“Boss.”
Daiz’s tone was grim.
“We have a situation.”
Dalles stopped in his tracks.
“Speak.”
“While I was scouting outside, I noticed some suspicious guys.”
Daiz sat down in front of Dalles.
“There are a lot more plainclothes agents on the streets.
They aren’t shopping or looking at ads; their eyes are glued to the passing aliens.”
Was Morton making too big of a move?
Or was the United Government tightening its control over outsiders?
He pulled out his earpiece, put it on, and connected to Elec’s channel.
“Elec.”
“Mr.
Dalles.”
The voice on the other end came through quickly.
“Planet Caren seems to have stepped up its screening of alien visitors.
Plainclothes agents have appeared in both the commercial district and the spaceport.”
After Dalles finished speaking, he waited for a reaction.
“That is within our expectations.”
Elec’s response was flat.
“The United Government isn’t run by fools.
The abnormal military expenditures and increased frequency of personnel transfers across the three military districts over the past six months—their intelligence network couldn’t possibly ignore all that data.”
Elec continued, “But their attention is currently focused on the internal power struggles within the military.
They haven’t extended their sights to external factions yet.”
“In other words, they think this is just a factional dispute within the military and haven’t considered outside interference.”
Dalles thought for a moment.
“Will these guys affect our contact with Morton?”
“No.”
Elec answered quickly.
“The spaceport falls under the jurisdiction of the Northern First Military District.
Morton has absolute control over his own territory.”
Dalles walked over to the console and spent a moment looking at the locations of the plainclothes agents Daiz had marked.
Then, he turned off the screen.
“Suspend all outdoor activities for today.
For the next three days, everyone stays on standby at the safe house.”
“Until we meet with Morton, do not go out and risk exposing ourselves.”
Daiz and Cacao nodded simultaneously.
Night fell.
The capital of Planet Caren entered its rest cycle.
Daiz and Cacao both went to sleep.
Dalles stood alone by the ventilation shaft.
The roof of this office building had an industrial vent connected to the underground ventilation system.
Dalles had climbed up through the internal maintenance shaft, pushed open the grate, and stepped onto the roof.
The night sky over Planet Caren was pristine.
Looking away from the light pollution, a dense band of stars stretched across the heavens.
Dalles crossed his arms over his chest and gazed up at the night sky.
His mind uncontrollably flashed with thoughts of Tights and Earth.
Meanwhile, in a public guesthouse.
Tights hadn’t left after all.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, an open notebook filled with writing spread out in front of her.
The room’s lighting was soft as she chewed on the end of her pen, scribbling and sketching in the notebook.
“Met a very strange man today.”
“Claims to be an Earthling named Dalles.”
Next to the words “real estate,” she drew a massive question mark.
She was belatedly beginning to suspect that Dalles had been lying to her.
But the man truly looked like an Earthling.
Were there people from other planets in the universe who looked exactly like Earthlings?
She didn’t know, but she certainly hadn’t seen any in all these years.
Besides, if he wasn’t an Earthling, how did he know so much about Earth?
What troubled her even more was that she had lost contact with Jaco.
About half a year ago, she had accidentally lost Jaco’s contact information.
Otherwise, it would be great if she could just get in touch with him.
“Dalles knows about something that’s going to happen soon.
What is it?
It has to do with this planet.”
She stared at this line of text, her eyes lighting up.
As a novelist, her sensitivity to a good story far exceeded that of an ordinary person.
A mysterious man, an impending storm, a beautiful planet.
As she thought about this, a Capsule Corporation capsule appeared in her hand.
This was something she had obtained from the Galactic Patrol…
Three days later.
Northern First Military District, civilian spaceport.
In the cargo corridor, the air was thick with the strange, mixed scent of machine oil and goods from various planets.
Dalles and his two men had changed into the mercenary security uniforms provided by the Heeters—dark gray, devoid of any extra insignia.
Daiz and Cacao followed behind him.
Their forged “interstellar security contractor” credentials passed through Planet Caren’s systems without a hitch.
The spaceport was bustling with people, and patrolling military soldiers could be seen everywhere.
The atmosphere was much more tense than in the capital’s commercial district.
A soldier stopped them, his gaze sweeping over the trio.
He took their ID terminals, gave them a routine glance, and waved them through.
This was Morton’s territory.
His word was law.
Before long, the deep rumble of engines echoed from the VIP channel.
A military convoy drove in.
On the lead armored vehicle, the flag of the Northern First Military District snapped fiercely in the corridor’s draft.
The convoy came to a halt.
A burly Caren military officer stepped out of the vehicle.
He had dark blue skin, rugged facial features, and a uniform covered in medals.
Morton.
He didn’t even glance at the subordinates waiting to greet him; his eyes immediately cut through the crowd and landed on Dalles’s trio.
There were no pleasantries, no unnecessary movements.
He simply tilted his head toward his adjutant.
The adjutant immediately stepped forward, walking up to the three of them with an expressionless face.
“Come with us.”
The convoy started up again and left the spaceport.
Along the way, they passed through several checkpoints directly controlled by the First Military District.
The soldiers at every checkpoint were heavily armed, and the verification procedures were airtight.
Finally, the convoy stopped in front of a semi-underground facility that looked like an ordinary supply warehouse.
The warehouse’s rolling door rose, and the convoy drove straight in.
The interior, however, was a completely different scene.
Layer upon layer of security gates, anti-detection jammers blinking with red lights on the walls, and the air reeked of overloaded equipment.
The earpiece Dalles wore completely lost its signal after passing through the second security gate.
The Heeters’ channel went dead.
‘Interesting.’
‘Is this a trap, or a show of force?’
Dalles thought to himself, but his footsteps didn’t falter in the slightest.
They walked down a long metal corridor, at the end of which was a heavy alloy door.
Behind the door was a hidden command room.
Morton was already seated at the head of a long table.
Behind him stood four fully armed guards, their energy rifles primed and ready to fire.
He didn’t invite Dalles to sit.
Those scrutinizing eyes darted back and forth across the three of them, as if evaluating the quality of his prey.
The command room was terrifyingly quiet, save for the low hum of the ventilation system.
The silence lasted for nearly half a minute.
Morton finally spoke, his first sentence carrying an unquestionable certainty.
“You are not Carenians.”
Dalles didn’t deny it; his expression didn’t even change.
“If we were Carenians, I’m afraid you wouldn’t need us, General.”
Morton’s brow twitched.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the smooth metal table, producing a rhythmic clicking sound.
“That guy Elec sent me three aliens.”
His tone made no attempt to hide his distrust.
“What I need is power that can change the tide of battle at a critical moment, not three bodyguards.”
Daiz’s body tensed slightly, and the red light in the optical unit of Cacao, who stood behind Dalles, flickered.
Faced with Morton’s doubts, Dalles was in no rush to explain.
He simply stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his posture almost lazy.
“General, we are not your subordinates, so I suggest you watch your tone.”