It’s two hours later when Christian finally makes it back to his apartment.

There was a fair bit of amusement and protestation from Cal and Reina, respectively, when Christian had put Cal in charge, followed by a few streaks of his own concern mirrored in Cal when he mentioned that he couldn’t say why he would be going off-port. 

That was the one thing he hated when it came to his work with the Defence Committee: everything required some level of security clearance. Clearance neither Cal nor Reina has. Yuriy probably does, but they hardly see each other now that Christian is the head of his own lab. That means the number of people he can talk to about his work is a whole one person. Or two if he includes his father, which he barely sees, so that point is moot.

Christian shuffles his way into the cool darkness of his apartment. Although calling it an apartment is a bit generous. The front door opens into a walkway with a kitchenette on one side and doors leading to a bathroom and study on the other. The end of the walkway opens up into a wide space that is basically a mix of bedroom, living room, and library. 

It’s small, but Christian has never needed a large living space. What would he even fill it with? It’s been five years since he moved in, and it still doesn’t look lived in. He doubts it ever will, if he’s being honest.

Dropping the holoscreen he picked up from the lab on the kitchen counter, he makes his way to the main room. His bed, on the far right of the room, is still a mess from where he’d tumbled out of it that morning. The memory of his arm trying to throttle him rises in his mind once more, and he clutches at it on instinct, holding it close to his body like maybe being back in this room might trigger the same malfunction. But even that feels so long ago now. He feels like he’s been awake for over a day when it’s barely been half of one.

Christian waves a hand over the control panel, and the lights come on, lighting up the space in a soft, warm glow. The opposite side of the room from his bed holds a haphazard mix of sofa, armchairs, footstool, and coffee table. These, in turn, are surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Not that there are many books on them. Instead, they house an assortment of collectibles, from miniature figures of famous game and movie characters to figures of scientific and musical instruments. There is the occasional shelf that is filled with physical holodrives full of research material and scientific journals, but they are more display shelves than anything.

The apartment itself is a monochromatic landscape with its eclectic mix of black, white, and grey furniture, most of them made from a combination of synthetics and stone. It gives the place a slightly serious air, more professional than residential. But Christian likes it and, the coldness of the interior aside, it has become home to him over the years.

For a moment, Christian stands there, not really knowing what to do. He’s never travelled, not even for day trips to the districts on the outer edges of the ports. He can practically hear Reina’s voice in his head, chiding him for not ‘getting out more’. Which is stupid, he gets out often enough. Not to mention Reina’s definition of ‘going out’ usually lands her in a state much like the one she’d been in that morning, so he figures he’ll keep passing on those invites. 

Stars, he hopes this trip doesn’t keep him away for too long. Christian can’t even bring himself to imagine the state the lab will be in otherwise. A pained sound escapes him. Maybe his dad was right, and he really is starting to have a crisis.

Christian shoves that thought aside and makes his way to the dresser that stands at the foot of the bed. Will he even need a change of clothes? He can’t know for sure, but he’d rather be prepared and overpacked than otherwise. 

What does an emergency mean for the Ameans away? A small part of Christian doesn’t want to find out, doesn’t want to imagine what could possibly be considered an emergency for a race as ancient as the Ameans, doesn’t want to be involved in any way. But the other part, the scientist part, just wants to know more.

Christian snaps himself out of his thoughts. Clothes. Yes, that would be a good place to start. He pulls out a work shirt and a long-sleeved pullover that he would normally wear at home. Just in case. He adds an extra pair of work pants and sweats to the mix before dumping a couple pairs of underwear and socks. Piling the clothes up on the floor beside him, Christian pulls open the bottom drawer of the dresser and reaches into the back for the overnight bag he hopes is still there from when he’d buried it years ago. It’s not the most presentable thing to be taking on a diplomatic trip, but it’s all he has.

Stuffing his clothes into it, Christian grabs the holoscreen he’d left on the kitchen counter. After checking that he has more than enough charge left on it to last a good two cycles, he adds it to the bag too. 

Not knowing what else he might need, Christian enters his study—a narrow room with a lab bench along the left wall, storage on the right, and a desk with dual holoscreen monitors at the far end. Collapsing into the chair behind the desk, he dumps the bag and pulls up whatever he can about the Ameans on one screen and the Pantheon on the other.

For all that his father might sing his praises when it comes to his research, Christian knows he is sorely behind when it comes to intergalactic politics. And honestly, even current events. He knows the Ameans are the driving force behind the Pantheon, an intergalactic confederate of highly advanced worlds. They are the oldest of all the races that make it up, and the High Circle are their leading representatives—a group of representatives from the most advanced worlds in the Pantheon. Something about the governing body of the Pantheon being made up of only its most advanced worlds does not sit well with Christian, but who is he to say anything? Especially when the Ameans are the reason they even have a Gateway system in the first place.

Christian is scrolling through the search results for the Pantheon when something catches his eye.

Coalition Ship Launches Attack on Pantheon World. Pantheon World Destroyed.

What?

Christian looks at the timestamp for the article: 10 astral hours ago. That can’t be right. Leaning in, he clicks into the link and finds himself face to face with a looping image of a planet exploding. It is brutal and quick. A brilliant, orange mushroom cloud blossoms along the surface of the planet before lines of white fire shear the planet to pieces. The resulting explosion must have eventually fried the camera that was taking the footage because the image fizzles out before jumping back to the beginning of that sequence. A horrible moment immortalised for the rest of the universe to witness.

He watches it loop again. An entire world. Gone up in flames. And for what? 

Christian knows that the Coalition and the Pantheon have their disagreements, but nothing that has ever resulted in bloodshed. At least not on this level. The last time there had been open conflict between the two groups, it was barely a skirmish—two small fighters attacking each other on a trade route. But no one was even hurt, much less killed. When did things get this bad?

The summons has to be about this. An entire Pantheon world destroyed. Christian glances back at the footage as it replays, squinting when he notices a dark shape in the top corner of the footage. There is no way to pause the looped image, but Christian can just make out the bulk of a large warship leaving the scene. The image isn’t clear enough for Christian to make out if it is truly a Coalition vessel, but whoever wrote the article seems confident that it is one. Unless they’re fear-mongering. 

Regardless, Christian will find out soon enough. 

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