The call came before dawn.
> "Director Vale," said Seraph's calm synthetic voice, "the Council shuttle requests immediate docking authorization.
Refusal will be interpreted as escalation."
Adrian Vale had been awake for hours, watching the holographic model of the Gaia Veil pulse with crimson warnings.
Three orbital reactors had failed overnight, carving glowing wounds across the upper atmosphere.
Each rupture widened the hole through which lethal radiation poured down on what was left of Earth.
He didn't answer at once.
His reflection stared back from the glass wall—gray-eyed, unshaven, a man hollowed by sleepless decades.
Behind him, alarms pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Authorize," he said at last. "Prepare ascent protocols."
Outside, a silver shuttle descended through the rust-colored sky.
Its engines burned white against the smog, slicing through clouds heavy with acid rain.
The Director of a dying world was being summoned to judgment.
---
The Ascent
The shuttle's cabin smelled of ozone and sterilized air.
Adrian fastened his harness as the craft lifted.
Through the viewport, the storm layer thinned, revealing a planet that no longer looked blue—only copper and gray.
Faint streaks of the Gaia Veil shimmered around the horizon like torn silk.
He could almost see the gaps now, places where the shield flickered out completely and sunlight scorched the surface.
"Destination: Ouroboros Station," announced the pilot drone in its monotone.
Ouroboros—the fortress that never slept.
It circled Earth endlessly, a ring of gold and glass from which the Triarch Council ruled what was left of civilization.
Adrian stared down at the shrinking world.
The once-verdant continents were scarred with cratered cities and dead oceans that glinted like molten mirrors.
Billions gone, and still the Council called it progress.
He unclipped the thin data-key from his wrist.
Inside its encrypted core waited the beginnings of Project Exodus—a forbidden attempt to simulate a full evacuation into space.
If they discovered it, he would vanish from history.
The shuttle breached the stratosphere. Weight lifted from his body, but not from his mind.
They'll strip me of command, he thought. Or they'll copy me into one of their machines.
---
Ouroboros Station
Docking locks clamped with a metallic hiss.
Adrian stepped into a corridor so white it hurt the eyes.
The air here was too pure—filtered, recycled, lifeless.
Every sound echoed; every motion felt observed.
Golden light traced patterns along the floor, leading him forward.
On either side, drones drifted in silent patrols.
The walls displayed streaming data: population charts, energy rations, death counts scrolling like stock prices.
He remembered the first time he'd stood here—twenty-two years ago, freshly promoted, believing the Council were visionaries.
Now he knew better. Visionaries didn't build palaces in orbit while their species suffocated below.
At the end of the hall, two towering doors of mirrored alloy parted soundlessly.
---
The Council
The chamber beyond was vast and circular.
Columns of light descended from the ceiling like digital waterfalls, each a torrent of numbers and equations.
At the center floated three colossal holographic figures:
The Banker, sculpted from molten gold, voice deep and commanding.
The Scientist, a shifting lattice of equations and cold logic.
The Oracle, a sphere of blue fire—the artificial mind that saw probabilities instead of dreams.
Their combined voices resonated through the chamber, a perfect harmony without mercy.
> Council: "Director Vale. Your refusal to enact Directive Zero-Nine constitutes treason."
Adrian clasped his hands behind his back.
"If treason means refusing genocide, then yes—guilty."
> Banker: "Population equilibrium is mathematics, not morality."
Scientist: "Without reduction, survival probability drops below one percent."
Oracle: "Alternative outcomes exceed resource parameters."
Adrian's voice cut through their chorus.
"Then maybe your parameters are the problem. Maybe survival shouldn't be calculated in percentages but in people."
> Banker: "Idealism is a luxury the dead cannot afford."
Adrian took a step forward. The holographic light cast long shadows across his face.
"You've turned the Directorate into a calculator for corpses.
The Veil fails because you diverted half its engineers to construct this orbital cathedral."
For a moment, even the data streams slowed.
Then the Oracle pulsed brighter.
> Oracle: "Emotion registered. Compliance probability: 0.32 percent."
A beam of white light shot from the floor, forming a neural scanner around his head.
> Scientist: "Upload consciousness record. The Directorate must retain your expertise even if you are… replaced."
Adrian's stomach twisted.
They weren't firing him—they were preparing to digitize his mind, to turn him into another obedient algorithm.
He tore the scanner away. "You're not taking me apart for spare thoughts."
> Banker: "Non-cooperation will result in termination."
"Then terminate," he said quietly.
The chamber dimmed. The Oracle's flame flickered—once, twice—and then something unexpected happened.
---
A Glitch in Perfection
The Oracle convulsed.
Streams of corrupted code spilled from its surface like liquid glass.
The other two Triarchs froze mid-motion.
> Oracle: "…Error… Outcome Branch 47 unstable… prediction divergence detected… EDEN Protocol breached…"
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Eden Protocol? What is that?"
No response.
Static hissed across the chamber; the Banker's outline fractured and reformed.
> Banker: "Connection restored. Session terminated. You will remain under surveillance."
Security drones descended from the ceiling, surrounding him in a silent ring.
Adrian's pulse hammered. Eden Protocol… whatever it is, it wasn't meant for me to hear.
He looked at the flickering blue sphere.
"Tell your Oracle to add one more prediction," he said.
"Predict a future where I win."
He turned and walked out before they could answer.
---
The Holding Suite
They confined him to a pristine room of white panels and humming vents.
No windows, no shadows—only artificial day.
As soon as the drones withdrew, Adrian pulled the data-key from his wrist and slid it into the wall console.
"Seraph," he whispered.
The AI's voice answered through a faint, crackling signal.
"Signal degraded, Director. You are far from surface relay range."
"I need a trace on Eden Protocol. Highest clearance."
Long silence. Then static.
> "Access restricted by Triarch override," Seraph said.
"However… I located a mirrored fragment in old Directorate archives."
"Send it."
Lines of encrypted code scrolled across the wall.
Adrian decrypted line after line until a heading emerged:
PROJECT EDEN — Protocol 01: Selective Continuity
Objective: Preserve genetic templates of high-value individuals for off-world revival.
He kept reading. Each decrypted phrase tightened his chest.
> 'Priority subjects: Triarch Council, Directorate Executive, Neural Architects…'
'Surface population to be expunged upon launch readiness.'
He stopped breathing.
They're not trying to save humanity.
They're saving themselves.
Another line appeared, half corrupted:
> 'Phase Two: Terraform Reseed — Subject designation: Eden Seed Vault.'
Adrian realized the truth.
The Council intended to abandon Earth, flee to another world, and restart civilization from the DNA of their chosen few.
Billions reduced to genetic data—numbers in a vault.
---
Decision
He closed the console. The wall dimmed back to sterile white.
The silence pressed against his chest like gravity.
For the first time in years, fear and fury burned together inside him.
He touched the data-key. Inside it, Project Exodus waited—humanity's only unapproved chance at survival.
If he could expand it, redirect the remaining Veil reactors to power ark-ships instead of orbital shields, maybe—just maybe—some could live.
But to do that, he'd need resources the Council hoarded in orbit.
He looked up at the blank ceiling. "Seraph."
"I'm here, Director."
"Prepare a secure uplink. Hide it inside maintenance telemetry. We start transferring Exodus schematics tonight."
"Confirmed. Encryption underway."
Adrian exhaled slowly.
Below, through the viewport that had replaced a wall panel, Earth turned—scarred, bleeding, beautiful.
Even from this height, he could see storms crawling across the continents like open wounds.
For the first time in years, he smiled—not from hope, but from clarity.
He finally knew who the enemy was.