From designs buried and denied seven years ago.
Except this version was larger.
Alive.
And absolutely not built by the United States military.
Director Shaw looked at me slowly.
“You understand now why we came personally.”
I barely heard him.
Because deep in my chest, beneath years of training and discipline…
Terror finally arrived.
Not fear of war.
Not fear of death.
Fear of recognition.
Because whatever just crossed the sky above Briarwood Country Club…
Knew exactly where to find me.
Then every phone on the patio buzzed simultaneously.
One notification.
One emergency alert.
I pulled mine out automatically.
The message contained only six words.
RETURN TO HELIOS IMMEDIATELY, DR. WHITMORE.
Not Colonel.
Not Officer.
Doctor.
The identity buried before my military career even began.
The identity almost nobody alive knew existed.
Shaw saw my face.
“What is it?”
I looked up slowly.
And for the first time in years…
I truly panicked.
Because only one person ever called me Dr. Whitmore.
Commander Elias Mercer.
The man officially missing in orbit.
The man supposedly stranded over the Pacific.
And according to the timestamp on the message…
