The cell was cold and dimly lit, its metal walls slick with condensation. The freezing temperatures of Eris were only kept at bay by a single heater affixed to the cell’s ceiling. Admiral Clarke, along with Doctor Colter and several other members of the Camelot’s command staff, sat on the floor, their wrists bound by heavy magnetic restraints. The cell had no windows, only a small ventilation grate near the ceiling, offering the barest hint of the outside world.
Clarke’s uniform was torn, and a dried trail of blood ran from a cut on his forehead. His hands were scraped and bruised, the result of a scuffle when the Red Brothers had forcibly taken them aboard the Spectre. He stared at the wall, his thoughts racing. He had watched helplessly as his crew was slaughtered or subdued, and he could still feel the impact of the proton blade that had knocked him unconscious.
Doctor Colter sat beside him, her expression tight with fear but surprisingly resolute. Her smart green dress uniform was torn, the result of rough handling by their captors. She had been silent for most of their time in the cell, her mind clearly working through the situation, calculating options, although there were few to consider. Several other SEM scientists and bridge officers sat huddled together in the corner in an attempt to get warm, their eyes wide with terror.
The door to the cell screeched open, the sound of grinding metal reverberating through the small chamber. A figure stepped inside—a Red Brother clad in black, his helmet covering his face completely, giving him the appearance of a faceless executioner. A proton sword hung at his side. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and mechanical, distorted by the helmet’s modulator.
“Admiral Clarke,” the Red Brother said, his gaze locked on the older man. “It’s time.”
Clarke slowly stood, his muscles stiff from being bound for hours. He glanced at Doctor Colter, giving her a brief, reassuring nod before facing the Red Brother. “Time for what?” he asked, his voice hoarse but defiant.
“You’ll see,” the Red Brother replied cryptically. “Our leader is waiting.”
He exchanged a quick glance with the other prisoners, but they were left untouched. It seemed, for now, only Clarke was being taken.
“You won’t get away with this,” Clarke said, his voice low. “They will come for us.”
The Red Brother didn’t respond, simply gesturing for Clarke to step forward. With a grim expression, Clarke obeyed, knowing he had little choice but to see where they were being led. As the door slid shut behind them, the cold metal walls of the Red Brotherhood’s base on Eris loomed ominously, its stark, brutal architecture a reflection of the ruthless organisation that had built it.
Clarke could feel the weight of the facility’s isolation, deep beneath the frozen surface of Eris, miles away from any form of rescue.
He was escorted through the dark, labyrinthine corridors of the Red Brotherhood’s base. The walls were thick, reinforced metal, cold to the touch, and illuminated only by the occasional flicker of red emergency lighting. The air was thin and dry, with a faint metallic tang, as if the very atmosphere was an extension of their Martian home world.
As Clarke walked, he could hear the faint hum of machinery through the walls, the steady thrum of life support systems barely keeping the hostile environment at bay. Every step echoed in the long, dim corridors, the sound bouncing off the walls like distant gunfire. Along the way, they passed armed guards—more Red Brothers, clad in their black armour, their faceless helmets reflecting no humanity. They stood silent and still, like statues of death itself.
Finally, they arrived at a set of double doors, larger and more ornate than the others he had passed. They slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a large chamber bathed in an eerie, cold light. The room was stark and brutal in its design, with sharp angles and steel plating lining the walls. At the centre of the room stood a raised platform, upon which rested a cryogenic pod, its surface covered in frost, barely visible through the mist.
Standing on either side of the pod were Zadar and Commander Yan Nua. Zadar’s eyes, hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet, were fixed on Clarke as he entered. Yan Nua, the woman who’d led the Red Brotherhood in the years since General Ajax’s ‘death’ was just as imposing as the reports suggested. She was small in stature but emitted an air of quiet authority. She watched him with a calculating gaze. She wore the dark red cloak of the Brotherhood over her military uniform, her long black hair tied back tightly, and her eyes gleamed with cold intelligence.
“Admiral Clarke,” she said, her voice smooth yet laced with scorn. “It’s been a long time.”
Clarke squared his shoulders, defiance in his posture despite the bleak situation. He said nothing.
“Come now, when was it? Ah, yes the armistice signing on Titan. You and your Ganymede Alliance friends were there as a third party. To ensure our compliance with that ridiculous treaty.”
“The humiliation on your face was worth the trip if I recall,” he spat back.
Zadar bristled but Nua smiled, a chilling expression that held no warmth. “You and your people should have taken our offer. Your rebellion failed because your leaders couldn’t see the truth, couldn’t see that the only chance for true freedom lay with us. How many of your people died during the rebellions. All killed because of your arrogance and hubris.”
It was Clarke’s turn to bristle.
“Mars and the GA may both have wanted freedom from Earth’s interference but my people aren’t mass murderers. Siding with terrorists- we still had some honour.”
Nua laughed humourlessly.
“You’ve always been stubborn, Admiral. But surely you understand the futility of your position. Earth has betrayed you—just as they betrayed Mars, and just as they will betray the Ganymede Alliance in time. No help is coming and this ridiculous Star Core is but another way for them to gain a hold over you.”
“You’re wrong,” Clarke shot back, his voice strong despite the odds. “The Star Core represents unity, the future. We’ve worked for peace, for freedom. Your fight is with the past, with ghosts.”
Nua’s smile deepened, as if she found his resistance amusing. She circled around the cryo pod, her hand tracing the frosted surface. “You cling to that illusion, Admiral, but you’ll see soon enough. Earth doesn’t care for peace; they care for power, and they will stop at nothing to dominate the entire human race.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Your loyalty to them is misplaced as you shall soon discover.”
Clarke remained silent, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a response. He kept his eyes on the cryo pod, sensing that something momentous was about to happen.
“You’re lucky,” Nua said softly, turning her back to him. “You’ve arrived at the perfect time.”
She raised her hand and gave a sharp command.
“Open it.”
