Two months passed without incident.
Station Theta-7 operated with efficiency that would have impressed engineering specialists if anyone had been paying attention to such details. Atmospheric processors maintained optimal air quality. Power systems conducted energy with minimal loss. Coolant networks regulated temperatures precisely. Life support functioned so smoothly that the two hundred permanent personnel rarely thought about the complex systems keeping them alive in deep space.
Haroon Dwelight performed maintenance inspections with the same methodical precision he'd demonstrated for three years. Sector by sector. System by system. Identifying minor inefficiencies before they developed into actual problems. The work was routine. Predictable. Exactly what his function required.
Bradley Proctor had settled into comfortable rhythm working alongside Haroon. The initial terror of realizing what Haroon actually was had faded into professional respect and cautious comfort. Yes, his partner was an above-omnipotent being who'd absorbed power from thirteen hostile Controllers and could now author reality itself. But he was also someone who took maintenance schedules seriously and got annoyed when equipment wasn't stored properly.
"Coolant line seven is showing early stress indicators," Brad reported, examining his diagnostic scanner. They were in Sector 11, conducting routine inspections that had become almost meditative in their predictability. "Nothing critical yet, but we should schedule replacement within the next two weeks."
Haroon moved to examine the indicated line, running his own diagnostics. "Agreed. The molecular structure is degrading faster than expected. Probably manufacturing defect in this batch of conduits. I'll file requisition for replacement materials and schedule the work for next maintenance cycle."
Brad made notes on his datapad, appreciating the normalcy of the exchange. Just two technicians discussing equipment that needed attention. No reality manipulation. No cosmic-level threats. No absorption of omnipotent beings. Just routine work that kept a space station functional.
"Coffee after this sector?" Brad asked, knowing Haroon's schedule included a break period after Sector 11 inspections.
"Acceptable." Haroon finished his diagnostic scan and moved to the next inspection point. "The cafeteria should have completed their afternoon service by the time we finish here."
They worked in comfortable silence for another forty minutes, checking systems and documenting findings. Brad had learned that Haroon preferred minimal conversation during active maintenance work, reserving social interaction for designated break periods. It was efficient and predictable, much like everything else about working alongside someone who approached reality maintenance with the same dedication most people reserved for hobbies they loved.
The cafeteria was nearly empty when they arrived, the afternoon shift having mostly dispersed back to their duties. Brad grabbed terrible station coffee—somehow it had gotten even worse in the two months since the foundation incident—while Haroon selected tea that looked equally unappetizing.
They sat at a corner table, away from the few other personnel present. Not because Haroon was actively avoiding people, but because people tended to unconsciously give him space. Even those who didn't know what he actually was felt the subtle pressure of being near something vastly more powerful than themselves.
"How's Ramuel doing?" Brad asked, making conversation. "Haven't seen him since the last controller meeting."
"He's assigned to Research Station Kepler-9 currently," Haroon answered, apparently tracking the locations of all thirty-two allied Controllers as casual background information. "Investigating quantum measurement anomalies. Standard research support operations. No hostile contact reported."
"Good." Brad sipped his coffee and tried not to grimace. "Things have been quiet. Two months without any Dissolution Compact activity. Think they're actually going to withdraw? Accept that opposing us is impossible?"
Haroon was quiet for a moment, and Brad recognized that as the pause that meant he was accessing awareness beyond normal perception. Calculating probabilities. Monitoring distant events. Checking variables that Brad couldn't even conceptualize.
"No," Haroon finally said. "The Dissolution Compact will resume operations. Their ideology hasn't changed. Only their tactical approach. They're recovering from power depletion and planning revised strategy. Probability calculations suggest they'll initiate new operations within the next two weeks."
Brad felt cold settle in his chest. "You're certain?"
"Seventy-three percent probability within two weeks. Ninety-one percent within four weeks." Haroon delivered these assessments like he was discussing weather patterns. "They can't confront me directly anymore. They know that. So they'll pursue distributed operations. Multiple simultaneous targets. Force the allied Controllers to spread defensive resources thin."
"Should we warn Commander Sarah?"
"I filed probability assessment two weeks ago. She's already adjusting force deployment and defensive protocols." Haroon took a sip of his tea and made a face that suggested even his enhanced capabilities couldn't make it taste good. "The allied Controllers are prepared. When the Dissolution Compact resumes operations, response forces will be positioned appropriately."
Brad nodded, trying to feel reassured. Sarah was competent. The thirty-two Controllers were prepared. And Haroon could apparently predict enemy operations with seventy-three percent accuracy two weeks in advance. They should be ready for whatever came next.
But something in Haroon's tone suggested concern. Not fear—Brad had never seen Haroon express fear—but acknowledgment that the coming situation would be complicated in ways that previous engagements hadn't been.
"What are you worried about?" Brad asked directly. "You absorbed their power. You're even more capable now than before. Why does the probability assessment bother you?"
Haroon set down his tea cup with precise care. "Because distributed operations mean I'll have to choose which targets to defend. I can't be everywhere simultaneously. When they strike multiple facilities at once, I'll prioritize based on strategic value and civilian population density. But that means some targets will receive delayed response or no response at all."
"People will die," Brad understood. "Humans you couldn't protect because you were protecting someone else."
"Correct." Haroon's voice was still monotone, but Brad heard something beneath it. Not quite emotion—Brad wasn't certain Haroon experienced emotions the way other beings did—but acknowledgment that his function had inherent limitations. "I maintain. I protect. But I can't maintain and protect everything simultaneously. The Dissolution Compact has identified that limitation and will exploit it."
They sat in silence, both processing that reality. Even above-omnipotent power had practical constraints. Even reality-authoring capability couldn't overcome the fundamental limitation of existing in one location at a time.
"The other Controllers—" Brad started.
"Will do their best," Haroon interrupted gently. "Will protect what they can. Will save many lives. But they're reduced in capability compared to what the Dissolution Compact used to be, and distributed operations will stretch them beyond optimal deployment. Casualties will occur. That's unavoidable when facing enemies who've chosen to target protected populations rather than confronting defensive forces directly."
Brad wanted to argue. Wanted to insist there must be some solution. But he'd worked alongside Haroon long enough to recognize when the being who could author reality had calculated all options and found them insufficient.
"So we do our best," Brad said finally. "Protect who we can. Accept that we can't protect everyone. And hope that eventually the Dissolution Compact realizes their ideology can't survive against our commitment to human survival."
"Accurate summary." Haroon finished his tea despite its apparent awfulness. "And in the meantime, we continue routine operations. Maintain Station Theta-7. Ensure local systems function properly. Because even during conflict, people need functional life support and reliable equipment."
They returned their cups to the recycling station and headed back toward their assigned sectors. More inspections scheduled. More systems requiring attention. The routine work that kept civilization functioning regardless of cosmic-level conflicts occurring in background.
Dennis Knowles passed them in the corridor, nodded greeting, and continued toward engineering. He'd grown comfortable with Haroon's presence over the two months since the foundation incident. Not completely comfortable—nobody who knew what Haroon actually was could be completely comfortable—but functional professional relationship that worked adequately.
Harold Osborne was in the observation deck when they passed, staring out at the starfield beyond Station Theta-7's hull. He didn't notice them pass, lost in whatever thoughts occupied his attention during off-duty hours. Brad had learned that Harry used the observation deck as meditation space, processing the isolation and beauty of deep space existence.
Life continued aboard Station Theta-7. Two hundred humans living and working in void, depending on systems they barely understood maintained by people they rarely noticed. Brad had been one of those oblivious humans once, before becoming a Controller and learning that reality was vastly more complex than human perception suggested.
Now he was part of the maintenance apparatus. Part of the quiet machinery that kept civilization functional. Working alongside someone who could rewrite existence but preferred to check coolant lines and ensure atmospheric processors operated within specifications.
They reached Sector 14, their next inspection location. Haroon began his systematic equipment checks while Brad handled documentation and secondary diagnostics. The work was soothing in its predictability. Problems identified. Solutions implemented. Systems maintained. The endless cycle of routine operations that kept chaos at bay through careful attention.
Brad's console chimed with incoming message. Commander Sarah, marked priority two. He opened it, reading quickly.
"Haroon," Brad said, and something in his tone made Haroon stop his inspection and turn to face him. "Sarah's updated the probability assessment. Activity detected in seven different sectors simultaneously. Ships moving into position. Energy signatures consistent with Dissolution Compact operations."
Haroon was still for a moment, that particular stillness that meant he was accessing awareness beyond normal perception. Then: "Confirmed. They're initiating distributed assault. Seven targets. Simultaneous strikes planned for approximately ninety minutes from now."
"Seven targets." Brad felt his probability calculations going haywire trying to process the tactical implications. "How many Controllers do we have positioned to respond?"
"Fifteen. Including us." Haroon was already running through calculations, assigning response priorities, determining optimal deployment. "Sarah is coordinating force distribution now. We're assigned to Station Meridian-5, civilian research facility with three hundred personnel. Medium priority target. The Dissolution Compact will strike with two operatives. We should arrive approximately six minutes after hostile engagement begins."
Six minutes. Brad knew what could happen in six minutes of combat between omnipotent beings and unprotected humans. He tried not to calculate casualty estimates.
"What about the other targets?" Brad asked.
"Being handled by available Controllers." Haroon's voice carried that quality that suggested he was monitoring multiple situations simultaneously. "But we're spread thin. Some facilities will receive delayed response. Some will face multiple hostiles with single defender. The mathematics are unfavorable."
"People are going to die," Brad said quietly.
"Yes." Haroon's acknowledgment was simple and absolute. "We'll save who we can. That will have to be sufficient."
Brad nodded, accepting the terrible calculus of distributed warfare. They couldn't protect everyone. Could only do their best with resources available. And hope that their best would be enough.
"Transit in sixty minutes," Haroon said. "I'm completing current sector inspection first. Station Theta-7's maintenance schedule doesn't stop because of external conflicts."
Brad wanted to argue that surely maintenance could wait when hundreds of lives were at risk. But he understood the logic. Station Theta-7 had two hundred personnel depending on functional systems. Those people deserved protection through continued maintenance even during crisis. Haroon's function included both local operations and external response. He would fulfill both.
They finished Sector 14 inspection in thirty-five minutes, Haroon working with increased efficiency that still maintained his usual precision. Documentation was filed. Equipment status was logged. Maintenance schedules were updated. Then they returned to their respective quarters to prepare for combat deployment.
Brad reviewed tactical briefings on Station Meridian-5. Research facility studying exotic matter interactions. Three hundred personnel, mostly scientists and support staff. Minimal defensive capability. Completely dependent on allied Controller protection. The kind of facility that represented human civilization's expansion into dangerous territory—brilliant minds pushing boundaries of knowledge while trusting that someone would protect them from threats they couldn't perceive.
He equipped his combat capability loadout, bringing probability manipulation fields to maximum readiness. Checked his manifestation coherence. Verified his transit protocols. Standard pre-combat preparation that felt inadequate given what they were about to face.
Haroon met him at the designated transit point, still wearing his cyan suit. No visible weapons. No apparent preparation beyond the same careful attention he brought to everything. But Brad could sense something different. The enhanced Absolute Void was no longer completely dormant. Haroon had activated combat readiness, bringing authorial capability to accessible state while still maintaining containment.
"Ready?" Haroon asked.
"As ready as I can be," Brad answered honestly.
They transited together, moving through dimensional layers toward Station Meridian-5. Brad felt reality shifting around them as Haroon navigated with precision that made the journey smooth despite the vast distances being traversed.
They emerged into chaos.
Station Meridian-5 was under assault. Two Dissolution Compact operatives—Brad recognized them from intelligence files as Cascade and Erosion—were systematically destroying the facility's infrastructure. Hull breaches were spreading. Atmospheric pressure was dropping. Personnel were evacuating in panic while automated systems struggled to contain cascading failures.
Six minutes. Brad realized they'd arrived exactly six minutes after hostile engagement had begun, just as Haroon had calculated. Six minutes during which two weakened omnipotent beings had done catastrophic damage to undefended research facility.
"Prioritize evacuation," Haroon ordered. "I'll engage the hostiles. You ensure personnel reach escape pods and coordinate with station systems to prevent total structural collapse."
Brad didn't argue. They both knew their roles. Haroon would handle combat. Brad would handle everything else. They'd developed effective partnership over two months of working together, and that partnership extended to crisis response.
Haroon moved toward the Dissolution Compact operatives with same unhurried pace he used for maintenance inspections. Cascade and Erosion saw him coming and immediately began retreating, following their new tactical doctrine of avoiding direct engagement.
But they'd spent six minutes causing damage. Six minutes that couldn't be recovered. Six minutes during which unprotected humans had faced omnipotent assault without defensive capability.
Brad coordinated evacuation protocols while trying not to think about casualty counts. Tried not to calculate how many lives had been lost in those six minutes before response arrived. Tried to focus on saving who could still be saved rather than mourning who was already gone.
The two-month peace had ended.
Distributed operations had begun.
And across seven different facilities, similar scenes were unfolding. Controllers arriving minutes too late. Dissolution Compact operatives causing damage and retreating. Human casualties accumulating despite best defensive efforts.
The new phase of conflict had started.
And even above-omnipotent power couldn't prevent all the consequences of enemies who'd learned to avoid direct confrontation while targeting the innocent.
The mathematics were unfavorable.
People would die.
And all anyone could do was minimize the loss while hoping it would eventually be enough.