The silence that follows is terrible. I stare out at the landscape around me and try to breathe, but I cannot seem to fill my lungs.
"There is more," L'Zaen says, pulling me back from the cliff edge of panic. His voice has taken on a quality I can only describe as haunted. "Among Diamalla's records, Ameela's people uncovered intelligence files on alien civilizations throughout the galaxy. Dozens of species, most of them previously unknown to us or anyone. Diamalla had been watching them for years. Mapping their worlds, cataloging their capabilities, and assessing their weaknesses." L'Zaen meets my gaze, and I see the truth there before he speaks it. "A few ofthese species were among the captives held at the facility where you were imprisoned, A'Vanti. Most of the captives there were Cerastean, Hisk, and human, but there were others. Species that we did not even recognize."
I remember.
Flashes, dim and fragmented, from the worst years. Cells near mine that held creatures I could not identify. There were sounds in the night, keening and clicking and a strange, musical humming that did not come from Cerastean or Ostium throats. Sator once told me, in his careful whisper, that I was not the only alien there. That the queen collected specimens the way some collect curiosities, but I did not understand what he was trying to warn me about at the time.
I had pushed those memories down, buried them beneath the more immediate horrors. Now they surface, and I feel sick. I thought Sator had meant other species like pets or livestock, not sentient beings.
"She was going to conquer them," I say. It is not a question.
"That appears to have been her plan." D'Rett's voice is grim. "Amass a fleet. Consolidate her weapons. And then expand outward, claiming territory and subjugating species that we didn't even know existed."
"And now?" Cody asks. "What's Ameela doing about all of this?"
"Queen Ameela and the new Ostium leadership have been working with our people to unravel every thread of Diamalla's operations," L'Zaen says. "It has been an enormous undertaking. There are installations we haven't found yet, cells of loyalists who may still be operating in Diamalla's name, and a fleet of ships and weapons that needs to be dealt with." He lets out a slow exhale. "And then there are the civilizations themselves. Diamalla was spying on them, studying them, and preparing to move against them. They may not have even known she existed.Or they may know exactly who she was and assume we are no different." L'Zaen pauses. "We have no way of knowing what she may have already done to them from the shadows."
"What we do know," D'Rett adds, "is that Diamalla's files classify several of these species as significant military threats. Some of them make the Cerastean fleet look small." He lets that settle for a moment. "Queen Ameela has been transparent with us about all of it. She wants this dismantled as much as we do. We are working towards dismantling it quietly, before any of these civilizations realize what was occurring."
"And we can trust this new queen? Ameela?" Cody asks.
I think of Sator. Of the gold flooding his luxen when he learned his daughter was winning. Of a male who risked everything, day after day, to show kindness to me.
Ameela is her father's daughter. That, at least, I can believe.
D'Rett turns to the facility, his expression hard. "Let's get the full story from these males."
We move back to where the Ostium workers are being tended by the medical team. They have been given thermal blankets and more water, and one of the medics is healing an infected wound on the taller male's shoulder. Their luxen pulse with faint, exhausted waves of green and pink – fear and gratitude tangled together.
I kneel beside them and speak in Ostium, keeping my voice gentle. It costs me more than I expected to use this language with kindness. But these males are not my captors. They are victims of the same queen who imprisoned me.
"Are there other facilities like this one?" I ask. "Elsewhere on the planet?"
The taller male, Drev, shakes his head. He isn't sure, but he hasn't seen any other facilities or workers. His companion, who has not spoken yet, stares at the ground and weeps silently.
I translate for Cody and the others as the rest of the story unfolds.
They were part of a workforce that had been conscripted from the poorest Ostium communities and shipped to Ceraste under heavy pheromone control. The Regina pheromone overrode everything: will, judgment, even basic self-preservation instincts. They mined velith around the clock, extracting the ore and processing it for transport back to Ostium space.
Drev's voice goes flat as he describes what happened next. They worked them to death. By the time Diamalla fell, and the pheromone supply stopped, fewer than half of them were still alive.
Without the pheromone, the surviving males woke as if from a dream to find themselves stranded on an alien planet with no transport, no supplies, and no way to contact home.
"Fourteen of us were left," Drev says, his silver eyes distant. "We rationed what was left in the facility, but it was not enough." His hands tremble around the canteen, which he clutches like a lifeline.
His voice breaks. "The heat took some. Infection took others. When we were down to ten, eight of them left to look for supplies or help." He pauses for a moment. "None of them came back."
Drev reaches over and grips his companion's arm. "Joln and I are all that's left."
I relay this to D'Rett.
D'Rett and L'Zaen step aside, heads bent together in urgent, low conversation. It lasts less than a minute before D'Rett turns back and starts issuing orders.
"I want drones in the air immediately. Full sensors sweep, expanding grid pattern, south and southwest along the ridgeline. We're looking for heat signatures, movement, any sign of encampments – and any other facilities like this one. Twotransports will head south and sweep as far as they can before dark."
"They'll hide," I say. Everyone turns to me. "If they see Cerastean ships approaching, they will hide. They have no reason to believe you are anything but a threat." I pause. "Let me record a message in Ostium. Broadcast it from the ships. Tell them the war is over, that Diamalla is dead, and that we are offering rescue."
D'Rett holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods. "Do it."
