As the ship's lighting shifted to evening mode, the door chimed again.

  Cornelius entered, this time carrying a tray. Food. Or what passed for real food on a military vessel. Something that smelled like roasted meat, vegetables that might have been grown hydroponically, and bread that was probably replicated but looked fresh.

  "Dinner," he said simply. "Eating alone is bad for the digestion, and worse for the spirit. I thought you might appreciate company."

  My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since before the pirate attack. It felt like an eternity ago.

  "Stay," I said. "Please."

  He set the tray on the dining table and took a seat across from me. He didn't rush. Didn't press. Just waited.

  "She'll recover," he said after a moment. "Doctor Chen is excellent."

  I nodded and we started eating.

  "I should explain what I'm doing here," Cornelius said as he served us both. "As I said earlier, I'm not Navy. I'm with the Ecclesiarch. That's the Imperial body that oversees religious matters."

  "There's a government department for religion?"

  "An ecumenical council, technically. Very old. Established in the early days of the Empire." He paused to pour something that might have been wine. "The Empire hosts a half-dozen of faiths. The Ecclesiarch ensures they coexist peacefully. All recognized churches must acknowledge certain principles: the dignity of sentient life, that spiritual truth need not be universally enforced, and that no faith may legally persecute another."

  "That sounds surprisingly civilized."

  "The alternative was religious war. The founders chose a different path."

  I took a sip. Definitely wine. Good wine.

  "Faith is not really my thing. You'll have to excuse my ignorance."

  "Vassal states are usually sheltered from the complexities of Imperial theology. Let me give you the short version. If you plan on getting citizenship, you’ll need to know the players."

  He took another sip of wine, dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin, and continued.

  "The Church of Omniversal Consciousness is the senior faith. The founding dynasty's tradition," Cornelius explained. "They believe all sentient beings share a connection through what they call Unimanity. Empathy, patient understanding, non-coercive dialogue." He smiled slightly. "They're the moral compass. Also, critics say, occasionally paralyzed by their own purity.

  "The Sons of Man are warriors who believe humanity has a sacred destiny. Martial chaplains, mostly. Strong ties to the military, though the Emperor personally dislikes them. They have problematic views on non-human species."

  *Noted. Avoid the Sons of Man.*

  "The Church of the Glorious Will pursues enlightenment through action and duty. They run disaster relief, medical missions. The Church of the Inner Light handles the softer aspects of human need. Pleasure, aesthetics, counseling. They’ve reformed from a rather scandalous history, though the reputation lingers. Along with the Church of Enlightened Knowledge, they form the major faiths. There are a few minor ones, but I won't bore you with that."

  "What does the Church of Enlightened Knowledge stand for?"

  His expression became carefully neutral.

  "They pursue spiritual enlightenment through understand of the universe. So science and experimentation. Many are researchers, educators. They have close ties with the Scholarium." A pause. "They are also under extra scrutiny from the Ecclesiarch. Their pursuit of knowledge sometimes outpaces their ethical considerations."

  Something cold settled in my stomach. I wasn't sure why.

  "One more thing you should know. The churches hold a legal monopoly on psionic training. Only chartered faiths may teach or license psionic abilities." He met my eyes. "This is very important. Unlicensed psionics are treated very seriously by Imperial law."

  "Good to know. Though I don't have any psionic abilities."

  "No," he agreed. "But you do have something else."

  His expression became carefully neutral.

  "Which brings me to why I was sent to find you."

  The wine suddenly tasted sour.

  "I won't insult your intelligence by beating around the bush." Cornelius set down his fork. His eyes met mine. "I know you're from another universe. Another reality entirely."

  I stopped chewing. The roasted meat suddenly tasted like cardboard.

  "About a month and a half ago, a research facility on a planet called Torvin's Rest suffered a catastrophic failure. Twenty thousand people died instantly. One million more were left catatonic. Their minds were simply... erased. The psionic surge was detected across the entire Empire. Every sensitive felt it."

  *The date could match.* I ran simple calculations in my mind. *Yeah. It feels like it matches.*

  "The facility belonged to a faction within one of the churches. Radicals who believe no ethical boundary should limit the pursuit of truth. They were conducting experiments that had been explicitly forbidden." He paused. "They succeeded in opening a portal to another universe. That psionic surge I mentioned. There was consciousness in it."

  "And you think I'm that consciousness."

  "Yes. I do."

  "The faction's leadership is searching for what came through. They are trying to hide their involvement in the disaster. But the prize is too big; they can't help themselves. Instead of laying low, they are desperately searching for their experiment subject." His smile had no warmth. "The Ecclesiarch has been tracking their movements. I was sent to find you before they did."

  "Why?"

  "To assess your intentions. To determine if you're a threat or a victim. To protect you, if possible." He spread his hands. "And, I admit, to learn what I can about where you came from."

  "You're wrong." The words came automatically. "I'm just a pilot. Nothing special."

  Cornelius shook his head gently.

  "You're broadcasting, Nicolas. Right now." He tapped the side of his head. "To a trained sensitive, you feel like static on a clear channel. Like a signal from very far away, carrying information in a language I don't quite understand. It’s... loud."

  *Shit.*

  "You can hide the truth from Captain Ventari; she has no psionic potential. But you cannot hide from someone who knows what to listen for."

  I stared at him for a long moment.

  *Rosalia told me not to tell anyone. She was very clear.*

  *But he already knows. He knows everything except the details.*

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  *And if there are people hunting me... i will need help.*

  "Alright," I said finally. "Alright. I'll tell you everything."

  And I did.

  --- oOo ---

  I barely slept.

  Seraphine had come by again, late in the evening. Brief. Professional. Asking the same questions with less intensity, like she was doing it out of diligence, even though she knew it wouldn't bear fruit.

  At one point, I'd made a terrible joke. Something stupid about asteroid fields and interior decorating. And for just a second, her mask had cracked. A flash of something that might have been a smile. The corner of her mouth twitching upward before she caught herself.

  *She has a sense of humor. Buried under all that ice, there's actually a person in there.*

  I kept thinking about her after she left. The way the corridor lights caught her hair. The precision of her movements. The intelligence in her eyes. Always analyzing, always assessing. The absolute dedication to her duty, her crew, her mission.

  *Smart. Lethal. And somehow, despite running a battleship, she still laughed at a bad asteroid joke.*

  I liked her. Actually, genuinely liked her. And that was a problem, because according to Cornelius, I was broadcasting my emotions like a beacon.

  *Every time I think about how attractive she is, she probably knows.*

  *Every single time.*

  I groaned and flopped onto the bed, burying my head in the pillow.

  *This is not the time.*

  --- oOo ---

  The door opened mid-morning.

  Rosalia walked through under her own power. Slowly. Carefully. But *walking*, without assistance, without the grey pallor she'd had before.

  "You're okay," I said, and the relief in my voice was embarrassing even to me.

  "I am functional." She moved to the couch, lowering herself with obvious care. "Doctor Chen's work was excellent. The regeneration treatments are still settling, but the critical damage has been repaired."

  I resisted the urge to hug her. She didn't seem like the hugging type, and she was probably still sore.

  "You scared the hell out of me."

  "Yes." Her eyes met mine. "I understand you had some interesting conversations while I was unconscious."

  "So." Rosalia settled back against the cushions, wincing slightly. "Tell me about your interrogation sessions with Captain Ventari."

  "She pressed hard. Questions about the ship, the technology, where it all came from." I paused. "I didn't tell her anything about the origins. Stonewalled on all of it."

  "And she accepted it? I'm surprised you are here and not in the brig."

  "I gave her the flight recordings. Everything from both pirate encounters. It seemed like a reasonable compromise. She gets data on how the systems perform, but not where they came from."

  To my complete surprise, Rosalia laughed.

  Not a polite chuckle. An actual laugh, though she cut it short with a wince and pressed a hand to her ribs.

  "You... think that's funny?"

  "Nicolas." She was still smiling, despite the obvious discomfort. "Before we left Hyperion Deep, I did some research on mercenary procedures. Standard practice in the guild."

  "Okay..."

  "It is common. No, it's expected, for mercenaries to provide their unedited flight recordings to authorities after completing a mission. It serves as proof of mission success. Evidence for bounty claims on pirates. Verification that contracts were fulfilled as specified." She shook her head slightly. "You gave her exactly what any licensed mercenary would have been required to provide anyway."

  I stared at her. "I didn't know that."

  "Obviously." But her tone was warm, not mocking. "You stumbled into the correct protocol entirely by accident."

  "So I didn't actually give away anything we wouldn't have had to share eventually?"

  "Not really. The recordings are valuable intelligence, certainly. But they were never going to remain private once we entered Imperial space and registered as mercenaries." She studied me for a moment. "I am genuinely impressed that you managed not to drool over the Eluan and babble everything. I half-expected to wake up and find you'd told her your entire life story in exchange for a smile."

  "I... thanks? I think?"

  "It is a compliment. Take it."

  The almost-smile faded.

  "There's something else," I said.

  Her expression sharpened immediately.

  "Brother Svenlock. The Church liaison. Cornelius." I took a breath. "He came to see me yesterday. He already knew. About me. About where I came from. He explained how. There was some kind of incident, a psionic event, he detected me the moment I came aboard..."

  "Nicolas." Her voice was very quiet. "What did you tell him?"

  "...Everything."

  The silence stretched.

  "I have not met this Brother Svenlock," Rosalia said carefully. "I only know what you are telling me now. So let me understand: a stranger approached you, claimed to have secret knowledge, and you confirmed every detail of your origin?"

  "He already knew," I said defensively. "He told me about an experiment gone wrong." I took a deep breath. "Some mad scientists open a portal to another reality that brought me here. It was big news, thousands dead, millions in a coma. And apparently, that faction is looking for me. He knew I wasn't from this universe. He said he could feel the psionic static I'm apparently emitting. What was I supposed to do, keep lying when he already had the answers?"

  "Yes." Her voice was flat. "That is exactly what you were supposed to do."

  "But..."

  "He *might* have known. He might have been guessing. He might have been testing you with partial information to see if you would confirm his suspicions." She rubbed her temples. "You are too trusting, Nicolas. That is a dangerous quality in this universe."

  "He wasn't bluffing. I'm sure of it. He was... very convincing."

  "Perhaps." Rosalia didn't look convinced. "Or perhaps he is extremely skilled at extracting information from people who assume the best of others." She sighed. "What is done is done. I cannot undo your choices. But in the future, please remember: confirmation of a suspicion is not the same as proving it. You handed him certainty when he might only have had speculation."

  I wanted to argue. But she wasn't wrong.

  "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

  "I know you did." Her voice softened slightly. "That is what makes it so frustrating. You are a good person, Nicolas. But good people often make for poor survivors."

  *Ouch.*

  "We're still alive," I pointed out.

  "Yes." She leaned back, wincing slightly at the movement. "We are."

  It wasn't forgiveness. But it was something.

  "There's something I've been thinking about," I said after a moment. "Something I need to tell you."

  "More confessions?"

  "More like... context." I rubbed the back of my neck. "In the game. Life Among the Stars. The game I played before I came here. I was what they called a hardcore player. Thirteen years of dedicated grinding. I had the best of everything."

  She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  "Raid loot. Legendary crafting recipes. Materials that took months to farm, that most players could only dream of owning. My ship, my station, my equipment. All of it was top-tier. End-game content that maybe one percent of players ever achieved."

  "And this matters because...?"

  "Because all of that translated here." I gestured vaguely toward where the *Mahkkra* was docked. "My game equipment became real equipment. My virtual achievements became actual technology. And what was 'the best gear in the game' turns out to be 'experimental or theoretical military hardware that shouldn't exist.'"

  Rosalia was quiet for a long moment, processing.

  "So the technology Seraphine is so curious about..."

  "Is the equivalent of unique drops. Stuff most people never see. Prototypes that, in this universe, haven't even been invented yet." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I spent thirteen years building the perfect virtual spaceship. Turns out that makes me extremely interesting to people I really don't want to be interesting to."

  "The faction hunting you."

  "And Seraphine. And probably anyone else who sees what the *Mahkkra* can do." I slumped back into the couch. "Being a dedicated gamer is causing me way more problems than I ever expected."

  Rosalia was silent for several seconds.

  "This is... significant," she said finally. "The implications are considerable. If everything you achieved in your game manifested as equivalent technology here..."

  "Then I'm walking around with a target painted on my back. Everything I own screams 'investigate me.'"

  "Yes." She rubbed her ear with her thumb, her thinking gesture. "This requires careful consideration. We need to decide how to proceed. What to reveal, what to hide, how to explain what cannot be hidden."

  "I don't have answers yet."

  "Neither do I." She met my eyes. "We should sleep on it. Both of us. We will discuss options once we have had time to think properly. Decisions made in haste tend to be decisions we regret."

  I nodded slowly.

  *She's right. We need a plan. A real plan, not just stumbling from crisis to crisis.*

  "For now," Rosalia continued, "we wait. We recover. We learn what we can about our situation and our options." A slight smile. "And you try very hard not to broadcast your attraction to Captain Ventari quite so loudly."

  "I'm not..."

  "You are. Even I can tell, and I have almost no psionic sensitivity." The smile widened fractionally. "If Brother Svenlock is correct, every sensitive you meet knows exactly how you feel about her."

  *Oh god.*

  "This is fine," I said weakly. "Probably?"

  "It is not fine. But it is manageable." She settled deeper into the cushions. "For now, rest. Think. And tomorrow, we begin planning in earnest."

  I looked out the viewport at the stars, at the debris field that had nearly killed us, at the vast Imperial warship that had become our temporary prison and refuge.

  *Somewhere out there, people are hunting me. My ship is a beacon of impossible technology. And I'm apparently broadcasting my emotions to every psychic in range.*

  *But Rosalia is alive. We have allies... Maybe. And we're still here.*

  *One problem at a time. We'll figure out the rest.*

  I hoped I was right.