"An empire is strongest at the center and weakest at the edges. The problem is knowing which one you're standing on." — Unknown
Deep space was mostly boring.
People on planets never seemed to get that.
They looked up at night and saw wonder. Infinity. The great open question.
Allen the Alien saw travel time.
Weeks of it.
He flew with his arms forward and his eye narrowed against a wind that did not, technically, exist. Old habit. Even physics couldn't talk him out of it.
Earth was somewhere behind him. Too far to pick out from any of the other stars.
Talescria was somewhere ahead. Not yet visible. Close enough that he had stopped thinking about the trip and started thinking about the report.
That was the problem.
The report.
The Coalition got weird reports all the time. Genocides. Coups. Colony collapses. Wildcard civilizations discovering FTL two centuries before they could handle it and immediately using it to make somebody else's month worse.
This was different.
There was a Viltrumite on Earth.
Standard.
Bad, but standard.
The strange part was that the Viltrumite's son was also a Viltrumite. Half. And the son didn't give a single damn about the Empire. And then the father — an actual, full-blooded Viltrumite officer assigned to convert the planet — had walked away from the assignment after fighting his own kid.
Allen rolled slowly in the vacuum. Corrected himself.
Viltrumites don't do that.
That thought had been following him the whole way home.
They didn't abandon missions. They didn't fight each other. They didn't sire children who grew up wanting to save people instead of rule them.
And yet — Mark Grayson.
Weird kid. Nice kid. Strong kid.
Very strong kid.
Stronger than Allen had come expecting.
Which meant Allen was, professionally speaking, about to walk into the High Council of the Coalition of Planets and tell an entire chamber of elected representatives that the universe had, apparently, developed a crack.
Allen had spent most of his adult life getting punched by powerful people. On purpose.
The Coalition preferred the term Champion Evaluation Officer.
Which sounded better than galactic measuring stick.
The theory was simple. If someone could beat Allen, maybe — maybe — they could beat a Viltrumite. So Allen flew world to world, tested champions, got punched, punched back, wrote it up, moved on.
He usually won. Occasionally he lost.
Losing was, in principle, the good outcome.
The bad outcome was the reason he had the job at all.
He didn't dwell on it, exactly. But it was always there. Right underneath everything.
Unopa.
His homeworld. Or the place that would've been his homeworld, if the Viltrumites hadn't gotten there first.
The memories weren't his. Not really. They were stories. Recordings. History lessons taught by adults whose voices changed every time they got to the same part.
The invasion had lasted five days.
Five.
Unopa hadn't been primitive. Not helpless. It had fleets and defense grids and armies and cities built over centuries. The Viltrumites had shown up and treated all of it like furniture that needed moving.
Cities fell. Grids collapsed. Whole populations erased because resistance had become inconvenient.
The survivors ran.
Not nobly. Not triumphantly. They ran. Overloaded transports scattering into deep space while their world burned behind them.
They lived because they were good at living.
That was the one thing Allen's people had always been good at.
Then came the camps.
Nobody liked the phrase. Official Coalition documents called them controlled population restoration facilities, which was technically accurate and functionally bullshit. Unopa had lost too many. Family structures broke down because families were a luxury when your species was trying not to go extinct. Kids were born in batches, raised communally, tracked early.
The words mother and father got quieter every generation.
Not gone. Just quieter.
Allen had been born into that system.
Except Allen hadn't been born born. Allen had been designed.
The Unopan leadership had looked at their smoking planet and reached a conclusion desperate civilizations reached surprisingly often.
Make something stronger.
Genetic engineering. Growth manipulation. Cellular reinforcement. Chemical scaffolding. Fetal restructuring.
A lot of words. A lot of dead babies.
Allen didn't think about that part often.
Hundreds of attempts failed. Some never developed. Some developed wrong. Some lived long enough for the scientists to wish they hadn't.
Then Allen.
Healthy. Strong. No deformities. No cognitive impairment. By the standards of the program — perfect.
So they turned his childhood into training.
He had trainers before he had friends. Combat evaluations before birthdays. Strength tests instead of games. Every year he got stronger. Every year the people running the program got more excited.
By his teens, nobody in the facility could beat him. By adulthood, nobody on the planet.
They called him proof. They called him the future.
Then they sent him after a Viltrumite.
Allen lost.
Badly.
There were sections of the fight he still didn't remember. His medical report used the phrase catastrophic skeletal compromise. Allen preferred got his ass kicked.
The program was shut down soon after.
Years of research. Hundreds of dead subjects. One survivor.
And the survivor still wasn't enough.
He'd been bitter about it, once. Really bitter. Now?
Less.
Still a little.
Enough to complain. Not enough to stop working.
Because the Viltrumites were still out there. Still taking planets. Still killing people. And if being the universe's largest calibration device was going to help somebody find a way to stop them, then fine.
Allen could live with that.
Mostly.
A point of light appeared ahead. Widened. Resolved.
Talescria.
Allen grinned.
Home.
Not where he'd been born. Better. Where he'd chosen to come back to.
The planet grew fast. Blue-green atmosphere. Continents webbed in city-light even on the day side. Orbital traffic dense enough that a less experienced flyer would've filed for a lane.
Allen angled between two cargo haulers and hit atmosphere.
Fire rolled across him. Pressure hit like a wall. He punched through the upper cloud deck and came out over the capital.
The city ran to the horizon in every direction.
Towers of stone. Towers of metal. Towers grown rather than built, spiraling out of the ground like coral that had made a series of ambitious life decisions. Skybridges hung at heights that would've been illegal on Earth. Traffic moved in six directions at once, sorted by species tolerance and altitude.
Allen spread his arms.
"WHOOOOOO!"
Heads turned below.
"IT'S GOOD TO BE BACK, TALESCRIA!"
A cluster of kids on a bridge waved.
He waved back.
Somebody shouted his name from a plaza.
He grinned wider.
This was the good part.
Nobody on Earth had cheered when he landed. Mostly because he'd shown up expecting to fight their champion. Understandable.
Talescria was different.
Talescria knew him.
He banked toward the Coalition district and the ring of government buildings that circled the central tower. Not particularly dramatic. That always surprised visitors. The Coalition represented hundreds of worlds and spent enormous money on fleets and intelligence and reconstruction, and its primary building looked like a university library somebody had expanded too many times.
He landed on a wide stone balcony. Boots down.
Two ceremonial guards flanked the entrance. Both saluted.
Allen smiled.
"Morning."
Nothing.
"How's your day going?"
Nothing.
He slowed. Looked at the first one. Then the second.
Neither moved.
"Assholes."
One guard's mouth twitched.
Allen pointed.
" ha, I saw that." he grinned as he kept walking.
The interior was familiar enough he could've done it blind. Wide corridors, rounded walls, ceiling panels doing the lighting themselves. Holographic directories hanging at intersections in case a first-time visitor needed to find the accessible restrooms for the seventeen non-humanoid body plans.
He passed three diplomats arguing over a tablet.
A four-armed maintenance worker balancing six cups of something steaming.
An ambassador from a methane-breather species floating past inside a transparent environment sphere. The ambassador waved. Allen waved back.
He reached the security gate.
Palm to the scanner. Green line across the skin.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED: ALLEN OF UNOPA. CLEARANCE: FIELD OPERATIONS.
The door opened.
Two administrative officers behind a curved desk. Neural caps. Neither happy to see him.
Normal.
"Data log," said the first.
"Hello to you too."
He produced a small black data capsule and dropped it in the officer's palm.
The second officer slotted it into the console. Data streamed up in front of him.
He grunted.
Allen waited.
The first officer looked over.
"You found the correct planet."
Allen's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Yes."
The second officer nodded at the display. "You found the correct planet."
"I heard him."
The first officer leaned back. "Because it was the incorrect planet you had already found before."
Allen rubbed his forehead. "Sure, but that's not really —"
"Most Coalition agents do not make repeated astronavigational errors."
"Okay."
The second officer looked at him. "Most make none."
"Listen, Sparky."
The officer's eyes narrowed.
Allen pointed at the capsule.
"Is it still a mistake if the mistake ends up saving the universe?"
They looked at each other.
Then at him.
"Yes," said the first.
"Yeah," said the second.
A door opened behind the desk.
"You're late."
Allen turned.
General Telia stood in the doorway. Straight-backed. Pink hair swept into the five sharp points she'd worn since he'd known her. Coalition uniform — mostly red, black at the shoulders and waist, no ornamental medals. She'd never gone in for medals. She'd always said they got in the way of the work.
Allen straightened.
"General."
She turned and started walking.
He followed.
"My apologies. Got here as fast as I could."
"The Viltrumites hit Aikreon while you were gone."
He stopped.
"What?"
She kept walking. He caught up.
"But they just joined the council."
"Exactly."
Allen went quiet.
Aikreon. Newer member. Strategically useful. Politically fragile. He'd met one of their ambassadors two months ago. Nice guy. Too many elbows.
"The attack terrified the sector," Telia said. "Three worlds we were negotiating with severed communications this morning."
"They're scared."
"They watched Aikreon join us and get punished for it almost immediately."
"Casualties?"
"High."
"How high?"
She looked at him.
That was answer enough.
His jaw set.
"We need allies," she said.
"And the Viltrumites are making sure nobody wants to become one."
"Yes."
He rolled his shoulders.
"Then good thing I brought us one."
She stopped. Looked at him. Not skeptical. Interested.
"That's a large claim."
"It's a large report."
She studied him another second. Then nodded toward the doors.
"Let's hope the council agrees."
The Council chamber had been built to make everybody equal.
Which meant it made everybody slightly uncomfortable.
The room was circular. No obvious front, no obvious back. Tiered platforms ringed a central floor. Some representatives attended physically. Others through full-scale holographic projection.
Environmental accommodations built into several sections. One platform filled with pressurized liquid. Another behind a shimmering atmospheric barrier. A third holding what appeared to be a cloud of sentient orange gas.
At the center, one podium.
Behind it, on the raised council level, Thaedus.
Allen had seen him a hundred times. Thaedus always looked old. He was old. Extremely old. Nobody in the building was entirely sure how old.
White hair thinning across the crown. Beard reaching his chest. A face carrying deep age without any of the frailty that should have come with it. Beneath the yellow-and-gold ceremonial robes, a physique that had no business belonging to a man who might have personally watched a few stars form.
A circular medallion clasped the gold mantle across his chest.
He turned as Allen entered.
The chamber quieted.
"What news do you bring, Allen of Unopa?"
Allen walked toward the podium. Several hundred eyes followed him. Some literal. Some mechanical. Some clustered in groups he preferred not to think about too hard.
Thaedus folded his hands.
"What has transpired on Earth in relation to our struggle against the Viltrum Empire?"
Allen reached the podium.
"Were you able to warn the planet's champion that a Viltrumite lived among his people?"
"Yes, Great Thaedus."
Allen cleared his throat.
"But that's where things get weird."
Several members shifted in their seats.
"The champion I was sent to evaluate. His name is Mark Grayson. Invincible."
A beat.
"He's a Viltrumite too."
The room erupted.
Gasps. Murmurs. One holographic representative's translation device produced a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dog choking.
Allen raised both hands.
"Half-Viltrumite."
That did not help.
A feline-looking councilor leaned forward in his projection. He resembled Battle Beast the way a house cat resembled a tiger. Same evolutionary idea. Much less murder.
"Unbelievable."
"I know," Allen said. "Sounds bad."
The councilor growled softly. "It is bad."
"No, see, that's the part I need you to actually listen to." Allen looked around. "He isn't like them."
More murmuring.
"He didn't even know what a Viltrumite was until recently."
The room went quiet.
One representative leaned forward. "How is that possible?"
Allen shrugged. "No one told him, apparently."
A few councilors visibly did not enjoy that answer.
"When his powers started developing, he did what he thought a person with powers was supposed to do. He helped people. Muggings, bank robberies, planetary defense. He was in high school. He was a kid."
Thaedus watched him closely.
"And his father?"
"Nolan Grayson. Omni-Man."
The name lit up recognition markers across several displays. Coalition intelligence had records. Of course they did.
"Full Viltrumite," Allen said. "Stationed on Earth for years."
"How many?"
"Close to two decades."
Murmurs.
"He built a life there. Married a human. Had Mark. Worked as the planet's premier protector while he waited."
"And when the time came?" someone asked.
"He tried to conquer it."
The chamber settled. That part they all understood.
"Except Mark refused."
Silence.
Allen rested both hands on the podium.
"His father told him what Viltrum was. Told him what Earth was for. Mark said no."
The feline councilor stared.
"Very strongly," Allen added.
A few members did not appreciate the joke.
"They fought."
Thaedus's eyes sharpened.
"Viltrumite against Viltrumite?"
"Yes."
The chamber stilled.
Thaedus slowly leaned forward.
"That has not occurred since the Great Purge."
Allen nodded.
"Gets stranger."
"Stranger than a Viltrumite child defying his own father?"
"Yeah."
Allen pointed once at the floor.
"After the fight, Nolan left."
Several members spoke at once.
Allen raised his voice.
"Not relocated. Not recalled. Not transferred. Left."
Thaedus's expression changed.
"Abandoned his assignment."
"Completely."
"That is impossible," said someone in the upper tiers.
"Apparently not."
A green-skinned representative stood from a physical seat. His robes carried the markings of a recently admitted Coalition state.
"We could never trust one of them."
A wave of agreement moved through the room.
Allen turned toward him. "Mark isn't —"
"They are Viltrumites."
"Half."
"That distinction did not save my world."
The room quieted.
The green councilor's voice had gone hard.
"My homeworld was recently liberated from the Kresh."
Allen knew the name. Everyone did.
"They invaded under Imperial authority. Not Viltrumite soldiers themselves. A conquered species. Acting on Viltrum's behalf."
He looked directly at Allen.
"The Empire now uses subject races to extend its reach while conserving its own warriors."
"He isn't one of those."
"You know this after one encounter?"
"I fought him."
"That answers nothing."
"I talked to him."
"That answers less."
Allen exhaled through his nose.
"No. Stop."
Several members muttered.
"No, seriously. Stop."
He looked around the chamber.
"You're all hearing the word Viltrumite and shutting down after that."
"Because the word has meaning," the green councilor said.
"I know what it means."
Allen's voice hardened. That quieted several people.
"My world is gone because of them."
The chamber settled.
He looked at the green representative. Not angry. Not now.
"So believe me when I say I understand the concern."
He faced the rest.
"But Mark isn't conquering Earth."
"He may be preparing it."
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because his father tried to conquer it and Mark beat the hell out of him for it."
A few reactions.
Allen pushed forward.
"Think about this."
He gestured to the ring of platforms.
"For years we've been looking for a weakness in the Viltrumites."
Nobody interrupted.
"We've studied their biology. Their tactics. Their command structure. Their expansion patterns. Their breeding habits. Their military history."
Another finger up.
"What have we found?"
Silence.
"Almost nothing."
He lowered his hand.
"They're stronger than us. Faster than us. They live longer. They infiltrate before they conquer. They don't retreat. They don't betray each other."
A pause.
"Except now one did."
Thaedus watched him.
"A Viltrumite abandoned his assignment. His son rejected the Empire. Then they fought each other. And the father left instead of finishing the mission."
Allen looked around.
"Those are cracks."
The green representative scoffed. "Or deception."
"Then investigate it. But don't throw it away because you're scared of the answer."
Murmuring spread.
"Thaedus," the green councilor said, turning toward the elder, "you cannot trust this report."
Agreement moved across several platforms.
Allen looked at the ceiling.
"Great."
The feline representative growled. "An isolated incident proves nothing."
Another voice from the aquatic enclosure. "Perhaps the younger Viltrumite has already been compromised."
"Or perhaps his father was ordered to withdraw."
"Or perhaps Earth itself is a staging world."
Allen opened his mouth.
Thaedus raised one hand.
The chamber went silent.
"Allen is correct."
The green councilor turned toward him.
Thaedus stepped forward, closer to the central ring.
"Viltrumites do not abandon missions."
No one argued.
"Yet one has."
His voice stayed calm.
"Viltrumites do not battle one another outside the internal cleansing that produced their present Empire."
He looked toward Allen.
"Yet a son has defied his father."
His gaze moved across the ring of platforms.
"These are anomalies."
He let the word sit.
"Anomalies are weaknesses until proven otherwise."
The chamber didn't move.
"Perhaps Viltrum's grip on the galaxy is not as absolute as we have believed."
A few representatives began speaking softly to each other.
Thaedus looked back at Allen.
"You have done well."
Allen straightened.
"You have given this council much to discuss. We will call upon you again soon."
Allen stepped away from the podium.
"Thank you, Great Thaedus."
Then, because he couldn't quite help himself —
"I am honored to serve."
He turned and walked out before anybody could ask him another question.
The doors closed behind him.
Allen exhaled.
"That went terribly."
Telia was leaning against the wall outside.
"I've seen worse."
"When?"
"Three weeks ago."
"What happened?"
"Someone proposed a common trade currency."
He winced. "Oh."
"Exactly."
They started walking.
Allen rubbed the back of his neck.
"They have no idea what this means."
Telia glanced at him. "Oh?"
"If there are other Viltrumite kids out there —"
"Allen."
"Think about it."
He turned, walking backward now so he could face her.
"If Viltrumites have been living on planets long enough to have children with the local species, maybe Mark isn't unique."
Telia frowned.
"Maybe there are others."
"And you want to recruit them."
"I want to find them."
"That is not the same thing."
"It could become the same thing."
She considered that.
Then something else occurred to her.
"Why are they breeding with other species at all?"
Allen stopped walking backward.
"Everything we know about Viltrumite ideology," Telia said, "suggests they consider themselves biologically superior."
Allen pointed at her. "See?"
"What?"
"That's a good question."
She stared.
"Why didn't they ask questions like that instead of shouting at me?"
"Because you're irritating."
"That felt personal."
"It was."
They kept walking.
"But seriously," Telia said. "If hybridization is common enough to produce viable offspring —"
"Then we need to know why."
"And how compatible their genetics are."
Allen nodded.
"And whether the children inherit the abilities."
She looked sideways at him.
"Mark does."
"Oh, yeah."
"How strongly?"
"Strong enough."
"That isn't an answer."
"He's young."
"Allen."
"And already stronger than most champions I've evaluated."
Telia stopped.
He took two more steps before he noticed. Turned.
"What?"
She was staring.
"How young?"
He scratched his chin. "Earth years or Coalition standard?"
"Allen."
"Hard to say. Human years get slippery. Twenty-something. Give or take."
Her face changed.
"That is young."
"Yeah."
"And his strength is comparable to yours."
"Now you're asking the good questions."
A voice from behind them.
"Allen."
They turned.
Thaedus stood alone in the corridor.
Telia straightened. "Great Thaedus."
"General."
Thaedus looked to Allen.
"Before you depart. A word."
Telia looked between them. Nodded once.
"I'll be in operations."
She walked away.
Allen waited until she'd turned the corner.
Then faced Thaedus.
"Of course."
Thaedus started walking.
Allen followed.
They moved through the quieter section of the complex. No aides. No guards. No holographic recorders in the recesses of the walls.
Allen noticed.
Thaedus didn't speak until they were well outside the main council corridor.
"I find the timing of the Aikreon attack troubling."
Allen's expression shifted.
Thaedus clasped his hands behind his back.
"The world joined the Coalition."
"Yeah."
"Within days, Viltrum knew."
Allen slowed.
"Aikreon's membership was not publicly announced."
Allen stopped.
Thaedus stopped with him.
"Their entry was classified?"
"Until their defensive network could be integrated."
Allen's eye narrowed.
"So the Viltrumites shouldn't have known."
"No."
The old man's voice lowered.
"Yet they did."
Allen looked back toward the distant council chamber.
The implication settled slowly. Not because he was slow. Because he did not want it to be true.
"You think somebody told them."
"I think the possibility would be irresponsible to ignore."
"Someone inside the Coalition."
"Perhaps."
Allen rubbed his jaw.
"A staff member?"
"Perhaps."
"A representative?"
Thaedus said nothing.
Allen's expression flattened.
"Oh, that's bad."
"Yes."
"You want me to find the leak."
Thaedus almost smiled.
"Ah, Allen."
He placed both hands on Allen's shoulders. His grip was still firm. Very firm. Thaedus had been many things in his six centuries. He had not entirely stopped being any of them.
"You continue to prove yourself the Coalition's most valuable asset."
Allen stared at him.
"Is that the official way of saying yes?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
Thaedus released him.
Allen straightened.
"If there's a mole, I'll find them."
"I believe you will."
"Quietly?"
"Quietly. Not the general. Not any council staff, however trusted. If there is a leak, every additional person is another crack."
"Understood."
"And when you find them —"
Thaedus paused. His eyes seemed to fix on something behind Allen for a moment. Then came back.
"Bring them to me. Alive. I will handle the rest."
"Yes, sir."
Allen raised a hand in a full Coalition salute.
Then stopped.
"Question."
Thaedus looked at him.
"Am I still doing champion evaluations?"
"Yes."
Allen sighed.
"Of course."
"The universe remains dangerous."
"Mostly to me, apparently."
Thaedus almost smiled.
Almost.
Allen turned. Three steps. Then he launched himself through the open transit corridor and up into the Talescrian sky.
The three moons were out. The traffic in the upper corridors was thickening with the late-day rush. He banked over the harbor district, pointed himself back toward orbit, and climbed.
If there are more like Mark out there, he thought, atmosphere thinning around him, we are going to find them.
All of them.
And we're going to save the universe.
Somebody has to.