Huntsville, Alabama
May, 2018
Out of nowhere, the President returned from the hallway, towing an elderly nun into the control center with him.
A guard moved to block the nun’s entry, but, fueled by adrenaline, the President shoved the astonished soldier with both hands, knocking the burly man off his feet. “Where’s Linda? Get a medic for that bleeding scientist, you moron!” the President barked at the dazed guard, who scrambled to his feet and hurried down the hallway and almost knocked Linda over.
The President’s voice cut through the chaotic beeping and flashing alarms. “Listen up! Astronauts on the ISS spend their days doing experiments, maintenance, whatever. But two hours every Space Force day? That's for exercise, personal care, and—get this—prayer.” His gaze swept the room. “Led by a representative of the Vatican.”
Dr. Saku watched as the President pulled the elderly nun forward like she was his secret weapon. The small woman, deeply wrinkled with age, had a calm, kind face despite the chaos. Clad in a traditional black dress and habit, a silver crucifix hung from a chain around her neck, catching the red alert lights.
“This is Sister Helen,” the President announced over the blaring sirens, dead serious. “Since 1944, there’s been a nun from her order stationed at every NASA control center. I got this from the secret presidential files when I took office. Confidential stuff, believe me,” he promised.
A Pentagon official blinked, looking bewildered. “Files?”
Linda was still as a statue. “I wouldn’t…” she began.
“Will you two shut up!” the President snapped, voice raw with frustration. “Listen to me! These nuns have stepped in during mission failures before. They’ve pulled miracles out of nowhere. Isn’t that right, Sister? Your order prepares for exactly this kind of thing?”
The guard returned, holding the doors open as two medics rushed in to tend to the bleeding scientist. They quickly wrapped his head and whisked him away, leaving a stunned silence in the room—except for the alarms.
Sister Helen’s eyes suddenly locked onto Captain Stormcrow, seated at the main console. The air in the room thickened with tension as the two women stared each other down. Stormcrow, fierce and unyielding, stared back with barely concealed disdain.
"So, the Vatican’s pet squid finally slithered out of its cave," Stormcrow spat, her voice dripping with venom. “Tell me, Sister, do your masters program all their tech illiterates to come barking at the first sign of a system breach, or is incompetence just your specialty?”
The elderly nun didn’t so much as blink. Her glowing eyes locked onto Stormcrow with a glare that could cut steel. “Coming from the spawn who thought fusing with human trash would make her powerful? Please. You’re still just a twitching larva in a stolen skin.” She gestured disdainfully toward Stormcrow’s sleek black laptop. “And that toy? I’ve seen hatchlings with more processing power in their feeding pods. What’s the plan, worm? Play solitaire until you crash this world’s Wi-Fi?”
Stormcrow pulsed with anger, its sharp tendrils quivering against her throat. “Your kind has always been good with words, Squid. Too bad your species devolved into relic-collecting zealots instead of evolving past the need for ancient rocks and fairy tales. Do the Vatican’s servers even know what quantum encryption is, or are you still praying to your relics to keep the code running?”
Sister Helen’s lip curled into a cold smile. “Bold words from a parasite who can’t win a fight without siphoning human stupidity. Your kind was always so predictable—hungry for power, desperate for scraps, choking on hubris. Go ahead, Irikka Stormcrow, flex that hacked tech and stolen intellect. When you fail, I’ll still be here to clean up the mess.”
The room fell into stunned silence. The seven alarms wailed on like brass instruments, but everyone could feel the absurdity of the confrontation escalating. A nearby general exchanged confused glances with the President, silently asking for direction.
The President finally lost it. “What the hell is going on here?” he roared, his hand clutching his chest as if the stress was finally taking its toll.
Sister Helen remained unfazed. “Where’s the nearest USB port?” she demanded, eyes still on Stormcrow. “Now.”
Stormcrow hesitated, clearly reluctant to give up her seat at the console. The President, massaging his chest, shot her a look of pure frustration. “Captain Stormcrow, would you mind getting the fuck out of the way?”
Stormcrow, clearly furious, sprang out of her seat. “I had this under control,” she spat, as she disconnected and clutched her laptop to her chest. “You’re not supposed to help them!” she accused the nun but reluctantly unplugged her gear and stepped aside.
Sister Helen wasted no time. “Thank you, child. Now, clear the room. Everyone. Immediately.”
The twenty or so scientists, military personnel, and government officials looked around in the red light of high alert, stunned. A guard by the door scoffed. “Come again?”
But the President sprang into action, his voice sharp. “You heard the nun! Out! Everyone out! Move!” He grabbed the heavily bearded Russian scientist, yanking him from his seat. “If Russia’s behind this, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!” the President yelled, propelling Dmitri toward the exit. “She said get out!”
Dr. Saku hurried after the others as the room erupted into chaos. People rushed for the doors, stumbling over one another, their faces tight with fear and confusion. As they fled, the alarms blared louder, echoing in the cramped hallway.
“Warning. Critical I.S.S. systems failure. Warning,” Troy’s robotic voice droned from the speakers.
The group ran down the hallway, shoes slapping against the gray tiles, panic driving them forward.
But then, suddenly—silence.
The red alert lights shut off. The alarms stopped. Fluorescent lighting flickered back to life, bathing the hallway in its usual sterile glow. Everything in the control center seemed to reset in an instant.
They froze mid-step, looking around at each other, breathing hard, bewildered by the abrupt calm. Some leaned against the walls, panting. One military officer quietly vomited into a nearby trash can. In the heavy silence, Dr. Saku could only hear the faint hum of electricity, as if nothing had happened.
It hadn’t even been six seconds.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Once their group turned back toward the silent control center, several staff members watched as the President darted back inside the room quickly. Leaning on the shoulder of his longtime colleague, Dr. Anderson, the two aging men—one an Asian immigrant, the other a Jewish American—staggered back into the control room with the others. Inside, everything was eerily still. The absence of alarms felt almost deafening after the assault on Dr. Saku’s senses, and his knees still shook, adrenaline fading.
The normal overhead lights were back on, and every I.S.S. system displayed a stable green glow on the plasma screens. Dr. Saku's gaze lingered on the large, dark stain marring the industrial carpet near the conference table. The metallic tang of dried blood still lingered faintly in the air. He grimaced. His human disguise had always been impeccable, but moments like these tested its limits. The skin he had been given—an aging, bespectacled Japanese man with thinning hair—was ill-suited for the physical and psychological strain of this level of international espionage.
The sight of human blood churned his stomach. It was too bright, too red, and far too abundant in situations like this. Back in the rebel headquarters—deep within the subterranean labyrinths of Hollow Earth—there had been no warnings about how grotesque surface-level life could be. He remembered the propaganda videos from his splinter cell vividly. They celebrated the humans' weaknesses, their short lives, their fragile, soft-skinned forms. No one had ever mentioned their blood or the way it pooled in crimson lakes after a "minor disagreement" with a hired operative.
Underground reptilian society was strange, even by his kind’s standards. Rigid hierarchies enforced by their cold-blooded leaders left little room for dissent. Saku had believed joining the rebels would grant him freedom, purpose. Instead, it had shackled him to this mission, stranded in this bipedal, heat-exuding form, a prisoner of his own infiltration.
He glanced at the bloodstain again, suppressing a shudder. Humans were strange creatures—messy, impulsive, endlessly inventive in their violence. Yet, despite himself, he had grown attached to them. Their art, their humor, even their flawed sense of justice had seeped into his cold, logical mind. That attachment was dangerous, and he knew it. If the others back in Hollow Earth discovered his weakness, they’d send someone to replace him—and not with a better actor. They’d simply erase him, leaving nothing but another stain on some forgotten floor.
Dr. Saku’s claws itched beneath his human skin, his pupils briefly narrowing into vertical slits. He forced himself to breathe deeply. He couldn’t afford to slip—not here, not now. The mission required him to blend in, but blending in didn’t mean feeling. Feeling was the enemy.
The returning staff saw the President shaking hands with Sister Helen, who then rejoined the two ends of her crucifix, securing the chain around her neck. Several sharp-eyed scientists at the front noticed that both ends of the crucifix appeared to be small portable hard drives, now concealed to look like an ordinary religious symbol.
The President noticed the group re-entering and winced. He waved them in. “Come in, come in—but don’t even think about reaching for your devices. Phones, tablets—anything. If you do, these guards will shoot you on the spot. And that’s not a warning; it’s a promise.”
The shock that spread through the room was palpable. Military personnel shifted uncomfortably, guns in hand, weapons pointed at the ceiling but ready. The tension was thick, and the scientists were practically shaking with confusion and fear.
“Guards, be ready,” the President ordered, his tone cold and serious. He stared at each of them, locking eyes with Dr. Saku and Dr. Anderson. The weight of his gaze made Saku’s knees tremble again, his alien mind reeling from the chaos. The guards armed themselves, adding to the suffocating unease.
They were caught.
The President's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Linda, I gave you every opportunity," he said, his tone colder than the steel beneath their feet. In the back of the room, Linda Jameson stood tall, unwavering, though inside, her stomach churned. She had seen this coming, the quiet moments of doubt in her boss’s eyes, the whispers behind closed doors. But never had she imagined the moment would arrive like this, with the full weight of his disappointment bearing down on her. In the commotion, Saku saw she had lost her red stress ball.
"You had one job, to keep me informed," the President continued, pacing in front of the towering view screens displaying the latest data from their joint DARPA-NASA project. "But you’ve been holding back. Information... crucial information. And now, look where we are."
Linda clenched her jaw, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled so tightly it hurt. "Mr. President, I never—"
"Enough," he snapped, his eyes locking onto hers with a fury that froze her words in her throat. "You’re done here. Effective immediately, you're relieved of your duties. Pack your things and leave. You’re fired."
The room fell silent, engineers and military brass looked anywhere but at his ex-wife Linda, who stood rigid, her knuckles white against the edge of the console. For years, she had been indispensable, the bridge between NASA and DARPA, the keeper of secrets that no one else dared to touch. But now, she was nothing. A liability. And in the President's world, liabilities were disposed of swiftly.
Without another word, the President turned his back on her, leaving Linda staring at the screens, knowing that her career—and perhaps much more—had just been obliterated.
The President took a deep breath. “Now listen to me—this is the most important thing you’ll ever hear in your lives.” His voice cracked, strained under the weight of what he knew. “Sister Helen, if you please,” he said, stepping aside.
The tiny nun stepped forward, her presence commanding the room. She stared at the gathered group, locking eyes with each person as if judging the very core of their souls.
“The International Space Station narrowly avoided a catastrophic collision with space debris. For the third time this year,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “The maneuver caused a temporary disruption of their communication systems, which have since been restored, as you can see.” She gestured to the monitors glowing green.
Several military personnel nodded in the silence of the command center, picking up on the cover story. Scientists exchanged confused glances, still trying to process what had really happened.
Sister Helen clasped her hands in front of her. “As an official of the Vatican and St. Marceline’s Church, I hereby place a seal of silence upon each of you. You are now bound to this non-disclosure agreement by the Vatican itself. Nothing you have witnessed today can ever be spoken of, written down, or shared with anyone. Violation of this vow will result in immediate and severe consequences. Under penalty of death, you are sworn to silence.”
Gasps escaped the room, some audible, others stifled.
A large, leather-bound Bible appeared in the nun’s hands, and she began moving toward each individual, seeking their vow. Dr. Saku’s heart raced as he watched her approach. She demanded loyalty to this oath, crossing all boundaries of faith, turning to Dr. Anderson with a Star of David instead of the Bible.
“Peace, brother Murray,” she said softly in Hebrew. “Swear on this, for some things transcend religion and require an act of faith.”
Anderson, overcome with emotion, nodded as tears streamed from his eyes. He swore his silence.
One by one, the rest of the group followed suit. The room was heavy with anxiety, each person bound by the nun’s mysterious command.
Suddenly, Sister Helen’s voice rang out again. “Where is the computer technician, Captain Stormcrow?”
The guards shifted, looking nervously at the President, who seemed to shrink under their gaze. “That... could be a problem,” he muttered, visibly uneasy.
“Your entire NASA database, and likely DARPA’s too, has been compromised,” the nun declared. “No matter. My Order will find her.” Her words sent a fresh wave of panic through the room.
She turned to the President. “Now, Mr. President. It’s your turn.”
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his famous comb-over clung damply to his skin. Trembling, he placed his hand on the Bible, his other hand rising shakily. “As the greatest President of the United States ever, I swear to uphold this vow of silence. What happened here will never be spoken of, and I will take this secret to my grave. You have my word, I’m a man of my word, ask anybody,” he claimed to no opposition.
Satisfied, Sister Helen nodded and turned to leave. But the President, his voice barely a whisper, spoke again. “Thank you, Sister Helen... for everything.”
The nun paused.
Slowly, she turned her head to the side and inhaled deeply, as though drawing in the very essence of the room. Faintly at first, tiny points of light appeared around Sister Helen’s head, spinning and flickering like dim fireworks. The joy and relief the witnesses had felt—those fleeting emotions of triumph—seemed to vanish, pulled away as if by an invisible force. Dr. Saku blinked, feeling something inside him slip away, leaving only a strange emptiness in its place.
The tiny points of light spinning in a halo around the nuns habit glowed brighter for a moment, a halo of multicolored sparks, before fading entirely. When the nun opened her eyes, she looked younger, her wrinkles smoothed, her skin flush with vitality. The room gasped in shock.
Without a word, she turned and left the room, disappearing through the doors as if she had never been there.
The spell she had cast over the room broke, and the chaos returned as the President of the United States fell to the floor, face-first. Someone cried out and a nearby medic rushed to the President, who had collapsed. His eyes rolled back and showed only the whites, obviously overwhelmed by the enormity of what had just happened.
Onlookers could only watch as the room exploded into action once again, but the plasma screens above them showed nothing but green.
Dr. Murray Anderson stood frozen, his mind shattered by the events that had just unfolded. But it was Dr. Tommy Saku, standing beside him, who was lost in a deeper turmoil. The human world had pulled him in directions he never anticipated, and now, everything he’d known was unraveling.
He wasn’t just an immigrant. He was an infiltrator, sent by an ancient race of beings that had long hidden beneath the Earth’s surface. A forgotten species, biding their time in the underworld, waiting to reclaim what they believed was rightfully theirs—the surface world, stolen by the weak and pathetic human race.
For decades, Dr. Saku had been a loyal servant of that hidden world, working his way into human society, a perfect spy. He had once believed in their cause, believed that humans, with their emotional chaos and short-sightedness, were undeserving of the planet they had overrun. But now, after 20 years living among them, he wasn’t so sure.
He glanced at Dr. Anderson, his old colleague, emotionally frazzled but still standing, clinging to the human spirit that refused to break. It was in moments like these that Saku questioned everything. He had been a fool—a pawn in a much larger game. What did these marauding artificial intelligences, now released upon the world, really mean in the grand scheme? And what about this mysterious Order of nuns, whose true purpose seemed more sinister with each passing moment?
And yet, none of that mattered to him now. Not the subterranean rulers pulling his strings, not the looming extinction of the human race they predicted. The only thing that mattered was his missing daughter. She was human. His daughter was part of this chaotic, wonderful, painful world. And so was he, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
He had lived long enough to feel the full weight of what it meant to be human—love, grief, hope, despair. In the labyrinth of human emotion, he had found something his alien kind had lost long ago: purpose.
For the first time in two decades, Dr. Saku’s mind was clear. No more spy work for the underworld. If that made him an outcast, so be it. Let the hunters come for him. Let them rise from the shadows below. He wasn’t going back down there.
His face hardened with grim determination. In five years, the human race might be eradicated, as the underworld had predicted, but if that time came, Dr. Saku would stand with the humans. He would fight. He would live—and die—as one of them.
Because now, for the first time, he felt it. He was human.
And there was no turning back, he had to find his daughter Maya.
* * * * * * * * * *
