Chapter Fourteen: Ghost Signal
The stars blur past the viewport as our ship slices through black space. A cold hum vibrates under my boots—a constant reminder that motion doesn't mean progress. It just means we're moving. And movement can be a trap too.
Elin dozes lightly beside the terminal, her head resting on her folded arms. Mira is awake, sharpening a blade with rhythmic precision. Not that we'd need steel where we're going—but I think she just needs something to hold. Something solid.
Me? I just stare.
Not at the stars.
At the empty seat beside me.
That's where he sat. The original Kael. For a split second, I imagined what it would've been like if we'd grown up side by side. Two brothers made of the same genetic dust—one sharpened into a weapon, the other dulled by mercy.
Maybe we could have fought the Dominion together.
But that version of the story doesn't exist. There's only one of me now.
And he's still broken.
"Approaching Red Echo," Elin says groggily, jolted awake by the nav alert. Her eyes flicker with something like dread. Or maybe it's recognition.
The base floats like a carcass. Orbiting the remains of a dead moon, wires and girders trailing like intestines. There are no lights, no heat signatures, no life. But I can feel it.
A hum.
Low. Subconscious.
Mira looks at me. "You feel it too?"
I nod. "It's broadcasting. Not to us. Through us."
We dock manually—no AI allowed. I don't trust the systems anymore. I barely trust myself.
The airlock hisses. Red Echo welcomes us with stale air and flickering emergency lights. The smell is sharp—rust, oil, and something underneath. Decay.
We move through corridors like ghosts. Our footsteps echo longer than they should.
In the central hub, Elin connects to a console. Her face twists. "Kael… this place was monitoring you the whole time. There are video feeds from every outpost you've ever visited. Conversations. Dreams. Neural scans."
Mira swears under her breath.
I walk up slowly and stare at the screen.
There I am—two years ago. Sitting in a refugee station. Talking to a boy about stars. Laughing.
Then last year, bleeding in the forest of Xentar Prime, whispering Elin's name.
Private moments. All recorded.
"You weren't just watched," Elin says, voice small. "You were studied. Every time you broke away, they let you."
The rage doesn't come fast. It crawls—like frost on glass.
They were testing what makes a man defy his creation. Testing me.
And I played my part perfectly.
But now?
Now the test ends.
A static-laced voice erupts from the speakers. Male. Familiar.
"Kael Riven. Subject Zero-One. Welcome home."
Mira raises her gun.
Elin backs away from the console.
Me?
I just smile.
Because for the first time, I'm not confused.
I'm ready.