Chapter 52 #2
"Eve Eden," he says, his voice carrying the weight of galactic law. "By the authority vested in me by the Intergalactic Court, you are under arrest for conspiracy with the terrorist organization known as Terra Ka."
Eve goes very still under my grip. "Tribune, I don't understand—"
"Save your denials,” Jin Kol says as his assistant produces a pair of neural restraints.
Not regular handcuffs, these are designed to prevent any electronic communication or any last-minute data transfers.
"We have evidence. Transmitted communications.
Altered medical records. Security footage of your meeting with known operatives. "
I stand, letting the threat creep into my voice. "Tribune, Eve is under our protection. Any accusations—"
"Are supported by overwhelming evidence," he cuts me off.
"Including the fact that the escaped pet Ash was pregnant.
A detail hidden in the medical systems by someone with very specific access.
" His gaze bores into Eve. "Your access, Madame Eve. You may have been good enough to fool your employers, but not good enough to fool the IGC.”
The blood drains from Eve's face. Around us, the trainers explode in fresh fury.
"Pregnant?" Aefre staggers. "She was... I could have... the bloodline... that baby belongs to me. You will pay for this.”
"Unless you'd like to be charged with harboring a terrorist, Sovereign, I suggest you step aside."
Lorian positions himself between Eve and the IGC officers. "This is a mistake. Eve is our—"
"Your pet? Your collaborator? Or simply another human you've deluded into thinking she matters?" Jin Kol gestures to his security. "Take her to the Spire’s dungeon until we can transfer her for trial."
The IGC officers move with military precision.
Eve doesn't fight as they pull her arms behind her back, securing the neural restraints.
But she looks at me as they do it. Those brown eyes full of betrayal and resignation and something else.
Love. Goddesses. I love her too, despite her circumventing the real plans to Terra Ka.
I know she did it out of empathy for her own kind.
I step forward, and put a hand on one of the guards to try to stop them.
"Rafe," she whispers. A single tear reflects in her golden eye makeup. “Let them take me.”
Jin Kol's security blocks me. "Due process will be observed, Sovereign. She'll be held in secure custody pending trial. Any interference will be considered an act of rebellion against the IGC’s authority. For the moment, the rest of the Spire and all the trainers will be seen as victims only, unless you’d like to add something?”
"You've been building this flimsy case," I realize aloud. "Waiting for the right moment."
Jin Kol's smile is thin. "The IGC has been concerned about the Spire's... experiments in human elevation for some time. Your employment of humans in sensitive positions required investigation. This terrorist attack simply provided the catalyst we needed to prove what we suspected.”
"So Eve is what—a convenient scapegoat?"
“No, she's a collaborator who chose terrorism over the law.
" He adjusts his formal robes. "The fact that you're emotionally compromised by a human only proves how dangerous these progressive policies have become. Human women may be equal under the law but clearly wield powers that are not yet accounted for by the law.”
I don’t have a chance to say anything else as Eve is marched out, her chained jewelry making a mockery of music with each step.
Outside the VIP box, the arena crowd is in chaos, some calling for blood, others demanding answers. Somewhere in the lower levels, Terra Ka operatives are escaping with two of the most valuable pets in the galaxy.
And Eve—our Eve—just became the IGC’s sacrifice for everyone's lies. And it’s my fault. I couldn’t protect her. I brought her here, trained her, and I underestimated her.
I force myself to think logically. I can blame myself later. I call on my Security Chief. "Report. Everything."
"The breaches were precise," he admits, pulling up holographic displays. "Terra Ka knew exactly which tunnels to use, which security rotations to avoid. Emergency exits seven through twelve were compromised simultaneously."
"From the inside," Lorian states.
"Had to be. The access codes used were... administrative level." The Chief looks uncomfortable. "The same codes Madame Eve would have had access to, although the Starlight Array cannot pinpoint any one person at this time.”
Of course they can’t because Eve is far cleverer than any of us.
"How did they get the pets out?" I ask. “Their teleportation device was blocked.”
"Maintenance shaft Q-7 .”
Of course, it leads directly from the arena's substructure to the landing bays.
“They had a ship waiting; it had legitimate clearance codes. By the time the lights came back on, they were already past the orbital perimeter. They made a risky jump to an unknown location.”
“The man we’re holding as Gael?”
“Dead. Killed at the same time. We’re still trying to retrieve the erased records.”
I feel something crack inside me. Not just the plan falling apart. Something deeper. The realization that Eve played us all completely. That every tender moment, every surrender, every whispered confession might have been calculated.
No, it can’t be.
I make eye contact with Lorian and he’s wondering the same thing.
I remember her face every time we all made love. The way she came apart in our hands. She loved us then. I know she did. And the way she just looked at me now, she still loves us.
Which makes this a billion times worse.
"Clear the room," I order, barely able to keep my anger in check.
The Security Chief hesitates. "Sovereign, the trainers are demanding—"
"Clear. The. Room."
They file out, even Aefre, though he shoots me a look of pure venom.
When Lorian and I are alone, I sink into a chair, suddenly exhausted.
"She saved a pregnant woman," I say quietly. "Eve couldn't let a child be born into slavery."
"It's more than that," Lorian confirms, looking through his IC. "The medical records show systematic alterations. Not just hiding the pregnancy, but disabling tracking windows, adjusting sedation schedules. She planned this meticulously. She knew we were using her. But…” he pauses, “She didn’t give them everything. She betrayed them too.”
"Of course she did. She's brilliant." I laugh bitterly. "We chose her because she was brilliant."
"And now, that brilliance has cost us everything. The IGC will use her as an example to crack down on human employment galaxy-wide. The reforms we've been implementing—what we wanted to achieve—”
“We haven’t lost everything. Not even close,” I interrupt. “This was a lost battle in a long war. And we’ll turn this disaster into opportunity.”
Lorian’s “too emotional to think clearly. “How?"
"By letting the IGC crucify Eve publicly while we position ourselves as the wronged parties who still believe in human potential.
We'll denounce her actions while defending the principle of human elevation.
" I stand, my plan crystallizing. "And then, when she's convicted and facing execution, we'll offer an alternative. "
"Private ownership."
"Complete and total. No more games, no more pretense of employment.
She'll belong to us in every way the law allows to fulfill her sentence.” I meet his gaze.
"And she'll accept because the alternative will probably be death, or a punishment so bad, it’s worse than death. She broke too many galactic laws for it to be anything else.”
"You're assuming she values survival over principle."
"I'm assuming she's human." I move to the window, looking down at the chaos below. "When faced with death, humans always choose life. It's what makes them so resilient. So dangerous. So..."
"Irresistible?" Lorian suggests.
I don't answer. I can't answer. Acknowledging what Eve means to me right now would make me too furious and heartbroken.
"Start working on Jin Kol," I say instead.
"Find his pressure points. Everyone has them. If he wants to bring down Eve, we won’t allow him to do it without suffering as well.
I'll handle the public relations. We need to control the narrative before it spirals further. "
“We are just two innocent businessmen…”
“Yes, it’s what the galaxy wants to see, so we will give it to them.”
We move with practiced efficiency, each playing our role in this new disaster. But as I make my way to the detention level, I can't shake the image of Eve in restraints. The way she looked at me. The way she said my name.
Like she was saying, goodbye.
Like she was saying, she was sorry.
Like she was saying, she loved me anyway despite what we had done to each other.
My credentials get me through the first three checkpoints, but at the fourth, an IGC guard blocks my path.
"No visitors by order of Tribune Jin Kol."
"I own this facility."
"And the prisoner is charged with crimes against the Intergalactic Court. No. Visitors." His hand moves to his weapon. "Sovereign."
I pull my jacket back, revealing my own weapon. “I think you’ll find I have the authority to see my employee.”
The IGC guard and I hold eye contact, and then he stands down and escorts me to Eve’s cell. I am not allowed in, but we are allowed to speak to each other.
"Audio only. Seven minutes,” the guard says.
I activate the connection, knowing it's being monitored. "Eve. Listen carefully. You're being charged with conspiracy, sabotage, and trafficking in sentient beings. The evidence is substantial. You need to understand—they may execute you for this."
For a second she just stares at me through the blue-tinted forcefield. Then, barely audible, she replies, "I know. But how can they say humans are ‘sentient beings’ when those same humans were being made to perform against their will?”
“They are referring to the one law that states humans are sentient and have the right to be galactic citizens—”
She interrupts me. “It’s wrong and if your Court is just, then they won’t be able to try me as both a sentient and non-sentient being.”
I want to tell her that nothing is just in the galaxy, but I can’t. Everything is being monitored and anything we say now can be used against her. “You will get a fair galactic trial.”
She nods in a way that means that she understands not only will she not get a fair trial, but also in a way that says to me: I-don’t-regret-what-I-did.
I don’t know what to say. I never wanted to see her like this.
As if reading my mind, she asks, “Why are you here, Rafe? I know you and Lorian planned a version of this.”
Her words hit me point blank and I have to focus on maintaining my composure as my guilt overwhelms me.
She’s not wrong. I want to tell her that we did use her, but that we never meant for her to get into trouble with the IGC.
But I can’t say anything. All of this is being recorded and I refuse to lie to her now.
So, I do the only thing I can do, I put my hand up against the forcefield and feel it burn my palm as it causes ripples. Reluctantly, she does the same on her side and we hold eye contact. Our eyes saying what our words cannot.
She breaks the silence. “You know, you’re not really helping humans. You’re only rationing us.”
“No, Eve. I’m buying time.” I take a deep breath, then say the mantra that won’t stop playing in my head. “I don’t want you to die over this.”
“Rafe, what I did is worth dying for. Aren’t all human lives expendable in the war for humanity’s equality in the galaxy?”
Her question is so heartbreaking, I can’t answer because, as usual, she’s not wrong. And I know it’s Terra Ka’s unwritten motto. But I can’t believe that she would count herself as just another number.
"Time's up," the guard says and cuts the audio connection.
I don’t remove my hand, and I mouth the words, ‘No, your life is worth far more than most, and you mean everything to me. You are special.’ Even though I know she can’t read my lips, I had to say it.
“Time’s up, Sovereign,” the guard says again, and I take a step back.
Eve bows to me formally, and I take it as an apology. I acknowledge her the same way I would on any other day at the Spire, and then I walk out, my mind spinning. The thought of Eve facing an IGC execution squad rears up something primitive and possessive inside me.
She's mine.
Ours.
Mine and Lorian’s and the galaxy doesn't get to take her away.
She did what any of us would have done. No, that’s wrong.
She did what most people are afraid to do.
She was willing to sacrifice everything—her status, her credits, her love for us, everything to save others, strangers because she saw that it would make a difference.
She’s too good. Too clever. Too clever for us and definitely too clever for fucking Terra Nova.
I won’t let her die for them. No fucking way.
I take the back elevator up to our private suite, already calculating our next moves.
When I enter, I find Lorian pouring drinks. He hands me one without comment.
"Jin Kol's assistant was very thorough," he says. "Biological evidence, Eve’s DNA at every breach point. Communication logs with timestamps matching security failures."
"How long has the IGC been building this case?"
"Weeks probably. They let her operate, gathering evidence, waiting for something big enough to justify intervention." He takes a sip. "The Championship extraction was perfect. High-profile, undeniable, with dozens of witnesses."
"They used her as bait." The realization hits like cold water. "Just like we did."
"The difference being, we protected her.
We erased all the incriminating evidence because she was working for us.
The IGC sees her as expendable. One human terrorist to make an example of.
" Lorian sets down his glass. "The trial will be quick.
Public. They'll want to send a message about humans who forget their place. "
“And Terra Ka will let her burn,” I say.
“Of course they will. It suits their cause as well.” Lorian sets down his drink.
"And our offer?"
"I've already put out feelers. Conditional ownership pending conviction. We'll need to structure it carefully; she can't be seen as escaping justice. But a few years of servitude as a pet to the wronged parties? That has precedent."
"She'll choose survival as long as it’s with us. But we can’t have her going to Aefre or any of the other trainers,” I say with more confidence than I feel. "She's too pragmatic for martyrdom."
"Let's hope you're right. Because if she chooses death over ownership..." Lorian doesn't finish the thought. He doesn't need to.
I drain my glass. Even if she betrayed us. She's still ours. And we don't let go of what's ours without a fight.