“I need access to the Palace,” Prax says. “As I told Kiran, I believe it was built on the original terraforming base. That’s always how it’s done. A main unit is installed to manage the process, and depending on the planet’s size, it might contain adozen or more rooms. Add-ons come later. If the Palace is what I think it is, there’s a long-range comms processor inside. I sent a distress call before I crashed, but I don’t know if it went through, given the state of my ship right before it sank under the ice. I need to send another.”
“And what happens then? How long will it take?” Esteban asks.
“Let’s get something straight. You Humans have been incredibly sheltered. You’re idealistic and peaceful—which is good—but also naïve, and that’s dangerous. The Intergalactic Confederation doesn’t intervene in domestic disputes. It’s your job to fix your own mess. Akifumi will send someone to get me, that’s almost certain. But he won’t solve your little power struggles. The Confed gave you a second chance—this planet, some tools, a warning not to repeat the same mistakes. But people without empathy or morals? You’ll always have them. It’s up to you to protect your community and enforce your own rules. Your neighbor’s not going to clean up your garbage for you.”
We sit in silence, absorbing his words. Is he right? Have we been acting like helpless children, waiting for someone else to fix things?
“So what do you recommend, oh wise feline?” Kiran asks sarcastically.
Prax bares his teeth in a displeased hiss—completely lost on my brother.
“If you put as much energy into fighting them as you do into teasing me, we’d be halfway there already. You peace-loving Humans are going to have to set aside your values and prepare for war. That is, if you actually want change. Otherwise, you can just keep being passive little victims.”
“Chill, Furball. We get it. No one here is going to let those murderers walk free. Cat’s honor! But since we’re new to thiskind of situation, we humbly ask your advice, oh mighty and majestic Sadjim!”
I can’t help smiling. Despite the gravity of the moment, a kind of playful bond has formed between my brother and my feline houseguest.
Even Viktor and Esteban look stunned by their back-and-forth.
“First,” Prax says, “you need a headcount. How many on the bad side, how many on yours. Then list the non-combatants—the sick, the kids, anyone who’ll need protection. Next, you’ll need a way to meet in secret and plan your response.”
“What kind of response?” Esteban asks. “They have weapons. We don’t. None of us are killers.”
“I am,” Prax says bluntly. “Ask Neela. She’s seen me hunt. I’m a carnivore, a predator. I can’t live on seeds like you do. I chase my meals. But there’s a difference between killing to eat and killing an intelligent being—even a malicious one. The Confed has prisons for that sort of thing.”
“Then maybe… you could handle it for us?” Viktor suggests. “Neutralize them?”
“Absolutely not. I can’t take on armed Humans by myself. But I can help you build a solid plan and guide you. Just don’t kid yourselves—you’re going to have to get your hands dirty.”
I wrinkle my nose, and Prax smirks. He knows I hate violence. But I remember a phrase I once read: If you want peace, prepare for war.
Looks like we’ve run out of other options.
15-Prax
Here we go. D-Day.
After a full week fine-tuning the plan, it’s finally time to act. Nothing revolutionary—not yet anyway. For now, I’m just walking Neela to the Cydonia center. She’s riding her snowmobile, doing exactly what she always does. I’m following on foot, hidden among the trees. Stealth is kinda my thing, so this should be no problem.
I’ve never been this far down the valley. The temperature gets milder the closer we get to the center, and the more clustered the housing units become. That means I have to put more distance between Neela and me, which I don’t love. But as long as I can keep her in sight, I can deal with it.
She suddenly stops in front of three people standing on the roadside. She greets them cheerfully and, according to plan, tells them she’s going to the gym and will spend part of the day at the social center. She’ll repeat that routine as often as possible so no one ever wonders where she is.
By the time she reaches her destination, she’s passed by at least a dozen people. That’s at the low end of what we were hoping for, but still acceptable. She pulls up in front of a big greenish building with fully transparent walls. I can see several people inside stretching. According to the schedule, Esteban’s supposed to already be there and leave right when Neela arrives, after greeting her loudly.
Before heading inside the giant cube, my Human slows down and scans the area. She won’t find me—I’m perfectly hidden in the trees lining the outskirts of their little town. She gives up and enters the so-called gym.
Fifteen minutes later, Esteban leaves the building. Reluctantly, I abandon my Human to follow him instead—he’s headed for the Palace. It’s not Neela’s time to act yet. She’ll make her move this afternoon when the first symptoms appear. By then, she’ll be at that infamous social center. It’s where people meet, hang out, and chat about this and that. She’s supposed to meet Kiran’s wife and their little boy there, just like she often does. Everything has to look totally routine.
Esteban walks slowly—maybe to help me keep up. He can’t see me, and neither can any of the pedestrians along this gently sloping avenue through central Cydonia. He suddenly turns right, away from my position. I need to cross unseen.
Between two housing units, I spot a tall rock topped by a pine tree. On the far side of the path, a thick snowdrift offers a soft landing. I check that the coast is clear, sprint, leap onto the rock, and dive into the powder. Quick, silent, clean. I crawl out, dash into the nearest bushes, and start tailing Esteban. His scent drifts on the air just a few dozen feet away. I skirt around the back of the small houses, invisible.
Then suddenly, I’m not facing housing walls anymore, but an unbroken row of greenish composite walls. The Palace. Its residents, ever so secretive, have made all their facades opaque. Helpful, really—makes sneaking closer much easier.
I spend the next hour studying the layout of the place, trying to spot which parts are original and which were added later. That’s where I’ll find the galactic transmitter—my main target. It’ll let me send a message to my chain of command and to the colonists.
Around lunchtime, Esteban shows up about 100 feet away, emerging from a now-dematerialized doorway. He scans the area, looking for me. I make sure he’s alone, then step out of hiding and approach cautiously.
