving as the metropolitan hub that most visitors would travel to after landing in Chelyth. Hundreds of thousands of people flocked through the city each day, some for work, some because they lived there. It was an easy place to get lost. An even easier place to disappear. No sooner had they stepped foot inside the city limits that they realized fifty pairs wouldn’t be enough. Thankfully Alonso had had the foresight to plan for this, and instructed all the other scattered teams to reunite here once they’d given a thorough look at the smaller surrounding towns. Days passed, and no results. Bit by bit, the teams in the nearby towns started shuffling in, aiding in the search in the larger metropolitan center.

During one of their morning walks, as they climbed a hill towards the northernmost edge of Sawrell, Cheyenne spotted something. “Down there,” she pointed, “a little ways outside the city walls. It looks like a bunch of homes.”

“Hovels,” Vanessa suggested as she squinted at the distant cluster.

“Might be something of a, what, suburb? Poor folk who can’t afford to live in the city but benefit from being near it? Wanna go check it out?”

“Probably a better use of time then around here. It’s like everyone is trying to avoid us. Maybe a settlement will yield nicer people.”

They made their way down the hill, found the appropriate city gate, and made their exit. As they walked towards the housing settlement, Vanessa turned around, paused, and placed her hand on Cheyenne’s shoulder. “Uh, take a look at this.”

Cheyenne spun around and stared. Pinned to the outside of the city wall near the gate was a poster, declaring a missing person and offering a description. Magdalena Forrest, female, 25 years old, 5 foot three inches.

“The body posed at the URM building,” Vanessa continued, “about 25 you’d say?”

“Absolutely.”

“Five three?”

“Yep. We measured her.”

They ran to the houses ahead and asked about the poster. Unlike in the city, everyone talked to them. Vanessa and Cheyenne were quickly taken to the parents of the missing girl to hear the story of what had happened. They had left the village for a time, leaving their daughter Magdalena behind. When they returned, she was gone. The neighbors said a young man had begun making frequent appearances at the house in the preceding weeks, claiming he lived inside the city walls. None of them found it suspicious. There were hundreds of thousands of people passing through day by day, nobody knew everyone in Sawrell. One day Magdalena went into the city to visit him. They never saw her again.

As Cheyenne attempted to express sympathy to the family, Vanessa pressed with more questions, chiefly about the man’s identity. The villagers were able to confirm many things for them. First, their killer was definitely male. For sure left handed. Mid to late twenties. Curly red hair. Seemed to have poor vision at a distance. Mole on the back of his neck, right in the center. As soon as Vanessa had run out of questions, she stood up.

“Thanks for the answers. Cheyenne, let’s go.”

Cheyenne looked up, slightly appalled by Vanessa’s abruptness. “I’m trying to help her mother here w-”

“Charity later. We have a lead. Let’s not waste it.” With that she turned and left the house. Cheyenne made hasty goodbyes and followed.

# # #

Alonso paced the long living room, end to end, as Vanessa recounted the story. They had reunited the full team and managed to rent out an entire tavern. Most of their number were packed into the room and the hallways surrounding it, desperately trying to hear the full record of events.

“Poor eyesight,” he muttered as Vanessa paused. “He may wear corrective lenses when offworld.”

“And red hair you said?” called out MacLaren from the doorway. “Was any red hair ever found at the crime scenes?”

“None,” he replied. “This guy is either very cautious or he cleans up like a pro. What name did the villagers say he went by?”

“Nathan Adler,” Cheyenne offered.

“Well that answers the N. Adler question. Still doesn’t help our case, but good to know. And they haven’t seen him since the girl vanished?”

“Not even once,” replied Vanessa.

“OK, so here’s our next steps. Fourteen of our crew are capable sketch artists. You’ll go back to the victim’s family tomorrow, gather everyone who saw Nathan Adler, and see if they can describe him well enough for you to illustrate him properly. Get as many drawings done up as you can. Each team will take one, and the extras we’ll put up on the walls everywhere we’re allowed to. Some teams will branch back out into the smaller towns, but only the ones in the immediate vicinity. If he made a residence for weeks in Sawrell then it’s not likely he traveled too far in any direction. We’ll only pursue towns further out if we find a lead that indicates he may have traveled a good distance away.” He paused and sighed. “The other possibility of course is that he’s not even here. This planet may have served its purpose in his plans and he’s moving on to a new victim on a new world. But if there’s another victim, we’ll be informed by whatever law enforcement handles the case. For now we operate under the assumption he’s still here.”

“It’s only logical,” Bernard said. “He clearly wanted to get us here. Otherwise, why spend weeks building a trust with people from this planet, only to drag one off to a foreign world and never come back?”

“Not to mention our initials in the sand,” Cheyenne shuddered.

“Maybe it’s possible he’s not here but he left something for us to find here,” Wells suggested as he continued on. “Maybe he knew his presence would leave behind eyewitnesses. The red hair, mole, and poor eyesight may all be false, a disguise he used to throw us off the trail. Still, I think that’s less likely. I truly believe he is still here, waiting for us. I don’t know why he would, but I believe he has something planned for us.”

“Great. Just great.”

“Meantime, it’s getting dark. Sleep on it and we’ll carry on with the plan tomorrow.”

# # #

They awoke to the sound of chaos. Jumping out of bed, members of the team raced to the windows and saw people running around in the streets below, most of them yelling or barking out orders.

“What now,” Vanessa muttered.

“I think they’re yelling ‘fire’,” offered one of the soldiers.

“Near here?”

“Doesn’t seem so. Nothing around here seems to be …” His voice trailed off and went silent.

“Be what?”

“There.”

As they looked to where the man was indicating, they saw the fire was coming from the small settlement outside the city. Without a word Vanessa bolted down the stairs and out of the house. Everyone else gathered their supplies and followed closely behind. Without pausing for a breath, Vanessa pushed through the crowd, out the city gates, and up to the burning homes. Every single one was ablaze. She noted with some relief the people were gathered outside of their houses, standing a safe distance away.

“Did you lose anyone?” Vanessa asked, just as Alonso ran up beside her.

“No,” one of the villagers responded. “There was a loud noise that woke us all up. We saw the fire and fled.”

“Well,” offered another, “Richard isn’t here, but he went into the city last night. I don’t know how we’ll explain to him what’s happened when he returns.”

“Who’s Richard?” Alonso asked Vanessa.

“Magdalena’s father.”

“You!” Alonso barked as more of the officers arrived. “Check for signs of arson. This may be the invitation from Adler we were waiting for.”

“I think we can safely say that it is,” Bernard called out, some distance away.

“Why? What makes you say that?”

Bernard pointed. Richard Forrest was posed behind the bushes with the N. Adler signature on his right cheek.

# # #

“Found something!” a detective called out a few minutes after the fire was fully extinguished. He walked over to Wells with the remnants of what looked like a crude explosive device. “Here’s how the fire got started. I’m guessing the loud noise all the residents heard was this going off.”

“What’s it made of?” Wells asked with excitement. If the arsonist had used offworld material that had been imported, then they could use the clause in galactic law allowing them the open use of any modern tech they wanted.

“Sorry to disappoint you chief,” the man replied, anticipating the motive behind the question. “All the materials are from here. Technically it does have gunpowder, which has not ever been invented on Capulum, but it was at least made using raw materials from around here. Therefore, not offworld tech.”

Wells cursed and stormed off.

“There is one more thing though…” he continued, drawing Wells back. “The box contained this.” He held up a charred coin.

“Why was a coin thrown inside an explosive device?” Wells asked, taking it from the man’s hand.

“Look at what’s written on it.”

Osmian.

“What does Osmian have to do with this?”

“I don’t know, but I’m assuming this was left here as a message.”

“Osmian is the neighboring kingdom,” Cheyenne said, holding up her atlas. “Fiercely independent and suspicious of outsiders. Apparently very difficult to befriend.”

“Great. So is he indicating that’s where he is and he wants us to come for him, or does he want to trick us into going there and getting ourselves murdered?”

“I think he wants us to go there,” said Bernard, still examining the body. “Cheyenne, does the atlas say anything about the Osmian kingdom using ID or passports or anything similar?”

“Yeah, something like that. Why?”

“In Richard Forrest’s pockets there are citizen identification papers for the Osmian Kingdom. Four of them to be precise.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes to the sky. “Lemme take a wild guess whose names are on them…”

# # #

On Old Earth, before the Great Accident came and nearly wiped out humanity, many nations were scattered over the globe. Some of them survived the Great Accident and continued flourishing afterward, strengthened by the trials. Shandücha, Brewtan, Tsukonia, Los Lobos, and so on. Others were wiped out and forgotten forever. Others, however, had left behind such a legacy that even though they were destroyed in the Accident, legends of them lingered on. History books of dubious quality dedicated chapter upon chapter to their supposed exploits, even though real scholars debated the truthfulness of these accounts, even questioning if some of these “nations” had ever existed at all. One of these was called the Osmian Empire.

Wedged tightly between the borders of Bastion and the Holy Robison Empire was a stretch of rocky hills, all but ignored by its neighbors. Even throughout the fearsome wars waged between Bastion and HRE, nobody cared about the seemingly barren hills. They had no strategic or economic value whatsoever. Or so it seemed. For nestled in those hills, many small nations popped up, and due to being ignored, were able to strengthen themselves to unbelievable degrees. Over time, through minor yet endless wars fought within those mountains, one stood above all others, the Osmian Empire. By time they ventured outside their region, they struck terror into the hearts of even the most hardened of soldiers from the sheer ferocity of their combat. Bastion become so afraid that they stooped to hiring mercenaries from Los Lobos to defend themselves, for they knew the Lobians were the only soldiers in the world who could hope to match these new Osmians.

In these enlightened days, of course, no one believes a word of it.

Except, of course, for a small faction of pilgrims who were among the first to land on Capulum. They idolized the Osmians as the perfect society, pillars of strength, unstoppable in the face of any threat. All but immediately they splintered off and began trying to establish what they were sure would become the true successor to the original Osmian Empire.

And, terrifyingly enough, they did.

# # #

Bernard held out his identification paper as they approached the iron gate. A savage looking guard in a decorative bronze suit of armor snatched it from him and examined the paper. He searched all four of the party for weapons, and when he was convinced they had none, he waved them inside. No sooner had the gate shut behind them, another guard approached.

“Papers,” he demanded. Bernard being in the lead handed his over first. The man casually looked at it, then looked back up. “And who are these three with you?”

“My servants,” he replied with a confident tone.

“Very nice,” the guard said, looking them over. “I especially like those two. I’ll buy them from you anytime.”

Bernard chuckled. “You? You could never afford them.”

The guard, insulted, immediately drew his sword and began to swing. Bernard grabbed his wrist and his elbow, snapped the bone, and pushed the man away. Bernard turned and walked off into the heart of the city. A throng of people stared as the four passed them by.

“What was up with all of that?” Cheyenne asked, horrified.

“If these people are anything like the legendary Osmians,” he answered, “then we don’t want to be subtle and blend in like in the rest of Capulum. We want to command attention with a show of strength or no one will take us seriously.”

“Is that why I’m your servant now, apparently?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes. Any rich and powerful man would have several. I imagine three is a good minimum to be traveling with.”

“And what makes you assume,” Alonso added, “that you should be the rich man instead of me?”

“You think you could’ve snapped an opponents arm in half mid-swing?” he replied, and kept walking ahead.

They weaved and turned throughout the city, hopelessly lost, but trying their best to walk with determination and purpose. Cheyenne constantly snuck peeks into her atlas to try and make sense of what she was seeing, but the sensory overload made it difficult to keep a coherent train of thought going. Finally they entered what seemed to be a town square, and they froze in their tracks. Not from the grandeur of what they were seeing, as nice as the stone road tiles and marble buildings were. Rather, they were stunned by what they were hearing. A town crier was circling in the square calling “Bernard of Roe, son of Johannes! Vanessa of Cuarón, daughter of Alejandro! Alonso of Wells, son of…”

“Here!” they shouted, marching towards the crier.

“Ah, at last!” he shouted. “Welcome to the city of Alitea! Come right this way and I will show you to your new home!”

Bernard turned and shrugged at his companions in confusion, but followed, and hoped to sound as though he had any idea what was going on. “Yes, I’m eagerly looking forward to it. And who will be there to welcome us?”

“All your other servants of course. I was so sorry to hear about your arduous journey outside of Osmia, but I am overjoyed that you have made it back from the war safely, and so grateful your son was able to make arrangements for this house to be ready for you on your return. I do only hope he will be there in time.”

“His son,” Cheyenne muttered, dropping her face into her palm. “I think I know exactly where this is going.”

As they made their way through the twists and turns of the city streets, they finally were brought face to face with the most spectacular house Bernard had ever seen. Long ago he had inherited the family home, which was larger than most in Alssyria, but it was nothing compared to this. Marble sides, gold and silver inlays, cedar paneling and frames. Twelve pillars were erected in the entrance way leading inside. As the town crier brought them in, they were greeted with two dozen servants bowing to them.

“This is definitely the strangest case I’ve ever been on,” Alonso said under his breath.

“Father!” came the shout from behind them. They spun around in unison, and saw bounding up the steps towards them a young man with red curly hair.

“Oh boy,” muttered Vanessa.

# # #

As they were all finished being seated around the dinner table, Adler ordered all the servants out of the room. One by one the doors closed, isolating the four in the room with him.

“Excellent,” he said, clapping his hands once. “I’m sure you all have so many questions. Likely the first is something along the lines of ‘why shouldn’t I just kill you right now?’ and the answer is that, yes, I *do* have all kinds of cool weapons from space hidden on my person and throughout this room, so if you so much as make a move in my direction, I can fry you where you stand. So besides that one, any questions?”

“Nah,” said Vanessa, “you kinda addressed my main one.”

“What are you doing here?” Alonso asked. “And how have you gotten riches like this in two months?”

“Two months? Oh no, my good man, not even close. Try years. I only leave here on my business trips.”

“Ah. Your business trips.”

“Yes,” he sighed with joy. “It’s so hard to make a living out there, and so hard to be appreciated as an artist in here. So I have to balance the best of both worlds. My riches here, my art out there. Luxury here, fame out there. A beautiful lifestyle I’ve gotten for myself, isn’t it?”

“Is that what you do it for?” Cheyenne asked. “You think people admire you for those murders?”

“Admire? Oh no,” he laughed. “Who said anything about admiration? I said *fame*. Some people spend their lives toiling away for it. Nesara became the galaxy’s greatest artist after, what, 31 years of working at it? And yet here I am, earning fame for my artworks after just a few months. I found the fast lane to the perfect life. Everywhere through the galaxy, people whisper my name in fear. I walk down the street in any developed world and see my name in headlines, on TV, on book covers. My name has become so renowned that some are becoming famous by simple association with me! Our beloved Cheyenne Scott over here, for example,” he said, reaching out to stroke her hair as she writhed away, “I never would have known of her had it not been for my exploits. Nobody would. And now she gets offers for television appearances simply because she showed up at a few of my art installations. I benefit and so do all of you.” He sighed again with contentment and leaned back in his seat. “And then I come back to this world and enjoy total anonymity. But that isn’t fun unless you have money. So I come to the most private kingdom in all of Capulum. They don’t bend to anyone else’s rules. I show up with all kinds of crazy gear, tell them I’m a magician, and all of a sudden untold riches are mine. They don’t care that the galactic governments agreed I can’t do it. They like it. My tools give them the edge in battle. And believe me, when the Osmians go out to battle, there’s no enemies left alive to blab that offworld tech was used to give someone an advantage. And so I’m never caught.”

“And yet here you are monologuing everything to us,” Bernard interrupted. “Meaning you expect we’ll never get to tell anyone else.”

“Mm-hmm,” he muttered as he drank from his wine glass.

Vanessa looked at him in genuine confusion. “What’s the purpose of putting on this huge façade to bring us all this way just to kill us?”

“Why do you people keep putting words in my mouth? I never said I would kill you.”

“What then?”

He giggled. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

# # #

“It’s a pity we can’t just stab him in his sleep,” said Alonso. He was seated on the spacious bed in Vanessa’s room where they had all gathered after getting away from the dinner. “Normally in this situation I would, but he’s clearly thought of everything already. He found a way to arrange things so that the only possible option was for us to come to Capulum. Then he found a way to force us into coming to the Osmian kingdom and leave behind our tech. So I guarantee he’s thought ahead how to avoid it if we try stabbing him in his sleep.”

“Plus he’s got a bunch of servants out there and I’m pretty sure some of them double as bodyguards,” added Cheyenne.

“Yeah,” said Vanessa. “The ones with the great abs. I noticed them too.”

“At each point in this trip,” continued Alonso, undeterred, “he’s had a clear destination for us. Like he was leading us to the next logical step. What is it this time?”

“At first it took us a few days to find the following clue,” Bernard said. “Maybe it’ll become clear in a few days. Let’s just bide our time. If he keeps having dinner with us, maybe we can pry some info out of him.”

As the days passed, nothing changed. Anytime they tried getting Adler to open up about his plans he would change the subject, or taunt them about how long it took anyone to find him. One night, Alonso finally snapped.

“I don’t see any other plan. I’m just going to stab him.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” Cheyenne asked.

“Of course it won’t, but what else are we supposed to do? This whole investigation has been us floundering until we give in to the obvious trap. So let me just get it over with.” From his sleeve he pulled out a knife that he’d stolen from the dining room. “We’ll just see what happens.”

He marched out of the room and spotted Adler surrounded by guards. Adler saw him and made a conscious step away from the guards and towards Alonso. Alonso responded by raising the knife and charging directly for him. The guards tried moving in but Adler pushed them back, opening himself to the attack. Alonso brought the knife down into Adler’s chest and was hurled away into the wall, repelled by something unseen.

“Personal force field,” Vanessa whispered in awe. “I haven’t seen one of those since Azriel V…”

Adler walked over to Wells, sprawled out on the floor, and bent over him. “Wealth brings many privileges. I bet your police force doesn’t have even one of these. Probably Gates, and maybe your President. But I do. Pretty, isn’t it?” He straightened up. “Guards! Take this attempted assassin to prison!” He pointed up to Vanessa and Cheyenne. “Them too! All three of my father’s servants may be in on this! We can take no chances!”

“Wow,” said Vanessa aloud. “Thanks a heap Alonso.”

Bernard stood silently as the guards grabbed the other two and dragged them outside the house. He had no idea what to do next. As usual, however, Adler clearly had a plan.

“Father,” he said, bowing slightly in Bernard’s presence, “I fear your three servants have betrayed our family. I acknowledge this was my own shortcoming. I hired them from Sawrell, trusting the word of an average citizen.” He spit on the ground. “I succumbed when I saw the beauty of the two women, and instantly wanted them for your entourage. I swear this shall not happen again. Here, take this note. This is the address of a trustworthy supplier of servants. It may be a long journey to Sawrell, but I will have two of my guards accompany you.”

“Great,” Bernard wondered. “What is he trying to manipulate me into this time?” Without hesitation, the two guards took him by the arms and led him out of the house.

# # #

“Great,” Alonso wondered. “What is he trying to manipulate us into this time?”

“I’d say he’s already done it,” Cheyenne retorted as she tried pulling on the manacles chaining her to a wall. Osmian prison cells were brutal.

“You know,” Vanessa said, sighing, “if I had a nickel for every time an investigation with Bernard led to me getting chained to the wall of an ancient dungeon, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.”

“If we could please focus…”

Cheyenne’s thought was interrupted by Adler appearing at the bars of their cell. “You all look lovely in there. You could pose for a magazine cover.”

“There’s no way you planned this entire thing out from the beginning,” said Vanessa.

“Funny enough I didn’t. A lot of this was just serendipitous for me. For example, when Alonso attacked me with the knife, I was delighted at the new opportunities this afforded me!”

“Then I have to know,” he asked, “what were we intended to do?”

“Intended? Nothing. I thought you would just leave.”

They all stared dumbfounded from their cell.

“I mean, I never told you that you were prisoners at my home. I expected to have you over for dinner, I would do my classic villain monologue explaining my whole plan, and then you would just leave and go back to your ship. It never occurred to me you might stay! And for *days*. Ugh. Honestly I was happy when you tried to kill me. It gave me a reason to do something and get you out of the house.”

“We could have just left?” Vanessa hissed at Alonso.

“Well yeah!” Adler replied. “You know, you guys have a terrible habit of putting words in my mouth.”

Vanessa fumed for a moment. But then an idea came to her. “Fine, then how about you explain something for us yourself so we get to finally stop guessing?”

“I love it,” he said excitedly. “I told you at dinner to ask me whatever questions you wanted.”

“The locations of the murders were more important than the victims, right? They were always a set distance from the school, equal to the tuition fees.”

“Ah yes. I was so glad when you caught that.”

“Why? I get randomly killing people is fun for sickos like you, but what’s so important about the tuition?”

“Like you said. Fun.” He rolled his eyes suddenly. “I suppose some psychologists will review this case and come up with some explanation that on a psychological level I was angry at not being able to afford entrance to a good art school and that I feel it ruined my life, so I’m exercising some subconscious hateful vendetta and expressing it by ending other people’s lives in relation to tuition. Maybe they’re right, who knows. But to me, I needed an angle. The first thing that came to mind was distance, and tuition was a good number to use. So maybe your psychologists would be right. Maybe it was a hateful undercurrent in my mind. But to me, it just seemed like a fun puzzle to watch you struggle to put together.”

“Hateful is definitely the word that comes to my mind when I think of you. Frustrated artist, Cheyenne. You nailed it.”

“What a relief,” she replied in the driest tone she could muster. “So glad I cracked that.”

“Kinda pathetic that you couldn’t afford a tuition until you began conning the Osmians. I mean, pip, buy a stupid school if that’ll make you feel better. Your Osmian money should cover all of it, unless you’re busy buying more force shields.”

“You think all my money comes from this dinky society? The Osmians are cool but there’s not enough coinage in this entire kingdom to buy a personal shield. I doubt offworld even accepts their currency.”

“But,” asked Alonso, “but then from where does the money …”

“Where do you think, dingus? Come on. From the very beginning, who’s been trying to exploit this planet for its natural resources? If you could name one government at the forefront of that, who would it be? Who keeps challenging interstellar law in an attempt to get here and get richer? But no, the law refuses to budge, and all those tasty, tantalizing profits just sit there, begging for someone to come and scoop them up. But then, ah, one day, like a gift from the universe, comes a young frustrated man. A young man who gave up life in the cosmos to go settle down on Capulum. Hateful, as you say, that the worlds wouldn’t recognize his genius or give him a real chance to cut it as an artist, a creator, a visionary. Aw,” he said with the greatest sarcasm he could muster. “Poor baby. But! He knows some things about the galaxy. He knows uranium when he sees it. And he knows which powers in the galaxy want it. He also knows history, and about how fiercely independent the Osmians were in the past. He surmises, correctly, that the modern day version would be the same. So he makes a nice little trip back to visit his family in Fortuna. He gathers some old trinkets he used to play with as a child. Small ones, small enough that they could be easily hidden in a medieval robe. He returns to Capulum, and through serious effort, not only befriends the Osmians but gets accepted as one of them. And then, proclaiming he has received a gift from heaven, unveils his toys! The things those trinkets can accomplish are beyond the understanding of the humble Osmians! Power and respect are given him! He persuades the Osmians that his power can only come from those nice shiny rocks. They send endless waves of slaves or prisoners of war into mines looking for them. Soon he has a storehouse full of them, and on his next trip to space, he sells them to Niiz K at a very reasonable price. And just like that, a beautiful, secret partnership is formed between himself, Niiz K, and the Osmians.”

Alonso visibly shrank. He stared at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. “Niiz K knows, don’t they? That you’re the Cosmic Phantom?”

“They must. I never told them outright, but they must have figured it out. Ten times in a row, they get their delivery of goods from Outside, and a day or two later the Cosmic Phantom strikes? Come on. They’re not dumb.” And with that, he turned on his heel and exited.

The cell went silent for a long time. Finally Alonso spoke up. “No wonder Niiz K was so insistent that the Cosmic Phantom be stopped.”

“What do you mean?” Cheyenne asked.

“The upper echelon of Niiz K realizes their supplier is also the man at the center of the greatest media frenzy the galaxy has ever known. They needed the Cosmic Phantom stopped before anyone could realize they had a connection to him. It didn’t even matter if they were the ones to do it. As long as someone wiped him from the face of the universe, no one would ever have to know. And now we’re going to die because of it.”

“Media blackout,” Vanessa said. “Nobody outside that upper echelon of Niiz K knows we were sent here. The Cosmic Phantom comes back, kills us, poses our bodies on the steps of various tuition free colleges throughout the galaxy, and the media frenzy continues. No one is the wiser. Except the top brass at Niiz K, who keep it hushed so nobody learns the connection between them and the killer. They hire a new team to pursue the investigation, and on it goes.” She stomped her foot in anger on the floor. “And I don’t even have Mateo in my ear so he knows what happened to me.”

“Lieutenant Wells,” Cheyenne said, “if we get out of here, I’d just like to let you know … I quit.”

“I don’t blame you,” he replied. And with that, the cell fell silent once again. Each alone with their thoughts. Alonso, full of hatred at the white collar paper pushers who got him here. Vanessa, mournful she’d never see her sobrina again. But Cheyenne kept thinking on the big picture. She finally spoke again.

“Hey, at least Bernard got out, right? Can’t he tell anyone what’s happening?”

“Maybe not. Somehow, I imagine that Bernard is about to face something way worse than what we’re going through.”

# # #

Just outside the city walls of Sawrell, Bernard was alarmed to see the two Osmians with him change out of their armor. The bronze pieces, one after another, were tossed into the lake next to where Bernard had found Richard Forrest’s body just days ago. As they discarded those, they put peasant robes on, effectively disguising themselves as average Sawrell citizens. This worried him more than anything that had come before. What were they doing? He knew from what Adler said that he and the team would never leave this planet, but there was no way these two men could fight the whole city. Nathan Adler clearly had something more up his sleeve. Bernard assumed the only chance he had would be to slip away and find someone from the original team before everything went up in flames.

He paused for a moment as he recognized that he finally understood Vanessa. He didn’t know what was going on and it was making him furious. More than anything he wanted to be right, to comprehend what was happening, and to be able to react to it immediately. He told himself to calm down. It would take about ten more minutes to walk to Sawrell’s city walls. But what to do until then?

The clear answer? Review history. That gave him relief. Nathan Adler was not in as much control as he liked to portray. He wasn’t running the kingdom. He was one of many rich people in the city, and that was that. As Bernard was being removed from the city, he was able to learn that Adler had only accused the three others, meaning he didn’t have the power to make decisions. That means whatever Adler had accomplished was only through studying the ancient Osmians and using that knowledge to his advantage wherever he could. Bernard could do the same. Eight years in university studying for a medical degree had also filled his head with other information. Some history. Some about the Osmians. He thought hard to try and remember those classes. Anything relevant.

Armor. Osmian armor. A soldier’s armor was his life. He depended on it to help him survive a battle. If he lost his armor, he could assume death was coming. Which meant if these two tossed their armor in the lake, they didn’t expect to make it through this trip alive. Meaning this was a suicide mission for the two of them. But how? At dinner, Adler told them that he personally wasn’t going to kill them. He wasn’t going to. But he also made it clear nobody of the entire 200-person team was going to leave the planet. These two might have a chance to kill Bernard, but there was no way they could take out all of the 196 troops that remained. Were there undercover Osmians, residing in Sawrell for a long con, ready to join forces with these two and wipe out the 200 people on the mission? No, Adler couldn’t have known how many people would be coming for him. And again, he wasn’t the king. He couldn’t amass an army. The servants in the house were the only ones he had at his disposal. How could he confidently send just two men on a mission of certain death and be wholly assured nobody from the investigation team would ever leave alive?

Bernard stopped mid-step. Adler had a personal shield. Probably the rarest of all tech in the galaxy. He had it. Meaning he could easily have other things scattered around. How easy would it have been for him to set up an anti-aircraft weapon near the spaceport? Or in the spaceport itself? Were these two going to shoot down the spaceship as soon as it began to take off? That had to be it.

In the midst of his thoughts, one of the guards grabbed him by the arm and commanded “Move! Keep moving!”

Bernard briefly thought of fighting back and running for it, but realized he had to ensure at least one more person heard what he learned. It would do no good to risk death now. He could risk death after sharing some intel with the team. He would cooperate for now. He allowed them to continue pushing him towards Sawrell, but at least now he had an idea of what he was being pushed towards. As the city walls loomed ahead, he rehearsed in his mind how to proceed, planning ahead for every contingency and how to overcome it. Adler was smart, granted. But Bernard wasn’t going to allow him to outsmart them this time. No matter what it took, he was getting the information off this planet, even if it killed him. He and the two guards entered the city, and in an instant his jaw dropped.

Everyone was dead. How had this happened? He rushed forward and examined the first body he saw. No sign of violence. No bruises, burns, cuts, anything. He examined every inch of the corpse and there was nothing. Until he looked inside the mouth. Boils from the lips down into the throat. He leapt over to another body. Same thing. A plague had spread through Sawrell in the last few days. His heart sank as the realization came upon him. At any moment, surely the two guards would-

“These visitors have done it!” they screamed. “They bring an offworld plague to us! And now we are all doomed!” They both tore their robes apart and screamed. The few living people on the streets turned their attention to this scene. “Him!” the two guards screamed. “He was one of them! Look what curse he brings upon us!”

A mob appeared out of seemingly nowhere and pounced on Bernard. So that was the plan. Send two Osmians to their death in a city ridden with plague. Adler must have had a biological weapon in his assortment of offworld tech. And now deployed, it was going to prevent Bernard and the team from ever getting off this planet alive.

As people piled on him, he tried keeping them off, but they attacked viciously. This was seething hatred of a kind he had never seen. As much as it pained him, he had to go on the offensive. He let loose, using whatever force was needed to keep them at bay. As he heard their bones crack and teeth fly, he felt overwhelmed with guilt because of his oath to preserve health, but there was a greater good to be concerned with. He at last broke free from the mob and bolted down the first street he saw. At every turn he leapt over a corpse sprawled on the street, or on someone slowly suffocating as the boils grew and blocked off their windpipe. He couldn’t help them now. He kept running.

Finally he stopped and looked around. Only one of his pursuers was still following, but this figure seemed different. Less of a hateful gaze in the eye, more of panic. As his eyes focused, he realized this was Officer Lily Bronte. She ran into his arms, gasping for breath.

“Is there anywhere private we can go?” she asked in desperation.

Bernard tried a few doors, seeking one that was unlocked. He found it, and they took refuge inside from the chaos on the streets. Inside the doorway was a lantern, turned all the way down, so he cranked it as high as it would go. Looked like they were inside a bar. He moved Lily over to a seat, and then went behind the counter and pulled down random bottles, anything that looked interesting, and brought them over to Lily’s table.

“Have a drink and then catch me up.”

Lily took a shot, then another, and then another. Her head sank to the table as her breathing regulated. Then she looked Bernard in the eye and began. “Six days ago people started getting sick. Persistent cough and phlegm at first, nothing much else. The only reason we even took notice was that it seemed like everyone was getting it. But then two days after showing symptoms, they began complaining of severe pain in their throat. Full of boils. And they kept growing. People started choking and there was nothing we could do about it. When the first wave of people died, the city panicked and the people split into factions. The government tried keeping peace but the splintered groups just fought, blaming each other. MacLaren ordered us to abandon the mission and return to our ship. When we got there, it was gone. The villagers had organized dozens of oxen and hundreds of men, pushed the ship from its place, and dropped it off the cliff nearby.”

“Our ship is gone?”

“Somewhere in the sea.”

“Great.”

“The villagers here began to blame us. Hardly surprising I suppose. A strange ship shows up and then huge portions of the populace die. They turned on us. The team fragmented and some tried fleeing to other towns, but the villagers here had locked down the city so the plague couldn’t spread. Everybody they caught was executed.”

“How many of our team…”

“I can’t say for sure. I know at least two dozen.”

“And I assume no cure has been found?”

“There’s no kind of stability in the city, you really think medieval doctors are going to be able to band together and cure something like this? Over half the city is already dead, I don’t even know if there’s doctors left.”

“I’m here. And I think I know the origin. It was Adler. When we met him, he swore none of us would get off the island, and that was six days ago. I think he got a biological weapon from offworld and deployed it as a way to wipe out anyone who knew his identity.”

“And you think you can cure it? You’re a surgeon, not an epidemiologist.”

“I can try. Do you know where they have any hospitals?”

“Sure. But these days they’re all full of dead people.”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

“And you’re not afraid of getting even more exposure to the plague?”

“We’re gonna die here anyway, right? Might as well try to save someone.”

Lily led him to the hospital in Sawrell. As they opened the front doors, the stench was overpowering. They determined that the last of the medical staff had died two days before, and there was no one left inside removing the bodies, so they stayed where they fell. Bernard did a quick tour of the building to familiarize himself with the layout. The equipment, however, was foreign to him. Vials of liquids, jars of goop, and boxes of soil from around the region. None of this was going to help. As he explored and organized everything, he called out to Lily.

“You don’t seem to be displaying any symptoms. Any idea why you haven’t caught it?”

“None,” she replied. “If I did, then I would be the doctor.”

“How about this then. Who from the team do you know for sure got it?”

“MacLaren. He was one of the first to fall. Woodson. Lance. Williams. Schultz. Alexander. Clark.” As she kept naming names, Bernard tried to picture them. No connection at all. Different races, planets of origin, ages across the board, male and female.

“No, no, no!” he shouted, interrupting Lily. “There’s got to be something! All of them down, and you’re still standing? How?”

“Maybe there’s nothing scientific. Maybe I just haven’t caught it yet. There’s not always a miracle cure. Or even if I don’t, sometimes people are just naturally immune. I had an uncle who survived two outbreaks of the Veasles and never caught it for himself.”

“You don’t understand,” he replied, desperate. “There are hundreds of thousands of the dead out there. I caused that. That happened because Adler wanted to keep me from leaving. So if there’s still some thousands out there, I have to stop it. And you’re the only thing even close to a clue I have about how to do it. Please. What makes you different from the team? Think. Please.”

Lily sighed in exasperation. “I’m no doc. I don’t know these things. Believe me, I want to help you. I wish I could. But I can’t.”

He sat down. “I know. I know that. I’m grasping at straws here. Look at this place,” he said with a sweeping, defeated gesture. “There’s nothing here I understand. Even if there’s a cure to be found, I don’t know how to do it with their resources. And if I’m right, if it’s a biological weapon, then it’ll be engineered to be impossible to stop.” Raising his hands, he buried his head in them. “If only I could get to the ship. We had our supplies there. I might have stood a chance. But Adler knew. He thought of everything. Trapping us here, depriving us of the things we need to fight him.” He sighed. “I wish Alonso *had* stabbed him.”

“I thought doctors weren’t supposed to say stuff like that.”

“We’re not,” he replied, slowly looking up at her. “But twenty five years on the front lines get you thinking. No matter how hard you try to think of them as humans, pretty soon they become numbers, statistics. And when you get into a position where deleting one of those numbers makes the picture better, you better believe you’ll do it.” His hands began balling into fists. “I left the army so I could care about people again. Treat ordinary civilians, women and children, and it was working. But Adler is coming dangerously close to bringing someone back to life, someone I tried hard to repress. And he better hope he doesn’t succeed.” Bernard stood up from his stool and stormed over to the wall with vials of liquids. He began checking them one by one to see what they contained.

Lily was a little bit terrified.

# # #

The next morning, Lily shook Bernard awake. He had fallen asleep slumped over on a table, writing down observations about the things he’d tested. It looked like no progress had been made whatsoever.

“I’m sorry for getting you up like this,” she said, “but I found another of the team this morning.”

Bernard looked up and saw Marilyn Tesh. She was coughing almost constantly.

“Quick, lie her down!” Bernard ordered. He grabbed reading glasses off the faces of two dead doctors and rushed over to look at Marilyn. He opened her mouth and looked inside only to see numerous boils starting to form. “Marilyn,” he said with haste, “I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re were trained as an officer to die for civilians, yes?”

She nodded in agreement.

“OK,” Bernard continued. “I will not be able to save you. You will die from this disease. But please, if you cooperate with me, we might be able to save the lives of the survivors in this town, and we can stop this plague from spreading to the rest of this planet. Do you understand me?”

She nodded.

“And you’ll cooperate?”

She nodded.

“Good. I am so, so sorry, but thank you.” He put on the two pairs of glasses, layering them to magnify the effect. He looked through the inside of her mouth, analyzing the boils as best he could with the tools he had available. He looked Marilyn in the eye again. “May I do something that will cause you extreme pain?”

She nodded.

He nodded in return. “You deserved so much better than this. I am so sorry it has to end like this for you.” He pulled out a short knife and cut one of the boils in half. Marilyn screamed and her body convulsed as Bernard and Lily held her down. Tears streamed out of her eyes as Bernard held her mouth open and observed the boil. A small amount of pus flowed out. When Marilyn coughed again, a small cloud of what seemed to be spores flew out of the boil and into the air.

Bernard jumped back, panting heavily. “That might be how it spreads.”

“You think we’re infected now?” Lily asked.

“If I’m right … then yes.”

“Great. Three days to go then, doc.”

Bernard occupied himself furiously with examining Marilyn, trying to understand how this plague worked and if anything could stop it. He had a desperate, long shot hope that he could cure her, but with each passing minute it became less and less likely. Finally, after hours of nonstop attention to Marilyn, he passed out from exhaustion.

Lily and Bernard were awoken by the sound of a guttural scream. They ran over to Marilyn who was shaking visibly. Bernard looked into her mouth and saw the throat blocked by boils.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he gripped her left hand. “Please know if I could do anything, I would. Please know that.” He held her hand tight as she shook more violently with each passing moment. And then, without fanfare, the struggling stopped. Bernard slowly let go of her hand and it dropped. He turned away and walked over to a large, blank wall.

Lily tried speaking up. “You did what you c-”

“No!” he screamed as he kicked the wall. Over and over he punched and kicked at the wall, knocking holes in the plaster and splintering the wood behind it. Screaming at the wall he continued kicking and hitting it until his feet and hands were bloody, and then dropped to the floor. Lily stared in silence, unsure what to do.

“Adler knows what he’s doing,” Bernard cried, bordering on hysterics. “He knows. He doesn’t do things without planning it. He knew what this plague would do to people and he sent it anyway. He has to be stopped.” He panted heavily a moment more before continuing. “I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

Just as Lily was about to move towards him, he froze. His head turned sharply towards Lily. “He knows. He knows what he’s doing…”

“What,” Lily asked, stumbling through the question. “What does…”

“Idiot!” Bernard screamed, hitting the wall again. “I could have saved her! He knows what he’s doing!” He ran over to Lily and grabbed her by the shoulders. “He’s released a fatal plague on the world. But does that sound like him? You can’t control a plague! Why would he do that?”

“I, I don’t …”

“Because he can! He must have a way to prevent his friends from getting it! To keep himself from getting it!” He pushed her away and marched towards the door. “Get me a sword. We need to decapitate someone.”

# # #

The guards patrolled their regular route along the walls of Alitea. This was the worst job for an Osmian warrior. There’s no glory in walking on a wall. Even if intruders come, no one remembers who sounded the alarm. The victors in the battle to follow are remembered. They could be training right now, instead of walking back and forth in the middle of the cold night. But they were also disciplined, and they followed orders. The night was proceeding in a normal, boring manner. Until…

All of a sudden, a decapitated head was thrown over the wall. They watched it fly over and land inside the city. They spun back around to try and see where the head had been tossed from, but the natural foliage around the city shielded the perpetrators from view. They remained alert for a few minutes in case some attack were to follow, but nothing happened, and so they resumed their patrol. Must be some prankster. Teenagers. Ugh.

“Look how casual they are,” Bernard whispered to Lily from underneath the bush they were using as cover. “The head of a plague victim and they don’t care. You know why they don’t care?”

Lily was so confused. “No.”

“Because they know the plague can’t harm them. They have a cure. Of course they do. Adler has a cure and they know it.” He looked at her with a steely resolve. “What do you know about the Osmians?”

“That in legend they were savage and murdered anyone who wasn’t them without question. Are these people…?”

“The exact same. It would take an army to get in there. But we don’t have an army, and we don’t have the technology to call in an army. So here’s what’s going to happen. You and I are going to break into this city alone, find Adler, capture him, and make him give us the antidote to this plague. Our chances are slim to none, but if we’ve both been infected like we think, then our chances are zero. You with me?”

“I don’t think I have any other choice.”

“Good girl. So here’s what we do…”

# # #

It had been a glorious day for battle. Xanthippus of Alitea, one of their greatest generals, had led a charge of a mere 4,000 troops against the nearest hostile city. 60,000 enemy men lived in that city, many of them soldiers or levies, and it had hardly been a battle. That city had been a thorn in their side for generations, preventing Alitea from properly defending its Northwest frontier. Now that looming threat had become open territory, fresh for the taking. The Osmian kingdom could bring in soldiers and colonists to create a new city, and Alitea would no longer be a border town. Rather, this new city could take the brunt of defense on the Osmian border. Riches and glory would certainly be his. He hoped they didn’t reward him with another captured foreign wife of noble birth. He had as many as he could handle already.

Of course, whether they rewarded him or not, he and his men would make a tidy profit from selling the prisoners of war. Thousands trailed behind them, chiefly women, children, and elderly men who hadn’t been able to join the battle. What an honor for them, he thought, to be able to witness the Gate of Triumph. The designated path for all victorious armies to return through, it was wider and more well paved than any other road and gate, for it was meant to allow the army to bring through any number of prisoners, any amount of booty, and be able to show it all off at once to the resident Osmians cheering as they were welcomed back home.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Lily whispered as they were brought into the heart of the city.

“Nobody checks the identity of civilian prisoners of war,” Bernard replied. “And to infiltrate a prisoner march is easy. The soldiers are only concerned about not letting anyone escape. Quickly join it and they won’t even notice.”

“What now?”

“Follow the crowd until they finish marching us. Then proceed with the plan. You everything I told you?”

“I certainly hope so. That was … a lot of information. And not all of it was thorough.”

“I’m sorry. I could only share what I knew.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They marched on in silence as city block after city block, they were harangued with cheers from the Osmian citizens, jeering at the captured, and sometimes throwing gravel and rotten food at them. Some of the prisoners were so hungry they picked the vegetables up off the ground and ate them. They were led into an enormous courtyard where they were separated into groups. Old men to one side, women to another, children to another. Then the auction began. Lily ignored everything. She kept running the instructions through her mind. If Bernard is recognized, he would create a scene and fight. Lily would use the chaos to flee and find Vanessa. If Bernard were killed, so be it. If, on the other hand, he was not recognized, they let the Osmians do their thing. Lily and Bernard would be sold into slavery and would try independently to find Vanessa. They had no plans to reunite. They knew they wouldn’t live long enough for that. The mission was to find Vanessa and let her finish the job.

She watched as the city guard inspected the older men. They looked over Bernard, and she stiffened. One of the men made a check mark on his paper and then they moved on to another man. Lily breathed a sigh of relief. At least they would get to go with the easier plan.

She felt a scratch in her throat. They were running out of time.

# # #

As Cheyenne kept trying to break her chains, Vanessa remained slumped on the floor of the cell.

“You’re only wearing yourself out, you know,” she cautioned.

“You have a better idea Cuarón?”

“Several, as a matter of fact. I am actively doing one of them.”

“You’re doing nothing!”

“Exactly. We’re not given enough to eat. I’m remaining inactive so my metabolism slows down, so when we have to move I won’t be weak from hunger.”

“What about escaping?”

“What about it? Adler isn’t in control here, the authorities are. He already made the blunder of giving us identities and citizen papers. And we didn’t try killing him, he had us arrested on suspicion. I’d say we have a pretty good chance of getting out of here scot-free. And with legally recognized identities. A pair of smart cookies like ourselves could make pretty good lives in a place like this.”

“What him though?” Cheyenne retorted, pointing towards Alonso. He had been silent all day.

“Well he did try killing Adler, so yeah. He’ll probably be executed.”

“How can you say that so nonchalantly?”

“Because he’s the one who’s made a career protecting Niiz K. And in turn the one who dragged us into this.”

Cheyenne looked over at him slowly. He leaned back on the wall and stared forward. “She has a point,” he said weakly.

“So you’re just resigned to your fate like that?” she asked.

“At least you two will have a chance. Like Vanessa said, they have nothing on you. And Adler wouldn’t bother harming you. You’d never get out of Osmian, so he’d never have to worry about you spilling his secrets. He’d be wary, but I doubt he’d try to kill you.”

Cheyenne was about to retort when something caught her attention. Upstairs where the prison guards resided there was always noise. Partying, shouting, arguing, fighting with each other. For the last few minutes there had been a woman’s voice as well. But with a loud “thud” it suddenly stopped. The entire cell block fell silent for the first time since they’d arrived. Cheyenne looked over and Vanessa, who looked back and shrugged. Footsteps began slowly echoing down the steps until they saw Lily Bronte staring into their cell.

“I don’t believe it,” Alonso said. “How did you ever find us?”

“What are you doing here?” Cheyenne exclaimed.

“*Love* the outfit,” added Vanessa.

“Shut up,” Lily replied, “I don’t get to decide how they dress slaves.”

“That’s your first priority in response?” Alonso barked.

“Sorry. Look, it’s a long conversation. Let me explain while I try to get you out of here,” she said as she held up a bundle of keys.

# # #

Two servants entered through the grand entrance of Adler’s home. “My liege,” one said as they each took a knee. “We have inspected Sawrell from a safe distance. The plague has obliterated them. It seems some of the infected got out before the lockdown and they have spread it to the nearby towns as well.”

Adler giggled to himself. “This is actually better than I’d hoped. How much damage do you think we should let it cause before I bring it to an end? It has to be big enough to really send a message.”

“Why stop it at all?” asked a servant girl who was massaging his shoulders. “Let it wipe out all those other puny kingdoms.”

“See, this is why you’re my favorite,” he replied, kissing her hand. “But I do want to stop it at some point. After all, there still has to be lands to conquer and people to subject. Otherwise, what fun would there be?”

“If only you could have saved your father.”

“Ah. What a noble man. His decades of experience could have provided endless tales of glory to share with the younger ones. But alas.” He looked back to the two servants who had returned. “And the offworld ship? Did you meet it in time?”

“Yes. We warned them of a plague, but assured them it was of local origin and we would fight it ourselves. They promised they would suspend all flights for visitors, only sending a small medical team once a month to ensure we still didn’t want their assistance.”

“Beautiful!” he cried, clapping his hands. “This is going better than I could have imagined! And what about my three attempted assassins? Have they been brought to justice yet?”

The servants remained silent.

“My attempted assassins,” he repeated, in a slow and grave manner. “Have they been brought to justice?”

“We have just returned from the prison. They would seem to have … escaped.”

He could feel his fury flaring up, but caught himself before allowing an outburst. He had been successful so far by remaining calm and level-headed. He would not allow a slip this time. Even when those GRE policemen had nearly shot him, he didn’t retaliate. He took a step back, reevaluated, and adapted his plan. And how the new plan had succeeded, luring the four chief investigators to his world, stripping them of their support and their tech. The only misstep was in not sending all four of the team back into the plague. He shouldn’t have depended on the local Osmian authorities to handle some of his dirty work. He would be sure to personally oversee it all from now on. But how to adapt?

Bernard had been sent off to Sawrell to succumb in the plague. Adler knew that had worked because the two guards who escorted him there had not returned. The plague was just as fast and deadly as he had expected. But for the other three, Vanessa, Alonso, and Cheyenne, he needed a new plan. They couldn’t harm him physically, the shield assured that, and there was no way they could acquire schematics to aid in shutting it off or overriding its systems. He ran through every possible scenario he could think of. The only logical way they could stop him would be to bury him alive somewhere so he would starve or suffocate to death. After a long while of strategizing, he relaxed. The authorities would be more determined than ever to catch those three. Before, it was just an accusation. Now they were jailbreakers and fugitives. Let the manhunt begin.

# # #

“You have got to be kidding,” Vanessa said. They had taken refuge in Lily’s new home of sorts. She had been acquired at the slave auction by a very kind older couple whose days of joining in murderous rampage were long behind them. Lily had done the best she could to catch the team up to speed with what had occurred. “So now we have to go back to Adler’s place and find the cure for this plague?”

“It’s our best shot,” Lily said, trying to hold back her coughs. It couldn’t overtake her. She wouldn’t let it. “Bernard assumes he must have one, since he’s been so much about control this entire time.”

“No, I get it, it makes sense. I just have no idea how we’re going to go about it.”

“And where has Bernard gone?” Cheyenne asked.

“No idea whatsoever. I was taken away from the auction before he was, so I have nothing to go on. All he said was to fulfill the mission. He said don’t plan on finding one another or reuniting.”

“So that settles it,” Vanessa said, standing up. “We carry out his plan without him. Now the only logical place for Adler to keep the cure is in his home. Lily, you’re one of our sketch artists, yes? If we describe Adler’s home, can you illustrate it for us? We can work out a game plan.”

# # #

“What a specimen,” said Livia. Her favorite servant had just returned from the market with a new prisoner, purchased for use as a household slave. “When I asked for an old man, I didn’t expect this.”

“At first I wasn’t sure if it would be a good choice,” explained the servant, “since you just wanted someone to clean the bathhouse. I thought maybe a former warrior might be overkill. But he was going for a good price, so I thought him a worthy investment.”

“You did well Epictetus. We can put him to work in a variety of ways.”

“May he speak?” the servant asked.

“I suppose so. Why?”

“He had an interesting request on the way here. Go ahead, old man.”

“We were defeated by your general Xanthippus,” Bernard began. “And truly, he is a mighty warrior. But the odds were stacked against him. 60,000 of our troops, wiped out by his mere 4,000? Not a survivor among them. No general is that skilled. I have heard legend of a magician on your side, who helps you win your fights, and I know now this must be true. Now, I am an honorable man. My people lost. I would simply like to meet this magician who helped you gain your victory so that I can congratulate him for his prowess.”

Livia laughed. “As would I, but you see, I have not met him myself. He is a famous man, always surrounded by his entourage and his friends. Only once was I even at the same location as him, seeing him from afar. We never met.” She shrugged. “If I can’t, how could a slave like you expect to?”

Bernard nodded in humility. But in the back of his mind, plans were formulating.

# # #

Vanessa had never been so excited in her life. She found a trident. “I love these Osmians!” she squealed. “I’m gonna come here for retirement. In fact, why wait? I bet I could amass my own army and…”

“Please focus,” Cheyenne pleaded. “Remember the plan.”

“Ugh. Fine. Alright. But guys, are we sure we don’t want to stay and…”

“The plan!”

Vanessa sighed. “Fine. Ruin the beautiful trident.”

Alonso took it from her and laid it in the fire. The homeowners were long since asleep, so Lily brought them into the main room. The fireplace was perfect. As the trident heated, the prongs began glowing bright. Alonso pulled it out and, as quietly as he could, used the fire tongs to bend the three points into their needed shape. Vanessa cringed in the corner, swearing she would find another one someday.

“Grappling hook,” he proclaimed, as the prongs cooled and hardened into their new form. “Now we need the rope.”

Lily came back into the room with a massive spool of it. Alonso tied it at the end of the trident’s handle and cut off the needed length. “Here you are Cuarón,” he said, passing it back to Vanessa. “You’ve been boasting for years that you’re the greatest grappling hook wielder since Ojinjintka of Old Earth. Now prove it.”

They snuck out of the house and found their way to Adler’s home. Being in the most elite part of town, his house was surrounded by other mansions, government offices, palaces, and the like. People entered and exited through all hours of the day and night. They slipped down an alley between Adler’s house and an Osmian library, walking until they were in a position where no one would see them. Vanessa looked up.

“How tall would you say this building is?” she asked.

“Three stories at a glance,” Alonso answered.

“Gonna take a fezzing good throw.”

“Ojinjintka could’ve done it.”

“She had a spring loaded one. Upper body strength never entered into the picture.”

“Want me to do it?”

“Shut up.”

She held the makeshift grappling hook at arm’s length and began spinning. She spun it faster and faster in circles until she was no longer able to comprehend the speed, and then with a push, let it fly. It made it to the second floor and came crashing back down. Her three companions rushed to catch it before it could clatter on the ground and draw attention to them.

“Ow!” Vanessa hissed, gripping her upper arm. “This thing is heavy.”

“Of course it’s heavy!” argued Cheyenne. “It’s a trident! They don’t make tridents for toddlers, what did you expect?”

“Shut up and give me space.” She grabbed the trident, took a few steps back, and tried again. Sending it flying, it reached clear to the top of the house and latched. She waited a moment. They were all unsure how much noise it had made inside the home. They didn’t want to begin climbing and be caught, better to be on the ground and make a break for it. After five solid minutes of inactivity, Vanessa began to climb. After making it to the top, she moved the trident and rope to a more secure location, and the other three followed. Once on the roof, they found a window and set the rope nearby, climbed back down, and infiltrated the house. It looked like they were in a spare bedroom.

“Now,” said Vanessa, “if you were an offworld laboratory with a cure to a plague, where would you hide?”

Alonso rolled his eyes. “Split into teams. Cheyenne and Vanessa, take this floor. Lily and I take the next. When you’re finished, move to the bottom floor. If anyone gets into a nasty situation with guards or servants, just scream loudly so the other team can escape.”

As it turned out, Adler was so confident of his security that no night watchmen were posted. With simple prying open of doors, they were able to determine with ease the contents of each room. The top two were quickly ruled out, and the pairs reunited on the ground floor. A search there revealed nothing. Until they found a door with a modern looking padlock. Vanessa picked at it, popped the lock, and opened it wide, revealing stairs going down into darkness.

“Great,” muttered Vanessa. “Just what we needed. A creepy basement to go into.”

As they marched down, Vanessa bringing up the rear so the other three could get killed first, they saw an expansive basement area packed to the brim with modern technology. They rushed around to examine every individual object, classifying it and then moving on. Firearms, pass. Com device, pass. Surveillance equipment, pass. The only thing that mattered was the cure.

“Here it is!” cried Lily. “I think, anyway.” She was examining a set of fungal growths behind glass. “The plague victims. They breathe spores after death. This must be it.” The others gathered around her and observed the fungus. “I don’t know what else this could be. Maybe it’s what he used to start the plague. A piece of it or something.”

“The manner of release doesn’t matter to us,” Alonso said. “The cure is the only thing that matters. If he was able to release this with confidence then he must be able to control it.” They split up to continue hunting.

“That sick genius!” Lily finally cried. She held up a notebook. “He has the cure written in here, but he put it down in an extinct language from Old Earth called French. He could release this into Osmia as well and be the only one who could read the cure. Imagine how easy it would be to bring the entire kingdom under his control if he’s the only one who can cure a vicious plague. Imagine what he could do with the Osmian army under his control.”

“You can read French?” Cheyenne asked.

“Studied classics in school. I can read it well enough to understand the basics. And great news, the cure can be made using common plants and herbs. Let’s hightail it out of here as quick as we can and get back to Sawrell. We might be able to stop this by tomorrow!” She coughed violently until blood came up. “Maybe quick enough to save me too,” she muttered.

# # #

Livia’s big problem, Bernard thought, is that she was so trusting. He almost hated to abandon her after just three days in her service, but he had discovered enough. People in Osmian society loved to talk. From simple errands outside the home he learned that once a week Adler would meet up with a bunch of fellow aristocrats and go fox hunting outside the city walls. They would often take a small force of bodyguards with them, heavily armed, in case of surprise attacks by an enemy. They did live on the outskirts of the Osmian kingdom after all, with many enemy cities in close range. More than that, Bernard was able to learn that they normally started from the same point, and that their standard time to begin was today, in just under an hour.

He had considered leaving behind a note to apologize to Livia for the money she would’ve lost on him, but he couldn’t offer any leads. So he slipped out at daybreak without leaving behind any trace of himself. As he came to the walls, he steeled his resolve. This was the opposite of joining the prisoners. Walls are meant only to keep people in. No one would be alert to someone leaving. He scaled the wall and lowered himself down the other side with a rope he’d stolen from the servants’ quarters, and ran to the location where he was assured Adler and his friends would be. He squatted behind the bushes under a tree and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. The thundering of hooves told him men on horseback were approaching. As they entered his field of view, he counted. Four men on horseback. About two bodyguards per man. He could handle this. He drew out the knives he had strapped to his ankles. Nobody could get back to the city and spread the word. He had to work fast.

First the guards ran into the clearing and looked around. Seeing no threats, they gestured to the aristocrats on horseback, who then stepped down onto the ground. This was his chance. He leapt out and screamed loudly enough to spook the horses, who turned and fled without a moment’s hesitation. He tackled the first two guards. Immobilize, not kill, he told himself. Immobilize, not kill. These men aren’t the target. Just make it so they can’t alert anyone. He threw the two men to the ground with enough force that they stopped moving, so he charged towards the fleeing aristocrats. Their guards tried to intercept him but he evaded them, grabbing all three Osmian elites and hurling them face first into trees. At a glance they seemed to still be conscious but refusing to move. He turned his attention towards the remaining guards. As they rushed him, he spun around, kicking their legs out from underneath them, and striking them when they were down until they stayed so. He was relieved. The knives weren’t needed after all.

The field of guards leveled, he turned slowly to face Adler one on on. Bernard smiled widely as he looked into his opponent’s eyes. Adler, however, merely scoffed.

“You think you can take me on?” he mocked. “You’ve seen my force field already. You know no weapon is going to get through this.”

“Oh, I know that,” Bernard replied, dropping his knives. “No weapon is going to get through that. But do you really think all I could use to fight is a weapon? Oh no. You have to think more creatively than that.” He delighted to catch a glint of doubt in Adler’s eye. The barest touch of alarm. Bernard took a step forward and instinctively Adler stepped back. “For such a smart guy, you’ve got something of a one track mind,” Bernard continued, advancing step by step. “You think because you have a shield you’re safe? Just an automatic security? Not even close.” He came within inches. He had a plan, but he had one more minor test to make. He grabbed a log from off the ground, swung it way overhead, and brought it crashing down on Adler’s head. Immediately the personal shield repelled it straight up into the air. Bernard watched closely, observing the speed and altitude it reached.

“Bingo,” he thought. He looked back down and saw Adler lunging forward with a knife, which he barely dodged. As Adler sped past, Bernard tried to push at his back, but again the shield rocketed him away. “Force equals force,” he reasoned, getting himself up off the ground. “It repels as hard as you press, and in the opposite direction. Can’t even use its own momentum against it.” Adler swung around and tried stabbing again, Bernard barely dodging.

They kept dancing around one another with ferocity, for what felt like hours. Any time a wounded man got up, Bernard broke away from Adler and hammered him back into submission. Finally, Bernard could see Adler wearing down. Poor sap. He either didn’t know about Bernard’s accidental injection, or if he had learned it he forgot. There was no way he could ever match the doctor in sheer stamina. And, just as Bernard had hoped, the more worn down Adler became, the more careless he became too. Until finally came the moment he had been waiting for all along. Adler stepped on one of the shields dropped by a guard, and Bernard kicked it out from under him with as much speed as he could. Thrown off balance, Adler fell to the ground. Instantly Bernard was on him, making sure to not press down, merely pinning him in place. Adler struggled, but couldn’t move. He looked up, and Bernard was gratified to see the panic in Adler’s eyes.

Bernard briefly turned away and looked to one of the terrified aristocrats. The man had been awake and alert through the entire thing, but too terrified to move. “Run,” Bernard commanded. “Not to Osmia. Any other kingdom or state. Run, and take all these men with you. I swear to you if I ever see your faces again you will not live through the encounter.” The aristocrat didn’t wait. He jumped to his feet, awoke all the other men, and they ran off en masse towards the closest city. There was one they couldn’t rouse. Bernard instantly realized he had fought the man too hard. Unfortunate but acceptable. He turned his attention back to the man held captive underneath him.

“Adler,” Bernard began, speaking slowly, “you know why that personal shield of yours was so expensive? Why so few people have them? Because they’re almost impossible to make. We have the technology to make them, but they’re still so very, very hard to make and maintain. Do you know how they work?”

Adler stared at him, eyes open wide, but speechless. What was Bernard doing?

“See, the force field has to be sturdy enough that it keeps out any kind of threat. Blades, projectiles, even lasers. But it has to have microscopic openings in it so that certain things can get inside. Oxygen, for example. There have to be tiny fissures in the shield so you can still breathe. Not to mention allowing light to enter, enabling you to see in and out. Now how it repels lasers but not light itself, I don’t know. I’m a doctor, not a scientist. But … being a doctor, I do know a lot about microscopic things. You know something so small that it can get through almost anything that isn’t airtight?”

With his free hand he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small cloth bound up. “Spores.”

Adler shook violently in a desperate attempt to break free, but Bernard kept holding him in place with all his might. He began to gently shake loose the cloth, and a small cloud of black particles poured out, gently drifting down onto Adler.

Bernard smiled. “A gift from Marilyn.”

# # #

After days of nonstop activity, the four left of the team had reproduced huge quantities of the cure and inoculated everyone in Sawrell who had survived. Even those in late stages of the disease showed immediate improvement from the injection. As the cure spread, they found more and more of the other officers who had avoided the plague or hadn’t yet succumbed. Soon they were sending out local residents into the surrounding towns with clear instructions on how to produce and distribute the vaccine. It would be weeks before the next offworld ship came, so they would keep themselves busy stemming the tide of the disease. As everything stabilized, Alonso took stock of who from the original 200 were still alive. Only 47 in all. Meaning the mission had suffered 153 fatalities. He had never seen such a hefty toll to stop one killer before.

As the four sat around a table in the bar where Bernard and Lily had reunited days ago, they reminisced about those who had fallen. Between them they tried to remember all their names, but came far short. They simply hadn’t had the time to meet and get acquainted with everyone who had been part of the operation with them.

“This is no way to honor heroes,” Cheyenne said. “Forgetting over half of them.”

“We should’ve gotten to know them when we still had the chance,” Lily added.

“No we shouldn’t have,” Vanessa interrupted. “You had no way of knowing any of this was going to happen or who was going to die. All those people came here because they knew it was for the good of the galaxy. They came here knowing full well that they might die, but that their deaths would make things better for everyone else. And they succeeded. The greatest honor we can give them is not to gibber lots of hollow sentimentality after their deaths and then move on. The greatest honor we can give them is to let the universe know they did it. They died to save us. That’s what they wanted and that’s what they did, and that’s what makes them heroes. And if I hear anyone moaning about some kind of survivor’s guilt, then know that all you’re doing is cheapening their sacrifices by making it all about you instead.”

“I feel like I should argue that point,” Cheyenne replied, “but frankly I don’t know how.”

“Then don’t,” she retorted.

Before anyone else could speak, the door burst open as one of the officers jumped inside. “He’s back!”

“Who’s back?”

They hastily stood and ran outside, whereupon they saw Bernard walking down the street towards them. He paused as they threw their arms around him, but as soon as he was free he continued on. The others looked at one another in confusion, and followed him as he entered the bar as well. Bernard lowered himself into a seat, poured a drink, and sighed.

“He’s dead.”

None of the others dared speak up.

“Adler,” he continued. “Last night. I buried him in a field outside of Alitea.

“How…” began Lily. “How did he go?”

“Painfully.”

They each took a seat at the table and drank in silence. They could see from Bernard’s face that he was working through some things. He would speak when ready.

“I pinned him to the ground,” he finally resumed. “Poured a handful of the spores down his throat. Then I held him down until they did their thing.”

“The disease takes three days to become fatal.”

“Yep,” he answered.

“You just …” Cheyenne asked, noticing Bernard’s hands were shaking slightly, “held him down for three days to watch him die?”

“Yep.”

“What does one do while laying in place for three days?”

“We talked.”

Vanessa was dumbfounded. “About what?”

He didn’t answer. He finished his drink, and after one more walked out of the bar.

# # #

“And welcome back to Okain Studios!” the host announced on the television. “What a massive success that was for the Niiz K Corporation! We know you’ve heard it, it’s been on the news nonstop ever since the story broke, the Cosmic Phantom at last is dead! And after days of lobbying, we’ve managed to get here with us, live on television, the man who cracked the case, Lieutenant Alonso Wells!”

The TV crew applauded as Alonso walked onto the studio set and sat down next to the anchor. He had been debriefed within an inch of his life. Every detail of the trip was carefully enumerated, over and over, until top brass at Niiz K had no more questions. Then came the re-education as they now explained to Alonso what had “really” happened. When he had the new story drilled firmly into his mind, he was turned over to the media.

“So Mr. Wells,” the host continued, “surely you have many things to share with us, so I will disperse with the questions entirely. Please just share with us, in your own words, what happened.”

Alonso proceeded to tell them how truly simple the case had been. They took the signature of the killer and analyzed it against every application that had been sent in to the targeted schools. Even though the name N. Adler never appeared, the handwriting proved to be a dead giveaway, and it was simply a frustrated student after all, going by a fake name. That was it. Solving the case took practically no resources or manpower on their part. The only reason, he explained, that the investigation had taken so long was that the other nations hadn’t fully cooperated. It wasn’t until Niiz K was given access to their most confidential files that the needed connection had been made. “We can only hope,” he concluded, “that the nations of the galaxy take this to heart, and begin to allow Niiz K further access into their files. That’s the only way we can prevent something like this from happening again!”

“Incredible,” the host replied. “Truly incredible. The entire galaxy owes a great debt to Niiz K for their efforts in this case. And we seem to know it! Niiz K stocks are already going through the roof! You know, for a while some people whispered that since Niiz K was so invested in this case from the very start, that maybe they had some personal connection to it. But happily, recent events have proven their actions were motivated simply out of common human decency.”

“Philanthropic even,” Alonso offered.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself. Lieutenant Wells, we’re about to take a break. Would you please stay with us a while longer? We have scores of questions pouring in from the audience!”

“I would be delighted to, thank you for the offer.”

The cameras shut off, and without a word Alonso stood and walked over to the coffee station to pour himself a large cup. This is what has to be done, he told himself. It’s for the greater good. It must be.

# # #

The door slammed hard as Bernard Roe stumbled back into his house. He had been away for far too long. The journey to Capulum had beaten the life out of him. But it was done. Now it was time to come home and sleep.

He changed out of his ruined clothes and got ready for bed. He lay back on his mattress but couldn’t sleep. It would be a long time before he could sleep again. The fact that a man like Adler could exist shook him to his core. But what alarmed him more was what someone like Adler could drive him to do. He didn’t regret his actions on Capulum, it needed done, but he wished it hadn’t been him. That wasn’t the person he wanted to be. But time and again, circumstances forced him to become that. It made him worry about what he was really like. Through his life he had seen two sides of himself. One that knelt down and tenderly spoke to children with scraped knees as he tried as gently as possible to bandage it so as not to cause discomfort; the other had just spent three days happily holding down a man who was struggling and screaming in pain. Bernard was genuinely excited at the agony Adler was in and wanted to prolong it as long as possible. One of those had to be the real him while the other was just a mask. But he didn’t know which was which. And that terrified him.

As he rolled over on his side, he could see nothing but the terror in Adler’s eyes as the boils had grown and suffocated him. His mind kept replaying the conversations they had in the hours leading up to that moment. Bernard pinned him in place and told him about MacLaren. He told Adler about MacLaren’s wife and daughter, who were never told where MacLaren was going or how long the mission was to be. They would still be waiting for him back home.

Then he told him about Marilyn Tesh, how she had willingly endured hours of pain and experimental procedures so Bernard could try to gain a clue about the plague to save others. He told Adler stories about how, in the days before, wandering the streets of Frostford, Marilyn had told him about her plans for the future. How proud her little brother had been when he learned she was accepted into the police academy. How the nice officer at the desk next to hers had been dropping hints lately and she wasn’t sure how to respond.

He told Adler about the first victim, Savannah Conrad. He had never met her, but after the murder he researched her. Widowed at the age of just 36. Struggling to make it on her own since, and how for years she was trying to save money to go back to school. How she finally succeeded, just two days before her murder.

One after the other, he told Adler in great detail the lives and loves of every single person who had been killed. Bernard had learned about them all, and about all the people who had loved them. Now he was going to make sure Adler learned it all too. He held him down until the end, each moment offering biographies of those Adler had taken from the world. He was going to make sure Adler’s final thoughts were of them. That the final picture in his mind would be one of the victims he had claimed. He hoped he had succeeded.

Finally, after hours of reliving the memories, no more plagued by visions of the past, Bernard drifted off into a deep sleep.

END