The last pursuing ship dissolved into atoms, molecular disruptors leaving nothing but empty space. That made three for three—a perfect run that should have felt satisfying.
Instead, as we completed our approach to Grokkies Station, every instinct screamed danger when four Grokkies warships materialized around us like predators circling prey.
"Look, baby," Lyra purred from the co-pilot seat. "Bigger ships. They're here to save you."
I kept my hands steady on the Nightshade's controls, but my mind raced through possibilities. The Grokkies shouldn't have known I was coming. This route was random, my decision made on impulse after ignoring my father. Unless...
"Someone's plotting behind the scenes," I muttered, watching their weapons track us without firing. "And yeah, we're dancing to their tune."
Commander Zyx'ara's face materialized on the main screen. "Lord Raven. Someone wishes to speak with you. Urgently." Her four arms gestured formally. "They said it concerns your uncle."
My blood chilled. "Patch them through."
"They insist on privacy, my lord. Station-side. Secure channels only."
Of course they did. Because nothing about this was suspicious at all.
"Fine." I began docking procedures, noting how their defense grid helpfully guided me in. "But if this is a trap, I'm taking the station with me."
"Understood, my lord." Zyx'ara's scales went full purple. Good. Fear was appropriate.
---
The secure communication room was a sterile box deep in Grokkies Station's diplomatic quarter. No windows, no decoration, just walls lined with enough signal dampeners to block divine intervention. Zyx'ara gestured me inside and sealed the door, leaving me alone with a single holo-projector.
When it activated, my uncle's face materialized, and my gut clenched hard enough to hurt.
Marcus looked rough. Not tortured, but definitely stressed—his usually appearance disheveled, dark circles under his eyes. But it was his expression that worried me most—forced casual, like a man with a gun to his head trying to act natural.
"Wassup, boy." Even his greeting sounded wrong, missing his usual cocky energy.
"Uncle." I kept my voice neutral, studying every piece of the transmission. "Heard you were captured."
"Yeah, well." He shifted, and I caught a glimpse of restraint marks on his wrists. "Victor's hospitality leaves much to be desired. The wine selection is particularly offensive."
"Where are you?"
"That's the million-credit question, isn't it?" He leaned forward, and that's when I saw it—his hands moving in subtle patterns against his thighs. Imperial family code, the secret language drilled into every royal child before they could walk properly.
But the message his fingers tapped had nothing to do with his words.
Spy. Your unit. Trust no one new.
"I need you to come get me, nephew," he continued aloud, voice steady while his hands screamed warnings. "Bring your team. Show of force. Victor respects strength."
His fingers kept moving, spelling out something that made my blood freeze.
Trap. Stay away. Rodriguez.
Rodriguez. The ex-mercenary who'd joined my unit literally yesterday. How the fuck did Marcus know about him? If he was really captured, he shouldn't have access to any intelligence about my personnel changes.
"I'll consider it," I said carefully, keeping my expression bored while my mind raced. "Send coordinates."
"Already done." His smile was all teeth, no warmth. "Encrypted to your personal channel. Be seeing you, nephew."
"Uncle—" I started, but the transmission cut, leaving me staring at empty air and fighting the urge to punch something.
---
"You look like someone pissed in your wine," Lyra observed as I stormed back into the Nightshade. She'd made herself comfortable in my captain's chair, legs draped over one armrest in a way that was definitely intentional.
"Marcus is definitely captured." I slumped into the co-pilot seat, mind still processing. "And he just warned me about something that should be impossible for him to know."
"Which is?" She tilted her head, genuinely curious.
I almost told her. The words were right there, ready to spill out. But Marcus's warning echoed: Trust no one new. And Lyra, for all her appeal, was definitely new.
"Doesn't matter. I'm going after him."
"Alone?" She laughed. "That's adorable. And stupid. Adorably stupid."
"I can handle—"
"You can handle dying spectacularly." She swung her legs down and leaned forward, her perfume doing dangerous things to my concentration. "Which helps no one. Your uncle included."
"Then what do you suggest, Princess?"
"Wait for your unit. Use them as intended." Her smile turned sharp. "Unless you don't trust them? Is that what dear uncle warned you about?"
The question hung between us. She was too perceptive, too quick to guess. Another reason not to trust her completely.
"I trust them fine," I lied. "But time might be a factor."
"Time is always a factor." She stood, moving with that predatory grace. "But rushing into an obvious trap just makes you obviously dead. Besides..." She paused, considering. "Perhaps your uncle isn't as captured as he appears. Have you considered that, Lord Raven? That he might be playing his own game?"
That thought had occurred to me, but hearing her voice it made it more real.
"Either way," she continued, "rushing in without information is exactly what someone wants you to do. The question is: who?"
She had a point. Damn her.
"Fine. We wait for Shadow Squadron."
"Good boy." She headed for her quarters. "Wake me when you decide to do something interesting. Watching you brood is only entertaining for so long."
---
[Next Day - Grokkies Station Docking Bay]
The military transport settled onto Landing Pad Seven with textbook precision. I watched from the observation deck, noting every detail as Shadow Squadron disembarked. They moved well—fluid, coordinated, alert. The training had stuck.
Meus led them, professional perfection in motion despite the way her eyes immediately searched for me. The slight relaxation in her shoulders when she spotted me would have been invisible to anyone who didn't know her tells.
"Commander Meus," I acknowledged as she approached, surprised despite myself. "Thought you'd still be at base. Fast transport?"
"Emergency protocols," she replied crisply. "Your father authorized a rapid-deployment shuttle when we lost contact with you."
That explained it—and raised new questions about the Emperor's involvement.
Behind her, my chosen ten filed out in order. Rodriguez—my appointed second—moved with the confidence of someone used to command. Nothing suspicious' No nervous tics, no excessive observation, no trying too hard to blend in. Which made him perfect for it.
"Sir!" They snapped to attention as I approached, the sound echoing in the hangar.
"At ease." I studied each face, wondering which one would put a knife in my back. Wondering if it was just Rodriguez or if Marcus's warning went deeper. "Good flight?"
"Eventful," Meus said. Her tone was neutral, but something in her eyes suggested 'eventful' was understating things. "We need to talk. Privately."
"Later. First, briefing on the situation." I gestured toward the ready room I'd commandeered. "Everyone. We have a rescue mission to plan."
---
The briefing room's holo-projector cast Marcus's image in shimmering light. I'd edited the loop to show just enough—his haggard appearance, the obvious captivity, the plea for rescue. His hands were visible, signing their desperate warning for anyone who knew how to read it.
"Our objective is retrieving Lord Marcus," I said, pretending to study tactical data on my personal screen while actually watching my squad's faces. "Victor Kronos has him. Location unknown, but we have leads."
Most of the squadron watched Marcus's face, focused on his words. Davies squinted at the restraint marks. Chen looked personally offended by the captivity. But Rodriguez...
Rodriguez's eyes tracked Marcus's hands.
It was subtle—the slight widening of pupils when the family code started, the way his breathing changed when Marcus signed his name. He caught himself quickly, forcing his gaze back to Marcus's face, but I'd seen enough.
Gotcha, you bastard.
"Questions?" I asked, keeping my voice bored.
"Sir," Chen's hand shot up like an eager student. "How do we find him without coordinates?"
"Working on that." I killed the projection. "For now, prep for extended deployment. Unknown environment, assume hostile. Dismissed." I paused. "Rodriguez, stay behind. Need to review your infiltration experience."
The others filed out. Meus hesitated at the door, her look asking if I needed backup. I shook my head slightly. She frowned but left, closing the door with a soft click.
When we were alone, I pulled up the video again, zooming in on Marcus's hands. "Notice anything interesting about that message?"
"Sir?" His confusion was perfect. If I hadn't seen his tell, I'd have bought it completely.
"The hand movements." I kept my tone casual, curious. "Thought I saw something. You've got experience with codes from your merc days. Take a look."
He leaned forward, and I watched him calculate odds. Admit to seeing something and risk exposure? Or play dumb and hope I was fishing?
"Actually, sir..." He chose middle ground. "Those do look like deliberate movements. Could be nerve damage, but..."
"But?"
"Might be some kind of signal. Navigation maybe? I've seen smugglers use hand codes for coordinates."
Smooth. Deflecting without denying, offering an alternative explanation. He was good.
"Interesting theory." I stood, moving to the weapons locker beside the table. "Let me replay it. Watch his thumb specifically."
The projection looped. Marcus's thumb clearly tapped out 'S-P-Y' in Imperial code. Rodriguez's shoulders tensed minutely.
"See it?" I asked, casually removing my sidearm and checking its charge. Standard captain behavior—always verify equipment.
"I... maybe? Could be random muscle spasms."
"Could be." I set the weapon on the table between us, pointed in his general direction. Not a direct threat, but a presence impossible to ignore. "Or it could be something more deliberate. Something only certain people would recognize."
Rodriguez's eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to me. "Sir, I don't—"
"What would you say if I told you it looked like code to me?" I leaned forward. "Imperial code, maybe?"
"I don't know Imperial codes!" His voice cracked perfectly, fear bleeding through. "I swear, Lord Raven. I'm just seeing patterns that might not even be there!"
"Really?" I tapped the table beside the gun. "Because you tracked those movements like you were reading a book. You recognized something."
"I—" He swallowed hard. "Maybe I've seen similar movements before? In crowds, sometimes nobles make gestures... I notice patterns, it's part of survival as a merc, but I don't know what they mean!"
I held his gaze for ten more seconds, feeling him sweat. His story was plausible. His fear felt real. But that tell when he'd first seen the code...
Then I laughed, sliding the weapon back into its holster. "Just fucking with you! Wanted to see how you handle pressure." I clapped his shoulder as he sagged with relief. "Can't have my second cracking under interrogation, can I?"
"No, sir." He managed a smile. "Though maybe next time use a sim?"
"Where's the fun in that?" I headed for the door. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we plan a rescue that's definitely a trap."
"Sir?" He stood, still unsteady. "If it's a trap..."
"Then we spring it with style." I grinned. "Dismissed, Rodriguez. And good job not pissing yourself. That's leadership material right there."
---
I made it three corridors before ducking into an empty storage room, sealing the door behind me. My hands were shaking—not from fear, but from rage.
Rodriguez had recognized that code. I was sure of it. But he'd maintained his cover even with implied threats, which meant he was either very good or very motivated. Probably both.
The real question was how Marcus knew. If he was truly captured, he shouldn't have any intel on my personnel. Which meant either he wasn't as captured as he appeared, or...
Or someone wanted me to know about Rodriguez. Wanted me suspicious and paranoid, second-guessing my own unit.
"Fuck," I muttered, punching the wall. The station's systems flickered in response, lights dimming with my anger. Security cameras swiveled toward me before jerking away, as if confused by conflicting commands.
The technology connection was growing stronger, responding to emotions I couldn't fully control. Another problem for another day.
A soft chime from my personal communicator made me freeze. New message, encryption pattern I didn't recognize. Not Imperial. Not Grokkies. Something else entirely.
The spy passed your test. The real game begins tomorrow. Victor sends his regards.
No signature. No trace code. Just words that confirmed my worst suspicions and raised a hundred new questions.
Victor knew about my test? Or someone wanted me to think Victor knew?
I wasn't playing chess. I was a piece on someone else's board, being moved according to plans I couldn't see. Rodriguez was meant to be found, but not exposed. Why?
Tomorrow, I'd have to plan a rescue mission with a team I couldn't trust, save an uncle who might be compromised, and face an enemy who might not even be the real threat.
Just another day in the life of a transmigrated villain.
But first, I needed a drink. And maybe Meus. Definitely Meus. At least with her, I knew exactly where I stood.
Or thought I did, until I opened my door to find her waiting, expression grim.
"We need to talk," she said quietly. "About the code your uncle was using."
Well, shit.