On the Free Will’s bridge, Wyatt and the others gathered around the holographic projection.
The image was the last feed the Observer had transmitted. It was still blurry, even after Veil’s repeated corrections—but it was enough.
Now Wyatt finally understood why they hadn’t found wreckage scattered through space.
The polygonal core was made of dozens of warship hulks, large and small, mashed together as if a giant magnet had grabbed them and crumpled them into a twisted geometric knot.
Through gaps between the wrecks, Wyatt could make out a hollow interior.
The fast-moving things inside were just as unclear. Their outlines suggested arrow-shaped heads and many trailing tendrils—vaguely squidlike.
Big Blue stared at the projection. “So… this is Miller’s nest?”
“Yes,” Dorian said. “One of them, at least.”
Danser clicked his tongue. “They don’t seem very welcoming.”
“Welcoming or not,” Wyatt said, “it’s still the first real lead we’ve had.”
“Captain Wyatt, the target object has changed,” Veil said suddenly, switching the display back to the sphere.
Everyone saw it at once: something had appeared on the film’s surface.
It was an insect with absurdly thin, long legs—almost like a giant water strider. Veil’s measurements put it at seven or eight meters long.
Seen without context, it was surreal: a bug scuttling across the void.
It reached the spot where the Observer had torn the film, paused, and seemed to look around.
Danser slapped his own forehead. “That bug looks familiar. And that sphere—wait. I remember!”
“It’s called a Veilspider,” Danser said.
Everyone turned to him.
“Veil,” Danser asked, “do you’ve any records on Veilspiders?”
“One moment… yes,” Veil replied. “A prehistoric insect species.”
Veil projected several images and a brief profile onto a side display.
Dorian and Big Blue pounced on it immediately, reading aloud like kids in a museum.
Veilspider: Insecta. Arthropoda. Hexapoda…
In its original form, it was only about three centimeters long and usually lived in places most predators couldn’t reach—high cliff faces, treetops, and other hard-to-access perches.
Its main natural enemy was birds, and it had evolved a very specific survival trick.
It would spin a bubble-like membrane around its nest, leaving only a small opening for entry and exit.
The membrane could mimic nearby patterns and blend into the environment, fooling a bird’s eyes. It was also mildly adhesive: small flying insects that hit it would stick and become food.
And if a larger predator saw through the camouflage and tried to attack, the sticky film would still slow it down—giving the Veilspider time to escape.
Wyatt compared the description to what they were seeing. Scale aside, the resemblance was uncanny.
By the time they looked up again, the insect was gone.
The tear the Observer had made had been repaired. The sphere had returned to its earlier, deceptive calm.
Wyatt said quietly, “Miller once told me that every life form—except humans—has its own way to survive. He wasn’t wrong.”
Danser tilted his head. “Then what are humans?”
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. “The way to die.”
Big Blue snorted. “Can’t argue with that.”
“So what now?” Dorian asked.
“Plan C,” Wyatt said. “Veil—send our gift. Then pull back three kilometers and cut engines.”
“Orders received, Captain.”
The Free Will eased backward. A bay door opened, leaving behind an olive-shaped object in the empty dark.
Every three seconds it flashed a brilliant pulse—so bright it looked like a new star.
It was an inertial energy core custom-built by Lord Julian as a gift for Miller.
It was the same kind of core that powered Wyatt’s chest—only this one was far larger, with far greater capacity.
If they couldn’t find Miller directly, then placing something he would value near his nest was a reasonable way to draw his attention.
The ship went dead-silent and waited.
Only a few minutes passed before the sphere reacted.
Several shadows spilled out from its underside and shot straight toward the energy core.
Veil magnified the view and pushed it to the main display.
This time the image was clear: five squidlike monsters, each twenty to thirty meters long.
Their heads were shaped like assault craft—sharp and pointed. Eight tentacles trailed behind them, and the ends of the tentacles seemed to vent gas in bursts, likely how they maneuvered through vacuum.
Danser frowned. “Spear Squids. Looks like Miller made everything giant.”
“Which is why everything looks like a nightmare,” Wyatt said.
They circled the energy core, as if checking it—or checking for traps.
After half a minute, one of them reached out with a tentacle, coiled around the core, and carried it away.
Big Blue blinked. “They’re just… taking it?”
“Miller didn’t show,” Dorian said. “So what do we do now?”
“Wait,” Wyatt said. “Miller will come to claim it.”
“Wait—look,” Danser said. “They’re not going back to the sphere.”
Everyone snapped back to the hologram.
The five Spear Squids swept past the sphere without slowing. Then they accelerated, vanishing into the vast space behind it.
“Veil, follow them,” Wyatt ordered.
“Orders received.”
The five monsters threaded through the asteroids with eerie agility, picking up speed.
The Free Will followed at a distance, cloaked. The energy core carried a tracker, so losing them wasn’t a concern.
After roughly two hours of high-speed flight, the asteroid density dropped—but Luofu began to appear.
Warship-sized disk-shaped life forms hung scattered through space, silent and still.
Whenever a Spear Squid passed, a Luofu would flash a few beams of light. The squids flashed back, as if answering in some private language.
Wyatt ordered Veil to detour wide around the giants to avoid being detected.
Ten minutes later, there were even more Luofu.
And ahead, a massive spherical body slowly emerged from the darkness.
Dorian let out a low whistle. “That’s big enough to count as a planetoid, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Veil said. “This body is registered in my database: ‘Underworld Princess.’ ID: DLG9X442. Equatorial radius: 367.3 km. Polar radius: 324.3 km. Surface gravity: 0.26 m/s…”
Veil enlarged the object on the display and pushed the full readout to the common channel.
Big Blue’s voice went flat. “Don’t tell me Miller made that his home.”
“Ninety percent,” Danser said.
“One hundred,” Wyatt corrected. “There wouldn’t be this many Luofu on guard otherwise. And notice—the Spear Squids are slowing down.”
Dorian leaned closer to the feed. “Yeah. And… look. There’s something built on the surface.”
Danser scoffed. “You call that architecture? It’s just a pile of rocks.”
“A pile of rocks that happens to be a square pyramid?” Dorian shot back.
Big Blue cut in. “Enough. Are we landing?”
“No,” Wyatt said. “We’re a warship. Before Miller knows what we want, he may treat us as an attack.”
Big Blue’s optics narrowed. “Then what do we do?”
Wyatt thought for a moment. “Veil—prepare a small transport. I’ll go alone.”
“Orders received.”
“I’m coming with you,” Big Blue said immediately.
“I’m going to negotiate,” Wyatt said. “Fewer bodies is better. Stay on the ship.”
Big Blue hesitated. “And if Miller isn’t negotiating in good faith?”
[ALERT] Energy-core link lost.
[INFO] Planetary signal-screening layer detected.
By then, the Spear Squids had already entered the planetoid’s thin atmosphere and headed straight for the square-pyramid structure.
Whatever doubts remained were gone. That was Miller’s nest.
If Miller wanted them dead, Wyatt knew it wouldn’t matter whether he went alone or took a thousand with him—none of them would leave alive.
He paused, then spoke carefully.
“Veil—kill engines. Maintain maximum cloaking.
If I don’t return within twenty-four hours, fire the Starbreaker triphasic warhead at that pyramid.
Then leave immediately. Go back to Lansen and report everything to Lord Julian.”
“Orders received, Captain Wyatt,” Veil replied, as calm as ever.