Ariadne may not have left the Temple when she lived on Tholos, but she had memorized these streets and many others from the Three Sisters. She had watched vids from every angle she could, desperate for any exposure to the outside world. She saw, in real life, the gleaming cobblestone streets that were filled to the brim with markets and stalls full of fresh produce, baked goods, and glimmering fabrics imported from other planets in the Empire. Macella was a planet for the wealthy, and only the best foods, spices, and garments were shared among its people. She knew from the surveillance that the people had few worries there. Little fear of danger.

“Go through the markets, Clo.”

Ariadne’s fingers flew across the tablet as she accessed all those vids she had watched—they would help her now, just like they did then.

With a swipe of her finger, she paused the live feed and turned every camera inward to face the bricks of a building. One’s dependence on surveillance gave Ariadne the advantage here.

For right this moment, the Oracle was blind—and if One was blind, then One was distracted.

Those in the markets screamed and fled as Zelus barreled through their pristine streets, ripping into the upper layers of the market stalls. Tholosian ships came in behind them. Their shots struck Zelus’s protective shield. Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Projectiles detected,” the ship intoned.

“You think?” Clo snarled. “Hurry up, Ari.”

Ariadne ignored the panicked looks of her crew as she dove into the remote system. She had one chance to do this before the Oracle fixed surveillance, adapted to the invasion, and put up new protections. Worse, One would know it was Ariadne—her signature was too obvious; no one else had knowledge of the schematics for tertiary protocol ships. One would know—

There it was. One had fixed surveillance and was implementing counterattack sequences as Ariadne dug into the code. Her breathing quickened as a clang! echoed through the command center and the ship shuddered.

“Damage sustained,” the ship’s computer said.

“Stop stating the obvious,” Clo shouted. “Ari? Update!”

The tablet’s screen flickered as One attempted to shut Ariadne out of the system. But Ariadne had helped build this; this system was as much hers as it was the Oracle’s. She cut around the code, putting up blocks to slow down the Oracle’s processes.

“Daughter,” One intoned. So quietly that Ariadne wondered if she had heard the voice at all.

“Stop it,” Ariadne whispered as more images flashed.

Her favorite programs. Her collections. Her room. One showed her these things even as One fought against Ariadne’s code, trying to distract her with memories of the Temple. Her prison. That lonely place where the only company she’d had was an AI that left trinkets as if that made up for her cloistered childhood.