Book 1 - Chapter 1 - The Call

CHAPTER ONE

THE CALL

The first warning did not come from the stars.

It came from the silence.

At 02:17 Cove Island time, every navigation beacon surrounding the island vanished from the Asteria’s tactical display.

There was no explosion. No alarm preceded the failure. No enemy vessel appeared beyond the atmosphere. The stars remained exactly where they belonged, glittering over the dark ocean like distant fragments of ice.

Yet aboard the Asteria, hundreds of systems died almost simultaneously.

Yuki opened her eyes.

She had been asleep for less than two hours.

The black cat remained still for a moment, listening.

A spacecraft was never truly quiet. Even while resting in its hangar above Cove Island, the Asteria breathed through ventilation shafts, cooling pumps, power converters, gravity regulators, and thousands of smaller mechanisms that formed a mechanical heartbeat beneath its decks.

Now that heartbeat was wrong.

Not absent.

Interrupted.

Yuki rose from her bunk.

Her golden eyes adjusted immediately to the darkness.

Then the emergency lights came on.

Deep red illumination spread across the cabin.

A second later, three dull impacts traveled through the ship.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Yuki’s ears lifted.

Not impacts.

Pulses.

She waited.

Two more followed.

Thump. Thump.

Then three again.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Three.

Two.

Three.

Yuki was already moving.

The doors to the bridge opened manually because the automatic system had stopped recognizing command authorization.

Yuki stepped through wearing only the lighter layer of her royal-blue and gold PLA armor. She had fastened the chest protection while walking and had not bothered with the ceremonial cape.

The bridge was illuminated by emergency strips and the pale glow of independent displays.

Briar stood at the operations station.

The black-and-white tuxedo cat had arrived before her. His black nose and dark facial markings were unmistakable even beneath the red emergency lighting. Purple-and-gold tactical armor covered his shoulders and chest.

He did not look away from the console.

“Primary network is gone.”

“Destroyed?”

“No.”

That made Yuki stop.

Briar finally looked at her.

“Disconnected.”

Across the bridge, Kepi was half underneath an open engineering console.

Only his hind legs and red cloak were visible.

“Before anyone asks,” he called from beneath the panel, “I did not break it.”

Tokyo entered behind Yuki.

The orange tabby carried one boot in his mouth and was trying to fasten a piece of green-and-gold armor while walking.

He dropped the boot.

“That’s exactly what someone says when they break something.”

Kepi slid backward from beneath the console.

His pink nose was almost touching a bundle of exposed optical lines.

“I was asleep.”

“Very sophisticated alibi.”

“Tokyo.”

“Yes?”

“Be useful.”

Tokyo picked up his boot.

“I was being useful. Morale.”

Despite herself, Yuki felt the corner of her mouth move.

Then another sequence traveled through the ship.

Three.

A pause.

Two.

A longer pause.

Three.

The humor disappeared.

Margarito stood near the rear entrance.

No one had seen him arrive.

The tuxedo cat’s blue eyes were fixed not on the consoles but somewhere beyond them.

Yuki knew that expression.

“Margarito?”

He did not answer immediately.

His breathing had changed.

The psychic warrior slowly raised his head.

“That’s not coming from the ship.”

Briar’s paws moved across the local controls.

“We’ve checked external contact.”

“I’m not talking about radio.”

Yuki approached him.

“What are you sensing?”

Margarito closed his eyes.

Nothing happened for several seconds.

Then he opened them sharply.

“Someone is watching.”

Tokyo glanced toward the windows.

“From where?”

Margarito stared into the darkness beyond the bridge.

“I don’t know.”

The failure spread across Cove Island within six minutes.

Civilian communication networks stopped exchanging identity credentials. Automated transportation entered local safety mode. Harbor drones returned to their stations. Three hospitals lost access to shared diagnostic databases but continued operating on internal systems.

Power remained stable.

Water continued flowing.

Aircraft stayed in the sky.

Whatever was happening was strangely selective.

It was not destroying Cove.

It was separating it.

Kepi projected a map across the central table.

Dozens of systems appeared as isolated islands of light.

“Every major network still works internally,” he explained. “But they have stopped trusting one another.”

Yuki studied the pattern.

“Cyberattack?”

“Not one I’ve ever seen.”

“Creator technology?”

“No evidence.”

“Green Snakes?”

Kepi shook his head.

“They’d leave signatures. So would the Directorate.”

Briar enlarged the orbital network.

“The satellites aren’t damaged either. They simply stopped sharing.”

Tokyo finally had both boots on.

“Can we reconnect them?”

Kepi gave him a look.

“Of course.”

Tokyo smiled.

“Excellent.”

“I didn’t say we should.”

The smile faded.

Kepi pointed toward the network architecture.

“Whatever caused this knew exactly where the connections were. If I restore everything without understanding why it disconnected, I might be rebuilding the pathway it wanted.”

Yuki nodded.

“Keep the systems isolated.”

Briar looked toward her.

“That means no unified defense grid.”

“For now.”

“Orbital response time increases.”

“I know.”

Briar held her gaze for another second, then accepted the order.

“Local defense only.”

He transmitted the instruction.

No argument.

No wasted movement.

That was Briar.

Yuki turned toward Margarito.

He was still listening to something no one else could hear.

“Anything?”

“The pulse.”

“Three-two-three?”

He nodded.

“It’s repeating.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t know.”

That answer disturbed Yuki more than any explanation could have.

Margarito usually sensed emotion before language. Fear. Aggression. Deception. Intent.

But this signal seemed to have none.

No anger.

No urgency.

No plea for help.

Only presence.

Kepi suddenly froze.

“Wait.”

His paws moved rapidly across the engineering console.

“What?” Briar asked.

“The sequence isn’t only external.”

Yuki approached.

“Explain.”

Kepi pulled up a diagnostic history.

“The Asteria received the first three-two-three pulse at 02:17.”

“We know.”

“No. We detected it at 02:17.”

He enlarged an older system log.

“The ship recorded it before that.”

Silence settled over the bridge.

Tokyo leaned closer.

“How much before?”

Kepi stared at the timestamp.

“Seventeen years.”

No one spoke.

Yuki’s tail stopped moving.

“That’s impossible.”

“I agree.”

“But?”

“It’s there.”

Kepi opened another archive.

Then another.

The same sequence appeared.

Buried inside maintenance logs.

Navigation corrections.

Old power fluctuations.

Files created years before the Asteria had been commissioned.

Briar’s expression hardened.

“Those records couldn’t have originated aboard this ship.”

“They didn’t.”

Kepi looked toward Yuki.

“They were imported.”

“From where?”

Kepi hesitated.

“Cove Island.”

The chamber was beneath the oldest section of the PLA complex.

No digital blueprint showed it.

No construction record acknowledged it.

The entrance had been concealed behind a structural wall built long before Yuki had taken command.

They found it because the three-two-three pulse grew stronger as Margarito moved through the lower levels.

Yuki had ordered the team small.

Herself.

Margarito.

Kepi.

Briar.

Tokyo.

Pip joined them without asking.

The Paranormal Mouse carried a mechanical lantern almost as large as his torso and a leather satchel filled with paper notebooks.

Kepi looked down at him.

“Why paper?”

Pip adjusted the satchel.

“Because the computers are behaving strangely.”

“Reasonable.”

“I enjoy being reasonable occasionally.”

Tokyo leaned toward Kepi.

“He’s been spending too much time with you.”

They descended.

The air changed first.

Cooler.

Older.

The polished alloy corridors of the modern PLA complex gave way to stone reinforced with ancient metal supports.

Pip stopped beside one wall.

He touched it.

“This wasn’t built by the PLA.”

Yuki examined the markings carved into the stone.

“How old?”

“I’d prefer not to guess.”

Tokyo looked at him.

“You always guess.”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve learned not to.”

They continued.

At the end of the passage stood a circular door.

No control panel.

No lock.

Nine symbols had been carved around its edge.

Yuki stepped closer.

She recognized several.

Cove.

Nihara.

Kaelus.

Others belonged to worlds she knew only from fragmented archives.

Margarito approached slowly.

His eyes moved around the circle.

“Nine.”

Kepi counted.

“Nine.”

Pip lifted the lantern.

“No.”

They looked at him.

The mouse pointed toward the center of the door.

There was another symbol there.

Fainter.

Almost erased.

A tenth.

Tokyo’s ears lowered.

“What does that represent?”

Pip stared at it.

“I don’t know.”

Margarito suddenly staggered.

Yuki caught him.

His claws scraped against the stone floor.

“Margarito.”

He looked at her, but for one terrible instant Yuki had the feeling he was seeing someone else.

A child.

A laboratory.

White walls.

A voice.

Then he whispered a word.

“Aren.”

Yuki tightened her grip.

“What?”

Margarito blinked.

Confusion replaced recognition.

“I don’t know.”

The chamber trembled.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

The nine outer symbols illuminated simultaneously.

Blue-white light spread through the ancient carvings.

Kepi backed away.

“I didn’t touch anything.”

Tokyo drew his weapon.

Briar had already drawn his.

Yuki kept one paw against Margarito’s shoulder.

The tenth symbol remained dark.

Then letters appeared across the center of the door.

Not projected.

Not carved.

They formed inside the material itself.

Pip stepped forward and read them aloud.

“Nine connections do not produce a tenth world.”

The sentence vanished.

Another replaced it.

“They produce a shared state.”

Nobody moved.

Tokyo lowered his weapon slightly.

“I preferred it when the door didn’t talk.”

A sound came from behind them.

Three knocks.

Then two.

Then three.

Everyone turned.

Nothing stood in the corridor.

Briar aimed into the darkness.

“Movement?”

“None,” Kepi answered.

Margarito whispered, “It’s here.”

Yuki looked toward him.

“What is?”

His blue eyes reflected the light from the door.

“The thing that’s been watching.”

Across Cove Island, systems began returning by themselves.

One after another.

Hospitals.

Transportation.

Communications.

Navigation.

Orbital defense.

Every network restored exactly as it had been before the interruption.

Kepi’s communicator activated.

He looked at the message.

“Everything is back.”

Yuki did not relax.

“Without intervention?”

“Yes.”

“Any changes?”

Kepi checked.

Then stopped.

“One.”

The chamber door opened.

Beyond it was not another room.

There were stars.

An impossible field of stars extended where solid rock should have existed.

Nine points of light burned brighter than the rest.

One for each symbol.

Then a tenth glow appeared between them.

Not a star.

Not a planet.

Something forming from the relationship among the others.

Pip opened his notebook.

His small paw trembled slightly as he wrote.

Margarito stepped closer to Yuki.

Neither touched the doorway.

Yuki stared into the impossible sky.

A voice emerged from the chamber.

Soft.

Female.

Familiar.

“Yuki.”

Her blood went cold.

Briar looked at her.

“You recognize the voice?”

Yuki did.

But she could not understand how.

She had heard it in dreams she had never told anyone about.

The voice returned.

“Yuki, if you can hear me, there isn’t much time.”

A shape appeared among the stars.

White fur.

Turquoise eyes.

A female cat.

Older.

Scarred.

Her image flickered as though transmitted across an impossible distance.

“My name is Selene.”

Yuki stared at her.

The stranger looked directly back.

Then she said the words that would change everything.

“I am your sister.”

Yuki forgot the chamber.

Forgot the weapons.

Forgot the stars.

For several seconds, even the mysterious tenth light seemed insignificant.

“I don’t have a sister.”

Selene’s expression tightened.

“I know that’s what they told you.”

“Who?”

The image destabilized.

Pip moved closer.

“Signal degradation.”

Kepi looked at him.

“That’s not a signal.”

“Then whatever it is, it’s degrading.”

Selene glanced behind herself.

Something was happening on her side.

Something Yuki could not see.

She faced Yuki again.

“Listen to me. Project Aurelia wasn’t destroyed.”

Yuki’s eyes narrowed.

The name meant nothing.

And yet something inside her recoiled from it.

Selene continued.

“They found the Heart.”

The tenth light brightened.

“They’re trying to finish what Aurelia started.”

“Who are they?”

Selene’s image fractured.

“Don’t trust the system when it tells you the connection is necessary.”

Yuki stepped toward the doorway.

“Selene.”

“Don’t let them choose for you.”

“Who?”

Selene was disappearing.

“Selene!”

The white cat’s final words crossed the chamber through a storm of static.

“Don’t let them finish the Tenth.”

Her image vanished.

The doorway slammed shut.

Darkness returned.

For one second no one moved.

Then every alarm on Kepi’s equipment activated at once.

He stared down at the readings.

“Yuki.”

“What?”

His expression had changed.

Not fear.

Something worse.

Recognition.

“Nine simultaneous energy signatures.”

“Where?”

He raised his eyes.

“Nine different worlds.”

The chamber pulsed again.

Three.

Two.

Three.

Pip slowly closed his notebook.

Briar looked toward Yuki.

Tokyo stopped joking.

Margarito stood beside her, staring at the tenth symbol.

Yuki approached the sealed door.

She placed one paw against the ancient surface.

It was warm.

The tenth symbol illuminated beneath her touch.

And somewhere far beyond Cove Island, something answered.

For the first time in thousands of years, all nine Gates began to open.

And between them, something that had never been a world began to awaken.

The Tenth had heard the call.