Light.
It was light that illuminated the parade ground where Lieutenant Sheron had lined us up. The corvette's hold was pierced through with cold and fear.
There were seven of us. Seven top graduates of the intelligence academy. Seven who had passed the trial of Loyalty. We were dressed in dark uniforms with the Imperial triangle insignia on our chests. A symbol of strength and pain.
Within each of us, will burned. The will to live and to serve.
"So. You have all been carefully assembled and brought aboard this corvette for one purpose only," the lieutenant began. "A purpose that will pursue you for your entire lives. Service in the Intelligence Legion!"
He declared it loudly. Service in intelligence was an elite craft for everyone living within the reaches of the Empire and beyond. To serve there meant honor and respect, but to lose any hope of home forever.
We were part of a separate special operations unit. The Atrata Legion. A group of the most secretive and elusive people in the entire galaxy. Our task was to penetrate the heart of the enemy's political or military machine, to destroy them within their own power structures. In their own home. To be a hurricane that sweeps away everything in its path, yet remains invisible to others.
This was what the academy had been preparing us for over seventeen years. They took us as infants from poor families, raised us according to the Emperor's code, and at the age of seven sent us to the academy. It was there we made friends and learned the techniques of interrogation and covert sabotage.
The cold of the hold began to seep through my uniform, making me shiver. It was quite noticeable in the perfectly straight formation.
"Kyle, do you have some kind of problem?" Sheron asked, spinning around sharply.
"No, sir! Lieutenant, sir!" I answered him loudly and almost instantly.
Sheron. He became our instructor when we turned fourteen. He taught us close-quarters combat and marksmanship, showed us how to properly handle explosives and other equipment at the Legion's disposal.
"Today you will undergo the final test, which will determine who is sent to Apollo Station," he began. "One of you will be assigned to establish yourself on the station and take a position among the administrative personnel."
The interview. Each of us had our own file, created long ago, in childhood. It contained all the information about us. Every illness and habit was noted there. Every action and character trait. Everything was there. The person, condensed into a folder.
"Well then, proceed one by one to the interview room in the fifth wing." Sheron's voice was filled with confidence and fortitude, impressive for a man of his years. It was easy to understand: if you are among the elite, always hold yourself above it.
I stood third. Each interview lasted about two hours. Those who had completed it were forbidden from sharing any information about it. Soon, after four long and agonizing hours, they called me. Blood roared in my head and throughout my body. Adrenaline seized me in that moment.
I moved towards the fifth wing of our corvette. The ship itself was medium-sized compared to the Empire's other mighty executioners. It had only two wings for personnel; the rest were intended for engines and weaponry. Great developments of the Legion were stored there, waiting their turn.
I reached it quickly. The doors to the interrogation room were black, like the entire ship. Soon they swung open, and I saw two legionnaires holding rifles. Between them sat an agent of the commission in a black robe adorned with small golden patterns near the collar.
He sat at a table with a folder before him. My folder. My whole life lay in front of him.
He gestured for me to sit.
The folder was relatively thick, maybe three hundred pages, perhaps more. I followed his every move with my eyes, noting what he did. Each breath, each tap of his fingers, sent a wave of fear through me.
He began flipping through the pages noisily and stopped at one.
"So, you are familiar with the interview procedure?" he asked, looking me in the eye. He appeared to be an old man, around forty-five, gray-haired and grim.
"Yes, I am familiar."
"Good, then let's begin!" he said with a smile and an encouraging tone, placing his hands on the open pages of the folder while simultaneously jotting something down in his own notebook.
"You are Kyle Grätz, a graduate of the Intelligence Academy of the Legion at the Emperor's palace?" The first question split the silence in two.
"Yes," I answered briefly.
"Your age is determined as twenty-four human years?"
"Yes."
Something was pressing down on me. Fear?
The two agents watched my back, their weapons at the ready. But why such protection in a small, stuffy room where you couldn't even turn around for a knife strike?
"You are originally from the planet Drad in the southern asteroid belt?" This question plunged me into memories of my former life and my parents – the ones I would never truly remember. The only thing left in my memory was the crying and wailing of my mother, from whom her last son was taken.
"Yes," the answer came after a few moments. I was born into a poor family on the factory planet Drad. There, as I later learned, useful minerals were mined from the asteroid clusters that covered the planet. Then, one day, Imperial units appeared, gathering children for the army. I was lucky enough to get into intelligence.
The next question the commission member asked surprised me greatly and threw me off balance more than all the previous ones.
"Do you have friends or close ones?"
During our time at the academy, many of us made friends and people close to us. We were all like brothers, ready to cover each other's backs if necessary. To give our lives.
But if there were correct answers to the question, I definitely gave the wrong one.
"I cannot say," I answered, my voice trembling and hoarse.
The man interrogating me sharply lifted his gaze from the folder and fixed it on me. The room where it was all happening felt like a barrel, shrinking in size with every moment, maybe twice over.
"What, excuse me?" he asked in a stern voice.
I shifted in my chair and started glancing back at the agents, hoping one of them would shoot me and put an end to it.
"I said I cannot answer your question," I forced out, gathering my strength.
The commission agent's eyes looked at me with such contempt, as if I were a traitor to the Empire.
"Your answer will be noted. You will undergo an additional trial."
"What trial?" escaped my lips, a gross violation of etiquette rules for future intelligence agents.
"An additional one," he said, still staring through me.
The interrogation continued.
"Are you a member of any organizations directed against the Empire?"
"No."
"Did you participate in the pogroms of December, the year three thousand two hundred forty-one?"
I had heard much about these pogroms. A handful of academy students broke into a weapons depot, eliminating the guards, then headed to the armory section where they opened fire on a city located on a planet within orbit. Many people died on that black day. Many of the students escaped, and, as rumor circulating through all the academies had it, they forged documents and returned to their studies.
This pogrom was called the Betrayal Pogrom. On that day, those students betrayed their oath and their loyalty to the Imperial Court and Army.
"No, I did not participate."
The rumor must have been at least partially true, for them to ask such a question.
After a few more questions, mostly concerning service and daily life, the agent pushed the folder aside and asked the guards to leave. We were left alone.
I tensed, expecting the worst.
"You have answered all the commission's questions. Now I will conduct the additional trial, but first you must familiarize yourself with the Protocol."
The room pressed on me harder and harder. A ringing began in my ears. The agent's voice became muffled for a second, and my vision darkened.
"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at me.
"Yes, it's just too stuffy in here."
Surely the room had a ventilation system, like the others, but at that moment I felt different. Fear.
"The procedure for familiarization with the Protocol will now begin. Do you consent to keep the information received after familiarization secret?" he asked coldly.
"Yes."
He produced a small box. It was colored grey with white stripes near the locks, forming perfect triangles. The Empire.
Turning it towards me and opening it, he revealed the secret I was to keep for the rest of my life. It was a small capsule, resembling a pill for viruses.
"What is that?" The question escaped my mouth almost instantly.
"A capsule. You are to swallow it, after which you will be sent under medical supervision."
"A capsule? Where is the protocol?" I squinted, looking at what lay at the bottom of the box. It was perfectly white; I thought it sometimes shone brighter than the lamps on the sides of the room, reflecting their rays.
"This is the protocol."
I reached for the capsule and took it in my hand. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. A device. Some kind of intelligence development.
I was ordered to swallow it and hope for the best. So I did.
"Well then, now we proceed to the additional trial," the agent informed me.
He put away the box that had held the device and drew a pistol of the Sapsan class. This weapon posed no threat to life, but was designed to scan people's minds and thoughts. At the academy, we were taught to be wary of this weapon, because if it scanned you, everything you knew would be transmitted to its display. Every thought, every neural impulse would be visible.
The agent raised the pistol and aimed it at me.
I moved back.
"You will now undergo a procedure for additional data examination. You will not be harmed, I assure you," he said in a cold, grim voice.
For a person shot by a Sapsan, nothing happens, just a quiet, barely audible pop. That's precisely what made it dangerous. Anyone could come up from behind, shoot you in the back of the head, and learn everything about you and your assigned tasks.
A moment later, he pulled the trigger.
He then began reviewing the information appearing on his display. This lasted about ten minutes, after which he turned it off and directed his attention back to me.
"The procedure is complete, Agent Grätz. You may proceed to the medical bay for examination."
And so I did. The path from the room to the medical bay was long, giving me time to think about the interview process. Did the others undergo a trial, or did they answer all the questions the way the commission wanted to see? Probably, I would never get an answer to that.
Soon, reaching the medical bay, where the staff were dressed in scarlet clothing with white identifying crosses on their shoulders, I entered the reception area. Sitting there was a young, red-haired girl, looking more like a migrant from the Eastern Constellation than a citizen of the Empire.
She spoke first.
"Coming from the interview?" she asked with a sweet smile, forcing me to suppress a flicker of embarrassment.
"Yes, just from there."
"State your number and call sign," she said, looking at a screen just below her shoulder.
"0789, Heat."
I reported with a serious and composed face.
"Heat?" she said, smiling, almost laughing.
"Yes," I answered, also smiling slightly.
"Why Heat?"
Our commanders gave us call signs at the academy for achievements in specific areas. I distinguished myself through quick reactions and good performance under high temperatures on the desert planets where we sometimes trained. Commander Sadl gave me that call sign, explaining that in any covert operation, there comes a moment when everything around you melts, including yourself, but in those moments it is vital to maintain composure.
"Long story," I said, smiling at her.
"You are expected in bay number nine."
Thanking her, I went off to find the bay. The bays themselves were like small cots equipped with all the necessary instruments for examination and emergency actions in case an agent's condition worsened.
Soon I found my bay and entered. Inside, a doctor awaited me, dressed like all the others. He was old and gray-haired.
"Glad to see you, 0789. You will undergo a full examination, which will take a couple of days," he began. "For your own safety, the bay will be sealed during the examination."
At the time, this seemed strange to me – what could go wrong that required sealing agents inside the bay? But understanding came soon enough.
After I was laid down and changed into a medical gown, the examination began. A multitude of tiny wires, stretching as if from the ceiling, burrowed into my muscles and veins. It was like thousands of mosquitoes intent on sucking out all my blood and leaving me empty.
During the examination, doctors came in, gave me injections, and checked various readings on their tablets. They often conferred, looking at me through the small glass portholes on the side of the bay.
Sometimes they conducted physical tests, like checking visual acuity with bright flashes or forcing me to run on a treadmill while strapped to wires that monitored my condition.
The first day passed perfectly, except the noise of the ventilation wouldn't let me sleep.
Then, on the morning of the second day, four doctors entered.
"How are you feeling? Any complaints?" the tallest one asked.
"No, everything's fine," I said, waking up.
Light, bright as the sun, blinded my eyes.
After a couple more tests and examinations conducted by the doctors, they injected me with some preparation. Surprisingly, its effect was not what I expected.
A sharp pain flooded and consumed me. I struggled to breathe, writhing like a dying star in the empty abyss of space. I screamed. The pain was so intense, I felt like I was being torn in two.
I started sweating and losing consciousness, but no one came to help. I was alone.
Pain and fear engulfed my mind, and I blacked out. But not in the way we usually understand it; I was aware that I had left reality.
The pain vanished. In its place came emptiness and silence. Sometimes, when you are left alone in a quiet room, the silence becomes unbearably loud. At that moment, I felt it.
Light appeared before me. I started walking towards it. I walked as if through a void; literally, there was nothing under my feet. Soon I reached the source of light. It was a table with an old lamp on it. I had never seen such a construction or shape before.
It dimly illuminated the table. Its light seemed to seep through the table, and it appeared as if the light rays shone through it, as if it weren't there.
And it wasn't.
I put my hands down on the table but felt no resistance. They passed right through, and where they had penetrated, there was a kind of ripple, and at its edges, I could make out rainbow-colored strings.
I recoiled and stepped back, looking at my hands, then raising my gaze again to the table. On it lay a sheet of paper with writing. Only one word.
PROTOCOL.
I touched it and felt it was solid. Below the title, rule numbers were listed.
There were only three.
RULE NUMBER ONE: THE AGENT RENDERS LOYAL SERVICE. IN CASE OF NON-COMPLIANCE – SELF-LIQUIDATION.
RULE NUMBER TWO: THE AGENT SHALL NOT ENTER INTO FRIENDLY, COMRADELY, OR BUSINESS RELATIONS WITH THE TARGET. IN CASE OF NON-COMPLIANCE – SELF-LIQUIDATION.
RULE NUMBER THREE: THE AGENT SHALL OBEY ALL RULES OF THE PROTOCOL. IN CASE OF NON-COMPLIANCE – SELF-LIQUIDATION.
This set of rules seemed too simple and quite similar to other academy rules. The only thing required of me was to follow them all.
I turned the sheet over. On the back was written the departure time for the shuttle to the Legion's primary command ship of the Empire. To the Night.
The Night was one of the most powerful and strongest ships in the Imperial fleet, but usually did not participate in battles, serving instead as a staging point for personnel.
February twenty-second, the year three thousand two hundred sixty-four. Destination: Night.
Below it was the stamp of the intelligence commander, and under that, my name.
After I read my name on the list of those approved for service at Apollo Station, I heard a sharp clang, and my head roared with noise. I fell to my knees, clutching the sheet, and closed my eyes.
I blacked out again, but this time I woke up in my bay. Around me stood medics and intelligence agents armed with light Centurion-class rifles. They brought me around.
"Good to see you. The examination is complete; you may go," said the same tall doctor who had stood in that very spot not long ago.
"What happened to me?" I asked, my voice stammering.
"You have completed the familiarization procedure with the Protocol," he said calmly.
I felt something in my hands. A sheet. The Protocol I clutched in my hands was the same sheet that had once lain on the table during my voyage through that other world. It was the sheet.
But how had it appeared in my hands? Had I taken it from there?
"Agents will escort you to the briefing room."
I looked at their faces beneath their helmets, black as space. No emotion could be read there; even a hint would have been a mistaken assumption.
I got up and gathered my things. I didn't have many. After giving the young girl at the entrance a sad smile, I followed the agents.
They walked quite fast, forcing me to pick up the pace to match them. Soon we reached a room where two of my friends from the academy were sitting.
Dursal and Renod.
They were both around my age, only their appearance differed. Dursal had light, almost white hair, more resembling a snowdrift. He was slender and tall, and also wildly strong. It was because of these traits that he had been selected.
Renod, on the other hand, was a head shorter than him and slightly shorter than me, dark-haired with a scar on his face. He was intelligent and performed best in stressful situations. This played a role in his selection.
They sat waiting for someone.
For me.
The two agents stepped aside, allowing me to enter the room where our commander Sheron stood. I sat between Dursal and Renod.
We looked at each other before Sheron slammed his fist on the table.
"Well then, graduates. I can congratulate you on successfully completing the interview and graduating from the academy!" he declared in a cheerful, encouraging voice.
But he didn't stop there.
"You have been chosen as some of the very best among us for deployment to Apollo Station. On that station, according to our intelligence, the enemy's Emperor is located," he continued. "Your task will be to infiltrate the Emperor's ranks and eliminate him."
Kill the Emperor of the Galtians? Kill the symbol of our enemy. His power and strength.
"After the mission is complete, you will be evacuated, after which our fleet will invade the systems from the northern frontiers and destroy the station," he said in a warlike tone.
A chill ran down my spine.
Dursal asked the very first, most obvious question.
"Honorable commander, why us specifically?"
He was right. We had no combat experience, except for range practice and diversions at specially prepared locations. We were young.
But the answer plunged us into horror.
"You are the last agents the enemy doesn't know about. A couple of years ago, after the head of our Legion was captured at the Battle of Zhakur, his mind was scanned, and information about all our agents on enemy territory was obtained. Mass purges followed, and only those few whom the enemy failed to capture and kill had to be evacuated," he concluded.
"We have no one left in the Eastern Lands?" Renod exclaimed, almost shouting.
"No one. There is not a single agent of ours on enemy territory. The best were killed, or their faces became known to every camera on every enemy ship and station."
No one. We were blind. That's why they chose us. We weren't listed in any database until we received our wrist terminals. We were hidden from the enemy's eyes.
"You will be prepared and briefed on how to behave aboard the Apollo. You depart in one week. Good luck to you, and may the holy Emperor protect your souls." With that, Sheron finished and ordered us to leave the room.
Preparation lay ahead. We remained the Emperor's last hope. The last hope of our people.
Our freedom.