Page 69 of Honor Bound

Coleridge slowly walked over to study the massive vat of parasites. The cylinder pulsed faintly, the liquid inside glowing a cold, otherworldly blue. Miniscule bioluminescent particles swirled within the fluid, occasionally flickering like distant stars before merging into larger clusters—the parasites.

Coleridge’s eyes narrowed as he studied the glowing liquid. The iROS parasites were barely the size of grains of sand, but they pulsed with unnatural energy, their movements almost hypnotic.

“We keep them alive by feeding them small amounts of oxygen through these tubes. The more oxygen they absorb, the more they replicate. If there is not enough oxygen, they begin devouring each other. If they get too much, they begin to replicate faster than the oxygen supply and once again begin feeding on each other. It is a delicate balance,” Dr. Mella said, his voice tinged with both pride and dread. “Once released, the iROS will attack the planet’s atmospheric layers, breaking down the oxygen molecules and leaving the surface exposed to radiation. As I mentioned, they’re contained in these cylinders for deployment to prevent premature destruction.”

Coleridge’s fingers brushed the cold glass of the containment unit. “How long until the atmosphere is compromised if all ten are deployed?”

Dr. Mella hesitated, his brow furrowing. He mumbled a series of complex mathematical formulas under his breath, wheezing loudly. It took almost a minute before he finally answered.

“Based on the size and atmospheric composition of the planet, I estimate three to four days, General.”

Coleridge nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the glowing liquid. “And how long to replicate enough to compromise a dozen planets the size of Tesla Terra?”

“Well…” Dr. Mella paused, licking his lips. “Six months. Maybe longer. That’s if we use everything we have on board now. If we use all ten units, we will have only a few of the parasites to work with. The initial replication process is slow?—”

Coleridge turned sharply, his eyes locking onto Dr. Mella with an intensity that made the scientist flinch and his rambling explanation faded.

“Six months won’t do. I want every Battle Cruiser fitted with a mobile unit of this weapon in two months.”

Mella’s face paled in response. “General, that’s… not realistic?—”

“It’s not a request, Dr. Mella,” Coleridge snapped. “You’ll find a way. This mission is vital to the Legion’s success. The Director expects nothing less than perfection.”

Without waiting for a response, Coleridge turned and strode from the containment lab. His footsteps slowed to a stop when the double doors slid open.

A nagging feeling pulled at him and he turned to look down the corridor at the other cubicles holding the individual labs. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the scientists dressed in white contaminate suits through the glass enclosures.

Not even Roan would be bold enough to try to board this ship—even if he could.

With a grunt of irritation, he turned away, leaving Dr. Mella staring after him.

* * *

The lift doors opened onto the bridge. The view was breathtaking—and ominous.Tesla Terra hung in the distance, a fragile orb of blue and green against the vast black depths of space. The room was quiet, too quiet, with only the soft hum of consoles and the occasional murmur from the officers at their stations.

Coleridge’s boots struck the metal floor with deliberate force as he walked to the center of the bridge. His attention locked onto the planet. His heart beat steadily, but a flicker of unease stirred deep within him.

The surrounding space was too quiet. The mission was too easy. He knew his son too well.

Roan was a strategist, always calculating, always watching for weaknesses. Roan wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t hide.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the tactical display. Every instinct screamed that something was coming—something hidden in the calm.

“Status report,” he barked.

An officer glanced up, his face impassive. “All systems normal, General Landais. No abnormal activity detected.”

Coleridge pursed his lips, but his hands curled into fists behind his back. The silence pressed against him, wrapping around him with long dark tentacles.

His son was out there. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.

Coleridge’s jaw tightened. The air on the bridge seemed to thicken, the tension rising with each passing second.

“Complete another scan, including one of the ship,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the officer replied, turning to give the order.

His eyes remained locked on the planet, his breath slowing. This was the calm before the storm. He could feel it in his bones.

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