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"Alright, you should be all set."

I kept my gaze leveled at the car. Its windows were tinted, but I still felt compelled to look in his direction. I envisioned him looking exactly like he had during the drive from the luxury, cliff-side mansions to the boarded-up tenements of the Felonian ghettos. The only instances where his body moved at all were when he switched cars four times.

"I know not to pry," he continued. "The kind of stuff you guys engage with...it's better I stay in the dark, I assume."

"Yeah," I responded.

"My contact should arrive here any moment. Once he does, he'll take you down below deck. It's cramped, but there's a reason why they're considered the best smugglers in the northern hemisphere. Should get you past any scanners or security checks. There shouldn't be a problem with professionalism either." Which means he won't ask questions.

"And you're sure he won't inform Nova or the Royal Guard about who he's smuggling out to the middle of the ocean?"

"Breach of confidentiality is bad for business," he said with a shrug.

"Alright, thanks for the assistance." One of many contacts I had throughout the Gilded Bloc. Some were just local fixers. Guns for hire. The ones like him, though? They were batting for our team.

"Anytime. It's not every day I can help a legend." He gave me a brief salute while his wagging tail betrayed his naïve eagerness. It took a lot of my being not to wince at that remark.

"No, I suppose not. Take care, Cato."

He knew that was his time to leave. He would follow proper procedure and work to drop any tail that he might have as well as to evade any surveillance. The Felonian ghettos make that much easier than the ritzier parts of Saint-Michel as Nova didn't have as large of a presence both in the number of officers stationed and cameras installed. When it came to the wealthier parts--the neighborhoods filled with the Canisean bourgeois--there were armed Nova Security officers on every corner. Granted, they don't shoot on sight as they do here.

I turned around to overlook the Crusére river. Both banks butted up against dilapidated warehouses, factories, and the trademark, concrete landings of ports a decade past their prime. Everything was tinted brown save for the streaks of neon pink from billboards cutting through the nighttime haze. The contrast between the neoclassical and contemporary stratoscrapers of the upscale neighborhoods was all too apparent. It makes sense why the Caskyans wouldn't want to showcase their impoverished wards.

It took a minute or two of aimless staring before I resigned myself to reaching into one of the caches I had picked up at a dead drop. A prototype satellite communicator per request.

Popping out its collapsible legs, I laid the tripod down on the concrete. Upon attaching a cable between it and a burner phone I grabbed, it immediately overrode the device's OS and solely displayed a text-box and keyboard, no prompt. It wasn't hard for me to dig up the twenty-four digit code my brain had tucked away. Next came the communicator's coordinates followed by another twenty-four digit code that only twenty people in the world knew.

The beacon at the tip of the tripod whirled around, pointing up into space at a degree measured within a millionth of an angle.

The World Intelligence Network orbits at around three-hundred-fifty and thirteen-hundred kilometers. Twenty thousand satellites act as the backbone of the world's broadband. The Federation, the Republic, the UEA; they all paid into it, though the Federation military and private Caskyan telecom companies had their own constellations as well. All of those transmissions, however encrypted, could nonetheless be intercepted. Maybe not understood, but positions could be pinpointed.

Instead of using radio waves, the communicator and its parent constellation communicated solely by ultraviolet lasers tuned to specific angles and frequencies. The tech to make it was a pain in the ass, but it enabled dark-comms. Nothing's being transmitted, so nothing can be intercepted.

I held up the phone. Only static came through.

"Confirm emergency asset identification Echo-Mike-One-One-Two-Six-Niner-Niner-Eight- Cerberus."

"Confirmed," the automated voice responded out of nowhere. "Connecting."

It took a couple of seconds to get patched through.

"Hello?" came the other end.

"Hey, Tali," I responded.

"Cayden?!? Fucking hell, it's been eighteen months!"

"Missed you too."

"Shit, I can't even recognize your voice."

"You should see what I look like. Those guys at cosmetics turned me into a russet."

"I'm sure...Does this mean you are exfilling?"

"Yeah, a Rashen-registered business jet will be landing in Taipys in seven hours or so."

"Alright. Look, Cayden, I'm on Tempest-One right now--"

"Coming from those talks on the Haamud Strait incident," I finished. "I know."

"Cayden." She was exasperated and overly curt. "Shit. I'll be on the ground in five and a half. As soon as you land and not a moment later, contact Asher. We need to talk asap."

"This line is secure, Tali. If it's that important, we can do it now."

"Cayden, trust me. There will be a car waiting for you on the tarmac that will take you to your residence. Sub rosa protocol--" Sweep for bugs, ensure no one can listen in. "--Just...do this for me, ok?"

She's never acted like this. Almost scared and disturbed.

"Ok. I promise."

"Thank you," she responded, letting out a deep breath. "Oh, Cas wants to talk to you."

There was some shuffling on the other end of the line. "Hey, Uncle Cay!"

"Cas, what are you doing up? It's two in the morning."

"It's good to see you too."

I got the hint. "Sorry...it has been a while."

"No kidding. I'm glad you're ok, though. Mom took your absence rather hard." A faint "Oh come on!" came through on the other end. "We all did," Casdy followed up.

"Come on, now, give your mother some credit. Her job hasn't exactly been kind these past couple months."

"That's the understatement of the century," she said.

Best perhaps to change the subject. "You would have graduated primary school three months ago, right?"

"Five, but yeah. I graduated a bit early. I had already earned enough credits to graduate a year ago, but I wanted some more time before I went into the academy."

"Yeah, I probably should have done that when I was your age. I missed out on a lot of...teen stuff."

"Says the one who joined the Spectres at eighteen and made Praetorian at twenty-two."

"You do realize that, if anything, that proves my point for me, right?"

"Yeah yeah...mom still wants me to go into the Space Corps." "You're damn right I do!" Taliya piped in the background.

I chuckled. It's been such a long time since I'd felt like I could open up. Fuck, I hadn't even spoken any Aelmerian since then.

"So what are you thinking then?" I asked her. "Do you plan on going into the Navy? Army? Airforce?"

"I don't know...I've actually been touring with the Sentries before I make a decision." Before I could butt in, she said, "Mom was onboard, don't worry. Besides, nothing's changed except that I'm armed too."

"If you say so..." Doesn't mean I have to like it. "I take you're shadowing Elaenor?"

"More or less. I'm supposed to be on mom's detail."

"Really?" I asked. "I haven't seen you suited up in the news."

"Yeah, well, that's why mom was on-board...Elaenor has me as part of the counter-assault teams. FNN knows, but mom has made clear that they aren't allowed to say a word. We don't want...we don't want the past to be repeated." She and her sister's kidnapping. "Anyway, I'm usually posted in the HAAPV right behind mom's."

"And all of the other news channels wouldn't know. Sentry agent postings are confidential, and the gear they have you all wearing would prevent your being ID'd."

"Sure."

No one said anything for a couple of moments, and I was beginning to think that she would hand me off to Taliya.

"Are you doing alright, Uncle Cay?"

"Me?" That was kind of unexpected. "Yeah, why?"

"Do you seriously need me to explain why?"

I didn't like where this was going. "That's just the job, Cas. I know what I signed up for, and I wouldn't be alive if I wasn't managing it well."

"I'm not just talking about the job," she bemoaned. "You went off the grid for eighteen months in...well, I assume it's not in the Federation, and it came right on the heel of...that day."

That day.

"Cas, really, I'm fine."

She is seriously pressing me on this? She should know me better than that. I've been trained to deal with hell freezing over. I live and breath this kind of stuff. I'd probably go into withdrawal if I ever gave it up...

She waiting a bit after my retort.

"Alright. Just...we're here for you. Mom and Dad and I. Being a Praetorian doesn't mean you aren't...it doesn't mean you have to shut away your emotions...We all miss her."

Fuck no.

"Thanks, Cas. Can you please give me back to your mother?"

"Oh. Um...yeah. Here."

The other side of the call ruffled once more.

"Sorry about that," came the voice that's been my anchor these past couple of months. Watching all of those vids..."I know some things are just off the table."

"It's fine," I said. "It means she cares."

"That's what I worry about..."

I lifted my glance back at the car. He hasn't moved still. A couple seconds later a large cargo barge entered my field of vision.

"I'm going to have to go now, Tali. I'll be back soon."

"Ok. We'll chat soon enough. Bye." I hung up.

The car was an older model, about five or six years old, so I had to pull the physical door handles to open it. Casey was sitting motionless in the back seat clad in a nondescript, black outfit. Both of us had on black or gray sweatpants and sweatshirts, though he was donning a large. He turned his aid robotically to face me upon opening the door.

"Put on the mask, we're leaving," I said, switching back to my Caskyan. He obliged, digging into a duffle on the floor. I quickly reached over him to grab one for myself. He got out quickly enough, taking the bags with him in either arm. With that, I started wiping down the interior just like I had with all the other "borrowed" cars. These older models lacked the self-driving tech, but it also meant there weren't any interior cameras, so that wouldn't be an issue, and the tint prevented street cameras from identifying us.

By the time I had finished up and popped my head out of the car, the barge had already butted up against the edge of the port. We began walking over, and a Canisean wearing a leather jacket disembarked to head us off.

The creases in his jacket indicated he was packing. The outline wasn't right for a semi-auto handgun, though. The receiver looked like it had a collapsible stock, and the barrel was thicker. A machine pistol, .45 ACP.

---

It was streaming toward us barely a hundred meters above the ocean. I only had the engine exhaust to gauge where it was due to the cloudy night sky blocking out the moon and star's haze. We had come out from the lower level ten minutes or so ago. It had been around two-and-a-half hours since we first boarded, joining the many desperate migrants fleeing lives of exploitation and persecution. Most of them were Felonian women and children fleeing the ghettos and racism and brutality that has claimed so many Felonian men.

The leader of the smuggling operation was standing next to me on my right, Casey flanking my right. I had already wired him the money, but he wanted to "oversee" my pick-up. Not my preferred route.

The jet's exhaust began rotating down towards the sea before completely reversing, blasting us with an orange-blue light show. The body pitched up hard, coming to a stop right in front of the boat, murdering our eardrums with a thunderous clap, transitioning quickly to a deep rumbling bass.

Its wings were twice as wide as the ones of yesteryear, not for any aerodynamic improvements but added functionality, housing a five-meter-wide turbine in each. The rear turbofans had already returned to a vertical pitch, and the turbines had opened up to keep the plane hovering in the air. It made a slow descent, moving overtop the barge.

"Fuck me," the leader of the operation exclaimed in his thick, northern accent. "Well, I think your ride is here!" He was all but forced to shout to talk over the engines' roar.

"Pleasure doing business with you!" I said out of formality. It wasn't a pleasure in any way of the imagination.

"You're with the communists, aren't you?" he exclaimed in Aelmerian of all things. Cato's faith was misplaced somewhat.

"Even if I am," I retorted in Caskyan, "I was assured discretion on your part!"

"But of course!" he said, betraying his age and saying it with a smile. "It was simply an observation! I find it difficult to believe anyone else would have the resources and need for this kind of operational organization!"

"You worry about your job, Milano, and we'll worry about ours!"

The jet, now less than a meter off the barge, lowered its airstair. Casey and I climbed aboard, paying no attention to the smugglers. I slammed the button inside the cabin that closed the airstair. Once it sealed itself to the fuselage, the roar of the engines was silenced.

I turned right and walked into the empty cockpit. The displays showed the plane's telemetry including an altitude of seven meters above sea level and more than two hundred kilometers of the coast of the Caskyan Republic. The specific location I had the jet and the smugglers to rendezvous put us out of radar range. They wouldn't have even known we were there.

"Sit down in the back," I told Casey without turning my head. His footsteps resounded throughout the cabin, moving away across the fur carpet.

WIth the coordinates typed in, the plane started to yaw around and ascend. And just like that, I was homebound. Eighteen months living as someone else in the land of the enemy, racism and sexism and capitalism aplenty. It didn't feel real. The past twenty-four hours I've just been moving from one point in a plan to another, never stopping. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week, it kept me sane. A way to keep me going. My mind was having difficulty reconciling with the fact that I may not have that once I get home. With Taliya's pleading...she didn't sound right. Casdy was more interested in probing me than showing serious concern in her mother, so Taliya didn't share what's ailing her with anyone else.

Surely it hasn't finally gotten to her. She's been on the job for...shit, almost nine years. Those years have not been kind to her, but if there was ever a moment for her to break, it would have happened long ago. The Mahraqet Incident, Kent...Taipys. No, it can't be the job.

Fuck, I'm just thinking in circles. No way am I going to get anywhere with this.

Sleep. That's what I need. I have four and a half hours. It would be nice to finally have some time to rest...every night this past week has been spent laying the foundations for today.

I resigned myself to head to the rear cabin. It wasn't hard for me to keep my balance as the plane accelerated. Casey was sitting in one of the leather chairs, back straight and a blank stare. He would've fit in better if he was having tea with the Caskyan Emperor than, well, this.

"Casey." He turned his head toward my gaze. Still nothing.

"I'm, uh, going to be in the back. Try to get some rest. It's going to be a while until we touch down." He turned his head right back into the position he had been holding.

I climbed past the dining seats and the entertainment section before getting to the rear cabin with a king-sized bed, mahogany paneling, and cotton sheets. It was still far too gaudy, but this was the most advanced, well-equipped plane I could get without leaving a trail. I also didn't give a shit at this point. I just needed to collapse. It felt wrong, but I surrendered myself to what my body was pleading for. I'll deal with everything else when I need to.

---

The plane jolted downward, pulling me out of my sleep. The computer should have placed us down back in Polaris, landing pad Echo-Nineteen so long as nothing changed. My throat was dry, my neck was sore, and clothes greasily clung to my fur, but I was home. Fucking home. There's going to be so much paperwork to fill out, alliances and relationships to consolidate, Taliya needs to talk about...whatever was scaring the shit out of her. And then there's Casey.

Alright, Cayden, you're smart. You'll figure it all out. Just deal with one thing at a time. Taliya should have sent a car. Just get in, bring Casey back to your place, and just...just remember Sub Rosa protocol. Yeah. Yeah, things will work out. Just get up.

No.

Get up.

No.

Up!

I rolled over onto my back and braced myself on my elbows to bring myself up. It took blinking several times, but the surrounding room slowly came into view. The lights were still on, basking the ceiling and walls in a mild amber. I sat myself up fully and swung my legs over the bed's left side.

"Open blinds," I said as I groggily rubbed my eyes. I was expecting a pitch black landscape dotted with taxiway and overhead lights amidst the backdrop of Taipys. The pulsing blue lights in the distance were new, and a couple of headlights were cast along the landing pad as well. I picked myself up with greater urgency, checking that all of my clothing was in order before opening the door to the greater cabin.

Casey lay motionless, eyes blank just like he had been hours ago. He hadn't slept at all for the whole week after the operation...that doesn't seem to have changed. Looking out the cabin's windows on the left, I was able to get a greater view of what was going on outside. There were five HAAPVs--not just cars, but fully decked out, armored transports that seemed even bulkier than the ones I had ridden in Taliya's motorcade--several motorcycles, and more than a dozen personnel spread out around the plane. The lighting wasn't ideal, but it looked like all of them were wearing a similar set of armor to that which Taliya and I surveyed eighteen months ago in ARC.

I quickly walked over to the door and clicked the button on the wall to lower the airstair. As soon as the cabin was breached, the sound of the outside world came roaring in. Sirens blaring in the distance, alarms across Polaris--they were loud enough to drown out the noise coming from the jet's engines and wing-mounted turbines. All of the personnel strewn about turned to me at attention. I must have looked ridiculous; a Spectre Praetorian in gray sweatpants and a nondescript sweatshirt amongst these armored behemoths.

"Praetorian Hawkes!?" the nearest soldier called out. The helmet covered his entire face and muzzle, harkening back to that cheese wedge design that looked far too tall and thick. A set of speakers on the suit must have carried his voice.

"Yes!?" I shouted back. "What's going on!?"

"Get in the transport!"

"But I--" I tried to explain, but he cut me off.

"Get in!"

"Hey!" I cut in. "I have an asset--" I guess that is what I am going to call him "--that I need to bring with me!"

"We'll take care of it," he dismissed. "But right now, we need to move you to a secure location, so get in the transport! Please, sir!"

What the absolute fuck.

I turned my head back in Casey's direction. He wasn't looking. "Casey, listen to these soldiers!" I said. "I'll be back!"

The airstair had me no more than a meter and a half above the ground. I hopped down each step quickly enough and hurried across the helipad to the nearest HAAPV. Its side split open with the top two-thirds swinging up and the lower third dropping down to act as a step for me. It was rather necessary as the transport's cabin rode pretty high on the road. No one seemed to be in the cabin, but two soldiers flanked either side of the now-exposed entrance. As I marched past them, an insignia on either's breast marked them as Sentry agents.

An empty cabin meant I had my pick of where to sit. A typical HAAPV in Taliya's motorcade had two seats facing backwards with a gap in the middle and a row of three seats facing forward. This cabin seemed to only have the rear row, a black wall replaced the two rear-facing seats. I grabbed the nearest seat, and the side immediately began to close. I took one last glance at the jet, at Casey, as sentries swarmed it.

As soon as the side door closed, I was plunged into darkness and silence. Before my eyes could adjust, though, the black wall bursted into light, revealing the entire surface to be a giant display. A lot of blue and black, though the main thing on display was two rows of five black silhouettes.

The transport accelerated forward, driving my into the seatback.

"Praetorian Hawkes," came a voice that was neither male or female. One of the silhouettes displayed a soundwave below it, indicating it to be the one talking. "We are sorry to be meeting under these circumstances."

The Generals Council...fuck. They got to me first.

"What's going on?" I asked. "I was supposed to meet with Sentinel Itsuko upon landing."

They hesitated for a couple of seconds. "One hour ago," top row, second silhouette from the left, same nondescript name. "At oh-four-hundred hours, an explosive device went off between Seventy-Eight, Seventy-Nine, and Magnus as the Sentinel's motorcade passed by."

What?!?

"Where is the Sentinel now?" The transports in the motorcade are as reinforced as a tank. They should be able to withstand a direct impact from a cruise missile. Maybe the transport would be disabled, but Taliya would still be alive.

"Praetorian," bottom right. "Sentinel Itsuko was killed in the explosion."

She got killed in a car bomb. Of all the things to take her out...She lived in the Federation before the modernization, back when everyone lived in concrete communes that spread for miles and still didn't have the space or infrastructure to support everyone. She beat the odds, became a test pilot in the fledgling Air Force before being the second Solaeren, first Aelmerian, into space at the age of twenty-one. She commanded the moon mission, founded the Space Corps, and was bestowed the office of the Sentinel after the Mahraqet Incident led to her predecessor's resignation. She got through her daughters' kidnappings, Kent's murder, dozens of geopolitical crises, just as many domestic and international terror attacks, and this paragon of a citizen got taken out by a fucking car bomb.

"Praetorian?" I must have zoned out.

"What happened to the rest of the motorcade?"

I can't come off as weak or emotional...these guys will rip me to shreds. Focus, Cayden. You have to focus. These are the most powerful individuals in the entire Federation. Don't let them catch you off guard.

"The blast radius of the explosive took out the two transports behind the Sentinel and the one in front."

That meant...fuck, no, Casdy...

"Casualties?"

"The Sentinel, her chief of security, her personal security detail, the Foreign Minister, two counter assault teams--"

"So Casdy didn't make it."

"No, we're afraid the first daughter did not survive," came yet another one of the Generals.

"Do we know who did this?"

"We don't have enough evidence to say publicly, but we're confident it's the SRG."

"How sure?"

"We're sure," came another. By now, I was just lumping them all together. "But Praetorian, we'll have time to talk about that later. Right now, there is another matter we need to attend to."

"Asher Mori, Itsuko's Chief of Staff--"

"I know who he is," I butted in.

"Yes, well, he's Sentinel Pro Tempore," the General followed up. The Chief of Staff becomes the acting Sentinel should anything...happen to the Sentinel. He wouldn't have gone to the talks. Too much to manage back home. Had he been taken out, the Defense Minister would have gotten control, followed by the Foreign Minister--who didn't make it--the Homeland Security Minister, and so on. "But Sentinel Itsuko did not designate him as her Seruo Lucernam."

Every Sentinel, the moment they are inducted, writes down the name of their chosen successor called the Sentinel Seruo Lucernam: torchbearer. Every three months, they renew that declaration. That document is secret, only to be seen by the Sentinel and the Generals Council. It was popularized by the first Sentinel, Tiberius Knox, and tradition begat precedent. It's purely a suggestion, however. The Generals always vote to confirm the next Sentinel. The Seruo Lucernam is simply a strong suggestion which they are bound to look at first, though not necessarily confirm.

I would only be having this conversation if I was at the center of it.

"She designated me as her Seruo Lucernam, didn't she?"

"That would be correct."

"I...alright. I assume you have voted on the matter?"

"We've discussed it."

"So..." I started thinking aloud. "She wanted me to take over for her...And you all have decided to confirm me. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Also correct."

Fucking hell, Cayden, what have you gotten yourself into?

"...Ok. And what would you have me do?"

"Lead the country for starters."

"Glad to see we are keeping things realistic...In all seriousness, I know people who are better qualified to be Sentinel. People who have decades of experience in the foreign services, in commanding armies. Don't get me wrong, it's every cadet's dream to one day be in that room, but traditionally, Admirals are the ones selected to be the Sentinel, not Praetorians and certainly not Spectres."

"Admirals manage armies; they plan wars, but they don't fight on the frontlines. Praetorians are the ones leading the charge, and right now, Praetorian? We are at war. The Federation needs someone to take command of the situation, place themselves in the line of fire, and get us through this nightmare alive."

"You're doing a great job selling this."

"Praetorian--"

"Taegan Arlay, Homeland Security Minister, Nadia Crux, Air Force Archadmiral, Cinna Aris, General Secretary of the International Investment Fund. If you want a Praetorian, then call up Tatiana Vullis of the Navy."

"Aris is a diplomat, not a rallying figure and definitely not a soldier at a time when we need them most. Arlox is tactful, but he works best when things aren't being lit on fire. Perhaps he's better than ninety-nine percent of people in the Federation in that regard, but that's still not good enough. Archadmiral Crux would get lost in the minutia, and Praetorian Vullis would get overwhelmed within a week. Sentinel Itsuko chose you because she knew that you are smarter and wiser and tougher than she was, and certainly more so than the rest of her cabinet."

No. No, I'll never live up to her.

"I'm not even thirty."

"And yet you're one of fourteen Spectre Praetorians in history, the youngest by more than ten years. That's on top of being the Sentinel's premier national security advisor and half a dozen of other responsibilities. That's a point in your favor, not against."

"It will be in some people's books, and Archadmirals won't be clamoring to support a twenty-eight year old as the most powerful person in the world."

"Then make them. Your name may have been erased from the history books, but these people know who you are. Name what's the greatest threat to the Federation."

I can't say I was expecting that question. I had been pushing the defensive for the entire conversation, I hadn't shifted into that mindset yet. I needed a moment to think...

"...Itself."

"And why is that?"

"Because...The SRG, terrorists, these non-state actors--they're baiting us, maiming us, forcing us to react in a way that sees us crumple underneath our own weight, but a nuclear bomb going off in Taipys or Erivale or Light Haven won't be the thing that kills the Federation. It's going to be the excuse."

"And do you know what every Archadmiral will tell you? What the entire cabinet will tell you?"

"A hydrogen bomb in the hands of the SRG. A trigger-happy Emperor in Caskya...The Federation showing weakness."

"What has been the greatest failing of the Itsuko administration?"

"That's--I am not sure I can answer that."

"What was the greatest mistake Sentinel Itsuko made?"

Damn it, Taliya, forgive me.

"The administration believed the Federation could never back down from a fight or walk away with less than it gained. That, in order for the Federation to remain a beacon onto the world, it could never be seen as losing lest the rest of the world lose faith...but such an opinion is not the one that is going to win me any elections."

"Be glad, then, that the Federation doesn't have any. Tell us if we are wrong: you think the Sentinel kept you around because you were an ally if not part of the family."

"I can't exactly say I expected the Generals Council to be so maudlin."

"Tell us we are wrong."

I couldn't. Not truthfully.

"She kept you around because you disagreed with her, Praetorian, and any other excuse that you craft does nothing but disrespect her legacy. The Sentinel, every successful one, knew to surround themselves with smart people whom they disagreed with. Name one other person who would stand up to her without ulterior motives. She believed that you would do a better job as Sentinel than she ever could. We haven't always seen eye to eye--you and the Generals Council--but if there was someone better suited for the job, trust us when we say we would be talking with them instead."

"I--alright, I'll accept, but there is a matter we need to discuss before I do."

"The subject..." I nodded. "Your orders were to destroy the facility and all material related to the program."

"I made an in-situ judgement call."

"That you did. What about him?"

"He is to remain under my protection."

"What was that about being maudlin?"

"He's of more use to the Federation alive than dead. That's my one demand."

"He also poses great risks. There's a reason why the Federation maintains plausible deniability for all of its Black Ops. Should the Caskyans ever find evidence of his...we don't need to explain this to you of all people."

"Which is why there won't be any evidence."

They were quiet for a moment, no more than ten seconds. "We'll agree with one stipulation: he is to be our ward as well. He shouldn't even be in the Federation. If we can't oversee his development, we can't guarantee his discretion."

I don't have much of a choice. I knew what I was doing when I set down this path. "Alright then. I'm at your disposal, Generals."

"No, Sentinel. We are at yours."

---

Six Admirals and fourteen Spectres met me in a restricted medical facility underneath Polaris. It took them over an hour to reconstruct my original appearance. My voice was a bit more difficult. These surgeons were the best in the whole Federation, but they weren't magicians. That would still take a couple of hours to return, but when it does, it will be Cayden, not Pascal, who's talking.

Right now I was enroute to the Decagram aboard Javelin One--Tempest One's medium-range, VTOL equivalent--to be sworn in.

"This is the Sentinel's Emergency Satchel," came the Sentry agent sitting across from me. There is a reason the briefcase is nicknamed Pandora's box. "Any time you are away from the Hawk's Nest, a Sentry agent on your personal security detail will be carrying this with them. You are authorized to carry itself upon request, however."

She placed the briefcase on her lap, spun it around, and unlatched it so that it opened facing me. Two digital displays folded out like a book's pages.

"Through this, you will be able to manage the entirety of the Federation's twenty-seven million active duty service personnel, mechanized infantry, naval and aerial fleets, and the tens of thousands of cruise missiles under the Space Corps' purview. You also have the Federation's nuclear and KBS arsenal at your--"

"Hold on, the Federation has an array of Kinetic Bombardment Satellites?" I cut in.

"Yes," the agent responded. "Sentinel Itsuko began the program in secret two years ago. There are currently three in operation with five more slated to come online this year."

She never told me about this. Ever. I...I'm not sure how to react...

"Alright," I said. "Go on."

"You can launch a military operation through this satchel at any time, but any nuclear or kinetic strike requires the authorization of the GC who also hold veto power. This device has C3I capabilities. There is also a detachable tablet." She pressed down on an obsidian panel lying flat in the device. It popped out, and she handed it off to me. Upon grabbing it, the tablet lit up in my paws.

"Sentinel Itsuko nicknamed it the ledger. This device is the newest generation."

"How did it light up in my hands and not yours?" I asked.

"The tablet is coded to your palm's vascular map. It's nigh impossible to forge. The tech should be rolling out next year. It also contains a CR9 octa-core processor, an order of magnitude more powerful than the CR8 and capable of ninety-six teraflops single precision."

I could see everything on this device. Troop strength, projected force depletion for dozens of simulated deployments, operational efficiency, even individual biometrics in real time for millions of Vanguard and AEGIS officers.

"The Ledger and Satchel are wirelessly paired. Both are connected to the Federation's satellite constellation. There will also be two other Sentries on your personal detail carrying briefcases--one carrying an emergency trauma kit, the other made for NBC attacks."

"Alright. Thanks, Agent Bassen."

"We'll be touching down in three minutes," came the pilot over the cabin's speaker system.

"We should get you into the Sentinial uniform, sir," Bassen said.

"Do you have the armor I wore as a Praetorian?"

"Well, no, sir."

"Get some Praetorian armor fit to my person prepped by the time we land."

"I--Yes, sir, but I would recommend that the design be changed...the traditional garb it tightly woven into the Sentinel's identity."

"Do as you see fit. Just get it done."

"Of course," she said before she began to speak into her comms.

I turned my attention to the tablet in my paws. The power it held make my stomach curl, so I relegated that concept to the back of my mind. Deal with all of the changes in increments.

I started to type Bastian Maddox into the Ledger. His profile came up instantly--his location, biometrics, and everything else Echelon had on him. Apparently, the bastard got promoted to Lieutenant Colonel. There was even an icon to give him a generated command. I tapped on the one that placed a call to him and routed it to my subdermal.

"Hello?"

"Maddox, it's Cayden."

"Cayden!? Fuck, man, you sound like shit. Where the fuck have you been? Wait, nevermind, I know you can't answer."

"Yeah, sorry. Listen, Maddox, I need your help."

"Look, I--you know I would do anything for you. It's just that right now, things are going to shit. The Sentinel...I know you two were close. I'm sorry."

"I appreciate it, but I need you to drop everything and come over to the Decagram. A VTOL is already on its way."

"Cayden, what's going on?"

"I need a Chief of Staff, and you're my pick. Are you in or out?"

I didn't get a response.

"Maddox?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Just...fuck, Cayden, that's...I'll need time to process that. Can I--can I get back to you on that?"

"You have one hour. I would give you more time if I could."

"No, I understand. I'll start coming over there, but that's a lot to drop on somebody, especially after so long..."

"I know, Maddox, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I do believe you would be a good Chief of Staff." We started to decelerate and descend to the landing pad. "I have to go now."

"Take care, Cayden." I hung up.

The cargo-bay door opened up, and with it came the mellowing roar of the VTOL's engines. A dozen Sentries decked in those armor prototypes stood at attention, forming two lines that extended from the ramp. Four Sentries armed to the teeth hurried our way between the two lines.

"Are you ready sir?" the closest of the four asked.

I nodded and, with the Sentries that were onboard surrounding me, made my way across the landing pad into the Decagram. A suit was already prepped for me to put on as soon as I was secure within the building.

It still had the basic structure of a set of Praetorian armor, but it had a few modifications, and I was guessing those were only the ones I could see. The plating was more distinct. It maintained the curves of the older gen, but it had sharp layers constructing those curves, hard and jagged and geometric. It was a rather utilitarian look. The forearms and legs and boots were in a similar state. The suit's color pattern was also changed. It was still a deep obsidian, but instead of having curvaceous slivers of silver, they were sharp and emboldened, and a giant Aelmerian star sat in between the breast plates. Unfortunately, the metal-mesh infinity scarf remained.. That and the single-shoulder cape. Seems like I wasn't getting out of wearing those.

I put on the armor and walked with the detail to the Situation Room. We were coming from the military side of the building. It was five years ago that I first entered this way. Before then, I couldn't have said that I ever expected to be called into this center of global power, let alone face-to-face with the person wielding it.

There were five landing pads on the roof of the Decagram, each positioned at the root of two points. The Situation Room was five floors down on the ground level. It's just safer down there, but it meant we had to pass through some offices to get there, and that meant people staring.

After a minute of tense, silent walking, we passed through one of those white corridors. The ones that acted as security checkpoints and millimeter wave scanners. They should have gone off, especially with the amount of weapons the Sentries and I were carrying, but I could only assume it read who we were and silenced itself. Two Sentries decked out in full combat gear opened the doors to the Situation Room for us once we got through.

"--counter any instability before it--" Asher said from the other side of the room in the chair that had his back facing the doors into the Hawk's Nest. Entering from the military side deposited me on the other end of the table. An array of screens were lit up to my right. Some were maps of regions around the world, others focused on specific Vanguard battalions and cohorts, but almost a third of them were focused on a fire raging on a boulevard in downtown Taipys. I turned away from the wall of screens as soon as I put two and two together.

Asher was cut off by dozens of admirals and national security advisors standing at attention upon my entrance.

"At ease, comrades," I offered. The Sentry agents stopped outside of the room. Everyone else sat down, but Asher--acting Sentinel Mori--stood up. I went over to him, and he of all people saluted me, arms at angles. I reached out with my right arm, he gave me his, and I brought him into an embrace.

"I'm sorry. For everything," I whispered into his ear.

He was silent and and held the hug for a moment.

"Get these motherfuckers," he whispered back.

I pulled out of the hug and nodded solemnly.

Asher resigned the seat at the head of the table to me. I didn't want to sit down, but there was so much momentum that I didn't have much of a choice.

"Alright, let's get started."