Front Runner

Special Archive of the Human Diaspora

By Alexandra Durham

“Commision”

II.

Accepting the commission was a decision I continued to question. It was impulsive, perhaps even reckless, but after everything I’ve witnessed in my years traversing the cosmos, I’ve learned that sometimes the universe presents rare opportunities wrapped in layers of absurdity. You simply have to see through the surface and seize them, even when logic whispers otherwise. This was one of those moments—a chance that felt too valuable to pass up, even if it did border on illogical.

The journey to the designated world was uneventful—a short five-light-year jump, insignificant in the grand scheme of my travels. As I approached, I observed the planet from a distance. It was a nondescript world, neither remarkable nor memorable, but something about it stirred my caution. It was fortified. I intercepted military communications in orbit, revealing a heavily armed world—a web of forty-five military installations, primed for defense. Planets like these rarely welcomed visitors, much less handed over prisoners willingly.

I cloaked my vessel and began my surveillance.

For days, I monitored their channels, carefully listening to the cadence of their military chatter, unraveling the patterns buried within their routine transmissions. The same military rhythms over and over again. Predictable. And predictability is exploitable. A plan formed—one that required deception, subtlety, and audacity. I knew I would have to make them believe they had no choice but to comply.

I sent a ping to the planet, embedding my message with the authority that would command attention:

“I am Admiral Helga VonBraun, commander of the fleet now orbiting your world. We are here for one man—a traitor to our empire who has taken refuge on your planet. I request you hand him over immediately. His personal information has been sent to you. We expect your compliance.”

The response was quick. Direct.

“Admiral.” A voice crackled over the channel, formal but tense. “My name is Efret Uge, I am the commanding officer of this facility as well as the general for this planet’s military operations. The man you seek is here, but he is not a refugee. He is our prisoner. He violated our laws just as he did yours. His execution is scheduled. We will not hand him over to you.”

His words betrayed a certain rigidity—a planet-bound sense of control. I had anticipated this. They believed they had sovereignty. They believed their world could stand on its own.

Time to press further.

“General Uge.” I replied, my tone sharpening. “I understand your position. But this is non-negotiable. Our empire has declared this man’s execution as our jurisdiction. Transfer him to one of our envoy ships now, and we will ensure his swift punishment.”

A pause. I imagined the general weighing his options, searching for any vulnerability in my story. I gave him none.

“Admiral.” He finally returned, skepticism threading through his words. “Your identity remains unverified, and we are not inclined to hand over a criminal without verification. Especially one already under our control.”

“General.” I said calmly. “Your system operates under linear time. You exist within a bubble, isolated, constrained by your own laws. That’s why your people have stagnated. We, however, use time dilation to traverse the galaxy freely. Our technology—our reach—far surpasses what you can imagine.”

The silence that followed was telling. I could hear his breath, the hesitation settling in. His initial confidence was waning.

“You claim to have a fleet.” He ventured, his voice hardening. “But our scans detect only one small vessel. If you’re in violation of our time dilation laws, we’ll see to it that you are destroyed.”

He had taken the bait.

“Believe what you will, General.” I replied, my voice steady, unwavering. “My fleet remains cloaked. We’ve surrounded your planet with two hundred eradicators. They are ready to fire on your colonies at my command. If you do not transfer the prisoner immediately, we will begin eliminating your settlements. One by one.”

Another silence. Longer this time. I could sense his indecision across the channel, the weight of the moment pressing in on him. Desperation, however masked, was setting in.

“If your ships fire, we will return fire.” He finally replied, trying to maintain his resolve. “Our orbital weapons will remain functional even if ground personnel are eliminated.”

“Your orbital weapons are irrelevant.” I countered. “They cannot touch our eradicators. Your defenses are obsolete. You can retaliate if you wish, but by the time your weapons hit us, your settlements will be ash.”

The silence stretched further, filled with unspoken tension. The internal struggle was palpable.

“Even if you destroy us.” The general’s voice broke through the static, now frayed with resignation. “We are part of an alliance. Our intelligence protocols will alert them. You will be pursued by thousands of ships.”

I let out a soft, cold chuckle, the corner of my lips twitching into a smile.

“Your allies,” I replied, “refuse to use time dilation. By the time they respond, we will be twenty thousand light-years away. Your threats are irrelevant, General.”

The silence was suffocating now. A long pause, thick with dread. Finally, he spoke again, his voice subdued, defeated.

“Confirmed. We will transfer the prisoner to your envoy.”

I exhaled slowly, keeping my voice calm and professional. “A wise decision. Thank you for your cooperation.”

There was bitterness in his final words. “Promise me one thing—never return to our world. We came out here, to the edges of the galaxy, to escape empires like yours.”

“You have nothing we desire.” I said coolly. “You will never see us again.”

With that, I cut the transmission. The transfer was in motion. I uncloaked my vessel, watching as they loaded the prisoner into an automated transit module and sent him toward me.

The airlock hissed as the module docked, and after a brief decontamination, the door slid open. A malnourished young man stumbled onto the bridge, his hair unkempt, his eyes wide with confusion.

He stood there, blinking in the harsh light, clearly overwhelmed by the abrupt change in his circumstances.

I stepped forward, offering no hint of emotion in my voice.

“My name is Alexandra Durham,” I said. “Welcome aboard.”

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