By morning, all of the higher ranking executives and military operators were gathered in a briefing room with Eric. The group strategized around a circular, floating transparent board in the center of the room.
"Constellation G15, last known location of the Nebulux Core," Commander Ellen said, her voice clear and authoritative as she gestured toward different galaxy groups on the map. "We've had search parties all through G10 to G20, but we've gotten nothing."
"G21 was sealed off right after the incident," the Strategy Admiral added, a stern, older man. He drew a line on the board with a stylus. "Which means our suspect is possibly keeping the nebulux between G1 and G9."
"Every available fleet will be deployed to these locations," the Fleet Marshal chimed in, making his own mark on the board. "If the Nebulux Core is found, Blackmoor will be transferred immediately to permanently disengage the device."
The room was filled with the immense pressure of their combined presence. These were the highest echelons of power, a Strategy Admiral, a Fleet Marshal, and a Sector Commander. No one dared to speak out of turn or misbehave.
"Blackmoor will travel with Fleet Six, Strike Team B," Ellen commanded. "He'll operate under the watchful eye of Strike Officer Harley Stanford and her Field Sergeant, Yelena Dexter."
Harley, who was standing beside Eric, gave him a playful, teasing smile. Next to her was a young woman with blonde hair, standing at stiff attention in her militant uniform. Eric had been watching her the entire time, her face strikingly familiar.
"With the new plan in place, does anyone have any objections?" the Strategy Admiral asked, lifting his head and surveying the room.
Silence. The room was still, a clear sign of universal agreement. The Admiral began to move on, but Eric's voice cut through the quiet.
"Ah... I have an objection," Eric said, sounding annoyed. "How the hell is nobody talking about booze? We've been yapping on for God knows how long and not a drop of drink in sight." He shook his head in frustration. "And you lot call yourselves men? Pfft. What a goddamn waste of time."
The admiral's face went rigid with utter disrespect. He immediately withdrew a pistol from his holster and pointed it directly at Eric's head.
"Choose your next words carefully, son," the admiral hissed, his voice lethal. "For a fool considered to be an outstanding bastard, you're quite a disappointment."
"For a man who barks orders, you're still a cunt on a leash," Eric replied, his eyes cold and devoid of fear. He took a slow step forward, closer to the barrel of the gun.
A mix of emotions rippled through the onlookers. Some saw the humor in his defiance, others saw only insolence. But no one dared to react.
"Go on," Eric challenged, now nose to the gun barrel. "Pull the bloody trigger. Blow the head off your so called Messiah. The only brain in this twisted universe that can actually save your sorry arse... and everyone else too."
The admiral's finger twitched on the trigger. But just as he was about to squeeze, a loud voice boomed through the room.
"That's enough!" Commander Ellen's voice held the authority of a goddess. "The mission will go as planned, with no objections. Relay a message to every fleet, the operation will commence in ten minutes." She turned her gaze to Eric. "And as for you, the next disrespectful action from you will make you regret the day you were born." She took a breath. "You are all dismissed."
Everyone scrambled for the door, leaving only the three commanders.
"Come with me," Harley said to Eric, leading him out of the room.
Meanwhile, in a classroom in another part of the tower, Jimmy and the other students were taking a benchmark test. Jimmy's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, distracted by everything he had seen the night before. His foot tapped nervously against the floor.
"Are you doing well, Mr. Jimmy?" the invigilator asked, noticing his worried expression.
"I'm fine, sir. Thank you for asking," Jimmy lied, feigning composure.
"If that's so, then you may carry on."
Jimmy forced himself to focus, determined to get the test over with. Just as he picked up his pen, his eyes caught a glimpse of movement through the window of the connected building across the way. It was Eric Blackmoor, walking with a group of people he didn't recognize.
His mind immediately went to his plan to talk to Eric. He stood up, knocking his chair back with a loud scrape. "Excuse me!"
"Is there a problem, Mr. Jimmy?" the invigilator asked.
"I lied earlier. I don't feel so good," Jimmy said, his voice laced with feigned illness. "May I use the restroom for a bit?"
The invigilator hesitated. "Hmm. Okay, you can use the restroom, but be aware that the more time you waste, the less you'll have for the test. Be quick."
"Thank you. I'll be back soon," Jimmy said, already walking toward the door.
Hal, sitting a few rows behind him, turned to see what had caused Jimmy's sudden exit. All he saw was the group of people walking and talking in the adjacent building. "Hmm," he murmured to himself, his curiosity piqued.