He's here. He's real.

[34th Brigade]

Koji sat at his desk, sorting through some documents and flipping through reports on the exploration of the Earhart system. The latest reports and orders from 34th Brigade Headquarters stated that, despite all the difficulties surrounding Andry Scott, the unit was to continue its mission. No one intended to back down, despite recent events.

Well... That was a good sign. His father had always said that the lowest thing a person could do in the face of fear was to try to hide. After what the Brigade had endured during the Expedition, it would have been strange to think anyone would risk hiding or acting more covertly. Helson lived up to his position as commander and embodied the indomitable human spirit. Alfred, too, was not giving up: he held no grudge against Waldemar for the recent detention. On the contrary, he praised the newly appointed commander, saying his actions were entirely justified, and that he would have done the same.

Koji checked Alfred, put the simplest facts together, and concluded he wasn't infected. There was nothing to worry about: the letters had indeed been unopened, and he'd seen Schwartz close the neurobook with his own eyes after talking to him about the previous mission. Then he said goodbye and went to bed. Everything seemed so calm at that moment.

And now Andrea, Lex, Kunrad... Why not the veterans? Why the rookies? Perhaps they should venture into space more often. Perhaps they were too well prepared? Perhaps the rookies simply hadn't experienced the hardships of the Expedition, and Andry could get into their heads much better than the veterans? And what about the letters? And why was Andrea feeling fine now and showing no signs of infection?

It was curious. And it bothered Koji. He couldn't find his place, periodically jumping up from his chair and pacing around the table, hands behind his back. Why was everything like this? Where was the logical thread that would make everything clear at once? There were clues, but they were all in different places. Like pieces of completely different puzzles that, for some reason, were part of a single whole.

A knock at the door.

"Yes, yes, who's there? Uh... Excuse me, come in. Just come in." Koji was back at the table, shuffling papers.

He glanced at the door. Andry Scott stepped through the door.

...

It was... Strange. Andry sat down in front of him as if nothing had happened. No abrasions, no signs of exhaustion. Nothing at all. It was as if he had never disappeared during the Expedition. As if he had been here the whole time. With the Brigade. His appearance and uniform were consistent with those of the Expedition. He wore a standard Order flight suit, with the appropriate insignia of the 341st Wing. He'd even had a sticker made for himself before the Expedition, which he wore on his left shoulder. It was small, discreet, and didn't detract from his appearance. But if you simply paid attention to the details of his appearance, you'd notice the inscription "5th."

As Koji watched all this unfold, he realized that whatever happened next would be unrealistic. He knew what to do in such situations. But before things went too far, he had to watch.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Andry asked with curiosity. "Yes, I know you don't like it when people smoke near you. But if this is the case, will you make an exception for your friend?"

Silence. Andry took out a cigarette and lit it, drawing nicotine into his lungs and slowly releasing the smoke from his mouth somewhere towards the ceiling.

"You're probably wondering what happened? Why am I here? Why were the Brigade's new pilots the ones hit, and not the veterans? Right?"

"Yes."

"Well, the answer to that question is obvious. For some reason, you never leave your holes, while your guys do all the work for you. Including the dirty work. Ah, those days. When we literally executed suspects in space without thinking too much. I wonder, you know how many of them were actually infected? No? I still wonder how many innocents we killed. But those were the orders, so there was nothing to be done."

"Your philosophy is literally an attempt to condemn the Brigade. Don't dwell on those memories from so many years ago."

"Oh, come on! Big deal! If you're so wise, you'd have gone off to meditate long ago, deep in the mountains, on one of the planets of your beloved Kusari. Why are you here then? You've always wanted to know the truth yourself. You've been drawn to knowledge."

"What did you do with Andrea?"

"Me? I just questioned her. Your girl is too stubborn, even mentally, to get into her head so easily. Although, I wasn't as close as I'd have liked. It was easier in Delta. Well, now you'll have to deal with Section 8. Although, there were rumors they were collaborating with the Nomads and the Technocracy. I'd put them up against the wall just for that. However, this is only Section 8.

And tomorrow it could be Overwatch. Or Wedjat. Do you want it that way? It's easy to organize, just a matter of a couple of days. I just have to meet the right people. At the right time, day, and place."

"What do you want?" Koji's patience was running out. Andry took another drag. The cigarette smoldered slowly in his hands. There was something unusual about it. Koji couldn't figure out what. But Yasu Sr. had no choice but to sit with his hands on the table. His weapons were too far away to do anything.

"I'll give you a simple hint. You're going too far, Koji. Too far. Earhart, Uncharteds. They tell me you know things you shouldn't. That you're close to the solution. And those who created all this don't want you close to the solution. Their children may still be able to tinker with it, but not you or anyone else of our kind.

I'm offering you a deal. Destroy the research and pretend it's all false data. In short, I don't care. Just make sure you don't think about this system or mess with it anymore. And then, yes, I won't mess with you anymore. It's as simple as that, my friend."

That easy? Victor was right. Andry's arrival was precisely timely because Earhart was no longer something unknown to the Brigade. A year ago, Koji had merely conspired to explain the system's purpose, finding connections between all the events of the past. But now, thanks to the combined efforts of all the agents, they were closer to solving the mystery than ever before. Why didn't anyone listen to him when he insisted Andry would return? Perhaps that's what everyone was afraid of?

But why was the deal so simple? Was that all Andry really wanted? Or was he long dead, and someone had infected Brigade in Sirius, bringing back memories of him? That would sound more logical. Why?

All genius is easy. Koji recalled an old saying he'd once heard from his father. He'd periodically drawn on it when he'd reached a dead end in his research. Throughout his service in the Order, Koji had believed that the Nomads had their own exotic methods of warfare, but they were nonetheless the same flesh-and-blood enemy. They were mortal. And their creators were mortal too. If you bleed a God, people will stop believing in Him. And the Order crushed such gods every day. The Order was literally created for this. And one of these "gods" sat before him. Right now. But gods can make mistakes. And Andry made his. All that remains is to not show it.

"What if I refuse?"

"Oh, well, you have time to think about it. I'll give you three whole weeks, my friend. Don't forget that I will also use the time given to you so that our next meeting will be... Better than before." Andry stood up, took his cigarette case out of his pocket and threw the cigarette butt in there. "There's no ashtray nearby, so this will have to do." He headed for the door. It opened, and he half-turned to face Koji. "Okay, think about it. You can discuss it with the others."

He stepped over the threshold, turned to Koji once more, for the last time, and spoke:

"Oh, and give Alfred my regards! I would like to meet him, but I'll put it off until later, okay?"

The door closed, hiding the face of that Andry Scott forever.

...

Koji jumped up from the table, strode quickly to his weapon, drew his laser pistol, and then headed just as quickly for the door. Less than ten seconds had passed since it closed. He couldn't have gotten far. He walked quickly to the door, pressed the open button, put the pistol in the hip position and was ready for the worst.

...

"Okay, girl, as I said, no more flying alone. If necessary, I'll transfer to something else so you don't feel like someone's exposing your operations."

Waldemar handed Andrea the remote control with the panic button and the radio.

"If something goes wrong, if you have some terrible nightmare, if Scott shows up in front of you again—just press the button until your finger falls off. We'll be there as quickly as possible. We'll be in adjacent rooms, so I don't think there will be any problems. But no one is immune, right?"

After exchanging farewells, Andrea retired to her cabin, and Waldemar turned to Alfred, who had woken up about five minutes earlier. An urgent message had appeared that needed to be addressed with the group commander. That is, with him. Waldemar put his hands in his pockets, watched Andre leave, and as soon as the door to her cabin closed, he began talking to Alfred:

"Anyway, Atum sent signal about the battleship's relocation to Coronado. You should already be aware of this, but we need to know what to do. With all this activity going on with Scott, I'm not eager to leave you here. And I'm not eager to abandon those in Vespucci." Waldemar started walking towards Koji's cabin to give him the report from the psychotherapist from Atum, Alfred slowly caught up with him.

"There's nothing to think about. Our people will need help, so the order for your transfer will be this Wednesday. They'll just finish all the preparatory work and begin assembling the escort. We'll stay here. Oliver will go with you."

Waldemar nodded, and Koji's cabin drew closer with every step.

"Scott didn't visit you while we were on Atum, did he?"

"Luckily, we're lucky so far."

"I feel sorry for the girl. That jerk found someone to mess with. Was it the same on the Expedition?"

Alfred looked away. They were already standing in front of Koji's cabin door.

"No. It was worse there."

...

Hearing these words, Waldemar paused for a moment. He'd seen some of the photos. But only some. He'd seen details of the reports, but some were blurred out. They, the veterans, clearly had the full reports and all the photos. The terrifying part was that what they'd shown him chilled his blood. What else was there? He shook his head to clear his mind of the troubling thoughts, then reached out to knock. The door began to open even before his knuckles touched the cold metal.

He walked quickly to the door, pressed the open button, put the pistol in the hip position and was ready for the worst.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Alfred saw it all first: Koji stood there, holding a pistol to his hip. He might be a scientist, but he knew how to handle a gun. Alfred's reflexes told him Koji was about to fire. With one blow, he knocked the pistol out of his hands, and with another, he struck him squarely in the chest. The impact sent Koji to the floor. Alfred took a stance on top, pinning his throat with his knee. The Brigade's leading scientist found himself distracted in front of the Brigade's pilot. He was trying to helplessly fight back, but with each passing second the air became less and less.

"Al... F... Alf-red..."

...

Waldemar stood by the closed door, arms crossed, while Alfred sat across from Koji. He hadn't lost consciousness when it happened. Schwartz stopped himself in time, realizing it wasn't Koji who was the problem, but what he'd seen. Who he'd seen. The scientist sat and tried to massage the part of his throat that Alfred had started pressing on with his palm. Even though he had plenty of air, the pain didn't go away.

"He was here. He spoke to me."

"What were you both talking about?"

"He said we need leave Earhart. That's important for him. We should forget about this place and never set foot there again. That I should destroy all records of this place. Supposedly, we're close to solving the mystery."

"What will we get in return?"

"He said he won't bother us anymore."

"Pfft. If I were an idiot, I would believe it." Waldemar smiled.

"Of course, no one is going to believe this nonsense. He was in the cabin, and then headed for the exit. Literally as soon as the door closed, not much time had passed. I took out my gun and decided to check. And I opened the door. And there you were."

It was all too simple. Had Scott really been counting on such an easy deal, naively believing that anyone in the Brigade would back down? There was something else going on... Koji was curious why it was all so simple. Waldemar took out a pack of cigarettes, put one in his mouth, and then turned to the door.

"Okay, do you mind if I smoke? I haven't smoked for four hours. I'll do it in the hallway; the door will be open."

"Ja, go ahead." Alfred said, looking at Waldemar leaving the cabin and lighting cigarette. "What else was he doing? Did you notice anything unusual? Hey, Koji."

The cigarette smoldered slowly in his hands. There was something unusual about it.

"I, yes... Yes... There was something else..." Koji's attention was riveted on Waldemar. "Waldemar, does anyone else in your squad smoke those cigarettes you have?"

"Am... Nein... Why?"

"How long has that brand you smoke been around?"

"About a month ago. It's pretty cool, I tell you."

Koji turned to Alfred.

"Scott had the exact same ones. And that's hardly a coincidence."

...

"We talked about it all. Only one detail caught my attention – the cigarette. It wasn't just that I sensed something was wrong when Andry lit it in front of me. Yes, I don't like it when someone smokes in front of my face. For some strange reason, I remembered, clearly remembered, the color of that cigarette. Waldemar was holding the same one in his hand.

That brand had only appeared a month ago. Andry disappeared in August of 834 A.S., taking a third of the Brigade's personnel to their graves. That cigarette... I couldn't make it up; I'd never seen one like it, I don't recall anyone smoking one exactly like it in front of me. In fact, I don't recall anyone smoking one anywhere near me.

It wasn't a simple coincidence. I couldn't just remember all that and sense something was wrong. His actions were a warning, his offer a ruse. He didn't come to me to threaten me. What does he care about Earhart? No. He came to prove that he really has returned.

He's here. He's real.

He crossed Sirius a month ago or later. But certainly not before. He operates with skill, as befits a true pilot of the 341st Wing. Many outside the Brigade considered them thick-headed soldiers, but I've always regarded them as a genuine threat to anyone who stands in their way.

A thick-headed soldier won't arouse suspicion in the Brigade. A thin-headed soldier won't try to lure me with promises of leaving my mind in exchange for destroying the data on Earhart.

And yet... He was wrong. He gave me three weeks. And in those three weeks, I swear to God, I will find a solution. And when everything is ready, he will have to appear before me personally. And then we will be ready.

The lowest thing a person could do in the face of fear was to try to hide."