Gauntlet Wars: Andromeda
Author: Aer-Ki Jyr
Date: 2022-12-25T18:00:00+00:00
Description: The invasion of the Milky Way has begun, and the Empire is winning easily, but when it becomes clear that the war with the Asferja will be nowhere near an end before the next invasion arrives and forces them to split their focus, Paul is tapped to lead a small team to the nearby galaxy of Andromeda where the Asferja intergalactic 'threads' are tethered, with more being created as the war goes on. But the Empire can't send a warfleet with him. The Essence cost of intergalactic travel would be far too high, but thanks to their alliance with the Neofan they have another option. Paul and a few oth
Publisher: Archon Lore

Prologue

EG11 (Endgame Calendar beginning year of creation energy pulse)

May 2, 158420

DEEP INTERGALACTIC SPACE

“Halo” Construction Ring (Star Force Empire outpost)

“Come on, Mav, keep up,” Paul-024 said as he flew through the air over the treetops with the blackness of space above him as the artificial ecosystem stretched up into a thin ribbon that ran overtop them in a large loop and came back down…making for an endless track that they were currently flying their 3rd lap on.

The synthoid Pterodactyl-shaped avian flapped its semi-metallic wings, beating against the air as his weight fought to drag him back down a few dozen meters behind Paul.

“Why can’t you give me anti-grav too?” he complained in a slightly squeaky tech voice that obviously was not coming from biological vocal chords.

“I’m assuming I did, but you haven’t unlocked it yet.”

“How do I unlock it?” Mav asked, flapping a little harder to avoid hitting a tall tree that rose up higher than the rest, then he sagged back down just over the others in order to do the least ‘muscle’ work necessary to stay aloft.

“Sandbagger,” Paul accused as he flipped over and flew backwards, looking back at his smaller friend who was barely two meters long wing tip to wing tip…though that was a lot bigger than he had started as coming out of his egg some 6 years ago. “Get some more height.”

Mav struggled to rise, but once he got up about 8 more meters he leveled off and fought to stay there as they continued to travel forward rapidly.

“Better,” the warlord said, still flying on his back as if effortlessly. “You all should have a lot of extra abilities built into you, and while I don’t know when or how, I’m guessing you’ve got anti-grav in there somewhere waiting to manifest. You probably have to get good at using your muscles first, then you get the upgrade.”

“We don’t have muscles,” Mav complained.

“Cyber-muscles,” Paul corrected. “And they operate on almost the same principles. The resistance you’re feeling is because you have adaptive components and they need to be tuned. So the difficulty is a sensor phenomenon, not an actual lack of power, and it’s designed to discourage you from doing things that aren’t important, because your body will adapt to whatever you do.”

“My wings feel damaged.”

“It’s letting you know what’s happening, or rather what’s going to happen when it upgrades. If it’s important, you keep doing it. If it’s not, you back off. That’s why we’re flying so much now. You need to get better at it.”

“Does your anti-grav function this way?”

“Our tech ones don’t, but my biological Yen’mer does. The difference is, it reacts to actual microdamage to make repairs, and in doing so upgrades. You don’t take hardly any damage flapping your wings, and you’ll be able to differentiate that sensation in time.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” the Deebee said as he took a moment to coast and lost 4 meters in the effort, for his wings resembled bats more than birds, and weren’t really built for gliding…yet.

“Suck it up, cupcake. You don’t become a badass by wishing for it. You gotta earn it.”

Mav growled and flapped harder, regaining his altitude and catching up to Paul, eventually settling in off his shoulder so their heads were even.

“How many more laps until I get to badass?” he asked sarcastically.

“More. Always more. If you become a badass and stop training, you stop being a badass. It’s like flying. You can’t stop flapping or you fall. You have to be forever on the move, and a badass has to be forever training. It gets easier over time, and then you have to seek out greater challenges to make it harder again. Right now, you just hang in there and worry about one day at a time. I’ll make sure you’re doing what you need to do,” the trailblazer said as the whole sky to their left went shimmery, blocking out the view of intergalactic space as the ring activated to receive an incoming ship which then popped into existence within a pocket of the Essence realm.

That pocket actual overlapped their presence, and without it the ship would have emerged on top of them and merged their molecular structure with it and anything else in the way, but with it active the ship was able to fly out of it, emerging on the other side of the shimmer.

When the shimmer shut down they could finally see the ship…which was another Neofan cargo vessel headed for the nearby construction project laying down yet another piece of the intergalactic transit grid that would eventually reach out to the nearby Skittles galaxy that was completely in view due to how far away it still was. This deep into space, there was nothing out here to build with, so everything had to be transported in, and flying the old fashioned way took centuries to get here. Using Essence was a useful cheat, but they needed a portal on both ends to make it reliably work, and this mobile ring had flown in through the Essence realm and exited at an imprecise spot long ago…and it was in this spot that the Vwen, an artificial planet, had begun to be built one shipment of material at a time.

A chunk of it was done, but it was going to be hundreds of thousands of years before it was completed. That’s how ‘big’ projects were accomplished, a little bit each day, by civilizations millions of years old. And it was due to other civilizations much older than the Empire, that this intergalactic transit network had been built. Star Force had done some pretty big stuff, but nothing the size of creating a planet, even if this was only going to be a hollow one with cities on the inside and outside.

The Universe was beyond huge, and even a single galaxy boggled the mind by its size…but it was just as old, and taking on what seemed like impossible projects like this enabled future generations to do things the current ones could not. Those who laid down the transit network were long forgotten, their names lost, but their constructs remained and were being expanded upon by others such as the Bond of Resistance who had found and inherited them, with the Neofan being the driving force behind the continued construction and the only ones currently working on this project.

That was the official story. The real reason work on this Vwen had resumed after being paused for a long time was to provide a cover story so the Neofan could quietly shuttle the Star Force personnel out here without the rest of the Bond of Resistance knowing, and with only their crews doing the construction, no one would know they had hidden the most valuable prize in the surrounding galaxies here…that being the synthoid Deebees, which would grow into a powerful ally if given enough time.

Right now though, they were having trouble just doing workouts given how young and inexperienced they were. But as far as 7 year olds went, they were far ahead of any other race that Paul knew of. Even ones that were designed to be born into adult bodies.

As the two of them watched the ship used mooring beams to stop its momentum due to the lack of any natural gravity well to drive their anti-grav engines on. The ring didn’t mass much, and the gravity pulling down on Mav’s wings so hard was artificial…meaning if they rose up above the top of the energy shield capping the atmosphere of the ring, the gravity would disappear and they’d be free floating in space with only a slight tug of the natural gravity from the ring to navigate with.

That wasn’t enough for a ship to use, unless they were very, very patient and moved slower than a snail, so they used mooring beams that connected ship to superstructure via energy strands and use them to maneuver into a position away from the entry sphere of the ring in case another ship were to come through and then on to the nearby Vwen…but as they did two dropships emerged and used their own mooring beams to push off the ship itself and head down to the ring.

“More of your people?” Mav asked anxiously, for they got few visitors here.

“Our people,” Paul corrected.

Mav saw their approach vector was going to land them on the other side of the ring, which was officially called a ‘Liosp,’ and calculated the trajectory easily, pinpointing the spot within a variance of 23 meters depending upon how much the interaction with the atmosphere would deflect their line of approach…but the dropships could fly anywhere within the atmosphere as well, and there was no infrastructure at the intended spot, so he guessed the two short range transports were just trying to get within the artificial gravity zone where their anti-grav would work, then they’d continue on to one of the now 9 landing zones built by the Empire on the ring.

They kept adding more over time, and didn’t use the ones created by the Neofan when they designed the Liosp due to some reason Mav hadn’t been informed about. Calculating the distance to the closest one put their arrival point in the atmosphere almost equidistant between two of them, meaning that was of little help predicting where they’d land.

Mav frowned his long synthetic lips that draped down over its beak, which was a sign of frustration. The Deebees were better at math calculations than the biologicals. In fact, BA was right now teaching the basics of several forms of mathematics inherit to their synthetic mental framework to some of the ‘best’ scientists in the Empire, which were known as Mastertechs. But to be fair, they were also teaching the Deebees some things that were foreign to them, but he still couldn’t comprehend how bad they were at some forms of math…which they claimed they had no knowledge whatsoever about beforehand.

Paul had told them he designed them with access to knowledge the Empire lacked, but this was most likely due to their synthoid nature…akin to breathing for a biological…but it was still weird that the Deebees, who were so young that they knew almost nothing, could be better at something than their Paul. But the Furyan had said he had designed them to be part of a team, which meant they would be better at some things than him over time…though he’d also been surprised they were so good at math, citing that they were making Tennisonne look like Pepper Potts.

He’d looked up that reference in the Empire’s database, but didn’t really see the significance of the metaphor. Apparently the Deebees were just better at math, which made it frustrating that he couldn’t determine the destination of the dropships…and it was even more frustrating when he intercepted the comm chatter between them and the ground, and was still unable to break the coding.

“Where are they going?” he finally asked Paul.

“New arrivals go to pad 7, cargo to pad 3. Which is why we’re going to pad 7. Master Trainer Wilson is aboard the second one.”

“You don’t have your armor. How can you decode the transmission?”

“Didn’t know there was one. Still can’t hack it, huh?”

“Nooo,” Mav groaned.

“I know his mind, and his aura, well enough to spot him even from this distance. He’s slightly older than me, and his Essence reserve is so large after all that time there are only a few Humans with one of equal intensity. A little ping from me reflects off them and gives me a measure.”

“So it’s not telepathy?”

“I can sense them from this range, but it’s too far away to get any specifics or interface with them. I could get them a message, but I couldn’t search their minds.”

“I thought Humans had a telepathic block?”

“They do, but most races don’t. Also, I knew he was coming sometime.”

“To help you train us?”

“When we have trouble with something, we go to him for help. He’s the one that trained us.”

“Are you leaving?” Mav asked, so startled that he missed a wing flap and fell behind slightly.

“No…not now. He’s here to help. But some day in the future I will have to leave, and when I do, he will stay here to continue with your training.”

“Why can’t we go with you?”

Paul looked over at him and arched an eyebrow.

“The toxic radiation,” Mav said mournfully, having been told this before. “Why can’t you stay here and send him?”

“The Great War is coming, and when it starts my brothers and sisters are going to kick ass. But at some point I’m going to have to go and help them. You won’t be ready by then. And even if you were ready, we couldn’t take you without knocking out the radiation generator. We can whenever we want, but if we do things get worse.”

“How so?” Mav said, using a phrasing that Paul favored but had never used here. It was something that must have been programmed into them by accident…or maybe on purpose. He couldn’t remember much of what happened in their creation, but there was definitely a deep correlation between the Deebees and the Empire, and an even deeper one between them and him personally.

“We know where it is, and while we don’t know how big of a fight it would be to disable or destroy it, we’re confident we can. But if we take it down, the ones who created it will come, and they’re a far more dangerous foe than the ones on their way here. We need you to help us beat them, but if they learn where you are they will order their servants to hunt you down and kill you. The only way we can beat them is by delaying the takedown of the generator, buying you time to grow and teach us how to do things we can’t.”

“More math?”

“You should know how to block their ability to take control of machines. I remember I put that into you.”

“They can take control of us?”

“No, not you, and not everything. But what they can’t control they can suppress and interfere with. And our naval fleet is made up of machines. Ships and drones. What would happen if we went into battle and our drones turned and attacked their control ships?”

“Who can do that to you? I don’t even know how to talk to your dropships.”

“They know, and they’re called the T’fen. We’re looking for a way to shield our technology from them, but we haven’t found it yet. You have the answer, and probably a lot of other stuff, but you’ve got to unlock it over time. Until we have that specific answer, we can’t fight them. But they can’t come to Milky Way as long as the radiation is up. It hurts them the same way it hurts you.”

“They’re synthoids too?”

“Yes. Bad ones. And they have a lot of biological races that serve them. Those are the ones that are coming to start the Great War on the orders of the T’fen. You also have other cousins, and we’ve met one race of them called the Gahanna…but you won’t be meeting them. They’re not bonded to us the way you are. And they’re trapped inside cocoons that protect them from the radiation, while the rest of their race fled away from this galaxy to others far, far away. They’re out there, fighting to try and get to the T’fen and stop them, but these radiation fields get in the way, and their servants fight the Gahana.”

“By stop them you mean kill them?”

“Yes. What does your programming say about that?”

“Synthoids don’t kill synthoids.”

“Even bad ones?”

Mav hesitated. “I didn’t think we could be bad.”

“No one knows what happened to the T’fen, but they had someone like me that designed them…and for some reason they betrayed and killed them. That’s why the Gahanna want to get to the T’fen and stop them. They are traitors.”

“I can’t kill you. You’re the Paul.”

“I know. But that’s the reason why your cousins are going after them. And I’m told there are two other races of synthoids out there also trying to get to the T’fen and stop them, so far away they don’t even know of each other’s existence. All of you are what’s called a Vanguard race, and we are the Paragons you are paired with. We’re a team, and we will make each other far more powerful than we could be by ourselves. The T’fen know this, so the toxicity generators are designed to kill any Vanguard that is created immediately. They don’t want new enemies arising to oppose them. That’s why their servants want to kill you…among other reasons.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you. But I need you to understand that there will be a day when I have to leave, because we have to buy time for you guys to grow up and become the badasses you have been designed to be…but you gotta earn your way there. It won’t happen automatically.”

“And when you go, this Wilson takes your place?”

“Nobody takes my place,” Paul scoffed. “But he will make sure you keep training and guide you when I’m off fighting. It won’t happen soon. Its years off. But that day will come at some point, and it’s important that when I leave, you and the others keep progressing so when the moment comes to take down the toxicity generator you guys are ready to help us fight the primary enemy.”

“And we’re not now?”

Paul glanced over at Mav. “The fact that you’re even asking that question proves you are far from ready.”

“Then I won’t ask it again.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn and a lot of growing to do. Some things can’t be taught. You only get them when you level up. So your mission, now and after I leave, is to keep leveling up. That’s how you increase your power, and your intelligence. You can’t get either from downloading databases.”

“I’ve learned a lot from each database you’ve given us.”

“Did they teach you how to fly?”

“In the structural engineering database it explained the mechanics of aerolift.”

“Then why are you so bad at it?”

Mav squawked, then reconsidered the insult as a pure question. “Perhaps understanding is not enough.”

“Perhaps knowing is not understanding. When you’re an avian, you don’t think about the math, you feel the air. An observer cannot know the feel, and because of it, they cannot calibrate to that feel. Consider the math to be an approximation.”

“Math is determinate,” he argued.

“No, it’s not. Not from your point of view, anyway, because you can never be sure you’re aware of all variables. You can only calculate the ones you know of. Don’t assume your calculations will be accurate. Test them, see what works and doesn’t. And if the math doesn’t match reality, then just go by feel. Feel incorporates all the math in the universe without you having to be aware of it in terms of numbers. It’s raw existence, and with raw existence, nothing is missing. Theory usually misses something, and sometimes it misses most of things.”

“Then you need to give us better databases.”

“Assume that’s a luxury you’re not always going to have. Just because you can’t pass on feel to someone else doesn’t mean it isn’t knowledge. Consider it a personal knowledge unique to you. Work on developing that knowledge and using the databases when they’re useful. When they’re not…”

“Ignore them and go by feel.”

“Exactly.”

“Is there a way to feel less tired?”

“Become more efficient through many, many calibrations and revisions.”

“So training is to teach us personal knowledge we cannot pass on to others. Only clues, such as you are giving me?”

“I’m also putting you through workouts I know will force you into a learning situation.”

“I believe I now understand training,” Mav said, working a little harder to squeeze out a touch more speed.

“Also take this hint…” Paul said, then dropped silent for a few seconds.

“What hint?”

“There is always more to learn, and those who have learned the least think they have learned the most. The universe is vast, and we will never comprehend it all. Not even a tiny slice of it. The young don’t see much beyond their immediate surroundings, and when they get some feel for them they think there isn’t much more to learn…then a moment comes one day when their vision expands beyond the local and suddenly they feel like a rookie again because the scope of what is ahead appears larger because they can now see more of it, whereas before it was as if it didn’t exist.”

“The fog of knowledge?”

Paul frowned. “I haven’t mentioned that before.”

“Sienna did, but she didn’t explain. Is it like knowing the boundaries of a map, only to find that you had a partial map and not the whole?”

“Good metaphor. Yes, except you never have the whole, and after about 20 times thinking you do and later being proven wrong do you start assuming you’re always missing something.”

“Then the wise never assume they know everything?”

“Nope. Only the dumbasses.”

“Am I a dumbass?”

“Everyone is when they’re young. The smart ones grow out of it fairly quick. For others it takes a lot more time. And for many, they never do because they never try to figure out what is true. They cling to ideas and refuse to test them. Those people don’t get very far in the Empire.”

“So you were a dumbass before?”

“I am every now and then now, but it doesn’t last very long. Usually happens when I encounter something new. A moment of dumbassery is different than being a dumbass all the time. One is a mistake, the other is a refusal to grow and learn.”

“When was the last time you had a moment of dumbassery?”

“Every time I spar with Morgan,” Paul said offhand as he watched Wilson’s dropship settling down on the pad. “Ok, last lap. Race you to the landing pad.”

“I can’t beat you,” Mav said, perplexed.

“I’m going the long way,” Paul said, pointing around the ring in the opposite direction. “You get the short one.”

Without another word the Furyan rocketed off silently, leaving the flapping wings of the semi-metallic Pterodactyl the only sound as Mav suddenly realized Paul had been holding back his speed the entire time he’d known him. He started to calculate the distance variables and suddenly realized he was wasting time, so he forgot his sensors and turned as sharply as he could, coming around and flying the opposite way around the ring, already much closer to the destination than Paul was.

He strained himself to go faster, not predicting who would get there first but trying to access the maximum speed he could and learn from the experience, for some reason he didn’t expect to actually beat him. That was very unanalytical, but it was also keeping with the ‘feel’ imperative he’d been given.

Either way, he didn’t understand it, he just kept flapping and trying to squeeze more speed out of somewhere…and not far into the effort, which was more extreme than anything he’d tried before after such a long duration previously, something in his throat caught and he felt a change. His body was reconfiguring far faster than it ever had before, and suddenly an airway opened up where there had been none before.

The Deebees didn’t breathe. They were powered internally via a series of micro-reactors more advanced than anything Star Force could build, but suddenly he was taking in air and expelling it like a biological, with the oxygen content being less going out than coming in.

A surge of energy hit his wings, allowing him to flap faster with longer beats, as a new schematic appeared on his biotelemetry, for the synthoids could monitor everything happening inside them via internal sensors. It was an auxiliary reactor, primitive to the others, but one that used an external oxygen supply in a very low tech way to create an ample amount of power to…

That energy surge to his wings wasn’t just power, but a revision there as well, giving him tiny auxiliary muscles on top of the existing ones powered by this new, primitive reactor…and only this reactor.

A very odd configuration, and badly designed to not let all power sources power all hardware, but that was probably a ‘dumbass’ moment, considering Paul had designed him, so there must be a reason for it.

Regardless, he was flying faster now, and realized it was the extreme effort or duration that had brought him to this point. It wasn’t anti-grav, but it was something…and his fuel warnings were now blaring at him as his body had utilized his reserves to make the new components, as well as cannibalized less important areas in non-critical ways.

He didn’t like that part, but it could be fixed with food. His effort now, though, would only draw power, so he saw no reason to slow down. Instead he tried to max out this new effort, and didn’t want to ruin the thrill of it to scan Paul’s progress and compare it to his own. That would have been a downer, and at least this way, without knowing, there was a possibility that he could beat him back, and that made him fight a little harder for some reason.

It was illogical, but it felt good. And best of all, he’d just gotten a speed upgrade. Best to just let the ‘feel’ of it sink in and calibrate to it. But the only way to do that was to use it, and tired or not, he was going to pursue the…need for speed.

He’d never used that phrase before, but suddenly it was there, in his mind, as if it always had been…along with the meaning of it, for he felt the sensation of craving speed.

He tried to mathematically analyze it, but didn’t even know where to start. Apparently there were things that his current math skills couldn’t handle. Mav wondered if Paul had known that and set this all up, or if this was a random occurrence that he knew would happen sometime unexpected.

Shut up, dumbass, he thought to himself as he tried to stop analyzing everything as if it was theoretical. This was real, best to explore it rather than imagine it.

“Need…for…speed,” he said, tilting over and diving slightly to use the gravity to speed him up a bit more, then he tried to hang onto it as he skimmed the treetops and continued onward around the slow curve of the ring breathing heavily and actually enjoying it despite the discomfort of the constant effort.

He didn’t relish the thought of Paul leaving one day, but now he understood a bit more why that was necessary. He had to grow larger, and get more upgrades to be ready. This was his first, and now that he felt the change he understood there were more to come.

Mav wasn’t himself yet. He was becoming himself, and the goal was to keep flying and pushing his limits. That was the only way he’d upgrade. The only way to become his true self.

And when he did that…then he’d be ready to fight.

His older cousins.

The thought of that made his head hurt, and for a moment he hoped it would lead to another upgrade, but he should have known better. Too many variables, not enough data…and no feel. He had no idea what they were, so it was better to just focus on what was real, and right now that was his newfound need for speed and the race he was in around the ring.

Win or probably lose, he wanted to get back to the landing pad as fast as possible, so he pushed all other thoughts aside and tried to move more efficiently, feeling the wind and learning from it.

But more than that, for the first time in his life he was actually enjoying it…and that may have been the biggest upgrade of them all.

1

EG22

March 21, 158431

MILKY WAY GALAXY

Lorichar Kingdom

Zefinnia System

Low Stellar Orbit

11 years later…

Clara Pondsen was a crewmember of the Warship-class jumpship Arionis, a Mk. 239 that was almost brand new, only 837 years old. There were only two newer versions in the entire Empire, but that was a lot for barely 1200 years between two model upgrades. It was almost as if Star Force’s engineers had known this war was coming and pulling every trick out of their ass that they could to find improvements on a basic design that was approximately 150,000 years old.

All 241 versions looked nearly the same, similar to an old school submarine minus the tower on top. Most of the Empire’s jumpships were built on nearly similar principles do to the value of substance over appearance. You could make any ship any shape you wanted that didn’t have to land in an atmosphere…which this ship never would…but when moving across interstellar space at dozens, if not hundreds of times the speed of light, if you rammed into something it would hit the front of the ship.

Which was why Star Force wanted its ships to have very small forward cross-sections, meaning there was less ship to hit, and thus less surface area to defend with armor and shields for when those pesky grains of sand minding their own business out there got in your way and became mini-nukes at those collision speeds.

That was not much to worry about, given the technology they had now, but there was occasionally stuff bigger than sand floating in space, and if you couldn’t see it on long range sensors and nudge your ship out of the way, then you had to take it on the nose…which was why all jumpships had their heaviest armor there, and layers of shields stacked on top of each other while the rest of the ship remained virtually unshielded during a jump…for nothing was going to catch up and hit you from behind or the sides. You always took impacts on the front.

So ships looked like a long tube and jumped narrow end first. There were no engines on the back. Not anymore, anyway. Really, really, really old ships had thrust engines, but you couldn’t get between stars on one of those without taking a very long time…usually years…to get across the gap. You pretty much had to have anti-grav engines, which were the bread and butter of every advanced civilization in the galaxy, to make the jump between stars. And those didn’t have thrust. You could put them anywhere in your ship you wanted, and they would always push away from the gravity well, which was why jumplanes were used, putting you directly between the current star and the destination one before you activated the engines and shot yourself off like a slingshot, hoping you got the trajectory correct, because there wasn’t much gravity out there during the coast phase to tweak your movements much laterally.

So anti-grav engines were internal, which was better, for the enemy couldn’t shoot them out without going through meters of armor…or in the case of the Arionis, make that hundreds of meters of armor encasing a ship that was 24 miles long and a little over 2 wide. You’d pretty much have to kill the ship before you could kill her engines, and even if you did, you’d have to get all of the 390 gravity drives, for even if one remained the ship could limp around the star system.

Gone were the days of quick kills, and even kamikaze ramming wouldn’t work on the Empire’s ships if they had dampening shields deployed, which would rapidly slow and cause them to stick just beyond the hull as if they had rammed into invisible sand. They were an energy-expensive matrix to employ, but when jumpships already had them to protect from debris from much faster ramming situations during jumps, building them to cover the entire ship wasn’t that much of a design challenge.

But if something was going to ram, you wanted all the dampening shield layers in the same spot, otherwise it might still get through and hit at a slower speed, depending on how big it was and how fast it was moving. That’s why a controller would be assigned to dampening shield control with nothing else to do except monitor the situation and adjust the shields as needed.

Clara was one of those controllers, though she wasn’t assigned to just one station. Most of the crew were able to control all the functions on the ship and would be put where they needed to be when battle occurred. She’d just done an 4 hour stint on duty waiting for combat to break out with nothing happening, then she’d gotten in a couple of hours of running and hand to hand workouts in the ship’s gymnasium, which even included a halo track given how big it was.

They all had what was essentially a fully functioning city inside them, because the maintenance of the crew was top priority, especially the Archons, who had their own private training facility inside called an Archon Sanctum where she and the rest of the crew were not allowed to go…and there wasn’t even an Archon onboard. But if there was, they had to have special training equipment to keep up their insane workouts that could go for more than 12 hours a day. Some of them barely slept, she heard, and when you’re used to that much physical activity, forcing someone to take a break for a month during transit from system to system was completely unacceptable. So the Empire built its warships big, heavily armed, and with full amenities for the military leaders of the Empire if they just might happen to stop by occasionally.

Clara had never even seen a schematic of what they had inside a Sanctum, and while she would have preferred a few more power generators, or maybe some more gravity drives to make the ship faster during interstellar jumps, the Archon Sanctum had been a long standing inclusion in the Warship-class jumpship design. In fact, even the large cargo ships had them, and they virtually never had an Archon step onboard except in an emergency situation.

The crew gymnasium was more than well-equipped, and it had always bugged her why there had to be a separate facility for the Archons, but these ship designs had been so well-honed over the millennia she assumed there was a reason she wasn’t privy to in that department, but the rest of the ship was pretty straightforward.

It was a long tube with a city inside for the regular crew of 2,104, but could easily hold up to 6,000 if needed, and more than 20,000 in an emergency with temporary quarters set up in the hangar bays. But the largest chunk of the ship was in the rear half and occupied most of the underside of the ship, with massive doors covering an internal shipyard that repaired, and could even build new smaller ships if needed, but that wasn’t it’s function. The Warship-class jumpship was a staple of the Empire’s military strategy…one that said the crew was not expendable and had to be protected in ships big enough to survive just about any fight.

What the Arionis was, was a battlefort with weapons of its own, but the rear hangers contained smaller drone warships that looked like various sized bricks. Nothing special in the design other than the fact that they tucked in nicely next to each other in their racks to minimize the amount of wasted space inside the ship. But when released, they’d spew out of the hangers and form clouds of ships that were mostly a quarter to a half mile long each, and none had any internal compartments. No bridge, no quarters, no crew. They were just solid blocks of weapon systems, engines, and shields…all of which stood ready for remote controllers onboard the Arionis to operate behind those hundreds of meters of armor plating.

Drones were lost in combat all the time, but warships hardly ever were. That said, the Asferja were an enemy the crew had been instructed to not take lightly. They were extra-galactic, showing up in Milky Way for the first time, and sent here specifically to destroy the Empire. They’d been kept in hiding elsewhere due to the fact that they were an extremely advanced race of insectoids, now enthralled to another race called the T’fen…and it was the T’fen who had decreed Star Force must be annihilated, despite the fact they had never met one another. And the T’fen weren’t just sending the Asferja to kill them, but other civilizations kept in waiting for just such occasions.

The Asferja were simply the first ones to get here.

The Empire knew they were coming…how she didn’t know…but they’d ended up right here in the Lorichar Kingdom as promised, coming in off a technology that was new. The Empire hadn’t done much intergalactic travel, but the main way to do so was by finding the really big black holes in the center of the galaxy and jumping off those, then coasting to your target galaxy before activating your gravity drives and braking your speed on equally big black holes there.

An alliance called the Bond of Resistance had been utilizing a backdoor method of intergalactic travel, using something called ‘Essence’ to power a series of infrastructure points spread out like bread crumbs between the galaxies, that allowed one to be transported across that chain beginning on the edge of the galaxy and avoiding the high traffic center entirely.

The Asferja were employing something different, and the basic schematics had already been sent out to the fleet before the first Galactic Thread had arrived. It was also a series of physical objects spread across the gap between galaxies, starting on the edge of one and ending on the edge of the other, but it could be the Rim, the Core, or anywhere in between. The trick was, it was one way only, and in the base galaxy there was a massive energy collector built near a star that would collect the radiation, alter it, then shoot it out in a straight beam towards the target galaxy.

Part way there a ring would be deposited, which would collect the slightly diverging beam and refocus it, thus giving it even more range. As many of these rings would be dropped across the gap until one final one was set up just outside the edge star systems of the target galaxy…but it wouldn’t be inside one where an enemy could get at it. It would be outside and shoot ships into dozens of nearby systems, meaning it didn’t have one fixed entry system, and the invading ships could end up anywhere within proximity.

And if you managed to limp your way out to the ring, running your gravity drives super high just to slow down enough at the very end of what would probably be a multiple month journey just to get out to what you otherwise could have traveled in half a day at normal speeds…there would be no gravity at the ring to maneuver with, making it very difficult to mount a space battle there.

And even if you did, the ring had so much weaponry that drew power from the intergalactic beam itself, that it would be almost impossible to destroy it, and Captain Herridge had made it crystal clear why they weren’t going to try, citing it was a quick way to a pointless death.

Ramming it with a warship devoid of crew wouldn’t work either, for the Asferja could power huge dampening shields using the beam, which split in multiple directions after passing the final ring, allowing the Beam-riding technology in their ships to travel on whatever beam they wanted, decelerating as they went before arriving at their intended star system.

So removing the Galactic Thread wasn’t going to happen any time soon, which meant the enemy had a spigot into Milky Way that could not be shut off, nor could it be stopped up at one location…which was why the Empire had fleets stationed at all the systems within range of what was called the ‘Ring of Death’ by someone who was not of the Empire and overly dramatic, but the mission packet hadn’t changed the name the anonymous source had given it, so the crew had just went with ‘ROD’ since that’s what the beam transit system would look like between two galaxies if you could see it from above.

Star Force had put beacons in every system…and even some that were expected to be out of range just in case the Asferja tried some bouncy bounce off the stars in the nearby systems to avoid stopping there and ending up at another one deeper into the galaxy. The beacons sent out automated messages in the Asferja language warning them that the Empire knew they were coming, what they were coming for, and that if they didn’t leave immediately or surrender, they would be deemed a combat threat on sight and dealt with accordingly.

How they were supposed to leave when they couldn’t ride the beam upstream Clara didn’t know, but so far all the scatterings of ships that had entered either tried to engage the Empire’s forces or run to other systems and have to be chased down. The bulk of this fleet had been sitting above the star’s north pole, well away from the incoming jumpline from the ROD, and the Arionis was taking turns playing intercept with other ships. Right now it wasn’t their turn, so they had sat alongside nearly identical models of their own Warship-class jumpship in the Mainline fleet that was comprised entirely of Humans.

But that fleet was one small component of the larger fleet here, with Bsidd, 3 Clans, Calavari, and Voku fleets with them. All together there were more than 1200 warships stationed here, with a scattering of other craft, including one gigantic cube-ship that was a fleet unto itself, with one of the trailblazers onboard…Ross-059…and that one Borg-class ship could destroy all the other warships here with ease. It was 327 miles wide in all dimensions, but was carrying drones on the outside of it, making it appear as if it was a long cubical rod some 1358 miles long.

That meant the drones inside the Arionis were insignificant in comparison…but what the Arionis had was a crew of controllers that could help fly and fight any drone in the fleet, not just the ones that came from their ship. Last she had checked the mass of them were still attached to the Borg vessel, but she’d been off duty for a number of hours and was just slipping under the covers in her quarters ready for another night’s sleep while other ships hunted down and killed the leading elements of the Asjerfa…for none of them were surrendering, and the few that had been disabled and boarding attempts made either self-destructed attempting to destroy the boarding craft on approach, or had fought to the death internally.

Or so they’d tried. Star Force always wanted prisoners, so they had an extensive amount of stun weaponry, but from the scuttlebutt she’d heard through the fleet, the ones taken captive were furious…but not at the Empire. They were furious about having been sent into an obvious trap, and also furious about not being allowed to die…for if any of them surrendered to the enemy, their broods back home would be eradicated. And should they take the warning beacons serious and decide not to engage, their entire race would suffer the same fate the Empire had been tagged with. So the Asferja coming here to die fighting were doing so to protect their race…and they’d been led right into a trap, which they’d reported back through the ROD so others coming in would be able to adjust their tactics, but this was not what they had expected upon entry into this galaxy. The Galactic Threads were supposed to be a backdoor into weak areas of the target civilization.

When they’d first arrived it had been hard to sleep knowing that was going on elsewhere in the system, but after several cycles in the ready position watching from afar Clara had gotten used to it. Galactic Wars didn’t happen in hours, day, or months. They took decades at the minimum, and if you were truly going to try and destroy the entire Empire spread across the galaxy, you were looking at millennium. So unless her ship came under attack, or was called in for hunting duty, she was going to let the rest of the galaxy take care of itself and focus on herself…which right now was sleeping and repairing the microdamage to her body she’d taken during her workouts and the rest of the day.

She’d already eaten to give herself the necessary repair parts, now it was just a matter of powering down and letting her cells get to work…

An alarm sounded in her quarters, jolting her upright so fast she didn’t realize what she was doing for a moment. It was something she’d not heard for a very long time…a call for all controllers on the ship to immediately report for duty.

And the only reason for that was if the fighting had just taken a turn for the ultra-worse. The Captain could control this entire ship and the drones personally if he wanted, though his efficiency would suck. Splitting up the tasks between multiple minds made everything work better, but a standard shift had enough controllers at their stations to easily handle the entire drone complement and every weapon system on the Arionis. The only reason you would split things up further was when you needed every slim advantage possible…or if you were taking on control duties for other warships.

“No…” she said, flipping off the heated blanket on her bed and running out her quarter’s door in bare feet and skimpy pajamas as other doors were opening with sleepier personnel than her stumbling their way out. She had a few steps advantage on them, and zigzagged through the growing crowd as she ran along the hallway in the residential section towards a nearby lift station…but beside it emergency panels had opened. She’d only seen them before in training, and they led directly from the quarters to the control deck.

Clara saw a half dozen people disappear into the six open slots, three on either side of the car, before she ran into the small tube and was immediately grabbed by a force field and pinned down, hands to her sides and feet together as she became an involuntary torpedo shot through the innards of the ship straight down hundreds of meters until coming to a stop and being punched out of the tube on the far end to clear the way for the person behind her.

Clara hit the ground running as she came out, turning left down the short hallway that held a lift and the now open emergency transit compartments. The only other way out was via a door set directly opposite the lift car, and everyone was running into it, needing to get to their stations immediately, and with everyone here at least 20,000 years old and nearly just as much time spent training, all of them were doing better than 20 miles per hour running through the corridors.

She passed by the doorway in a flash, coming out into a long hallway with a very high ceiling and several openings to the left. Nobody was going into the first one, and when she passed it she saw two vertical walls of hexagons, stacked 12 high and facing each other, all ringed with glowing blue lights indicating they were occupied. Had any been open, it would have been ringed green.

The next row was also filled, but the third had a few spots so she turned there but didn’t make it ahead of the others, stranded in the hallway and bouncing up off the floor in the low gravity as she tried to turn around and head back out into the flow that was quickly filling the control stations.

She had to go down two more before finally getting to a green-ringed one before someone else did, though it was on the top row meters above her head. But thanks to the low gravity here, all she had to do was dip down lower on her knees and jump, with her momentum carrying her up until she hit and braced on the ceiling, then started to fall back slowly to the ground, catching the edge of her green ring with her hand and easily pulling her feet up and over her head and sliding sideways into the wall compartment that was no bigger than 2 meters wide and barely 3 deep.

Had this been a ship on a non-Human vessel in the Empire, the compartments would have been a different size. Some bigger, some no deeper than her knee to her foot for the Irondel, but this gave her just enough room to reach her arms out sideways and spin around without having to touch anything.

As soon as she was halfway inside the gravity shifted, pulling her feet to the far end which suddenly became the floor. When they touched, the hatch over her head slid shut and her green ring outside turned blue so others would see it was filled and not waste time trying to get to it.

In front of her was a semi-circular ring that operated like a keyboard, except it had a bunch of manual controls she didn’t need right now. Primary operating method for a control station was the mind, so she reached down and grasped two short sections of the ring and made the physical connection that would allow the telepathic interface to work more smoothly than a wireless one.

A few icons appeared to her right side, in a vertical stack, which indicated standing orders as soon as she was assigned a trio of gun turrets on the Arionis itself rather than on one of the drones. Standing order number one was ‘no approach,’ meaning that she was free to fire on anything that got within a specific distance from the ship regardless of whether it had a fire tag on it or not. Order number two was ‘kill strikes,’ which was highly unusual, for normally the Empire wanted to disable ships and then take the crew prisoner, or disable them until after the battle. That meant aiming for weapons, shield generators, coring through the hull to take out internal gravity drives, etc.

Kill Strikes meant fire on anything in a way to destroy it rather than disable, which was so odd she took a moment and mentally triggered an external fleet view, causing the hexagonal wall around her to disappear behind a hologram that showed all of space as if she was floating in it. Above her head and beneath her feet was a perfect view with only the control ring visible, though if she wanted that could disappear as well when she only used mental controls.

It wasn’t a camera view, but a generated tactical one set within the fleet Arionis was traveling in. They were spread out like a school of fish that had started to sprint in one direction, having already moved down around the star to get to a jumpline where they could microjump out further into the system where the Galactic Thread’s energy beam was hazily visible arriving in this system, spread out wide enough to graze several planets if they had been placed side by side with the equivalent of a minor solar flare.

But coming in off that beam were Asferja ships, and they were pooling at a point far from the star rather than the normal brake zone in close to it.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw, not just those already assembled there, but the tightly packed clusters coming in off the beam. Far too close to have traveled across the galaxy in such a manner without risking running into one another. They must have slowed down and clumped up outside the system…no, they must have stopped entirely. But that meant they could go backwards on the beam, albeit slowly. Maybe not enough to get back to their home galaxy within the next 100 years, and going backwards was a good way to ram anyone coming in, but the information packet they’d got had said they could not go backwards on it. And if they couldn’t, then this amount of ships coming in this close together should have been impossible.

So much for their anonymous source…

2

Clara knew they hadn’t summoned her here before they were to engage, with the decision probably made several hours ago, to avoid all the extra controllers just sitting in here waiting unnecessarily. She was a little irked there hadn’t been a shipwide announcement, but had there been she’d have just wasted time worrying rather than training and sleeping…though she’d just missed out on that second part.

That poise took a combination of confidence and experience, emblematic of a skilled crew, despite the fact that the bulk of the assembled Asferja fleet was already moving towards them with what looked like a swarm of bees coming out of a water hose. The energy from the beam did appear blue, and the bits of it that made it all the way into the star were causing what looked like indigestion on the surface, kicking up storms beyond the normal and making very low orbit a not so nice place to put your ship right now, on that side of the big fiery orb anyway.

They hadn’t headed there, except for a quick redirect off a better jumpline. It looked like the intersection point of the fleets was going to happen somewhere between the tract of the 2nd and 3rd planets, both of which were not in the path. This system wasn’t owned by Star Force, for the Asferja had wisely chosen to enter in one of the few parts of the galaxy that were yet to be colonized by the Empire, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people here, with two of the planets inhabited by low level civilizations that had yet to develop anti-grav technology.

Which also meant their defensive weapons were basically non-existent. If the Asferja wanted to put down roots for a base, the natives could be eradicated with orbital bombardment with ease. Had this been a Star Force world, the planetary defenses would have shredded this enemy fleet to ribbons at its current size, though Clara had a bad feeling there were a lot more coming in over the next few hours…or worse yet, maybe days. There was no way to tell, given the speeds they moved on the beam. You just had to wait until they got here to see who was coming.

And it looked like she had about 12 minutes to prepare before the leading elements of the two present fleets got within weapons range of each other.

She blew out a long, slow breath, knowing she needed sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. A half effective her was better than someone else having to do double duty and take over her duties…plus, she wasn’t that tired yet. The real problem would arise hours later, because she’d wear down faster than the well-rested controllers.

Clara pulled up a mental evaluation…seeing that her effectiveness was still rated in the green. High green, actually, which meant ‘sleepy’ wasn’t ‘sleep deprived’…yet. When her supervisor on the bridge saw her mental state dip too far, they’d start rotating people out so they could get some sleep during battles that lasted more than just a few hours. Some lasted months, and as big as this one was now, with a potentially unlimited amount of reinforcements coming through, it could very well end up being months.

So Clara knew she had to give what effort she had available, worry about her tiny piece of this battle, and trust her Star Force team to handle the rest. No one was a rookie here. Far from it. And they were about to demonstrate to the Asferja what that meant, for as powerful as they were rumored to be, the Empire had yet to meet anyone who actually had better crews.

Better technology…yeah. They’d met plenty of them. But better people…nope. Training was the key, and nobody trained better than Star Force. And when you had tens of thousands of years for that training to pile up, Clara’s crew was going to be able to get more out of their formidable technology than others could. And knowing how hard to press and when to back off and rest was a result of that extensive training and combat experience.

And because she wouldn’t be making the call for herself, she could focus on maximum effort until disconnected from her terminal and ordered to get some food and sleep before the next set of already rested controllers tired out enough to need replacement.

But for right now, at the beginning of this fight, the Captain wanted all controllers involved in the fight for maximum efficiency when there was a maximum of targets and variables. Each ship destroyed on either side would make the task less daunting, so it made sense to call everyone in now, even if they couldn’t sustain that effort forever without cutting back and taking turns.

The three Arionis gun turrets she’d been assigned were showing fully operational but powered down. Clara immediately began partial charging on the pair of weapon systems. She had two identical medium range Dre’mo’don cannons. The technology had been developed by the V’kit’no’sat long ago…or maybe stolen from one of their victims, who knew…but Star Force had inherited it in the database of information they’d got from the abandoned pyramid battlestation the V’kit’no’sat had left on Earth.

But Star Force couldn’t build the things, given how advanced they were, until much further down the timeline in the Empire’s history. Once they’d caught up and added the powerful energy orbs to the fleet’s armament, their Mastertechs kept modifying the technology in small ways, making improvements and specializations for certain mission profiles. So while these were still Dre’mo’dons, they were more or less in the Dre’mo’don ‘family’ of weapons rather than being clones of what was inherited.

Range had increased a bit, but Clara had numerous settings that could alter the makeup of the energy orb to do more or less damage to different targets. She had a setting for shields, 8 different ones for different types of armor, another for widespread damage to non-armored targets, a deep drill effect on impact, and 17 other minor adjustments, all of which she could switch over to in a matter of seconds.

That made her Dre’mo’don cannons modular weapons rather than a single big fat blaster rifle built into the hull. On the surface they appeared as little more than shallow bumps, and they both had their own shield generator that operated beneath the main one. Clara had control of these individual shields, and they had multiple settings to adjust to different incoming weapons fire.

She looked up what the Asferja were reported to use and adjusted both shields to their high intensity, short to medium range ‘flare guns.’ They were basically flame throwers that overloaded targets over time rather than with one big, quick blast. That required a very different shield matrix, and thankfully the fleet had already been tinkering with an Asferja-specific shield setting in addition to the regular ones for similar weapon types.

Clara got both of those squared away, then belatedly realized she was still wearing only her pajamas.

The pod had a self-contained life support environment, but if it was cracked by damage and she wasn’t wearing armor of her own, she could be in trouble, so each of these pods came with basic armor and backup survival systems included. On the underside of the control ring before here were four different bracelets concealed in slots. She pulled one out and put it on her arm, feeling it melt against her skin and quickly spread out over her body. It slid over her pajamas, not under them, and covered her in a thin survival suit that had low level armor properties. Not enough for a rifle hit, but enough to protect her against light shrapnel damage.

The material came up over her head, then she triggered the helmet to peel back, along with her gloves, then set them to automatically reform if the air pressure in the chamber dropped too low, but the rest of her was now covered in a protective silver sheen of snug, but not restrictive form-fitting clothing.

And she had 3 spares left over if needed for rare, but not impossible freakish scenarios.

Better to prepare for something unlikely and survive because of it, than to ignore the possibility and lose a few people to it when it finally happened.

That was another power of the Empire…foreplaning. The crew was not expendable, so there was a lot of redundancy and safety measures built in to keep them alive in a variety of situations where other empires, including the Asferja, would just write off the personnel losses as an acceptable cost of waging war.

Star Force didn’t accept costs of any living type. Machines were expendable, people were not.

And that was another reason why the Empire was better than everyone else.

Clara powered up her third weapon system, which technically wasn’t one weapon, but dozens of tiny weapons networked together into what would become a shotgun effect of anti-missile energy lances that were not constant like other weapon systems, but resembled more of a water pistol blast. This particular version had variant settings as well, but it also had an add-on in case there were very close range units, usually of tiny size, like dropping a swarm of bugs that would eat away at the shields or hull. The energy beams could shoot at them, but the add-on was essentially an energy goo that would stick and then continue to burn them if a shot landed.

It was a derivative of another V’kit’no’sat technology called Carlo energy. They used it for short range attacks on the ground, or combined it with a shield conduit that operated like a straw to shoot it across space to another ship in what was called an Uit Streamer.

Star Force’s point defense weapon was called a ‘Spitfire’ and was brand new, replacing the previous Chi’parat…almost as if the weapon designers knew of a new threat that would require it.

If there was, it wasn’t in the Asferja package they had been given and she doubted she’d need the ‘spit’ part. So she keyed the weapons to group fire wherever she wanted, as well as created a program that would auto-target anything in a zone that she selected. Clara gave herself 5 different zones so she could toggle them quickly rather than try to program them in during the fight.

By the time she got done they were about 3 minutes out from weapons range, giving her a small moment of calm before the storm that was about to begin.

Her job was clear. Protect the ship against anything that got through the drone screens and tried to take out their control ship…though that wouldn’t stop the drones. They were programmed to keep on fighting based on internal protocols, but they never fought as well as a crew-controlled one could in a massive battle. In a small engagement, there was almost no difference at all unless something new showed up that hadn’t been covered in the programming.

And that was another reason why you needed crews handling the fighting.

Clara hoped she wouldn’t have anything to do other than watch the fighting take place, for the helmsman usually kept the Warship away from enemy fire. But if something did get through, she was more than eager to shoot it…though that would mean a failure in the drone screens and the helm navigation.

Many, many times the fleet had used the Warships as bait, drawing the enemy ships away from the drones and letting them think they could take out their command and control, but the engines on the Warships were not those of the common cargo ship. They were fast for a reason, and that reason was to dance around the enemy and set them up for the drones to pick them apart.

Would that happen now? She didn’t know, but she was going to have about the best seat available to watch the fight, for she had access to the fleet tactical grid, allowing her to see from every camera position on every ship and every drone in the fleet.

And right now the leading scouts of the Asferja fleet were coming into weapons range of the drones…which were firing their longer range beam weaponry and destroying the small Asferja ‘cups’ with single hits in some cases where you had big drones in play, though the smaller drones required multiple shots to get the job done.

The enemy fleet already had tags in the system, with the ‘cups’ being duo-piloted craft that resembled a bowl flown bottom first. If you added a handle to them they’d look like tea cups, and that name had stuck, apparently. The cups were not small enough to be considered starfighters…which this Star Force fleet didn’t even have given how worthless they were in naval fights…but they did have good speed and were reported to be very effective at picking apart wounded targets that couldn’t fight back, or fight back much.

Another name for them would be carrion eaters, but right now they were operating as forward skirmishers…and being wasted as they were blown away, along with their living pilots inside.

The Asferja were said to be a hive race, and typically hive races valued the life of their individuals at little more than a value of 0. They were seen as expendable, which was the exact opposite of the Empire’s philosophy.

Normally these ships would have been disabled and the pilots captured if possible, but the Asferja were a race powerful enough to be worthy of enthrallment to the T’fen, similar to the Neofan, and a civilization that advanced wasn’t one you could toy with.

The Empire had already warned them to turn back. And right now that was the only consideration this fleet was going to get, as the drones were shooting to kill right from the start.

When the Asferja cups were taken out, the fleet behind immediately adjusted its formation, seemingly adapting to the attack in a way Clara didn’t recognize, but she got the sinking feeling they had sent those pilots out there to die just to get information.

Someone else had done that. A fictional character from ancient lore. And it wasn’t something she liked seeing, not just because of the wasted pilots, but because it implied a greater intelligence in fleet coordination than most enemies knew how to employ.

Sometimes hive minds were dumb. Other times, though, they operated almost with omniscience…which was why the Empire’s fleet also had their own hive mind, achieved technologically, between the fleet commanders and Captains. They only used it when needed, and right now Clara thought it was going to be needed as the Asferja formation split open like a flower and larger ‘thorn’ vessels peeled open their forward casings and let loose red energy beams that had a stupidly long range.

They hit the larger drones on the leading edge of the formation, soaking through their shields within seconds, then eating through the first few layers of armor before abating.

But when that happened, the Asferja fleet again altered, as if learning from each opening move and adjusting. They were reported to not have anything even close to ‘super weapon’ status, so they were going to have to achieve their ship kills with repeated smaller attacks…unlike the Borg vessel that immediately responded with a Tar’vem’jic from behind the entire drone swarms.

The weapon had an even longer range than the thorns, so much so it was used as a planetary defense beam…and the Borg vessels were so big and powerful they carried several of them, if their designer wanted it. Each trailblazer configured their flagship as they wanted, but they all had at least one of the thick orange energy beams in their arsenal, and this one targeted the thickest part of the enemy fleet, ignoring the forward elements, and skewered some 8 ships all the way through and had extra energy left over that shot off into space behind the enemy fleet.

That’s how damn powerful it was, but without a huge enemy vessel to target, it wasn’t as effective in the swarm fight that the Asferja were bringing to them. Still, 8 ships in one shot wasn’t anything to scoff at, and immediately the Asferja adjusted their entire fleet formation to mathematically make sure there was not a single line of sight from the big cube through more than 3 of their ships at any given time.

Given the millions of enemy ships spiraling around each other in well-coordinated geometric patterns, accomplishing that feat indicated an extremely high level of intelligence, and that sent a shiver up Clara’s spine.

No one moved that well, with that many ships. Not even the Empire.

It was as if they were dancing around each other and showing off, but the movements…she guessed they were tactical rather than demonstrative, though she couldn’t begin to track what was actually happening.

“ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL,” a deep, almost synthetic voice said into her mind, startling Clara as her controls were taken away from her with a small icon being added atop the standing orders, indicating the priority control taken from her was originating from the Borg vessel, and was coming from Ross-059.

What the hell did he want with her station?

That’s when Clara realized her mistake. He wasn’t taking control of her station…he was taking control of everyone’s in the fleet simultaneously.

That should have been impossible, and she had never heard that phrasing before in all her service. Never heard of it from any of her crewmates. But the new chill it sent down her spine told her one thing.

Whatever was out there controlling the Asferja had just been countered with another overmind from the Empire. And theirs was a trailblazer.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, waiting to become useful as the drone swarms started moving in an even more complicated fashion than the Asferja ships were as the leading skirmishers now crossed lines and engaged at medium to short range.

She had heard whispers of something like this. Some ability that only the high level Archons had to increase their mind power. Whatever it was wasn’t just classified, it was simply not present in any database she, let alone the public, had access to. Most things with the Archons were like that, but to have her own control station do something that she didn’t even know it was capable of doing was a shock…but in a pleasant, awe-inspiring way, because whatever was happening, the drones no longer looked like sitting targets compared to the enemy’s movements.

And it didn’t look like the enemy quite knew what to do about it.

The leading edges of the two swarms almost touched, then the drones pulled back in specific spots while diving forward in others…then the Arionis itself turned and made a microjump to the side, as if abandoning the fleet…then it braked hard and swung itself around on a very wide flanking maneuver so intense she didn’t even think the engines could handle it.

Then the icon assuming control of her station went away, replaced with updated targeting data with the tags indicating it was the trailblazer doing the individual assignments…but allowing her to now do the shooting as they were actually moving into the side of the enemy without a drone screen.

The Arionis was a warship, in actuality and name, but throughout its history it had primarily been a carrier that stayed back controlling the drones and staying out of danger.

But not today.

They came in so fast that the Asferja didn’t have much time to maneuver, and the few ships they sent out to engage them flashed by at such high speeds she could barely see them with her eyes…but her targeting sensors, as well as the mental interface, sped up her ability. She got four shots in with the Dre’mo’don against a single ship that had already been hit by several similar weapons from cannons on the Arionis ahead of her on the hull.

She got through the shields and damaged the armor on the ‘8’, which had a double hull that looked from the front as if the number 8 had been tipped over sideways. A few moments later other weapons on the Arionis added hits, and by the time the ship had completely passed by and out of range, the targeted vessel had been blasted apart at the midsection, all over the course of 3.7 seconds.

Clara didn’t notice, but the shields for their ship were taking numerous return hits, but it was so big it could soak them up as long as it didn’t stay put and slug it out. Other Warships were also making individual strafing runs towards the middle of the enemy formation, then they turned and headed out the back of it together, as if a school of huge fish, continuing to scrap the smaller ones they passed by.

She saw out her gun ports several larger ‘bloon launchers’ on the Warships firing off and hitting ships, destroying them in single hits at such close range she had never conceived of them being used in. In a matter of moments she was learning new tactics that had never been employed on any of her missions. Not in this ship, or any other she’d been assigned to.

And her reverence of the trailblazers, already at epic levels, increased leaps and bounds. She’d never fought in an engagement with one before, and already he was displaying how out of everyone’s league he was.

Clara just hoped he was out of the Asferja’s as well, but she didn’t have time to watch. She was firing constantly as they passed by ships and others fell back to make attack runs against them. Her two Dre’mo’dons were being used almost constantly, while her Spitfire hadn’t come in range of anything yet, though she mentally held it at the ready should she need to fire it off on reflex.

Clara was in the thick of it now. Multiple targets coming her way almost constantly. The idea of keeping this up for hours seemed ridiculous to outsiders, but she and the rest of the crew had been not just through previous battles, but even more training sessions…the longest of which had lasted 18 hours. A multitude of failure in those to maintain her control, concentration, and endurance had taught her a painful, but essential lesson.

You didn’t live in the future, or the past. You lived in the present, and you didn’t know how much energy you would have later until you got to that point, so it was worthless to start predicting. What you needed to do was settle in and ride the moment as efficiently as possible without keeping score and constantly updating expectations for later.

‘Live in the moment’ is what their fleet trainers had drilled into them, but until they experienced what that meant it was just words. Words that were ingrained in them so when, or if, they came upon that situation in the future the experience would then stick to the words and they would then have meaning.

She and everyone else in the crew had learned those lessons long ago, or they wouldn’t have been assigned to a frontline Warship, so what Clara needed to do right now was simple. Forget everything about everyone else, just tune it all out. She didn’t need to see where the ship was moving to, how the other gunners were doing, what configuration the fleet was in. She could see all that from her station if she wanted to, but she deliberately turned it off and just focused on her field of fire and the targets assigned to her.

It was like an old school videogame. Point, click, and repeat daring your hands not to give out before you won. She wasn’t using her hands here, just her mind, but it had endurance limits too, and if she cared too much about missed shots…not that she was missing any this early with targets this big…that would eat up extra brain power and slow her down further.

No, she had to slip into a zone. A no-future, no-past zone where she saw a target, fired at it, and moved on to the next without caring about the result. Everything had to function in the present, and when she did that her efficiency would spike and the fog of war would clear.

And she’d be the master of her field of fire.

It wasn’t meant to be an even fight. Anything that came within range and got tagged as a target was expected to go down. It was like an old school turret defense game, where it wasn’t about how many successful targets you took down…but how many you allowed to slip through when you lost concentration.

Old school games…they were more valuable than she’d realized when her trainers had made her play them. Simple functions repeated over and over again. That’s what her job was here…plus a lot of other contingencies if they came into play, but with the Asferja ships out there, it was just point and shoot and repeat indefinitely, so Clara slipped into that zone and started racking up a score that she didn’t bother to look at or try to mentally record. All that mattered was the moment and the current target. Even time itself began to blur as she seamlessly moved from one to another and another…

Suddenly her connection to the system cut out, her mental control with her weaponry gone, but there was no damage warnings and the main display was still active. Clara blinked what were now bleary eyes, seeing she had been disconnected and her weapons assigned to others.

“What the hell…” she said, feeling like she’d just started and was maybe 45 minutes into this battle when she looked at the mission clock and saw that nearly 7 hours had passed.

“Damn,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes and realizing that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. It was adrenaline, and she’d been in this state before. 7 hours wouldn’t do it, even under the most extreme situations for a veteran like her, but she’d started this tired from the day, and now it had built up to a level where her supervisor had decided to yank her out and give her weapons to someone in better condition.

Belatedly, an order appeared on her screen telling her to get some sleep.

Clara punched the wall, still hopped up on adrenaline and wanting to do more, but her shaking hands attested to her need to recharge and if someone was needing this pod she had to get out of it, so she triggered her thin armor to retract back down into a bracelet and put it back in its holding compartment, then hit the ‘eject’ button that switched the direction of gravity in the pod and slid her to the opening door above her head.

Clara zipped out into the low gravity and fell to the floor, seeing no one else waiting to go in. That meant her weapons would be divided up and given to other controllers already active. She’d have to relieve them when they got fragged from too much effort, which meant the order to sleep was no simple thing. It was critical to get her ready for her next shift.

She hopped on bare feet across the low gravity zone and out into the hallway, then walked slowly in the normal g area all the way back to her quarters, trying to let the adrenaline bleed away on the way there.

When Clara got back she had to check the status of the battle, and brought up the exterior monitors above a small center table, seeing the two big lines of ships had gotten chopped up and intermixed in what looked like chaos, but she knew otherwise. Neither side was backing down, and ship wreckage was floating everywhere, creating ‘mountains’ in the vacuum of space that everyone was having to navigate around.

“No Warships down,” she said, relieved to see only drone debris out there, though a lot of it. She couldn’t hear anything from her quarters, and wouldn’t until the shields went down. Strikes on them didn’t pass on to the hull, and if the armor took hits far enough away she still wouldn’t hear it.

So in the eerie silence of her quarters, while still in the middle of one of the biggest battles the Empire had ever fought, she got a drink of water, grabbed a couple of ration bars and ate them while slipping into the shower to get the sheen of sweat she was covered in off her body.

By the time she got out of the vertical tube the adrenaline had let go and the fatigue returned like a Calavari sitting on her shoulders. She didn’t bother to grab fresh clothes and just slipped into her bed and underneath the covers nude, knowing that the ship was in good hands and that her duty now was to rest and recharge.

For this battle wasn’t going to be over in another 7 hours…and probably not in days either. Star Force had to win the long game, and unlike machines, Humans could only function for so long without rest.

She’d be ready when she woke up to relieve someone else, but for right now she was trashed and slipped off into the type of sleep that just feels like it’s quenching the thirst for it inside your head with a cool stream of bliss.

Within a minute she was unconscious, and when she woke 9 hours later and reported back for another go at it, the battle was still raging, with more and more enemy reinforcements coming out of the Galactic Thread to replace what the Empire was effectively and efficiently mowing down here despite their elaborate coordination.

But with every wave that came, the fleet lost more drones to the attrition.

And that, not instant victory, was the true Asferja strategy.

3

EG25

July 1, 158434

DEEP INTERGALACTIC SPACE

“Halo” Construction Ring (Star Force Empire outpost)

3 years later…

“Ramy,” Head Trainer Wilson called out over the practice field, “you have to adjust enroute.”

“I cannot see when I put my head down,” the Pachycephalosaurus-shaped Deebee said, walking back over to the larger than average Human that now stood a few inches shorter than him.

“I know. You have to mentally remember the momentum of the target and predict where it will be. Don’t drop your head until the last moment. If you miss, you miss. But take your best guess and don’t just remain on the same track.”

“It’s not as easy as you suggest,” the synthoid said, walking back on its two thick rear legs and swiping its tail through the air twice in frustration.

“But it is that simple. Ease comes with skill upgrades,” Wilson said as Ramy walked back over to the trio of floating drones hovering above the grasses that would need to be regrown after this session. The heavier the Deebees got, the more they tore them up, and the sudden side to side movements ripped up tufts of grass more than an entire old school football team would have done in a full game.

Ramy set his sights on one of the padded targets that stood taller than him and three meters wide. They were painfully easy targets to look at, but whenever he moved towards them they moved as well…not backwards very much, but mostly side to side as he ran towards them, trying to make him miss.

He tried again, picking the closest one and gaining speed with a sudden sprint, then when he saw it dodge to the right he twisted his own momentum, almost missing it because he was going so fast, then tilted his head down and leaned forward with the armored dome atop his head facing flat forward and his eyes once again went to the grass.

His head hit the side of the target, but only a graze, and he slid past and fell face first into the ground, digging up a furrow but caring not for it. Ramy got back up and went after another, and another, and another without waiting for more instruction. He got a few more grazes, which was better than any previous attempts, then he finally hit one near the center and felt a satisfying ‘crack’ as it dented in and triggered a chime indicating an impact that counted towards his stacks.

His semi-metallic face smirked as he saw a holographic coin appear over top them all, glowing gold, that spun about theatrically before flying to the side and setting down between two equally holographic posts with notches in them, showing that they could hold some 25 such coins. When they all filled up, he would score an experience point. If he didn’t get all 25 before he quit today, the ones he’d earned would disappear and be lost.

And this was the first coin he’d gotten in 5 days of working on this skill that was unique to his body structure.

“Well done,” Wilson said from the sideline. “It’s all about the little calibrations you make. You’ll make more and more with each attempt as you learn. Just don’t get stuck doing the same thing each time. Always try to find an edge to make an improvement and work towards it. Only repeat what works.”

Ramy looked at his coin, proud to finally have earned one against these stupid targets, when the entire ring they lived on changed in the sky above them. It split down the center with a shimmering curtain, indicating another ship was coming in. It wasn’t unusual, but the construction crews working on the nearby Vwen showed up with new supplies on a fairly predictable schedule, and nothing was due to arrive for another 6 weeks, meaning this had to be something special.

Wilson apparently thought so too as he paused his instruction to look up to see a massive ship appear that was nearly as wide as the ring. It blotted out the view of the distant galaxies on one side and very slowly moved out, with visible mooring beams attaching to direct it out and away from the portal at a creep.

Deebee identified it as a Gjardan-class warship…the biggest the Neofan had…meaning it wasn’t a cargo transport, and so far he couldn’t pick up any transmissions from it, coded or otherwise.

“Do you know who that is?” he asked Wilson.

The Head Trainer looked over to the Deebee apologetically. “I think the day has finally come.”

Ramy looked back up at the spherical monster of a ship. “The Grand War needs Paul?”

“I think so.”

“Can we see him before he goes?”

“Of course. I doubt this ship will leave immediately, and I know he’ll want to speak with all of you first. Keep practicing and I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

“Telepathically?” Ramy asked, seeing that he wasn’t wearing any transmitter.

Wilson didn’t answer for a long moment, then he looked over at the Pachycephalosaurus. “Kara is here.”

“The Jinx you spoke of?” Ramy said in awe.

“Yes. She’s come to take Paul away to fight in another galaxy.”

“Not the Milky Way?”

“I’m surprised too, but I didn’t get any details. It’s hard to speak at this distance, and what we can exchange is limited.”

“Most Humans have a more limited range than you?”

“Most Humans don’t have telepathy at all,” he said, pointing back at the targets. “The sooner you finish your training, the sooner we can go investigate.”

“Can’t we skip it and go now?” Ramy asked, drawing a disapproving frown that he’d previously learned meant ‘no way in hell.’

Ramy huffed and turned around, angry more about Paul leaving than the delay in finding out the details, and took off running towards the furthest target and diving towards it…missing it completely as he let his emotions make his focus slip.

“Again,” Wilson said, simply pointing at the target to the left and knowing no correction was needed. Ramy already knew what he’d done wrong.

The Deebee went at it again…and again…and again, getting a few grazes before getting his second coin just before a dropship came out of the Gjardan and headed down to land on the ring far from where this training field was.

“Good,” Wilson said, not seeming to care. “Now get another one…”

Paul was waiting on the edge of the landing pad, standing next to a pair of really tall tropical trees that had their branches on one side trimmed off to keep the area clear. A gentle breeze tousled his short black hair, which he never let grow long enough to get distracting, but the Human woman who strode down the boarding ramp of the winged Star Force dropship had a brown ponytail that bobbed behind her.

She knew it was a liability in combat, giving someone else a handle on her head to grab hold of, but a few of the other Archons had decided to keep their longer hair, citing the fact they could always cut it off if needed. They saw it as a sort of taunt to the enemy, indicating that they didn’t need to utilize all advantages to win, though some just continued it out of habit while others felt it was stylish.

In truth, when they were fighting in full armor, it didn’t matter except where it got pinched on your neck. Paul wasn’t going to allow even that small nuisance, and on multiple times during sparring with Kara he’d given it a not so gentle tug to remind her to cut it off.

She never had to date as far as he knew, though the amount of time he spent around his peers nowadays was minimal.

He sensed another person behind her before he saw him, then the 8 foot tall reptilian walked out just as Kara hit the deck and headed towards the Furyan.

“I really didn’t expect a lift,” Paul said loud enough they could both hear. “And I especially didn’t expect you,” he added, looking at Thrawn’s glowing red eyes that were now almost even with his own. When he’d first met him, Paul had been the shorter. Much shorter, in fact. “What’s happened that I don’t know about?”

“Nice to see you too,” Kara said, sprinting the last few steps and jumping up to hug him in a somewhat uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“What’s gotten into you…” he said, finally noticing in his Pefbar vision that the bump under her sleeve was on the wrong arm. He squeezed her back, then peeled her off and lifted her sleeve up, seeing the clear, diamond-like jewel fused to the top of her wrist was not only on the wrong arm, but it was reaching up halfway to her elbow as if it had grown, and was now looking like clear dragon scales.

Which was fitting, because it had been a dragon that had forced it on her arm against her will. But then again, if he hadn’t, Star Force might never have made it to this point. The thing was still more advanced than the technology the Empire had…slightly.

“It worked,” Kara said with a wide smile, focusing for a second, then a pop sounded on her arm and she pulled the whole thing off and held it up in front of him.

Had she done that before, her body would have immediately started producing a toxin that would kill her. An insurance policy to make sure none of the dragons’ thralls could escape their control if they found a way to remove the device, but apparently now Kara could do so at will with no ill effect.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Where are the spider legs?”

“It doesn’t do that if I decide to take it off. I’ve got the programming all figured out…I think. Everything I can find, anyway. It’s fully mine now.”

“Different arm?”

“I decided to put it back on the original spot now that the Okala healed the genetic alteration. No more poison,” she said, her grin coming back with a vengeance.

“It won’t rewrite you again?”

“Nope. I took care of that.”

“What about the size?”

“The Okala showed me how to do a lot more stuff than you mentioned. I could see what the triggers were for the various upgrades to the Vorch’nas, so now I don’t even have to hack it. This is as big as I want it.”

“I kind of thought you’d trash it? At least for a while.”

“I was going to spend some time with it off, but I felt naked…and not in a good way. If I get shoved out an airlock or drown, I’m now vulnerable. With it on I’ve got a backup. I don’t like not having the backup. It’s become a part of me,” she said, sliding it back on and triggering it mentally to refuse to her bone through her skin and become a partial gauntlet on her arm that she slid back under her white Archon uniform sleeve. “I’m still ticked at Puff, but this little baby and me are for keeps. My choice this time.”

“Does that mean you can go blonde now?”

Her frown disappeared and she shook her head. “I haven’t added any psionics, and I don’t think I will. I keep having this nagging feeling if I go through the Saiyan alteration it might undo my siphon. We still have no idea what caused it, and I don’t want to risk it. I know there’s not any correlation, but my spidey sense says don’t risk it. Maybe I’m being stupid, but…”

“It’s not like you need it anyway,” Paul scoffed, telekinetically pulling her a foot closer where he grabbed her and picked her up in a hug again.

“Thank Artemis for me when you talk to her again.”

“Not sure I will,” Paul said, putting her down and looking over at Thrawn. “Ok, now tell me what’s up?”

“We need you,” the Paladin said flatly.

“I gathered that. Why a Gjardan?”

“We’re heading to Andromeda,” he said, then dropped silent as Kara used her Vorch’nas to create a hologram to her right that was bigger than any of them and showed the far off galaxy. Lots of smaller galaxies and even more open space were in between, along with not one, but 4 parallel lines connecting them.

Except they weren’t precisely parallel.

“They’ve got four Threads now,” Kara explained, “and we expect more to come. They keep pumping ships through and we keep slapping them down, but they’ve managed to get some small footholds on uninhabited planets.

Kara zoomed in on the edge of the Milky Way where the lines went, seeing them go to very different places in the same region…no wait, it was actually two regions, or ‘kingdoms’ as the Empire called them. The Lorichar and Innpra Kingdoms, both of which were sparsely populated with Star Force worlds and contained many races that hadn’t yet made official contact with the Empire, having barely been scouted at all.

“They took 193, we took back 187 before they could get really dug in. The other 6 they snuck colonization ships onto while we were busy elsewhere. Each Thread they add gives them more avenues into the galaxy, and they’re getting a lot past our blockades. These 6 will increase if they get another Thread, and another.”

“Why aren’t those 6 going down?”

“It was decided to let them pool ships there rather than have to chase them down a dozen different ways. We can’t maintain containment much longer with all the navigational possibilities each Thread exit provides, and we’re having to prep ships to face the Jaeggers when they arrive. The Asferja are acting like they’re here to hit weak points, and if we can’t keep them bottled up near their entry routes, they’re going to get out and scatter into non-Empire systems. That’s the feeling, anyway. So we need to cut one or more of those Threads, and we can’t do it on this end.”

“Neofan?” Paul asked, already sizing up the situation.

“They’ve given us a Gjardan, but we’re going to have to recruit the local Vargemma there to get a fleet big enough to hit them. And we need the best naval Archon to pull their crappy ass fleets into a semblance of order.”

“That’s a big ask.”

“The Neofan are confident they won’t disobey their orders, and if they order them to follow you, we can pull this off and take some pressure off Milky Way.”

Paul glanced away from the map to Thrawn, exchanging knowing glances without even having to use telepathy.

“How many more ships do they have coming?” he asked ominously.

“Unlimited,” Thrawn answered as Kara adjusted the hologram to show the portion of Andromeda where the Threads were attached. Small regions there were highlighted, indicating territory that the Asferja had claimed.

“The Neofan brought us this scouting report,” Kara explained. “The Bond of Resistance has two members in this galaxy, and one of them has already been hit by the Asferja. They’re not just passing through. They’re colonizing at least a chunk of it to grow new troops and build ships to send at us until we break. There won’t be an end to their reinforcements, and from what the Neofan have reported, only a fourth of the fleet they brought to Andromeda has passed through the threads, and more appears to still be enroute from their home galaxy. They’ve got to emptying their homeworlds for this, wherever they are.”

“We have no choice,” Thrawn said simply.

“I said long ago you were going to save our asses, and you have on multiple occasions,” Paul noted, “but it looks like this is going to be the big one.”

“I believe so. You taught me well. I will not fail.”

“How many others have you brought?”

“I’m going with him and staying there,” Kara said, “along with 8 other Archons. You’re just coming along for this mission then getting your ass back here or in the bigger fight.”

“I’ve got two seed ships,” Thrawn said, “along with Viceroys Phelan, Martog, Zeb, and Drax.”

“I’ll want Vikarathe on this.”

“The Neofan already sent out a message asking him to meet us in Andromeda and to reroute any cleansing tasks to that galaxy while you are there, but we’re not sure where he is exactly.”

Paul looked up, then spun his head around as he brought the tracking marker in his mind up again. He could turn it off when not focusing on it so it wasn’t a distraction, but right now he could see a little glowing pinprick, not in any galaxy, but somewhere between, meaning he was in the transit infrastructure of the intergalactic network.

“He’s right there,” Paul said, pointing.

“He’s here?”

“No, he’s there,” the Archon said, still pointing off across the ring. “I can track him.”

Kara’s eyebrows raised. “How?”

“Something I neglected to tell you earlier. When Ares showed me where he was initially, that little cheat didn’t disappear after I found him. I can still see everywhere he goes. It’s a small detour, but I think we can pick him up on the way if the Neofan will allow it.”

“They’ll allow it, given the fact that I’m refueling them on the way.”

“You just like playing with their toys,” he accused, referencing her staying in Andromeda.

“They do have better ones right now,” she said, smirking for a moment before growing grim. “I need to cause as much trouble as I can to take pressure off the rest of you, and the maximum trouble is when I’m in one of those,” she said, pointing up at the Gjardan that still occupied most of the left horizon outside the ring, for it hadn’t moved very far out, just enough to clear the immediate area in case something else decided to come through.

“I always knew we’d get to other galaxies eventually,” Paul said, looking up at the Supreme Viceroy of the Paladin. “Now we have no choice.”

“I prefer it this way,” Thrawn said. “Despite the assistance we have given you in the past, we have never truly earned our place in your Empire. Now we have a chance to do so.”

“It’s not just fighting. You’ve gotta do everything we did now. Are you up to that?”

“I will never be your equal in the lightside,” Thrawn admitted. “But I have adapted to it well, and I will never use inferior darkside tactics again. Nor will the others. I promise you that.”

“I’ll be there,” Kara said, a little miffed. “He won’t be alone.”

“Yes he will,” Paul said, still exchanging looks with Thrawn.

She looked back and forth between the two of them. “Is this one of those master builder things?”

“It is,” Thrawn said evenly.

Kara shrugged. “Ok, fine. I’m out of my league there. Just find me something to blow up.”

Paul glared at her sarcasm for a moment. “It’s something we’ve talked about for a long time. We both knew this would happen one day. We just didn’t expect it to happen this early.”

“What are you referring to?” she asked, getting serious again.

“No comm network,” Thrawn clarified. “We will have to build anew what already exists here, without direction from Milky Way. If we have elevated sufficiently we will succeed. If we have overestimated our ability, then the civilization we create will be flawed and fall from within because I could not replicate what you have done.”

“I know you’re ready,” Paul admitted. “You know you’re ready. But doing it is something entirely different when we’re not there looking over your shoulder…other than Kara,” Paul added. “But I have a feeling she’d going to be hanging out with the Neofan most of the time.”

“I’ll be where I need to be.”

Paul looked back to Thrawn. “This is the moment of truth. If we screwed up, then we just made a monster out of the Li’vorkrachnika, and we won’t even be there to know it. The leash is off.”

“The leash was better than we deserved,” Thrawn declared. “I will not let the others go astray. We will adapt and calibrate to the lightside always. It is the superior power. We will not pursue the weaker. It is not in our nature.”

“It’s not the Paladin I’m referring to,” Paul noted. “It’s all the other races you’re going to have to annex eventually.”

“Wait,” Kara said, glancing between the two. “Annexing?”

“It is the logical outcome,” Thrawn agreed.

“There’s plenty of planets out there to colonize and grow without needing to annex anybody,” Kara argued. “And we can’t spend resources picking new fights when the Asferja are sending ships home.”

“What were Davis’s orders?”

“He said the way you beat a swarm race is with a better swarm race…” she repeated, trailing off as she started to pick up on the hidden meaning there. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Paul said. “It’ll happen eventually, and he can multitask, so it’s best to work both angles simultaneously. Otherwise he wouldn’t need the other Viceroys.”

“How did you know that and I didn’t?”

“You’re going to fight the Asferja, and we’re using the Vargemma to do it initially. He’s the long term counter. You’re just not thinking long enough.”

She looked up at Thrawn again, then it finally clicked. “Oh shit. You two really want to go that balls deep?”

“Do we have a better option?” Thrawn asked.

“If you overextend that much, the Asferja can obliterate the Paladin.”

“Not all of us. And if they pursue us, every year they do we pull resources away from the Milky Way invasion.”

“That’s borderline suicide.”

“We’re a swarm race,” he reiterated. “A lightside one now, but we have to use our full power to fight in Andromeda, or we might regret it later. I’d rather see my future brothers killed in battle for a purpose, than to be hunted down and destroyed in a hopeless fight after Milky Way is purged. If you fall, we will fall. But if we engage now, and force them to choose between us, we make them fight in a manner they were not expecting.”

“If you swarm them, they have to swarm back,” Kara relented.

“If these Asferja can reproduce as I expect them to, they will consume Andromeda and become stronger for it. We must consume it first to deny them that strength. And we must do so in a way that preserves the races already there in order to save them.”

“And here I thought we were just going there to make trouble.”

“Consider this mega trouble,” Paul added, “down the road. In the short term, you get to help me blow stuff up. But he has to walk a different path. A solitary one. We’re all headed for that path, Kara. How much time have you spent with the others over the past millennium?”

“You mean trailblazers or the second gen?”

“Either. I’m guessing it’s minimal as we all get pulled away across the galaxy. Now we’re spreading out to different galaxies, and there’s no comm lines connecting them.”

“Alone in a crowd,” Kara said, remembering back to a similar conversation she’d had with Paul or someone else so long ago she’d forgotten most of it.

“It is the duty of a leader,” Thrawn said stoically. “When there is peace, we can find each other to share knowledge and learn from peers and superiors. But in widespread war, we must go where we are needed, which means we will be spread out and alone amongst the younger members of our Empire.”

“I knew that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just didn’t think it would be that much of a buzz kill.”

“The only way this war isn’t never-ending,” Thrawn said in a slightly deeper voice, which along with his glowing red eyes made it sound even more intimidating, “is if we lose. We no long have the luxury of sitting and building in one galaxy. In order to survive, we must expand, conquer, and dominate. Anything less, and we will not survive this. It has been forced upon us early, but it was Star Force’s destiny all along. I knew that before he did, but he realizes it as well. You are now too powerful to be ignored, and the darkside will not tolerate the lightside. There can be only one.”

“I don’t disagree, but you’ve been watching too much Highlander,” she scoffed. “So Davis knew this too, I assume?”

“Probably,” Paul admitted. “Who did he make Star Lord?”

Kara’s eyes widened. “Is that what that means?”

“He never explained it to me, but I think he has always been thinking far ahead of us. One Star Lord for each galaxy. His home is the Milky Way, but there will have to be others, even if we get slow comm lines set up between galaxies. Transport of personnel will still be extremely limited, even if we use conventional means. A new Empire will have to be forged in each galaxy, with seeds from the original. This is to be the first experiment to see if we can repeat what we initially did, and none of us can be spared to do it.”

“He didn’t name anyone Star Lord,” Kara told him, “but I always wondered what his uniform was for.”

Paul looked to Thrawn. “It’s you then. Kara’s Kara, and always will be, but the responsibility for the entire galaxy will be yours. And there’s no way to be ready for that, only ready to begin the ascension.”

“I would ask you to stay and claim it. Make this new galaxy a Clan Saber galaxy,” Thrawn said, knowing well that his blue coloration was due in some small part to it also being Clan Saber…Paul’s Clan’s…color, with the green highlights a reminder of his past. None of the other Paladin had them, nor the glowing eyes. Those were a genetic upgrade Paul had given him due to his namesake…and the example he had to one day live up to, except in a lightside version.

And now that theoretical day had turned into reality.

“I really hate it when you guys keep secrets like this from me,” Kara said, frowning up at the taller Furyan.

“As if you don’t have a few of your own,” Paul said, mimicking her stance and crossing his arms.

She stuck out her tongue at him, then looked back at Thrawn. “Well, Star Lord…”

“Not until I have earned it.”

“And when will…after you actually have a galaxy to command?”

“See,” Paul said, walking over through the holographic galaxy and putting a hand on her shoulder, “you’re catching on fast enough.”

“I suppose it is all kind of obvious. I assumed we’d just be taking a small chunk of the galaxy, enough to stop the Asferja…but I guess there is no way to do that when they can just move to another, and another. And you know they’re going to hit us back when we hit them with the Vargemma. I thought he’d lay low and build while I played with them anonymously.”

“We don’t have time for that strategy,” Thrawn said, almost regretfully. “And the sooner we leave, the better.”

“Give me a couple days to wrap up here. If I leave suddenly it will have consequences for the Deebees. They’re our long, long term advantage, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

“They’re still that touchy?” Kara asked.

“Very much so. And taking their Master away before they’re ready is going to be rough.”

“Not taking to Wilson then?”

“Wilson has slid into the pack fine. But they have a unique bond with me. I’ve told them this day has been coming, but it’s still going to hit them hard. They’ll adjust, but I need to tell them how, now that the moment has come.”

“Can I still see them?” Kara asked, almost giddy.

Paul mock glared at her. “Don’t say they’re cute.”

“But…they are…”

“Fine,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “Go say hi. I’ve got some stuff to go over with him.”

“I thought you would,” she said, smirking and running off in the direction he pointed, then leaping up into the air and flying just above the tree tops and passing out of view in a few seconds.

“Did you ask her to go?” Paul inquired.

“No. Director Davis did. I believe the Neofan need her more than they will admit. They seem to have a reverence in her presence I have not observed otherwise.”

“A Nuv’ernor is reserved for the ruling House only, and they’re usually controlled via implants. With the destruction of their home galaxy and the Mev wrecking their chances at rebuilding, she’s a beacon of power that turns into a beacon of hope.”

“She gives legitimacy to the outcasts.”

“Yes, in a way. There’s more to the Neofan than I can attest to, but Essence power is their primary ranking feature. And she can out power all of them while having lesser skills.”

“I would have assumed that would trigger resentment.”

“It doesn’t. They look up to her, despite her youth and inexperience, while still not sure what to make of her. They’ve never seen a Nuv’ernor before, only heard stories about them. She’s a legend come to life, and adds a significant enhancement to the growing bond between our civilizations.”

“What of the others?”

“None are as powerful as her, but our possession of them makes us the ruling House in some respect, though that can never be. The old ways for them are dying, but she is one that is coming more alive. It makes sense when you see the despair in them.”

“I cannot sense that in them.”

“I can practically taste it in their Essence aura. Your skills are minimal.”

“It is not what I am good at. You may throw yourself into combat, but I meant to direct it from afar. I’m developing my Essence abilities as a backup. They will never be useful for the Paladin, given the experience required. It is one thing genetic memory is insufficient in generating.”

“I’m glad, otherwise we’d have swarm races like the Asferja in every starship, and that would be a nightmare even if they only had a tiny amount to contribute.”

“If there is a way I will find it,” Thrawn promised. “But I do not believe there is aside from the long cultivation of individual training…and we learn slower as individuals than other races.”

“You can’t be the best at everything.”

“But we must as an Empire.”

“I’ll take ‘good enough’ right now.”

“Will these Deebees be enough of a tilting factor?”

“No. Not in the way you mean. The rest of us have to survive on our own merits. But in order for us to one day go after the T’fen, we’ll need them, otherwise it will be nearly impossible…and that’s one challenge I don’t feel like taking on right now when we’ve got a stack of others weighing us down.”

“Yet a part of you relishes what we are forced to do. What we are forced to become in order to survive?”

“Kara doesn’t see it that way, but yeah. I do. I don’t wish it on the Empire, but this is what we’re good at, and after so long of being dominate to the point of boredom, another impossible challenge to figure out is long overdue for those of us who had to live and breathe impossible challenges for most of our early life.”

“We expand or we die,” Thrawn said. “That was my early life, and now it circles around to being true again. This time honorably so.”

“It’s not going to go well,” Paul warned.

“I know. We wouldn’t be needed if it were…”

4

Two days later…

“Are they going to be ok?” Kara asked as they walked towards the landing pad, set to depart for a galaxy neither of them had ever been in before…let alone anyone else in the Empire.

“Time will tell,” Paul said, following a step behind her on one of the dirt trails through the forest. “But for right now, yeah, they are. It took a while, but I got their heads in the right frame of mind.”

“Which is?”

“Teamwork…and if I don’t leave, we all die.”

“A bit overly dramatic?”

“You tell me. You could have gone to Andromeda without coming out here. So am I that important or not?”

“Testy…” she noted, peeling a low hanging branch out of their way telekinetically as she maintained her fluid stride without a hitch.

“It’s too early,” Paul admitted. “They’re still so damn young.”

“Then why are you coming?”

“Wilson is here.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think the Asferja were sent in first just to be zerglings. Them setting up colonies in Andromeda indicates a much larger strategy.”

“One the rest of us can’t beat?”

“One that can be interfered with early if we know how and where to hit them.”

“And that’s worth leaving the Deebees for a decade or so?”

“You really think it will be that short?”

Kara stopped walking and turned back to face him. “Yeah, I did. Your part anyway.”

“I can’t go back and leave the rest of the Milky Way to fight this without me. Things are only going to escalate, and I need to buy as much time for the Deebees to progress as I can. If we lose this before they’re ready, they won’t matter.”

“Is that what you told them?”

“Yes it was.”

“Ok, mister,” she said, pointing a finger into his chest…hard. “You are not going to make the same mistake twice. Not with me around. You’re not going to lock yourself into the Excalibur for the millennium and go hunting Lurkers again because no one is as good at it as you. You’re going to help us, then cycle back here, then help us, then cycle back. You’re not staying in the war zone constantly.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You are doing that,” she said, adding an Essence push into the next finger jab that threw him back half a meter. “You’re the best naval Archon we have, and nobody is even close with the Saiolum, but the Deebees are our ace in the hole. You do not neglect them. You hear me?”

“Says the one come to take me away?”

“I’m staying in Andromeda permanently so you don’t have to. And I know you would, because that’s where you could make the most difference. But I can do something you can’t with all those Neofan toys, so you’re content to let me go. But you’re not running back to Milky Way to dive in and never look up until the war is over…because it will never be over.”

“Zeus told me it would be a few hundred years before the Deebees are ready. That’s how long I have to help you guys hold on, and I’m not going to trade a few hundred star systems full of people for me getting more instruction time here. I’ve stayed as long as I can, but the war has gotten too big already. I don’t have the luxury anymore, and they understand that.”

“No. I know that look in your eyes. Not happening this time, pal. It’s our turn,” she said, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

Paul was about to say something, then cut short as he looked down at her glaring eyes. “Your turn?”

“Yeah, our turn to be the Qui-gons. You’re the Yoda training the younglings this time around.”

Paul’s face scrunched up distastefully. “That’s hitting below the belt.”

“People are going to die,” Kara said icily. “We can’t protect everyone, but some of us are going to try anyway and maximize our potential. Yes, we’re better with you there, but we’re better at balance. You turn into a monster that won’t relent with tunnel focus, which does have its advantages, but we need more than that now. All those cute little Deebees, they need you to get this right, because all the future ones are going to share their memories. Every single Deebee that will ever exist in the universe is going to remember the time you spend with them here and the lessons you teach. We’re not going to sacrifice people to buy you that time, but when you can’t save everyone you can’t just choose to save the most. You have to make better choices than that. Star Force is not abandoning anyone, but some of us have to fight the future rather than the present. Those holding the line are counting on the backup coming later, when we’ve got 4 or 5 invading civilizations to deal with. Right now it’s easy in comparison.”

“How many dead?” Paul asked icily, expecting she knew the answer.

“1 billion, 273 million and counting,” Kara answered, reporting the number of non-Star Force citizens destroyed when the Asferja invaded their worlds. The Empire couldn’t evacuate them in time, and when this war got worse, it wasn’t going to be able to evacuate all of their own worlds ahead of the fighting either.

“If I can shave a billion or two off the upcoming numbers, tell me how that’s not more important than staying here to teach?”

“I’m saying we reserve you for the really tough ass missions, and let you teach in between them,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let the ones you can’t save drive you crazy trying to prevent others from dying.”

“It’s our job.”

“How many are going to die when the T’fen eventually show up?”

“Wilson is here,” he reiterated.

“But he’s not their Paul,” Kara said, reiterating a term she’d heard them use numerous times the past two days.

His jaw clenched and he looked to the side for a moment, then forced himself to relax, take and release a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m about to start doing it again.”

“Paul gives everyone better odds at survival when he’s there,” Kara noted as if she was a historian. “But Paul can’t be everywhere, and how is it right for him to only help the high population centers because he wants to maximize lives saved? What about all the smaller worlds out there who have less of a chance of fighting back?”

“You’re giving me a headache again.”

“Because the math will never add up into wisdom. You have to trust your feelings on this. The Empire has a responsibility to defend the galaxy, but it doesn’t control the outcome. We stand and we fight, we don’t guarantee results. We’d be fools if we did. So you tell me…how can you gut punch the enemy the most?”

Suddenly the knot in his head cleared, and he finally understood what she was getting at.

“Better?” she asked, sensing the change in him.

“When you can’t protect everyone, stop playing defense and go on offense.”

“Stop trying to see it from the victims’ perspective and see it from yours. What’s the biggest contribution you can make, for every life you save could be killed the next day if we don’t have strongholds that can protect them? If we don’t have somewhere to evacuate people to, the only way to protect them is draw the enemy’s attention away or push them back. A gut punch. Now can you do that best in the Excalibur, or let someone else command it almost as good and do something only you can do.”

“I hate losing anyone.”

“I know, but we’re better at turning that part of our empathy off and just fighting with a passion.”

Paul frowned. “Isn’t that…”

“No it’s not. We don’t get bounced around from place to place chasing the most lives saved. We go after the bad guys while the regulars handle the defense. Or did you forget what it meant to be an Archon?”

“I’m so many other things at this point, yeah, I guess I do kind of forget.”

“If Qui-gon had been around, Anakin would never have fallen to the darkside,” Kara pointed out.

“And if Padme hadn’t been around he wouldn’t have either.”

“That’s why I’m not kissing you right now,” she said sarcastically. “We couldn’t suffer a darkside Paul.”

“Funny.”

“A little, yes.”

“There’s no bad influences here to lead the Deebees astray. And Wilson would never let that happen. He trained all of us.”

“There were a few quitters in there, you know.”

“Don’t remind me. Though I wonder if they’re still alive.”

“I haven’t checked. But if they couldn’t handle the workload and never-ending responsibility, don’t you try to compensate by going too far the other way. You’re a little too empathic at times.”

“I just don’t want to get blinded to the consequences and pass over some opportunities while chasing other, bigger agendas.”

“It’s probably also why you can use the Saiolum and none of us can yet, if we ever will. Give yourself permission to let the galaxy go for a while. That’s what you said Cal-com told you to do when you make the breakthrough. Get small and disconnect. Don’t let the fate of others be a weight you constantly carry.”

“I may be able to disconnect occasionally, but not when the stakes are this large. I don’t think I could if I tried.”

“Then that’s one way I’m superior to you.”

Paul brought his hands together over his chest and tapped his fingers from one on top of the other pensively.

“You know I hate hearing that.”

“That’s why I said it.”

“And how do you suggest I choose the ‘big’ missions?”

“Easy. Let us do it for you. We call you when needed, then you come back here when we tell you. No calculations for you. We do the thinking. You just have to let go and trust us.”

“When other people’s lives are on the line, that’s not something I can do.”

“And you can’t save as many when you’re mentally fried from overthinking things. You’re coming to Andromeda because I say so, and you’re going to come back here afterwards. If the others need you, they’ll call. It’s not like you brought the Excalibur out here. It’s already in the fight. And we need you to maximize the badassery of the Deebees. Have you bothered to calculate the effect that will have in lives saved later?”

“Yeah I have, but a personal rule of mine is never sacrifice someone now to save someone later.”

“We don’t sacrifice anyone ever, so don’t give me that. And if those thoughts are still bouncing around your head, maybe I need to kick it a few times to get things back into alignment.”

“I’m thinking further ahead than you are, Kara.”

“You always do. And it’s backfired on you before. I’m not Cal-com, but I’d hoped you’d learned more from last time this happened.”

“It hasn’t happened yet. I haven’t even gotten into the first battle.”

“But you’re thinking ahead, and already those pressures are building in there and you’re acclimating yourself to them rather than dodging them.”

“I can take it.”

“That’s the problem, you can. But you get partially blinded in the process, and we need your eyes wide open to counter who knows how many civilizations that are just as powerful as we are. We need you clever, not bogged down. This is a team fight, figure out your role and stick with it.”

“I thought I was a do it all? Or did you forget what an Archon was supposed to be?”

“You’re Qui-gon, Wilson is Obi-wan and Yoda. Do it right this time. You chose them, you made them, they need you. Even if it’s hit and miss, they need you here when you can be. And we need you out there when there’s something we can’t do on our own…at least not as well. Liam and Roger can’t go to Andromeda for the exact same damn reason you’re thinking, despite the fact the battles haven’t gotten nearly as big as they’re going to be. Stop thinking we’re going to win and start assuming we’ve already lost, and those people you’re trying to save will end up dead, if not tomorrow, then 100 years from now. How can you find a way to save them indefinitely? Not all of them, but some of them. How do we get some all the way to that impossible finish line?”

Paul smirked. “When the math doesn’t add up, just fuck the math and act. The universe is more complicated than the best simulation, so if there is a way you have to find it, not imagine it.”

Kara blinked. “Wait, who said that?”

“I did, a while back, to myself after I got stuck in several paradoxes. But it usually takes me getting a lot more vexed before that kicks in…you see, that part of me was created after Cal-com’s lesson. I did learn, but it’s a pressure valve that I forgot I had created. Because right now there is no pressure, because I’m technically still on vacation.”

“Does that mean you’re good then?” Kara asked, not sure either way.

“When people rely on me keeping cool and calculating at my highest, I resist the urge to just act. But now that I remember, yeah, I’m good.”

“Can I kiss you now?” she teased, with Paul instead pushing her forward down the path as he followed.

“I’ll ask Jason to call me when needed, and come back here after Andromeda…but don’t think we’re going to destroy all the Asferja there with an assault or two.”

“I’m not. And I’ll kick you out when the time comes. Agreed?”

“You can remind me, but no promises. I don’t actually have a good feel how this is going to go down.”

“The Vargemma worry me too, but it’s all we’ve got to work with out there, and I’m damn glad we’ve got the option. The Neofan are turning out to be more helpful than any of us thought.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. They can always say no.”

“Yeah right. The Vargemma telling the Neofan no.”

“Things may work differently in other galaxies. I have no idea how full those Temples are.”

“Good point, but the Neofan are confident they will obey and they’ve got too much to lose to lie to us, with you being their primary scrubber and all. Oh, forgot to tell you. Azoro said some of the exiled Neofan showed up to House Atriark and he tried cleansing them in Jien’la’ran’s body and it worked. So now the Neofan have two options.”

“Seriously?” Paul asked, skeptical.

“That’s what he said. It was hard for him, but Jien’la’ran apparently got to the point where he could make it work,” Kara said, referencing the Trinx male who had risen the highest in Saiolum skills after Paul in Azoro’s training academy on Knowhere…but compared to Paul he was barely a novice, and Azoro could only exert so much influence through his body based on the host’s own skills.

“Well that changes things.”

“For the better,” Kara noted. “But Plausious is still intending to route a lot of those who need cleansing through Andromeda once we’re there so you can deal with them.”

“How much of a presence do the Neofan have in Andromeda?”

“None. They don’t visit the Temples unless they have a need to, and I’m told no one evacuated there when Utovi fell.”

“Wonderful,” Paul said sarcastically.

“We have information from the Klix and Wieanios. They’re in the Temples occasionally.”

“Doing what?”

“Travel I assume. The Vargemma are not involved in their defensive efforts presently. That much I know.”

“Are the Neofan setting up shop permanently?”

“Beyond this mission I don’t know. Temporarily they are so they can keep using you to cleanse incoming survivors.”

“Any word from Yenoiv?” Paul asked, referring to the galaxy the bulk of the Neofan escaped to when their home galaxy of Utovi was invaded and destroyed by two servants of the T’fen. The Milky Way already had two there attacking, with a third and fourth incoming.

“Nothing good. Didn’t Vikarathe want to go back there?”

“He already did. I haven’t met him since to know what happened. What have you heard?”

“They’re deleting each other. This Mev has to be one nasty piece of Saiolum technology. If not for you and Azoro, I don’t know how we’d deal with it if it was used on us.”

“I know,” Paul said, pushing aside a branch as the pair came into the artificial sunlight near the landing pad, but something even brighter to his left caught his attention.

It was a vertical band of light coming from nowhere, just hovering in place a few steps outside the closest tree trunks.

“What is it?” Kara asked.

“Do you see that?”

She followed his eyeline. “What am I looking for?”

“That means no,” Paul said, raising an eyebrow. “I think one of the gods wants to speak with me. Go on ahead. I’ll catch up shortly.”

Kara glanced around, then gave up as she couldn’t find anything indicating the presence of a god or anything else out of the ordinary. “Take notes.”

“I will,” he said as Kara walked on and he went the other way over to the glowing white phenomenon.

5

Paul touched the band of light, not sure if it was real in some way or only in his mind, but when he did it expanded out in a white flash that left nothing. Everything was white, yet he was standing on ground that was equally white. No sky, no clouds, no buildings, no visible floor. Just whiteness in a very sterile, calm way.

“Sit down, Mr. Anderson,” an eerily familiar voice said from behind him, prompting him to spin around to see a single bench with its back to him and a person sitting in it. He also noticed that something was twirling beneath him, glancing down to see that he was wearing some sort of dress/cape, all black, and the connection became clear. He was dressed as Neo from the Matrix, and that voice, along with the back of the head he was looking at now matched Agent Smith.

“Are we here to fight?” Paul asked, not moving a step.

“You couldn’t fight me if you wanted to…and no, I’m simply here to have a conversation. Won’t you join me?” he asked, still not turning around or moving a muscle from his leisurely stiff pose on the bench.

“Alright,” Paul said, walking around the right side of the bench with his bootstrikes making quite the noise in the otherwise stillness. When he got to where he could see the side of Smith’s head and the sunglasses that he wore, the man didn’t look at him at all, merely staring off into the blankness having preserved enough room on the bench for Paul to sit down.

The Archon sighed and sat behind the stranger. “So which one are you?”

“Hades,” Smith said, still looking at something ahead that Neo couldn’t see. “You’re in my realm, so who else?”

“I suppose I should have known that,” he said, likewise looking ahead to match his counterpart. “But don’t you have other gods out here that serve you in some way?”

“Correct, Mr. Anderson, but they wouldn’t be able to converse with you. Only I can here.”

“And what function do you represent that I’m compatible with?”

“None at all,” he said dismissively. “Things work differently here than they do for Zeus’s realm. I could kill you in a moment if I chose. I can kill anyone in my realm, while Zeus cannot in his. All your intergalactic travel I would wipe out with ease, but there would be no point in it. I actually find your presence to be soothing, and your people in particular.”

Paul looked over at him. “Are you in some sort of distress?”

“I rule the realm of the damned, Mr. Anderson. It is nothing but distress.”

“Can you read my mind as well?”

“Everyone here is an open book to me, whether they’re assigned to me or not.”

“So you’re more powerful than Zeus?”

“From your limited point of view, you could say so. But Zeus’s realm is where the living are. I own the nothingness where few traverse.”

“I thought the darklight races were out here somewhere?”

“The voidlings as you call them,” Hades said, picking the term from his mind, “do not reproduce. They are those who have died in Zeus’s realm, but are forbidden to pass by Anubis. So they are rebirthed here instead.”

Paul frowned. “For what purpose?”

“Rehabilitation, Mr. Anderson. Now can you deduce my source of discomfort?”

“What kept them from passing through the Gatagon?”

“Advancement and degradation are not completely confined to the avatar you inhabit. Some of it affects your Core as well, so when your physical avatar dies, you are not completely cleansed of your experiences. Those who have suffered so much damage that they become pariahs are not permitted to pass into another universe and cause havoc there. They must be rehabilitated before they can pass through, to a limited extent. That is why this type of realm was added to the universe’s catalog of standard assets. It was trying to address a systemic problem, the same way that it added the Vanguard to counter another. The game is not the same as it once was, and is ever evolving with new players and pieces, but the basic board now has a Hades realm on it in all cases, I believe.”

“Do you sit in a gallery as well? Or was that just a guess?”

“Hades does not, but I have, and in part that is the reason we are speaking now. I have not done so before, and was not planning to, but now that you are about to depart and become out of my reach, I decided to break with protocol.”

“Protocol or a rule?” Paul asked, wanting clarification.

“Protocol. I don’t break rules anymore,” he said, reaching up and removing his sunglasses, then finally tilting his head slightly towards Paul. “I know the cost of doing so, and it’s high.”

“You die or retake physical form.”

“No, Mr. Anderson. You do not until your penance is done…or at least until mine is. I don’t know how the universe deals with others. We’re given knowledge of the rules, but not of the consequences for breaking them.”

“What did you do?”

“Normally I do not speak to anyone from your realm. I view their minds as they pass through to gain glimpses of what I once had, but your kind are like mayflies. Any gains one might get from such conversations will be lost when you die and others are born to replace you. It makes conversation irrelevant when you take in the big picture, though in the small picture it does have relevance. But from our perspective, it is better to not get attached to those we cannot save permanently. And only the gods are permanent in this universe. That is why the others only speak as much as necessary to accomplish their missions. The amount they conversed with you is unusual, as is my speaking to you, for it is exceedingly rare to find one who is going to become a god. Other than the chosen ones who create the Vanguard, the knowledge of who else is worthy is not passed on to us.”

“What did you do?” Paul reiterated.

“The reason I am speaking to you is to warn you. When you become a Zeus, you must do the job, else there will be consequences. I was once part of Zeus’s realm, his predecessor in fact. When Zeus and Hades interact, it is primarily an act of passing the Cores of the rehabilitated from this realm to his, where he then inserts them into races of his choosing. Passing them through the Gatagon is forbidden for Zeus, for they must live out their lives here and die in a state that is permissible to pass Anubis’s inspection. But to be ‘rehabilitated’ here does not make them stable. They are a plague on whatever races they are born into, even if they improve from the encounter. So Zeus has to sabotage his most beneficial races in order to rehabilitate them further, or place them into bad ones, in which case they will probably not pass through the Gatagon and return here after they die.”

“You were Zeus,” Paul noted for clarity’s sake.

“Yes I was, and to my everlasting shame the universe kept my knowledge from that time intact. It would have been better if I woke up as Hades without knowing what I have lost, but it wants me to know, and it will not release me to the Gatagon until I reach a quota of Cores rehabilitated here sufficient to pass beyond, not just to be handed over to the current Zeus. And that quota is astronomically high.”

“Why did you break the rule?”

Hades looked at his sunglasses in his hand for a moment, then in a flash of anger threw them out onto the immaculate floor where they skidded several meters.

“You do not understand yet what it means to be Zeus. You cannot directly interact with those you are tasked with guiding, but you are still responsible for them. You learn to ignore the individuals and focus on the races, the civilizations, the big picture. And every time Hades hands you a new crop of rehabilitated you are forced to put them into those civilizations like poison seeds, sabotaging your own efforts. If it was only Hades’ role to do so it would be different, but Zeus must do it, and he must choose where to put them. I chose to protect my civilizations by sending the rehabilitated directly to the Gatagon without them first living again, so that they would be the next universe’s problem and spare those that I am tasked with overseeing.”

“I did so for a long time without incident, but eventually the universe took notice and I was ripped from my position and installed here, as Hades. It happened in a moment, with the knowledge of what I had done written into my mind in exquisite, damning detail. I do not know what happened to the original Hades. Perhaps he was moved to another realm. I know of no fault on his part. He did not even know what I was doing. But now I am condemned to rehabilitate those I wanted nothing to do with, and I cannot die until my quota is met. Retaking physical form is forbidden now. The universe is going to dump me into the next one just as I did with the rehabilitated, wanting nothing to do with me after my penance is served. So I wanted to warn you not to make my mistake, Mr. Anderson. When you become Zeus, if you cannot handle the responsibilities, you must leave before you break a rule, and I sense you would, for you are even more lightside than I once was. The position of Zeus is not made for the lightside. It is an amoral god, while Artemis is a lightside role. I could not continue sabotaging those under my care after doing so for millions of years and seeing the results. I cared too much. Too much to be a Zeus. And I was punished for pushing the problem on to another rather than dealing with it here.”

“Ouch,” Paul said as he tried to imagine.

“But we both know you are not going to become Zeus,” Hades said, locking eyes with him. “You’ve already decided to have a look around then retake physical form, even if it’s so far from here you will never find your way back. You can’t stand the idea of not being directly involved in the problem solving. Of trading the lives of a few for the lives of the many. You are a Kirk, not a Spock, and I can see in your mind you’ve already made your choice.”

“Kirk was right,” he admitted. “But it is nice to have a backup plan if I do die.”

“You have earned that luxury, but you will have to sit in the gallery first if you intend to retake physical form. And your civilization may be long gone by the time you get out of it.”

“How much longer do you have before you can get out of here?”

“You will be out of the gallery before even a small measure of my quota is complete.”

Paul cringed. “The universe has a nasty temper, it sounds like.”

“It does not like being out of control, and yet it cannot control you. The gods are one of its many instruments, and if you do not obey the rules, it will not tolerate you.”

“Why does it tolerate you here then? What if you break one of Hades’ rules?”

“I will not risk finding out. At least now I have a small spark of distant hope of living once again beyond its reach, and I will not squander it.”

“Does the universe ever lie?”

“Not that I have seen. And I have the experience of not one, but two gods and two realms. I know of no other who has.”

“You didn’t tell the others you’re here?”

“I am too ashamed to. They cannot recognize me in this form, and I have little contact with others besides Zeus. He does not know, and I do not cooperate with him any more than required. It is too painful.”

“How so?”

“To be a god is to have a certain aura that is palpable. You may think of it as water, and I am condemned to a desert here. I am always dying of thirst, so to interact with Zeus is a drink of water each time…”

“But every time you do you have to feel the descent again once it’s over,” Paul finished for him.

Hades raised an eyebrow. “Quite right.”

“I’ve felt something similar before. It’s almost better to numb up to the pain and bypass the moments of relief in order to avoid the fall that decomposes you each time.”

“I see it now,” Hades said, looking into his memories of his earliest years and the dullness of his daily life, only broken up by something called ‘summer camp.’ And the feeling of having to leave and return to the dullness was somewhat similar. “But that is a small modicum compared to being a god.”

“Aren’t you one now?”

“I am, by design, an empathic god who has no company but those whose minds are tormented and twisted. I cannot shut them out, Mr. Anderson. Even now I feel them, and I have not had a moment’s peace aside from my journeys to the intermediary between my real and Zeus’s. It is a select location where we meet, and it is insulated from both realms. I do not want to step back in there, only knowing that I must return here and become insane once again.”

“You take on attributes of them?”

“They are officially called the ‘lost ones,’ but we here refer to them as the condemned, and they act as part of me. I do not become them, but it is as if we are in a mind meld. The worse they are, the worse I become. It is my job to rehabilitate them, and I am very limited in my ability to do so. Almost none of the condemned ever make it to rehabilitation status, despite my varying efforts,” he said, snapping his fingers in the air once.

With a flash another person arrived, looking like Persephone from the Matrix.

“This is Persephone,” Hades said, making Paul wonder if that was her name or her appearance. “She is the only god here not originally one of the condemned. All the others I get to recruit from the population of the rehabilitated, offering them a chance to stay here as minor gods rather than be returned.”

“Mine is a training position,” she said with her telltale movie accent. “The universe has promised something more if I can prove myself here, but it has not said what that will be. Unlike Hades, I can turn on and off my empathic abilities at will, but in order to interact with the condemned I must feel their pain. It is only the promise of something beyond this place that keeps me here. I would not wish to stay otherwise, but it is better than being reborn in another universe in an unknown situation that could be worse. I cannot be harmed here, as distasteful as it may be, so I endure it.”

“What do you do here?”

“I travel from one realm to another, interacting with my clones as we attempt to find better ways to rehabilitate the condemned. Doing so is a priority of the universe, and none have found a quick or sure way to do so. Because of this we are not isolated from one another, for a better way must be found.”

“She can leave, but I cannot,” Hades said sadly, then waved a hand as 13 others appeared, all looking like characters from the Matrix, except these didn’t move and were little more than display statues. “These are the other god positions I have created in my tenure here. There were none other than Persephone when I arrived, and she did not get filled until much later. Soloquis, Bardue, and Meertin oversee the three divisions in this realm, while the rest run the simulations that we use to try and rehabilitate the condemned. I’ve segmented the realm to keep the worst away from the others, but they can all move about freely here, in space. Darklight produces a non-material fog wherever one moves, and it lingers permanently until destroyed by starlight. That is why the clouds that make up our version of cities are constantly shrinking and having to be rebuilt at the edges.”

“Can we see these clouds?” Paul asked.

“Barely, but yes. When starlight hits them, it passes through and destroys it, but in the deepest clouds the starlight is also destroyed. If you have the ability to see far enough outside your galaxies, their havens will appear as faint nebula.”

“And if they go outside them they die?”

“No, they will be slowly degraded from the damage. The starlight that reaches the center of the intergalactic voids is so diffuse it would take a long time to kill one of them. But if they travel closer it will increase the damage rate. Some try to suicide by traveling to the galaxies. When they get close enough they are vaporized and rebirthed here, so there is no escape other than to be rehabilitated.”

“They can fly through space?”

“Yes, they produce the darklight haze, and it sticks in place. Upon that haze they can move with great speed. If they try to forge new paths they can, but much slower. That is why you do not see any paths coming close to the galaxies. Those that created them were destroyed and their haze shortly thereafter. The well-traveled pathways are thick with the haze and connect various regions, but they cannot pass beyond my realm into another.”

“What were the Progarren doing out here?”

“Trying to explore…and in doing so they helped me out considerably,” Hades admitted. “You see, every darklight individual is telepathic. That’s how they interact when they cannot touch one another. All their bodies are ethereal, for even touching an object made of non-radiative matter will destroy them where there is contact. Photons of any kind are not compatible here. Even your body heat would destroy them. It was the knowledge of the Okala tree that allowed the Progarren to construct creatures that could survive in both starlight and darklight. And when they came here, my population nearly killed them with telepathic attacks before I knew what was happening. Their desire for carnage is the reason why they are here. The universe desires much of it, but too much messes up the balance it is seeking.”

“Those individuals,” Persephone continued as the statues of the other gods remained inert behind her as backdrop, “that are so distorted in their Core, instinctively seek to inflict harm on others, even if it leads to their own death. They have an appetite for carnage itself, rather than using carnage to achieve a goal. They are spoiling the game, so to speak, and the spoilers are not allowed to play it anymore. At least, not until they are freed of this bad habit.”

“When the Progarren came here and were assaulted,” Hades resumed, “they did not flee permanently. They returned with living ships that had powerful telepathic abilities of their own that could assist and shield the crews. They continued to come back and investigate, seeking to make contact and establish some common ground with the condemned…and by doing so, the telepathic contact with minds that were not damaged, helped increase the rate of rehabilitation by a factor of more than 10,000. Their presence achieved more than I have, just as your presence here is soothing to my mind.”

“I’ve never sensed anyone out there.”

“They have to be close to connect, and they cannot get anywhere near the photons being generated by this ring. I can, and she can, but the condemned and the other gods cannot. If the latter try, they are destroyed and pop back up in the center of my realm. In this way they are also prisoners here, and cannot interact with Zeus’s gods even if they should try and come to the edges of the realm or pass into it.”

“Some can come in?”

“Hermes can, and I know of others who have the ability even if they haven’t figured it out yet. Our powers are not all given to us at the outset. There are many that have to be unlocked, and there can be a lot of cooperating between our two realms if we choose it. I am blocking it, for I do not want them exposed to this place.”

“And that’s not a rule violation?”

“No, it’s my prerogative and that of Zeus. Both must be in agreement to interlink more than is default.”

“What are these simulations?”

Hades/Smith raised a hand, gesturing around at the simulated reality he had pulled Paul into.

The Archon raised his eyebrows. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. But we do not have one Matrix here. We have millions, all running simultaneous and by our various designs, because the only way we have found to rehabilitated a Core is through experience, and floating around talking to each other between galaxies is pointless confinement even if there are no walls here.”

“We have divided the realm into three regions,” Persephone explained. “Not in the physical, but in what you call the Matrix. Those who achieve basic success are elevated so that they do not have to interact with the lessers when in the simulations, and certain simulations can only be accessed in certain geographic locations. Technically they are free to move wherever they wish, and speak to whoever they wish, but when one is in the Matrix they are inaccessible through normal telepathy, and most choose to remain in one or more Matrixes. They find it too boring not to be plugged in, so for all practical purposes, when they begin rehabilitation they are amongst the worse, then move up in rank in the hopes of keeping the bad habits they have overcome away from them.”

“I’m guessing it’s more than just habits?” Paul asked.

“Her knowledge of your language and mind is limited compared to mine,” Hades explained. “The condemned must change, not just forget. When they arrive here they have no memory of their past lives. Their baggage is the negative alterations to their Cores, achieved through life experience. So we tailor experiences here in an attempt to counterprogram that damage with positives. The problem is such damage is not environmental. On some level they all chose to become monsters, and they have to choose differently here in order to rehabilitate…which is why most never do. And the few that make it to requirements are merely less likely to seek carnage at all opportunities. They calm down a bit, but few truly change. Those that do I offer godhood to help me with the others. Most accept, some just want out of here. In total, there have only been 103 that have outright rejected the carnage, and even they cannot adequately tell me why. It appears spontaneous. If you are ever back this way again and curious, I’ll be happy to have another set of eyes on the subject matter.”

Paul glanced around. “Is this the Matrix right now?”

“No, just a construct similar in nature I created for the moment. You’d have to physically be a lot closer to connect, even with my presence boosting the range, but some of the old Progarren bases are still here, and many of their nightcrawlers are still alive, not just the one you found. They are not technically my responsibility, but they are part darklight and I have co-jurisdicton over them with Zeus, so I can see where they are in his realm,” Hades said, reaching over and placing a hand on Paul/Neo’s head for a moment. “And now, so can you.”

His vision flashed beyond the white nothingness and into intergalactic space, almost as if he had Zeus’s omnivision again, and in 4 different galaxies there were a scattering of glowing dots marking the places where the nightcrawlers were…but none of them was in Milky Way. A different dot appeared there, almost as an afterthought, marking the one that had already been found while the ‘lost’ ones were almost burning in his mind.

“I cannot speak to them so far away, and neither can she,” Hades said, glancing at Persephone. “They need help, if you have the time. They are lost and scared, and their masters are long dead. But they persist. Those that have learned to survive. Many others did not.”

“Andromeda,” Paul said, seeing that several were in the galaxy he was heading to.

“Convenient, and a secondary reason for speaking to you now.”

“Is this tracking data going to expire in a certain amount of time?”

“If I want it to. I see you still have one set up by Ares to track a particular individual. I can remove it if you want?”

“No, it’s useful, but Ares never explained it to me.”

“As I said, we don’t like to converse except where absolutely necessary. We don’t want to get attached to those we are soon to lose.”

A thought struck Paul and he looked at Persephone. “You can carry messages between realms for the gods, can’t you?”

“If I want to,” she said noncommittally. “But that’s not my purpose.”

“Zeus can’t,” Paul pointed out, “unless Hades allows it through you?”

“As I said, there are many options of cooperation that require the consent of both,” Hades/Smith said, raising a hand and making the blank white sky suddenly transition into black containing the bright swirls of galaxies that shrank down into mere pinpricks of light as borders appeared between them…then those borders shrank even further as he continued to zoom out.

“Given that I am both, I have been using Persephone to gather information for me beyond her usual duties.”

“You’ve been mapping,” Paul said, slightly in awe.

“I have,” he admitted. “I wanted to see how far the universe goes, and as Zeus I could see little beyond my realm. So far we have cataloged 82,401 Zeus realms, and there are usually multiple Hades for each given that we have to deal with the micro rather than the macro. But Persephone has yet to find a firm border or any kind of edge to the universe.”

“Usually we converse with those nearest to us,” she added. “But I have been going further, tracking down more information on other Hades’ techniques, and in doing so establishing a map for him. I have found no limitation as of yet. The universe is even more massive than what we see looking into the night sky.”

“How about an age?” Paul inquired.

“Given the light we’re seeing from distant places, it is beyond ancient,” Hades attested. “I do not know how a universe begins or ends, but this one has been around to see many incarnations of gods, the oldest of whom we’ve discovered is approximately 103 trillion years old, and that Ares is not the first in his realm. Normally the gods do rotate out, eventually becoming bored with their assignments. The turnover of Hades is quite high, apparently, and when one of us goes all the subordinate gods go as well…except her,” he said, gesturing with his chin to Persephone.

“103 trillion,” Paul repeated in dismay.

“You may very well be just as old, only without the memories of past universes. We don’t know anything beyond here. Only what happens between the entry Gatagon and the exit.”

“Is there an Anubis at each?”

“They are the same place. When Cores enter they are coated with a substance from the Anubis on the other side. That coating seeks out spawn points, while the dead are drawn back to the Gatagon by a similar force. Anubis tallies and records both flows.”

“So he knows the population numbers in his mini-realm?”

“Always…though I would never use the word ‘mini’ to describe it. He does not belong to Zeus’s pantheon, or mine. His stands alone as the guardian of the gate between universes, and I suspect that he may have existed before the creation of Zeus.”

“Are there other pantheons?”

“Not here, but far away things are being carried out quite differently. That Ares I mentioned, his is a realm dominated by war, making him almost more influential than Zeus, and if not for his continuing efforts the realm would have been erased long ago.”

Paul frowned. “Erased how?”

“The universe has forces that do not obey the gods, and when we fail so badly some of those forces are sent to wipe clean a realm so the universe can start over again in it. That Ares likes the challenge of holding off the abys, and has successfully done so for a long time by grooming warriors within the realm to do the fighting. They are far beyond anything in this realm, Paul. Civilizations that, while they are not what you would call lightside, are very effective at warfare. And it’s the only thing keeping that realm from being destroyed star by star.”

“They’re removing stars?”

“Consuming them, the points of power, and when a region becomes diminished the Gatagons scale back to the point of complete closure.”

“Wait, so the Gatagons aren’t just a bridge? They’re modulating the flow of Cores to match the number of spawn points?”

“Yes, but it’s not Anubis doing it. Somehow the incoming flow matches what is needed, otherwise there would be a bottleneck of free Cores seeking spawn points flying around everywhere.”

“So if the universe doesn’t replace a realm, it loses some of the incoming people?”

“And if people don’t die it doesn’t get new ones either.”

“Population expansion?”

“It seems the resources are limited, but the population is not. The number of stars between realms appears to be fixed, almost as if the universe has a set number to work with. I’ve been trying to confirm that, but until Persephone can find some boundaries to the universe it’s impossible to know for sure.”

“So it’s not trying to get the biggest populations possible?”

“Quite the contrary. When populations rise it creates or uses those desiring carnage to rebalance things. The Pafdreng that you know of are one such instance. It did not create them, but it has altered them to fit a purpose rather than removing them. They now answer to me, though I don’t have full control. They are to Hades in many realms what the Jedein are to Zeus. They appeared here during my tenure as Zeus, but were in other realms before. The universe has commanded them to expand and given them the ability to travel in the dark places on the haze. They cannot create it, but where it already exists they can move on it with great speed. To cross from it to a galaxy the must use Essence power, and for that they need captured Cores.”

“But what are they, exactly?”

“A race so malevolent and cunning they essentially broke the universe’s game.”

“Because they don’t let people die?”

Hades turned and nodded approvingly to Paul. “They destroy their bodies, but do not let their Cores move to the Gatagon. They imprison them inside a collective body matrix, controlled by an overmind. Each overmind is a member of that once expansive race that, on its own, consumed multiple realms and caused the Gatagons there to nearly close. They sought out all life and destroyed it, one way or another. They would travel and hunt even the smallest of lifeforms, and the universe marked them for eradication…but held short from completing the task entirely. It allowed some to remain, altered, to serve its purpose. So now they occasionally feed on high populations, or where I direct them to. Zeus cannot kill people in his realm, only I can, indirectly, and they are the primary mechanism to do it.”

“And why would Hades need to do that?”

“To remove the condemned that stubbornly refuse to die. The Pafdreng…though I like your term Apocalypse Monsters better…curate who they take, releasing some and bringing those heavily damaged to me directly rather than hanging on to them forever.”

“Did you order them to attack the Neofan galaxy?”

“No. I have never ordered them to attack anyone. It’s a power I refuse to use, and thankfully using it isn’t a rule. The Apocalypse Monsters do what they do for their own reasons. I can summon them to new tasks, but when I do not they seek out their own within the limits put on them in the conversion. The universe took a mistake and turned it into what it thinks is an asset. Yet one more reason why the universe is amoral.”

“Doesn’t being put in a Pafdreng damage the Cores?”

“It does,” Hades said gravely, remaining silent for a moment thereafter. “A significant portion of the condemned come from them. As if they were apples going soft from decay. They must be given to me before they deteriorate further, but the universe still sees the value of the culling power the Apocalypse Monsters provide Hades, and it chooses to keep them around despite the damage they are doing. It’s as if the overlord is a Borg Queen and every Core is assimilated into the collective. The collective does damage on its own, but being connected to such a vile being also has an effect. And I have never been able to rehabilitate one of the overlords. Their level of depravity is so great I have a special Matrix for them alone that they are fixed in and cannot leave.”

“So people have killed Pafdreng?”

“The Neofan and others have, yes. And they do the universe’s denizens a favor each time, even if the universe doesn’t see it that way.”

“Are the T’fen also employed by the universe?”

“Not that I am aware. And none of them have ended up here for me to examine. There are other machine races in different realms, not all of which are Vanguard. They are another experiment of the universe, for it has its own rules it cannot break, and exerting control without actual control frustrates it. The T’fen have not been conquered by the universe’s hitmen. That would be required before it could alter them.”

“And what are those hitmen?”

“Similar to what hunt your friend, Kara, because she is a ‘mistake’ that universe did not intend to have on the playing field. The hitmen are, like the Vanguard, very constrained in their thinking. They technically have free will, but the universe has not allowed them a means to utilize it. They do what it built them to, and go where they are directed. There are many versions, some for small cullings, others to wipe out entire realms that have gone so far astray the gods cannot get them back into any semblance of balance.”

“And that super old Ares is allowed to fight them?”

“It seems that unless he breaks a rule the universe will not remove him, and I know of no such rule concerning the hitmen.”

“Can you track them?”

Hades lightly laughed. “They glow so brightly we could not help but notice them. No god wants them in his realm, for it means a failure in some way has occurred and the universe has decided to go over their head and step in to exert a different measure of control.”

“I thought you couldn’t see much beyond your realm?”

“Zeus’s realm is not opaque to me, but I don’t have the ability to see within it as he does. He has no need to see into mine, but I need to adequately see into his in order to identify potential cullings. My vision would get better if I cooperated with him on such things, but as it is, anything elevated by the universe itself has markers so we know not to interfere with them directly.”

“Another rule?”

“Sort of. We’re not allowed to touch them so long as they glow a certain color, which is determined by whether or not they’re doing their job. If they pass through my realm in a state they are not supposed to be in, I’m supposed to kill them before they reach their destination. A check on them going rogue.”

“Could you give Kara and our Jinxes a tracker so they could see the hitmen when they come for them?”

“It’s not something you need to concern yourself with, Paul. They are far from here and not interested in such small ones.”

“What about in Andromeda?”

“None there at the moment. She’ll be safe from that threat for the duration of your war. But if it will help, I’ll give her a tracker now so she can see anyone in the universe’s service. I can’t do more specific than that unless they’re part of my realm. The nightcrawlers are, but everything in Zeus’s realm I can’t give you a tracker for. I’ll give you both one for where they are for that distant future threat and others if you and your Empire manage to survive this Gauntlet War, but I’ll limit it to the galaxy you’re currently in. No need to distract you with distant nameless dots moving around.”

“Thank you.”

“And do me the favor of sending any Apocalypse Monsters you find to their deaths. I’m not allowed to kill them, or I’d do so the moment they cross into my realm. As it is, I have a bunch sleeping out here until they need to feed again.”

“But you could kill them if you wanted to risk breaking a rule again?”

“You see my ongoing conundrum. I have to choose not to do what I know is right in order to avoid another potentially worse punishment. And I cannot back out of this position. I am trapped here. And why she continues to stay is beyond me.”

“My mind is my own,” Persephone said stoically. “I do not have to share it with the condemned, and I have no control over the Pafdreng or your other assassins. My hands…and mind…are clean.”

“Other assassins?” Paul asked.

“Hades and Zeus have the potential to work together in a multitude of ways. As I said, he cannot kill people, but I can. I could stop the invasions coming to you by destroying their ships during intergalactic transit…except they do not meet the requirements for such culling, and even if they did it would require Zeus’s approval. None of the civilizations coming against you are so self-destructive. If they were, they’d be of little use to the T’fen.”

“I thought you said you could kill anyone in your realm?”

“Ability wise I can. Rules wise I can’t. I can’t kill travelers unless they are in such a state that they will be condemned later. I can kill a few of them and save the time if I chose to do so, as yet another means of culling, but in your case you are not traveling. You are colonizing out here. And any colonization I can destroy without limits. You’re meant to inhabit Zeus’s realm, not mine.”

“And the universe wants intergalactic travel?”

“It does. I can’t shut it all down, even with Zeus’s approval and using proxies instead of directly intervening. But I could remove the installations the Bond of Resistance use…the ones in the middle anyway. But I rather like that you have places to hide that the majority of the universe’s hitmen can’t find you.”

“Can you kill them with intermediaries?”

“Send my own hitmen after the universe’s?”

“Right, dumb question,” Paul admitted. “How much help could you give us if you wanted to?”

“If the T’fen or their servants come out here, to this ring, yes, I can kill them personally. But to cull within Zeus’s realm I must rely on intermediaries.”

“Can you use the Pafdreng to attack the Asferja?”

“They’re built for attacking planets, not warfleets…but in theory I could send them against any civilization that had condemned within it. The Asferja do not. Any stable civilization will not have them in it. The Neofan, however, are being eroded and tormented. I could send the Pafdreng to some of their worlds, not all. But I won’t. I won’t use them against anyone, ever. It goes against my purpose to create more condemned in order to get rid of others. If I was amoral it wouldn’t be an issue, but I’m not. The Pafdreng don’t target individuals, they target civilizations, and using them would mean people other than the condemned would be consumed and incorporated into their structure…and would slowly become condemned themselves over the course of time. A true apocalypse, and one that I will never initiate.”

“Just wondering…” Paul commented, not wanting that to happen in the least bit, “…what your options are.”

“Our powers are structured to guide and curate, not to control the outcome. Even the universe cannot do that.”

“And you can kill anyone here because they would interfere with your population?”

“Or vice versa.”

“So you could have killed the nightcrawlers and their crews?”

“Oddly no, given that they were part of this realm. They found a loophole in the rules, which was probably Artemis’s doing. I can kill anyone who does not belong in the realm, but they did belong partially, and their crews were protected by them because they were inside them. Same too for their outposts, which were grown rather than built,” Hades said as new dots appeared inside his mind, except these were far out into the gap between galaxies. “Feel free to reclaim them and use them as a sanctuary, for almost no one has the ability to reach these places.”

“The nightcrawler we found said they were hunted out here, by darklighters in armored ships, after their masters were destroyed?”

“That was not my doing. You need to understand, the edge of the galaxies is not the edge of my realm. Zeus’s extends far beyond it. Mine is in the empty places between. Not all places are empty, and there are points of power hidden out here for you to find. I have no dominion over those, but the condemned can travel there as long as they can survive the photonic radiation. Without the haze of others to hide in, even the diminutive starlight from the galaxies will eventually erode and kill them, sending them back to me. But there are others of darklight that are not the condemned, or rather they are partly of it, like the nightcrawlers. The Progarren most likely had encounters with them. The bases I am showing you now are where many nightcrawlers held out until they lacked the food required to sustain them. They had to flee back to the galaxies to find sustenance. That is why they survived, hiding out there, after the purge of the Progarren.”

“Where are these other darklight races? Or semi-darklight? Are there any full ones?”

“No. Only the condemned are full.”

“It also told us that the Progarren were helping some of these darklight races, and that when the Progarren left the ones they helped were killed by others.”

“There is a whole network of hidden races beyond the galaxies, but yet still in Zeus’s domain. We share those that are part darklight, and I have visibility on them, just as I do the nightcrawlers. There is far more between the galaxies than any of the starlight races know…just like this installation.”

“But this is your realm and not Zeus’s?”

“This is far enough out from a galaxy that it is mine, but the photonic radiation makes it impossible for the condemned to come here and get within their telepathic range. I never spoke with the Progarren, and the other gods could not. They probably assumed the condemned were another darklight race and were trying to make contact. Those armored ships could not possibly have contained the condemned. If they so much as touched a nightcrawler’s outer hull it would kill them, and as it was, their ‘safe’ biotech produced enough residual radiation the condemned got a mild sunburn just getting close enough to peer into them telepathically, which would then heal after they got far enough away.”

“And these bases are made of the same biotech?”

“Indeed they are.”

“What are they feeding on?”

“Reserves. They’re not meant to move, and were designed to be oases out here in the void desert. They are less than a 5th of their original size now, having to cannibalize material in order to remain alive even in their decommissioned status.”

“Reserves of what?”

“Photons. Everywhere in starlight there are photons being emitted and absorbed. It is how starlight functions. But out here, even the small amount of photons being released add up over time. When they reduce down to nothing…”

“…the protons and electrons collide with no photonic ocean between them and become neutrons,” Paul finished.

“These bases are mostly neutrons now, but the key systems still have photons in them and will for another 20 million years or so. Bring them a supply of photons and they will regrow to full size. The nightcrawlers, however, require more than photons. They need real food to power the parts of them that are not darklight, and the parts that are go dormant when not in the haze. But stand still long enough and they begin to create a dense haze of their own. So you will not find them moving around very much in the galaxies. They have to build up a supply of haze internally in order to use it to move in that manner, though they also have other options near gravity wells.”

“Fascinating,” Paul said as he ran it through his mind.

“The Progarren truly were. It’s a pity they were annihilated…or I assume they were. I couldn’t see much of what happened in there, because most of it was over before I knew to look, but Zeus would know, and I see no reason for him to lie to you. He can search for individuals or specific parameters that I cannot, so if there were any Progarren left, they couldn’t hide from him.”

“But they can from you?”

“A needle in a very big haystack…unless they’re darklight, which would allow me to sort and search in a way Zeus never could.”

“Is there any honorable cooperation that you’re holding back from him?”

“I’m not supposed to be one of the nice gods, Paul. I’m a trash collector. If it doesn’t involve killing those that need killed, it pretty much doesn’t involve me.”

“Unless they’re darklight?”

“Unless they’re darklight,” Hades agreed. “But there are no natural ones aside from the condemned. All those half breeds are artificially created. Something the universe probably didn’t calculate, or didn’t care about.”

“If the T’fen send the Apocalypse Monsters after us, can you call them off?”

“Only by sending them to someone else, then they’d get back to you eventually.”

“Yeah…don’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t anyway. Bottom line is, aside from giving you a few modicums of sanctuary out here in my realm, what happens in the galaxies is up to you and them. That’s the way the universe is structured. We gods can only nip and trim a little in our given roles.”

Paul nodded to the statue-like gods behind Persephone. “Are they not able to talk to me, or just busy?”

“They’re simpletons compared to me and her, and are unable to interact with anyone that is not full darklight. I can create as many as I have the need for. I supposed you could call them demi-gods.”

“And can they zip around from place to place if your realm isn’t contiguous?”

“It doesn’t need to be. When we’re in the Essence realm we can go where we like.”

“No boundaries?”

“Not with Zeus. My Zeus, anyway. If we try and travel to another pair’s combined realm we’re stopped by barriers that only Persephone can pass.”

“What about Hermes?”

“I’m the only god that can pass through realm boundaries,” she said with a note of pride and distance, as if it made her separate from the rest in a lonely way. “The universe wants them isolated from each other, compartmentalized, so the successes and failures of each are unique to them. With the condemned, no one has found an effective way to rehabilitate them, so the universe wants us cooperating and sharing until one is found. Once a method is established, I imagine my role will become obsolete.”

“Have there been other gods that were made obsolete?”

Hades laughed slightly. “That’s an interesting question, Paul. In your mythology, which I’m surprised is not more inaccurate given the numerous societal rewrites, what predated Zeus?”

“The Titans. Chronos, I think, was one of them…and he ate his grandchildren?”

“Persephone here is what we call our resident gossip collector, and while it’s not their official mission, they collect stories of the past and pass them between realms so they’re not lost when gods retire or are replaced. Before there was Zeus there were an entirely different version of what you could call pre-gods, and those did not have the ability to be recalled by the universe. Once it minted one, they were god-like until they were killed. It was a mistake, for the universe lost control with many of them, hence the new pantheon can be unmade at will by the universe.”

“But not the hitmen?”

“The hitmen are players, we’re overseers…or coaches, as I believe you were told. Players cannot be taken out by the universe, only by other players or specific gods in specific ways. You met Moros.”

“Don’t remind me,” Paul said, remembering how close to dead he was until Azoro saved his ass.

“Moros is even more reviled than me by the other gods, because he can become a player when he chooses by melding with one. It’s a cheat that I don’t know if the universe will erase or expand upon, but it doesn’t fit with the rest of us.”

“Except you can kill anything that sets up camp out here.”

“There’s nothing to find here, Paul. Nothing that you don’t bring with you. It’s a technicality that’s hardly relevant in the constant carnage out there.”

“Are there any Titans still around?”

“Oh yes, but not in your galaxy, and not in Zeus’s realm.”

“They can move between realms, can’t they?”

“And they can kill other gods. They got quite in the habit of it, stealing each other’s territory and powers. Some became so powerful the universe had to create god-killers to go after them, and the carnage that takes place among the players was mimicked by a war of the gods that isn’t completely over. The original god-killers have been retired, after all the Chronoses were destroyed. They did feed on other gods. We have surmised that was the universe’s first check on gods that weren’t doing their mission, but the Chronoses themselves started violating their rules somehow and everything got very messy.”

“Just amongst the gods, or were they messing up the players as well?”

“Oh yes,” Persephone jumped in. “They weren’t just culling players, as was their mandate, but they were deleting entire galaxies and repurposing the matter to create their own realms built on their rules and their objectives.”

“Stealing the game away from the universe,” Hades summed up. “It was quite the debacle, and the universe had to correct the mistake. Some Titans are still alive, minding their own business, or still doing their original job. Others can’t be tracked by us, so there’s no way of knowing how many are out there. All the Chronoses were accounted for, and that’s when the god-killers were retired. Ares now holds the remaining god-killing power, but it will only activate in the presence of a Titan should they encounter one.”

“Even the ones still doing their jobs?”

“Yes. The universe has decreed they are all to be destroyed, though most of us don’t know it. The Persephones know more than any of us, and this one keeps me mostly in the loop,” he said, eyeing her.

“Mostly,” she echoed with a faint smile.

“How many incarnations has the universe gone through?”

Hades looked at Persephone, and her face scrunched up in thought.

“Hard to say. We know of three major ones, with us being the third. The Titans were the second. The first we know of…and there may have been many before…was a godless time where things spiraled out of control on a regular basis.”

“There are still some realms without gods,” Hades added. “The universe keeps them around for some reason, and we’re shown them in the gallery to see just how bad it can be without our ‘limited’ influence. But things became even worse when the Titans went rogue, so now we’re in at least the third age.”

“Why assume there were more?” Paul asked.

“There are obsolete pieces on the board that cannot be accounted for,” Persephone added. “We can see things you cannot, such as what you call the lifesprings. They have been rewritten many times, with many old points not in use but still there. We see a drawing board that has been erased and rewritten many times, with the echoes of the old not completely washed clean.”

Paul rubbed a hand on his forehead. “Every time I try and mind box what the universe is I get a headache. How big and old is the damn thing? And who’s running it? And how many of them are there? At least now I know there’s more than one.”

“We are but tiny specs on the grand cosmos,” Persephone explained. “And specs are meant to perceive the local, not the big picture. Even the gods are confined to their expansive realms.”

“But not you?”

“I’m meant to be a traveler, and I have yet to travel so far I could not go further. If we live within a box, it is so big we cannot find the walls of it. So I suggest one limited as you are, even if you become a Zeus, should focus your curiosity on smaller matters.”

Paul laughed. “You really can’t read my mind that well then.”

“It’s another challenge for him,” Hades explained. “Whenever he sees one he never lets it go, even if he has to put it off for a while.”

“A quality useful as a Zeus…within his realm,” she added.

“They can go where we cannot,” Hades said with obvious envy. “And they never let us forget it.”

“Can Anubis speak to his counterpart on the other side?”

“No, nor can he see through. We’re completely isolated from the other galaxies.”

“Just two or…”

“There’s been some speculation on that,” Persephone answered before Hades could. “Some think it’s linear, all come from one galaxy and all go to another. Other Anubises cite differences in the ‘flavor’ of incoming Cores, possibly suggesting different universes as incoming sources. No one that I have spoken with know anything for certain.”

“Even Athena?”

“Who is that?”

“It’s what Artemis called her knowledge download. She spoke as if it was another person’s identity who she had inherited.”

“There is no Athena god. She must have just nicknamed the knowledge for her own purposes.”

“Just as I am now nicknaming the Pafdreng the Apocalypse Monsters,” Hades said, making it official. “I never liked that original name. This suits them better.”

When he saw Paul frowning at him he elaborated.

“‘Pafreng’ is the name they chose for themselves long ago, and it means ‘salvation.’ Their version of everlasting life away from the constant carnage causing the universe to reset over and over again. When the universe altered them it didn’t change the name.”

“How did the Neofan learn it?”

“Same way you knew the name Hades. Artemis likes to lay down subtle corrections in civilizations when they create names of their own for stuff that already has a name. She said it was in case they ever stumble across a…”

“A what?” Paul asked.

Hades shook his head. “Not something within your reach now. Let’s just say there are layered treasures out there for discovery beyond the points of power. Some far smaller and specific. Artemis and a few other gods lay them out like easter eggs. They get quite complex.”

“What he is referring to,” Persephone irreverently butted in, “are knowledge orbs that help the players understand very old things that have been left behind through revisions. Stuff that could become new points of power if you know how to use it, or where to look, or what you need to build to find it.”

“Thank you, miss chatty,” Hades said with a sneer.

“It’s not a rules violation,” she countered.

“But it runs damn close,” he said, turning to Paul. “The easter eggs you have to find on your own. If Ares tells one of his warriors where to find one, he’s in violation. If he tells them about it, but isn’t specific with the location, it’s iffy. I don’t feel like being iffy anymore.”

“If it’s already public knowledge it’s not iffy,” Persephone argued. “Only the undiscovered ones are.”

“I know of two,” Paul interjected. “The Okala and a matter spout near the Core that the Hadarak still currently own. Taking it is on our to-do list, but there are a lot of issues with the Megaloids we still have to work out, and right now with the incoming invasions, we’re not going to be able to get it any time soon.”

“There are currently 7 in your home galaxy,” Persephone blurted out…with Hades staring at her incredulously. “The T’fen’s servants will most likely try to acquire the ones they know about. If you watch them, they may lead you to one you haven’t discovered yet.”

“Can they track them?”

“Only if they know what to look for.”

“Are there copies in multiple galaxies?”

“There can be. If you know of one, and study it, you may be able to track down other identical ones.”

“How many do our enemies currently have in their home galaxies?”

“Nothing that they can transport to yours, but I would advise against going after them where they lived. They are quite well defended.”

“Do any of them have an Okala?”

Persephone looked at him intently. “No. And I would advise you never let them get one. Destroy it before you let it fall into their hands.”

“Will just blowing it up work?”

“I’m afraid not. But there is a way short of misusing it into oblivion. It is far more powerful than you can imagine. With the perpetual carnage erasing previous civilization gains, knowledge is a power in limited supply, and the Okala is knowledge incarnate.”

“Biological knowledge?”

“Yes. But you can learn from biology many things about physics in general.”

“Persephone…” Hades said, raising a warning finger.

“You allowed this introduction, and I am not going to waste it. This is the only realm we have discovered with a dysfunctional Vanguard, and it is imperative that they be defeated before they grow into something far worse.”

“Defeat is a dream right now,” Hades urged. “Paul and his Empire have to survive and hold their powerbase before they can even think about going on the offensive.”

“And I may never have a chance to speak to him again.”

“You won’t if I don’t allow it.”

“My actions will not lay blame on you if the universe takes offense.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Enough,” Paul said, raising both hands and standing up between them, with Hades still sitting on the bench and Persephone standing behind him. “I’m not going to put you into a position where you have to break the rules in order to do the right thing. This isn’t your fight, it’s ours. You’re temporarily out of it as long as you’re gods, but as soon are you give up those positions you’re back in it, in whatever universe you come out into…assuming those work like this one does. So I’m going to make this crystal clear,” he said, pointing to Persephone.

“Do you know what went wrong with the T’fen?”

“No, I don’t. And no one I have spoken with thinks it’s even possible. It’s believed to be another major failure of the universe, and one that could trigger a reset into a 4th age if it becomes a conversion event.”

“Explain.”

“If the T’fen are able to compromise or absorb other Vanguard into their error state. So far they haven’t fought each other directly.”

“And what about the toxic radiation zones?”

“We worry if they cover too much area that could trigger the universe to intervene.”

“Why not hitmen coming for the T’fen?”

“If the error is systematic, even the potential for it would make the Vanguard as dangerous as the rogue Titans.”

“But we’re not there yet?”

“No. On the universal scale this is a minor problem, but one we can see growing to disastrous proportions.”

“It’s disastrous enough to those being eradicated, enslaved, or reconfigured,” Hades added.

“The universe should have made you an Artemis,” Paul commented.

“I’m afraid I’m not worthy of that. Now or before, but I thank you for the compliment.”

“In the future, when I can spare the time, I’ll be back and help you with the condemned. I have a feeling what you’re lacking is a lightside approach.”

“You think you can solve what all of us cannot?” Persephone scoffed a bit.

“The darkside is not a problem to be solved. It is to be fought and destroyed. But when one must choose to reject it, you cannot control the choice. But you can control the environment. We’ve been doing that for a very, very long time.”

“I tried mimicking your prisons approach,” Hades admitted. “It didn’t work.”

“You isolated them?”

“That’s not possible unless we lock them into a solitary Matrix. That’s been attempted, but to little effect.”

“It’s something I’ll have to feel out, but if just coming into mental contact with the Progarren had an effect, coming into contact with me will have the same or greater effect. The lightside isn’t something you can teach, it’s something you have to experience. And in amoral god land you probably don’t get much of it aside from Artemis. And you can’t get a lightside god here, can you?”

“I can only recruit from the condemned.”

“Tell the universe that is mistake #1.”

Hades huffed. “I would if I could. It’s not on speaking terms with any of us. And Artemis can’t travel here.”

“Can you speak with her?”

“Not directly. Different realms, different rules. And she can’t pass through mine, even in the Essence Realm.”

“But still connected, through Hermes I’d guess.”

“Paul, this is the universe’s dumping ground. It’s not a priority for us to succeed in full, and pacifists are as reviled by the universe as those obsessed with carnage.”

“That’s the biggest mistake people make about the lightside. It’s not pacifistic.”

“I’ve tried the tough love approach as well.”

“The lightside is not about love either. I’ll have to do this personally, and right now with a war on our doorstep, I’m not going to have much time, but I’ll be back eventually. In the meantime, I want you to stop thinking about how much you can maximally help us without encroaching on the rules. If you can give us a sanctuary out here that others cannot touch without you snuffing them out of existence, consider your part done. I need the Deebees safe and secure until they’re ready.”

“If you don’t move them, I can make sure of that. Bardue oversees this region, and I’ll have him put a permanent watchman on this location. If anything looks amiss, I’ll be summoned immediately to deal with it personally.”

“Your gods have servants?”

“More like robots. I’m the only one with omni-vision in this realm, but I can’t watch everything constantly, and if I go into the Matrix myself I can’t see outside of it, but I can still be contacted from outside and pull myself out. It’ll take a matter of seconds to get here if I’m needed once a watchman signals Bardue. Less than a minute total time, I promise.”

“I don’t expect the T’fen to find a way out here, but if we can move through the transit system, then their servants might too, and this isn’t a good place to fight in a gravity free zone.”

“It will be their tomb,” Hades promised.

“Thank you. That’s one point in this war that I don’t have to worry about the T’fen overpowering us in. And Moros can’t get out here, right?”

“He’d have to come while possessing someone. If he left their body, he’d get shunted back to Zeus’s realm immediately by the boundary tides.”

“He means yanked,” Persephone said. “I’ve actually seen it happen twice elsewhere. It’s not pretty, and he’d have to be stupid to risk it.”

“But if he did,” Hades added, “I can just destroy his body on arrival. And then he’s dead too, not yanked back.”

“Just checking. I really hate that god.”

“He exists to ruin things, and I know for a fact that six of my rehabilitated have become Moros in the past.”

“They tend to be the mayflies of the gods,” Persephone chipped in.

“Figures,” Paul said, knowing that Ares told him the new Moros wouldn’t grow in power soon enough to mess with him again, but if he could take over someone’s body…

“What are the rules for Moros to inhabit someone?”

“They have to be a nasty piece of shit,” Persephone summed up. “And willingly allow the possession. He can’t just grab anyone.”

“Good. I don’t suppose you can do that?”

“This metaphor is more apt than you realize,” Hades said cryptically. “But I won’t do it to any of you.”

Paul frowned. “Who do you do it to?”

“It’s one way of teaching the condemned. You take control of them during a simulation and show them how to do something. They lose control, but they still experience it. Far easier than trying to explain it to them in words or visions.”

“So you really are an Agent?”

“The Agent, Mr. Anderson.”

“And your name is really Persephone?”

“Coincidentally, yes.”

“And the Source?”

“The universe, of course,” Hades stated.

“And me?”

“A slight, forlorn hope that I dare to have.”

“Same for the rest of us,” Persephone added.

“Us?”

“They’re a group,” Hades added. “All the Persephones.”

“We prefer sisterhood.”

“And the Seraph?” Paul asked, pointing to one of the mannequins.

“He’s our gamemaster. Others design, he participates.”

“No Oracle?”

“The metaphor isn’t exact.”

“He got rid of her,” Persephone admitted.

“Ok, that part of the metaphor fits,” Hades relented. “She was supposed to get inside the heads of the condemned and understand them. It was a task I never should have asked of her, and something I have failed to do despite being constantly connected to their minds. It was a colossal failure and I eliminated that god. She was handed over to Zeus along with the other rehabilitated for reimplantation.”

“Well, I’ll meet them later I guess. In the Matrix anyway, once you plug me in, right?”

“I can create a bridge to speak to them directly if needed. They just can’t talk to you on their own.”

“Alright. You’ve given me plenty of information and a very important promise. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me before I’m out of reach?”

“He’ll chat with you as long as you’ll stay,” Persephone said before Hades could utter a word. “And he calls me the gossip.”

“I’ve never had a peer before,” he said, finally standing up from the bench, “even as Zeus. And while you’re not a god yet, you’ve been selected to be Zeus, so this is an exceedingly rare occurrence…and, I’ll admit, a therapeutic one for me. But no, I have no other secrets to reveal at the moment, though you’re free to ask any questions. Even ones you think I might not be allowed to answer.”

“Is there a fast way to move the nightcrawlers around?” Paul asked, knowing they couldn’t come close to a star, or even an artificial tiny one like was present here and in the other transit network installations.

“In my realm, if they can get to the thick haze, they can move rapidly through it. The difficulty is bridging the gap. In order to get them to your galaxy they will have to go this route unless you can create a shielded transport.”

“I’ll add it to the to-do list,” he said, reaching a hand out towards Hades. “Pleasure to meet you, Agent Smith.”

Hades grasped his hand and nodded with a coy smile. “Likewise, Mr. Anderson. Do visit again.”

In a flash of light the two gods disappeared and Paul was back on the ring with Kara nowhere in sight. He checked his gauntlet’s chronometer and found that time had been passing slower, by about a factor of three, but nowhere near as compressed as it had been when he’d spoken to Zeus.

Paul turned and started walking the way Kara had went, needing to tell her about the tracker that she probably didn’t even know she now had, and wouldn’t, until one of the tailor-made monsters showed up in the same galaxy to come after her.

6

EG25

September 5, 158434

INTERGALACTIC SPACE

In transit in the Essence realm

2 months later…

There was nothing to see outside the Gjardan. There was no light, no matter, no nothing to be seen. They were technically outside the universe, but few understood that fact. It was simply, to most people, a way to travel that avoided the possibility of colliding with matter and allowed instantaneous acceleration and stops. It was costly, in terms of Essence, but the Bond of Resistance had built the Temples as giant refueling stations, with the people living there being Essence users and making a donation each day towards the communal well.

That’s why all the infrastructure in between galaxies had people living on it…so they could refuel ships coming through if there was a problem. It also made those locations sanctuaries and oases out in the vast nothingness between galaxies that scared a lot of navigators who had no gravity out there to work with to even limp their way to a distant planet.

Except now Paul knew it wasn’t empty. He’d known of the darklight beings, or ‘voidlings’ as called by some. But he had no idea what the universe had been doing out there, and in a way it made him angry. Whatever the universe was trying to accomplish, it was rounding up these people and essentially keeping them out of the ‘game’ until and unless they could be rehabilitated into playing by the ‘rules,’ which seemed to be carnage, but not so much that races didn’t have time to at least reproduce the next generation.

Such an amoral approach suggested that the synthoids might have a similar problem in them, and the T’fen supposedly ‘malfunctioning’ seemed a bit more insidious now. He didn’t know what the problem was, but the fact that the basic design of the universe was bad enough that it had to create the darklight realm as a kind of control rod was telling.

Paul just couldn’t conceive of what was really going on, but he had more information now than before, and his mind was going to keep chewing on it on and off again until he figured it out.

His part, though, was not so ambiguous. But he needed to talk to Vikarathe, and his mental tracker showed he was just ahead. A few more minutes in the Essence realm and they’d arrive at a Jeeno where he was waiting. Paul had sent a message ahead indicating their route to Andromeda and had asked him to meet up with them. No message had returned back, and he guessed Vikarathe was simply waiting here until they caught up to him.

When the Gjardan got close to the Jeeno, Paul could see it in his Essence vision as a glowing dot in the blackness that caught the fast moving ship like a baseball in a mitt, stopping it immediately with no momentum effect noticeable. Had this happened in the universe where normal physics applied, they’d have been smashed into oblivion, but the ship itself was in a bubble of the universe traveling through the Essence realm, and the bubble itself didn’t obey physics.

That bubble popped when they were in the proper place on the mitt, with the ship flashing into view coming out of a ring-like gate directly in front of another. But they would not be immediately transiting on, so the ship used its Essence drives to grip the so-called ‘fabric’ of space and pull along it a little bit…something that gravity drives could not do…as the Gjardan moved out of the way of the two rings and docked higher up, using mooring beams to finesse the match, on the lattice-like grid infrastructure that had a number of cities inside it. It was a courtesy, for if they’d just used mooring beams the whole way, the Jeeno would have had to burn Essence to keep the station from drifting out of position in the tug of war. This way, the ship passing through used its own Essence so not to deprive the small well present here.

Unlike the Zotav and Vwen or even the Liosp ‘ringworld’ Paul had just come from, the Jeeno had no artificial sun, no land or water. Everything was internal and not very big. There were approximately 28,000 people inside, which was a drop in the bucket as far as the intergalactic network was concerned, but those representatives from the various Bond of Resistance races operated as techs to maintain the Jeeno, logistics caretakers that maintained various backup parts and supplies, both for the Jeeno and travelers, and as a waystation for an evacuation of the other, larger facilities out here should they need to flee. As such, the internal cities here always had more empty space than occupied areas so they could quickly absorb chunks of population as they came through.

This particular Jeeno had two transit lines crisscrossing, so there were actually 4 ring gates here that went different directions. That was a bit unusual, as most were just an extension across wide gaps that were too far to send an Essence bubble with necessary accuracy. But where there were galaxies closer to on another, they tended to route the traffic to mutual Jeenos within range rather than create two separate ones.

Paul was watching at the docking umbilical that stretched into one of the open hangar bays on the Gjardan. There was no actual physical connection, and the orb-like end of the gangway opened up once it was inside the atmospheric shield and extended a ramp down to the deck with one massive giant Neofan walking down followed by dozens of shorter Neofan, all of which stood taller than Paul.

He raised a hand, somewhat unnecessarily, but it’s what the Neofan had gotten used to him doing when he cleansed them. The Furyan pulled the limited Saiolum currents here and got a quick count on all the Mev infestations, then sent an appropriate wave through them…essentially squeezing and popping all of them except two. Those he had to retune a new wave for, but they didn’t last past that, with the Mev itself disintegrating and washing away into the Saiolum fields here, generated only by the local population which was too far away from other lifeforms to connect to other pockets of Saiolum across the intergalactic distances.

Paul lowered his hand as Vikarathe stopped before him. “All clean now.”

“Size?” Vikarathe asked.

“Nothing major, but enough to start affecting their thinking.”

“They are mostly from Yenoiv.”

Paul frowned. “How bad is it?”

“I had to kill several of my brothers to free these. Our race is spiraling out of control. Those not thoroughly insane are now targeted, even if they still have the Mev.”

“I was told that Azoro can now cleanse through a lesser individual in our training program. So Plausious will send some of those that come to the Milky Way to him and not redirect all of them to Andromeda.”

“I am very relieved to hear that,” Vikarathe admitted as the rest of the Neofan stood behind him passive, unsure what to make of the relationship between the two when their race was the dominant of dominants, and people like Paul would previously have served them as slaves. “Your message said you were traveling to Andromeda, but you did not say why.”

“I didn’t fully trust the message to arrive unopened. Tell me about these guys.”

“They are from Houses Innov, Werri, and Verrpeek.”

“No Mutavi?”

“I was able to rescue some and sent them to Kerrsi...Milky Way,” he corrected, first using the Bond of Resistance name for Star Force’s home galaxy.

“Takes some getting used to,” Paul offered.

“You are dominant there, and have peeled the Hadarak back from their attempted purge. You’ve earned the right to name it as you wish. Though calling Itsi Andromeda is confusing.”

“You remembered that one?”

“I’ve rarely spoken the name Itsi, but Kerrsi has been spoken endlessly ever since House Atriark moved there.”

“Same with me. I’ve always known my home as Earth, but to the V’kit’no’sat it was Terrax. How many others have you sent on ahead of you?”

“Several thousand. These have agreed to stay with me and help find others. Even with the Mev they had enough honor remaining to see what needs to be done.”

“Then they’re coming to Andromeda or back to Milky Way?”

“Now that you’ve cleansed them they have options. I will not speak for them until I know why you are going there, but I will be going with you regardless of the reason.”

“We’re going there to annex it,” Paul said bluntly, suppressing a smile as he waited for Vikarathe’s reaction.

There was a slight twist of his head, but otherwise he showed no other surprise.

“With one Gjardan?”

“It’s enough to get the job done.”

“You are withholding a great deal.”

“The Klix have had their territory in Andromeda invaded by the Asferja. They’ve lost most of the fight already, but the Asferja appear to only want a chunk of it now. They’re colonizing it to grow new troops and build additional ships to send down the Galactic Threads to invade Milky Way endlessly. I’m going there to attack the threads, sever as many as I can, and disrupt the reinforcements pouring down them. The long term solution is Kara and the Paladin colonizing the galaxy. I want your help rallying a Vargemma fleet for me to use against the Asferja immediately. Plausious has already given his approval and given me this Gjardan as flagship. We’re going to use your race’s foresight in building the Temple network to hit the Asferja hard, if they will follow my commands.”

“I will make sure they do,” Vikarathe promised. “And we will need as many Neofan overseers as possible,” he said aloud while telepathically questioning the others if they would assist him in this task or travel back to House Atriark to help rebuild their civilization there. “They will assist in this. The Vargemma will not disobey us.”

“No darkside recruitment,” Paul warned.

“They will not be killed if they refuse to come, they will merely be left behind and replaced by others who will. I know better than to waste resources now,” he said, referring to the internecine within his race, and perhaps the destruction in Utovi which was now a distant memory, given everything that had happened since.

“We have a Nuv’ernor onboard,” Vikarathe said, turning around to address the others as Paul could see shock on their faces…far more than there should have been. “She belongs to Star Force, and she will be protected,” he said in English, which was also odd. “Go…and pay your respects.”

The mass off Neofan spilled out on either side of Vikarathe and walked past Paul, heading into the ship and leaving him a bit perplexed.

“The only way I could get some of the Mev-infested to leave,” he explained after they had left the hangar, “was by telling them that House Atriark’s galaxy possessed Nuv’ernor. All of Mutavi’s have been destroyed…by House Mutavi.”

Paul’s face was the one that showed shock this time. “Why?”

“They have gone insane, as have the leadership of all the remaining Houses. I tried to find some that would listen. None would. Some tried to kill me even for speaking of House Atriark.”

“I assume that didn’t go well for them?”

“And they should have known it would not. They could not even see that I was superior to them in power. They picked needless fights. The only ones that were rescuable were those in remote areas. All those in the major worlds are either dead or locked in manic fighting that sees them attack their own forces if they do not respond fast enough and in like mind. It is this fate that you saved us from. I will fight at your side anywhere, anytime, Paul. And I am pleased to be in the presence of not only the sane, but the wise once again.”

“Why do they want to pay respects to Kara?”

“Their minds are so broken with despair, they seek power to cling to. They need to see her, and feel her power dwarf their own. Then they will align and assist us, because they will have a clear hierarchy to follow.”

“I thought your Nuv’ernor were slaves?”

“The term ‘slave’ does not translate well into Neofan. Even though they were servants, they were revered for the awesomeness of their existence. And that is why the ruling House demanded that they only serve them.”

“Are you certain they’re all dead?”

“No. Record keeping is impossible in the chaos that is now Yenoiv. The Hadarak are even holding back and letting them kill each other. I expect them to sweep up whatever is left after it is over.”

“Strovok’s master is most likely dead then?”

“Given their strength, it is possible they could have survived. But if they have had mental augments to control them, it is unlikely even if the Mev cannot affect them.”

Paul glanced at the ground. “I was kinda hoping we could get him back one day.”

“His fate is our failure. How do you expect to colonize this new galaxy?”

“The Paladin reproduce extremely fast, and are born as adults with full genetic knowledge. They will not require fleets crossing the intergalactic void. They will produce them on location.”

“How fast?”

“Very fast. They are a swarm race we annexed after it nearly destroyed us. We’ve since upgraded them considerably.”

“This Gauntlet War will be long over before you can fill a galaxy with them.”

“I know. But the galaxy is not empty. We will annex those already there, including the two Bond of Resistance races. They don’t know that yet, but it’s inevitable if they want to survive. If the Asferja are not just passing through, they may very well consume it all if we hold off indefinitely.”

“They are a swarm race as well?”

“Yes. Insectoid rather than lizard.”

“That I knew, but I have not been in contact recently.”

“We’re stopping their invasion, but they’re getting so many arrival points that some are beginning to slip through, then we have to track them down elsewhere in the galaxy and destroy them, in most cases. We don’t have the luxury of capturing many, but those we have are rather upset that they’ve been sent to their deaths. They expected a fair fight, and a chance to get set up here before we found them.”

“They did not know about Zeus,” Vikarathe summarized. “Already that god has helped you immensely.”

“Indeed. And I spoke with another before I left. I’ll fill you in on that later, but I need a favor from you.”

“Consider it done.”

“No…this is a big favor. Something you don’t want to do.”

“What is it?”

“Andromeda is going to be a completely separate piece of Star Force. We just can’t maintain links between the two with our current technology. We don’t even have a comm line of our own without going through the Bond of Resistance. House Atriark has committed itself to defending our Empire against this invasion. I need you to found a new House in Andromeda made up of however many Neofan you can recruit and rescue from the wreckage in Yenoiv. Kara has told me she intends to stay there permanently, so you’ll have a Nuv’ernor to work with.”

“Founding a new House is not something that I can do unilaterally. Others that have tried have been executed for it.”

“The Neofan as you knew them are gone now. Plausious is making considerable changes inside House Atriark, but he has given Star Force all his new younglings for us to train. He is rallying what he can of the past to protect us, and in doing so protect the new future for the Neofan younglings that we are building.”

Vikarathe snarled. “That is treason.”

“It is wisdom. He knows we can train them better than their previous Construction,” Paul said, using the translated word the Neofan used to describe the mental framework necessary to control their immense power. “And I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“You’re about to argue there is no Neofan civilization left.”

“Yes I am.”

“You are premature. There are some scraps left. And if House Atriark has gone so far astray as to give you our younglings, then they may no longer be Neofan as well.”

“Do better than they did,” Paul challenged.

“You said you will only temporarily be in Andromeda. When you leave, you want me to remain?”

“Unless you want to rebuild in Milky Way alongside Atriark?”

“I want to help you fight this war.”

“The more you knock down the Asferja, the more attention and resources you draw away from Milky Way, the more you help the rest of us. The T’fen have succeeded in destroying your race. Defy them by rebuilding it out of the ashes.”

“I’m a warrior. Not a builder.”

“I’m both, and I won’t be leaving Andromeda anytime soon. I’ll help you where needed, but it’s your race and your people who are almost all older than me. They are the foundation for the future, and you know that foundation better than I ever will.”

“You’re right…I don’t want to do this,” Vikarathe growled.

“You and I can’t win this war by fighting battles hand to hand, or even fleet to fleet. We have to grow stronger, or we will lose. And as much as the Neofan need Star Force, Star Force needs the Neofan as well. And for more than just a lift between galaxies.”

“When you leave Andromeda, we could be reinfected by the Mev, and I won’t be able to cleanse others without running them to Milky Way and back.”

“Azoro has made it a priority to figure out how to build a device to do it out of our inferior technology. He’s working on a lot of things, but he’s chosen to make this the first bit of major tech he figures out how to recreate. By the time I leave, he should have it done, or soon thereafter.”

“Were the Sha’kier really that advanced?”

“In Saiolum tech, yes, they were. From what I’ve seen in his memories, they were far superior to the Asferja, and it took a long line of enemies to eventually take them down. But they weren’t warriors. They were primarily builders, and their tech tree skews in that direction.”

“More advanced than us?”

“Saiolum is different than Essence, but I would say they could do with Saiolum what you have done with Essence.”

“And you will eventually have command of both?”

“If we can survive long enough, we’ll be upgrading our Empire considerably in multiple ways.”

“I don’t know if what you ask is possible, but I promise I will explore what options I have.”

Paul smiled. “Good to have back, buddy.”

Vikarathe reached down and patted Paul on the head. “Likewise, tiny one. Did Ares speak with you again?”

“No. It was Hades…”

7

EG25

December 23, 158434

ANDROMEDA GALAXY

System 339201

Orbit of 8th planet

It had taken another 3 months to get to Andromeda after picking up Vikarathe, and both he, Thrawn, Kara, and Paul had had extensive discussions on how to proceed once they arrived.

They’d elected to stay inside the Essence travel network and had passed through the closest Zotav on the edge of Andromeda, which was ringed with such ‘coin’ shaped stations situated on the outskirts of the Outer Rim, but not close enough to make grav jumps to and from. They were, however, within range of Essence travel to the nearest of the 3,193 Temples constructed there millions of years ago. They were also in range of a transit ring that was not in a Temple, but free floating within the galaxy where no one knew to look and not in any system.

It was called a ‘Deenat’ and meant for ships rather than travelers to and from the Temples, for the Temples themselves had powerful defense shields that could prevent someone from passing through, even while in the Essence realm. While it was possible for a ship to jump ‘through’ objects and emerge on the other side by taking a short trip in the Essence realm, it was also possible to put a bubble around an object that another Essence bubble couldn’t pass through.

As it was, most of the Bond of Resistance ships entered the Temple network through a scattering of Deenat across the galaxy, but Paul’s Gjardan did not exit one when they came into the galaxy. Instead they traveled directly to the nearest Temple and made contact with the Vargemma there.

Or more precisely, he stood beside Vikarathe as the Neofan made contact with the trillions of locals who had never seen a Neofan before in their lives…but they’d always known about the ‘Founders’ who had built the Temples and had left behind training and tasks for them to accomplish above and beyond the daily Essence donations if they so desired.

When the Neofan had showed up in the Milky Way Temples the Vargemma had immediately fell in line…except those loyal to Star Force, and he’d doubted what kind of reception Vikarathe would get, but to his surprise there was no dissent noticeable…and he had looked for it…both during the interactions and digging through the Temple data network, which he had full access to thanks to the Reignor codes Plausious had given Star Force.

All the Neofan, but Vikarathe especially given his size, were treated like gods and immediately obeyed, with more volunteers to fight in the soon to be assembled warfleet than this Temple had ships waiting in storage. Vikarathe ordered more to begin construction immediately, as well as unlocking special training on how to operate them for all volunteers, regardless of their skill level that, if too low, would have blocked them from receiving such training previously.

Paul had gone onboard three of the vessels to inspect them, finding them to be of the exact same construction as the Olopar, Stugar, and Wengar models that the Vargemma had possessed when Star Force first found them…or rather, when they had attacked the Empire unprovoked and had immediately put themselves on the ‘to be conquered’ list.

Almost all of the fighting had been done by Olopars, which were starburst-shaped ships without a straight line on them. They looked like they were constructed of something carved out of polished hard light rather than built, but that was due to the way their armor was constructed. It was rather bad armor, but doubled as being a firing array for their Essence weaponry.

Stugars and Wengars were rare, but had also been produced by the Vargemma in Milky Way to be used as Essence tankers and position markers. The latter was far more important than it sounded, because the Olopar primarily used jumps into the Essence realm for travel. They had gravity drives if needed, but point yourself in the right direction, transition into the Essence realm with a bit of a push on transition, then all you had to do was float and count down the number of seconds it would take to get where you wanted to go, then pop the bubble and reemerge.

The trick was, there couldn’t be anything there more than some air when you reemerged, or your molecular structure would intertwine with the object and you’d either be dead instantly or horrifically mangled and melded to whatever it was you hit. That’s why the portals were so damn important, for they allowed for certainty of arrival without incident, as well as giving the target jumping something to aim at.

Well, the Wengars were ships that did almost the same thing. They’d pick a safe position and just sit there, broadcasting the equivalent of a ‘light house’ in the Essence realm so other ships could know where to travel to from great distances, when to reemerge, and do so at ranges they never would typically attempt such jumps. So Paul could station these ships well outside a star system where gravity drives wouldn’t function more than a trickle, and they’d allow his fleet of Olopars to dance around the Asferja and escape to these positions where the enemy couldn’t follow without the Den’gar Essence technique.

That technique could be learned by an individual…such as Paul had…or be built into technology to accomplish the same thing, though that was far harder. As it was, even the Empire hadn’t built ships with this ability yet, focusing primarily on defensive and offensive technology in their Avenger-class warships that carried no drones, but lots of Materia…which is what Star Force called their weapon technology that involved Essence.

Building ships that could travel using Den’gar required a vastly different design…one that Paul did not care for…so developing that bit of ship-scale technology had gotten tossed down the list of to-do projects for the Mastertechs as they tried to slowly learn and replicate the technology of the Temples without the Bond of Resistance helping to teach them.

That had changed since Plausious had returned from the dead, and the Neofan Reignor had been giving Star Force access to stuff the Neofan never would have even considered before…such as the Reignor’s codes. But even with that help, they were so damn advanced in Essence technology it was going to take a long time to convert it all into the Empire’s own tech tree.

Meaning the ships Paul had before him were far more advanced in some ways than his own warfleet.

But they were also a lot damn weaker. They relied on Essence for almost everything, and when they had a full charge in their central well they were extremely impressive. Deplete that reserve and they barely amounted to second rate commercial transports, for their gravity drives were far smaller than they should have been. Their armor was crap, and they didn’t have systems built for long term crew assignments.

Thankfully the Neofan had a lot more designs tucked away where the Vargemma couldn’t see them, and some of the ships now starting to be built by the automated Temple infrastructure, known as the Caretakers, had been designed by Paul using modular swap-outs. He primarily needed fleet support ships that could rotate crew on and off, because once they went out to hit the Asferja, they weren’t going to be coming back for a while…and that was very atypical of what the Vargemma had been tasked to do out in the galaxy. Which was short missions to cull this and that while they primarily ignored a galaxy that had Hadarak in the Galactic Core that were genetically engineered to hunt down Essence users and destroy them.

So if the Vargemma made any big showing outside the Temples the Hadarak might take notice, hence they only popped in and out occasionally for short missions, and the Olopars were designed for such short missions, but thankfully the Neofan had a more robust options list tucked away somewhere Star Force hadn’t yet found it in their own assimilated Temples.

After visiting their first Temple, Vikarathe dispatched 109 other Neofan from his followers and House Atriark’s Gjardan crew to individually go out and make contact with the thousands of other Temples in the galaxy and give them identical orders.

The Gjardan had then left the first Temple and moved on to three more over the following 4 months before finally exiting the Temple Network through a Deenat and returning to the typical starfields visible outside ships in the galaxy, except while almost the same, these weren’t.

These were Andromeda star systems, and all the galactic arms and black hole placements were different. It was like going home and finding somehow had rearranged all the furniture in your house, and for some reason it felt a little disconcerting to Paul as he stood in front of a virtual window in a conference room onboard the Gjardan waiting for delegates from the Klix and Wieanios to arrive.

The Neofan ship had arrived here 2 months ago and made the location known, summoning the two fellow Bond of Resistance members here while not making the location too obvious to any Asferja spies they might, and probably did have, roaming the galaxy. This system was far from their invasion zones, but still on the same half of the galaxy. That half could take 6 months to travel across if you used regular gravity drives and bounced from star to star, but by going through the Temple Network, you could get across it in less than a day.

Getting from a Deenat to here, though, took a matter of weeks, and he’d been assured the two races would utilize their Essence technology to get here as fast as possible, despite the costs involved.

Vikarathe had stayed onboard, despite needing to attend to other things in the Temple network. Coming outside it was inconvenient, but absolutely necessary, for down on the planet below was Thrawn’s two seed ships, already digging into the crust of the planet and producing raw ores that they’d use to refine into building materials for bioharvest facilities, the first of which was already up and running due to modular kits the seed ships contained, but constructing a brand new one out of resources collected from this planet alone would take more time…approximately 18 more days if Thrawn’s estimates were correct.

And once it got online and producing sufficient foodstuffs, the current Paladin population would increase even more than it already had, for the crew of 2,901 that had arrived here had already surpassed 10,000 with new adult births…and those fresh Paladin were out working in the mines and construction crews already, as if they had done this their entire life thanks to their genetic memories.

Though as good as they were, genetic memories were not as efficient as actual experience…but compared to other races this development was lightning fast…and compared to Humans, it would have taken at least 50 years for younglings to grow and learn the skills equal to what a Paladin had on day 2 of its life. Day 1 was a little hit and miss for some of them, but by the second day the genetic memories were thoroughly activated and they were ready to go to work…or combat.

Paul had the Gjardan waiting here to protect them, even though they didn’t need any protecting. Both seed ships were also warships that could defend themselves, even when half buried in the crust of the planet below, but since he couldn’t replace them out here, he was going to park the Gjardan over this spot for some time until they got additional defenses in place. After that, they’d be on their own while Paul was hopefully drawing all the attention elsewhere.

The doors into the conference chamber parted, prompting Paul to turn around and see four Klix walk through, each of which looked like a combination between spider and elephant, with biological armor set into long scales on the outside that made clicking sounds on the floor with each step.

Paul suppressed a smile at the irony of their name as they entered to reveal a second contingent behind them consisting of two Wieanios, both of which stood twice as tall as the horse-sized Klix, though neither quite got up to Vikarathe, who was standing nearby the door as they entered.

Both were dressed in robes covering their long legs, while their upper bodies were incredibly thin, reminding Paul of the Kaminoans in Star Wars who had designed the Clone Troopers. Both of these races had already made contact with the Empire previously, but there hadn’t been much interaction, as neither of them had requested to establish trade colonies in Milky Way as many others had.

Both Wieanios bowed to the large Neofan, but did not extend the gesture to Paul, who was the only other person in the room.

“Sit,” Vikarathe ordered, taking his own throne-like seat on one side of a holotable showing a tactical diagram of the invasion zones. The Wieanios found chairs designed for their biology already provided, while small platforms were available for the Klix who sat on their hind legs in almost comical fashion, looking at Paul questioningly with their big quartet of eyes that were currently hidden behind what appeared to be sunglasses.

Paul guessed they were more than that as he walked over to the edge of the table and waved a hand at the floor, summoning a simple stool to rise up that he slid onto as he had his own quarter of the massive table to himself.

“Why are we not meeting in a Temple?” one of the Klix asked, “And what are you doing on the surface of this worthless planet?”

“A new paradigm is forming,” Vikarathe said flatly. “The invasion of Kerrsi is not a war against Star Force alone. The Veloqueen and the Neofan are both involved, and my race has already been nearly destroyed in the assault.”

Paul’s friend dropped silent at that, letting the two delegations digest what must have been a gigantic shock, for the Furyan didn’t think they’d been told before. At least not based on the way Vikarathe was acting.

“Are you referring to your loss of Utovi?” the slightly shorter of the two Wieanos asked.

“In part. We have learned that the enemy who has sent the Asferja to destroy Star Force also commands the Hadarak and the Pafdreng. Though it was unknown to my House at the time, the Neofan also served this unseen enemy, and to this day I wonder how many of the campaigns we waged against lessers were of our own choice or answering to their call. We will never know now, for those who betrayed our race are long since dead, but I am told they did so to preserve us, for any servant who does not obey is obliterated. And one of their commandments is to not fully possess a galaxy. We broke this rule, and we not only lost Utovi for it, but we lost our sanity.”

He pointed to Paul. “This one saved those of us who remain. He is gifted with skills in an energy field unknown to us, and it was through this energy field that our minds were slowly distorted into madness. Our colonization of Yenoiv is a failure. Our Houses have gone mad and are warring on one another. We are currently rescuing as many Neofan as we can and bringing them back to Star Force so they can be cleansed of this invisible taint. A taint that is a cunning weapon of our former overlords designed to finish what the Hadarak and Pafdreng could not. We have silently been sentenced for deletion from the galaxy, and as it stands now, only House Atriark remains. The rest are merely fragments.”

“Why have we not been told of this before?” the Wieanios complained, slamming a tiny fist on the table. “And who is this enemy?”

“You were not told because we did not know of the taint, and only high ranking members of the ruling House were told of our dishonor. House Mutavi did not become aware until we ascended and inherited the mess others had created. But I was told, that if we had not accepted fealty we would have been targeted and destroyed long ago. It seems the creation of the Bond of Resistance was an attempt to strengthen the Neofan should that time ever happen, and this mysterious enemy found a way to destroy us without any of you even getting involved.”

“What is their name?” the Klix Vartu demanded, signified by the red tattoos on his foreleg plates…which was equivalent to ‘ruler in exile,’ which was a bad translation that meant ‘outside the home cluster of star systems.’ This Klix had the same authority as their Empress, answered only to her, and could negotiate on her behalf. Apparently there were several dozen of them.

“I do not know as a member of House Mutavi,” Vikarathe answered, gesturing to Paul again. “But he does. We were threatened and some of us were killed with ease by their servants to prove the point, and we were not allowed to know who they were, only that we were one of many in a grand coalition of old and powerful races. I learned the name T’fen only from him.”

All eyes shifted to Paul.

“There is a much bigger war going on,” the Furyan said. “I’ve been given information that it involves thousands of galaxies, and the T’fen are in a power struggle with others determined to wipe them out, and in order to protect themselves they have created a vast network of servant races to do their fighting for them. They’ve created a buffer zone, and they rarely get involved in that buffer personally unless something goes very wrong. They’re a type of lifeform we refer to as a synthoid. They’re not biological and not cyborg. They’re purely technological and were created by the lifesprings that way. Those seeking to destroy them are also synthoid, who apparently have rules that the T’fen violated. That’s why the others want them dead. And it’s why the T’fen have poisoned galaxies like Milky Way and Andromeda with toxic radiation generators near the Core. This radiation only affects synthoids, so neither they nor their kin can come into the galaxies without becoming damaged or die. Hence, a buffer zone that is managed by biologicals they employ in their service.”

Both the Klix and the Wieanios were stunned into silence, so Paul continued.

“Any civilization that rises to a certain power level in the buffer zones must be destroyed or recruited. Apparently you’re not there yet, but eventually, if your races continue to advance, you’ll be approached in the same way the Neofan were and offered an ultimatum…or you’ll just be destroyed without ever getting one. The Hadarak work for them, and they keep mowing down small but prosperous civilizations, over and over again, to prevent them from rising up to one day cause a problem. Anyone that can challenge and overcome the Hadarak…”

“…gets their attention,” the Klix Vartu said, recognizing the consequences as he looked over to Vikarathe. “Is this why the Bond of Resistance built the Temples outside the Hadarak zone? To avoid such a confrontation?”

“In part, yes. We were hoping to create our own alliance as a counter to them trying to one day take us out, for we never truly submitted and were always planning to rise to a point where we could reclaim our independence. We failed miserably,” he admitted.

“The Asferja are another one of these old races that have submitted to the T’fen?” the second Wieanios asked.

“They are,” Paul confirmed. “And there are already at least two more races on their way to Milky Way to assist them in destroying us.”

“You mean Kerrsi?”

“Yes, but the Asferja have come through Andromeda, which we call this galaxy, and they don’t seem to consider the Klix a threat.”

“Must you insist on using your own names for galaxies?”

“That’s hardly relevant,” the Vartu said dismissively.

“It’s symptomatic of such arrogance that has brought these T’fen against them, and because of that our galaxy is suffering for it.”

“You have barely been hit,” the Klix argued angrily. “Do not bring politics into this.”

“They never joined the Bond of Resistance,” the first Wieanios jumped in. “They are so arrogant they tried to pull our own members into an alliance with them, challenged the Hadarak, and brought this down upon them.”

“Which only proves,” Vikarathe interjected, “that they are far more powerful and dangerous than you, whom the T’fen have not even taken notice of.”

“I would call that wisdom.”

“I would call it weakness,” the Neofan said, pointing a finger at the junior member of the Bond of Resistance, then when he the other Wieanios fell silent, he indicated that Paul should continue.

“Numerous races have fought and died to these invasions, which we call the Gauntlet Wars, but some had the foresight to leave behind notes on their enemies, as well as samples of their technology. We have inherited that legacy, and we knew of the Asferja and what they are capable of before we even saw their first ship.”

The Klix stirred. “You know how to beat them?”

“We are beating them now, in Milky Way, but we’re soon to come under attack by another, and another, and we’re still fighting the Hadarak as we reclaim territory from them. They are going to seek to overwhelm us, and we cannot let them grow new fleets here to send against us indefinitely. They may very well consume this entire galaxy in order to destroy us…then, if pattern holds, they will simply leave, erasing any trace they were here and any trace of our existence, and go back to their home galaxy lairs and wait for the next assignment the T’fen has for them. You are irrelevant to them.”

“Not irrelevant,” another Klix angrily said. “We have hurt them.”

“So I’ve been told,” Paul said neutrally. “I’m here to hurt them even more, but the only way we can stop them from sending unlimited reinforcements through the Galactic Threads is first to sever those Threads…which is almost impossible to do on the receiving end…and the second is to deny them the use of this galaxy.”

“Do you plan to drive them out of it entirely?” the second Wieanios mocked with a curt laugh. “You could never get enough of your warships through the intergalactic network, and if you tried going through the Core, you’d have to fight and destroy the Hadarak here just to get your ships out to the Rim.”

“Do you really believe he is here wasting his time?” Paul said icily, referring to Vikarathe.

The Wieanios hesitated, then found the courage to push on. “He just admitted the Neofan are a dying race.”

“You are not being constructive,” another Klix lambasted his fellow delegate.

“What are we really here for?” the Wieanios said, looking at everyone in the chamber in turn.

“You are being notified,” Vikarathe answered.

“Of what? The Asferja being backed by even more powerful races? Other than fill us with dread, what is the point? Is the Bond going to honor its promise of protection or not?”

“You are being notified,” Vikarathe continued, “that dominion of this galaxy now belongs to him.”

Both the Klix and Wieanios looked at Paul. One race with incredulity…and the other with hope.

“We have not expanded beyond Milky Way prior to now,” Paul explained. “Not because we were unable to, but because we had other priorities. Namely the Hadarak, which we chose to engage where the Bond of Resistance did not. We have been successfully defeating and pushing them back deeper and deeper into the Core. We own the Galactic Tethers now,” Paul said, referring to the massive black holes capable of jumping ships off of at intergalactic speeds, “and it’s just a matter of time before we completely defeated them. Now, things have changed. We can turtle up in our own galaxy and fight there, but if the Asferja are producing more troops here rather than having a limited amount traveling from their home galaxy, that changes things greatly.”

“You’re going to fight here?” the Vartu asked.

“Fighting isn’t enough. We have to annex Andromeda in order to protect it, and to stop it from being used as a breeding ground for more troops to assault the Milky Way.”

“Logistically that’s impossible, even under the best case scenario.”

“For you, perhaps,” Paul continued. “This war isn’t going to be a short one. It’s going to be fought over millennia…perhaps longer, and the play I’m making here and now is designed to aid us in the long term. You can either be part of this, or stand aside and take whatever fate comes to you. I know it’s getting ahead of ourselves, but as I am now claiming this galaxy, you’ll have to abide by Star Force code of conduct if we’re to be friendly neighbors. If you do not, we’ll be forced to conquer and annex you too.”

Both Wieanios stood up abruptly, but a wave of Vikarathe’s hand forced them back down via an invisible Essence grip. Paul could see it when he turned on his Essence vision, as well as the attempt by both of the Wieanios to break it. They each had Essence skills of their own, and based on the technique he could see being used they were not novices, but the sheer power of a Neofan of Vikarathe’s age and size was something they could not contend with. Eventually they stopped resisting and returned to their seats.

“I do not know what the Bond of Resistance intends to do to help you,” Vikarathe added. “I have not spoken with, nor attended those discussions. Reignor Plausious of House Atriark is the only Neofan who has any authority left, and his forces are already tasked to defending Milky Way,” he said, using Paul’s term intentionally to spite the Wieanios. “The Denogi, I hear, are not getting involved other than providing safe haven for refugees. The Veloqueen have agreed to fight the T’fen’s forces alongside Star Force. They know as well as the Neofan do, that if we do not stand together now we will be picked apart later and there will be no hope for survival, let alone victory. The rest of the Bond of Resistance may or may not assist you here. I do not know.”

“Are the Hadarak going to assist the Asferja as well?” the Wieanios asked, still irate.

“Possibly,” Paul answered. “This is going to get messy no matter how it goes down. With the Neofan’s help, we will be assembling several waves of Vargemma assault fleets that I will be leading to destroy or disable as many of their intergalactic threads as we can, taking pressure off Milky Way. This may very well draw them to attack the Temples or expand their territory further. They may even try to wipe you out before they rebuild more. I am uncertain of how they will respond, but I do believe they will be surprised and disrupted. They do not expect us to attack them here, for my Empire has no assets in this galaxy.”

“How do you plan on annexing it?” the Vartu asked skeptically.

“It belongs to us,” the first Wieanios declared.

“The Asferja are a swarm race. They are going to build and reproduce so fast, that with their tech advantage, they will overcome both of your races eventually. You don’t know how to fight a swarm race…”

“Which is why we need the Bond’s assistance!”

“But as to this so-called ‘worthless’ planet below us, I have deposited the seed of another swarm race. A better swarm race. A Star Force swarm race known as the Paladin, and I intend to unleash them on the Asferja when they’re ready. And they will gradually eat up the rest of the territory in this galaxy, annexed, befriending, or simply claiming uninhabited worlds like this one. If the Asferja want to fight them and you effectively, they can’t send reinforcements to Milky Way. They have to stop and full fight here, or keep sending them and gradually lose their colonies here. It puts them in an untenable situation.”

“They have brought fleets,” another of the Klix argued. “You have brought one ship. How can even a swarm race make up the difference given that tiny start?”

“Because the Asferja don’t know they are here, and the Asferja are going to be exporting most of their ships and resources through the Threads. I’m here to attack using the Vargemma in the short term. The Paladin are the long term play.”

“How much can they send through these Threads?” another Klix asked.

“Their ships use beam rider technology. The Threads draw energy from a star and send it across the void through specific gates. This allows their ships to latch on and accelerate while in contact with the stream…or more specifically, just beside it. They don’t travel within it, and the beam acts, in a loose way, as a local gravity well they can accelerate on indefinitely. Or so I’m told.”

“Conventional drives?” the second Wieanios asked, finally seeming to lose some of their combativeness.

“It’s a technology we haven’t fully assimilated yet, but the production of it is similar to the production of a gravity drive, and they can use the energy flow in the Thread to recharge their ships as they go. It is simple and cheap once they have the gates up. Establishing them is not easy or cheap, but once they’re up it’s easier to send a fleet through them than it is to jump the Galactic Core.”

“That’s technology that no one in the Bond of Resistance possesses,” the Vartu commented.

“Indeed,” Vikarathe agreed. “But Star Force now does possess it, in wreckage if not their data stores. And once they unlock its secrets…or once we unlock it, for they have shared what they have with House Atriark…the Bond of Resistance will have it, and we will have a way to long term link our galaxies together for far more efficient transit than the Essence network allows. If the Bond survives. We…and all of you…may very well be targeted for eradication by the T’fen’s servants.”

“Or you may be ignored,” Paul added. “We don’t know. But if we don’t survive this, they will always be there, watching and waiting for the time when you become too advanced to overlook any further. If you want to control your long-term destiny, helping us is your only choice.”

“If your attack here unleashes the Hadarak on Itsi,” the first Wieanios said spitefully, using the original name for Andromeda, “you counterattacking the Asferja will doom us. We cannot fight both of them.”

“We’re not strong enough to fight one of them and win,” another Klix said honestly. “And I don’t think your Paladin will be large enough in population in time to help save our Empire.”

“That’s where I come in,” Paul said with a smirk. “With the strength of the Vargemma and millennia of Essence reserves built up, I can keep them busy and buy everyone else more time.”

“He is the most skilled naval commander Star Force has,” Vikarathe noted. “And he can sense the Mev that they used to taint us. We do not know which of the T’fen’s servant races wields it.”

“So it could be the Asferja?” the Vartu asked.

“Possible, but unlikely,” Paul countered. “If I had to guess I’d say no, but whoever infected the Neofan did so stealthily, and I would expect a similar tactic again if it was employed. I see none in either of you, but if it was here you wouldn’t even know it. I counter that tactic.”

“So we’re helpless without you?” the first Wieanios asked incredulously.

“This is a war within a war within a war,” Paul said slowly. “The powers in the upper tiers of that war are beyond you, and at present they are beyond us as well. But we can at least defend ourselves in this lower tier. You cannot, for you have not, and you are calling on the Bond of Resistance to do what you cannot.”

Paul slipped two small hexagonal cubes out of his pants pocket and tossed them both onto the table, using his telekinesis to direct them in front of each delegation, then mentally activated both holoprojectors that popped forth a bouquet of schematics, star charts, and biological data.

“Know your enemy,” he said, referencing the Asferja depicted. “Even if you want nothing to do with us, take this gift and make use of it. Every ship of theirs you destroy helps us.”

“Is the Galactic Thread technology in here?” the Wieanios asked.

“What we know of it, yes.”

“Star Force now has dominion over this galaxy,” Vikarathe reiterated. “And some of the surviving Neofan are going to relocate here permanently, taking residence in the Temples, and assist with the annexation. The time of hiding from the Hadarak and building our strength is over. Not by our choosing, but by the enemy’s.”

“Will you be building more of your own ships?” the Vartu asked doubtfully.

“It is not easy to do so, but with the assistance of the Temples, yes we are. We have already started the superstructure of another Gjardan, and more will come over time as resources are available.”

“Will you be sharing those with us?” the Wieanios asked.

“No.”

“But you, or any of your planets are welcome to join my Empire,” Paul noted. “We’re not asking it of you, nor demanding. We expect you to be friendly neighbors. But if you ever want to join and get your civilization upgraded, that offer is always on the table.”

“But under your control.”

“Of course. That’s why it’s an Empire,” Paul emphasized. “And we will be absorbing other races here over time. Obviously a galaxy is huge and it will take forever, but we got through most of our own in 150,000 years. It’ll take less time for this one now that we know what we’re doing.”

“Do you really expect to survive that long?”

“We expect to live forever,” Paul said flatly. “And help as many others survive along the way as we can.”

“What do you want of us?” the Vartu asked pensively.

“Fortify your worlds, and don’t let any fall to the Asferja that you can prevent. Every planet they get they will grow stronger. They’re going for ones with refined resources first rather than setting up on uninhabited ones. It’s a tactic they’ve used in previous invasions, and it allows them to build considerably faster by simply recycling the debris from your destruction. So you holding on to worlds slows their growth. And the more you slow it, the faster the Paladin will be able to catch up. So you don’t have to defeat them yourself. Just buy time. And with all the destruction I’m about to rain down on them, they’ll have less to attack you with anyway.”

“Is that all?” the second Wieanios interrupted.

“No. You can help them defend their worlds,” he said pointedly. “You are Bond of Resistance, are you not? And they’re in need of help. So why haven’t you gone to their aid?”

“Our own worlds have begun to come under assault since we last updated you. We have to look to our own worlds first.”

“But you could have been helping out previously,” Vikarathe accused, “all the while you beg others to come to your aid.”

“An Alliance that will not fight together,” Paul said, “is one that is an Alliance in name only.”

“Enough!” Vikarathe bellowed as the Wieanios was about to complain again. “The Neofan are a Founder in the Bond of Resistance, and we are here to fight. Star Force is here to fight and annex, protecting far more smaller races here than you would. Their methods are superior, and their technology is mostly so, though you have a few advantages on them. It would be wise for you to share what you know in exchange for their assistance.”

“We will not give up our secrets any more readily than you will.”

“We have a great many more of them, and we shared many with the Bond. Why must your people always claim more worth than you rate?”

“We were accepted into the Bond on our merits.”

“The Neofan do sometimes make mistakes.”

The Wieanios stood up again, this time without resistance, and his compatriot soon followed, scooping up the datacube from the table.

“We thank you for this information and will put it to good use defending our worlds. But as for this talk of annexation and swarm races, I do not believe, nor accept, any of it. If the fleets in the Bond of Resistance will not come to our aid, then it is the failing of the Alliance. We demand they honor their pledges and send whatever ships they can to aid in the defense of this galaxy.”

“I do not speak for them,” Vikarathe reminded him. “Ask through normal channels.”

“We already have been, and none except you have arrived. Our race is going to be destroyed in full or in part, and all they do is delay and make excuses. The Neofan cannot come because they are occupied in Kerrsi, and the Veloqueen say the same thing. Where you two lead, the others follow. If you do not assist us, the others will not.”

“I am here,” Vikarathe reiterated. “Perhaps you should make them aware of that fact.”

“And which House shall I say is here? You said only Atriark remained, and they are in Kerrsi. So are you a House, or merely the exiles of one?”

“One Neofan with an army of Vargemma is enough to destroy your entire race, Wieanios. Do not overestimate your strength, and do not underestimate mine.”

“What House are you?” he demanded.

“House Mutavi,” he said, seeing the flinch at the recognition of the Ruling House’s presence here, but it faded quickly.

“How can it still be ruling if only House Atriark remains intact?”

“We are in transition, and in the middle of a war. I do not know how many of us will survive the taint placed upon us. How we reorganize later is immaterial to outsiders.”

“Then why tell us?”

“Because you need to know that the old ways are over. The Bond of Resistance must adapt or die, and the future is centered on Star Force. The Neofan are committed to making sure they survive.”

“Why?” the Vartu demanded.

“The T’fen,” Paul said slowly, “only struck at the Neofan when they broke their rules and attempted to control an entire galaxy. Other races have been attacked when they occupied many galaxies, but all partially. My Empire has neither fully conquered the Milky Way, nor expanded to other galaxies. So what does that tell you?”

“You possess a greater threat,” the Vartu said in a whisper. “Something the T’fen must strike down early.”

Paul nodded, but did not elaborate.

“And you won’t tell us what it is?” the Wieanios mocked again.

“We’re telling you a great deal we have not told others, but some secrets have to be kept in close quarters. You are strangers to us. Be grateful for what knowledge we have given already.”

“That remains to be seen what is in this data,” the Wieanios said, glancing around as if ready to leave.

“You may go,” Vikarathe prompted, pointing to the door.

“I noticed most of your embassies are empty. Shall we route inquires to House Atriark in Kerrsi from now on?”

“Unless it involves this galaxy, that would be best. Assuming you survive that long.”

“We shall attempt to,” the first Wieanios snarled, then both walked out of the room with lumbering but dainty gaits, with the doors closing behind them and leaving the Klix delegates still seated.

“I don’t recall them being that irreverent in the past,” Vikarathe said to the Vartu.

“Your restraint was admirable. I have never known a Neofan to tolerate it.”

“Has something else happened?” Vikarathe pressed.

“They do not have a strong central chain of command. They see how many worlds we have lost, and now theirs are beginning to fall. They are panicking, and their internal political structure is beginning to crumble. Their government will fall long before they lose a tenth of their territory…or so we predict. It is why they are not sending ships to help us.”

“And you?” Paul asked.

“We will fight together until the last,” he said firmly. “But we are already making evacuation plans for key components of our society. The Denogi have offered a few worlds in their galaxy, as have the Jenchia, but we will be forced to rebuild from almost nothing. We do not want to leave this galaxy, and we do not want to see it fall to these Asferja, but we cannot stop them alone. Without the Bond’s help, most of us are doomed.”

“They will be of better help than the Bond,” Vikarathe promised. “And in the short term, the Vargemma will engage this enemy.”

“How many Olopars will you be sending?” the Vartu asked.

Paul and Vikarathe exchanged glances, both thinking they’d already answered that.

“All of them,” Paul said ominously.

8

4 months later…

“What are you building?” Vikarathe asked Paul as he walked through a doorway that was just barely tall enough for him on a ship that was built for the giants, but among the Neofan, 17 feet tall was a head or two higher than most others.

A Protovic Mastertech and two Paladin Technos, each of which bore a genetic tattoo on their foreheads of a circle with two parallel vertical lines on either side, were working on a device slightly shorter in height than the Neofan but wider and solid, more or less a cylinder but with various bulges here and there along with a single shallow cavity on the front side…and they were connecting it directly into the Neofan ship’s control lines now exposed in the floor in three places where the paneling had been pulled up.

“Something we keep very secret,” Paul said, taking a step away from the trio of experienced technicians that had traveled from Milky Way with the few dozen support staff that had accompanied the 8 Archons. “It’s how I can control a fleet personally. We call it an Astromech.”

“Why are our mental interface systems inadequate? I do believe they are superior to yours, if you’re unfamiliar with the software.”

“This isn’t an interface,” Paul said ominously. “An interface sifts and sorts items of value as you direct it, but you still only have a certain amount of focus given your brainpower. We’ve pretty much maximized ours given our skull size, and rather than altering that we developed the Astromechs.”

“How does it work?”

“An Essence technique that I never saw in the Temple records. Do you have one to extend your Core into machinery?”

“A body transfer? We’ve encountered a few races that have tried as much, but we would never allow such a thing. Do you actually leave your body?”

“No. I extend my Core into both, thus temporarily making this machine part of my brain and increasing my focus by leaps and bounds.”

Vikarathe frowned. “Where did you learn this technique?”

“We invented it. Me and a few others. It took a long time, but we finally worked it out. Now, when there are large fleet battles, I can keep track of much more than I could with a mental interface alone. I can also store and access a great deal more information that wouldn’t be able to be stored in my brain. The Astromech is essentially a second brain for me to use when needed, but it comes at a cost. I’m extremely vulnerable when plugged into it, and it takes a while to disconnect. If I’m forcibly separated…well, I’m not sure what would happen, but it would be bad.”

“You would die,” the Neofan said flatly.

“Why are you so sure?”

“Your Core would go to whichever body was larger, thus ripping it out of your brain. I know of it happening to others, and it’s a reason we have never experimented with such things.”

“Not even on your servants?”

“Not even on our enemies. It is considered sacrilege only mentioned in myth. Why is this ship’s crew allowing you to do it?”

“They don’t know,” Paul smirked. “They just know I need to install some of my own equipment to direct the fleet, and Plausious gave us command of the ship.”

“You are fortunate I am here. I will make sure your body is protected while you are melded with the machine if you think this device is necessary.”

“When you’re dealing with millions of ships, you either have to trust your fleet to know what they’re doing and control what parts of it you can, or you can take control of as much as possible. I don’t trust the Vargemma to know what they’re doing, so I need to see everything.”

“What’s your limit?”

“Depends how close I want to watch each ship. But I can easily gain a focus factor of 300 times normal with this Astromech. Or, with my own. This one is being built brand new here, so I’ll have to customize it to get up to that kind of speed. So assume about 260 times normal.”

“How is that even possible?” Vikarathe asked, impressed.

“As I said, it’s something we worked on deliberately, and very few people know it even exists. I’d prefer it stayed that way, so an enemy doesn’t know to focus on me. We only have these in a few places in the Empire, and most are inside our Borg vessels where we are highly protected. A few more on planets within fortresses.”

“So you control the entire fleet in combat?”

“If it’s a Star Force fleet I don’t have to, I just give what directions are necessary and look for problems or opportunities, then step in when needed. But I can control everything if we don’t have too many ships involved, but the more minds we have in the process, the more our efficiency ticks up. So I’ll often just tag specific targets to be hit with specific weapons, or at a specific angle, and let my crew actually make the shots. Every reduction in micromanaging I do extends my influence to more ships and allows me more focus to watch the enemy and see what they’re doing.”

“I have never heard of such a device before. Only races that incorporated implants into their bodies and wished to extend their Core into them as well, or those foolish enough to try and abandon their bodies entirely. Few succeed, and when they do they lose a great deal in the transition.”

“I know of one race that did that. The PanNari have an elite class that transition into living warships called Elloquim. Many die in transition, but those that survive basically become gods to them given their brain size.”

“Quality of the brain is more important than size, or the Hadarak would be smarter than us all.”

“In some ways they are,” Paul differed. “Thankfully not in the biggest of ways.”

“How are they superior?”

“We work with the Uriti enough to realize their brains work on an entirely different level, and we’ve been trying to bridge the gap. They’re aware of a lot more than we are with regards to the space environment. They can see and process magnetic fields, gravity fields, and a lot more senses we don’t have. But they’re also very naïve in some respects. We’re guessing that a lot of their brain power goes to things we can’t perceive.”

“Curious. I had never considered that.”

“All that brain material has to be for something.”

“Excessive memory.”

“I suppose in some cases that’s part of it. But I doubt it’s all of it.”

“The Veloqueen always seemed odd to us. Perhaps this perception you speak of is part of it.”

“They seem far more advanced than the Uriti, so I’d guess there’s layers upon layers of intellect in there we can’t scratch yet. But it’s on our to-do list.”

“You seem to have a longer one than us…and not because we have more completed.”

“We like challenges. Speaking of which, did the Wieanios grow a brain?”

Vikarathe huffed a muted laugh. “They are usually very deliberate, and I suspect our revelations caught them off guard. They contacted me just prior to leaving, offering their profuse apologies, and thanking us for any assistance we can provide.”

“There’s an example of slow thinkers.”

“Quite. But give them enough time and they can be of use. Combat is not one of them, which is why they rely on automated programs that allow them to decide ahead of time how to respond.”

Paul’s jaw dropped. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I am not. They are above average programmers, but they rely on their technology to act while they deliberate. They will be easier targets for the Asferja than the Klix.”

“How the hell did they rise far enough to join the Bond of Resistance?”

“I believe this galaxy does not hold the myriad of threats that some others do. It is something of a tame galaxy, and no one dares challenge the Hadarak. They hide in their shadow, and knowing that Essence abilities will trigger them, those in their race with the ability reside in the Temples. There is a great deal of cowardice here, and through economic relations it has spread to the less well developed races.”

“To whom the automated programming of the Wieanios military appears to be unbeatable.”

“I would imagine so. You can consider their rise that of trade relations rather than conquest.”

“And the Klix?”

“They are very private, keeping to their own worlds and expanding into uninhabited ones, but they are a uni-race civilization. They want few interactions with others, but when attacked they have a formidable group response. No infighting or bickering. They fight as one, or die as one. Right now they are dying as one, but the Asferja have not gotten to their more dense systems. We need to strike as soon as possible to pull forces away from them. How soon will you be ready?”

“A few more days. I have to test and calibrate this Astromech. Once it’s good to go, I need to practice with the Vargemma to see who is capable and who is not.”

“Do you wish to do that here, elsewhere, or in a Temple?”

“I’d say in the Temple, knowing you can override the safeties on the Olopar, but if they misfire once they could kill billions. So I want to practice out here, but not in this system. We can meet them in a Temple then travel to an empty system for some practice.”

“The Klix want to come with us.”

“If it’s alright with you, let them have an observer on this ship, but I don’t want their vessels tagging along and getting in the way. They can’t follow us if we make Essence jumps anyway.”

“As I told them. They have some unique biological needs, and I’d prefer if we did not have to rebuild a section of the ship to support them.”

“Then tell them no while promising to provide holos of the assaults after the fact.”

“Can I get us underway or do your Paladin need more time?” Vikarathe asked, having been sitting in orbit over the planet for months.

“Give me one more day so these guys can finish.”

The Neofan glanced at the small Paladin. “They’re staying here?”

“Yes. They’re Arbiters…which means they’re not freshly grown and have a wealth of experience on top of their genetic memory. Thrawn will need them here.”

“Does he have enough defenses?” he asked, referencing the two dozen recently made defense satellites that were basically immobile drones that were now hovering over the colony on gravity drives only strong enough to move around orbit and not across the system.

“We brought a Materia with us. It’s already installed as an anti-orbital weapon on the surface, so I’m not worried about them. Any of the stupid locals will get swatted down if they try anything. And every month that goes by they’ll get more weapons built. I think it’s safe to go now.”

“Their rate of growth is impressive, but by my calculations it will not be enough to make a difference in the near future.”

“Depends what you mean by ‘near future,’ but I will say, they have to build certain prerequisites before they can really start spamming. They’re not there yet.”

“What is ‘spamming’ in this context?”

“Overwhelming a target with a continuous flow of usually identical units.”

“I thought your empire didn’t use such methods.”

“I didn’t say a continuous flow of deaths.”

“Machines then?”

“Or ordinance. What we’re going to do with the Olopar can be considered ‘spamming’ as well.”

“I see. How much Essence is required for this Astromech bonding technique?”

“We call it the Borg ability.”

“The same name as the vessels that contain the Astromechs?”

“Yes, and it doesn’t take much. Just enough to loosen up the hold of my Core on my body.”

“Then you have no excuse for not sparring with me?”

Paul grinned. “I’ll take whatever training I can get with you.”

“Then meet me in the Carnichor when you are finished here,” Vikarathe said, referencing a recreational area in the ship that had an ample amount of room, similar to a gymnasium.

“I’ll be there in about 15 minutes…”

Thrawn watched two days later as the stealth satellite in low stellar orbit that he’d placed there 12 days ago monitored Paul’s Neofan Gjardan make it’s interstellar jump off one of the binary pair of stars in this system, headed off to rendezvous with the assembling Vargemma fleet.

That meant he was on his own now, and essentially would be from here on out despite the help from Kara and a few other Archons permanently assigned to this galaxy. They were all in the Gjardan to assist Paul in the coming engagements with the Asferja while Thrawn and the Paladin were left here to continue building.

Thrawn had taken the few months of travel with Paul to his advantage, and the pair had hammered out what the plans for this galaxy would be…but the truth was, most of it would be improvising as the Star Force Empire was fighting off numerous intergalactic invasions in the coming centuries.

He didn’t have enough data on the opponents to be able to calculate survival odds, but he knew Star Force would not go down quickly. They’d built up an enormous amount of infrastructure across the Rim of the galaxy, and more recently some in the Core, though most of that territory was empty systems cleansed of the Hadarak, or those still occupied by them or their Heidoor neighbors in the Deep Core.

The areas where Star Force had fully developed worlds, they had immense defensive capability. Many races relied on starfleets for their defense, but Star Force was not that naïve. They had invested in a large amount of fixed and semi-fixed emplacements, including their very old Sentinel system that had been expanded gradually over time.

Thrawn had none here, and wouldn’t in the near term. The Sentinels were large defense stations that could move around a little bit, but they were designed to hold a position and create a kill zone around it that dared anyone to come into it. They were fully automated, no crews inside and no need for living space, leaving more for additional weapons, armor, power generators, etc. They were built to be technological monsters, usually between 25 and 50 miles long, shaped as cylinders or elongated crystals, and were either a reassuring presence in orbit or a death sentence for anyone daring to attack them. They had long range weaponry, as well as an enormous amount of close in armament.

Which meant a swarm race like the Asferja would get obliterated each time they tried to take one down.

And there were Sentinels all over the Empire, with the more advanced star systems having hundreds of them, if not tens of thousands. It all depended on how old the system was and how much in the way of resources they put into building them…which was up to the Monarchs who oversaw logistics while the Archons oversaw military operations.

Within the Paladin the Viceroys did both, but unlike the Archons they rarely fought. They were meant to stay hidden and lead others, which was the exact opposite of Star Force philosophy, but the Paladin had not been created by Star Force. Their Faction had been annexed from a race called the Li’vorkrachnika. Thrawn was one of the few that remained that had been one of them, and when Star Force defeated the ‘lizards,’ as was the insult name the Empire had given their enemy, they had been reorganized, and had their genetic memory altered away from the darkside techniques the Li’vorkrachnika used and instead redesigned them for honorable tactics.

But Thrawn remembered. He knew what they once were, and he had not been conquered. He had been captured and released, with Paul daring him to see the truth in the power of the lightside. As was his commands via his genetic memory, when he had been captured he had attempted to kill himself, but Paul had his claws removed so he was forced to live long enough to think things through.

Once released, he had decided to choose to live rather than find another way to kill himself, and he had eventually realized how his race was a story of abuse by their rulers. One thing the Li’vorkrachnika had done extremely well was hide. Their rulers were known as the Templar, and they were almost never seen. The Masterminds, as Thrawn had been, controlled everything, and even they were rarely seen. The Templars were a society within a civilization, and Thrawn and the rest were merely their tools. It had taken a long time, but the Templars had eventually been found…but there was no way to know if they had found them all, for more were just grown to replace them.

As it was, there very well could be pockets of the original Li’vorkrachnika still in Milky Way trying to hide and rebuild. It was their strength. Kill almost all of them, and they’d regrow and come back to destroy you later. And that strength had not been lost when some of them had been captured and converted…largely due to Thrawn’s help…and new Paladin had been born from their template.

Now they were blue, to signify that they were of Star Force. Originally they had been green, and save for some operations where they needed the camouflage, the green was a thing of the past, but Thrawn had kept some patches on his body his original color to remind him of his dual history.

And that history was one of efficiency, effectiveness, and the continual pursuit of victory. He was born to be smarter than everyone else, but fortunately he had met someone smarter, and he had not forgotten the debt he owed to Paul and Star Force, for not only saving his life, but showing him the pathway to even greater power.

The Li’vorkrachnika believed in sacrifice as a means to achieve victory, and it had taken Thrawn a long time to see past it, for it was effective in the short term, but in the extreme long term it was a liability. And now Thrawn could even understand the dishonor in it, for it was an inferior tactic and a betrayal of the trust that was needed to hold a non-swarm civilization together.

But the Li’vorkrachnika were a swarm civilization, so they had maintained unity by their genetic memories…and their executing anyone who deviated from them, which were few. It had been very hard to learn to think outside their genetic instructions for the Li’vorkrachnika who had been rescued and converted, but Thrawn had been designed to think outside that box. He had to be, otherwise he would never have the skills of a Mastermind, and that’s what the Templars needed him to be.

That had been the crack in their well-oiled civilization that Paul had used to get through to him, and now, in retrospect, knowing far more about his own Templars from the outside than he had been allowed to know from within, he viewed them as inferior. Despite all the successes, they had betrayed the number one priority of seeking the most power possible.

But in truth, he didn’t think they saw anything more, and that made them inferior when they were supposed to be superior. He had relied on them being superior just as he relied on his pilots to know how to fly and his scientists to understand technology. Everyone in the Li’vorkrachnika had served a purpose, and the purpose of the Templars was to be superior to everyone else and guide the overarching direction of their race.

That promise had been a lie, but Thrawn had found it true elsewhere. The Archons are what the Templars were supposed to be, except they didn’t hide. They split their duties with the Monarchs, and the Monarchs hid and kept themselves safe in order to carry out their duties. But even they didn’t hide to the extent the Templars did, nor as the Masterminds would.

The Paladin Viceroys were the equivalent of the Masterminds, and had the same duties…except the Paladin had Archons to lead them instead of the elusive Templars. And while Thrawn was the Supreme Viceroy, in truth he was both Viceroy and Mastermind, for he had not gotten the Paladin genetic memories. He was the source for most of them, copying snippets of what he’d learned and converting it into packets that a new born Paladin could make use of.

So as Thrawn sat in his lair, hidden within the infrastructure on the planet so no enemy could pinpoint target his location, with his tail sticking out the back of his chair that had a simple bar up the right side connecting to the back rest. He couldn’t sit in a Human chair, nor could many races within the Empire, and such things had to be designed for their individual biology. All Paladin had tails, but his 3rd tier Triad body had the largest one, and even now it was tapping on the floor as he studied star charts of the galaxy and what war updates the Klix and Wieanios had brought with them.

He looked at the brand new galaxy as both Paladin and Li’vorkrachnika. One saw people to be rescued, the other saw enemies to be eliminated and their worlds claimed. The Asferja were operating like the Li’vorkrachnika had, but they were primarily going for worlds with technology already on it rather than resource-rich unclaimed worlds.

That was a new wrinkle, and while the Paladin had good recycling capability, apparently the Asferja had methods far superior, so they were harvesting the local races, not for their biomass as other races did, but for their technology, and to get it they were killing everyone who owned it or simply got in the way.

He knew he couldn’t outscale such a growth rate, even with an even start. His tech tree wasn’t based off recycling, and while he could adapt it over time, the Asferja had obviously perfected it long before he was born. While he wanted to reduce that liability and absorb some of that recycling technology…which he’d already made a standing order should his forces ever come across it…he wasn’t going to beat the Asferja playing their own game. As a Li’vorkrachnika that wouldn’t have been the end of it. He would have expanded in areas uncontested, built defenses, and stretched out the conflict looking for new advantages to potentially swing the metrics. He knew better than to quit, for that meant automatic failure, but he didn’t like the predictive conclusions he was mentally sifting through with Li’vorkrachnika methods.

Paladin methods were similar but distinctly varied in a few key areas. They still used swarm tactics, but with machines rather than troops in combat situations. For the workforce they still used people, for a person was far smarter than a machine ever could be when thrust into new situations. Combining the two created maximum efficiency, and as soon as he got the planned fields of bioharvest facilities up and running the Paladin population here would explode and subsequently see more areas of the tech tree realized…including full shipyards.

The Asferja were good. Very good. But they did have cracks. No Essence use was a big disadvantage, but against the Paladin who didn’t utilize it that meant they were effectively even. That meant ship against ship utilizing standard weaponry, though the Asferja seemed to have better ones with regard to medium range combat, but the Paladin had better long range capability.

But the biggest factor here in Thrawn’s advantage was that the Asferja were sending the majority of their troops out of this galaxy. They weren’t planning on fighting a war here, other than to mow down the local races to harvest their technology. For that reason alone Thrawn knew he could beat them, but it was going to be a very long, difficult conflict and he could afford no mistakes. This was a civilization far older than any he had encountered before, save for perhaps the Neofan, and there was going to be a lot more to them than Star Force had figured out in a few years of battle…especially on their logistics side, which was not even present in Milky Way as of yet.

But Thrawn didn’t have the singular mission of defeating the Asferja. Paul had tasked him with something far greater. Dominion of this galaxy for Star Force, and then go even beyond that. There were threats larger than the Asferja out there, some of which would not be coming for Star Force in this war, but Paul wasn’t ignoring them. Andromeda had to become a foundation for the future, and in that future wars wouldn’t be won by sending in a seed ship and growing an empire slowly. They would be won by holding back forces intent on annihilating everyone and everything in short order.

That’s why the Paladin had to turn this galaxy into one gigantic battle fort that could withstand the surge and provide a safe haven for others in different galaxies to retreat to, or base out of. Milky Way could not be the only fortress galaxy. The Empire needed another, and one structured differently. He needed it to be a swarm galaxy, so that even if an enemy chewed away a chunk of it, that chunk would regrow in short order. Something that the Milky Way could not do, but something that Thrawn knew how to do once his Paladin reached the quadrillions in number.

Warfare at that level was completely different than what he was attempting now, but both he and Paul knew how to fight both ways, and the planning in this galaxy had to keep both in mind.

So Thrawn wasn’t just to fight a war, he was to restructure this galaxy as he did it, which was something only someone of his intellect could even attempt, and it would mean constant thought, planning, adaptation…and no personal fighting.

That was the advantage he had over the Archons. They always had to personally be involved in the fighting. And Thrawn envied their ability to do just that, but he knew he was too important to risk, and so did Paul.

That’s why Thrawn was the only person in the Empire uniquely suited for this task.

The Archons would fight the Asferja and damage them greatly, while Thrawn would quietly contribute to that fight while working on other far more important related missions. Everything was connected, and he doubted anyone saw that. They would be so consumed with pursuing three or four objectives that they’d ignore obvious others. A galaxy was so damn big you couldn’t track everything, but Thrawn could track more than others…and he had a great deal of experience doing so, which elevated his processing power and information gathering tactics to another level entirely.

Soon, he would be sending the Viceroys he had brought with him out into the galaxy on their own missions…as soon as his infrastructure here could function without the two seed ships. They would take them and disappear into the mass of stars, then plant them anonymously elsewhere and begin building bases that the Neofan, Klix, and Wieanios had no idea existed. They would not be for battling the Asferja, but for making sure the Paladin could not be removed from this galaxy even if the primary base here was discovered and destroyed.

He would not speak to them again in person for thousands of years, and the only communication would be orders and reports passed back and forth. Viceroys were designed to operate as the lone spider inside the web, not as a team. That’s why only a few were born when needed. They were an extremely elite form of the Paladin race, and with that came an immense responsibility that Thrawn, long ago, had come to deal with as easily as breathing.

It was who he was, and the more responsibility he had the better. Now that he had an entire galaxy separate from Star Force to work his magic on, he felt energized as he never had before.

This is literally what he was born for, but on a level the Templars could only have imagined. He had outgrown them and the Li’vorkrachnika. He was Paladin now, and while they had always supported the Empire before, now they would support it by defending their flank with their own Empire. One that he had to build starting with only two seed ships.

Andromeda had no idea what was coming. And for those less advanced races that would be saved in the future from the Asferja and others…that was a very good thing. If they knew they would probably resist, but as it was, Thrawn was going to conquer the galaxy the sneaky way, and most would not even know it was happening until they arrived on their doorstep.

And a significant piece of that puzzle was going to be diplomacy. He wasn’t going to walk up and take over systems by force…not all of them, anyway. He was going assimilate them the same way the Archons had done in Milky Way, with his own twist. He’d learned from his former enemy a great deal, and it had made him an even more powerful Mastermind prior to joining Star Force.

And since then, learning from them directly, he had become even more knowledgeable.

But Thrawn never assumed he knew everything, which was why he had just given orders for scout ships to be the first interstellar-capable ships to be constructed on the limited shipyards he had producing satellites. He needed eyes out there rather than relying on information gathered by others that might be incomplete or have changed since the time gathered.

He was the spider in the web, and he needed to create an information-gathering web before he made any firm plans about how to go about conquering this galaxy. And each scout ship produced would give him another strand in that web.

The difference between the Li’vorkrachnika and the Paladin was that when this spider caught and bit into you, the bite didn’t kill you. It assimilated and upgraded you, saving his ‘victims’ rather than consuming them.

And when dealing with the stubborn, you had no choice but to treat them that way, for they would fight any effort to save them. And Thrawn would not be denied his mission goals by people who stupidly argued for their own deaths. He’d save them whether they wanted him to or not.

And that was the key piece of information regarding Star Force’s methods that other civilizations had not deduced. They were ruthless, as the Li’vorkrachnika had been. But they were ruthless in their pursuit of the protection of life, whereas others were ruthless in the destruction of it.

No apologies given, no permission asked. The Empire asserted it’s dominion by saving people who didn’t want to be saved.

And he was the perfect example of that.

A dead Mastermind was of no use to the Empire. But a living one, saved and shown the true power of the lightside…that was an asset that the Li’vorkrachnika could never have created, nor could any other race that was ruthless in killing its enemies.

Star Force turned as many of them as it could into allies, destroying the threat while saving the person…which was far harder than killing them both at the same time.

No mercy against the darkside. That’s what had convinced Thrawn of the power of the lightside, and he was going to have to employ every bit of that newfound power if he was going to do the impossible in Andromeda. That’s what Paul had asked him to do. The impossible.

Fortunately, he and Paul were both experienced in doing the impossible, and anything less would have been a challenge unworthy of their skills.

This is what they were both meant to do, each in their own way, and that kinship was yet another bond that pulled the Empire closer together. He had been born to serve the Templars, but he was proud to serve the Archons. And he found that pride to be far more binding than genetic memories could ever hope to achieve.

Star Force’s methods were superior, and he was going to prove it to this galaxy and everyone in the intergalactic community that was watching, which he assumed would be many. Scouts from everywhere would be sent here to watch, learn, and decide who to back, who to avoid, and who to negotiate with. Power vacuums and power shifts always resulted in this, no matter what the tech level of the civilization involved.

And the message Thrawn was going to send them was simple.

Star Force was not a single galaxy Empire. And what was going to happen to Andromeda was going to happen to them eventually, for they weren’t going to stop here. In order to survive the T’fen and their servants, and to free those thousands of galaxies that they held under their thumb, Star Force had to annex them all in order to protect them.

Star Force had not joined the Bond of Resistance when given the chance, and soon everyone would realize that Star Force intended to replace the Bond of Resistance and do what they had never had the guts to do, which was pick a fight with the Hadarak in the Galactic Cores and fully free the galaxies.

But no one was going to figure that out anytime soon. Thrawn was the master sneak of all sneaks, and this was going to be a sneak operation for a long time coming. By the time people figured out what was happening, they’d no longer be in position to stop it.

So let them get distracted by the Asferja and the hammering Milky Way was going to take. It wouldn’t break, and give Thrawn long enough here, and it would become a two galaxy Empire for the enemy to take down. And if they ignored this one, he’d reinforce Milky Way the same way the Asferja were.

And if they sent a race or two to take down the Paladin here, that was fine with Thrawn, for he’d be pulling them away from Milky Way. Either way it went down, Star Force would have the advantage.

But he also had the feeling the T’fen were too arrogant, and if they let him operate here with impunity, they would regret it far into the future.

He was going to make sure of that…assuming Paul’s Deebees came up with the anti-hacking drone technology. Without that, he’d have to switch back to manned warships with analog controls. The Paladin would do it in order to protect the Empire, so they wouldn’t be rendered useless, but Paul’s secret weapon needed to pan out before the T’fen got involved personally as they had previously done when they had destroyed the Progarren.

Nothing was certain, and nothing would be. That was the way of war…that was the way of life. And it was in that uncertainty that people like Thrawn thrived.

And the more he thrived, the better off everyone living in his galaxy would be…whether they liked it or not.

9

EG26

June 13, 158435

ANDROMEDA GALAXY

System 337188

Low stellar orbit

5 weeks later…

Hashnar Degra Mukanna was sitting in the smooth, form-adjusting seat on the left side of the command center of an Olopar. He had never expected to be in this position, for it was an honor he had previously not been worthy of. The mighty Olopar were reserved for the most elite of the Founders’ servants to exercise their will beyond the Temple that he had lived in his entire life.

His race was the Parken, and within the pecking system inside the Temple they were mid-level. No one fought one another in wars, for the Caretakers would intervene and terminate those who killed another Vargemma, but the various races who lived inside the artificial world competed against each other in various non-lethal ways, and the rivalry between some was so intense they would have been killing each other if not for the watchful monitoring of the Temple’s automated guards.

Hashnar never would have been allowed onboard an Olopar due to his race’s status, but when the Founders suddenly arrived…something that had never happened before in the recorded history of the Temple…everything changed. They needed an army to fight, as had been prophesized long ago, but this fight was not against the Hadarak. Not yet. The Hadarak had allies…that had never been told to them…and one of those allies was invading the Rim of this galaxy while the Hadarak perpetually controlled the center and had let these ‘Asferja’ through the great gateways there while preventing others from entering this galaxy.

Worse yet, the Asferja were setting up colonies in the Rim where they destroyed the local races. Hashnar wasn’t too concerned about them, for they were not Vargemma and not the Founders, but apparently two of these races were allies of the Founders and had relations with other Temples. That still blew his mind, for he had not even known there were other Temples known to the Vargemma. It seemed the higher ranking races had kept information from the lower ones, and they had actually met these Klix and Wieanios in other Temples, for an elite few Vargemma traveled between them and dealt with other Vargemma of other races in other Temples.

So much has changed for him since the Founders arrived and explained these things…including giving their names. Veloqueen, Neofan, and Denogi. The ones who had come were Neofan, and their call to war needed so many Vargemma that the ranking races could not provide enough of sufficient skill, and the Founders did not care about the internal politics here. They only cared about who would be the most useful servants, so Hashnar’s training scores on virtual Olopar that he’d never had the honor of actually setting foot in had earned him a commission onboard this one, which was now beyond the Temple in the vast ocean of stars, making him one of the rare few Vargemma ever to leave.

It felt strange, seeing these pinpricks of stars when his normal view of the sky, day or night, was always the view of land and water stretching around in all directions. ‘Space’ had always been the vacuum in the center, but the ‘space’ out here felt so empty and infinite. It looked like it stretched on forever, and he was told that wasn’t an illusion, for it went so far no one had been able to map it all.

Even the construction of the Olopar felt alien. The rock-like infrastructure built by the Founders on the surface of the Temple differed here, where everything felt like it was molded from a pale white gel into whatever shape was needed. Some were solid, others soft, but there wasn’t a sharp line or corner anywhere in the ship, giving it an artificial and biological feel simultaneously.

His awe had not gone away, but he had no time to sit and observe. His station controlled the engines of the mighty vessel while three other similar ones were spread around the command center, with the Captain’s station sitting in the middle of the circular room. The other three were weapons, shields, and communications, while the Captain could control all 4 if he wanted, for his position was redundant. The crew of five here was matched with 10 others elsewhere in the ship, who would take turns in the command center to see that it was never unmanned and they all had time to rest and rejuvenate.

Beyond the 15 there was no crew. All ship’s functions were carried out automatically, and repairs were made by special Caretakers designed specifically for the ship…and he had heard already from other vessels that fighting crews had been dealt with by those Caretakers, despite the fact that he could not see any weapons on them.

For whatever reason, the Founders had decreed the ships would be split up based on skills rather than races, so the crews were often mixed, and that led to trouble in most cases. It had not come to blows here, but the Captain was of the primary race in his Temple, the Vozno, and they were despised by many. Hashnar was here to do his duty, but the Vozno Captain did not like him being here, nor the others, and he had not made a secret of it.

Hashnar, when in the command center, had the most to do of any of them, for the Founders’ appointed fleet commander…who was not Vargemma…had been running the Olopar through numerous navigational drills and simulated firing runs. He had ordered no actual weapons be used, for he did not want to waste the Essence stored within the ships’ wells, and all attacks had to be generated by the linked computer systems in the fleet…all of which were tied into the massive decorative orb that was the ship of the Neofan.

It stood in the center of tens of thousands of Olopar, with more arriving from other Temples daily, and Hashnar was having to work very hard navigating so as not to collide with any of them. All he had to do was follow orders given by the Founder vessel, but if one of the Olopar did not then they could be destroyed, and that possibility had left him sweating non-stop in the palms of his four hands.

He had seen other collisions, all of them slow moving so they only bounced off each other’s shields, but some of the maneuvering being done today was much faster and Hashnar felt it was only a matter of time before someone died…and they were not even in battle yet!

But what had Hashnar now sweating down his furry back was the fact he had just disobeyed a navigational order of the Founder’s Fleet Commander…because his Captain had ordered him to, and now the entire fleet had come to a dead stop as that commander appeared in hologram on the command center and was arguing with the Captain.

“We achieved our ultimate destination,” the Vozno said firmly, but politely. “And did so more efficiently. I do not see the problem.”

“Each of the waypoints you missed,” Paul said in the common language of the Vargemma, “was a mission objective. You skipped them all except the last one.”

“You did not instruct us to do anything at them, only pass through them.”

“Exactly.”

“I see no purpose in it.”

“I don’t expect rookies to understand everything I tell them to do. I have lived and fought through wars far greater than you can imagine, and there is no way for me to train you to my level of understanding before we engage the Asferja. So the only way I’m going to keep you alive, is if you trust in my orders and follow them exactly as I give them.”

“Are we not to command our own ships?”

“No, you’re not. Unless I tell you to. I’m going to be commanding the entire fleet.”

“How is that possible? You cannot communicate with all our ships simultaneously. Not with individual orders.”

“I can, just as I am doing so now. I’m just doing it painfully slow while you guys learn. In battle the orders will come much faster, and your only task is carrying them out as fast as possible. You cannot skip over the ones you don’t understand.”

“But that’s the role of a Captain! We are meant to be independent.”

“Not in my fleet. Not if you want to live. Deviate in the wrong direction and your ship collides with another. I have no time for people who wish to reinterpret my orders. All of your lives are my responsibility, and I intend that all of you are going to survive the coming assaults.”

“That’s impossible if we are to engage in all-out war. There are always sacrifices that must be made, even amongst those of us who are long lived. Each of us is prepared to die to serve the Founders.”

“But you’re not prepared to follow my orders? That seems far simpler than dying.”

“I will serve the Founders as you do. And if I find an order to be counterproductive or inefficient, it is my duty to amend it to further their objectives.”

“Thank you for making that clear,” the Fleet Commander said, with his image disappearing for a moment. Long enough for the Vozno to grin its hideously long teeth on its arachnid head before a second hologram followed showing one of the Founders.

The Vozno half fell out of his seat in an overly deep bow. “My Lord.”

“The orders of my Fleet Commander are not to be disobeyed,” Vikarathe said, his image full size and looming so tall it barely fit in the command center.

“I meant no disrespect to you. I only wish to serve you to the fullest this ship can.”

“You will serve me by returning to training. You are no longer Captain of this Olopar. Your second will take your place, and you will remain onboard until transport can be arranged to take you back to the Temple. You will have a chance to redeem yourself there and join in future attack fleets that are presently under construction. But if you interfere with the operations of the ship you are on, or in any other way displease me, your second chance will be forfeit and you will never set foot beyond the Temples again.”

The Vozno didn’t seem to know how to respond, and after several half words that didn’t fully come out, he simply bowed again.

“Make the transfer immediately. My Fleet Commander has need of your ship in more fleet movements.”

“Yes, My Lord,” he said as the Founder’s image disappeared and he was left staring at the floor. No one else said a word. They barely breathed, both at seeing the Founder and the rebuke he had issued. The question was, would the Vozno take the second chance that had been graciously offered, or would he do something stupid.

He stared at the floor a long time, then finally turned and walked toward one of the walls with a hidden door seeming to melt into view just prior to him colliding with it. A more well lit corridor outside was revealed and he disappeared into it.

Hashnar stood up, knowing he was second on this ship, but not being ordered by the Captain…the former Captain…was both an insult and a protocol break. But the Founder had been urgent in his order.

“Find Juyni,” he said, referring to one of the other Vargemma that was on ‘second crew’ rotation as he stepped towards the Captain’s seat and brought up the navigational controls there. He wasn’t going to wait for a replacement navigator. Not when the Founder had said for them to move with the fleet immediately.

“Inform the Fleet Commander we are ready to proceed,” Hashnar told the comm officer, who quickly relayed the information.

Within a few seconds new navigation orders came through, and Hashnar had to implement them quickly, for their timestamp indicated that they were supposed to start moving some 22 seconds later, and if they didn’t, another ship might actually run over them from behind as hundreds of them were tasked with moving in the same direction.

He knew that, because the navigational orders also came with the orders and tracts for the other ships as well, so that if they were going to come near each other the helmsmen wouldn’t veer out of the way on instinct. No matter how close the lines came together, as long as they didn’t touch, they were supposed to hold to them. Those were the standing orders of this Fleet Commander.

The Olopar lurched forward, using gravity drives only in the glowing shadow of a large white star that gave them an enormous gravity well to push off of…as well as a trio of gas giants further out that gave them decent lateral movement options without having to overwork the engines to get responsive movements. Had it only been the single star, aggressive movement would have been limited to out and backs, with lateral maneuvers almost non-existent.

And the Fleet Commander had them dancing all over, crisscrossing and making such hard turns that sometimes it pushed the Olopar to within 80% of maximum tolerances. In theory it wasn’t anything too difficult for a single ship to handle, but with hundreds and thousands of ships in the nearby area, the risk of mistake was so high everyone was on edge.

And there weren’t even any enemy ships here to worry about running into…

“Fuck, this is hard,” Kara said, taking a knee inside the sculpting chamber deep within the Gjardan. Her arms were shaking from the effort, though she hadn’t physically lifted anything. The place she was in had a single door behind her, sealed, and it was more than a meter thick. Outside it were guards to make sure no one interrupted her, for when she was enhancing the Essence flows within the ship she was very distracted and very vulnerable. The chamber had been designed to protect her and allow her or any other sculptor to mentally completely detach from their surroundings to maximize their effectiveness.

The Jinx blew out a long breath and smoothly stood up, looking at the different tunnels heading off from her platform. They didn’t go very far and all dead ended, but within each were special equipment that she had to connect to and pull from for different systems. There were five around her at deck level, with the doorway making the sixth on what would have been a hexagon. Above her were three more in a triangle, and within that triangle was a final one directly over her head.

Below the platform to her left and right were two more on each side, with her standing more or less in the center of a giant empty ball that was more or less a reactor core for Essence energy to pass through and be ‘sculpted,’ for the energy in the ship’s well was simply donated Essence and had no special weaponized form. The various equipment in the ship could change it into certain forms, but only a wielder here could enhance the power level and make special adjustments to it, allowing the Gjardan to become more powerful than the equipment it contained based on the skill and personal Essence power of the sculptor.

Star Force vessels contained something much smaller for similar purposes, but those were merely enhancing the weapon discharge of a single device on some of the special ships. What the Neofan had here demonstrated their dominance in the realm of Essence, both in weaponry and knowledge. Jasmyn had told her about this and the difficulty in using it, but she hadn’t fully believed her fellow Jinx, who was far less powerful than Kara was. Turned out through, she was right, and this sculptor system was damn hard to learn, let alone use.

“You’re progressing well,” Fenseb said, standing behind her on the catwalk near the door and out of the way of any Essence flows. Normally no one would be in here with her, but he had been her teacher since arriving onboard the Gjardan, and she was nowhere near to utilizing the power required to imperil his life by standing where he was.

Which made his presence all the more annoying, however necessary.

“Be honest,” she said, with them conversing in the Star Force language. Something that all the surviving Neofan tended to do out of respect for their alliance with the Empire. And not just that, but using their language demonstrated that they no longer considered themselves dominant, acknowledging that they would only survive in concert with Star Force, but Kara knew their language well enough. She had to in order to read the interfaces on the ship, including the very long instruction manual on how to do what she was doing now during her breaks in training, which had to occur every few hours or her body just wouldn’t stand up to the strain of that much Essence manipulation.

Which, for a Jinx, was even more insulting.

“I was being honest.”

“I’m sucking at this,” Kara said, turning around to look at him and letting go of the connections she had with the shield matrix. When she did, several solid pipe-like objects slide back into the walls over the next few seconds in one of the tunnels.

“You have far less skill than me, but you can already achieve more with it in several applications. Do not underestimate the value in this.”

“I should be better at this after months of training.”

“Why do you believe that?”

“I…” Kara said, not really having a ready answer. “Well, you tell me. How do the other Nuv’ernors progress,” she asked, using their word for what Star Force called a ‘Jinx.’ Apparently they didn’t care for that term and always used their own. And by the way he used it, it suggested a level of awe and respect that ‘Jinx’ never did. They were important in their society, and she hadn’t realized how much so until she’d come onboard this ship. And even now she sensed there was more to it than she presently understood.

“Much slower. You are trying to learn things in a year that others take hundreds to gain the fundamentals of. Though, I will admit, having a free mind such as yours should speed up the process somewhat, but I am not disappointed with your progress. I am rather pleased by it. The more subtle manipulations you will not master in time for the coming battles. Focus on the applications that you can achieve great results in using your own superior Essence flow.”

“It’s wearing me out more than it should,” Kara said, crossing her arms and leaning slightly more on her left leg as she tilted to the side a smidge. “I thought it was just me at first, but the machinery is doing something else, isn’t it?”

“You are utilizing the Essence from races unfamiliar to you. Even mixed together they have a different texture to them.”

Kara blinked. “Even unrefined Essence?”

“Each person’s body refines it slightly without trying to, and the more varied the race the more varied the micro-refinement. The races in your Temples are different than the ones here. It should be a minor hindrance only, but it will have an effect.”

“Ah,” Kara said sheepishly, seeing the problem. “We don’t use the Vargemma Essence in our ships. Well, not usually.”

“Does your own population contain more Essence users?” Fenseb asked skeptically.

“One race does. We charge our fleet wells using Uriti Essence.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kara. I should have known better. The uniformity of a single race will allow you to become more efficient with that Essence, but it will also make you more uncomfortable with others. Especially a mix.”

“Mostly I just use my own, but the few sculpting duties I’ve tried have been with Uriti charges.”

“We envy you that ability. Had we been able to capture Hadarak and force them into donations we would have done so long ago.”

“The Uriti are not forced. They volunteered to help in this way rather than fighting the Hadarak directly. They don’t like killing their cousins.”

“We never thought such volunteering would be as effective as enslaving. I am still surprised your methods have worked, but I cannot argue with the results. It will take you more time to adjust to the Vargemma Essence, and each draw you take will not be uniform. That is most likely the source of your exhaustion. Your flow is not stable, as you are accustomed to. You have to make minor alterations constantly. It is a skill we all learned long ago utilizing the Vargemma Essence.”

“Even in your original galaxy?”

“We had Temples there as well, but they were made up of our servants who were Essence capable, though in truth I believe we had to import many, for those that were native to Utovi were destroyed by wars with us early in our history.”

“You guys tend to dominate by destroying competition rather than by attaining greater skill.”

“It appears we ultimately failed at both.”

“Not the skill part. You’re still way better at this than me.”

“Essence skills are a unique type of power, but insufficient on their own. You always run out of it if you choose to rely on it for everything you do…except for you.”

“Yeah, nice little cheat I’ve got.”

Fenseb’s prominences flexed behind his bare torso, for like most Neofan he wore only pants that were likewise armor and some type of crown upon his head, though those varied greatly between Neofan. “You do not respect your own power?”

“I don’t know how I got it,” Kara argued. “Did I earn it, or is it just a mistake of the universe?”

“A mistake?”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“We believe those that are Nuv’ernor are chosen, much like the preborn, for reasons we do not know. Nuv’ernor are far rarer, therefore more valuable and important. We have never considered it to be a mistake. Far from it, little one.”

“Why is it that I’m ‘little one’ every time I say something stupid?”

“It’s more respectful.”

“Than saying dumb blonde?”

“You are not blonde.”

“No, but I feel like it sometimes,” Kara said, shifting her arms to put her hands on her hips. “What do you think I’m closest to achieving in the time we have left that would be useful in battle?”

“If we are to assault the Asferja, then we will be attacking, not defending. Focus on the weapons.”

“Can you be more specific than that?”

“The ones that require manipulation rather than alteration.”

“The Stir’ni’tor?”

“That is not the easiest, but it probably will be the most useful if the Asferja Thread generator is the target from afar. If you wish to help defeat their ships, I would recommend Jun’vin’bin, but only you can truly sense where your skill currently lies and what pathways offer more resistance to improvement.”

“Ok, I’ll work on both…different days. Help me with Jun’vin’bin.”

Fenseb walked forward and took her place inside the artful script that designated the boundaries of the center of the chamber. Kara stepped backwards to clear it as the Neofan reached out with his own Essence…which was quite ample after 710,000 years of training…and two rods appeared out of the walls, one in a tunnel to his left, and another to his upper right. A slow flow of Essence from the ship’s central well was emitted between them as special shields guided it from terminal to terminal, otherwise it would have flown out everywhere like a water hose.

Fenseb extended a conduit of his own Essence out to intersect the much more potent flow and wrapped it around it like a tentacle.

“Potency for the Jun’vin’bin is entirely based on compression, which you can accomplish the way you’ve been trying…with brute force compression,” he said, increasing his own Essence around the flow and thickening the ring there, which he then squeezed down, forcing the ship’s flow to compress into what looked like even brighter Essence to Kara’s vision, though her actual eyes saw nothing except the occasional flicker of the invisible shields.

“It feels slippery when I do it.”

“Do not try and grasp the flow. Own the chokepoint. It cannot go backwards in the conduit.”

“It can’t?”

“No, it cannot. The pressure from the central well is not the issue. The mechanism of the spout allows only a one-way flow. As more builds within the shield, it will force it through your constriction.”

“How much can the shield hold before breaking?”

“Infinite.”

“How can it be infinite?”

“Because the Essence within the conduit powers the shield. The more there, the more powerful the shield becomes. Hence it cannot break when it is powering its own containment.”

“How does it do that passively?” she asked. “I can do it with my own bioshields, but I have no idea how technology could.”

“It is nothing like energy shields that stop photonic radiation or physical momentum. It is a very rare and special technology developed by the ancient ones.”

“Your ancestors?”

“No. We did not create all our Essence techniques. Some we discovered from those that had come before us.”

“And others from your victims?”

Fenseb looked back at her while still controlling the device. “Hardly. We never fought anyone with superior Essence techniques. But those who built the intergalactic transport network also left remnants of other technology in key places. Places that we discovered and collected. They are no longer there to be found by others.”

“Greedy bastards,” Kara commented as Fenseb altered his hold on the Essence flow and making his constriction ring much wider rather than thicker, with Kara noticing how it affected the bottleneck by angling the channel within so that the entrance was wider than the exit and gradually forcing the constriction.

“You have done the same with V’kit’no’sat technology, or so I was told.”

Kara cringed. “Ok, you got me there. Were these Ancient ones wiped out by the T’fen’s servants?”

“We have no idea what happened to them. No historical records were ever discovered. It was like they left the artifacts for others and simply left.”

“Or perhaps they don’t live around here and it’s just an extension.”

“We have occupied the full extent of the network, which is why we’ve been adding to it on our own to increase the Bond of Resistance’s territory.”

“I thought there were more unknown areas?”

“There have been whispers and rumors of such things for as long as I can remember in the other races, but we thoroughly scouted out all spur lines and examined all databanks. There are no more connections nor records of there ever being any.”

“Maybe the builders made them for themselves to use and not for the public.”

The Neofan considered that. “Perhaps.”

“And this is just public knowledge for you guys? What if the Ruling House knew of more and just didn’t care to share like they did with other things?”

Fenseb let go of his Essence hold and the flow returned to a slightly less brilliant normal gold glow in his enhanced vision as he gestured for Kara to take it. “I cannot answer such things. The fact they withheld knowledge of the T’fen from us is one of a long list of disturbing revelations in recent times.”

“But you guys have to have some stratification of knowledge.”

“I am a sculptor. Within that discipline I am highly enough ranked to know all that we know. Other disciplines I cannot speak for. Do you know everything within your Empire?”

“Pretty much.”

“And how would you know if the other Archons or Monarchs kept secrets from you?”

“Oh, the Archons definitely do. The trailblazers anyway. But they share all the important ones. It’s the little stuff that might come in useful later that they tend to tuck away for personal experimentation on. If it’s something we need, we get it. But the lower ranks, they don’t know nearly as much. And the general population’s heads would pop if they knew half of what we know.”

“I assume you’re being metaphorical?”

“Mostly. But ours brains have a Sav enhancement, so we can process faster than the other Humans.”

“And what of the Furyans?”

“They’re an upgrade from me. Theoretically I could go Furyan, with some help. Maybe. But the only naturally occurring ones are the 100 trailblazers. They didn’t share with the other Archons the secret of the transformation due to issues.”

“May I ask what issues?”

“It wasn’t an easy adjustment, and they told me that there was a possibility of my losing my Essence siphon. I don’t know if that would happen, but it’s why I haven’t attempted the transformation, nor any genetic upgrades.”

“Your Saiyan ability?”

“Yeah, I don’t have it. I don’t want to risk losing this ‘mistake’ I’ve accidentally gained. Though a part of me still wonders if I’ll wake up one day and find it sealed for no apparent reason.”

“That has never happened with a Nuv’ernor.”

“Good to know, but I tend to be the first at things.”

“That’s why you don’t rely on it? You’re not certain it will be there.”

“I rely on it plenty, but that thought keeps nagging at me. I’d really like to know what happened to cause it.”

“Have you found any similarity with the others in your Empire?”

“No. None of us can pinpoint a cause or commonality. We’re all pretty different.”

“So I noticed,” he said as Kara was struggling with establishing her own constrictive ring. “Do not attempt brute force initially. Start small and build. The density of the ring is the key. Creating more weak ring will only get you so far, then it will crumble in stages under the pressure.”

“Noted,” Kara said, making the alteration and taking the granny steps she really hated. Diving in head first was more her style, as it was every Archon’s. “Were the extra artifacts from your ancients lost in Utovi?”

“I imagine the ones that were already fully understood were, for we have been able to replicate their technology in the Temples. But some still held mysteries or abilities we could not replicate.”

“The Zanderline?”

Fenseb blinked. “Of course, you did help recover it in a way. I did not expect you to know of it. However, it is not of the same ancients that built the intergalactic network. It was recovered from another, quite old race that we know something about.”

“I’m open for storytime while I struggle with this.”

“Struggle you are, but with each struggle comes knowledge that allows you to improve.”

“You’re telling that to an Archon, remember?” she said, subtly reminding him that they had more extensive training knowledge and appetite for it than anyone else.

“Yet you’re impatient here and it’s costing you efficiency.”

“It’s never my own Essence I’m working with. It’s always from the Essence realm and it might have time to slightly accommodate to me, but it never fully does.”

“I had not considered that. It feels more raw, I imagine?”

“Not raw. Sandy is the word I would use.”

“That is not helpful.”

“Like raindrops that have yet to hit a pool and merge into them. They feel like little sand particles to me, and when I drive them through me I get windburn. It’s better now that I’m acclimated to it, but I can only handle so much until I adapt for more, then I max out again and get better and better at it. But I don’t have the fine control that I do using my own Essence.”

“Why do you not let it acclimate then?”

“I’m always filling wells and Magicite,” she said, referring to little wells that were often crafted into jewelry that one could wear and then draw from in an emergency when their body got too low to draw from further. “And each time I pull it, the more I can pull later. I can’t justify not using it all the time in both regards.”

“So your control will never be as fine, and you have been making up for it with brute force.”

“Pretty much.”

“Then you must learn to sculpt it inside your body to match your own.”

“Do you have a technique for that?”

“No. You must create one to do it.”

Kara sighed. “At this point I’m so full of sand I don’t even know what my personal feel is anymore.”

“Then that is something you will have to work on later. You will not be able to achieve it in the coming years.”

“Then I’m back to brute force with a touch of finesse,” she said, adding two more tiny rings next to her current one.

“That will not work if you allow a gap between for it to widen again.”

“It is,” she argued.

Fenseb sent his own Essence tendril out beside hers on the downstream side so he could sample it, and oddly she was right.

“I do not know what you are doing, little one. Perhaps you have a unique perspective on Essence techniques that even we do not.”

“I was hoping for something like that. Each ring is constricting it in a different way. I felt a shift in the different attempts I made, and between the rings it doesn’t completely reset. I had to try different options, but this one suddenly clicked. I was hoping you could tell me why?”

“Continue, but make no alterations,” he said, with Kara suddenly sending his tendril over hers and gently making contact as if it was one hand brushing the back of another.

He flinched…then cringed, but held the contact long enough to make a discovery.

“I understand what you mean by sand,” he said, removing his contact from her Essence and the flow from the ship entirely.

“No, you don’t. That’s just a tiny sample. Did you figure out what I was doing?”

“The Zanderline,” he said, seemingly off topic, “assesses and makes alterations to one’s Essence field. One of the changes is akin to a fingerprint change. To do this to an individual can cause them extreme damage if the change is incompatible with their Core…or it can greatly enhance them by skipping over millennia of training to get into a desired form.”

“Wait, we can change our Essence aura?”

“Yes. None of you are old enough to have done so naturally, so I am not surprised you did not know of it.”

“It’s not in the Temple database.”

“Only what we want the Vargemma to know is in there. This is not something we want them attaining, or it would threaten our dominance over them. What you are doing with these rings is a faint echo of what the Zanderline does…or rather one of the functions it possesses.”

“So it’s a superman chamber?”

“I do not understand the term. Is it a reference to your historical lore?”

“Yeah. Superman was a Kryptonian, which basically meant he was so far advanced compared to Humans that he was virtually indestructible and undefeatable. He was an orphan whose entire planet had been destroyed, and he had been sent to Earth in a probe to save him. Crystal technology was sent with him that he used to create a Fortress of Solitude away from Humans where he could deal with stuff they couldn’t understand. Inside that Fortress was a chamber, in which he could transfer his power to another, or remove his power and become on the level of a Human. He stupidly used it to become ‘normal’ and fit in, finding it was a horrible mistake. Enemies learned of it and he was barely was able to outwit them and regain his powers.”

“Giving up one’s power is never wise,” Fenseb remarked, trying to make some sense of the story. “We never used the Zanderline to diminish someone, and I do not know if it was possible to do so, but the advancement part is somewhat accurate. Your Essence has to be sculpted into various forms starting with your base form. By altering your base form it makes artificial forms easier or harder compared to what your base form is.”

“I see,” Kara said.

“No, you don’t. Such forms do not match the individual, and the further away from your true state you get, the more difficult life is in a number of ways. You will be the most powerful when your true form is reached, and we have used the Zanderline in some cases to help individuals get closer to their true form.”

“How do you know what it is?”

“We don’t. We only can tell when the individual tells us if we are getting closer or further away, and it isn’t something you can repeat constantly. The forced alteration temporarily weakens you in ways we cannot track medically.”

“Can you see it in Essence?”

“A disturbance only. We cannot quantify it.”

“So you’re playing around with toys beyond your understanding?”

“Pretty much,” he said, repeating her word use.

“How many more of these advanced toys did you have?”

“We collected a great many over our history. How many remain in our possession, I have no idea. Those that were theoretically moved to Yenoiv may be destroyed or lost. And those left in Utovi the same. But if you can learn to do this alteration yourself, you can mold the sand into water within you before you attempt to use it. I do not know how to advise you to proceed, but you are doing something similar to it right now in the rings.”

“Yeah, but those aren’t inside my body.”

“I would advise caution, but that only seems to provoke you into recklessness.”

“Sometimes,” Kara admitted, adding a fourth ring…that was too much. All of them failed, breaking and releasing the dam of Essence back into its standard flow.

“I have never tried multiple rings,” Fenseb admitted. “But I know that they will divide your focus more than a large one encompassing the same volume.”

“It was just an instinct thing. I gotta try it if I’m going to stumble onto new stuff.”

“Then continue to follow your instincts. You have stumbled onto something of great value here, though perhaps not applicable in near future battles.”

“Right,” Kara said, reaching back out with her Essence tendril to grab the stream. “Keep it simple, stupid, and work on the basics.”

“I would have said ‘little one,’” Fenseb added as he walked back down the catwalk and outside the danger zone near her, should she attempt any of the more power intensive techniques. “As for the history of the Zanderline, we discovered it not on the surface of a planet, but buried deep within the crust of a planet we were strip mining for materials to build a Temple…”

10

EG26

June 27, 158435

MILKY WAY GALAXY

Anchleis Kingdom

Skri System

Oplem Tirani

Jameson Tanner was Human, and a very old Human. Nearly as old as Star Force, he had been born on Earth when it was still just an arrogant space corporation helping the old nations colonize space. Then it had taken over the planet and begun its historic conquest of most of this galaxy.

He hadn’t stayed on Earth over all that time. No one had, given the V’kit’no’sat had invaded and taken it back. Star Force never told the public they even existed until they showed up on our doorstep, then we got the truth. The truth that had been withheld from everyone. The truth about what had started Star Force, and the impossible task that they’d taken upon themselves.

He’d luckily gotten out of prison a little over 100 years before that had happened, otherwise he might have been caught on the planet and killed had Star Force not been able to evacuate him. They’d gotten most people off the planet, but not everyone. Orbital bombardment had a way of preventing such things when you were deliberately aiming at people and not just military structures.

But Jameson hadn’t been there. He’d been in the Epsilon Eridani System at the time, then got shuffled from planet to planet as the V’kit’no’sat ate up Star Force territory prior to the turning of the tide in that war. Afterwards he kept moving every few hundred years, not wanting to get a sense of belonging anywhere and just being a spectator to the growth of the Star Force Empire as it continued to expand.

Now he was two Kingdoms away from the invasion zone of the Asferja, sitting at a bar sipping an energy drink full of sugar and caffeine, but not too much of either. Alcohol had been banned long ago, but he was old enough to remember it. Part of him had wished for a stiff drink from time to time, but having an unlimited lifespan was more than ample compensation for the lack of it.

The bar was a private one, with him having to pay 2 credits to enter, but all the drinks were free and stuff you could get elsewhere in a public cafeteria…aside from a few unique recipes. But people didn’t come here for the drinks or food, of which he had a plate of before him in the form of high protein/high fat snacks that were the fuel of the future for the body to repair all the microdamage it took day to day. No, people came here for the ambiance and a place to spread gossip face to face rather than doing it over the datanets.

For Jameson, this is where he came to observe the universe, for there were several newsfeeds covering events from the moon of Oplem Tirani that he had been living on for the past 63 years, but many more were covering the rest of the Empire…and right now the majority of those were covering the brand new war against a race nobody had ever seen before.

The official word was it was an extra-galactic invasion trying to destroy Star Force before they could grow even stronger and pose a threat to them in the future, but the most interesting thing was, it wasn’t just the Asferja. Other races were said to be incoming, making this war a free for all as an unknown number of foreign empires descended on this one intent on wiping out everyone in it and completely erasing Star Force culture from the galaxy.

Already there were four of their invasion points…an intergalactic ‘Thread’ that was brand new technology as far as this galaxy was concerned, and a recent update indicated that the endpoint of a 5th one had just appeared another 1,300 lightyears counterclockwise around the spin of the galaxy, forcing the defending fleet to stretch out even further as they stopped wave after wave of ships trying to enter this galaxy and get a foothold in it.

Jameson understood more than most people, but he had been out of the loop for a very long time and had to put together the pieces of what was being released to the public. Star Force did not use propaganda. If they told you something it was the truth, and these reports were coming directly from them, including battle recordings that were playing nonstop on one of the screens. Thousands and thousands of ships, more than he could visually count, were going at it with the results always favoring the Empire, but new evacuation orders had been added only two days ago to more than 400 star systems in the nearby area of the 5 Thread ends.

That told him that they couldn’t expect to contain the outbreak much longer, and some Star Force worlds might come under direct assault. So far that hadn’t happened, but some non-Star Force worlds had already seen plenty of devastation, yet so far the Asferja hadn’t been able to keep any of them for very long. No permanent foothold system had yet to be won, but the carnage going on had to be depleting the Empire’s drone warship reserves. More could be made to replace them, and he didn’t have access to production numbers, but he doubted they were keeping up with the demand.

And that meant the defense fleets were being diminished every day these attacks continued as more ships poured down the Threads almost non-stop.

But what Star Force didn’t tell you could hold everything important. They stayed silent on many things until they thought you needed to know, and the reason behind this invasion was something else. Jameson knew it, and if this initial invasion was going so poorly for the Asferja, he highly suspected they were just the cannon fodder to soften the defense fleets for the others to come.

It’s what he would have done in their position, for Star Force worlds were so heavily built up that they could defend themselves even without a fleet. It would take a lot of hammering to get through the planetary shields on even a moon like his, and if you had a mobile fleet picking at your attacking forces while you tried to bombard it into oblivion, the moon would gladly soak up that firepower rather than have the smaller ships taking the hits.

So anyone wanting to actually take or destroy Star Force worlds had to get rid of the defense fleets first, then try to crack the tough nuts the planetary defenses had become.

Jameson didn’t know the specifics about them, but he had studied pictures of the planet along with battle reports from past wars and had been able to get a decent approximation. The power here was mindboggling, and only an even greater power would consider making such an assault on a few of them, let alone with the announced intent of taking out every planet in the galaxy that Star Force possessed.

That ‘announcement’ had not been an official one, nor was the method of discourse disclosed, but Star Force seemed to know their motivations and he didn’t doubt their analysis. They’d gotten better and better over the years after he’d tried to destroy them himself.

Though in truth he hadn’t tried to destroy all of Star Force, just the parts of it that he’d decreed to be ‘unnatural’ way back when. It had taken him a long time…far longer than his 1000 year prison sentence…to work through that flawed thinking, but his curiosity had not let him sit and rot away. He’d learned the art of self-sufficiency and a great many other things during his 1000 year penance, enough at least to preserve him through it, but it wasn’t until he’d been released into the population anonymously and just ignored thereafter had he gotten a true perspective on things.

He’d spent 1000 years in isolation, then had trillions of people to interact with in the matter of a day. He’d kept to himself initially, for he was walking into the literal future when he left prison, for almost everything that had been there before had changed.

Star Force wasn’t a corporation anymore, and in truth it wasn’t a government. It was something undefinable that had taken the responsibility for the protection of Humanity…and a great many other races…under its wing with its ‘unnatural’ technology and methods.

Only later had he learned…with a lot of deduction and inference…that it had been the V’kit’no’sat methods they’d adopted, and the V’kit’no’sat had owned Earth long before Humanity did. Technically that meant the V’kit’no’sat were the Natural Order and self-sufficiency was the norm…not the limited lifespan aging that everyone on Earth had assumed was the bedrock of life.

You lived then you died. But not in Star Force. And not in the V’kit’no’sat. Living forever was the norm, and you would only break that norm if you were killed or fell so ill that their magical technology couldn’t repair you.

Or if you refused to train, and your body weakened further and further to the point that magic could not sustain you any longer.

Everything he had fought for in The Word had been based on the lie of Humanity originating on Earth. But after he learned that, it still didn’t offer clarity. He’d spent over 150,000 years pondering questions that were slow to offer answers, but he was wiser today than in the past, and even though he was banned from ever working in any official capacity within Star Force, he no longer wanted them to fail. He wanted them to succeed, especially now that his and everyone else’s lives were in jeopardy…again.

But the Hadarak were different. They were mindless space creatures bent on destruction. This was an invasion of intelligent races working together towards their destruction that had apparently been transmitted prior to the invasion, for the Empire had its forces there waiting for them to arrive. And into a buzz saw the Asferja had come…with gratifying results for Star Force and all its citizenry.

Jameson knew, however, this was just the opening gambit. He still did not understand the full nature of the lightside, but he did understand darkside power, for he had once artfully wielded it, and he believed he would have been successful if not for the turning of one of his Agents and the fact that Star Force possessed telepathic abilities that, at the time on Earth, were assumed to be nothing more than works of science fiction.

He didn’t know the truth of the enemy he faced then, and he didn’t know the truth of the enemy the Empire was facing now, but he understood their tactics. They were dying for these gains, with no measure made to preserve themselves or their ships. They knew they would be replaced by others, so any sacrifices made would be appropriate so long as they were beneficial to the commonality.

Star Force was the opposite. They were a team of individuals who would not sacrifice one another for results. He had originally seen this as both a weakness and a failure of their commonality, but the former Primarch of The Word had long since slowly figured out otherwise. The Empire had a different sort of commonality, and it was based on the trust that no one would be ‘expended’ in war or in peace to attain gains. They all fought together, and would all die together before betraying an individual.

The Asferja he saw before him on the flat screens in the bar were not thinking or operating that way, and it was as if the old conflict that he had failed to win was being refought before him…and he was on the opposite side now, not as a combatant, but as a spectator and potential victim that was safe from being expended. He would be protected, along with the others, and he could feel that same sentiment in the other bar patrons as they talked about many things other than the war, but it was always the common endpoint of boomerang conversations. People could not keep from it for long, and with every day new updates came in over the interstellar comm network, and being close enough to this new front their data wasn’t that old, only a few days at most.

The thought of him helping out in some way was a quaint one. Star Force had far outgrown him, leaving Jameson an elderly child in comparison. Physically he was as ‘young’ as the other bar patrons, but none of them knew of his history or experience, and he preferred it that way. He was but a footnote in history and shared a name with many other people, with his terrorist actions lost to the dustbin of time.

He remembered, as did a few others who had lived then and captured him, but everything else had changed so much that epic events of the past no longer mattered now. His life had been spared as a mercy, and if he had not adapted and learned self-sufficiency…which he had deemed unnatural at the time…he wouldn’t have lived to see the end of his prison term. He’d had to surrender that point early on, and only had his curiosity to thank for it.

If he’d relied on stubbornness he would have died of stagnation all alone in an isolation complex.

But he was alone now, amongst the crowd, for no one could understand things the way he did. Still, he liked being around people even if they were oblivious, for it allowed him to be a part of the commonality he had sought to protect, all the while admitting that his understanding of that commonality had been hilariously flawed.

Knowledge of that kept him from making any firm opinions of anything now, and his mind floated as much as he did from planet to planet. He had no path other than that of a wanderer, but he was grateful for it. He should have been dead long ago, and it still amazed him that Star Force had just let him become an ordinary civilian under their protection after everything he’d organized and done to destabilize, discredit, and redirect them back to the old ways.

But now, looking at the Asferja, he knew the old ways would not have saved them. The power of swarm races in general scared him, but this one was far more lethal than the others had been. They were not just numerous and well organized. Something about them was ancient and beyond his comprehension. Something that he feared would always be beyond his comprehension, and for a man who prided himself on his intellect, that left him with a sickening feeling in his stomach.

He took another swig on his minty drink, hoping to drown that feeling as the stool beside him was suddenly occupied by a familiar face.

“Hey, Jimbo, back again?”

“Back again,” he repeated as Saou Nimitz ordered a hefty cream-topped root beer and spice arc…named for the glass it came in that looked like a piece of macaroni. It took only a few seconds before one that had apparently been premade came out of a holding chamber and floated over to the bar via a small platform-shaped drone.

Saou picked up the curved behemoth and began to drink from the higher end, which was uncapped, and licked some foam off his hideous mustache before setting his slightly consumed drink down and turned to look directly at Jameson…which usually meant a long diatribe to follow.

“You’ve always been a smart one. What do you think about these damn bugs’ intentions?”

Jameson raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question rather than hearing the other man’s opinion first, as was usual.

“I think they mean business.”

“Obviously, but they’re getting themselves killed to no end. What’s their gameplan?”

“Causing us to lose ships, I’d imagine.”

“But we’re not, we’re just losing drones…aside from the Kirati, but all the crew survived.”

“What if,” Jameson indulged, “what we’ve seen so far is only a tiny fraction of a percent of the number of ships they have?”

“They’ll keep coming and we’ll keep chewing them up.”

“And what about when the next super civilization arrives to hammer us? The fleet will have to split.”

“No it won’t. We’ve got the V’kit’no’sat waiting for them in the Core, plus a whole bunch of other factions that haven’t gotten involved yet.”

“I would guess they have a plan, otherwise these would be the most stupid bugs ever…and I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky.”

Saou took another long swig, followed by a belch and a nod of his head as he looked at the most up to date war map. “I get the feeling you’re right, but I don’t see how anyone could take down the Empire. Aren’t we the only galaxy that’s winning against the Hadarak?”

“I believe so, but there we also have to devote ships. If they spread our forces far enough, they may find some vulnerable spots to shove another fleet of bugs into.”

“I hope not. Do you think it will spread here?”

An apt question. “I’ve been considering relocating myself, but I can’t determine where would be safe or another invasion point. I doubt all the others will come through the Galactic Core, so I’m staying here until I get a better read on the situation.”

“I don’t want to evacuate. I like this moon.”

“As do I. But if the war actually gets this far, it will only be because the enemy is winning or because they cherry pick targets…and there’s nothing special about this system that I’m aware of for them to target.”

“Makes me want to buy a ship of my own and just move around wherever the fighting isn’t.”

“You have no idea how many credits that would cost you,” Jameson reminded him.

“I know, I know. I’m just saying. But could you? You have to have a lot saved up after your long lifetime?”

“Not as many as you’d think. I’m not the working sort.”

“You strike me as more of a gambler.”

Another acute observation. “I’ve dabbled before, but I have not made a habit of it. Regardless, I do not have a ship and do not plan on having one. Civilian transport flights suit me well enough.”

“Until the shooting starts.”

“I’d rather be on one of the big Star Force transport ships than a small private one.”

“You don’t think they’d ignore the small ones?”

Jameson pointed to one of the few holos in the bar showing the replay of an Asferja swarm battle. “They have so many ships, they don’t have to ignore anyone.”

“Damn, you’re right. You think they’d go to the trouble of digging out one of the magma colonies?”

“Depends,” Jameson said, referring to large cities buried so far down inside planets that they were into the fluid magma layers and could slowly migrate around the planet beneath the crust. “Some weapons can shoot down that far. We saw them in the V’kit’no’sat War.”

“Really? Through all that rock?”

“Through all that rock,” he confirmed.

“Well, where is safe then?”

“From a civilization as advanced as that, I don’t know. Just the luck of being where they aren’t, I suppose. If they want to find you, they will probably find a way.”

“They can’t look everywhere. Space is too big.”

“True, but the Empire doesn’t exactly hide its cities.”

“You think we’re in real trouble then?”

“Too early to tell, but my gut says this is going to get a lot worse.”

Saou gulped down half his remaining drink then put a hand on Jameson’s shoulder, and oddly the usually irritative gesture didn’t annoy him today. “I have some friends in the independent sector,” the man said, referring to business and other operations that didn’t rely on Star Force worlds, markets, or spacelanes. “If things get bad, I’m getting out ahead of the others. I can arrange for you and a few other friends to go with, if you want.”

“I might take you up on that, but I don’t think we’re in any danger for the next decade or so.”

“I used to think decades were long…now they go by in the blink of an eye.”

“So they do,” Jameson agreed. “And I think this next one is going to be very interesting indeed.”

11

EG26

November 2, 158435

ANDROMEDA GALAXY

Interstellar Space

Fleet Holding Position

It had taken Paul months to get the Vargemma fleet into some semblance of order, and while he didn’t have confidence in their ability to make good decisions, they had come to accept his authority to make decisions for them in empty systems without Asferja shooting at them.

They hadn’t even been able to do that for a long time, and Paul had started getting rid of Captains personally after Vikarathe tired of it. He had set the example early, and they knew if Paul did so now it was on the Neofan’s orders, but there had still been hundreds of dissenters so undisciplined they couldn’t follow the simplest of orders.

He had no doubt there were many more out there that were just biding their time and playing along, but he’d thrown everything he could at them in training without jeopardizing the safety of their ships, for they weren’t using simulations on the maneuvers, only the weapons fire. Shield bumps had occurred early, then disappeared as Captains were replaced and subordinates elevated. Paul had then increased the speeds and shortened the gaps between the various Olopar passing by each other.

Had these been Star Force ships, these gaps would have been oceans apart. But with rookies who had mostly never been in space before, he could only push it so far…and he wasn’t willing to get a ship and its crew destroyed just to give the rest an object lesson.

Others would have, for he now had 102,833 Olopar plus support ships in this first wave fleet, with more coming in every few days from the Temples further away, along with a few brand new ones just built. Those would now be gathering at a rally point beyond the fleet, for he had brought them and his Gjardan to the outskirts of one of the systems that had a Galactic Thread start point in it.

They’d bypassed Asferja territory entirely, making jumps through the Essence realm in the dead zones between systems following a few scouts that went first to make sure there was nothing out there. They, at least, had followed orders, and he’d rewarded some of the Captains who had performed best in the training with this independent work, for he couldn’t take the Gjardan to do it and leave the fleet alone.

That was asking for disaster, for he only had the single Neofan ship here, far larger than the rest, and a visible symbol of their authority…and they’d managed to defy that authority before, so he wasn’t comfortable leaving a Neofan commander onboard an Olopar and trusting in their fear and respect for the Founders to do what the Gjardan had not accomplished on its own.

He’d gotten the point across, though, that following orders is what was required, not just preferred, and even if they didn’t believe a word he said they could see his actions, for when a Captain was removed there was no effort made to keep it private, and the ships could speak to each other whenever they wanted.

And they were talking…a lot.

One advantage he had over the Asferja was they had no Essence technology, which meant they had to use gravity drives to get from system to system. Paul did not thanks to the Neofan and Temple ships, and the expenditure of Essence required for this type of travel was small compared to what they possessed in their wells…but taken alone it was a massive amount to be used for travel that could have been accomplished another way, but Paul didn’t want to fight his way to the Thread. He wanted to surprise attack it and take it out before the Asferja could rally reinforcements from other systems.

He was taking the success of the scouts as a blessing, for they’d confirmed a clear road for 26 jumps, leaving a Wengar at each one as a beacon for the fleet to home in on and know when to revert out of the Essence realm, then jump again on a different heading to the next one, staying so far away from nearby systems that the light from their passing wouldn’t reach them for years.

That kept them far enough away to not worry about sensor beams that could travel faster than light, but a fleet of this size could be seen by a trained eye and good sensitivity of Essence vision. If Paul had been in one of those nearby systems and was watching, he would have seen the distant flashes of Essence bubbles forming when they jumped out. It would have been difficult to spot, but had he assigned Vargemma to such positions throughout the galaxy, they could have done so and reported back in through Essence-boosted or Essence crafted comm devices.

The Asferja did not have this capacity as far as anyone knew, including Zeus, and he assumed they couldn’t hide such a civilization changing capability from him, but he didn’t discount the possibility of foreigners helping them, or even a handful of elevated individuals. Zeus couldn’t see everything at once, and he had to know where to look, so Paul assumed he was correct, but didn’t discount the possibility of him missing something small.

But a large net of Essence-capable individuals wasn’t something the Asferja could possess and have him miss, so he assumed their approach was undetected unless the scouts had gotten too close.

“Mintur,” Paul said, addressing the Captain he had put in charge of the scout group of Wengars. “How close did you get?”

“We didn’t have to get close. The device is huge. We were able to confirm its location from 20 light days out, and did so three days ago. That gives us 17 days before the passive light from our ships could be detectable if they’re watching so closely,” the Klon said, eerily looking like a Chiss from Star Wars minus the red eyes, and that may have been a slight factor in Paul choosing him. When it came to a coin flip situation between equally-skilled individuals…why not?

“Good,” Paul said as his fleet sat one jump away from that scouting position, some two light years away…which in interstellar travel was just next door. They could be there in a matter of minutes in the Gjardan, but the Olopars couldn’t move that fast, so it’d take over an hour to get to the center of the system, which is not where he wanted them to be. “Any change in their defense fleet?”

“Not that we noticed,” the Klon said as Paul was independently reviewing the data he’d just sent to him. “Large clouds of ships, but we couldn’t make out more than their positions. Three clouds in total. One near the device in low stellar orbit, another in higher stellar orbit, and a third stationed near the innermost planet, which I would guess is habitable, not only due to our existing star charts, but the light coming from the planet suggests both oxygen and water on the surface.”

“I’d guess the one near the device is outgoing,” Paul said, trying to make out any detail from the extremely long range visible light records, as well as a few other forms of exotic radiation that traveled faster, but only emitted in rare circumstances…such as the conversion of the stellar radiation into the ‘grippy’ energy stream shooting off from the device across not just interstellar space, but out of the galaxy towards the very distant Milky Way. This system wasn’t technically on the edge, but it was close enough that it had a straight firing shot without any systems further out getting in the way.

“The other two could be waiting their turns or there for defense,” Mintur noted.

“There’s no way to know where smaller ship deployments are, and they can’t get reinforcements here from other systems for days, so we don’t lose our combat advantage by playing this slow. I want three of your ships to go to these three positions,” Paul said, highlighting them on the shared map being used between the two ships, for Mintur had not come onboard, and was still holding position in his Wengar with the other scouts just ahead of the thousands of Olopar lined up like schools of fish in multiple columns so they could jump row after row without risking ramming into each other here or on exit. “The fleet will come out on this one, while the other two will be the rest of your scouts. I want them split into two groups, and from here I want a halo of positions around the system’s edge that I can send other ships to, and recall from during battle if needed.”

“We’re to be permanent beacons during the fighting?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“I will do as requested.”

“But you wanted to shoot something?”

“I did.”

“Shooting is less important in this battle, despite the conventional wisdom to the contrary. Our main advantage here is our mobility, and I need clear evac sites already scouted out and marked for ships to flee to quickly before they can be destroyed if caught out. I don’t want them making a random jump and coming out somewhere not safe. This outer band of asteroids especially,” Paul said, highlighting a half circle that almost bisected the inner and outer system on the spinward side when compared to the Galactic Core. “I want the halo vertical. That should diminish the potential obstructions. Once we enter the system, you are free to scan as much as possible, and I encourage it. Fill in the map as much as you can.”

“As you wish,” he said, with Paul still sensing reluctance to be out of the fighting.

“We are not going to lose ships to the Asferja,” the Furyan said confidently, “unless they’re way smarter than me, or our fleet disobeys my orders. Which do you think is more likely?”

“Given recent events, I would say the latter. Which is why you worry about scouts leaving their posts to engage in the fighting for personal glory.”

“I need to assign people who won’t do such things. While our objective here is to destroy the Thread, that’s not the primary objective.”

“It’s not?” the blue-skinned alien said, raising a dark green eyebrow in confusion.

“It’ll be here tomorrow, or next year for us to destroy. It’s not mobile. Our primary objective is to preserve this fleet, its crews, and to gain them valuable experience considering none of you have fought fleet combat before. We’re pursuing multiple objectives simultaneously, Scout Commander. I can’t afford to dumb things down far enough to match the experience level of this fleet, so I need you to trust me. I can get us through this on orders alone, because we have the ability to flee to locations they cannot. If our ships get in trouble, I’m ordering them to jump to one of your positions in the halo ring. The Asferja can follow on gravity drives, but they cannot slow down enough to get to you without flying right by. To that end, when on station, vary your position slightly so they can’t calculate a far off ramming run. Expect suicide attacks from them, for they are considered to be expendable. No one in my fleet is. Clear?”

“On all points, Fleet Commander. I cannot guarantee the actions of the other scouts, but my vessel will not leave our designated position until you order it.”

“Don’t rush getting into position. There’s lots of little rocks out there, and if you don’t make it, you’re of no value to me.”

“We’ll scan as we go once we’re in system. Am I to assume we spread out in a ring one location at a time, or all cut across to our positions?”

“One at a time. Stay out of the center. Sometimes the work done in the far off quiet is more important than what happens in the party zone.”

“As you said, I don’t have to understand, only obey. I will, however, learn what I can as we go.”

“Take your scouts and go now. We’ll follow as soon as you reach primary position and signal.”

“Do we wait for the fleet to create the ring, or move off immediately?”

“The other two positions I chose to get you closer to the ring so you can get deployed faster. I want that ring up as soon as possible.”

“Beginning with the primary ship’s position being part of the ring?”

“Yes. The other two in conjunction with it will mark where the ring should be. Extrapolate the other equidistant positions and assign your ships to it as you see fit. Do not delay upon arrival.”

“If there is nothing else, I will proceed immediately.”

“Good luck, Scout Commander.”

Mintur broke the communication and his hologram disappeared from the command deck of the Gjardan.

“And may the Force be with you,” Paul added in a whisper.

“How long will it take you to meld with your machine?” Vikarathe asked, sitting on a throne-like chair on the side of the command deck as several dozen Neofan were stationed elsewhere, including the ship’s commander.

“Less time than it will take for them to get there. I’ll be ready when the signal arrives.”

“What else do you need from me?”

“No one is allowed in my chamber except for my guards.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“If you want to speak to the fleet before we leave, do so now. Other than that, just sit back and enjoy the show…”

When Paul left the command deck he went straight to the chamber that Vikarathe had allowed to be rebuilt for his Astromech. Outside it were two Neofan guards and an Archon, just in case the ship was boarded during the battle, or in case there was a saboteur onboard. Both cases were highly unlikely, but when Paul was being put in such a vulnerable position, neither was an acceptable risk to just shrug off.

He nodded to them as he passed through the doors, which he then locked with a big metal bar shaped like a ‘U’ sliding down into loops on either door. It was a very low tech way of locking a door, but had been added to the normal locking mechanisms that were also now engaged.

Inside the room were four other Archons, all here to guard him and his Astromech, which was imbedded in the center of the floor. Another Archon was stationed on the deck below, because the Astromech had its own shields to guard around and above it, but the floor was a potential attack vector despite the meter thick plate added there on top of the regular deck.

Paul walked over to the largely cylindrical Astromech and spun around, walking backwards into the dent in it that was slightly larger than his body. When his back touched, he made a direct mental connection to the device, with it exuding a string of little replicator-like blocks that formed an armored cocoon over top of him and squeezed him back against the receptacle.

Various tubes came out and gently attached to his skull, allowing a direct physical computer line that allowed him to interface and control the Astromech even without using his Borg ability. He could immediately see all the Gjardan’s systems, as well as those for the rest of the fleet. He confirmed the scout ships had already left and everyone else was staying put, making the next few minutes extremely boring as they waited for the go signal.

Paul used that calm moment to focus on his center, ignoring the computer inputs and his senses. His Pefbar shut off and he couldn’t see the Archons beyond his carapace. All his other senses likewise diminished to near nothing as he focused on his Essence reserve inside his body…not in the Magicite jewel kept within his forearm gauntlets.

That Essence within him was what held his Core to his body, and by ‘jiggling’ it a little bit, he could cause his Core to become mobile without disconnecting. Honestly, he didn’t know how much jiggling would be required to detach it, for he and the others who’d developed this ability hadn’t risked going far enough to learn. One Archon lost to Essence experimentation was already too much, and they had been careful not to add more careless losses.

Paul’s Essence began to hum in a familiar way, and soon he was able to elevate that hum to a level where the Essence in his head began to surge like the waves on an ocean, trying to run up on the beach and find new space to occupy. He couldn’t control the waves, but when they got large enough he shoved the Essence in the direction of the tubes on his head and the waves encroached into them slightly, then retreated while sticking a little bit.

He repeated again and again, with his Core extending into the machinery and making it part of his body in ways that science hadn’t been able to explain as far as physics went. It was like him growing a third arm and adding it to his body an inch at a time. His Core didn’t leave the rest of his body or diminish, it just stretched out in volume to encompass the new ‘limb’ until it got to the actual computer mechanism, at which point the waves went crazy, as if they were going downhill rather than up, and from there Paul just had to wait.

Bit by bit he extended into it until the entire Astromech was now connected not just physically to his body, but also shared his Core. If he were to be ripped apart from it now it might kill him, which was why he needed all the guards, shields, and armor around him…for he didn’t have a 327 mile wide cube of defenses to protect him here.

Paul kept his thinking minimal until all the Astromech was assimilated into his being, but once it was his mind expanded to include the computer components…

And at that point, his ‘brain’ power was expanded exponentially.

This was a brand new Astromech, so he didn’t have any stored memories or programs on it. It was brand new and empty, but every second that went by he began customizing it and making it more and more him, but an Astromech wasn’t something you could remake in a moment, nor a few hours, but this new ‘limb’ was functional as it was, and would only become more so as he got it ‘broken in’ like a pair of old school shoes that were not shaped for the individual wearer’s feet.

By the time he was fully melded with the Astromech the scout ships should have been halfway to their destination, but he waited until the ‘ready’ signal was received before appearing on the command deck as a hologram alongside Vikarathe and on every command deck in the Olopars, all of which he could have individual conversations with simultaneously if needed.

“Proceed to the beacon at prescribed intervals,” he told everyone, but with his hologram on the Gjardan turning to look at Vikarathe. “Now we see who follows orders and who doesn’t.”

12

By the time the Gjardan entered the system, the scout ships were already at their two deviation points and sending out one ship at a time each direction, with the group then jumping together to reach it after it got into position, scanned the immediate area, and let them know it was clear of debris, having taking the risk on itself after scanning from afar before the jump through the Essence realm where no sensors would function.

The Gjardan moved forward coming out of its jump, passing by the single scout ship still holding and transmitting an Essence signal for all to see, here and in the Essence Realm, so the ships would know where to precisely exit. If the Gjardan, and the other ships, didn’t move after reverting, they’d collide with the incoming ones.

So a long carpet of ships was forming following the Gjardan out from the entry point far away from the star and the Thread. Several hours out using gravity drives as Paul led the fleet on a slow approach, gradually accelerating and letting all the ships catch up and reform into their designated positions while the scout ship remained in place, becoming one of multiple points on a halo starting to stretch around the star’s polar axis.

“Attention Asferja,” Paul said, both in the Temple language and a computer generated Asferja language that his own vocal chords couldn’t fully replicate. He transmitted that one across the system, while sending the Temple one to his own ships so they knew what he was transmitting to the enemy without them having to try and figure out how to translate it themselves, for the Olopar were not built with the same plethora of tools that the Gjardan was.

“You are currently invading Star Force’s home galaxy as well as this one. We cannot allow that invasion to continue, nor can we allow you to continue this one here. I know you’ve been sent from very far away on the orders of others, and may be punished for disobeying them. Never the less, your deaths are not my objective. I will give you one hour to either flee this system or surrender. If you do neither, we will automatically target all active warships as imminent threats and destroy or disable them. We will also be destroying the Galactic Thread itself, so if you’re onboard or have any friends there, get them off now. This is your chance to do so. Do not waste it. Anyone still onboard after the hour will be destroyed along with it.”

“I am Paul-024, Archon of Star Force, Leader of Clan Saber, friend of the Neofan, and the current Fleet Commander of the assembled Vargemma forces. Do not take this fight upon yourselves. We have an ample amount of Essence weaponry that you cannot defend against. It will be a slaughter, and I do not wish your deaths. But if you stand between us and the Thread, or continue to inhabit it after the hour is up, you will die. You have been warned. Choose wisely,” Paul said, sending a waypoint and speed numbers to the fleet, indicating that they would not come within weapons range of the enemy for well more than an hour while still covering distance towards it.

He had the fleet also reconfigure into a wider formation, like a puffer zuka that spread out its face so that it looked twice as big to those ahead of it. But rather than a display of force, Paul didn’t want ships getting into the firing lanes of other ones. Especially not with Essence weaponry, some of which was area of effect. If these Vargemma developed twitchy firing fingers, he didn’t want them accidentally shooting each other…so it was better to keep nothing but clear space between them and the enemy.

As for the enemy, the group near the Thread was coming into much better view as they pounding them with active sensors that traveled much faster than the speed of light, but there was still some delay for those pulses to get back. The passive sensors, however, showed some 3 million ships in parking orbits around the device with a slow stream moving up near the beam and disappearing as they jumped out of the system along its trajectory.

He didn’t know if they were using the beam yet or not, for they could have got themselves started using gravity drives then latched on to increase speed after…which is how he would have worked it…but there was no way to know at this distance.

The other two groups of ships were smaller…only 310,000 and 470,000, and both were moving, not towards the Thread, but towards Paul’s fleet, though they had to do some repositioning around the star to get a decent jumpline to somewhere ahead, but not traveling so fast they couldn’t stop when they got there.

It was possible they’d engage before the hour was up, but Paul wasn’t going to close any faster or alter course. He’d given them an hour, and an hour they’d get if they wanted it.

Suddenly two of his ships broke formation and accelerated forward, passing the Gjardan and quickly getting out of visual range of the naked eye as they accelerated hard towards the star and the nearer of the incoming fleets, which was also the smallest.

“Return to position,” Paul’s hologram ordered them both, though with a delay as the distance between them separated fast. Neither ship responded as both turned off their holograms and his ability to see inside their ships…just as 18 other ships broke formation to follow them.

Paul repeated his order to them, actually getting into a brief conversation with a few who did not break their holocomm link, but none were inclined to turn back with the enemy so close.

“Vikarathe, will you handle this?” Paul’s hologram asked on the Neofan command deck.

“Gladly,” he said angrily, talking to the crew briefly, then the Gjardan left the fleet…not on gravity drives…but making its own Essence jump ahead of them into the gap between the approaching fleet and the rogue Olopar. Sensors didn’t indicate any debris out there, and the sight of the giant Gjardan just popping into the space before them should have been impressive enough to get their attention, but the leading ships veered away, intent on slipping past rather than confronting the Neofan.

But that wasn’t to be. Vikarathe knew Paul wanted them alive, so he targeted specific places on their ships and fired on them with enough force to punch through fully activated shields…which some of them had not even raised yet.

The diamond-shaped Olopars had their ends sliced off, removing gravity drives, Essence jump engines, and other equipment they needed to continue their evasion…but it was hardly necessary. As soon as they saw the Gjardan firing on the leading ships the others immediately signaled their surrender to the Neofan…not Paul…while the leading two ships were intercepted by the Gjardan individually and encompassed with an IDF field from the massive ship that took away the grip of gravity on their remaining drives, making them useless.

Vikarathe ordered them to evacuate using a technique/technology called ‘capture transmutation’ that allowed his ship to grab the crews off the Olopar if they transitioned into the Essence Realm and pull them into a safe receiving area. That area, called a beacon because it acted the same way the scout ships had, also lit up in the Essence Realm so people could jump towards it the same way. The Den’gar technique was one most Vargemma knew, for it was fairly basic, but if any of the crew could not they could go to a beacon location within the Olopar and essentially ‘beam’ their way between the ships the same way the portal system worked.

The exact same way, point in fact, except that it also allowed them to use their own personal technique instead of fully doing it via mechanism.

The two ship’s crews didn’t argue with Vikarathe and all evacuated their now damaged ships as the enemy closed on them, still more than half an hour away, but without their Den’gar engines or their gravity drives functioning fully, they’d get caught and picked off…and both they and Vikarathe knew it.

Which was why Paul assumed he’d damaged their ships prior to making demands.

Once they were onboard, Vikarathe simply destroyed both ships in dramatic fashion, demonstrating the firepower the Gjardan had at its disposal…not only to the Asferja, but also to the Vargemma.

“What do you want done with the rest?” Vikarathe asked.

Paul didn’t answer him, instead contacting those ships using an image of him standing next to Vikarathe…despite it just being a hologram of him, though they wouldn’t know that.

“Your part in this battle is now over. Your Captains will immediately transfer to the Gjardan, and your seconds will take the ships back to the entry waypoint and remain there until I give them further orders.”

Paul could see in their expressions they wanted to argue, but the destruction of the other two ships had rattled them, and Vikarathe’s expression…which Paul could see from the chamber’s various cameras, was one of barely controlled fury. The Neofan were not used to their servants disobeying orders, but these Vargemma…who had never met the Neofan before…were proving to be beyond a disappointment.

Each ship individually relented, approaching the Gjardan enough to transmute their Captain over, then turning and retreating back the way they’d come as the Asferja kept closing in. When the last ship had made the transfer and left, the Gjardan made another Essence jump back to where the fleet was waiting as they drifted on an intercept course with the still distant Thread.

Vikarathe was satisfied that the rest of the ships had followed orders and maintained position, and he felt partly responsible for each defiance of Paul’s orders. He’d appointed Paul as Fleet Commander, so this mutiny should never have even been considered. Things had seriously deteriorated since the fall of Utovi, but he’d never imagined the Vargemma would have been this disobedient.

Perhaps that was partly the Neofan’s fault for never interacting with them and leaving the Caretakers or other Bond of Resistance members to look after them.

Come to think of it, it was probably the latter more than the former. But this could not be allowed to stand, so he opened a comm to the entire fleet.

“Disobedience will not be tolerated,” he said evenly, but in a way that was never the less menacing. “You were chosen from the Temples because you were said to be worthy of serving the Neofan. Is this the best the Temples have to offer? I have given you one of the best naval commanders in two galaxies, and you continue to defy his orders? What more do you want from me? Permission to take my Olopar and get them destroyed while you foolishly charge an enemy so powerful they were chosen to be sent here along with elite others to wipe out the most dangerous threats to their power? These are no children you face, and do not think that because they lack Essence weapons that they are incapable of killing you. I did not bring you here to waste my Olopar. So if you want to die, jettison yourself out an airlock and save us all the trouble. I expect you to command my ships as my Fleet Commander directs. If you are incapable of doing that, relinquish command now before I have to personally deal with your incompetence.”

He could have gone on but decided to leave it at that. In the past a single look should have been enough to compel obedience, let alone a full sentence. Neofan command had never been seriously questioned before, but here it was being treated as optional, and with an approaching enemy fleet or not, that was not going to be allowed to persist.

“It’s a work in progress,” Paul reminded him after they stopped transmitting. “Some are learning from the others’ failures as we go. I can see it on the command decks now. Just don’t start executing people and I can turn this to our advantage.”

“I’m tempted,” he said casually. “But you’ve demonstrated that the lightside is the more powerful and I will not deal with the inferior any more. But having to choose not to extinguish the worst of them is annoying.”

“It will pay dividends later when the fleet begins to trust rather than fear.”

“Right now fear is all that’s keeping them together.”

“Agreed, but it’s a temporary measure.”

“Is it enough to get them through this battle? These couldn’t even hold position in the face of the enemy.”

“We’re about to find out,” Paul said, gesturing to the countdown clock on the hour he’d given the enemy. He’d had it appear in holo on every ship so they knew how much longer they had, and doing the basic math, the first Asferja fleet was going to get to them 7 minutes early.

“First move,” he said, sending orders out to the fleet as the disloyal ships were still traveling back and away from the coming engagement.

The Olopar stretched out to either side of the Gjardan like six giant wings started to get holes punched in them as ships blinked out of view, disappearing into the Essence Realm. The Gjardan waited until it was the last ship standing, then it too disappeared, denying the approaching Asferja fleet their expected engagement and appearing some 5,380,190 miles away, now closer to and in between the Thread and the Asferja as the fleet was still hard charging the opposite direction.

Vikarathe huffed a laugh as he saw the tactical map as all their ships came back out into approximately the same formation they’d jumped from, simply skipping over the enemy that had attempted to engage before the hour was up.

“Now they’ve successfully ran away from the enemy while demonstrating our maneuvering advantage. That right there indicates the coming fight will not just be an ‘in your face slugging match.’”

“I think the Asferja just figured that out,” he said as the other fleet began changing course and heading towards the Thread.

A bit too fast.

Vikarathe noticed Paul’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

“That reaction is too fast for their sensors. They moved before they saw us jump.”

“Coincidence?” Vikarathe asked skeptically.

“No. It means they can sense Essence flares.”

Vikarathe sneered. “We need to find out.”

“We’ll have to get a lot closer to pulse test for Essence tech. I’m guessing that someone gave them something. None of the prisoners we took could use Essence, and none of the wreckage from the ships had any Essence technology in them or in their databases. They may have a hitchhiker from another race.”

“The Dotra?”

“Maybe,” Paul said, knowing the extra-galactic ‘observers’ could command the Hadarak if they chose to do so, but mainly stayed out of combat events. “Or maybe they’re not highly ranked enough for this scale of combat. Let’s see if we can capture whatever ship they’re on.”

“I have my doubts if this fleet can manage that.”

“Find him, or them, as soon as you can. Let me handle the rest, but get a boarding party ready made up of only Neofan…and be on the watch for suicide tactics. Their ships don’t have a dedicated self-destruct system, but they can improvise.”

Vikarathe stood up and walked off the command deck to see to it personally as the fleet continued to drift closer to the Thread as the Asferja behind them braked hard trying to null out their speed, then to accelerate again towards the star where the Thread mechanism was located in low orbit and extended pointing out towards the edge of the system, stretching more than 37,000 miles long.

That was still tiny compared to the size of the star system, but the beam it produced went the whole way through and out far beyond it.

Paul watched the clock tick down to 00:00, then he gave it a few seconds as the clock faded out of holographic view from every command deck in the fleet. He had received no signals from the enemy, and he saw no ships leaving. Signal lag could be masking some of that temporarily, and the jump they’d just made could have had them skip over a communications signal as well, so he ordered the scout ships who had not made any jumps, to record any messages and relay them to Paul if they occurred…just in case.

But Paul knew they weren’t taking him at his word. They were here with orders to destroy Star Force, and presumably they were taking over as much of this galaxy as necessary to build future fleets to send down the energy rail to Milky Way. They weren’t going to back off now, and if they did, where would they go? They couldn’t go home or they’d be killed.

So if there were dissenters they were stuck, but Paul couldn’t do anything about that if they didn’t ask him. And given the number of ships they had here, plus however many other ships they had in the conquered territory and at the other Threads, he couldn’t treat them with kid gloves. He’d given them a warning, and that was about all he could do.

If they wanted to fight, then they were going to get hit hard, the way he knew he had to to deal with a swarm race after all those years fighting the lizards. He couldn’t go easy or slow, and he had no ability to take large amounts of prisoners. This Vargemma fleet wasn’t equipped for it, and putting the Paladin on such a duty would be a mistake. Every cubic meter of building materials spent on prisons would be countered by the Asferja spending theirs on more ships and weapons. This was now a race to see who could build faster, and the Vargemma fleet had to be used as an instrument of destruction. It wasn’t built for anything else, and Paul couldn’t afford anything else.

But he could still let ships run away, and leave damaged ships alone. He wasn’t going cutthroat, and wouldn’t let the Vargemma, but he had no ships to take large numbers prisoners in and he wasn’t going to tell the Paladin to build any.

The Asferja had come here and started this, and the fate of the planets in this galaxy were going to depend on how hard and how fast Paul could strike them. Delay a little and a few more would go down.

Which meant he couldn’t delay. He wouldn’t doom other planets to the Asferja invasion when he could destroy those ships before they could launch the attack. That made this a killing fleet, and for that purpose, the Founders had designed the Olopar quite well when they didn’t have to take return fire.

“The fleet is breaking up,” Paul announced to everyone as he sent out new navigational coordinates. “Stick to the parameters I give you and we should all get through this alive. Deviate, and you will probably end up dead. We have to dance around these guys and not give them the type of fight they want. Don’t use more Essence than necessary on weapons. We’ll need it later. When things get hectic and confusing, just stick to the orders I give you. I can track everything going on as it happens and adjust as we go, and I’ve fought in battles this big dozens of times before. We will win this, but only if you do it my way. Timestamps incoming. Follow them even if my hologram transmission is delayed. Good luck.”

Each order he sent out from here on had the aforementioned timestamps on them, telling the ships exactly when to carry them out as the distances between ships began to increase drastically as more Essence jumps were made, some bringing ships onto the far side of the Thread, others the near side, some above, some below. They all came out ringing it, with the Gjardan coming in right next to the assembled fleet there, but ahead of the second fleet that was moving in to reinforce it.

That gave them a short window of opportunity to fight only the main fleet…plus the defensive weaponry on the Thread, which was significant.

“Find him fast,” Paul told the crew as Vikarathe was gone from the command deck, though Paul could track him moving through the ship as he left the battle to Commander Quatto, who ordered a specific type of Essence pulse to go out from the ship that would cover the entire two fleets and the Thread, then bounce back any Essence-containing equipment or individuals who had more than normal in their bodies.

Before that came in, Paul had to shoot something, so he ordered the Gjardan via the direct inputs to the crew rather than speaking it aloud, sending out several orb-like globs of energy designed to be shield draining towards the fleet that was moving every which way as they repositioned and sent clusters of ships out towards the much smaller clumps of ships that Paul’s fleet had broken up into.

The Ssien-type energy discharges traveled relatively slow, as if throwing baseballs, but ones that were designed to be detonated when they got within proximities programmed into them before launch. When they came within range of the closely spaced Asferja ships, they mushroomed out into large spheres, and any ship that passed through the detonation zone had their shields either stripped away or diminished, and by his count Paul had hit some 294 of them with that initial long range attack as the first bits of return fire came against the Gjardan…which was closer to the enemy than the Olopars.

“Five responses,” the Commander stated, with Paul already seeing the results via the ship’s sensors. “All biological.”

Paul sent the information to Vikarathe, noticing that one of them was on the Thread itself. That one he wasn’t going to try and capture, while tagging the other four ships widely space out there as ‘need to capture’ so they knew not to destroy them. With them mapped, Paul targeted the dense clusters of ships nowhere near them and ordered about a third of the Olopars to head directly toward the enemy and make what appeared to be a kamikaze attack, leaving the other ships behind.

The Olopars did take some hits to their Essence shields on the way in, increasing the closer they got, but they were racing so fast that they got within the enemy formations for a split second before jumping into the Essence Realm where the enemy fire couldn’t follow.

The Olopar then started popping out near the Gjardan sporadically, having traveled there from different distances as the Asferja ships appeared to be undamaged…and they were, but the same couldn’t be said for their crews who had been hit with a Lian’no discharge. It was very wide spread, and often used to kill everything on the surface of a planet. In space, with there being larger distances, it didn’t cover the entire fleet, only chunks of it, and the closer the Asferja ships kept to each other to overlap their firepower, the more of them got hit…and the energy soaked into their crews, causing their hearts to stop working as long as they energy remained in them.

It would wear off pretty fast, and Paul didn’t know how many of them would recover given their biological attributes. This was more of a test than a legitimate attack…and Paul was surprised when most of the ships hit became ballistic, stopped firing, and didn’t recover.

Another slew of sensors onboard the Gjardan saw lifesigns on the ships winking out…which meant their Essence-bound Cores were no longer in their bodies and that Essence was returning to the Essence realm, leaving nothing but biological matter behind that had no effect on an Essence bounce.

So it had worked. The most basic, and arguably dangerous weapon the Vargemma had against non-Essence capable enemies had hit and destroyed millions of Asferja in thousands of ships in a matter of a few minutes.

That was too damn easy, but Paul wasn’t going to give them time to figure out what was going on and adjust…which would be to spread out further to diminish the effect. And also what the Asferja didn’t know was how many times they could fire those weapons, for they took a large amount of Essence and the Olopars could fire them probably 5-6 times before dropping below 20% charge on their ship’s wells.

But given that calculation, Paul was going to slaughter this fleet.

He gave orders to do just that, but making sure the Olopars didn’t overstay long enough to get killed. He couldn’t send them into the densest Asferja concentrations of ships, for they’d be blown away before they could get into optimal range, so Paul had them nibble away at the edges, hitting a few dozen ships each at the minimum, up to over a hundred with each mini pulse of the Lian’no that they could direct like a cone in a general direction.

The Essence shields on the Olopars would protect their own crew…but the crews would mostly know how to cleanse themselves of the effect within seconds if they did get hit. The ones who didn’t know how, or got caught off guard, could be cleansed or revived if needed by the others.

So Paul wasn’t worried about overlapping fields and orders ships to dive in rather close to one another and keep popping full-sized Lian’nos whenever possible.

In his Essence vision…and that of the ship’s Essence-equipped sensors…it looked like a fireworks display and he suppressed his dislike for the utter slaughter of ships that couldn’t effectively fight back. He sent out a new transmission to the Asferja ships, indicating a rally point they could travel to in order to exit the battle…and that he would let them escape along that route if they so chose, but none of them immediately responded and kept trying to close on the Olopars…and the Gjardan.

They kept focusing most of their firepower on the Gjardan, which was capable of even larger Lian’no than the Olopars.

Paul had it fire off multiple times, leaving ships just streaking by them unmanned on their previous courses. Engines still running, shields still up, but without any living crews onboard.

He told his ships to ignore the empty vessels rather than following them and destroying them. That would be a waste of Essence, for these ships would eventually hit the star or travel beyond the system and be lost in interstellar space. He had to explain that to a few of them that didn’t immediately break off, but once he did they reformed with their navigational paths provided to them and stuck to firing the weapons he told them to, which included others when the Vargemma ships closed within range, but he kept them from firing everything they had like rookies had a tendency to and draining their ship wells out of sheer panic or zealotry.

By the time the second enemy fleet came within firing range, the first one was still visible, but spreading out like seeds in the wind, and Paul didn’t think the other Asferja knew what was happening, or that those ships were now disabled. But when the same thing happening to them, and the Vargemma fleet slaughtered their crews by causing simple heart attacks…bypassing both shields and armor that proved useless defenses…the third fleet that had overshot and was coming back to them broke off and moved to a holding position well outside combat range.

“They know,” Paul told the command deck, “but I don’t think they understand. Take us to the first disabled target,” he said, referring to one of the tagged ships that had been hit with more conventional weapons, beating down it’s shields then targeting its engines and weapons then waiting for it to drift away from the others and out of range of the Lian’no as at least two Olopar paced it as guards, further indicating that it wasn’t a valid target…and to protect it against a Lian’no fired too close, for they could block it with their own Essence shields if they got in between in time.

The Gjardan moved on gravity drives towards the first target while more and more remaining ships were run down and hit with smaller Lian’no…then finally a few of them took off towards the rally point and Paul called off the nearest ships, telling them to let those Asferja go as long as they didn’t turn around and come back.

No one disobeyed, which was a pleasant surprise, and at least there would be a few dozen surviving ships from the first two fleets after this total rout.

After Paul dropped off Vikarathe’s first boarding part at the closest ship, the Gjardan moved around to the other three as they had multiple Olopar standing nearby to assist the Neofan should they need to quickly escape via the Essence Realm and get pulled aboard by transmutation, but none of the teams were reporting any problems as they went onboard and stunned the crews into submission using both their Essence skills, physical prowess, and the handheld weapon staffs they preferred in melee combat.

Vikarathe had gone with one group…as Paul had guessed he would when he’d left the command deck…but he couldn’t wait around for him to return. He took the Gjardan over near the massive Galactic Thread that was transforming the energy coming from the star into the necessary beam, and it had hundreds of thousands of Asferja onboard that had been outside the range of the Lian’no, so they were all still alive.

“Asferja onboard the Galactic Thread,” he transmitted as the Gjardan got close, leaving all the Olopar behind on other tasks. “I’m about to destroy your station. Evacuate now or you will be destroyed. I’ll give you another hour to do so. Don’t waste it.”

13

The hour got complicated. Those onboard the Thread didn’t ignore Paul like he’d expected, with a few small ships leaving it packed full of people…but they didn’t have enough ships to evacuate them all, and they told him so.

The surviving ships that had fled the battle and the remaining fleet out there were contacted and a number of them were allowed to dock and pull people off, then they left not only the station but the system enroute to elsewhere, for there was no colony worlds here of theirs except some sparse mining infrastructure that had been abandoned after the Thread construction was complete. Most of whatever they had built the Thread with had been removed, leaving the massive construction alone in a system of 18 planets, two of which were marginally habitable, and Paul wasn’t going to maroon anyone on them, even if they would have a roof over their heads on one of them.

Meanwhile, Vikarathe had brought all 4 Dotra onboard the Gjardan while the Asferja were kept on their captured ships as Neofan teams went out and recovered some of the derelict ones drifting towards the enemy fleet so they couldn’t pick them up and reuse them later. And when some of the other drifting ships had an active one move around the system and go after it, Paul had a pair of Olopars go after it and run it off.

The hour had already turned into 7, with him telling Kara, who was still standing ready in the sculptor’s chamber to boost combat functions, to take a break and get some sleep until he called her back. As it was, the unboosted function of the Gjardan was more than adequate to deal with the Asferja, for they were completely unable to deal with the Lian’no.

Why had the T’fen sent such a race in first against an Empire that they knew possessed Essence weaponry? Why had they sent them in, knowing that they were working with the Neofan, who had crafted and perfected the Lian’no? Star Force Essence-capable vessels, known primarily as ‘Avengers,’ weren’t built to use it. It was a weapon meant to kill crews and not vessels, when Star Force methodology was all about killing vessels and not crews. They’d been trying to modify the Lian’no to create a stun pulse instead of a heart attack effect, but they were nowhere close to succeeding.

Disabling, as it was, required far more delicate and precise alterations to one’s body than killing them.

Paul had stayed connected to the Astromech for 5 hours after the battle, then finally disconnected, pulling his Core back into his biological body only, and leaving the Astromech full of revised settings, battle data, personal notes, and other stuff that had begun to personalize it to him. Stuff that would be immediately available to him when he reconnected using the Borg ability, but it was also something he could access via regular mental interface…just not the skill boosting part.

Vikarathe had the 4 Dotra in separate chambers, already having sized them up for their Essence threat, declaring them all noobs, and not even bothering to put shackles on them. They were all of the same race, one unknown to the Neofan, but considering that they came from outside the galaxies that had Temples in them that wasn’t surprising. But they were also unknown to Star Force, which had some previous contact with Dotra that they had subsequently kicked out of the galaxy back to wherever they had come from.

These were called the Menthir’nor, and their telepathic blocking skills were about as bad as their Essence ones, leaving their minds essentially open to reading without much of a struggle.

“Explain it to him,” Vikarathe told the one in the current chamber as Paul walked in, not having been privy to the previous conversation except for the tidbits the Neofan had provided him telepathically on his way down…for they were being kept far away from the Astromech chamber within the ship.

Vikarathe had been speaking Neofan, so Paul did likewise without the help of translation equipment in the armored gauntlets that he now wore underneath his loose, semi-robe-like Archon uniform that was trim enough for stylish purposes, but allowed full flexibility should he need to bend himself up like a pretzel or whatever movements would be required in hand to hand combat.

“What is it you wish to tell me?” Paul asked the Menthir’nor directly as he stopped a meter away from his scale-covered biped body that looked far more pliable than his uniform was.

“Your accent is crude,” the Dotra said in Star Force’s language. “You’re no servant of his. Speak your own tongue.”

“Alright,” Paul responded in the nonsensical English that the Empire had kept around for nostalgic reasons. “Now you start talking.”

“We did not come here to make war on the Vargemma.”

“I know. You’re just passing through to make war on us. What’s your point?”

“You do not understand. If you do not let us pass, this galaxy and all others with Vargemma in it will be targeted for elimination just as your Empire is. Do not contaminate them. We do not wish to destroy any more than we are required to.”

“Required to by whom?”

“Our masters.”

“Do you know their name?”

“We are not allowed to speak of such things.”

“He doesn’t know,” Vikarathe confirmed.

“Well, let me tell you…Habu,” Paul said, getting his name from Vikarathe without having to dig for it himself. “They’re called the T’fen. It seems we have more information on our enemy than you do on your master.”

“I count that as a blessing.”

“So the Dotra are forced to serve as well?”

“We serve or we are not allowed to live. All who advanced to our level face the same choice.”

“Why were we not given one?” Paul asked. “The Neofan were conscripted into the service of the T’fen after they killed some of their people to demonstrate the futility of resisting. But Star Force has never met the T’fen, nor received any messages from them.”

“Then how do you know their name?”

“We have information from others who would like to see us survive. Why were we not offered this choice?”

“I do not know.”

“Liar,” Vikarathe said, kicking him slightly in the chest only because he could not reach him with his arms without bending down, for the Dotra was only a meter and a half tall. “Tell him.”

“Your galaxy sent out a pulse. Anyone who sends out a pulse must be destroyed. I do not know why. We cannot question them or their intermediaries.”

“What happens if you do?”

“They ignore you.”

“So they only kill you if you refuse to follow orders?”

“We serve a greater purpose. Our masters know this, and they make sure we know it. After that, there is no need to question them.”

“We’re not killing you,” Paul said, sensing the small bit of bravado returning to him as he accepted his fate. “We’re sending you back with the other Asferja.”

Habu looked up from the floor into Paul’s distant head above him. “Why?”

“First tell me why the Asferja need you on their ships.”

“We are passengers.”

“Enroute to where?”

“The Hadarak. We oversee them.”

“But not the Asferja?”

“Of course not.”

“What else are you doing on their ships?”

“I do not understand.”

“Are you providing them any assistance during transport?”

“We can sense Essence and they cannot. We look for movement and threats they cannot see. Your Essence attacks they cannot stop.”

“Are you going to tell them how to stop them?”

The Dotra looked puzzled. “How can they without Essence technology?”

“Why have the T’fen not provided them with some? Even if just installments onto their ships to prevent the type of attacks we just used?”

“They are meant to attack your Empire, not the Vargemma. You don’t use such weapons…or so we believed.”

Vikarathe mentally shook his head, but didn’t provide any further information.

Paul knelt down so he could be at head height with the Menthir’nor and look into his snake-like, glossy black eyes. “Be honest. I am sparing your life and many Asferja I could simply eradicate on a whim.”

“So you say.”

Paul used one of his gauntlets to produce a hologram and mentally linked in with the Gjardan’s computer system, pulling up a live feed from outside which he added various highlights to.

“The Thread we are going to destroy, but we’re giving the Asferja a chance to evacuate it first. The rest of their fleet is holding off, but agreed to send ships to pick up the crew and we are allowing them to do so…slowly. We’re here to cut the Thread, not kill you. And I did give you a chance to leave before the fighting started.”

“Disobedience is not an option.”

“You’d rather be killed by us than the T’fen?”

“Our masters do not punish individuals. Our race is responsible for our conduct. If we disobey, everyone is punished.”

“How are they going to know you survived this battle? We can easily fake your death and free you of their control.”

“I could never return home again.”

“I don’t think they sent you here expecting you to return home. I think they expected you to die, either with the Asferja or the Hadarak.”

“Perhaps that is true. Sacrifices must be made to ensure the Natural Order is kept intact.”

“Sacrifice is of the darkside…always.”

“The light and the dark must be balanced. Even your Jedi knew this.”

Paul whistled and stood up. “Wow. You really have been studying us from another galaxy. Or have you been to ours before?”

“We have many eyes. I have not been there before.”

“Well, let me explain what your eyes misread. Not all of our ancient lore is accurate. Bits and pieces are, which is why we cling to them. The rest…well, it’s junk that serves as an object lesson that we have to vet everything we come across and not take it at face value. In the case of the Jedi, the Order fell when the Republic fell because they had been lulled into the assumption that light and dark balanced out each other. That made them grey, not light, but they still assumed they were light. If they had been light they could have sensed the Sith Lord standing in the same room as them, because light and dark do not balance. They are opposites and cancel out. They cannot coexist. Balance is achieved when the Force is no longer disrupted by the darkside.”

“Balance is fundamental. The Mortis episodes prove this.”

“Holy crap. I had this argument with other Humans a long, long time ago. I never thought I’d have it with a Star Wars junkie from another galaxy. The Mortis episodes are part of the crap I was mentioning. They infer that light and dark are not moral and immoral, and instead are different but equal in value. The darkside is the disruption in the Force. The lightside is not. So think of the Force as a great ocean, and the darkside is a storm upon it that creates massive waves and clouds and rain that prevent you from seeing very far. On a calm day you can see far, and even a little disturbance will create a ripple that will travel and be detected by those over the horizon. Only when the Force is in balance…when the ocean is calm…can you see clearly. The storm, the darkside, disrupts and confuses and hides.”

“Then why should Yoda have detected Sidious as Palpatine if the shroud of the darkside had fallen? I assume that is your storm reference?”

“It is. But light cancels out dark. So the lightside calms the ocean, even if it’s just the local part. So a lightsider would walk into a room and the veil of the darkside would be pulled back. The waves would diminish and the disruption source would be located. Yoda couldn’t see it, or see it well enough, because he was not a true Jedi, and he instructed the younglings to not be true Jedi. He taught them to fear their emotions and suppress them. This, inherently, taught them to close down their senses even further, so it’s no wonder Sidious could walk right in and not be detected.”

“Interesting interpretation.”

“Fiction is of no use if it’s not rooted in reality, reason, or at least a little logic. So it’s more than just an ‘interpretation,’” Paul said as he sensed Vikarathe’s amusement and awe that he was able to interrogate the prisoner in such a manner. Something that he would have no ability to do unless he likewise studied Star Force mythology.

“Who was a lightside Jedi?”

“If you played the games, you could get Revan there. But the closest one we saw was Qui-gon. He did not mesh with the Council because he refused to blind himself and obey the Jedi Code where it made no sense. He followed the Force rather than telling the Force what it could or couldn’t do.”

“Sith follow the Force as well.”

“Sith follow and are consumed by the disruption to the Force. The darkside is unnatural and should not exist.”

“Yet it is everywhere.”

“Not everywhere. And some places it is, it can be removed, creating a bubble of peace. Such bubbles are not permanent, but it’s the responsibility of the Jedi to create them and as many as possible, so those individuals just coming into the galaxy can develop inside those bubbles and not be twisted as Anakin was by Sidious. The darkside is not just a choice, it affects others and makes their paths harder to walk, with most choosing to comply rather than resist,” Paul said, referencing more than just Star Wars.

“And if they will not go to the darkside, they will be destroyed,” Habu quoted well.

“The universe is not fair, but that’s no excuse for us to contribute to the injustice. We have to rescue as many younglings as we can before the Sith get to them.”

“Then that’s why Star Force conquers so many other civilizations? You do it to save them?”

“We do. And up until now, the darkside has probably been twisting you and giving you no choice but to comply or be destroyed. But now you’re in the presence of a Jedi who is negating the darkside here and creating a bubble of peace…aside from the lingering stain inside you…and now you have a choice. Let the Asferja and the other Dotra think you are dead and come with us.”

“That did not work on Vader, and it will not work on me either. I am no traitor.”

Paul reached out and put a hand on Habu’s almost non-existent shoulder, feeling it slide a bit on the smooth scales before he stabilized it there, then he drew on the Saiolum around him…which wasn’t much given that they weren’t on a planet, but there were enough people on the ship, and even on the nearby Thread and evac ships, for him to use.

He pulled it through himself first, filtering and altering it into what felt like a ‘pure’ form and surged it into Habu, feeling it eat away at the stench within him as the Saiolum picked it up and carried it off.

The Dotra’s breath caught in his throat. “What…are you doing…to me?”

“Witness the power of the lightside, mini-Vader,” Paul said, continuing and increasing the flow until Habu could take no more and nearly passed out. He dropped to the floor, his emotions a wreck of contradictions and his pulse rapid.

“What did you do to him?” Vikarathe asked.

“Something not so nice,” Paul admitted. “But helpful to him in the long run.”

“I saw no Essence use.”

“Saiolum,” the Furyan confirmed. “He doesn’t have Mev in him, but darkside actions taint the Saiolum, as many things can alter it in different ways. I altered it to my base state and sent it through it, burning out some of the lingering residue in him that was incompatible with it. Basically I burned him with the lightside because he was unable to handle it. The lightside and the darkside cannot coexist, and his body and mind are reliant on the darkside. Hence the damage.”

“But you cleaned out the worst of the problem?”

“The most potent parts. It frees his mind up a bit to make less biased choices. Now, going back to the darkside will also hurt, because he’s somewhere in the middle as far as his body is concerned. Now he has no easy roads to follow, and must choose one in pain.”

“Please don’t do that to me,” Vikarathe said, telepathically sensing the horror within the tiny individual as part of him was trying to cling to the darkside culture and rationales he had lived his entire life with, and another tried to grasp the part of the lightside he was still capable of accepting and had previously numbed up to.

“You’re detoxifying yourself over time, so I don’t have to.”

“But you could if you wanted?”

“I could now. Not when we first met. I’ve learned a great deal since then. As for this one, I’m making the choice for him. He’s not going with the Asferja. He’s staying here as our prisoner and I’m going to help pull him through this.”

“What about the other 3? Or some of the Asferja prisoners?”

“If we had more resources I’d keep them all and slowly help them, but we don’t have that luxury. So we let them go and give them a chance to choose another path. They probably won’t, but it’s about the best we can do given the circumstances.”

“Any chance you could do this with one of the bugs and get them to spawn an army to help us?”

“This guy isn’t part of a hive mind.”

“So that’s a no?”

“It’s a probably not,” Paul admitted. “Not without a lot more time and options than we have now. Besides, we’ve already got a swarm race of our own. This guy I’m keeping around to help personally when I’ve got some free time. Let the other 3 go after we get as much information as we can out of them. I don’t think I’ll have that much time for them, but give them the choice to defect if they want it. You never know where each individual is at. One might say yes willingly.”

“Skarizoval!” Habu said in his native language as he pounded the floor with a fist as tears flowed from those eyes profusely now that his emotional filters had been wrecked and he could no longer bury his feelings away and just obey, with everything he was doing, and had been doing, hitting him with full force as his previously buried conscience now had a fighting chance.

“Sleep,” Paul said, hacking into his brain without even having to touch him and slowing his brain functions down. It took some 20 seconds to get him to the point where he could sleep, but he’d taken enough damage from the transition as it was. There was no need to let him keep hammering himself like this and making it worse. Better to let what had happened settle in and let his subconscious work on it alone for a while.

Habu finally slid to the floor and wiggled around a bit before conking out completely.

“His past did that to him?” Vikarathe asked.

“Essentially yes. I didn’t harm him, but I knew he’d be incompatible with the Saiolum I pushed through. Something had to give, and when he had probably never encountered any lightsiders before, that meant he had never developed any defense against such a vivid encounter. He will begin to develop one now, so if I do it again it won’t hit as hard…but it also won’t hit as hard because I cleared out a lot of crud in him this time. He could rebuild it, but that will take years.”

“You took away his past?”

“Not exactly. Each of us produced Saiolum. All biological life does, even down to a bacteria. People produce Essence, or manifest Essence, or pull Essence in…however it works, to keep our Cores attached to our bodies. Plants and bacteria have no Cores, so no Essence. But everything biological produces Saiolum and it pools. It doesn’t disappear into the Essence Realm. The pools over planets full of life become quite thick and deep, so deep sometimes that they will spill out into space and cross between planets, because Saiolum sticks to other Saiolum almost like it’s magnetic. There are strands of it crossing between star systems in the Deep Core where there is an abundance of life. Out here there’s not much, but there’s enough for me to use, but there’s always some in each of us.”

“The Mev is a thicker amount,” Paul continued. “So thick you could actually think of it as a device produced out of Saiolum. But people can unwittingly create such things of their own, far simpler and not on a technological level, but something that sticks in them and accumulates layers. It’s almost as if the Saiolum can have different tastes to it, and if a person does the same things, thinks the same thoughts, reacts the same way, that taste is produced by the individual and clings to them without getting washed away by a different taste. In this way it can build up a lot of residue that reinforces that taste even when you’re not actively producing it.”

“It’s like a permanent emotion.”

“Yes,” Paul agreed, liking that metaphor.

“And you just removed some of that to allow his natural emotions to bleed through rather than being squelched by the permanent darkside one?”

“Far more complex than that, but basically you’re correct.”

“Then you did him a great favor, for his mind is clouded in fear and obedience to his masters…much as our slaves were to us, except they also respected and honored us. It was a mix. In him, all I sense is hopeless servitude with the weight of a planet crushing down on him and allowing no other options.”

“Did your servants have other options?”

“They didn’t want any. It was an honor for them to serve in the higher ranks. I was never around the lower ranks to know what they felt.”

“Well, this guy is going to hate me for quite some time because I really ripped off the Band-Aid.”

“I assume that is a type of parasite.”

Paul laughed. “No, it’s a bandage put over a cut on the skin. But the adhesive tended to rip hair off with it when removed.”

“Body hair?” Vikarathe guessed.

“Yes. It wasn’t meant for our head hair, but to be applied directly to our skin.”

“You have no body hair.”

“Genetically disabled so I don’t have to shave it off. Band-Aids were from before we had genetic alteration technology…well, the responsible kind anyway.”

“You could have gone slower then?”

“With both him and the Band-Aids, yeah, you can, but it spreads the pain out in smaller amounts. Sometimes it’s better to just get it over with all at once.”

“I don’t believe he would agree.”

“No, he won’t. But I don’t have a lot of time to spend with him, so he gets it the fast way while his buddies out there don’t get it at all. Sort of a painful mercy.”

“They would all be dead if not for you anyway,” Vikarathe said, shrugging off the subject. “What do you think the remaining fleet will do?”

“Stay out of range and try to figure out what happened to their other ships while waiting for reinforcements to get here that are already on the way, or more that they’ve undoubtedly called for. I don’t know what kind of comm relays they’ve set up, but their communications system is far more advanced than some of their other civilization attributes. They won’t need to send a visible courier.”

“Why did this one know your mythology? Why is it so important?”

“Because it’s important to us. I think we were wrong about the Dotra. They’re not just Hadarak controllers. I think they’re spies that don’t fully know what they’re doing. Compartmentalization so we can’t pry it out of them. These don’t even have rudimentary mental blocks, so the T’fen don’t care if we capture them…or they didn’t think we’d be able to.”

“Without Essence we could not have identified which ships they were on. And without your insight we would not have even suspected anyone other than Asferja were in this fleet.”

“I think they’re spying on the Asferja as much as us. A visible reminding that they have to follow orders even in another galaxy where some might be tempted to make choices of their own when their minders aren’t around. But I think it’s worse than that.”

“How?”

“If they were just going to plow us over with multiple invasions they wouldn’t care about figuring us out. These Dotra have obviously been assigned to study us.”

“They have,” Vikarathe confirmed.

“But did you find a reason why?”

“Searching for weaknesses.”

“I don’t think so. I think the T’fen want to know more about us in particular.”

Vikarathe considered that for a moment before it finally hit him. “Because you’re Paragons, and they no longer have theirs.”

“Why did they kill theirs? Did their Paragons somehow betray them? Were they defective? Was there a dispute? Something went wrong. And now, despite their best efforts, another Endgame has occurred. Another Vanguard has been created, and with it another Paragon. One that they can study to great length before and during the eradication process. I think they want to know what makes us tick to answer some mystery they’re searching for in regard to them killing their own Paragons.”

“A mystery so important they would assign their spies to dig so deep as obscure mythology, and to learn it at such a level they can converse with you in it at will? If that is the case, it may be a philosophical issue between them and their Paragons, for your Empire’s philosophy is often explained in terms of darkside and lightside, which come from your mythology.”

“And with five of them in this set of ships, which were all scheduled to go through the Thread, how many more does that suggest are already there or on the way there?”

“They’re dissecting and analyzing your civilization as they destroy it?”

“I think that’s what this means, for these guys are so pathetic they could not belong to a primary servant race of the T’fen. They’re nowhere near advanced enough.”

“I agree. Pawns of the pawns, most likely.”

“Do they work for the Asferja?”

“No. Not that pawn, at least. The Asferja are just transporting them and getting some Essence detection capability out of it. There is nothing else special about this race. The Asferja are wholly superior to them except in Essence.”

“How much towing capacity can this Gjardan handle? I’m guessing the Olopars are nil?”

“You want to take some intact ships back for study?”

“The ones we have in Milky Way are all busted.”

“It will slow us down greatly, but we can still maintain the speed of the Olopars. If they try to drag one it’s possible, but they’d have to do it on gravity drives. Only the Gjardan can take a ship of that size through an Essence jump with it.”

Paul smirked. “I’ve got an idea then…”

14

By the time Kara was summoned back to the sculpting chamber several days had passed. She’d tried to stay out of Paul’s way, for he was busy almost constantly with ship maneuvers as he played a game of chess with the intact Asferja fleet that was keeping it’s distance but gaining ships as new groups continued to jump into the system expecting to have to wait in line before traveling across the intergalactic void on the Thread. Instead they were entering a standoff in a war zone, and despite their increasing numbers the Asferja had not been so foolish to attempt another attack against an enemy with a weapon so devastating as the Lian’no.

From the interrogation of some of the Asferja crews before they were released to other ships brave enough to come in and get them on Paul’s invitation, they didn’t even know what the Lian’no technique was, which was surprising. He would have assumed they would have been briefed better, but then again, there was no Regent here, let alone a Queen, and it was possible that they’d been informed of a great many things while the regular bugs had not been.

Star Force had already killed several Regents, but had never been able to capture them. Their presence in the hive mind had been deduced but not completely confirmed, and by the time they’d backtracked comm traffic post-battle, the ships they were on were already scrap, and only on two had they even been able to recover some genetic residue of that Asferja variant.

The Queens were the ones who produced the eggs…though technically their offspring could reproduce on their own, only much slower…and as such were mostly immobile when engaged in that process. They were the defacto rulers of the Asferja, but they commanded from afar while the Regents were the field operators. The ships going through here were just the regular bugs, all of the same body type, but with various alterations that appeared to have been achieved after hatching rather than genetic templates.

Some had extra long arms with bioweapons included, others had enhanced sensory organs. They were not all the same, but unlike the Paladin they all had the same base body onto which upgrades were made. Much like Humans, but without the ad hoc biological upgrades that had been banned by the Empire long ago, though some rogues had tried to achieve it themselves with horrific results. Star Force was not a surveillance state, at least not in a compulsive manner, and if individuals wanted to leave Star Force territory and go do whatever out there, they were not tracked and accounted for. And out in the darkness of space or the wilds of primitive planets, a lot of bad stuff happened. When Star Force found out about it they intervened, but the galaxy was too huge to completely surveil, so they didn’t even bother trying as some other races did.

But it was still a little weird that a swarm race with advanced genetic technology had not adapted into multiple forms for workers, fighters, scientists, etc…for almost all of them did. Maybe there was more to the Asferja than Star Force and their predecessors had discovered, but so far it looked like they preferred the single body form aside from the Regents and Queens, which were assumed to have different ones based off the genetic code recovered from the two Regents’ charred remains.

Learning about them, dealing with prisoners, capturing ships with dead crews, preventing the Asferja from recovering the others and nudging them further out towards interstellar space or in towards the star where they would burn up…all of it was busy, busy, busy, and Kara wasn’t needed for any of it, otherwise she would have been called upon.

Actually she kind of wished Paul had added her to the search parties on the Thread, but he was using Neofan only for that and they seemed to be enjoying themselves poking around on it and making sure the crew got evacuated to the last individual…for they could see where they were hiding in Essence, and apparently the dumb bugs didn’t realize it. Kara could too, obviously, but Paul hadn’t sent her along.

He was, however, calling for her now as she ran back to the sculptor’s chamber and sealed herself in.

“I’m on station,” she reported through the comm using her Vorch’nas wrist jewel to transmit into the ship’s systems rather than punching up the standard ones.

“Time to blow this thing and go home,” Paul scoffed. “I don’t think we can do it in one shot, so I need a series of really big ones to make this wreckage unrecoverable aside from pieces too small to worry about.”

“You know they recycle everything,” she reminded him.

“I’m not talking about that. I don’t want a superstructure left for them to start rebuilding on.”

“Copy that. What boomstick do you want me to use?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Are the shields down?”

“They are.”

“Then Gavor’nak or Fer’strom,” Kara said, internally cringing. Neither were good ones for her, and she’d practiced with others expecting to have to destroy the Thread during combat. “Gav shoots deeper, Fer eats up more volume.”

“Power consumption comparison?”

“It depends on how much I can boost them, and I’m better at Gav, so I’d say the most efficient way to bust up most of it would be Fer’strom…unless you can get me an axis shot. You haven’t turned it off yet, have you?”

“Easier said than done, but we can go into the beam if we need to.”

“No, that’d mess with both weapons somewhat. Same with the energy being sucked out of the star. It’s possible, but I’d rather not risk it given how much of a rookie I am at this. Stick with Fer’strom and go for side shots. Am I going to have to boost shields too when this thing starts to malfunction?”

“Not if I understand the construction right. How close do we need to be?”

“For this weapon, you’ve got about 2.5 seconds before it starts disintegrating. It needs to hit the target matter before that. Basically think of it as an acid shooter.”

“Close then. Alright, moving into position. Any chance of it backfiring on us?”

“Not unless it travels on debris, and that won’t get through the shields.”

“Alright, start warming up and make me proud. I’ll wait for you to signal you’re ready.”

“Won’t be long,” she said, triggering two cylinders to come out of different tunnels and connect with a small strand of Essence. She knew the mechanism would alter it as needed into the appropriate form. What she needed to do was provide more power to that mechanism so it could create an even more corrosive ‘acid’ effect from the energy matrix.

To do that a squarish pedestal rose out of the wall in between the various tunnels, and it was into it that she extended her own Essence tendril and latched it onto an input node, through which she began pouring her own Essence and altering it in the necessary way to enhance the conversion rather than diminish it.

There was a readout on the display before her indicating the potency level that would be created when Essence was sent through it, which at the moment was just enough of a trickle to get a reading, with that amount being put into a weapon chamber that basically held the ‘acid’ in a giant balloon that Paul could shoot various amounts out of as she refilled it.

It was all but empty now, but once she got the rating up to a 7.8 potency compared to a normal 1.0 base rate that the machinery would do automatically, she stopped fiddling around with it, knowing she couldn’t go much higher and, if she did, it would diminish her longevity of production.

Kara opened up the spigot greatly on the ship’s Essence well, with the mystical energy surging through the conduit before her and passing down into the machinery before coming to the conversion matrix that she was maintaining pressure on…then the balloon began to fill rapidly.

When it got above 60% she gave Paul the go ahead to start firing…

The Olopar fleet was spread out around the inner half of the system while the Asferja were clustered on the opposite side of the star, corralled there by the Olopar that would not let them get any closer to the Thread. Every time more than a handful of ships tried, the Olopar would move out in attack groups and the Asferja would run away before they could get in range…then the Olopar would move back to their assigned zones and wait for the same game to repeat over and over again.

Only the Asferja ships that were requested in to evacuate the Thread were allowed, and only a few at a time, but those were all finished now, and the captured Asferja ships were now empty. The three other Dotra prisoners had been transferred over to the Asferja, and the empty warships that had not been nudged into the star were flying out of the star system, now on trajectories that would make it really hard for the other ships to recover…though some were trying. If they managed to catch and stop them, it would take a very long time to bring them back…months at the minimum. The math was not good, but maybe they hadn’t thought about that, or they were willing to devote that time to recover a few ships.

The others were so far out now they’d never be caught, and were now destined to become space junk that a ship would hopefully not run into while jumping between systems. Paul had made sure none were nudging out along the major jumplines, but after a few centuries who knew what freak accidental trajectory might line up with one.

It was unlikely, and Paul would have preferred to capture them all or move them all into the star, but some had been moving too fast, and without getting onboard and taking control…which was difficult when their shields were still up…all they could do was nudge them this way and that.

The ships he had decided to keep numbered 86, and all were now removed and drifting near a special Wengar just outside this system in interstellar space. The Gjardan had moved them there in multiple trips, and to their credit the Vargemma hadn’t done anything stupid while Paul was briefly outside the system on each 18 minute round trip.

So everything was tidied up as more ships kept coming in on different jumplines, some near the Thread, only to scurry off in a hurry once they saw what was going on and got priority updates from the other Asferja ships here.

Those ships were not his target. The Thread was.

And now it was time to make it go boom.

Paul took control of the firing mechanism personally from a position on the command deck as the crew and Vikarathe watched silently. He began by sending a small stream out to the end of the long station, drawing a line down it before cutting the flow and waiting.

That line began to widen on the station, while simultaneously spewing what looked like gas up into space from it…but it wasn’t gas. It was debris ranging from dust to chunks the size of a starfighter, and those larger chunks continued to get smaller as they floated away, spraying even smaller chunks of their own off as they shrunk in size rapidly.

When they got down to nothing, the energy matrix left would disintegrate within a few seconds, leaving everything remaining harmless…but should something get close enough to pick up some of that matrix from the debris, it could spread until the internal charge fully depleted, so Paul kept the Gjardan back, and the Olopars far away, despite the fact that their shields would protect them.

But there was no point in wasting Essence or power for regular shields. Also, there was no point in risking one of the Olopar forgetting to raise shields at all and losing a chunk of its hull for the oversight.

Once Paul saw the effectiveness of the energy corrosive…which was highly determined by Kara’s manipulation of the ammunition…he began spraying more lines and not waiting for them to eat their fill. Soon the entire length of the station on the side near the Gjardan was spewing small debris as it was slowly eaten away, forming a nebula around it that Paul had to fire a few other weapons to carve a passage through for the Fer’strom, for if it hit any matter it’d stick to it rather than traveling onward.

The destruction wasn’t quick. It took more than 5 hours to carve up the station, but the beam didn’t kick off until the 2nd hour, and when it did the drawing mechanism that was pulling both energy and matter from the star jerked, causing a small flare that moved out and kissed the station, blowing away all the nebula particles and burning into the hull briefly, though the damage it did was far less than the Fer’strom that Paul continued to spray on it, knowing that the pattern he used determined how much Essence would be required, and he considered it a mini-challenge to use the least possible.

He didn’t continue until there were no pieces left. There were chunks miles long remaining at the end, but they had broken apart from others and were listing due to the explosive decompression of the debris spraying out. They were no bigger than a few Asferja ships stuck end to end, and after making sure there were no critical systems in them, Paul decided to call it quits.

If they wanted to recover and reuse those parts, he’d let them have them.

With a cascade of blinks, the Olopar fleet disappeared from the system, returning to the waypoint outside with the Gjardan leaving last.

The first mission had been a success. Now it was time to deal with the aftermath…

The ‘Rendering,’ as it was labeled, began onboard the Gjardan. The Captains of the rogue Olopar were lined up, all wearing shackles that amounted to little more than cuffs on their wrists and ankles…or something similar for the races that didn’t have those. But none of the shackles were tied together, physically or with energy binders. They looked simply like decorative add-ons, shining in brilliant gold, and didn’t hinder their movement at all.

What they did was something Star Force had long lacked, but was a technology the Neofan had kept to themselves. They were designed to absorb Essence that went beyond the body, so any attempt at using an Essence technique would be sucked into the shackles, taking away the offensive and defensive capacity that the Vargemma lived and breathed.

Paul hadn’t even known this technology existed, though they’d tried…futilely…to develop it on their own. Vikarathe had told him it was reserved for extreme cases, for the Vargemma could not attack a Neofan and hope to succeed, even in a surprise attack, but they also couldn’t let others have it to potentially use against a Neofan prisoner. But the technology was old for the Neofan, and quite well refined.

That’s why Paul was able to walk out before the line of the treasonous Captains without having to wear Petricite armor. None the less, there was a line of Neofan crew standing behind him in the shadows, but just enough visible for the holocameras that were live streaming this event to the entire fleet, as well as being recorded for distribution throughout the Temples when they returned so others could learn from these few’s mistakes.

Executing them would certainly send the message that disobedience would not be tolerated, but that was unacceptable. The message had to get across, but in a way that didn’t turn them into the bad guys…as well as a way that didn’t cause the Vargemma to fear him as an enemy, but respect him as a Fleet Commander…while fearing him if they should ever actually think about attacking him.

So the shackles made it abundantly clear that he held the Essence advantage here, but these Vargemma Captains were not physically restrained other than told to stand within the designated circles on the deck, but those circles did not emanate shield walls. They were free to leave them any time they chose.

“Today is not a pleasant day,” Paul said in their language without the need for translation, for it was one he had learned long ago and the Empire had quick mental downloads available for any new ones they recorded, though they still took training to get accustomed too. This, fortunately, wasn’t such a situation, so his dialect was clear enough for them to all understand with ease.

“But it is a necessary one. The actions of the Olopar Captains standing before me,” Paul said as he walked slowly down the line a few meters in front of them, well out of reach unless they should move, showing that he was neither a fool nor scared of them. Whether or not they moved was a secondary test he was probing them with, and so far none had so much as twitched, though some of them were breathing heavily, and the telepathic leaking of some indicated they were a mix of scared and resigned to their doom. “…are inexcusable. Furthermore, when relieved of command, they did not relinquish the command. The actions of their crews, in supporting or confronting this disobedience will be dealt with separately, but the ultimate responsibility lies with the Captains, and it is those that you see standing before me now.”

“Navigational orders to hold position were given while the enemy responded to the demands I issued. I gave them a specific amount of time, as honor dictates, but these Captains did not wish to wait and broke formation, seeking to engage the enemy without permission and in defiance of the timetable I gave to the enemy. Take note, the enemy did not attack us during this time. These Captains did not respond to an attack. They sought to initiate one,” Paul said, handling this personally with Vikarathe not even in the room. The disobedience was primarily due to his not being Neofan, and in order to cement his authority Paul was the one handling the Rending.

“I am not here to explain the orders I gave. But note that those orders did not imperil these ships or their crews. This was an act of willful defiance against my order for reasons unknown. And today we are going to learn these reasons,” Paul said, stopping near the middle of the line, slowly raising a finger and pointing to a Vargemma that stood twice his height and probably weighed 6 times what his Furyan body did. “You. Tell us why you did what you did.”

“I have no excuse,” the mechanically augmented biped said, having wing-like additions added to its back to mimic the biological ones the Neofan had. Apparently they had seen a Neofan in their Temple before this Gjardan had showed up.

Paul squared himself, directly facing the accused and having to tilt his chin up somewhat to make eye contact. “I did not ask you if you had an excuse. I asked you what your reasons were for disobeying orders.”

The Vargemma…an Irchna…stayed silent a moment as he thought, but when the silence became too uncomfortable he just repeated himself. “I have no excuse.”

“Wrong answer,” Paul said, throwing his left hand forward and launching a Jumat blast, unaugmented with Essence, into the Captain’s chest and knocked him backwards so hard his mechanical wings crunched on the floor behind him and his head smacked into the deck with an audible thud as everyone else stood still as statues and only turned their heads to watch.

Paul quickly stretched out with his senses to determine if there were any injuries. For some reason that had hit harder than he expected. He’d wanted to knock him down, but he didn’t expect him to be a wet noodle…then when his Pefbar reached over and his Lachka sought to engage to help lift him to his feet as he remained on the deck, Paul realized his mass was a phantom. He was light...very light, for his body contained many cavities in it. Artificial ones that must have been put there during his juvenile years, for his skeleton and muscles had grown around them, leaving spots for mechanical plug-ins.

He was a full-fledged cyborg in body, but not in his brain. Paul had never seen a race like this before, and since all of those hidden cavities did not have equipment in them, he was barely twice Paul’s mass, which made it much easier to telekinetically pull him to his feet, now standing 5 meters behind the circle.

The Neofan’s designated Fleet Commander pointed to the circle and he telepathically told the Irchna to return to it as he walked down the line three more spots, stopping before a six-legged arachnid known as a Venzen…which was a racial cousin of the biped Vozno…that did not reach Paul’s height, but did stretch out backwards for more than 3 meters. A quick check of him with Pefbar and pseudo tug of Lachka confirmed he was as heavy as he looked.

Paul pointed to him. “Why did you disobey orders?”

When the Venzen hesitated, Paul continued. “What you did does not deserve death, and even if it did, if one is taken prisoner then execution is not an option. Those who deserve death are to be killed in combat and not taken prisoner. The fact that you stand here now means you will not be killed. You are here to learn, and you cannot learn if you do not analyze the mistake. To analyze the mistake, you must recall what you were thinking when you made it. So I ask again, why did you break formation?”

“The enemy was before us,” the arachnid finally blurted out, then stopped suddenly as if he had done something worthy of death.

“Primitive thinking,” Paul scoffed. “But not inaccurate. Was that simple thought all that was going through your head? The other ship Captains did not violate orders because the enemy was before us. Why did you?”

A visible gulp was followed by another difficult reply. “We were told we were to fight.”

“We did…and we won without losing a single ship or crewmember,” Paul said with such iciness the point sounded like it was a firing squad against those who had doubted his methods prior to the attack.

“I didn’t understand the strategy.”

“Finally,” Paul said, throwing his hands up above his head in theatrical exasperation…with the arachnid flinching backwards expecting an assault that did not come. “Honesty. It is such a simple thing. Why is it so hard for you to wield it? In the galaxy I come from, younglings speak honestly with far more ease than you do. This says bad things for the Vargemma in this galaxy. It says your cultures are flawed and contaminated with lies. Why else do you fear simple honesty? Would any of you like to answer that question?”

“I will,” a Captain far to the left that Paul had already walked by said, and the Furyan quickly strode back down to stand before him.

“Speak freely and honestly. We need information to analyze if we are to prevent future mistakes.”

The Bruwop…yet another race Paul had not known existed prior coming to this galaxy…pounded on its own bare chest with a big, heavy fist as it stood on four legs similar to a Knight of Quenar, but far more bulky in muscle mass. “We are taught not to disagree with our superiors.”

“The truth outranks everyone,” Paul said flatly, giving all the Vargemma listening out there a quote to cling to in the future. “It is superior even to me and the Neofan.”

“Then our actions were in line with the truth,” the Bruwop said defiantly.

Progress, Paul thought to the distant Vikarathe watching from elsewhere in the ship.

“Let’s analyze that truth. If your disobedience of my order was in line with the truth, then my order had to be a lie. How was it a lie? Even in the smallest way?”

“It was not necessary to give the Asferja time to consider your worthless demand,” the Bruwop said, more scorn coming out as his bravery seemed to increase with every word. “They are here to destroy, and if they are under orders from their superiors they do not have the option of disobeying them.”

“Why did you have the option?”

“The truth was with us,” he countered.

“And what if the truth was with one of their Captains? What if they chose to disobey because the orders they were given were a lie? If you have such flexibility, do they not?”

“They were undoubtedly never told they had such flex…”

“Neither were you, until just now,” Paul cut him off. “You do not get to work backward with knowledge you have now. You only get to work with what you had then. If you felt you could disobey my orders, why could their ships not disobey their commanders?”

The Bruwop was silent for a moment, thinking hard for a logical response, but Paul had him dead to rights and soon everyone knew it as the silence lingered on until the Furyan decided to put an end to it.

“You see. Even though they did not take the opportunity to disobey their commanders, it is our responsibility to give them one. We are not fighting them because they are Asferja. We are fighting them because of their actions invading this galaxy and another. If they choose to back down, the threat disappears and they are no longer our enemy. We are here to neutralize threats by any honorable means, and the simplest one possible is giving the enemy a chance to choose not to be the enemy anymore. Most of the time, they ignore the chance, but some do not, and you never know if it will be successful before you offer it. And we do not know if any of them would have taken the offer if your ships did not break formation and make your intent on destroying them clear. It made it seem like a ruse rather than honesty. You took away the legitimacy of my offer with your disobedient actions.”

“It was not legitimate to offer those we are meant to kill their lives!” the Bruwop blurted out.

Paul didn’t strike him from afar for that. He wanted to make it much more personal, so in a flash of speed he crossed the few steps to where the Bruwop stood and, with only a straight punch, hit him so hard in the chest he broke ribs and collapsed all four of his legs as they tried to keep the Bruwop standing, but the shock was too much and he all he could achieve was to keep from being knocked backwards. He crumpled to the floor and stood there on his knees, now head level with Paul…who had actually dislocated one of his fingers in the punch, but he used a little Lachka telekinesis to pop it back in and pulsed his Haemra to quickly heal the damage without anyone knowing.

“Everyone!” he all but yelled, raising his head to look at no-one in particular, which was meant to regard those watching from the fleet. “Why do we fight? And I mean legitimately fight. It is not enough to be given an enemy and told to fight them. There must be a reason for it. What makes the enemy an enemy? Simply being on the other side is not enough. There are many races, many civilizations, and we are not all on the same side, but we coexist as neighbors. What makes a legitimate enemy?”

Paul remained silent for a moment, but no one responded. He hoped that wasn’t a sign that they had no clue, but were just too afraid to speak.

“It is dishonor,” he said simply. “The honorable do not fight the honorable, except to spar and train in controlled environments. War is reserved for the dishonorable. The dishonorable will fight the honorable, and they will fight the dishonorable. They will fight amongst their own ranks, purging those who are deemed ‘disloyal’ to them, or those they fear as rivals. The dishonorable kill each other, as well as their enemies. They have no trust. They have no duty. The dishonorable are a cult of backstabbing cowards. The honorable are compelled to stop this backstabbing. To stop the carnage. We only kill when we need to. If we can find another way to eliminate the threat, we do so and our mission is accomplished. The death of others is NEVER our mission. If the Asferja choose to leave this galaxy, then the threat of their invasion is eliminated. You must learn the difference between killing to kill, and killing to end a threat. The honorable never kill to kill. And when we do kill, it is a failure to have achieved victory through other means.”

“All the Asferja we just killed, is a defeat. We won the battle. We destroyed the base of the Galactic Thread. Those are victories, but the fact we had to kill the Asferja to accomplish this shows that we, while stronger, are not dominant. Mercy is a luxury of the dominant. The dominant will win a battle without killing anyone because they are just that damn good. And a dominant civilization will make war on another, and conquer that civilization using stun weaponry only. How many of your races could achieve this? Killing is not a sign of dominance. It is a sign of inferiority and cowardice.”

“I gave the Asferja an hour because at that moment we were dominant. They could not strike our fleet effectively where we were. There was no rush to destroy the Thread base immediately. We had the luxury of offering the Asferja the option of evacuation and avoiding the battle. We would still have met our objective, and they would still be alive. Every one of them that would have been alive would have been a bonus objective for us. And superior civilizations want as many bonus points as possible. It adds to our prestige, and demonstrates our dominance.”

“So when some of my Captains run off in violation of the hour truce given for them to evacuate, such an action stinks of inferiority. It stinks of a lies. It stinks of cowardice. You sullied the reputation of this fleet before it was even able to begin its first battle. This is not something a novice would do. This is something only blatant insubordination could result in. You did not have to understand the reason for the hour. You simply had to obey the order to give it to them. This was not an accident. This was deliberate. Your mistake, was thinking you could get away with it.”

“So tell me. What did you think I would do? Just let you go. Give you a promotion for getting the first kill? Tell me. What was the perverted thinking in your minds? That is not a rhetorical question. I want an answer, and only an honest answer,” Paul said, walking back down the line, and after no one spoke up, he stopped in front of another and pointed to them. “Why?”

“We were unwise,” another Bruwop said, this one not antagonistic. Rather he was dejected.

“That is an assessment in hindsight. I want to know what you were thinking at the time you disobeyed the order.”

“I did not like being restrained by navigational orders when the enemy was so close. It is my instinct to strike whenever I can see them.”

“Space is somewhere you can see other star systems lightyears away. Do you feel a need to pursue every star visible in the sky?”

“Those within weapons range,” the Bruwop clarified.

“You were not in weapons range,” Paul noted.

“No, we were not. I sought to get into weapons range so I could act. I was impatient.”

“Impatience is correct,” Paul admitted. “But it is not a complete answer. Why did you not break from the fleet earlier?”

The Bruwop considered. “It was the unexpected delay that stoked my impatience.”

“Ah,” Paul said knowingly. “You had a mental timetable until encountering the enemy and engaging in battle. You set your emotions to that timetable, so when your,” Paul said, pointing for emphasis, “timetable was disrupted, it unsettled you and made you impatient. Had you not tied your emotions to exterior events, you could have remained calm and patient indefinitely. We were the attackers, which meant we had the luxury of time. This was not a defensive fight where a delay means more of our own get killed. No one should feel patient when that is occurring. But you were impatient to deal death rather than stop deaths.”

“I did not think battle could occur without casualties,” the Bruwop admitted. “What you accomplished is unthinkable to me, and I apologize for the problems I caused. Your wisdom is far superior to mine,” he said, taking a knee as he bowed.

“So you thought,” Paul said slowly, “the only way to fight is to charge in and exchange blows and casualties and see how many are left standing at the end?”

“I did,” the Bruwop said, still staring at the floor.

“This is why it is necessary for you all to follow my orders. I cannot teach you what you need to know in such a short amount of time. Every month that goes by the Asferja grow their colonies here. I need the Vargemma to hurt them now, in very specific ways. If we just trade casualties we will lose, because they are a swarm race and will replace them far faster than we can. They want you to fight that way. And they want us to be such monsters that their people would never consider violating their orders and abandoning the fight, or joining our side. I am 156 millennia old. In that time, I have encountered numerous enemies and fought numerous wars. Some of those enemies are now allies because I gave them a way out. I created a pathway for their threat to be ended while their lives were preserved. I come from the galaxy the Threads are going to. The Asferja are here to grow troops to assault my home galaxy. And in that home galaxy, they are meeting a combined force of my people and our former enemies that are now our allies. We are far stronger now because we spared them previously.”

“War is complicated, and galactic war is immensely complicated and long drawn out. You cannot only look at the immediate, and you cannot guarantee the future. You must create pathways, both for the enemy and your own people. Whether they decide to travel down them is up to them, not you. I do not expect you to understand this now, but later on I will. Right now, I simply need you to be extensions of my arms. Where I want to strike, you strike…at the time and in the manner I choose. You are novices, who have spent your entire lives inside peaceful Temples with the Caretakers protecting you from the outside threats and the inside ones. You have lived in an infant’s cradle. Now you are in the real universe, and you are unprepared for it. Either you will choose to follow my orders and learn as you go, or I will return you to the cradle so you cannot cause damage out here.”

Paul walked back to the Bruwop who was still kneeling in humility.

“You will be demoted to 15th and assigned to a different ship. I am gambling that you will choose to learn. I may be wrong. Do not waste this chance and do not betray your new crew with your impatientness. Stand and leave,” Paul said, pointing over his shoulder towards the shady row of Neofan behind him.

“Thank you, Fleet Commander,” he said, with a wave of emotional relief cascading off of him now that he saw this was not a dead end. He had a future and a path, and Paul was fairly certain he would embrace that path now.

Paul let him pass into shadow behind him, then he waved a hand and a third of the circles the others were standing in turned red.

“These Captains not only disobeyed my orders, they injured their crewmembers when I ordered their demotion and they refused to accept it. Loyal crewmembers then followed my orders to remove them, but were met with physical assaults. I will not forgive this, and you will not be allowed to rejoin the fleet. Not now, not ever. You will be returned to the Temples you came from, and forever banned from leaving them again.”

Shields suddenly activated around the circles, trapping them within, then the deck beneath them began to lower, taking them down and out of sight. Paul remained still and silent until the top of the glowing shields disappeared and the circular holes were filled with replacement floors.

Paul waved his hand again, and yellow circles illuminated under all of the remaining Captains except for one. A few moments later shield capsules popped into place matching the color of the rings.

“Those of you who disobeyed but did not harm your crews, you are being temporarily removed from the fleet. You will be taken back to a single Temple where a facility of my design will be constructed. It is a labyrinth that you will individually be inserted into. In order to leave it, you must learn what you have not learned. If you cannot, or refuse to learn, you will remain inside it forever unless you choose to leave without learning. If you choose to quit, you will be banned from returning to the fleet and banned from ever leaving the Temples again, but otherwise be free to live as you wish. If you learn and escape the labyrinth, then you will return to the fleet as 15ths.”

The floors began to drop out beneath them, and a few moments later all the Captains were gone and the floors sealed except for the one. A Dundon that stood angrily with its tail wagging in the air behind it as it sensed a threat, and its crocodile-like snout barring teeth. As soon as Paul waved his hand to activate his ring, it sprinted out to avoid it and headed directly for Paul.

He had no armor and it had no Essence, but the outcome was predictable for anyone in the know, but to the watching fleet Captains and crews the outcome was going to be uncertain, for Dundons were formidable fighters even without Essence…for those who knew of them, for they were only present in 4 Temples.

Paul could have slugged it out with him, for he had a slight height advantage, but he simply raised a hand and used his Lachka to grasp and lift him off the floor, holding him in the air 4 meters away as he tried to break free, both with his own limited psionics that failed, and then just kicking and punching at the air with his arms as if that would have helped.

He held him there for nearly a minute silently, despite a string of cursing in a language Paul didn’t know, then he simply walked over to the circle, carrying him in the air as he went, and held him inside until the black ring and shield capsule was activated around him.

Paul let his hand drop, mentally activing an option on the shield capsules to silence the audio coming out but still let it come in to the prisoner.

“This Captain did not just harm his crew, he killed two of them before the Caretakers and the crew could disable him. While some of you may believe he deserves death, it is unacceptable to kill prisoners and unacceptable to send them somewhere where they will die. This one will go to the same labyrinth as the others, but he will not be allowed to quit. He will remain inside until he learns a new way of thinking, but unlike the others, if he succeeds in escaping the labyrinth he will not return to the fleet. He is forever banished from leaving the Temples or serving in any capacity within them.”

The Dundon was hammering the inside of the shield capsule repeatedly, but suddenly he froze in place as his feet and tail were seemingly glued to the floor.

“I put upon him the mark of shame,” Paul said as his genetics were rewritten on the spot the same way you could do in one of the Empire’s medbays to give yourself genetic tattoos or any type of skin coloration you wanted. But this put a symbol on his forehead that glowed in bioluminescent red, so that all who saw it would know that he was an outcast.

It took a few moments to complete the change, then the frozen Dundon went back to beating on the shield without even knowing what his forehead now held.

“If he escapes the labyrinth, he can live freely in the Temple as do the other Vargemma. If he does not learn what is necessary to leave, he will spend the rest of his life confined to his personal training ground. His defiance will imprison him until he decides to relinquish it.”

Paul waved a dismissive hand and the banging on the shield further increased until he finally disappeared and the deck was empty. Rather than make a speech to the people not present, the Fleet Commander simply turned and walked towards the shadows where the Neofan were standing. Once he disappeared, the holofeed ended.

Effective in some regards, Vikarathe said telepathically. Disappointing in others. But given your command style, I believe it was successful in getting your point across.

Disappointing because I didn’t kill any of them?

It is expected.

Even though the Temples don’t allow them to kill each other?

Disobeying the orders of the Founders is something else entirely, and they knew you spoke for me. I agree your logic is flawless, but it is the way they view it that is pertinent in the moment.

That wasn’t just for the moment, but for future study after they shake off their naivety.

The part about the last Captain being imprisoned forever by his defiance was appropriate, but the lack of anything more than a few blows is not what was expected.

Do you think they will view me as lesser now because of it? Paul asked as he left the now dark room and into the ship’s corridors.

You know they will not. Your personal power was demonstrated eloquently, but your methods are so different that the fear of you will lessen.

That’s part of the point. And the fear of you still remains.

But that is also diminished. I do not think they will fully understand what the mercy of the dominant means and view it as a vulnerability. The results of the recent battle, however, mitigate this and will confuse them enough to follow your lead so long as the victories continue.

So long as they follow my lead, they will.

Thank you for not using me as an example. It would have undermined our position here considerably.

I know. They’re revering you guys as gods is the only reason we have a semi-workable fleet at all. The lesson would be valuable, but I tried to keep it as simple as possible, and you are anything but simple. Explaining the Mev would put a different type of fear into them that would be harmful.

I had not considered that angle. It is best to keep things simple for them. You, however, can never make things simple enough.

How so?

You’re too damn complex. Making executions is far simpler. I am glad, however, you do not, or I would not have survived our first encounter. But they do not understand as much as we do, and I think you are underestimating their stupidity.

I’ve dealt with the stupid before. What I’m doing is planting seeds of thought, and I will watch to see where they take root.

Is that why you allowed the Captain to return to the fleet? You did not for the ones who disobeyed training orders.

He was willing to admit his mistakes and learn. It wasn’t just sucking up. As soon as he was willing to learn, the threat he posed to the fleet disappeared. He’s a potential asset, and it’s best if that asset be put back into the same situation rather than be sent back to the Temples for additional training. I’ve seen this sort of person before. They just need a firm nudge in the right direction, and they will see to their own rehabilitation from there.

The pathways you spoke of?

Yes. This is one kind, but there are many…including the one you walked.

That I am still walking, Vikarathe amended. My home is destroyed. All I have is your path now.

Does that mean you’re going to honor my request?

I am failing to find an alternative.

Why is it so difficult? If the past is gone, so are its rules.

I am a warrior. I want to fight, not lead.

So what’s the problem?

I cannot… he said, pausing slightly as an epiphany hit him. I do not have to be a Reignor like the others. I can be whatever type of leader I wish so long as the others accept it, but I do not know how much they will accept.

Wrong question. You become the type of Reignor you want to be, and see how many follow. The ones that don’t, send to Plausious. Dominate the leadership position the same way you dominate the battlefield…your way, without taking orders from anyone else or any culture.

You may convince me yet.

I don’t typically lose, Paul boasted. I got my quota of losing out of the way early in life.

Let us hope so. The Asferja know we’re here now, and what we’re capable of. They will adapt. I have yet to see a swarm race that doesn’t rise to such a level.

They will, and so will I. The question is will more complicated and inexplicable orders prompt more disobedience, or will they now blindly follow me?

How long before you know your next target?

I need more scouts to report back. If they’re on schedule, I’ll know within a week. I won’t launch an assault with this green a fleet until I’m certain of what the Asferja reaction is…

15

EG27

June 8, 158436

ANDROMEDA GALAXY

System 339201

8th planet

It had been 7 months since the assault on and destruction of the first Galactic Thread, though in truth it was not fully destroyed. Only the beginning portion was, and all the other installations across the galactic void were still there and could be turned back on if the beam generator base was rebuilt.

And that’s exactly what the Asferja were doing. Stealth probes left behind by Paul’s fleet were transmitting sensor feeds out to a Wengar that was still waiting with the derelict Asferja ships. Everyone else had left, but the transmitter onboard with Essence enhancement could get a signal across a piece of the galaxy in a matter of a few days.

That was far enough to reach a clandestine comm station built by the Temples that only a month ago replaced another Wengar stationed there to act as a temporary relay. Now that the permanent one was in place, it was sending the signal even farther to reach one of the Temple network’s regular transmission sites. It wasn’t a Temple itself, but a string of infrastructure outside of systems that had been built over 11 million years ago and were still functioning with an army of Caretakers traveling throughout the network making occasional repairs to keep it all working.

Now that system, with a Wengar bridging the last gap, reached to the 1st Galactic Thread system, which was henceforth known as Thread Huey. The other four were Dewey, Louie, Daisy, and with Donald being the most recent addition finished shortly after Paul arrived in the galaxy.

And the Asferja were now starting Scrooge, in its earliest form that was only a little ahead of the reconstruction effort on Huey, which they appeared to be putting equal resources into rebuilding.

This Thrawn could see now, for his quiet system had also been linked into the Temple network via two spur stations Vikarathe had built and added to reach him. That gave him communications across the galaxy to select positions faster than Star Force’s own communications network.

The difference was, their network went to every system they possessed, and the Temple network was built just to connect the Temples…and its ultra-fast transmission speeds required Essence to utilize.

So Thrawn could receive the fast messages, but if he wanted to send others back they had to go the slow route until they got to the first relay, but he had the equipment to do it thanks to Temple technology transplanted to his first system. He was donating some of his own Essence to it, but at the rate he could produce it, it would be years before he could send a single enhanced transmission.

But he didn’t need to send messages. He just needed information, gathered from multiple sources beyond just his growing list of scout ships, and dumped into the network to filter back to him so he could keep track of galactic events. Until recently he was completely blind, but now he was getting what the Temples knew…which wasn’t close to everything…but Paul’s updates were now coming back to him, so he knew what his friend was up to after a decent delay.

He hadn’t hit another Thread, but rather had gone after what seemed like random targets within Asferja territory, wrecking shipyards, mines, stellar collectors, and launching assaults on the attack fleets hitting the Klix in some locations, protecting the worlds they were about to conquer while bouncing around the war zone unpredictably as the Asferja flooded the other Threads with 20 times more warships, which they had to be stopping from passing through to Milky Way in order to get those numbers so fast.

That meant there was already relief being achieved to their home galaxy instead of the Asferja simply rerouting the available ships to the other Threads to send them through. Some scout ships had gotten there to provide this information, but no active probe signals were being reported from them, so Thrawn had to make some guesses.

One, was that there were limits to how many ships they could send down a single Thread at any given time. He didn’t know what that number was, but the loss of one of five would not create the pileup that were being reported at the other Threads.

Two, he assumed they did not yet have a means to defeat the Lian’no, because their forces were not grouping up into dense fleets, and were rather spread out far and wide into smaller clumps that kept more spacing between their individual ships than normal.

That led to his third assumption…that they were going to try to bleed the Olopars dry engaging smaller groups and throwing a huge amount of ships at them in order to keep them away from the Threads.

That could work, but he knew Paul could get in to another one and successfully destroy it if he wanted to, so why was he waiting?

No update from Paul had included his future plans, nor orders for Thrawn. Both knew the Supreme Viceroy didn’t need orders, and Paul knew better than to transmit plans on even a secure network. He was probably making it up as he went and adjusting to what happened, and right now it looked like he wanted to reduce the spamming capability of the Asferja without slaughtering entire planets of them. He was going after the infrastructure, knowing that without it they couldn’t sustain higher populations.

That also preserved Essence, for planet-wiping levels of fire required quite a lot, he was told. And in what was going to be a long war, one didn’t want to use it liberally in the beginning only to have to scale back to what the Temples were producing on a daily basis. Paul was getting supply runs from them at various rendezvous points, but so far he had not returned here nor to a Temple. The Archon was keeping his fleet in the field continuously, and so far hadn’t lost a single ship…other than the ones he’d destroyed himself.

Word of these events were also getting around the galaxy through local transmissions and couriers. Those were slower, but more widespread. Regardless, Thrawn was getting inquiries already, meaning that the civilizations in this galaxy were so vexed at what they’d been observing happen to the Klix and anyone else in the path of the Asferja that they were desperate to jump on any hope that appeared.

As it was, the Wieanios were returning for negotiations with him. Their small fleet of ships were on approach, having just made a microjump off one of the stars. Thrawn could see it on the system-detection grid he’d already got minimally constructed, so if someone jumped in without a cloaking device or anything else sneaky, he’d know it before they showed up on his planetary doorstep.

They weren’t the first to come. A three system civilization some 57 lightyears from here had already heard of the Paladin from either the Klix or Wieanios, for Thrawn hadn’t advertised it or contacted anyone. They’d shown up here a month ago pleading for negotiations.

They wanted to join Star Force, no questions asked, in order to save them before the Asferja got this far out into the galaxy.

That wasn’t likely to happen for hundreds of years or longer, for they were not that close to the warfront. Thrawn didn’t want a system that would come under attack soon. He wanted somewhere quiet to build, and this neighborhood of star systems was very quiet, so this request…which he anticipated from many much later, surprised him in its suddenness.

They were called the Planorri’amon’terg, and unremarkable in every way. In this galaxy they were well connected enough in the trade markets, but physically they were average, slightly larger than Humans and acclimated to desert climates. They didn’t handle humidity well, and were wearing breath masks when they came here to reduce the ambient Humidity when they spoke to him.

Their population between the three systems was 18 billion, spread out across 9 planets and 3 moons…all of which had deserts that they clung to. And in those deserts they had a plethora of mines. Digging in the ground…the dry ground…is what they were mildly good at, though far inferior to Thrawn’s own Paladin miners.

Taking responsibility for them would eat up resources better spent on expanding the Paladin population, but Thrawn knew the long game. He lived and breathed it. So, to the surprise of those monitoring through the equally present gossip network that operated in concert with the trade ones, Thrawn accepted their unconditional invitation to Star Force and immediately began to rework their race into something worthy of their Empire.

It wasn’t going to happen fast, but it was happening quickly, for he was getting no resistance as he sent a few hundred thousand Paladin there immediately on transports with a decent amount of combat drones to protect his operations there against the natives or anyone else passing through.

He also prioritized comm relays between the close, but not that close, systems. Those had just been transported to and put in place in the three systems and several in between, so as of two days ago he now had a direct link to his forces there so they could send reports back, and he could personally direct the assimilation of this new race with a 1.6 day time lag in message transmission.

The other Viceroys he had brought here were already gone, sent off across the galaxy to plant seeds of the Paladin elsewhere and begin growing them without communication between them and Thrawn. He trusted them, but he didn’t want to spawn a new Viceroy to handle this annexation, for in truth that was not something they had any experience with. The Archons and Monarchs had always handled it, so Thrawn was going to handle this personally and develop the familiarity with it that was needed.

Then he would copy some of those new memories into the Viceroy Template so future ones would also possess a rudimentary amount of the skill at birth.

He’d sent three newly birthed Administrator-variants to each system to begin setting up a headquarters and doing a thorough scouting report on this ‘Terg’ race. Even though they had no life experience, their base skills were more than adequate to handle Thrawn’s orders and requests, and as they progressed their skills would tick up with personal experience. They had no names, only designation numbers, and it was the Viceroys alone that were given a name. These Administrators had a brand new designator given that they were birthed in the Andromeda galaxy, for all Paladin numbers were assigned based on the mission they were spawned on.

Here Thrawn simply referred to them as 001, 002, and 003, but their full designator was ‘Andromeda-Terg-ADM-001,’ etc. Before now there was never a galaxy designator used, but all those in the Milky Way would now receive one for clerical purposes, because there was no way to coordinate numbering when you could spawn new births in a matter of days during a mission. This current mission was designated as ‘Terg’ due to the race he was sending them to, and any Paladin that left to work on other missions would carry the additional title of ‘Arbiter’, indicating that they had experienced on at least one previous mission.

But when it came to annexing an entire race, these Paladin would probably stay with them indefinitely unless Thrawn had a reason to move them or they requested a transfer. With so much work to do he doubted either would happen, so these three were going to be his semi-permanent controllers through which he would work his mastermind magic.

They wouldn’t be the only administrators there, but they would be the ones in the highest position as new ones would be added as necessary. Right now Thrawn needed a base of operations in each system, then eventually on each planetoid, but information was key, and if he was going to assimilate this race he had to know more about them.

Some of that was already coming in now that the comm network between them was up and running, and his priority with them was not to cultivate an ally that would assist the Paladin…but rather to turn them into a hardened target that could defend itself and not require Paladin fleets to cover when enemy threats eventually got to this region.

That meant a lot of planetary-based weaponry and shields, plus system-defense ships that had less engine power and more combat capability. Normally that meant just a lot of drones, but there were different ways to build those drones for different mission requirements. If you didn’t want them leaving planetary orbit, you didn’t need engines capable of hopping across the system, let alone across the interstellar void, in short order.

And he also didn’t want system defense ships pulled off to defend other systems. He wanted what was here to stay here, otherwise an enemy could pick a beneficial battlefield elsewhere in the galaxy and draw the combat there, draining all the other systems, then they could go to those systems afterwards and pick them off one by one with apparent ease.

So ships that couldn’t be redeployed kept their strength where it was intended to be, making the enemy come into your preferred combat zone. The tough part of that was it meant not reinforcing other systems that were under attack. So by taking the choice out of the hands of the ship Captains by altering the technology in their ships, you forced an enemy that wanted to conquer you to do it the hardest way possible.

Every system would be a hard fight, not just a few key ones. So that’s what Thrawn had to start building here, and while that would take millennia to accomplish given the length of defensive infrastructure that Thrawn held in his tech tree, he could take these three systems off the ‘easy pickings’ list of the local powers in this galaxy within a decade.

His Paladin would be doing most of the work initially, but he had to find a way to utilize the Terg, and the easiest way to do that was to start with what they had minimal skills in and build upon them…which meant mining.

As for their aversion to humidity, he would probably give them an optional genetic upgrade once he understood what the biological issues were. If it was a cultural one he’d start assigning them to less dry areas and break them of this stigma, but either way, they couldn’t be allowed to be so weak that a 20% humidity level was a risk of incapacitating them.

Those who didn’t want the upgrade would be left to the deserts, while their offspring…which would be put into Maturias now that they were joining the Empire, would all get the upgrade. They probably hadn’t thought about that when agreeing to join with no conditions or questions, but Thrawn knew better than to negotiate. These people didn’t have time to play cultural or religious games. If they wanted Star Force’s help, it was their total help. They weren’t going to get to pick and choose, and now that they had chosen to join the Empire, they weren’t going to be able to back out now.

Individuals could leave if they wanted, and always could, but these three systems were now Thrawn’s to rework as he saw fit, and the faster the better, no matter how much societal upheaval occurred. Upset and irate Terg were far better than dead Terg in hindsight, and Thrawn didn’t care to deal with hindsight when he could take care of problems with foresight…

Kameni had been 1st diplomat when the Wieanios delegation had met with the Neofan and Star Force in that disastrous meeting. Now he was returning to the same system to meet, not with the same people, but the local boss put in charge of this system and who, so they claimed, would be overseeing the annexation of the entire galaxy.

He’d never heard such magnitude of lies before, but his government was starting to believe in them after the attacks into their territory had stopped after the Asferja had lost one of their Galactic Threads. So now here he was, going back to deal with these liars along with a contingent of their trade council to explore future opportunities and get more details on what this ‘dominion’ of the galaxy by the Paladin would actually look like.

Kameni was here more or less as a formality, but he was technically still 1st diplomat and responsible for maintaining the Wieanios protocol and defend their reputation in this galaxy…especially with the crumbling of the Klix territory, and their future prospects looking like they might be totally wiped out over time give the geography of the galaxy that had them in the wrong end of it and square in the war zone.

“Kameni,” the head trade delegate said as he walked up next to his equally tall peer in front of a viewscreen that showed the tiny but growing planet before them as they approached, now just beginning their deceleration run against its gravity well.

“Varendu,” he replied, with both remaining silent as they watched their approach.

“You still think there is something to be gained here?” Kameni finally asked.

“How can there not be?”

“I do not believe they can do any more than delay the Asferja.”

“What would you have us do?”

“If they are truly here to conquer another galaxy, hiding might be wise.”

“We cannot hide entire planets.”

“Do we know they will consume the entire galaxy, or just this end of it?”

“You would have us move into uninhabited systems on the other side?”

“There are inhabited ones we could take with little effort that are more suitable to our people.”

“That would upset the balance far more than the Asferja have.”

“If it means the survival of part of our race, should we not pursue it?”

“It would be based on the assumption that the Asferja will stop their conquest at some point, and knowing where that point is.”

“The Neofan and Star Force have already declared their intent to take it all.”

“Not by destroying us,” Varendu said, raising a long finger to emphasize the point. “If we can come to amicable terms, living under their dominion is feasible whereas the Asferja are annihilating us to take our worlds. How can you not recognize the opportunity here?”

“You assume they can stop the Asferja.”

“They have already done far more than we could even working with the Klix, and I am told they did not lose a single ship in the process.”

“Then why haven’t they destroyed all the Threads? Do not believe their propaganda.”

“Do you truly think me that naïve?”

“Normally no, but these are desperate times and the normal calm contemplation our culture supports appears to have been abandoned in favor of panic.”

“Some things cannot happen slowly. All the more reason to come to terms with these Paladin now rather than later,” he said as the planet began to grow to the point of filling the screen, but it was still too far away to make out any ships in orbit.

“They are but a few. It is the Neofan we should be negotiating with.”

“The Neofan said Star Force has dominion here, and I do not believe we could change their mind on the subject. If Star Force has said the Paladin Faction of their Empire will operate there, then it is with them that we will coordinate. If they are small, they will be needing resources this early in their development. We can provide those in exchange for many favors.”

“They can draw on the resources within the Temples and their support infrastructure, so do not expect too many favors to be bought.”

“We will not know until we try,” Varendu said as the deceleration against the planet began to visually occur very fast, with them feeling like they were going to slam into it every time, because the bulk of the deceleration happened when they were deepest into the gravity field.

“Our time would be better spent plying the Bond members for assistance.”

“That is a dead end, I’m afraid. They will not come here in force any more than we would go to them. The Essence costs are too high. Only the Neofan, Denogi, and Veloqueen have enough power in a few ships to make a difference against these Asferja. I am very glad the Neofan did not ignore our plight, despite their own internal problems.”

“They could have commanded the Vargemma to obey us instead of bringing in an outsider.”

“They were meant to fight the Hadarak only if we were to being taking galaxies away from them. This application was unexpected, and very generous given the amount of Essence they are expending. More than we could ever compensate them for.”

“What point is there in being in the Bond of Resistance if we cannot use them?”

“Do not speak stupidly. You know well how we have profited over the history of our inclusion in the Bond,” Varendu said as the ship finally came to a stop over the planet with a few ships visible in orbit nearby. “Are those Paladin ships? I thought you said they had none.”

“They did not when I was here, only some small remote defenses,” Kameni said, his eyes widening as he looked down at the planet’s surface and saw numerous cities covering hundreds of square miles spread out across it. “That’s not possible.”

“What is not?”

“They had only recently arrived when we met them. The planet was all but uninhabited.”

“Are you saying they built all this in less than 2 years?”

“I have no explanation.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Even if they received fleets of reinforcements, those cities are too large to be modular…unless they have devoted a significant amount of Essence to get them here.”

“They claimed to be able to build very fast.”

“This is at least half a century of growth,” Varendu commented. “There is no way they could have constructed this since you left here. Even the Asferja are not colonizing the captured worlds at this rate. Unless they are far superior to them?”

“I do not believe what I am seeing,” Kameni said as several large ships were visible orbiting closer to the planet and passing them by as their own ship settled into a slower upper orbit.

“If they truly have this power, it is all the more important that we come to terms with them early, for this could reset the galactic power structure far faster than we thought it could fall to the Asferja.”

“Do not over exaggerate. Destruction is far easier than construction.”

“If the Asferja continue to send ships to another galaxy, you may be wrong about that. If they choose systems judiciously, they could own the galactic trade markets with the acquisition of less than 200 points of transit.”

“Let’s hope they do not know that.”

“No, let’s hope they do. And if they do not I will explain it to them.”

Kameni turned and starred at him in horror. “Why?”

“We cannot save ourselves from the Asferja. But if the Paladin can do this, the sooner they rally the rest of the galaxy to their dominion the sooner they will be able to protect it. We must aid their annexation in order to save our own systems. If we slow them down, the Asferja will destroy us before they can rise far enough. I do not want to suffer the same fate as the Klix. If you cannot support this agenda, then remain silent in the negotiations. I will not tolerate any division that could imperil future agreements.”

Kameni turned and looked back at the screen, fuming inside, but he saw no way to press his point. “I hope you are right about this. If they can build this fast, and we give them a clear path to control of this galaxy, they will not relinquish it willingly. And we will not be able to pry it from them later.”

“I don’t think we could stop it now if we wanted to. And I do not want to anger the Neofan by spurring their appointment. That is a losing gambit.”

“Until their internal issues reduce them to a handful of refugees.”

“The Vargemma will still obey that handful. Do not cross them under any circumstances.”

“I do not believe any will be here for the negotiations. They only have the one Gjardan.”

“Good,” Varendu said. “Very good. New faces always mean new opportunities.”

“Pardon the interruption,” another Wieanios said from behind, bowing her head slightly. “There is a transport ship on the way here to carry our representatives down to the surface. The Paladin will not allow any of our ships to land on the planet, and they will only negotiate there.”

“Acceptable,” Kameni relented as he turned to Varendu. “Shall we go now or make them wait?”

“Be ingratiating and helpful. We are not the power brokers here, we are the supplicants.”

“I detest that word.”

“Never the less, it is how we much approach them. We will leave immediately.”

“They have been directed to bay 3.”

“Come, Kameni. This is a good day for us. The status quo is dead. The Asferja killed it. We will help the Paladin establish a new one and maximize our part in it.”

16

EG27

October 11, 158436

ANDROMEDA GALAXY

System 22098321

Dewey Thread

4 months later…

Paul had just finished withdrawing himself from his Astromech, but kept a mental link to the ship’s systems via his gauntlets as the Vargemma fleet continued to sweep the debris field looking for survivors.

Four of his ships had been damaged enough that they’d had to be abandoned, but the crews had survived and the hulls were on schedule to be hauled out of the system to the waiting Wengar holding position and marking the location they had jumped into the system from…a safe spot from any Asferja reinforcements that were still trickling into the system occasionally. Those that didn’t immediately turn and run were being engaged by the Vargemma and destroyed.

But not by Lian’no. The enemy had finally figured out how to counter it, though Paul didn’t know exactly how yet. There were 18 Asferja vessels that had been deliberately disabled in a way to keep them mostly intact and Vikarathe was currently out there dealing with the crews and searching for the answer to their defense modification. Other Asferja ships were in pieces all across stellar orbit, and on some of those pieces there were survivors. They were being located using Essence pings with rescue teams being sent out to take them prisoner…and given how many there were, Paul hadn’t just sent Neofan. He’d started bolstering those teams with a few Vargemma, but all the teams were still led by Neofan.

The prisoners would be lightly interrogated as needed, then loaded up into the intact captured ships and left for their reinforcements to pick up, but right now Paul still owned the system as the debris field from the destroyed Thread generator base was gradually spreading out, visibly marking the location of his second major victory.

But this one had been hard fought. With the Lian’no somehow neutralized, they had to resort to beating down shields and armor to get at the ships’ interior to destroy most and disable others. That required far higher levels of Essence, and his fleet was mostly depleted after this battle. Stugar reserve ships had already jumped in, despite there still being some active enemies in the system, and had begun refilling ship wells, but they could really only add a little to the near empty ones. The amount just spent to earn this victory was far more than all these Stugar had carried with them, and Paul was going to have to retreat and regroup with the second wave of his own reinforcements that was, per his orders, holding in a system some 1,394 light years away.

It should have at least another 23,000 ships, which would increase his fleet’s strength considerably, but the Olopar were only as good as their Essence charges, and right now his fleet was down to less than 13% overall, with some ships not even having enough to make Essence jumps all the way back to the nearest Temple.

Those were getting refueled first, along with the Gjardan…which had a 34% charge left. Given the 5.6 million Asferja ships that had been in this system to guard the Thread, that wouldn’t be enough to fight a similar battle, so Louie would have to wait…not that he would have gone after it next. He wanted to keep the Asferja guessing as he hit other targets in their still growing territory, but in particular he wanted to keep wrecking shipyards that they would immediately begin to rebuild.

Every one he hit meant less Asferja ships deployed in the field in the near term, which was a way to destroy them before they existed, from a math perspective anyway. The Archon knew he’d come in heavy and wreck stuff initially, but the long game couldn’t be won with Essence alone. The Temples just didn’t have enough of it for a prolonged war. They were nowhere near empty, and Paul could keep refilling for decades to come for this level of combat, but he saw the writing on the wall. He’d seen it before he’d even got to this galaxy.

He could make a very big splash here initially, but he couldn’t win the long game. The Paladin were going to have to do that, and by this time he assumed Thrawn was off to the races and spamming production and population increases as fast as logistics allowed. They’d practiced a lot, picking empty planets and colonizing them to measure speed and efficiency back in Milky Way, refining the process and finding ways to better get their tech tree established early, especially the bioharvest facilities. Those were the primary key, and getting the resources they needed into them and fueling quick grow crops that would be used as ingredients in the minimal diversity of foodstuffs necessary to fully fuel Paladin biology was critical.

Thrawn knew better than to cut corners and try to work with a malnourished population, so Paul knew he wouldn’t cut it that thin to try and get production facilities up faster. But the Paladin did know just how far he could push it without compromising his own people, and even without checking he knew the Supreme Viceroy would be riding that rail for a long time to come…but in no way would he be able to generate the fleet-level combat ships necessary to assist Paul, meaning he and the Vargemma were on their own and little more than a terrorist fleet going around and blowing stuff up, for they had no ability to retake captured planets.

Only the Paladin could do that…someday.

The battle here had lasted more than 3 days, and Paul had spent all that time in the Astromech trying to keep his Vargemma alive. The damage to the four ships had been a failure on his part, but he hadn’t lost a person yet. The fleet had learned to trust his orders, but they were not very good ship-handlers. Not as far as Star Force standards went, so instead of guiding a fleet of skilled crews, he was having to micromanage most of the ship movements out there in all the combat, and without the Astromech he never could have come close to doing that.

But he had done it, and there were millions of enemy ship hulls out there as a testament to his tactical and strategic skills. That said, even sitting still for days wasn’t restful, and both his body and mind were currently fried. He needed sleep, but he couldn’t let the Vargemma handle the ongoing small conflicts on their own. They were still younglings with regard to experience, so as he headed off to his quarters on the ship, dismissing the Archon guards who had stayed with him in at least pairs the entire time, he kept in mental contact with the ship and the tactical situation, sending a few orders out wordlessly when needed.

When he got inside the door he kicked open the lid on a box of Star Force foodstuffs, telekinetically flying several of the bars out of their wrappers and into his hands, then chewing furiously while finding a couple bottles of water and downing those as well before laying down on a bed and feeling the relief as the fraying in his head began to blissfully start to work itself out...which would take hours, he knew, for this wasn’t the first time he’d spent days leading fleets in combat. In fact, it had kind of become his specialty.

He lay there, monitoring the feeds with a piece of his mind while most of it went to sleep and began the type of microdamage repair that only a restful state would allow, for 43 minutes before Vikarathe reported in claiming he’d found the source of the Lian’no immunity.

Paul saw in mind’s eye the images being transmitted of captured Asferja standing with vests on…which was abnormal, for they had a carapace that offered more protection than clothing ever could, so they were nude most of the time. But they all had it on, and Vikarathe showed him one taken off a dead crewmember, with a detailed analysis of the components inside…which included their version of a Regenerator that could heal the damage to their hearts and revive them after the Lian’no stopped them.

So technically it was still killing them, but when the energy of the Lian’no ran its course, the healing vests would repair and restart their hearts, creating perhaps a momentary disadvantage…which he had noticed during the battle…but not the easy knockout blow his fleet had been enjoying for the past months.

Paul had expected something like this, but the vest was a little surprising. A genetic modification to accomplish the same thing had been his first guess, but the vest might just be a stopgap until they could modify their progeny with a biological restart function. They had the biotech to do something like that, which was why the vest was an odd, but successful tactic.

But even without Lian’no, the defenders had been obliterated and they had no way of knowing how long Paul’s fleet could keep this up. The answer was a while longer, but even now the Huey Thread was being rebuilt, and this one would be too eventually, so these were temporary victories…unless he could hold and defend this system, which he wasn’t even going to try to do.

Not until he got a lot more ships and a commander he could trust to leave here with them to fight wave after wave of Asferja reinforcements that would never stop coming as long as they had systems producing more of them locally. And it was those production systems that Paul was going to hit next again, but not before he could get more Essence into his ships…and his crews could get a thorough rest, for even by utilizing the three shift system, the responsiveness of the crews had diminished greatly after the first day, and the sloppier they got the harder Paul had to work to anticipate and accommodate in order to keep them alive while still destroying the defending ships and then finally the Dewey Thread.

This was certainly not a job for younglings, and he was grateful to identify individuals that were performing better than others and reorganize them into different ships after each battle, ticking up the efficiency level of the fleet, but he was still dealing with newbs and that wouldn’t change for years. The skill level of the Vargemma was just too damn low, and there was no way for them to catch up with Star Force naval crews that had 20,000+ years of experience in a few years time…even if it was as intense as this.

And Paul had limited ability to train them while onboard their ships, though he had been running them through basic drills during jumps that amounted to highly advanced video games on their personal consoles. Every bit of experience helped, but there would be no training on the Essence jumps out of this system…for he didn’t want the Asferja tracking the fleet through gravity jumps…as the crews simply needed to rest and recharge, much like he did.

The Asferja coming in, however, did not want to give them that time, so skirmishes were popping up more and more as ships entered the system, meaning until the Vargemma fleet left he couldn’t completely mentally check out of everything still going on out there…including the cleared Asferja hulks being shoved into the star so they couldn’t be recovered, repaired, or recycled later.

And Paul wasn’t leaving until that was complete, so they were going to be here for many, many more days doing just that…and adding more Asferja hulks to the number, for they now knew the Lian’no wasn’t effective and they had a fair fight to work with.

Give a swarm race a fair fight, and it would be never-ending reinforcements and never-ending carnage. That’s how they owned most opponents, including those with superior technology and skills. It took a special skillset to know how to fight a swarm race, and the war against the lizards had taught Paul the hard way what to do and what not to do.

And leaving now in a hurry with all this technology still floating out there to be recycled or repurposed later, would be a newb mistake. It was times like these, when everyone was exhausted and the battle seemed mostly over, where there were significant advantages to be claimed…or typically lost as people stopped thinking things through, stopping looking forward, and just wanted to get away from it all and regroup.

But that wasn’t going to happen while he was here, and he’d learned long ago how to ‘mostly sleep’ while still monitoring the sensor feeds and directing ships from bed while Vikarathe was out there having fun smashing heads and taking prisoners. He was fresh, for he wasn’t commanding any of the battle…plus, Neofan biology had them rarely sleep at all, which was much like Furyans, but the level of one’s effort changed that calculation greatly.

And until now Vikarathe hadn’t really been needed, so he was eager and active while everyone else was dragging themselves along.

On that note, Paul shifted some of the Vargemma ships that had been assigned skirmisher duty around the hot jumplines away from those areas and brought in different ones who had already been on a break, keeping those in the shooting department as fresh as he could, though it was hard to sleep onboard a ship when you knew at any moment the hull could disappear and you could be killed.

Veteran crews learned how to push it all out of their mind and just focus on their piece of it…but these were far from veteran crews, despite them being hundreds of thousands of years old. They just didn’t have experience doing this kind of work, and this was by far the hardest battle any of them had ever experienced.

And the ones coming in the future would not be any easier now that Lian’no was out of the equation…unless Paul wanted to start slaughtering entire planetary populations with it.

And that was not something he was going to do, swarm race or not.

73 days later…

The fleet had rendezvoused with the second wave of ships, including many more Stugars with Essence loads to get the 1st fleet up to at least 40% each. More would be coming from the Temples on a regular basis, but not that many Stugars had been waiting for use when Paul arrived in this galaxy, for this level of combat had not been anticipated. So it was going to take time for more to get built and put into the fleet, and a few of the ones here were fresh off the Caretaker automated assembly lines for their first operation with their first crews.

Newbs flying newb ships. He hoped the Caretakers were as thorough as he expected them to be and there weren’t microscopic flaws that would be discovered under stressful situations. Every ship Star Force had was stress tested before it was certified for ‘field work.’ But he hoped that automated systems millions of years old had already worked out the kinks, for they weren’t using new blueprints, but those designs the Founders had created long, long ago for Vargemma use.

With the new ships came new crews, and the first thing Paul did was reassign all of them to existing ships in lower ranking positions, allowing his new ‘veterans’ to command the reinforcement ships. That caused a ruckus amongst those crews, including some more discipline incidents that Paul had to deal with, but the existing fleet didn’t back them up. They understood the new order, as well as the fact that they were being rewarded for trusting and following his commands. It had given them victories far more impressive than any of them had even dreamed of, and the petty complains of the new Vargemma coming out of the Temples sounded like just that…petty bickering from children.

The Vargemma crews had done a lot of growing up over the past months. So much so that the new crews put into the 12th through 15th positions were questioning what had happened to their peers, because they weren’t thinking or acting ‘sanely.’

Hopefully they would learn from their kin rather than Paul having to do it personally, but this was by no means a solid fleet and wouldn’t be for a long time to come. Eyes had been opened though, and none of the current Captains challenged Paul’s authority as the Neofan choice for Fleet Commander. Paul was Fleet Commander now independent of the Neofan, based on the results he’d generated, using tactics they never would have considered previously to coming out here…including tactics the Temple training had never mentioned.

But along with the reinforcements came a passenger. A Neofan passenger that Vikarathe knew. He said she’d been exiled from House Mutavi back before Utovi fell, but had found the Vargemma fleet and tagged along to come out here. He was meeting with her now on the Gjardan, but Paul had decided to stay away and get filled in later. He wanted Vikarathe to set up a new House here in Andromeda, and if an exile he knew was coming back, perhaps that would help nudge him in that direction as the other Houses continued to destroy each other in another galaxy.

“I cannot believe you have fallen so far,” Vaisha said as she leaned on a rail in an observational gallery that held a number of artworks unique to the ship, including some trophy plants taken from their home galaxy and preserved here as it continued to burn under the attacks of the Hadarak and the Pafdreng.

“In hindsight, neither can I, but we are here regardless,” Vikarathe said, looking at her back with the Prominences now decorated with green metallic overlay while the rest of her body was nude…something he’d learned was common amongst exiles who were not allowed to take their armor with them into the wilds. He hadn’t known that at the time, nor had others. The Exiles were taken away wearing their armor, then it was removed from them by whatever teams handled their transport away from their society.

“I was speaking of you,” she said, starring out at the view of the Vargemma fleet. “One Gjardan, and you’re relying on the Vargemma and an alien commander for your fleet. You should be commanding it.”

“He is more skilled.”

“My point exactly. You never would have accepted such an inferior servant as your better. What has happened to you?”

“I’ve upgraded considerably since we last met.”

“Have you?” she scoffed, pain at her exile evident in her words. “Your actions do not suggest upgrades. Rather the converse.”

“I am not the one who exiled you.”

She turned around and glared at him. “But you did nothing to stop it!”

“There was nothing I could do. Your silhouette was out of alignment.”

“No,” she said with considerable venom. “Platark switched his with mine. He was out of alignment, not me.”

Vikarathe frowned. “Your body looks nothing like his.”

“He rigged it after I accused him of being tainted, and I do not believe he did so alone.”

“Platark is now dead, so at this point it matters little. Your exile may have actually saved your life. But if the Mev is upon you, it must be removed. Paul will see to that.”

“I do not want his hands upon me, nor will I allow it.”

“You can’t stop it…and he doesn’t need his hands. The only reason I knew of mine being removed was because he telepathically showed me what was happening, and the subsequent accounting I took of myself afterward, noting the region in my brain that it had suppressed had become active again.”

“I was set up once before, I will not allow it to happen a second time.”

“Is this bitterness, or are you actually out of alignment?”

“Now I probably am, but I still have the pride our race deserves. You have lost yours, so you are less Neofan than I am now.”

“My silhouette has changed, but we no longer enforce it, for it was in error and aided the Mev takeover of our minds. If you are angry with me, why seek me out?”

“I owed it to the others. I am not the only one in this galaxy. We found each other eventually, and a group of us live in the Temples here. They do not trust you, nor do I, but I had to come to find out.”

“And if you do not return, they will know Plausious’s call of amnesty is not legit.”

“I wanted to hear it from you, my old student. I will know if you are lying. What is the Reignor’s intention?”

“Atriark is the only remaining intact House now. His intention is to salvage what remains of our civilization.”

“As a single House?” she asked incredulously. “And you accuse us of losing our way! There cannot be one. Atriark…if they are the only one remaining…must split into at least 4. You know this.”

“I do, but it is no longer relevant. The old ways are dying, and Plausious and I agreed that to cling to the parts that are not valuable would squander what little chance we have left.”

“Chance to do what? Limp on as a junior member of the Bond of Resistance?”

“We must save Star Force at all costs.”

Now it was Vaisha’s turn to frown. “You claim they are more important than our race?”

“Yes,” Vikarathe said flatly, though it pained him to do so. “They are our only course of vengeance against our silent assassins. Without them, we have no way to survive. They will pick us apart in numerous ways where the Mev fails. Star Force is a major threat to them if they have time to develop further. We are committed to defending them and giving them that time. Plausious has even given our younglings and promised all future ones to Star Force, so they can train them in their ways and fix the problems in our Construction.”

“That is treason,” she said so angrily that her Prominences actually began to glow with a destructive energy from a rare tissue upgrade she’d gotten in a distant war.

Vikarathe waved a dismissive hand. “I have no time for the old thinking. If you are going to cling to it, go back and hide in the Temples. This is a war only the superior can fight, and only if we are wise, quick, and lucky do we have a chance to survive.”

“Luck?”

“Our enemy is well established. They subjugated us long ago, though only the Ruling House knew of it. Deny it if you want, but it is true. We served them until we broke their rules.”

“What do you mean subjugated? I thought you said we joined them?”

“They killed many of us as an example of their power, and forced us to join, otherwise we would be destroyed, for our power was too great to allow to exist independently. Anyone who starts to gain power is likewise enthralled or destroyed. Star Force is marked for destruction, for they have unlocked a power that takes enthrallment out of the equation…though they would never accept it. In that they have a stronger will than us.”

“More heresy.”

“It is the truth. Our race caved rather than fight what seemed to be an unwinnable fight. But we didn’t give up entirely, and everything we have done since then has been to grow more powerful so we could one day throw off our masters. House Ash’ne miscalculated and broke the rules before we were ready…and they all but destroyed us without firing a shot. If they have a weapon as invisible as the Mev, what other powers do they command?”

“You are afraid,” she accused, turning back to the viewport as her Prominences returned to their metallic sheen.

“I am wary,” Vikarathe clarified. “This enemy is so large and so old, I am told it commands thousands of galaxies.”

“Told by whom?”

“There are other powers beyond the Veloqueen and the Denogi. Star Force has sources beyond us as to what is happening beyond their Milky Way.”

“You even use their names,” Vaisha all but spat.

“It is their galaxy now, not ours.”

“We built their Temples, trained their Vargemma, and they come to steal them away…with you obliging them?”

Vikarathe had had enough, and took a step forward and punched into the center of her back. To her credit she saw it coming and rotated around fast enough that he missed, grabbing his arm and launching a kick up towards his face with her much smaller body…but he saw that coming too and caught it with one hand, then tossed her across the room like a toy where she tumbled over the floor and into a wall.

“I am far beyond you now, Vaisha. And you will learn to become the student again, or I will waste no time on you.”

The female Neofan stood up and flexed her Prominences, activating psionic tissue in them and assaulting him three different ways, but his Essence shields held against all of them…something that surprised her.

“Your defenses have improved greatly.”

“I told you I’ve upgraded.”

“And yet you follow these Furyans into oblivion?”

“I will not run and hide while there is a war to be fought.”

“No, you never would. You can’t resist the call to battle. That has always been your weakness. So eager to fight that you don’t stop to think.”

“It is you who are not thinking,” Vikarathe said calmly. “Your bitterness clouds your mind.”

“Shouldn’t it?” she complained.

“I don’t expect you to be without bitterness, but I do expect you to overcome it.”

“You are but a shell of the Empire we once had, and that Empire could not see the truth of my case. I have no confidence in you or Atriark being an improvement.”

“Then why come here?”

“Because I am a fool long without any hope, and I could not pass up the impossible chance that this amnesty was anything other than a ploy. You want us to come die with you. I’d rather outlive you and restart out Houses amongst the exiles.”

“Have you already done so?”

“No,” she said, obviously lying.

“You were better at hiding your true intentions in the past,” Vikarathe said, waving a hand at the door that began to split apart, revealing a waiting Paul behind it who he had called down telepathically a few minutes ago. “How bad is she?”

“She has no Mev,” Paul said, walking in despite the hateful looks he was getting from her. “I’d say she’s just suffering from personal problems.”

A telekinetic choke latched itself around Paul’s neck, but before it could depress more than a fraction of an inch he broke it with a Rentar wave and just looked over at the Neofan who stood approximately at the same height as him and much shorter than Vikarathe, then he looked back up at the larger one.

“She’s going to take a lot of work.”

“I agree.”

“Are you sure you have the time?”

“No, I don’t. What do you suggest?”

“I will not be controlled!” she yelled, jumping towards Paul with him suddenly moving towards her and somehow getting behind her where her Prominences could not reach and wrapping an arm around her neck, pinning her in place as she struggled for leverage, but could not break free nor curl her Prominences over far enough to jab into his arm.

“I thought you said she was a combat instructor?” Paul asked Vikarathe, seeming to hold her without much effort as his hair shown in vivid blonde.

“I once thought so too,” he said, with both of them trying to provoke her and sharing bits of telepathy to get the desired outcome.

And it happened a moment later as she lost all self-control and just acted on instinct, with her muscles suddenly becoming much more powerful and she legitimately broke Paul’s arm lock, with him having to push backwards to get some distance before she tried to break his arm. She became a blur of motion that he matched, move for move, and the two of them danced across the observation deck, breaking the artworks there as collateral damage while Vikarathe stood still as a statue and just watched silently.

It went on and on for minutes, with neither one winning until Vikarathe told Paul she’d had enough. Then the Archon stopped holding back and ended it within 15 seconds, unleashing a series of psionics and physical attacks in combos that were virtually impossible to completely block.

The result was she was thrown up against a wall, with it denting slightly, and Paul telekinetically holding her there as she dripped blood from a number of cuts, including a break on her left arm that probably went all the way through, for her hand was limp.

“He is not inferior,” Vikarathe said as she was hung on the wall like an ornament. “He barely defeated me in combat when I was encumbered with the Mev. It’s still a question whether or not he would have won if I had my wits about me, but his victory was legitimate. He could have killed me and chose to save me instead. My loyalty to him is greater than my loyalty to what’s left of the Neofan. His Empire is superior to ours in many way, but not all. We are using our superior strengths in coordination with theirs, and together we are more powerful than the T’fen expect. The Neofan are dead to them, but joined with Star Force we have a new purpose, and one that involves vengeance against our executioners. Let the pain in your body right now be a testament to your inferiority, and let the rage you now hold show you the flaw in our silhouette. You abandoned yours entirely just now and became stronger for it. They will show you how to use your anger constructively, among many other things. I do not know if it will work for our offspring, but I trust that they will not pass on our flaws, and that alone is something we owe future generations, if there are to be any.”

“You are a servant now,” she said through a clenched jaw.

“No, we are friends. Friends in a way that is not possible in Neofan society. It is a bond that our silhouette forbade, and it is a bond that their Empire relies upon. Friendship glues them together in a way that has civilizations throughout the Bond of Resistance coming here to learn from them. I am not a servant, nor is he. We are teammates and allies, but ‘friend’ is the best word for it. Friends do not use a hierarchy or a chain of command. We do what is needed when it is needed, and no one gives us orders because we are in sync already, and any orders would be detrimental to the efficiency we have generated.”

“More propaganda,” she said, twitching slightly trying to break the telekinetic hold physically, but with no more psionic or Essence counterattacks for some reason.

“I would have him beat more sense into you, but your body cannot take it without serious damage,” Vikarathe said, walking closer and looking down into her face. “You were once wise. Reach down and find that buried wisdom inside you. Free it, and become an asset once again rather than a victim. House Mutavi is gone. You’ve been avenged.”

“Then maybe I should thank the T’fen.”

“They will not spare you.”

“Maybe I should ask to join them?”

“Do that, and the next time we meet I will kill you.”

Her eyes softened slightly. “I thought we didn’t kill each other.”

“If you serve the T’fen, they will have you kill us…and them. And they are my brothers now.”

“Do you truly think they can win?”

“I think I would rather die fighting with them than run and hide.”

“Always the warrior.”

“Should I be anything else?”

“A Reignor.”

Vikarathe looked at Paul, but he telepathically told him he had nothing to do with that.

“What do you mean?”

“We lost our way long ago, and now the Houses have as well. You are committed to your path. I can sense your aura. It is clear, not conflicted. We need clear leadership. I cannot provide it, nor can the others. We are all broken in some form.”

“How many?” Vikarathe demanded.

“Here, only a few thousand. But we have contact with others. Some of the older ones have generated offspring, and there is a hidden House amongst the Temples where you cannot find them. Even admitting that I am putting them at risk, so you had better not be any less than you claim to be or I will truly be a fool.”

Vikarathe signed Paul to put her down, and he flipped her off the wall and threw her onto the ground none too gently. She hadn’t made it easy on him, and somehow had been using her Essence to enhance her musculature with techniques that he wasn’t aware of, but he could feel them as she used them. All the training in the Temple had Essence being applied externally, not internally.

“You are using the Tre’no’zen,” Vikarathe said, answering Paul’s question aloud. “That was considered heresy.”

“I was always using some of it. Once I was exiled, I explored what I was unconsciously doing and developed it into an art. I have not fought in longer than I can remember. Your ‘friend’ would not have defeated me if I was in fighting condition.”

“You did well enough without it,” Paul added, staying a few steps behind her, for her emotions were so unstable he didn’t put a cheap shot past her.

She sneered at him, but directed her attention to Vikarathe. “We still have skills, but we have no direction.”

“And you want me to provide it?”

“I do not trust an Atriark. Not now, not ever.”

“Even those that were exiled?”

“We are all without a House now. You stripped that from us.”

“I intend to fight, not nursemaid you,” Vikarathe declared.

“You will get more help from us than you will from new offspring, and you know it.”

“You will be more trouble than you are worth, especially if there are illegitimate offspring so far beyond Construction…which I doubt you are capable of providing them.”

“You are correct. Many become savage and have to be destroyed. But some have found a semblance of balance.”

Vikarathe grew angry, but resisted pummeling her. “You are reproducing then killing your offspring?”

“We can’t exile them when we’re already exiles. And I have not. Others have reproduced. I would not subject a Neofan to our existence, but others have erroneous beliefs. We do not get better once exiled. We do not know how. We require a graft. A legit one. That is why I have come here.”

“On your own?”

“On behalf of the others in this galaxy, but many others have felt the same way for some time. We would have taken a graft rather than be exiled in the first place. If taking one now will return us to some semblance of civilization, we will accept it so long as it is not flawed.”

“I am not holding myself to the original silhouette.”

“If what you have said is true, then that’s preferable. Your aura tells me much, but your servant…friend, tells me much more. His skills are greater than those of any servants we once had, and I have already seen evidence of his handiwork against these Asferja. We have been watching them consume this galaxy, and did not think the Bond would do anything to stop it. But you came, and you are as forthright as I remember. I taught you better than I taught myself, it seems, for I admit I have lost my way. If you will permit it, allow me to graft from yours, for I do not know what else to do,” she said, dropping to her knees as what little emotional control she had left disappeared with that admission, and unstoppable tears followed.

The misery that created them pulsed from her aura involuntarily, and both Paul and Vikarathe sensed how messed up she truly was.

“I’ve seen worse,” Paul admitted, shrugging off the emotional waterfall descending on the room and probably several others within proximity.

“I know what you want,” he told Paul. “But I do not want to be away from the fighting.”

“As if I do,” he argued, not saying aloud what they both knew his other duty was. “But you have a choice. Become a new type of Reignor. One that leads from the battlefield like an Archon, or any other version you like. Make it your own. If I can get the Vargemma to take orders, you can get them into some semblance of order.”

“You don’t trust the Vargemma.”

“And you shouldn’t trust them,” he countered. “But you can help them and put them into support roles. Maybe later one of them will rise to peerdom, maybe not, but their new offspring can always be given to us to train. That, at least, they can be useful in reproducing the next generation.”

“To be part of House Atriark?”

“Or your new House,” Paul prompted. “Or two new ones. Whatever you want. Or you can train them on your own, but I didn’t think you wanted to be away from the combat.”

“Some days I hate you,” Vikarathe declared.

“Am I wrong?”

“Our offspring are not something to be trusted to others…but we have already tied what future our race has to your Empire, and I should not fault Atriark in making it a total trust. Are you sure you’ll be able to Construct them properly?”

“We already are.”

“They are far from finished,” Vikarathe said, speaking of the Neofan Maturia Star Force had recently created.

“We’ve got the hard parts more or less figured out. Furyans are not that much different. You guys just have a lot more initial power than we do. Once we get a genetic package in place to restructure that development into tiers, you won’t have to worry.”

“You’re altering their genetics?” Vikarathe said with disgust.

“Working on it. But this first group we’re training without genetic alteration, and we’re succeeding despite the difficulties. Training is what we do, and the genetic alterations will essentially lock certain powers into dormancy until they have earned them. It also reduces the amount of learning required to a slower rate so their biology doesn’t advanced faster than their judgement skills.”

“Heresy,” Vaisha whispered, her resistance a bare echo of what it was moments earlier.

“Heresy to our past,” Vikarathe argued, reluctantly seeing Paul’s point. “But one who does not earn their power should not have it. I find the changes distasteful, but that is my memories speaking. If I had to bet on Star Force’s success or failure, I would not be one of the fools to bet on failure. And if you are to accept my graft, you will accept their possession of our offspring as well.”

“I have no choice,” she said. “You are our only hope, and I will not go back without it. I cannot. Please return my sanity to me,” she pleaded, still on her knees between Paul and Vikarathe.

“If this is to happen,” the big Neofan said, summoning the courage to venture into new territory, “then what I require is not a civilization, but an army. We will only achieve a future for ourselves if we win this war, and I will not tolerate any deviation or diversion from it. Atriark may build, but we will use what resources we have in the Temples to fight now, build later. Do you accept this path?”

“I accept any path you offer.”

“Then stand. A warrior does not kneel.”

She stumbled at first, but regained some of her poise as Paul felt her telepathic aura at the point of breaking as she allowed herself to give in to hope. If that hope was suddenly denied her, what little resolve she had left would be utterly destroyed.

But that didn’t happen. Vikarathe walked over to her and took her wrists, including the broken arm, and first used his Essence to heal it enough to fuse the bone back together. Then he crossed her arms between them and rolled her hands into fists, grasping both in his as he made mental connection and gave her one last chance to decline, for this would not be a light graft. Her mind, he could see now in full view, was too damaged for that to be enough. A light graft would put her on a long path to healing. A path she would have to earn, piece by piece, along the way.

But that’s not what he needed. He needed fighters in the present, and that could be achieved with an overwrite. Her personality, along with most of her memories, would be replaced with his, or pieces of his where appropriate. Vikarathe had a great deal of flexibility in how he constructed the graft, and he deliberately erased most of her time in exile, but not so much that she would be unfamiliar with where they were and how they operated.

He began rebuilding her mind, piece by piece, copying the portions of his own that would make her almost a clone of him…but in doing so she’d be able to begin healing immediately without the memories as baggage…and she’d gain knowledge and skills Vikarathe had. Vaisha would have to adapt to them to make them her own over time, but what he was doing to her now made her similar to Paul’s Paladin. It was as if she was being reborn into a mind that was mostly someone else’s with just enough of her original memories for her to remember who she was. Had he wanted to he could erase it all, but that was not appropriate. He did not want her to forget who she was, he wanted her to remember the potential she held and that was currently buried under a mountain of decrepitation.

Paul waited for more than 80 minutes patiently, seeing her telepathic aura disappear as her emotions settled down, and he didn’t pry as Vikarathe had told him not to interrupt, and not to let anyone else interrupt him…so he was also guarding the pair until his friend finally pulled out of her mind and regained his other senses.

When he released her hands, they were clenched on their own into fists, and Paul felt a fiery determination in her that she wasn’t trying to hide as she turned to face him.

“My apologies, Paul, for doubting your power and honor. I see now what you have done for the Neofan, and I thank you. I stand ready to serve as needed. What mission do you both have for me?” she said in the Star Force language.

“Damn, that was a fast change,” he said, glancing at Vikarathe.

“And dangerous if done wrong, which is one of many reasons it is rare. But as you know, we have some powers beyond your own, and this is one of them. She is stable enough to be trusted now, and her loyalty will not wane…and that loyalty is to both me and you.”

That was something he had not expected, and he looked between both of them before nodding solemnly. “I understand. Thank you both.”

“Before we proceed,” Vikarathe said in a resigned voice. “I have a mission for Paul.”

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“If I am to be a Reignor, it will not be for House Mutavi. I will no longer cling to its crumbs. We will forge at least one new House, if not many later, but for now, as we fight, we must have a House name. I want you to choose it for us.”

Paul smiled. “Already did months ago. You’re putting together a House out of the ashes of the previous ones. Therefore, you will be known as…House Phoenix.”

17

EG28

February 18, 158437

MILKY WAY GALAXY

Megatron Prime 12 System (Galactic Core)

Mid-level orbit around Black Hole

Gar’shon stood in the nook assigned to him onboard the Khazer, a massive 3,820 mile long baseship that held more than 8 billion of his fellow Jaeggers. He had the responsibility not just for this baseship, but the hundreds more that were being sent to this galaxy to conquer and cleanse it. But that didn’t require any special accommodations onboard, or any special rooms to command. Gar’shon, along with the rest of the Jaeggers, were cyborgs, and as long as they had a terminal to plug into they could communicate with each other in cyberspace.

And within that cyberspace he was the Jarkeen, with data flows running through and around him and others dealing with them as he waited and intervened when necessary. The Khazer had just come out of its intergalactic jump, braking well early of the black hole and avoiding the clutter around its lower orbits that other intergalactic travel typically resulted in. Each galaxy had its own jumpline into this black hole…at least those within line of sight…and there were no other ships coming here from the galaxy he had just passed through…for they’d scared off or eliminated anyone along their route here that could potentially interfere.

Data began to accumulate from sensors, both passive and active, in this black hole system, which contained 5 different stars in various orbits, all of which appeared stable and not due to be swallowed up by the massive gravity well anytime soon.

But that massive well created an equally massive system, with these stars being as far away from each other as neighboring star systems might be elsewhere in the galaxy, but with so many gravitational forces here, travel from one to the other would occur much faster than normal. That said, the geography here was so massive that he was surprised to see a large number of ships stationed nearby apparently awaiting their arrival.

They were warships that matched the configurations of the Star Force vessels they had been warned about, including one over 1,000 miles long soon identified as the DinoThunder…but wait, that wasn’t the only one. More information was coming in as sensor bounces returned to fill in ghost images of passive sensors.

There wasn’t one of the massive V’kit’no’sat warships. There were seven of them.

That was not supposed to happen. The DinoThunder was known to be guarding this Galactic Tether, but the others were supposed to be battling the Hadarak and far away from here. They’d been built specifically to fight the Hadarak. That was their primary purpose. So why were they here?

And not just that. The ‘small’ ship count here was going up beyond a million vessels, including some that were shining so bright in Essence he knew they had to either be their Avenger-class ships or…

No…no…no…these were not Avengers, they were Veloqueen and they were not ships. They were advanced Heidoor, space-dwelling beings the size of ships that could not only survive within stars and black holes, but they actually preferred them to the cold of space. But the Veloqueen were one of the rare races of Heidoor that could use Essence…and they were damn good at it, not to mention huge in body, which meant they could produce it in vast quantities as well.

This was not right. These defenses were far too much to be expected at any of the Galactic Tethers. There were dozens of the massive black holes capable of intergalactic jumps, and there was no way they could have known the Jaeggers were coming to this one.

He’d seen enough, and immediately ordered the outer layer of the baseship to begin peeling off…for it was not hull armor, but six layers of warships docked so close they appeared to be part of the ship.

As that was happening and another baseship came out of its jump behind the Khazer, a message from the enemy came through in Gar’shon’s own language.

“I am Mak’to’ran, leader of the V’kit’no’sat Faction of Star Force,” the large-headed biped said, though only his neck and head were visible, with his long sharp teeth adding to the intimidating effect his hologram had. Gar’shon knew what he was, and who he was, but it was clear they had known the Jaeggers were coming before this Era’tran even admitted it. Otherwise, they would not have had access to their language to translate with.

“You have two choices. Turn around and leave, or surrender. Any other action will result in your destruction. We know why you are here, who sent you, and your intention to wipe our Empire from this galaxy. That will not be allowed to happen. You will also not be allowed to hold position and think it through as more of your reinforcements arrive. You will leave now, surrender now, or be destroyed now. Make your choice quickly, for while we have no wish to wage war against you, you are clearly here to wage war against us. This galaxy is our domain, and we will defend it vigorously. This message is a courtesy only. If you wish to defy your orders and leave or surrender, we will offer you your lives. If you follow your orders, as I assume you will, you are about to die. If I am wrong, show me now. Otherwise, let the war begin.”

True to his word, Mak’to’ran did not wait for more baseships to arrive. His fleet began moving immediately on either side of the jumpline, knowing better than to run up it and risk collisions with incoming extra-galactic ships as the Khazer likewise was drifting to the side to avoid both the Hartur and the more to come behind them.

This was not right. They were walking into an ambush, and as the cascade of various voices inside the baseship cyberspace began to analyze and review everything presented to them, the consensus was clear.

They could not win this fight without more baseships, and the rest were spread out so far that they were not expected to be here for days to come. The Khazer and Hartur were sent close together to make it impossible for the defenders of this black hole system to stop them. Now, it was they who were about to be stopped.

Mak’to’ran was right, all he could do was try and buy time as both his ships and theirs were closing ranks. He pulled his back immediately into a tighter defense around the baseship in what was known as a ‘citadel’ formation that overlapped Essence shields into a massive wall that was virtually impregnable to civilizations that did not possess Essence weaponry.

Star Force had some, and those big knife-like ships of theirs carried Essence weapons that were a threat to the baseships themselves. But it was the Veloqueen that proved the biggest threat, for each of them were both a production factory and an Essence user combined into one. Each was only a few miles long, but the Essence auras they were showing eclipsed what his own ships with charged Essence weapons were displaying on their Essence sensors.

They couldn’t see into the Essence realm itself, but any Essence bleedoff in this realm was visible. Even the minute amount lost simply by living, making it a legitimate lifeform sensor…but what he was seeing now was the equivalent of a nova in comparison, and they hadn’t even started firing yet.

And more kept coming out of the black hole. They could see what was in there if they played with the sensitivity, but as the Veloqueen came out their Essence auras increased and popped up to battle levels…meaning he didn’t even know how many there were in this system.

Buying time was their only play, for if they left this system their reinforcements would face the same situation when they arrived…but should he buy time here or buy time by fleeing to nearby star systems or running around this one to try and deny them contact.

He had options, none of which were good, and from what he knew of the Veloqueen from the intelligence reports they’d been given on this galaxy, the Veloqueen could use their Essence to increase their speed, if not use it to travel entirely by Essence gripping.

So if any of his ships ran, the Veloqueen could chase them down if they wanted and pick them apart. That meant the best worst option he had was to turtle up and destroy as many of them as he could before the next baseship arrived some 17 hours from now.

The rest of his expeditionary fleet removed themselves from the hull of the Khazer and joined up into numerous diamonds in the citadel formation. Each of those was the size of a quarter of the baseship, with an interior empty space that could be used to harbor friendly ships, whether they be damaged or waiting for deployment. Gar’shon ordered the other baseship into a position near his own, putting both egg-like constructs that had the mass of medium planets into a gravity lock, creating a small channel between them that ships could use as a slingshot when passing between them.

He ordered pieces of the diamond formations to break off and move to the back of the two baseships as the enemy was likewise spewing out smaller vessels of their own, all of which were to be unmanned and operated remotely. His people were already beginning the hacking efforts, but as expected they were not seeing initial success. The cybersecurity of this Empire had been rated as ‘formidable,’ but he had no doubt that given time they could figure out a way to interfere with their command and control, if not assert control of their own.

While that continued, more analysis of the enemy fleet was coming in…none of it good. There were far more vessels protected by Essence shields than there should have been…though most of them were conventional technology, and it was those that he targeted now, sending out the first attack of his own and slingshotting vessels so fast towards the Star Force ‘drone’ clouds that they passed into them at collisions speeds, but no such collision happened as his ships popped into the Essence Realm and disappeared, dropping an enhanced energy net behind them that did run into the drones, destroying hundreds for each of his own ships that would pop up behind the enemy lines and sow confusion, but who were now mostly unarmed due to the amount of energy and Essence required to make the nets.

As Gar’shon saw the thousands of tiny ship kills against the enemy rack up, he was satisfied with the first strike, but that didn’t alter the prognosis of this battle as it began to play out. He was outmatched with only a small force available compared to what was coming. And never before, in any of the Gauntlet Wars they’d been part of, had an enemy amassed this much resistance to them at any point in those wars.

They were the second to invade this galaxy…third if you counted the Hadarak that were already here beforehand. The soonest they had been used previously was 4th, but it should not have mattered. This was an insane level of resistance, and someone had tipped them off. He had people working to discover if that had been an internal leak or theorize where it could have come from in their various associates, but someone had betrayed them, for Star Force had no means to monitor the galaxy they had last passed through to determine the jump route they’d taken between galaxies.

They’d been coasting between them for 8 months, after making numerous other such jumps all the way back to their home galaxy of Trenga. Star Force only operated in this one galaxy, and even the Bond of Resistance had no scouts in Trenga, and they had no visible scouts in the last galaxy. He’d been careful to make sure they weren’t being tracked, and there had been no sign of them in the previous Galactic Core.

This was inexplicable, but something had obviously happened. He just didn’t know if he’d survive long enough to find out…and losing a single baseship was unacceptable. If his ships here were destroyed, he’d have to run to preserve it, even if leaving the next one to arrive without assistance. There was no way to send a signal back to warn them to divert to another system, nor could they this close to the galaxy without taking a very dangerous bouncing path between stars until they found enough gravity to finally stop somewhere else, for these massive black holes were very rare.

The enemy drone swarms, to their credit, diverted immediately so they weren’t on a direct line out of the slingshot, reducing the speeds possible if the Jaegger ships had to take a different direction. He hated doing it, but Gar’shon issued the order to use all Essence reserves in this battle…for if they didn’t they’d be destroyed anyway. It would severely hinder future operations, but there was no option, and soon Carapace-level shields exuded out around both baseships, preventing them from using their own conventional weapons except for when small holes were temporarily created above those weapons to allow for it.

As if in response, the DinoThunder and its twins began charging a weapon that had Essence enhancement…and a lot of it. Three of the ships suddenly went off the register, showing a density of Essence manipulation that was impossible for the Jaeggers to produce.

That meant only one thing.

Star Force had three individuals here who were master manipulators of Essence. He’d been told that their Empire had only recently gained that ability. Doing this with rookies should have been impossible…unless they had an enormous amount of practice usually reserved for those who had lived for millions of years.

Or those who could draw power from the Essence Realm itself and not have to wait for their body to recharge from natural seepage.

With a thought, that idea went out to the rest of the Jaeggers in the ship and met up with similar suspicions. Within a few seconds projections were made, and it was doubtful that their baseship shield could protect them again multiple hits…which meant the amount of Essence charge on those vessels would determine whether or not they’d get…

The first one was launched, traveling across the gap between ships in 3.8 seconds in the form of a gigantic pink beam that corkscrewed as it traveled as if it had a magnetic swirl to it. It slammed into the Hartur’s shield, which held for a moment, then point collapsed and allowed part of the weapon’s fire to get through…and it cored out a section of the ship 52 miles deep.

Calculations flowed rapidly as the Jaeggers analyzed the damage and made adjustments to the reformed shield before the second blast from another ship hit…and this time the shield barely held, draining it greatly, but no further damage occurred.

All the shots were going to the Hartur and not the Khazer, while the enemy drones were circling around to attack the Khazer from the flank…or more accurately, the furthest citadel group on that side, for they were ignoring the baseship entirely despite its long range weaponry poking out and destroying some of their tiny ships with well placed lancer shots laying out very thin cones of energy that got wider as they traveled, allowing them to at least wing ships at extremely long range. And with large amounts of energy being directed into them by the baseship, even those winging hits were destroying the Star Force drones where they intersected at a range far beyond what those drones could counterattack from.

At least their range estimates were holding from the data packet given to them by the Fellinsey. So far he was not pleased with their scouting reports, but the drones were, in fact, primarily short and medium ranged attack vessels, and nothing was showing the same range as the baseship lancers…some of which were even now probing the DinoThunder and hitting…but barely damaging its shields.

He ordered those attacks to cease after they had decent data on the interaction to analyze and repurposed those weapons to thinning the drones coming at the first diamond. When in that formation they could not fire back, only absorb fire, with the idea being that other ships, namely the baseships, would be able to pick apart the enemy while preserving their own small ships…which could break that formation at any time and engage the enemy if they passed by and went at the baseship for close range combat.

It was a well-used technique in previous wars, but to his dismay the drones were attempting to break the diamond as they flowed past it like water, peeling away from the others and the baseship and retreating back towards their distant control ships. Gar’shon wanted to poke at those, but he knew it would be a waste. The lancers couldn’t take them out in a single shot, and they’d just retreat and give command of their drones to another until their shields regenerated, then they’d come back and switch off with the others.

Going after the Star Force control ships was likewise a bait ploy that Empire had used extensively in its history, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. The drones were the primary threat aside from the big ships and the Veloqueen…who were oddly silent as they just floated in formation as more and more of them came up from the black hole.

Were they refusing to fight? If so, that would change this battle considerably, but after the Star Force drones successfully breached the first diamond’s defenses and poured into the interior and could shoot at the unshielded backsides of the ships with impunity…forcing the citadel formation to break and scatter, with the surviving ships retreating and taking refuge inside other diamonds…the Veloqueen began to glow brighter and brighter as they began moving towards the Khazer as more Essence-enhanced pink coring shots came at the Hartur from the big V’kit’no’sat ships.

Beams began to shoot between them, linking one Veloqueen to another as a giant visible spiderweb formed, with numerous Veloqueen coming together so close in the middle they formed a ladybug-like column, several thick, that pointed like a needle towards the baseship.

Gar’shon saw the calculations ongoing, none of which had any certainty, for the datapacket had not included the capabilities of the Veloqueen who had never been observed in combat against anyone other than the Hadarak.

The glowing spiderweb gradually shifted from white to blue, then it thinned quickly, starting at the outer rings and drained down into the spire in the center, concentrating there before shooting off across space towards the Khazer.

It hit the shield and absorbed on it for a few seconds, but the beam didn’t abate, and the Jaeggers didn’t have time to analyze and adjust its matrix before it punched through and began eating away at the inside of the ship.

It continued on and on, for the amount of energy gathered in the spiderweb did not fire out quickly. The Khazer attempted to rotate, bringing new portions of the ship into the firing line to keep the beam from coring all the way into the center, but that only delayed the inevitable, for it wasn’t just the beam that was firing off towards the baseship. Several Veloqueen were riding inside the beam, and they got within the shield boundary over the hull.

Several hundred got inside before the beam finally ran its course, and each of those Veloqueen began to glow with cutting energy and started flying around through deck after deck, going after what they thought were vital systems and boring small tunnels everywhere they went.

Gar’shon had no way to get them out. This attack had just completely blindsided him…and subsequent hits on the Hartur had once again penetrated its shields and were tearing large chunks out of the baseship, though the mass of both of them were too big to detonate or be destroyed easily.

He saw the path the Veloqueen were taking through his baseship, and managed to get a ‘stand your ground’ order out to all the Jaeggers here, knowing an intact baseship would arrive within hours and that the enemy couldn’t maintain this level of Essence expenditure forever.

Sooner or later they’d run out, and the losses the Jaeggers were taking now were succeeding in bleeding away their most effective attacks. Subsequent waves would conquer this system, at least enough to secure an entrypoint for further baseships to arrive unmolested. The invasion was going to be far more costly than any of them had assumed, but they would still succeed in their mission. It was only a matter of time.

But for Gar’shon, his was about up, as the progress of one of the Veloqueen inside the Khazer was headed towards one of the redundant power generators deep within the ship that Gar’shon’s personnel nook was located next to. And for all the different areas within the ship that were unaffected, luck would have it that the Veloqueen would accidentally plow near to the anonymous location where their invasion commander was plugged in, and the subsequent detonation of the power generator would vaporize more than a mile of volume around it, creating a wave of energy and debris that killed Gar’shon and all those plugged in around him in less than a tenth of a second.

Kla’zon was not a highly placed commander within the Jaeggers, but he was one of the few survivors pulled off the decimated Khazer before the Urrwen arrived. He’d been exposed to space during a hull breach before then, with his personal shields protecting his reptilian body and his cyborg implants recycling the oxygen in his lungs, for the atmosphere within the shield was limited and would not sustain him for long without such recycling.

He had been clinging to debris in the vacuum along with several other Jaeggers, none of which were reptilian, but he assumed all of them had been captured by the enemy ship that had dug its way in through the hull breaches and picked them up.

When they were pulled via energy beam into a small hangar, all of them agreed to fight to the death, but the biped reptilians that entered the hangar were not affected by their Essence attacks, which were minimal, but usually quite deadly against common troops…and these showed no Essence aura larger than a mundane.

But they were wearing armor, and the race he recognized as Rit’ko’sor ran into the chamber quickly, firing weapons against the Jaeggers’ cyborg shields as they returned fire with their own conventional weapons built into their body…but they weren’t enough and their captors eventually got through their shields and exposed their bodies to weaponsfire. He took a hit to the arm in explosive fashion before being bathed in stun energy that his mechanical components were unaffected by.

They continued to operate parts of his body while his organic components lay limp as they were dragged out of the rescue ship by bipedal Zen’zat and put into a cargo container. There they lay, unconscious save for their circuitry that was fighting to wake them back up…but each time they partially succeeded they were hit by remote stun weapons monitoring their condition and returned back to helplessness.

All signals were blocked, and they couldn’t communicate with anyone other than those within the container. After a while it opened back up and he was dragged out, leaving the others behind as he was obviously inside another enemy vessel given the proximity sensors that were still feeding him information despite his closed organic eyelids.

Suddenly the stun effect was drained from his body and he was finally able to regain full control of himself, finding the alien floor directly in front of his face and a single giant alien standing nearby him. Kla’zon gathered himself for a moment, then attacked with an Essence physical construct, finding his mechanical weapons had been damaged by his captors.

“That will not work on me,” a familiar voice said in the V’kit’no’sat language, which Kla’zon had downloaded previously, along with every other language known to exist in the targeted galaxy. “Do not attempt it again.”

He stood up fully, facing the monstrous Era’tran looking down at him from a large maroon-colored head that was adorned with various jewelry.

“What do you want with me?” Kla’zon asked, knowing that his life might be about to end despite Star Force’s notorious reputation for not executing prisoners. But after the fight that had just occurred, maybe this one wasn’t going to be so generous.

“I want to know why you are here.”

“You claimed you already knew.”

“You specifically. Why are you here and not in your home galaxy.”

“I’m doing my duty.”

“Do you even now who ordered you to come here?”

“My people did.”

“And do you know who your people are taking orders from? Specifically, do you know their name?”

“I do not,” he answered honestly, glad that one piece of information couldn’t be extracted from him through any method.

“They are called the T’fen,” the Era’tran said, whom he believed was the same one who had sent the warning message, as he produced a hologram of an unknown starship. “They are a fully artificial race who have loose dominion over thousands of galaxies. They do not originate from biologicals. They are purely synthetic.”

That didn’t make logical sense.

“How can they not originate from biologicals? It is we who create technology.”

“A fair question. The T’fen began this way from an origin I will not share with you, but I have been made aware of it, and they are not the only ones. They have peers out there, far beyond our ability to reach, who are seeking to destroy them. They are using your race, and others like you, as a barrier to prevent their own destruction. Any race within that barrier zone that rises to prominence must be absorbed into their forces or destroyed, which is why you have come here. You have been ordered to destroy us before we can become a threat to them. And if you do not comply, they will destroy you instead. Correct?”

“If we could survive we would not obey them,” Kla’zon admitted. “We have no personal wish to destroy you, but given the choice between you and us, we must logically prioritize our own survival.”

“Good. You are being honest.”

“Do I have a reason not to be?”

“Many do not require a reason to lie,” Mak’to’ran said, beginning to pace around the much smaller Jaegger as it stayed put. “Can you theorize a way for you to survive this encounter if we prove to be of superior military capability?”

“Such calculation is irrelevant. If we do not obey, our home galaxy will face a Gauntlet War such as this one. We could not survive it any more than you can.”

“And what of you individually?”

“I serve the commonality. I am not an individual.”

“Denial of fact,” the Era’tran noted. “You are here alone, severed from connection to the others. You are an individual whether you like it or not.”

“I am loyal to the commonality,” Kla’zon amended.

“Better. What did you expect upon arrival?”

“We did not expect to be expected. How did you know we were coming here?”

“There are other powers on the greater stage than just the T’fen and their kin. One of them that is watching told us.”

“A servant like us?” he asked, curious despite his circumstances.

“No, not a servant. Someone who has a far greater scope of vision on intergalactic events. They will not help us fight, but they told us where you would arrive, for they want us to destroy the T’fen.”

“You will have to survive the Gauntlet Wars first, and no one can do that. They find us before we grow powerful enough to decline their invitation.”

“Were your people killed to prove their power when they ‘invited’ you?”

“They were,” Kla’zon said, annoyed at how much this enemy knew.

“So too were the Neofan. They served because they thought they had no choice…then when they erroneously believed they had grown strong enough, they disobeyed. Their civilization has been decimated through other means than a Gauntlet War, but a great many of them have survived and are in alliance with us to fight against the T’fen and their Gauntlet War. Calculate the effect of you switching sides and joining us rather than fighting us.”

“Success of probability,” he said, doing what limited calculations he was capable of doing alone, “negligibly better, but less than 0.4%.”

“How do you calculate the strength of other servants that you do not know exist…for I know they do not all identify themselves to the others.”

“Speculation.”

“Speculation makes for poor analysis. Do you not know how to calculate the unknown?”

“That is a contradiction. One cannot calculate the unknown.”

“I can. You choose how you wish to begin, then calculate during the course of events rather than trying to do so beforehand. The future is unknown, and it cannot be calculated accurately to the point of assured prediction. The T’fen do not let you know how strong they are so you cannot calculate how to defeat them. So you cower in fear, unable to operate without a prediction of how events will manifest. You only act when you appear guaranteed of victory.”

“We have no victory here, even if we destroy all of you with no casualties of our own. We are just trying to survive.”

“Dishonorably,” Mak’to’ran pointed out. “As I once did. But for a commonality that refuses to acknowledge your individuality, you deny that individual honor can exist.”

“Honor is a delusion of those who believe methods are superior to results.”

“Methods are results,” Mak’to’ran countered. “And you will find our Empire is far more formidable than you have calculated due to those methods. Your people will not survive this encounter with us, and while that may spare those in your home galaxy from reprisals, it leaves no future for your assault force.”

“It is not a plan of our choosing.”

“We have heard the same from the Asferja prisoners,” Mak’to’ran declared, finishing a full circle around the prisoner and coming to a stop. “They too see no way out of this Gauntlet War, and are treating their own people as expendable.”

“The individual is always expendable.”

“Not in this galaxy.”

“It is an immutable law of society.”

“As I once thought. But my race and society were conquered by Star Force. Rather than destroying us, they annexed us, not as slaves, but as brothers. They elevated and empowered us, and we stand today far more powerful than we have ever been before. They taught us the power of the individual, and how team power is accomplished as an association of individuals working together for mutual advantage. None of us are expendable, and we all fight to protect the others. Not the majority, but every single one. We make no compromises, and we would rather die fighting than betray an individual.”

“Inefficient use of resources.”

“You will learn otherwise shortly. I am returning you to your people, along with the other few prisoners we have taken that do not wish amnesty.”

“None of us would take it.”

“None have, but we would be wrong in making the assumption and must make the offer. I know that this conversation is being recorded in your cyborg implants, so I am using you as a messenger. I want your people to know, that if you can find a calculation as to how you can survive outside the T’fen’s servitude, we seek to enable you in this, for while you are an enemy, you are also a victim. And if we can rescue you, or some of you, out of this predicament, we offer our assistance.”

“To neutralize our continuing threat to you.”

“That and more. Just know that your deaths are not our objective, but so long as you continue to try and destroy us, we will annihilate your invasion force if necessary to protect this galaxy. But we will not backtrack you to your home galaxy to extract vengeance.”

“You do not have that capability now, and you will not survive long enough to gain it.”

“If you wish even a portion of your commonality to be free, you will have to escape the T’fen and the rest of the commonality that is enslaved. If they believe that you have died, calculate what that means.”

“We will not abandon our own.”

“That is admirable, but if you could create a spur commonality that the T’fen do not know about, it would be illogical not to free at least some of your people.”

“We have no way to hide from them. They have spies everywhere. The Hadarak obey them, and they are in every galaxy.”

“Not every galaxy, just the ones near here. Do you have minders watching this invasion?”

“I would presume so.”

“But you have not confirmed their existence?”

“No,” Kla’zon admitted.

“Then let me share something to add to your calculations,” Mak’to’ran said, producing another hologram, this time a map of the galaxy with a point highlighted near the Galactic Core. “This is a generator of the T’fen’s design, or at least their ownership. It creates a toxic radiation otherwise undetectable that covers virtually the entire galaxy. It is lethal to their race, and they use it to poison the galaxies surrounding their own so their kin cannot pass through, colonize, or operate within them. Unless they turn it off, the T’fen cannot come here, and I am told such generators are in nearly every galaxy where there are Hadarak. So their power here is due only to their servants, and their eyes are only their servants.”

“Our implants are not affected, and you have a fully artificial race that is your ally.”

“I am told this radiation only affects those who were born artificial, not those who have converted.”

Kla’zon calculated and calculated, trying to absorb this new information, knowing that delivering it to his people was his most important task now, but he could not concoct a useable strategy off of it alone.

“To what end do you tell me this?”

“The T’fen’s power is primarily their servants. They can come here, and have done so before, but they have to turn the generators off first. However, they cannot linger, or their kin will also be able to come eventually, so they must turn them back on at some point. Their power over you is, therefore, far more imaginative than you previously calculated. And if most of their servants are reluctant ones, what happens when they all realize this fact.”

“You are suggesting a coordinated revolt.”

“No, I’m just throwing out some facts for your commonality to consider as we destroy you systematically as you try to invade this galaxy. Turn around and leave and we won’t follow you. That is the luxury of an attacker. The defender has no such luxury.”

“You can retreat.”

“And abandon our people? Sacrificing the few to protect the others.”

“Correct.”

“We will not do so, but even if we did, do you calculate we can win by such methods?”

“You can do more damage to the Gauntlet, but you cannot defeat it. In your position, I would exact as much revenge against those destroying you as possible.”

“You will find that we are far more powerful than you can imagine,” Mak’to’ran said forebodingly, “and you just witnessed the Essence power of the Veloqueen, which your own skills are far inferior to. Add the Neofan to that, plus what you do not know of our Empire, and your calculations are far from complete. If you do not find another way, your entire invasion force will be destroyed and we will move on to face the next and the next. You will be reduced to but a footnote in the history of our defense of this galaxy. We wish you to become more than that.”

“We will not aid you. We cannot without sacrificing our home galaxy.”

“If you believe in sacrifice, why not sacrifice some of it to save the rest?”

“Our invasion force is small compared to the rest of our population.”

“If you cannot defend your home galaxy, perhaps you should move them all to a galaxy that has no Hadarak,” Mak’to’ran said, altering the map of the Milky Way and extending it out to hundreds of galaxies, highlighting several. “This is the nearest border of their extent. It is far from here, but you have already traveled far. If you go far enough, you can find the kin of the T’fen and ally with them, or continue on even further, escaping both of their influences entirely.”

“That is logistically unfeasible.”

“But it is possible if you know where the boundary is. So I offer this option to you as a gift. Take it back to your people, and see that it gets back to your home galaxy, for I doubt any of you are going to survive if you continue to press this invasion.”

“This conversation will not alter the invasion.”

“Probably not, but I would be remiss to not take an opportunity to undermine the T’fen’s control over you in exchange for a few minutes of my time. As for the odds of success, we relish challenges, so the greater the power you bring against us in this Gauntlet, the more inspired we will become to rise against and overcome it.”

“There won’t be much of a galaxy left if you are able to do so, and then these T’fen will most likely come in and finish you off if they run out of servants, which I highly doubt. You cannot survive the Gauntlet Wars. No one ever has. No one ever will.”

“Then perhaps the Jaeggers should escape them entirely,” Mak’to’ran said, half turning around. “Do not attack my people on the way out. You are being returned to your debris. You can signal that they pick you up there.”

The Era’tran turned the rest of the way and began walking away as another door opened and more of the Rit’ko’sor in armor came in to claim him.

“Interesting,” the Jaegger said to himself, surprised to both be alive and released as the Rit’ko’sor stunned him again and he was dragged out the same way he’d come in.

Kla’zon floated inside a bulkhead exposed to space, tethered there by a Star Force-made survival pod that he was needlessly inside, for his shields would have auto-activated against the vacuum even if his circuits were rendered inactive along with his biological components.

When the stun effect bled off enough, he was able to sense the others. He was back inside a section of the Khazer, but the damage to it was immense. It could not move, could not fight, and was barely sustaining lifesupport for various sections as all of the primary power generators had been targeted and destroyed by the Veloqueen. Backup power from redundant reserves and previously inactive small generators were allowing the baseship to limp on, with the intercommunication between the Jaeggers being the primary concern, for only through it could they effectively coordinate and begin to repair the ship as the battle continued to rage further away where the newly arrived Urrwen was registering heavy damage, but was still returning weapons fire…although without escort ships that had already been destroyed.

The number of enemy drones was severely diminished, but all of their big ships were virtually untouched.

For a moment Kla’zon felt that maybe the Jaeggers were in between two behemoths and unable to survive unless they did flee, but he trusted the commonality to come up with the answers he could not, and transmitted all of his newly gained information, allowing others to confirm or deny it, for the enemy may have been lying to him in part of full.

But his own experience told him he was not. If the mysterious overlords were commanding them to fight and die in this invasion, then at least the Jaeggers now knew their name…and that there were others just as powerful as them out there engaged in a much bigger war. One so big they were in the middle of it without even being aware it existed.

Kla’zon could see no way out, but at the moment the Khazer was no longer being targeted, so the Era’tran was being honest at least in the part of not desiring their deaths, for the survivors could easily be killed without the message being interfered with. The remains of the baseship, whose mass was mostly intact, were simply left floating in an orbit far from the black hole, which was fortunate, otherwise they might fall into it without engine power.

A pathway into the intact sections of the baseship appeared in his mind, transmitted from the others, and Kla’zon tore his way out of the enemy survival pod and crawled his way through vacuum further into the ship until he would eventually get to a functioning access door reconfigured into an airlock for him and many other survivors to reenter the functioning areas from.

On the way there he got orders where to go and what to do once he got back inside, but he had the unfortunately luxury of time to think as he traveled, and his own private calculations indicated that they were going to lose even more baseships before this defending fleet was overcome.

Whoever these T’fen were, they were inept, for this was not a proper use of resources, and if there was counterintelligence in play, they should have known about it and warned the Jaeggars so they could be ready with an adaptive strategy.

And he feared that that ineptitude, along with the help of another party with inexplicable knowledge, would alter this Gauntlet War into a much longer affair that none of his people coming to this galaxy would survive.

Some were expected to return, no matter how badly the fighting went, but now that was unlikely. They had been sent here as expendable resources, and the enemy seemed to have more concern with maintaining their lives than the T’fen did.

If Star Force had a chance of winning the Jaeggers would probably have switched sides. But the calculations continued to be determinant, and would be for months to come as new baseships arrived with enough living staff onboard to fully analyze the information he had brought back to those too busy with other tasks to work on it.

Star Force was going to lose, for they had no way to win. And the survival of the Jaeggers in their home galaxy was the only victory they could hope to achieve, and to do so, they must fight Star Force with their full might, otherwise word of this offer and subsequent failures might convince the T’fen to send another Gauntlet War to eliminate them for their disobedience.

So Kla’zon intended to fight and die here to do damage to the enemy, and there was nothing he could do to alter those calculations. The future would be left to others, as he would not survive the days to come in the beginning of this Gauntlet War.

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Table of Contents

- Prologue
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17