The halls were sparsely guarded. Unless it was the Lei’den’s equivalent of third shift, the troops had been diverted. She needed to take advantage of it and gather as much intelligence as she could on her way out.

Fela stopped at a door that lacked the mass and thickness of a cell. The telltale click-clack of boot steps against the hard floors signaled a patrol headed her way. She ducked into the room. A briefing room of some sort with holovids of topographical telemetry and transcripts of chatter scrolling by midair. The transmission sources traced back to O.E. listening posts. She peeled back a layer of data to see if the Interstellar Alliance piggybacked along the O.E. signal. But there was no such carrier wave. This was a direct O.E. feed. Either they were working with the O.E.…

Or they were the O.E.

Fela slumped against the wall as the implications set in. This entire camp staged for their benefit. No, not the HOVA’s or Muungano’s: the Mzisoh’s. The CO/IN couldn’t have known the HOVA were coming. Or could they? The possibility raised so many questions. The O.E. having breached the Orun Gate on their own. But they had to have gained the technology somehow. They certainly hadn’t leapfrogged Muungano on their own. And loaning the technology to Muungano as a joint venture maneuvered them to this place. They were being played.

The Lei’den were probably a real species within the Interstellar Alliance, the truth part of the lie. Probably the first civilization the O.E. began negotiating with. The ones who gave them the technology to navigate the wormhole. A few skin treatments here, a few prosthetics there, and suddenly the CO/IN, O.E. operatives, looked like “aliens.”

She began to scan a newsfeed when a particular headline caught her eye.

Xola was dead.

This was the next phase of O.E.’s machinations. A misinformation campaign aimed to drive home a narrative to the ill-informed meant to terrorize. It wouldn’t work. She only needed to escape this prison.

“I see you’ve managed to stretch your legs.” The pale guard strolled about the room.

“What is all of this?” Fela asked.

“Just a little project I’m supervising. I wanted to observe it firsthand.”

“Who are you?”

“A mission, no, a negotiation, of this import, at this stage of the game could only be done at the highest levels. In person. Obviously, there’s a great need for secrecy and subterfuge. I won’t be needing this any longer. The walkabout my people know me to be on is about to come to an end. But allow me to introduce myself.” The guard began to peel back his prosthetics. The pale skin gave way to a darker hue. “My name is VOP Clay Harrison.”

“But you’re the head of LISC.”