The Sultan flight command had never been a quiet place. Even during the darkest hours of war, the command deck had always been alive with the sounds of pilots calling for clearance, mechanics shouting across the hangars, engines screaming to life, and officers moving from station to station as mission after mission was launched into the darkness. But tonight, there was something different. Tonight, the silence was louder than the alarms. Thirty percent of the Sultan pilots were gone. Thirty percent of the men and women who had climbed into their fighters believing they would return were now nothing more than names on casualty screens. Their flight bays sat empty, their personal equipment remained untouched, and in some cases, their families were still waiting for a transmission that would never come.
Commander Ralek stood on the observation platform overlooking the primary hangar and stared at the rows of fighters below. There should have been hundreds of pilots preparing for the next rotation. Instead, mechanics worked around empty cockpits, removing damaged equipment from ships whose pilots would never sit behind their controls again. Ralek had spent twenty-three years in the Sultan Air Command. He had watched young pilots become commanders, watched commanders become legends, and watched some of the best pilots in the fleet die defending the Sultan colonies. But he had never seen losses like this. Thirty percent was more than a number. It was families destroyed, squadrons broken, friendships erased, and an entire generation of pilots suddenly missing from the ranks.
"They did this," General Varek said from behind him.
Ralek didn't turn around.
"The Luveniles."
"They're responsible for the battle," Ralek answered quietly. "I'm not convinced they're responsible for all of the losses."
The general stepped closer. "You questioning command?"
"No, sir."
"Sounds like you are."
Ralek finally turned. "I'm questioning the reports."
The room went silent.
The official report claimed the Luveniles had destroyed the Sultan formations using a coordinated ambush. Fighters had been overwhelmed, communications disrupted, and entire squadrons had vanished in minutes. But Ralek had flown enough battles to know what a destroyed squadron looked like. There should have been debris. Escape pods. Emergency beacons. Something. Instead, some of the missing pilots had simply disappeared.
Their ships had vanished from the battlefield.
Their signals had gone dark.
And their bodies had never been recovered.
General Varek's expression hardened. "We don't have time for theories. The Luveniles have been preparing for this war for sixty years. They want us afraid. They want us divided. We respond with strength."
"With thirty percent of our pilots gone?"
"Exactly."
Ralek looked back toward the hangar. "That's what worries me."
Across the flight deck, Lieutenant Kael stood beside his fighter and stared at the empty spaces surrounding him. His squadron had entered the last battle with twenty pilots. Seven had returned. Seven. He had watched six of his friends disappear from his tactical display and another seven simply vanish from the network. He had spent the last eighteen hours trying to convince himself that they had been shot down. It was easier to believe they were dead than to believe something else had happened.
His best friend, Taron, had been flying directly beside him when his signal disappeared.
There had been no explosion.
No distress call.
Nothing.
Kael opened the access panel beneath his fighter's cockpit and began checking the navigation system himself. He had been told to leave the fighter alone until maintenance crews completed their inspection, but something had been bothering him since he returned.
There was a fragment of corrupted data buried inside the navigation system.
At first, Kael thought it was damage from the battle. Then he noticed the coordinates.
His fighter had been given a course correction during the battle.
He had never requested it.
Someone had changed his flight path.
Kael stared at the coordinates and felt the blood drain from his face.
The correction had sent him away from the main formation just seconds before the Luvenile attack.
He had survived because someone had moved him.
But the other pilots who received similar corrections had disappeared.
Kael copied the data onto a secure device and immediately turned toward the command tower.
He never made it there.
A figure stepped from the shadows between the fighters.
"Lieutenant."
Kael stopped.
The man wore a Sultan uniform, but Kael didn't recognize him.
"I need to speak with Commander Ralek," Kael said.
"You will."
"When?"
The stranger looked toward the command tower.
"When you're supposed to."
Kael's hand moved toward his sidearm.
The stranger smiled.
"You shouldn't have looked inside your navigation system."
Kael froze.
Before he could react, the hangar lights went black.
A single emergency light flickered above them.
Then Kael disappeared.
By morning, the Sultan command had another missing pilot.
The official report called it desertion.
Commander Ralek didn't believe it.
He stood alone in the operations center staring at the casualty list. Thirty percent of the Sultan pilots were already gone, and now another name had been added.
Lieutenant Kael.
Ralek stared at the name for several seconds before opening the classified battle reports.
One by one, he examined the missing pilots.
Different squadrons.
Different missions.
Different locations.
But one thing connected them all.
Every missing pilot had received an unexplained navigation correction shortly before disappearing.
Ralek leaned back in his chair.
For the first time, he wondered if the Sultan Empire had made a terrible mistake.
Perhaps the Luveniles weren't the only enemy preparing for war.
Perhaps someone inside the Sultan military was preparing for something far more dangerous.
The following morning, the remaining pilots were ordered back into the air.
There were fewer helmets on the launch deck.
Fewer voices in the briefing room.
Fewer fighters waiting for their pilots.
But the orders remained the same.
Launch.
Fight.
Destroy the Luveniles.
The pilots climbed into their fighters knowing that thirty percent of the men and women who had once stood beside them were gone.
They also knew something their commanders didn't yet understand.
Someone was watching them.
Someone inside their own command structure.
And as the first Sultan fighters disappeared into the darkness of space, Commander Ralek received a transmission from an unknown source.
Three words appeared on his screen.
THE WAR BEGINS.