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Fleet Admiral. “The system is now classified Iota-Black. No Fleet access.”
    Then Sebela slumped in his chair and passed a shaking hand over his face. When his hand returned to the table, Avalon saw his eyes were closed. There were more mutterings around the table, but nobody seemed to notice his near faint.
    And then someone started clapping. It was slow, mocking.
    Psi-Admiral Zworykin.
    â€œCongratulations, Fleet Admiral,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. He smiled again. “Well done on another glorious failure.”
    The officer on Zworykin’s right—Commander Hammerstein, from some technical division of the Fleet that Avalon didn’t remember—turned in his chair and stared at his colleague, a shocked look on his face.
    â€œA little respect, please!” he said, gesturing toward Sebela. “The Fleet Admiral has been commanding this operation personally for months now, and—”
    â€œOh, shut up, Hammerstein,” said Zworykin. “You have no idea what our beloved Fleet Admiral has been doing. None of you have. Do you know how far our glorious leader was willing to go to win the war? The kind of deal he had planned?”
    Hammerstein’s face was still red, but now his gaze flicked between Zworykin and Sebela. Sebela had opened his eyes, but was sunk back in his chair, deflated.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” asked Hammerstein.
    Zworykin looked at Hammerstein with a cold, cruel expression. Avalon suddenly wished she were somewhere— anywhere— else. The atmosphere in the council chamber was electric, dangerous.
    She met Moustafa’s eye and he nodded. They should leave, the both of them. Avalon stood up.
    â€œSit down, Commander Avalon,” said Zworykin, still looking at Hammerstein. Avalon froze. Moustafa was only partway out of his seat, and he slowly dropped himself back into it. All eyes were now on the Bureau Chief.
    She turned to face the Fleet Admiral. “Sir, as an adjunct member of the Command Council, I only have limited security clearance when it comes to combat missions. This Shadow Protocol appears to relate to the Fleet at large rather than internal affairs, so if you will excuse me, I will return to the Bureau and—”
    â€œSit. Down! ”
    Avalon jumped. Zworykin was staring at her, his expression as dark as his uniform. Avalon, her mouth suddenly dry, felt compelled to sit.
    Zworykin stood from his chair and touched the comm on his collar. At the back of the conference room, opposite the Fleet Admiral’s position, the double doors slid open and two psi-marines marched in, their membership in Zworykin’s corps indicated by the black triangles on the front of their uniforms. Without further orders, they raised their plasma rifles, aiming directly at Sebela.
    Hammerstein stood and marched over to the two marines as the table erupted in protest.
    What the hell was going on?
    â€œSilence!”
    The noise stopped as the arguing officers obeyed Zworykin’s command.
    The Psi-Admiral walked over to Hammerstein, leaning in close. “How far would you go, hmm? What would you do to stop the war, Commander?”
    Hammerstein’s jaw went up and down as he struggled for an answer.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œI … anything,” said Hammerstein. “I would do anything. We all would.”
    Zworykin cocked his head. “Anything? Really?” He turned back around to the rest of the group. “Interesting answer,” he said as he slowly paced around the table, hands still clasped behind his back. As he passed each member of the Command Council, Avalon saw them stiffen and look away.
    They were afraid of him too.
    â€œYou would do anything, no matter the risk, no matter that victory against the Spiders might mean the creation of a new enemy, an unstoppable being that doesn’t even belong in this universe?” The cruel smile returned to his face.
    â€œWhat