Christen stared at the desolate sight of a defeated earth, and even knowing it was a lie didn't soothe the ache in her soul. She would do anything to prevent this subterfuge from becoming truth. She turned to watch her people escort the disorientated crew of the previous Morgale scout ship to the cargo hold, where their stasis pods awaited.

Their plan had worked without a single hitch. The Morgale shipping lane connected the earth to the nearest jump point, allowing only one ship at a time to pass through. A journey of five days. Once a vessel exited the wormhole, it lost contact with the other ships.

Transmissions were only possible if a ship was at anchor at the mouth of the passage. Every scout ship left that safe Harbour, going radio silent, and went in search of its mates. Once they witnessed the destruction in the space around Earth, they inevitably tried to locate the other ships, eventually stumbling upon Christen's red herring. The pod. It was almost too easy.

The next scheduled ship, a troop carrier, would be ten times the size of this scout ship. The specs indicated a count of thirty thousand two hundred souls aboard. A single pod could not successfully infect that many Morgale. The carrier would wait for the rest of the fleet unless forced to engage an enemy, and a slow infection rate raised the possibility that the crew could reach the wormhole to send a warning.

They would have to change their game plan, and what she had in mind posed a risk. She spotted Dana in the glass's reflection, approaching with Valera. She could tell the former Morgale hadn't thought her people would fall for this gambit five more times. Christen turned to face her former enemy.

"Are you well?" Christen asked cordially.

"Yes," Valera answered with a frown.

The caution in her eyes betrayed a touch of fear and hatred.

"Have we harmed your people?" Christen asked.

"That depends on your definition of harmed," Valera spat venomously.

"They are not in pain but comfortably ensconced in pods, out of harm's way, and we do not subject them to torture, humiliation, or deprivation. We do not force them to work in labor camps, nor do we use them as cannon fodder," Christen clarified.

"Then no, you do not harm us," Valera said defiantly, sarcasm thick in her voice.

"Don't act injured, Valera. You took everything away from us, too, and turned our planets into deserts. You murdered, enslaved, altered, and destroyed our people. Are we not much kinder than you? We've got close to eighteen thousand of your people safely tucked away.

"The thirty of you I brought aboard will aid us in our mission to lure the troop carrier away from the mouth of the shipping lane and trick them into taking this scout ship into their docking area. We'll cause minor damage to the vessel, creating the illusion that it lost a fight. Once inside, there will be some electrical problems trapping the crew aboard. There will be a small explosion, venting some of the atmosphere on this ship into that ship. You'll convince them you are fixing the problems, and by the time they realize what happened. It would be too late."

The furious shock on Valera's face spoke volumes. It would work. And once ordered to obey, the Captain would do whatever she's told—that she knew as well as Christen did.

"If you do anything to warn that ship, I will take your daughter, and you will never see her again."

To a Morgale, that threat would have little meaning, but Valeria wasn't Morgale anymore. The bond of the Argale to their family unit was even more intense than that of most humans.

"I will also kill every last one of them."

Christen nodded toward Valera's highest-ranking crew members.

To a Morgale, their battle group meant more than family, which would translate to Valera now seeing them as family, having the same intense connection to them as to her daughter.

"Argale cannot harm each other," Valera countered.

"But you are not Argale. You do not accept that your current form is permanent, that there is no way to undo what we have done. We made certain of it when we altered the virus for your kind. You are either Argale or Morgale. You cannot be both." Christen turned to one of Valera's crew. "Malania, stop breathing."

Valera's pilot gasped and struggled, slowly falling to her knees. Her lips turned blue, her eyes wide with a terror that no Morgale could feel.

"Stop it!" Valera said, desperation in her voice.

"Malania, breathe," Christen conceded.

Malania gasped for air, choking, shaken, and completely taken aback.

Morgale did not fear death, but Malania wasn't Morgale.

What she felt had caught her off guard. Changing the way she looked at herself and her life. It wasn't something one could just shake off, and Valera's fear, pity, and empathy for her friend did the same things.

"I dislike being cruel, Valera. It goes against my nature, but I would wake up every last former Morgale and do what I just did to save my people. Make a choice, Valera. You are either Argale or you are not. I respect my people, but I do not respect my enemies.

"I feel about my people as you do for yours. I appreciate that your entire system of values has changed, but I assure you, what was true of the Astor is not true of the Argale. We kill our enemies if we have to and fight to the death. Nothing holds us back. Next time, I won't tell her not to breathe. I'll tell her to fight me and let you watch me tear her apart. Hell, I'll tear them all apart after what you did to us," Christen threatened.

"I didn't do it to you, Christen. I did it to Madeleine, and she's dead. You might have her memories and feelings, but you are not her. There is no way you can win against the Morgale. There are trillions of us. If we stand with you, we will die with you," Valera countered.

"True, I am not Madeleine. If I die fighting, I will know I fought for something I believed in, not as part of some hive mentality to defeat the universe. Your precious Morgale will kill every one of you. They will not let you infect the rest.

"You are either Argale fighting to survive or the walking dead. All we have to do is load you on a ship and let your own people blow you up; problem solved. Even if you won this war for them by somehow betraying us, they will thank you for your sacrifice by putting you out of your misery. I have a feeling that once you have encountered your new survival instinct that rivals your former urge to die in glorious battle, you'll understand what you're all about. Dana, please, get the ship ready. We're going for phase five. Keep them under guard and locked out of the controls," Christen ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Dana answered, her tone teasing.

Christen was nearly relaxed enough to smile, but this was her idea; they could fail and lose all.

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