Xytol had woven an intricate tapestry of evidence, each thread precisely placed. Bank transactions with timestampsadjusted by microseconds. Encrypted communications rerouted through servers that placed Declan at the center of a terrorist network. Financial records showing payments to known extremist groups. Every piece of manufactured evidence pointed to the same conclusion. Declan Hewes was the mastermind behind a plot to destabilize the United States government.
The deep fake was Xytol's masterpiece. The video showed Declan kneeling in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by masked figures bearing the insignia of the very terrorist organization he had allegedly funded. The terrorist leader's voice, synthesized but utterly convincing, denounced Declan as a traitor to the cause who had failed to deliver on his promises. The beheading was rendered with such horrifying detail that even the most jaded of senators turned green as they watched it.
Within hours of its release, the video went viral. The public outrage was instantaneous and fierce. Declan Hewes, the billionaire tech mogul, revealed as a terrorist. His vast fortune, billions in assets, including holdings in dozens of critical infrastructure companies, was seized by my emergency executive order. It was enough to eliminate nearly eight percent of the national debt in a single stroke and we had only just scratched the surface.
In reality, Declan Hewes sat in a detention cell aboard an Alliance transport vessel, headed toward his tribunal on planet Calpa, and from there to Palaydium, a prison planet from which no one ever escaped.
Senator Matthews leaned forward, his jowls quivering with barely contained skepticism. He was a known buddy of Declan's. "You’re telling us that you came up with this scam, nearly destroyed the reputation of one of your agents, and compromised our military and intelligence systems all to catch one man?"
"Not just one man, Senator," I replied coolly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "An entire network. Declan Hewes was the linchpin, but he had operatives embedded throughout the intelligence community, the military, even here on Capitol Hill." I let those last words hang in
the air, watching several committee members shift uncomfortably in their seats.
"Agent Rickon was never a traitor," I testified, my voice cutting through the chamber. "The plan needed someone Declan would perceive as compromised, someone whose fall from grace would appear authentic enough to exploit. Agent Rickon volunteered for the assignment, knowing full well it would destroy his career and risk his life if the operation failed."
Senator Reeves, a silver-haired woman from Arizona, narrowed her eyes at me. "And this rumor of a doppelganger?"
"There was no doppelganger, Senator," I lied smoothly, my expression never wavering. "That narrative was planted through our own disinformation channels to see who would run with it and leak it to Declan's network. Every person who took the bait is now under investigation."
In the end, the committee voted unanimously to exonerate Rickon and me of any wrongdoing.
Three days later, three weeks after we captured Declan and his cronies at Area 51, I sat at the dining table in the private residence of the White House, Rickon on one side and Cullen on the other. The holographic display shimmered to life, bathing our faces in pale blue light, and the Prime's lovely features materialized, her expression as unreadable as ever.
"President Bradford, Admiral Blackwood, Rickon." The Prime inclined her head slightly. "Your cooperation in this matter has been invaluable. The Alliance does not forget those who assist in maintaining interplanetary stability."
"I need to be the one saying,thank you," I replied, leaning forward slightly. "If not for your help, Declan would have succeeded."
"Let this be the start of a long and fruitful relationship," The Prime suggested and I smiled. I still didn't think most humans were ready to learn what was actually going on out there in space. But it was good to know that when that time came, we had friends among the stars.
The Prime's golden gaze shifted to Rickon, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I understand you've requested a leave of absence from your role as first mate of theHistoria."
Rickon straightened beside me, but there was no hesitation in his voice. "Yes, my Lady. I'm staying on Earth with Ellie through the remainder of her presidency."
A flicker of something—amusement? —crossed the Prime's features. "To remain on Earth for that length of time is a considerable commitment." Rickon and I had already discussed the contingencies, and Xytol had hooked us up with all the necessary technology, including a few extra cuddwisg devices so Rickon could continue to pass as human.
"It is," Rickon agreed, reaching for my hand. He lifted it from the tabletop, brushing his warm lips across my knuckles in a gesture that sent a flutter through my chest. "But some things are worth the commitment."
Cullen cleared his throat, trying and failing to hide a smile. "For what it's worth, Lady Prime, I think Earth's rubbing off on him. He's developed this annoying habit of putting personal happiness above duty."
"A very human affliction," The Prime observed dryly, but amused. "I trust, Rickon, that your leave will not compromise your eventual return to service?"
"My loyalty to the Alliance hasn't changed," Rickon said firmly. "But my priorities have."
The Prime tilted her head, processing Rickon's words, when Cullen cleared his throat. "Lady Prime, perhaps I could offer a replacement, temporarily, at least."
The room went silent. I turned to stare at Cullen, my heart suddenly racing.
"Someone needs to help the Alliance untangle Declan's network," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "I've spent my military career uncovering corruption. I could be useful in helping uncover Hewes' associates within the Alliance."
The Prime's expression remained neutral, but something shifted in her posture, a subtle straightening, an almost imperceptible lean forward. "An interesting proposal, Admiral. The Alliance has protocols for human integration into our operations. Though rare, they have been successful."
I reached across the table, gripping his forearm. "Cullen, are you sure about this? This isn't some six-month deployment. You'd be gone for...."
"Years, possibly," he finished, his eyes meeting mine. "I know, Ellie." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the careful military façade cracked. "Sarah's been gone for years. My daughter Chloe...." his voice rasped to silence, unable to give voice to what we all suspected. "I keep telling myself I'm moving forward, but every morning I wake up in the same places, walk the same halls, see the same reminders. Maybe it's time I actually move on instead of just pretending to."
I searched his face, seeing the grief he kept so carefully compartmentalized beneath the surface. "You don't have to run away from it."
"I'm not running away," he said quietly. "I'm running toward something. Something that matters."
