[DEO Headquarters, Communications Center — July 2017, 2:15 PM]
The transmission array hummed with power as Winn made adjustments to the targeting parameters. They'd been at this for hours—trying different frequencies, different protocols, anything that might slip past Daxamite communication security.
"The main fleet has pretty standard encryption," Winn explained, hands dancing across his console. "Military grade, but nothing we can't work around. The problem is, any direct transmission gets flagged immediately. Rhea's monitoring everything."
"There has to be another way." Mon-El paced behind him, energy thrumming through his limbs despite the exhaustion. "My father reached out before, during the Mxyzptlk situation. He found secure channels."
"Those channels are compromised now. Rhea's intelligence division has been systematically closing them." Winn pulled up a series of communication logs. "Every back-channel contact point we identified is either blocked or being actively monitored."
"Then we create a new one."
"With what? We don't have access to Daxamite infrastructure. We can't exactly call them up and ask for a private line."
Mon-El stopped pacing. Thought about the show—the episodes he'd watched in his previous life, the plot points he only partially remembered. There had been something about Daxamite communication protocols, something about...
"The royal frequency."
Winn looked up. "The what?"
"Old Daxamite tradition. The royal family maintained a private communication band—completely separate from military channels. Used for internal messages, family matters. It's supposed to be unmonitored because..." He searched his memory. "Because monitoring the royal family was considered treasonous."
"And your father would have access?"
"If he remembers it exists." Mon-El moved to the console, calling up Daxamite communication specifications from the DEO database. "The frequency would be in the ultra-low band. Almost impossible to detect unless you know exactly what you're looking for."
Winn's fingers flew across the keys. "I can scan for it, but without knowing the exact parameters—"
"Try 0.000847 megahertz. Modulated with the House Gand encryption key." Mon-El pulled the numbers from somewhere deep in his transmigrated memories. "My tutor made me memorize it when I was young. Said it might save my life someday."
"Your tutor was apparently prophetic."
The array shifted frequencies. Static filled the speakers—white noise and cosmic background radiation. Winn fine-tuned the signal, adjusting for interference, searching for any sign of a carrier wave.
Minutes passed. Nothing.
"Maybe the protocol's been changed," Winn suggested. "If Rhea's as thorough as she seems—"
A voice cut through the static.
"—repeat, this is an open line. Who is transmitting on royal frequency?"
Mon-El grabbed the microphone. "Father. It's me."
Silence. Then: "Mon-El?" Lar Gand's voice, strained and cautious. "How did you—the royal frequency hasn't been used in decades."
"I remembered. Father, we need to talk. Rhea's ultimatum—"
"I know." His father's tone was heavy with exhaustion. "I've been arguing against this for days. Weeks. She won't listen. She's convinced Earth is the answer to everything—a new Daxam, a new beginning. She calls it destiny."
"It's genocide. The humans won't submit. There will be war."
"I've told her that. She believes Daxamite military superiority will make resistance irrelevant." A pause. Background noise—footsteps, voices. Lar Gand lowered his voice. "Son, I don't know if I can stop her."
J'onn had joined them, standing silently at the edge of the room. Kara too, her expression tight with worry.
"Then come to us," Mon-El urged. "Defect. Help us from the inside—provide intelligence, tactical information—"
"I can't." The words were raw. "She's built alliances among the fleet captains. Anyone who opposes her plan openly is being... silenced. Three admirals have already disappeared. Their families too."
"Father—"
"I'm trying to work from within. Slow things down. Find allies who share my concerns." Lar Gand's voice cracked slightly. "But if I'm discovered communicating with you, I won't be able to help anyone. And neither will you."
Static crackled. The signal wavered.
"I'm proud of you," Lar Gand said quickly. "The person you've become on Earth—it's everything I hoped for. Everything Daxam never let you be."
"Father, don't—"
"If this ends badly, remember that." A sound in the background—alarm, or warning. "I have to go. Someone's—"
The transmission died.
Mon-El stared at the silent console. His hands gripped the edge of the workstation hard enough to dent the metal.
"He's in danger." His voice came out flat. "Rhea's purging anyone who disagrees."
"Can we extract him?" Kara moved to his side. "Some kind of rescue operation—"
"He's on the flagship, surrounded by Daxamite military." J'onn's tone was gentle but realistic. "Any extraction attempt would require resources we don't have and would likely trigger the very conflict we're trying to prevent."
"So we do nothing?"
"We prepare." J'onn met Mon-El's eyes. "Your father made his choice. He's fighting from the inside, in his own way. We fight from the outside, in ours. And we hope both efforts are enough."
Mon-El wanted to argue. Wanted to fly up there himself, tear through the fleet, drag his father to safety. The impulse burned in his chest like fire.
But he knew J'onn was right.
Kara's hand found his. Warm. Grounding. A reminder that he wasn't alone.
"We'll protect him if we can," she said softly.
"And if we can't?"
She didn't answer. There was no good answer.
Mon-El looked at the dead comm screen one last time. Somewhere up there, behind the moon, his father stood alone against a queen's madness. The seconds ticked by. Twenty hours now. Maybe less.
"Let's get ready," he said finally. "Whatever's coming, we face it together."
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