Miran found herself sequestered in a somewhat familiar estate room aboard The Dream of Earth. The room, which had once been a simple study, had been converted to a rigid meeting space after Kerrigen had taken possession of the vessel. The room was spartan, with a simple composite work table running down the centre. There were chairs down the length of each side, but oddly enough, no chairs at either of the heads of the table. A stern-looking man eyed her down from across the table, speaking little. He was sporting Ganon colours on his service jacket and no patchwork, as was expected to see on that of the flock. Each of Miran’s questions that she lobbied his way received the same affirmative monosyllabic reply; “Mmmm.”

  Miran wished not to be here. All she wanted was to check up on Soren, to see that he was okay, or to be with him if he was not.

  “A thousand times again, and I’ll just keep asking you, why am I here?” Miran asked again, nonplused.

  “You’re here at the Matriarch’s discretion,” Patriarch Hari said as he entered. His dress was a stark contrast to the drab meeting space. An open, formal robe of green and pale white paired with shorts characteristic of Ganon’s driest regions and sandals shone like life in the dim room.

  “Good to see you, Umar,” Miran said, forgetting herself, “Patriarch Hari, I mean.”

  “No matter,” he said, brushing it off, “It is gratifying to see you also. I see you are still adjusting to your new life.”

  “It’s a change of pace. By your man here, I would have expected it would be you who called me in, not Matriarch Kerrigen.” She gestured at the intransigent man across from her, who outgassed the same non-verbal reply.

  “Leave us,” Patriarch Hari said, directing his man to leave, who stood and offered his chair to Hari, pushing it in behind him.

  Patriarch Hari made himself comfortable as his man left.

  “I’ve been trying to reach your office for days,” she pressed.

  “About?” he asked, coyly.

  “I have a friend in critical condition, and the staff at the hospital in Eidao won’t let me in to see him. And while I have you, a Vasser conclave brought with us in the aftermath of Bordeaux is stranded in the city’s outer districts. Seems they’re just as stonewalled as I am.”

  “And a tragedy it was, to have escaped from in such haste,” the Patriarch said, “I will see to the vass. We wouldn’t want to disturb our strongest trading partner. I must admit ignorance to the status of your friend, however. I’m afraid I’ve not seen him.”

  Miran let out an embittered sigh.

  “Tell me, Miran-Yi,” he leaned in, “What is the Matriarch keeping from me? Surely you know why she has summoned us.”

  Miran was surprised, if not a little relieved. She was expecting to be in hot water for her outburst in the hospital. For a planet leader and member of the federation to be just as in the dark about this as she was, however– Miran suddenly began to feel more uneasy.

  “I’ve nothing for you, Patriarch,” she admitted, holding onto her suspicions. “Kerrigen is being cagey.”

  “I’m not sure cagey is the word I would use. Or maybe that’s just me,” Kerrigen said as she entered.

  “Matriarch,” Patriarch Hari said, standing and bowing.

  “Please, sit, Umar,” Kerrigen said, taking a seat next to Miran.

  “You sure have changed the estate,” Miran said.

  “Not your taste?” Kerrigen asked, “Mine neither. It was Rissa Nessanui’s touch. Ah, here she is,”

  Rissa entered, towing with her Lawson Ha. Each of them wore a formal naval jacket in the Idle Flock colours of gold and blue.

  “New uniforms?” Miran asked them. “They look good.”

  “You can thank the Matriarch for that,” Lawson said, “she made the taskforce legitimate and everything. We’re flock now, same as you.”

  “I’m not flock anymore,” Miran stressed. “I’m not anything, really.”

  “It’s good to see you, Miran,” Rissa said, rushing to hug Miran from behind.

  “Rissa, where’s Chief Ogunye?” Kerrigen asked.

  “I was hoping you’d seen him,” Rissa admitted with sudden mild concern. She and Lawson took their seats.

  “No matter, I’m sure he’ll turn up. With everyone here, let’s begin,” Kerrigen said, calling up a projection over the table.

  Kerrigen gestured to a central point, a world orbiting a star in realtime. “This is us,” she said, pointing to the flock orbiting Ganon. She expanded the view to the outer system.

  “Five hours ago, we received this.” Kerrigen wound back the telemetry to show a sudden blip on the sensors. “One of Idle Flock’s picket ships picked this up. It only lasted for a fraction of a second, so watch closely.”

  As she wound back the feed and replayed the image in painfully slow motion, Miran suddenly realised what she was looking at. A dozen rigid structures in the system’s Oort faded rapidly in and out of existence.

  “Black ships,” Miran cursed through grit teeth.

  “Their appearance here – of all places – concerns me nearly as much as their stealth capabilities. Miran, is it possible that they didn’t just jump back out of the system and are still here?”

  “From what I’ve seen of their tech in action, I wouldn’t put it past them,” Miran admitted.

  “I’m not sure if I am seeing what you see,” Patriarch Hari interjected. “Why do we think these are ships? Telemetry doesn’t specifically identify these as anything. For all we know, these are phantoms of the sensors.”

  “They are real,” Miran guaranteed. “And if the past is any indication, we should expect to see them moving on this world in the next few days.”

  “This– this is impossible,” Patriarch Hari said.

  “I remind you, Patriarch,” Kerrigen interjected, “Miran has seen them before. We should trust her instinct.”

  “Us too,” Rissa said for herself and Lawson.

  “Now that we have your attention,” Kerrigen said, “As you know, I have recently taken over the remnants of the Cattleheart as my own. One such department is the previously secret taskforce started by Miran and her Captain Soren Djucovik.”

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  Kerrigen turned to Miran with this as if anticipating her follow-up question. “I have news for you regarding your friend,” she said, “answers will come, but please wait until after this. For now, just know his condition is stable for the time being, and he has been moved back aboard the flock.”

  Miran was simultaneously stressed by the news of his transfer and perplexed by her use of stable to describe him. This flew in the face of what she had seen over the past weeks.

  “I have since formalised the taskforce into a special branch of the Idle Flock Security Forces, headed by our own Lieutenant Podallan Ogunye. He and his are tasked with gathering intelligence on external threats to the flock and federation.” Miran was delighted to hear Rissa, Lawson, and Podallan had landed on their feet despite the present circumstances.

  “Ensign Nessanui, Ensign Ha. If you would please walk our guests through your latest findings,” Kerrigen said, giving her the floor.

  “Thank you, Matriarch,” said Rissa, taking the feed. She called up a visualised timeline of the events of the past month with several images dotted throughout.

  “We began with missing persons, Linden Kide–” his image flashed ahead of Miran, bringing back bitter memories, “–and others found discarded in cold storage. Skipping ahead to the flock’s arrival on Bordeaux’s Folly and the subsequent attack, we see several dozen shuttles dispatched and later disabled by remote detonations before they are able to make landfall, each a victim of sabotage.”

  “Cross-referencing those unaccounted missing persons with the points of origin of the sabotaged shuttles,” Lawson jumped in, “we have been able to generate a list of suspected enemy sleeper agents within our own population.” Images of sixteen faces spun into view, nine of which were faded.

  “These sixteen were recently identified by genetic material found on the ships in question. Most of which appear to have self-annihilated via trash incinerators or bioreclamation facilities,” said Rissa. “At this time, it does not appear to have adversely affected the biomass recycling, though I have issued an order to cease all consumption of reconstituted foodstuffs on these ships until they can be properly sanitised.”

  “Of the remaining seven, five were detected attempting to purchase various chemical reagents from shops in outer Hisshou. We still have little idea as to what the chemicals were to be used for, and attempts at light interrogation had resulted in a fatal response to have been triggered in the captive’s brain, leading to complete and total liquefaction.”

  Images of several detainees in interrogation rooms flashed, pools of fluid trickling from their ears, nose, and eyes.

  “You’re saying they self-destructed?” Miran puzzled.

  “Precisely,” Rissa confirmed.

  “And two got away?” an aghast Patriarch Hari asked.

  “The two in question had already reached the planet’s surface before the capture order had gone out. We suspect that they were among the first to have been ferried down, each from The Dream itself,” clarified Lawson.

  “What these infiltrators and the recent appearance of the black ships have in common, I can’t say,” admitted Kerrigen, “Chief Podollan Ogunye insisted on leading the investigation into the remaining two. It was also under his foresight that the picket ships were dispatched to the outer system.”

  “And? Do we know what Chief Ogunye has found?” Patriarch Hari asked.

  “I was hoping to have him here to answer that very question, Umar,” Kerrigen said, “I have been unable to reach him since his dispatch. And I admit that his disappearance distresses me.”

  “What do we know?” Miran asked.

  “Little else, I’m afraid,” Kerrigen admitted. “That’s why I’ve summoned you both here.”

  Patriarch Hari stood from his seat, seething with something to say.

  “Explain, Matriarch,” he said, “What gives you and your team the authority, without the knowledge of me or my own people, to have conducted clandestine investigations on my Ganon?”

  “Patriarch, it is regrettable, and I must apologise. I made the call. We needed to keep it quiet not to let the infiltrators know we were onto them,”

  “This I cannot abide,” he said, indignant. Patriarch Hari summoned his man with a whistle, who entered and pulled out his seat. Standing, he said, “The Federation will hear of this!”

  “Umar. Please!” Kerrigen called after him as he left, his robe thrashing behind his distaste carried him out of the estate room.

  “We need to prepare,” Miran said, her rage quelled for the moment. The images of her former-citizens-turned-saboteurs still hung before her, irking her calm.

  “That’s why I called you,” Kerrigen said, sitting back in her seat. “You saw them in action once before. If you had to do it again, knowing what you know now, what would you do?”

  “Your ships – how many are you?” she asked.

  “Along with the former Cattleheart vessels and a small contingent from Idle Flock, one hundred seventy-two. The rest of my flock still waits for me in Atsou.”

  Miran considered this. Atsou was distant, far on the other side of Federation space, quickly accessible only by natural rift.

  “Numbers aren’t on your side on this one,” Miran stressed, “I take it you’ve seen the recordings of the engagements with the enemy? Even with overwhelming force as we had, we barely made them flinch. It took sacrifice at levels I wish never to see again to bring the enemy down.”

  “I was hoping you had another suggestion,” said Kerrigen.

  “We were caught with our pants in the wash last time. Perhaps through preparation alone, we can outlast them?” Lawson suggested.

  “You’d have to mobilise everyone. And I do mean everyone,” Miran said, “The whole population. It was the overwhelming force of an enemy within that broke us before. Don’t give the enemy the chance to use our people against us.”

  “You are suggesting we hide the whole planet?” Kerrigen thought aloud.

  Miran nodded. “I don’t see another way. At least get them out of the cities. Better yet, put them all on ships and send them away as fast as possible.”

  Miran knew that was absurd, that there was no way to ferry the population of an entire planet, some six-hundred-thousand bodies. She considered her following words carefully. Kerrigen had asked her here for her help, not for shallow notions.

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” Kerrigen said, and Miran sensed she wasn’t completely satisfied. Kerrigen cut the projection and stood, pulling out her terminal as she did. She tapped a few commands on the small screen before turning back to Miran; “Now. I owe you some information. Follow me.”

  Miran did, waving goodbye to Rissa and Lawson as she left them behind, who sat disoriented at the vacant table. Rissa waved back. Lawson disapproved.

  Kerrigen was quiet until they reached the atrium, stepping out of her shoes onto the mossy floor. Miran followed suit, kicking off her shoes. She let her socks soak into the loam as she walked.

  “I’ve missed this place,” Miran said, brushing her hand once again on the oaken trunk.

  “I still itch for my own tree. A willow, aboard The Homestead, my other flagship,” she said, “though this one will do.”

  “This oak is three hundred years old, taken as a clipping from Scandaval,” said Miran, a little overwhelmed at seeing it again.

  “This ship, Kerrigen started, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with two flagships. Granted, The Dream is far grander than The Homestead.”

  “I’ll admit I’ve never been aboard The Homestead, not even seen the Idle Flock for myself,” said Miran.

  “The Homestead isn’t anything to laugh at, that’s plain. The rest of the flock, however. Many ships are in decline and in the twilight years of their service. You should know, having sent a few my way over the years, as did your predecessor. Many more ships, however, have lost main propulsion, becoming too costly to repair. Those now drift in tow behind some of our larger manufactories.”

  Miran knew of the Idle Flock’s history, the stigma surrounding their sluggishness. Miran had insured that the Cattleheart remained mobile in its prime, relying on agility to sustain themselves as they travelled between watering holes. She had assumed that the stories of sedentary Idle Flock were just rumours. Somewhere just shy of myth.

  “Look at me,” Kerrigen said, “I’m rambling.”

  “How is Soren?” asked Miran.

  “Stable, as I said. Though, I’m not certain for how long. The bruising has subsided. However, he has suffered some significant damage to his arms and legs. I’ve also had some of Umar’s and my psychologists check him out, and they have told me some fairly incredible things.”

  Miran stopped stroking the bark and turned to Kerrigen. Kerrigen’s head was in the dirt, a posture unbecoming of a Matriarch of not one but two flocks.

  “Jhen, please,” Miran pressed.

  “They claim it to be schizophrenia brought on by some manner of post-traumatic distress. I’m sorry, Miran. I know he is dear to you.”

  “And the damage you mentioned. To his arms and legs?”

  “Several skin grafts were necessary to repair damage left by the bruising. Eventually, they stopped taking, and my doctors were forced to amputate. But not to worry, replacements are being grown, and in the meantime, he’ll be fitted with our best robotic prosthetics.”

  “He was the picture of health before all of this,” Miran said, frustration roiling. “He was to overtake me one day as Matriarch.”

  “I’m afraid those days may never come,” said Kerrigen as she placed a hand on Miran’s forearm. “You have suffered so much, Miran. So much.”

  Miran stepped into Kerrigen’s open arms as they squeezed her tightly. For a long while, Miran sobbed. She let everything free that was once hidden, locked beneath a matriarchal veneer. Kerrigen said nothing, just holding on to her.

  “Would you like to see him?” Kerrigen asked. “My experts assure me he’s not contagious.”

  ?─??????─?

  Life isn’t some kind of grand destiny.

  It’s just a collection of decisions shaped by the moments that happen around us.

  Of Moon and Magic follows a silver-haired girl. Her mana was weak, but that never dulled her hunger for magic.

  We follow her steps. We weigh her choices. We sit with her loneliness. In a world where magic is everything, war is constant, and morality is little more than a neglected guideline.

  Will she become just another cog in the machine?

  Or will she be the one to end it all?

  Only one way to find out.

  Point of Interest:

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  ?─??????─?