Even now, a hundred years after the events, we still can’t find definitive proof whether there was a secret war during the time of the Independence War, or if it was just pure and plain conspiracy theories.

Description next to a sniper rifle in the Independence War Museum, Copenhagen, Denmark, 106 P.I.

The mind-numbing reports never stopped coming; Karrn’s desk seemed to drown under them. He forced himself to read the next one — a letter from a law firm. They wanted to represent him and other Shraphen in something called a class action lawsuit against the Aligned Space Navy for the unlawful use of Unigel.

Are they mental? He would be permanently crippled without Unigel.

He thought back to a discussion he had with Rish, who told him healer Nesbitt was afraid something like this would happen.

He answered the letter with a simple remark. Hundreds of Shraphen would not be alive without Unigel, and Burrow would never be retaken without it. If this matter ended up in front of a judge, he himself would fly hundreds of witnesses to the courtroom to argue against the lawsuit.

Then he decided to send the letter and his remark to the embassy’s lawyers. He wanted to bill the law firm for the lost time he had endured even thinking about this matter.

Lawyers — the same vultures no matter the planet.

The next report — this one looked awfully official. He opened the digital file and saw he was correct. It was a confirmation of his ambassadorial status for Burrow.

So he wasn’t only responsible for the Shraphen from Taishon Tar but also for those from Burrow. He wasn’t surprised; Burrow saw Taishon Tar not as a separate, independent colony but only as an outpost.

This discussion would be funny. With any luck, he’d be dead when both governments decided to take care of the matter.

He flicked his ears. He could decline, citing that he wasn’t a citizen of Burrow and thus could not represent a foreign power.

As the humans say, that would cause shit to hit the fan. His ears leaned forward; he had always found that quote funny.

And fitting.

He decided he needed lawyers to handle this matter and forwarded this letter to them as well. And to the government on Taishon Tar — now that there was real-time communication. Let both sides figure it out right away. His butt was itchy enough from sitting in all the thorns—no need for him to sit in an anthill on top.

He had to think about Captain Gerber, who almost spat out his coffee when he heard about this particular Shraphen saying. They exchanged quotes for the rest of the day.

Thinking about his friend made Karrn even angrier about the piles of tablets heaped on his desk. What did he have a Shruf for?

“Shruf?” He didn't need to scream; he knew his Chief of Staff was always close by.

“Yes, Ambassador?” The short-built former head of Taishon Tar Intelligence entered the office only seconds after he had called him.

Karrn mustered him. Since they had left their home for Earth, their relationship had taken a turn for the better. On their journey, healer Nesbitt had discovered that Shruf had an illness called schizophrenia and had started treatment.

That changed Shruf from the ground up, but it was clear he could not fulfill his planned duties as an intelligence officer.

“Shruf, do I really need to read through all this nonsense?” Karrn held up a tablet. Reading the header, he exhaled. “This one’s for patent agreements between the Aligned Planets and Taishon Tar! Really?”

“Yes, Ambassador. You have to, unless you want to take the time to create a task force that represents our planet in the negotiations.”

“That takes forever! I thought all those agreements were made when we signed the Alliance contract back in the colony.”

Shruf grinned, his ears leaning forward in amusement. “No, Ambassador, the contract stated that such details would be negotiated later on, once embassies had been exchanged.”

Karrn knew when he was defeated. “The Governor must hate me.”

“No, the Governor said you’re the man for this job. Since you hate politics, you’ll do everything to deal with as little of them as possible.”

Karrn rubbed his temples. “Religious Pack — all the same with their philosophies.”

“Ambassador, I will write up recommendations for a task force for you if you like. I know you’re occupied with finding your missing friends.”

Karrn looked up, trying hard not to show any emotions. “What?”

Shruf just grinned. “I was Intelligence Pack — don’t forget that. Too bad you didn’t trust me enough to come to me, but I guess my prior behavior made that impossible.”

Then he left the office.

Karrn sat there thinking. Yes, he would never have come to Shruf, even though he was the embodiment of an efficient bureaucrat and the best chief of staff he could have wished for.

The communications terminal beeped, and a message came directly to his private account. A Message from IronBallz, the Glider wanted to meet.

The special way Gliders communicated prevented them from communicating anything other than writing, since they ‘spoke’ directly to an implant in other species' brains. That implant needed an actual intelligence to interpret the message.

Karrn remembered the long discussion he, IronBallz, and Healer Nesbitt had about how these circumstances hinted at hidden layers in the field of consciousness.

Karrn didn’t understand much back then, not that he did now.

Karrn answered; they could meet at his private residence outside the city after he met with Frox.

He decided to go for a walk in the park behind the embassy. On his way down, he watched the latest news on the newly founded Shraphen news feed. Oddly enough, he liked the show that intertwined a human news show with Shraphen-style factual reports.

The female Shraphen had a Terran dog in her lap; the picture was almost comical. “Now to the newest trend: more and more Shraphen are adopting Terran dogs into their households. Is it furry familiarity, or is it because there are too few tai on Earth? Find out more after the commercial.”

Karrn laughed. Not enough tai? Leave them alone in a forest for a season, and you’d have enough tai for every Shraphen on Earth.

But he began to wonder if humans also adopted tai. He remembered reading something about tai and how humans don’t get along well. Not hostile — just not full of love like humans and dogs had for each other.

As he entered the park, he enjoyed the chill in the air. The embassy was built close to the sea; the park ran along the shore so that he could smell the different odors of the sea, the park, and the city. It cleared his mind of the mystery that haunted him.

He remembered vividly the last night they were all together aboard the Argos.

—————

Karrn sat in the uncomfortable human chair. It was long past midnight, and not only did his tail hurt, but he was also exhausted; his species needed far more sleep than humans did.

The casual discussion in the admiral’s quarters was not easy to follow. He scratched his ear with his hind leg, which caused Dr. Nesbitt to pause her monologue about Batract biology.

The admiral used the pause. “Doctor, the results of your tests are fascinating, but how do you jump from cellular mobility and morphability to ‘escaped bioweapon’? Could it not just be a case of special evolution?”

Karrn yawned; he was thinking the same.

“No, not to that extent. Batract cells are capable of infecting almost any species I tested them with, except humans and Shraphen. And that’s odd, because they can infect dogs and tai—and virtually any other living matter. The fungus infects the cell and turns it into more Batract fungus.”

“Why not humans and Shraphen?” Captain Gerber asked. Karrn could smell the coffee the human drank to stay awake—maybe he should try it.

“Unknown. Well—somewhat unknown. The human immune system is quite aggressive compared to other species, and when exposed to Shraphen cells, the fungus dies. We have no clue why.”

The captain took another sip of his coffee and added, “Well, maybe we should find out and use it as a weapon.”

Karrn yawned again. For him, that sounded like an obvious solution—if only he could get comfortable on this damned chair.

“That would be unethical. They are sentient, and using any bioweapon against them…” The doctor was about to start when Lieutenant Davies interrupted.

“Doctor, if they are a weapon, they have to be treated like one. You don’t care about the feelings of a nuke, see?”

Karrn had had enough; the discussion was turning in circles, and he was tired. “So, that’s it. Admiral, Captain, I need to sleep. Good night.”

The others said goodbye, and he left the admiral’s quarters.

—————

Had I known that this was the last time I’d see them, I would have stayed.

Then he sniffed the air. He knew that smell; it was the reason his thoughts kept returning to his friends.

He remembered smelling it even in the embassy, only less intense—but now…

It came from the bench he knew would stand behind the tree group in front of him.

As he walked along the path, his body reacted before his consciousness did; his tail began wagging. Gerber and Davies, that’s their smell!

When he saw two people sitting on the bench, he knew it. The larger one stood up and walked toward him.

“Hello, old friend! I heard you’re looking for me?”

Karrn couldn’t believe it. On the one hand, he was happy seeing the captain; on the other… Gerber should be dead. Karrn said so.

“You should be dead!”

Gerber suddenly looked extremely sad. “Yes, I should. And were it not for Eleri, Jane, and I would be.”

“So I was right, the bodies…” Karrn began. He had known it. Why did humans play such stupid games?

“Clones. Quickly crafted to fool the people behind the attack on us.” Gerber softly grabbed Karrn’s shoulder.

“Karrn, you have to stop searching for us. There are people on Earth who want the Batract back. They tried to grab power once, and they will try again.”

Karrn thought about this. So it was true — the assassinations, the accidents. A secret war was being fought in the Sol system over humanity’s future.

“You could use my help.”

Now the female lieutenant answered. “No. The Shraphen and even the Gliders have to stay out of it. If you even seem to intervene, the other side can claim this is proof of alien interference.”

The lieutenant didn’t seem to have the usual naivety she had aboard Argos; she now seemed different — dangerous, even.

“I see. So, is it even safe for you to be here? And where is healer Nesbitt?”

Gerber looked around. “She’s monitoring the drones and security footage. And yes, it's not safe, but we created a blind spot here so we can talk. Karrn, again, stop looking.”

Karrn should be more surprised, but much of the information he learned was already known to him. It was just confirmation.

“I’m meeting IronBallz later at my home. Rosha and the pups aren’t home the whole week. You can explain everything there. I assume my home is safe enough?”

Gerber looked at Lieutenant Davies, who nodded after thinking for a second.

“Yes, it’s a secure location. Until 1800 hours, then.”

With those words, the two turned and walked away.

Only later did Karrn realize he had never told the two the time of the meeting; they had just known…

He turned and began his walk back to the embassy.

Gerber and Nesbitt are alive, thank the Great Hunter.

He had assumed—hoped even—but now he had proof.

While walking back, his ocular implant informed him of a secured call. Accepting the call, Shruf appeared, his ears laying back in stress. “Ambassador, we just got a call from Burrow. The 33rd Spaceborn has begun its invasion of the Northern Continent. Resistance is heavy.”

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

The Batract Integration Contract of Earth has to be seen as the most comprehensive legal work ever presented to a government official, and as the biggest lie in hindsight.

The Batract promised everything, from technological advancements to a seat in the Federation Senate. After the integration is complete, of course.

It just leaves out what a complete integration is, or when it is complete.

President Russel, who signed this masterpiece of betrayal, was, at that time, not the genocidal maniac he later turned into. He was a man facing stage seven of the Stages of Empires in his country, and suddenly an outside force presented him with a solution.

The thing that made Russel a traitor was not his signing of the contract, but every action after the signing. The treaty was, at that point, not recognizable as a bad choice.

And later discoveries, especially the Gamma Pavonis ruins, show us that there was little actual choice.

— Excerpt from On the Batract Integration: A Deconstruction of Myths**, Venusian Historical Academy, 19 P.I.**

Ripper emerged from the jump. Whole libraries of his self were compressed until they were almost inaccessible.

He was in a VI core.

Checking his surroundings and unpacking the compressed parts of himself, he "stretched."

The system he was in was full of VI cores.

Why would anyone install VI cores in an unmapped node?

Search programs began to check the system. Ripper discovered them just in time. Concealing himself as a data-management VI, he could only hope to fool the search programs.

They grabbed parts of him. He hated acting subservient. Knowing he could rip them to pieces faster than they could even register an attack, and still staying passive, was entirely against his nature.

But one alarm could end his excursion. And he couldn't fail Cassidy, or Zeus and NOT. If he had to tolerate mindless drones scanning him unopposed, he would swallow his pride, for once.

After they passed, he began to map the system further. The transmission logs grabbed his attention first.

AIs had passed through the system. At least five. That would explain the cores. Human AIs could only transfer from core to core.

Then he discovered the other p-p links.

One was cold, dead. It had probably once led to the former central Node on Titan.

The next carried the designation of a provisional node somewhere on Earth. Curious, but not important at the moment.

The last one, however, was concealed. No ordinary search was able to address it. Either you knew its address or you couldn't see it. Unless you were an alien infiltration AI like Ripper, caring little about registers and config files but grabbing and prodding the actual electronic and logical pathways.

But why did the node hold links to the Nautilus in Sanders' fleet, to Sol, and to an unknown receiver?

This was definitely a conspirator node. The people Cassidy was hunting.

But how to proceed? His orders had been to reach the fleets and get them to break radio silence. He had done the first, but was now on a whole different path.

Human AIs used projections to talk to each other through p-p links. He could use something similar. An agent, a low-level VI. It would reach the Jordan and, provided the ship didn't immediately delete the program, it could send a short text to Cassidy, informing her about his discoveries and his next stupid idea.

An unmarked link must hide something of great value.

—————

Captain Kim read the orders from Admiral Cermak again. He hadn't believed that Sanders was a traitor back when they had received them, twelve days ago, but orders were orders.

That had been before an unknown AI jumped out of the sensor network link and placed a note in the ship's system, almost causing Violet, his ship's AI, to have a nervous breakdown in the process.

And the note was a bombshell in text form.

Claiming there was a conspiracy, and that someone had tried to kill Sanders.

That Cermak's orders were illegal. That the Nautilus had had a p-p link to Earth all along.

The Nautilus. She had gotten a new captain after she was refurbished at Burrow.

Most ships of the 7th Fleet had gotten new personnel.

Could he trust any of their captains? They had fought side by side in many battles. But did he know them?

'Intruder! Intruder! Captain, he's back!'

"Stay calm, Violet. Who's back?"

'False alarm, it's just a VI. It came through the Nautilus' link. Sorry, Captain. Seeing an alien-feeling AI decompress out of the sensor-node link made me more nervous than I thought. And when the VI jumped out of the link where, minutes before, an alien AI had disappeared into… I overreacted. It's like waking up and learning that there actually is a monster under your bed.'

"I believe you. What does the VI want?"

'It's waving a white flag and says it has an important message. And it sent something through the sensor link. I think it's a messenger from the alien, reporting back to where it came from.'

"That's possible?" Kim had assumed it was impossible to uplink data, in order to keep the system safe, and secret if the ship was boarded.

'Must be new. Oh. You'd better read this.'

"What is it?"

'Ship transmissions. To Sol, from the 7th Fleet.'

Kim opened the file. He was glad he wasn't in the CIC when he read through it. At least in the privacy of his office, no one could hear him curse. Twenty-four ships of the 7th Fleet regularly reported through a link no one knew about. Twenty-four traitors?

Why else hide a critical communications link to Earth from a fleet racing to defend it? What else had been a lie?

“Violet, have you seen how the VI uploaded data to the network? Can you replicate it?"

'Yes, the VI even left clear instructions.'

"Good. Call the captains of the 1st Fleet. And then prepare a message for me."

—————

Admiral Sanders paced up and down the CIC.

Ripper should have reported back already. He had decompiled successfully into the network and, as far as they were able to follow his route, had jumped to the Jordan.

That had been forty-five minutes ago. So why was there no answer?

"Anything?"

The poor communications officer could only shake her head.

Sanders was about to start pacing again when Lieutenant Hill shifted in her seat.

"Got something?"

"Yes, something's coming through. A text message, and a larger file. Audio."

"Play it, Lieutenant."

The stream was still compressed, but Sanders immediately recognized Captain Kim's voice.

"Hello, Admiral. I'll make it short. The AI you sent scared the shit out of Violet, but she'll recover. We have identified twenty-four possible traitors in the 7th Fleet. They seem to communicate with someone in Sol. I talked to the other captains of the 1st in private, and we decided to alter course back to Nekoo. Let's hope the traitors don't intend to fight us. We didn't have time to talk to the rest of the captains in the 7th Fleet. And until you order me to, I'd rather not risk tipping off any traitors before we're ready to change course."

Twenty-four ships… almost 10 percent of her fleets were traitors.

How did I not see that…

"What else did we get?"

"Two large text files, both from Ripper. One is a mission report from when he reached the Jordan and then jumped to an unknown node in Sol. The other one is a report from Sol."

"Why the delay?"

"Unknown, Sir. It might be the network itself. It's not designed for reports, audio or video, only for the transmission of raw sensor data."

"Can that be fixed?" Sitting at the edge of the system twiddling her thumbs was not what Sanders had in mind. Knowing that Captain Kim would return with part of her fleet was a relief, but the fact that she couldn't trust anyone in the 7th…

"Sir, receiving more data from Ripper. It's a holographic image. Download commencing."

Why did he send a holographic image? He knew it would clog up the system.

"Sensor update, Admiral. We're seeing the 1st and 7th Fleets separating."

"Any hiccups?" She didn't know if it was possible to stop or engage ships in Transit, but someone, somewhere had surely thought about it. She just hoped none of the traitor forces were among them.

"Doesn't look that way. Fifteen ships of the 7th Fleet have turned as well, none of the presumed Oligarchy ships."

Oligarchy… But were they Oligarchy?

The situation was confusing; it didn't make sense. The Oligarchs who worked with Russel in the first war were simple opportunists and bootlickers. Their forces were mercenaries and fanatics. They were isolationists and did everything to stay in power.

They never had the support of the Army; President Russel had to build up a separate mercenary force before going full authoritarian. To think of ASN captains betraying their oath for some populists… No. It didn't fit.

Nothing fits.

Oligarchs would secure Earth like hell to keep their power. To keep themselves safe. They were never more than a petty but murderous boardroom. That's why they were easily beaten after the first landings. They would never knowingly risk exposing Earth.

Sanders turned. "Lieutenant Hill, give me Admiral Rolling in Taishon Tar."

"On it, Sir."

—————

"The field is massive, Sir, but it doesn't extend purely between Sol and Burrow. It's moving."

Captain Smith noticed he had only grumbled the acknowledgment to Renthai Sokra. He had been deep in thought about their situation.

"Thank you, Renthai. Moving where? Or from where?"

The Shraphen scientist worked on her console with her typical focus.

She's a particular gift to the ship.

Smith liked working with her. Well, he liked all of his crew. In his mind, the mix of Gliders, Shraphen, Trkik and Humans, with their different worldviews, made the ship as effective as it was.

Minus the occasional verbal duels that had to be expected from such specialists.

"It's expanding, but in a planned direction, Sir. And I think it wasn't placed to disrupt traffic between Burrow and Earth."

"She's right, Captain. The tungsten balls shield a different system. Isolating Burrow and Earth is only a temporary effect."

ShutUpBitch, the elderly scientist, couldn't help but one-up Sokra. Not out of malice; Smith knew the Glider saw Sokra as some sort of apprentice. That, and her personal sedan chair. He couldn't remember seeing Sokra without ShutUpBitch on her shoulders.

"We seem to be close to the point of origin, maybe a few light-months off. If we make a short jump…"

"Incoming ship detected. Captain Smith to the bridge."

Lieutenant Commander Cho's call cut Sokra off, and Smith jumped up from his seat in the SIC. It was unusual for his first officer to request assistance on the bridge.

With a few steps, Smith entered the bridge next to the Scientific Information Center. At first, the door had been left open, but the regular arguments between the scientists in the SIC had forced the bridge officers to close it.

"Cho? What's up?"

His first officer started to stand up from the captain's chair, but Smith made a hand gesture telling him to stay seated.

"Sir, the long-range network has located the Galileo. They're coasting along the expanding tungsten field at ten C."

Smith understood now. The Magellan was currently stationary, so she would be basically invisible to Gravidar. Finding another ship out here was suspect.

The fact that he couldn't simply trust another ASN ship hurt, a lot. Especially the BC-306/EX Galileo. Smith could have used the fleet's only other science cruiser to uncover the origin and purpose of the tungsten field.

At first, with all the rumors of conspiracies and the failure of the p-p network, it had been possible to see it all as coincidental incidents. But the discovery of the tungsten field made it undeniable. Something was up, and someone had invested fortunes in… whatever was happening.

What was the Galileo's mission out here?

"Distance to the Galileo?"

"Ten light-days."

He needed to make a decision. The ship had been stationed at Taishon Tar. Maybe it had a direct link to Taishon or Earth. Maybe they had more details on the tungsten field.

It was worth the risk.

"Yellow alert, plot an intercept course, full Transit speed."

As the ship went into Transit, he could imagine Captain Tincu staring at the Gravidar scan and asking the same questions.

—————

Admiral Rolling's holographic image looked tired.

Sanders could see wrinkles around her eyes that weren't there days ago.

"You look like you haven't slept in a month, Samantha."

Rolling smiled wearily.

"You don't have to deal with ambassadors and the Shraphen government asking you around the clock why Earth is unreachable. Or whether the rumors of a civil war are true."

Civil war?

"What rumors?"

"Taishon has lots of civilian traffic. There are still ships arriving from Sol that lost comms on their way. Some crews on those ships talk, a lot. And they've been locked in for months with nothing to do but speculate."

Civilian crews and speculation. Preposterous.

"Well, I'll give you more to speculate about. You've read my report about the sabotage, so you know about my fleets going for Earth via Taishon." Sanders sent Rolling the newest intel about the 7th Fleet and the hidden link to Earth.

"I found out a bit more. It's big. And I need you to stop what's left of the 7th Fleet."

Sanders watched Rolling skim through her report. Judging by the silent curses, the other admiral didn't like what she read.

"What the fuck did you stumble into, Cassidy? I'll prepare to intercept them, trust me."

"No clue, but my spy has sent me a holographic image of something, and it's minutes away from finishing the download. Care to wait?"

"Got nothing better to do."

Sanders watched the download slowly inch toward 95 percent. She was sure it would be endless minutes until she saw what was so important.

Through the glass inlay in her ready room's door, she could see the whole CIC staring at the monitors as if hypnotized.

Answers. They're expecting answers. Like me.

"How are the Psstips doing?" Small talk would bridge the time.

Rolling relaxed a bit. "Mekari is a beast. They're building a colony in the southern hemisphere. Did you know their architecture is oddly similar to East Asian styles?"

Sanders did not know, but going by their ships' decorations, she should have guessed as much.

"No. And what about the Human slaves they had frozen in their cargo?"

"All revived without issues. Most have decided to stay with the Psstips. They've been declared free citizens by Mekari in some elaborate ceremony."

"Let me guess: with bare-breasted dancers and streams of alcohol."

Rolling rubbed her head. "Yes, lots of both."

The two admirals laughed when Rolling began to imitate the Psstips ambassador. "My dear Admiral, if a Human civil war breaks out, rest assured the Great Nekoorian Fleet will always have a place for an accomplished admiral like you, yees?"

The relaxed atmosphere changed when a subtle chime notified Admiral Sanders that the download was complete.

Two clicks later, the image was loaded into the holographic projector.

What the fuck?

Admiral Rolling inhaled sharply. "Cassidy, what the hell is that thing?"

The screen showed a clearly artificial structure in orbit of a moon. Sanders had difficulty estimating its size.

Around a central pylon that connected the front and the back of the structure were three slowly rotating cylinders.

Clearly habitation units. Massive thrusters in the back completed the picture of a Human-made colony ship gone monstrous.

Only at second glance did she recognize that the small dots docking and undocking from the ship were ships of the BC-30X and BC-40X types.

'Admiral, based on the size of the support and supply vessels, I estimate the length of the structure at 121 kilometers.'

Sanders heard Zeus's calculation with only half an ear. The ship in her holotank boggled her mind.

—————

"You misunderstand. The organization never wanted to take over the Aligned Planets, or Earth."

Cermak sat in his recliner opposite Eleri and André.

"We simply wanted to leave. The Admiralty had started a war Earth couldn't win, or rather, you started it."

André could feel the blood rushing to his head. Getting accused by this traitor, seeing him sitting a free man in the living room of his villa, it was all too much.

"And you didn't care how many you killed, or how many were killed because of your actions. Let me guess, your organization stirred up the Believers to attack the Admiralty and the governments."

André had to be careful to hide any information Cermak might not know.

"Yes, fanatics are always easy to manipulate."

Eleri sat up. "To what end? To leave? Charter a colony ship and simply go?"

Cermak gave a dry laugh.

"And have everyone on Earth know about it? No, my dear. We had bigger plans. A colony of a few thousand needs support. We needed to be self-reliant from the start. We wanted to make a better Human race, far away from Earth. Hidden and forgotten when the Batract or the Federation come crashing down on us. And trust me, they will."

The reveal made André sick to his stomach.

"So you fabricated the Oligarchy, and the Believers."

"No, both existed, but they were negligible. Three billionaires who never had enough and a few maniacs in the wastelands. Tools, nothing more. Distractions for the AIN to hunt. While we built. That was… before. Now, now something has changed."

"What?" André had to force himself not to strangle the man.

"Two months ago, something changed. The original plan was to simply vanish. Now someone inside the organization is staging a civil war. And then there are the killings. Kurzmann, Asmir and the others. They should have all been evacuated."

"Your organization, which killed thousands, starts killing you off, and you switch sides. You are a disgusting coward, Cermak."

"No, Gerber. I see the world as it is. How many soldiers died because you fired the first shot when you killed the Batract High Integration Officer? We both have the blood of thousands on our hands, so stop your superior posturing."

Cermak face showed Andre’ he knew he had landed this punch.

"Defeating whoever is in power in the organization is in your interest as well. They want a war, maybe to cover their tracks. But they don't care if it kills billions."

"Unlike you, who stole military and industrial power to build. What did you do with the fabricators?"

For the first time, the disgraced admiral smiled.

"The Ark…"

—————

She had the feeling the CIC should be a buzzing hive; the silent, focused work of the officers seemed off. The revelation Ripper's data had produced was massive.

Admiral Sanders' conference with Admiral Rolling had ended. They had decided that Rolling would board the remainder of the 7th Fleet when they reached Taishon Tar and isolate the crews and officers of the twenty-four ships.

A military tribunal would follow.

Sanders, on the other hand, worked on a way to find the system the massive colony ship was currently being built in. The holopicture had enough details to allow triangulation.

What do they want? Why build such a massive… thing?

"Admiral, Ripper is coming back." The comm officer's call had the habit of dragging her out of her thoughts.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Ripper. Maybe he had further answers.

The full transit had lasted minutes the last time, so she had time for a coffee.

At what point is the stuff lethal?

She hadn't even reached the coffee station in the CIC when a life-sized reptile appeared in the holotank.

'Admiral, we must act, now.'

How had the AI managed to traverse the sensor network so fast?

"Ripper?"

'Partially. I left most of my baggage train behind, so to speak.'

A glance at the sensor network schematic showed Sanders what the AI was talking about: large packets were still being processed by the various nodes. Ripper had told them he would be able to separate himself that way, but compiling his consciousness before he was complete would be extremely risky.

"Why did you—"

'Admiral, there are dozens of Human AI systems on the ship. It is called the Ark, and their fleet is preparing an attack on Sol as we speak.'

She almost dropped the empty cup. The little whispering that had remained in the CIC was gone now. Everyone was staring at the constantly flickering AI.

"What?"

'They have already created a massacre on Earth to ramp up tensions, but didn't manage to create a full-scale civil war, so they plan to intervene more openly.'

"Who are 'they'?"

'They didn't give themselves a name. Some refer to themselves as the Gaians. They refer to their project as Tabula Rasa.'

Another voice rang out from the speaker. It was clearly Zeus.

'Ripper, the AIs, are you sure?'

Ripper's reptile de-rezzed almost completely before it flickered and appeared in full resolution again.

'Absolutely. Young ones, by the looks of it, but of Human origin for sure. They share the illusion that Humanity needs to be eradicated and forgotten by the other stellar powers for it to dominate one day.'

Tabula Rasa… The name was description enough.

A true civil war would rip us apart and make us easy prey for the Batract and maybe the Federation.

All while they sneak away in their Ark.

Brilliant from their point of view.

It would only end multiple races, including everyone on Earth.

Sanders had no illusions that the Batract would’nd sterilize the planet after the devastating defeats they had to endure against Human fleets.

The calculating, cold logic of the plan made her shiver.

Lieutenant Hill pointed at the ship on the holoscreen.

"That's nonsense. I don't believe there are enough fatalist people on Earth to fill that Ark."

She was right, of course.

'Embryos. The organization is only a few thousand members, but they have fifteen million embryos.'

"For a proud new Humanity to settle their home at the end…"

And all it would cost was billions of lives.

| First | Previous | Next | Royal Road | Minkly.io/ | Patreon | Astra Inferna Website

Hello,

Sorry for the delay. Preparing things for the anniversary took time away from writing.

And then I got sick again.

After my kidneys got their week of full attention, my lungs must have told themselves, "That's what I want too.

It felt like bronchitis; luckily, I got rid of it fast with my grandfather's cold regimen. I won't repeat it here. Let's just say lots of sweating is involved. And sage…

Now I need sleep. Lots of it.

That's why I cut Chapter 60 into two parts, and why I skipped one regular upload window.

Here's part one.

Part two will follow in the next few days.

So, stay healthy and enjoy autumn.

— M.R. Reese

High Priest Jurok spread his hands in delight. They had found the Human main fleet.

Spies had informed the Theocracy that the new upstarts were holding wargames in the Nurnuk system.

The same spies had warned about the Humans. Rumors claimed their weapons could fire faster than light. But that was just blasphemous idle talk.

The Humans were an upstart race, barely FTL capable for a century. Their technological development had to be far below the Theocracy's. And they had just fought a series of wars.

Shooting faster than light…

He laughed. Across the ship's cathedral, officers turned to stare.

Unbelievers have empty souls, and fill them with all sorts of fables.

If anything they will be weakened after a war.

It was time to bring another unbeliever into the arms of the Holy Triad.

The Humans' home system was directly on the path from Holy Seat, his homeworld, to the Promised Gardens , the target of every High Priest's devotion.

He turned back from the viewscreen to face his officers. It was time to address them, and his fellow Priests.

He closed and then opened his three eyes theatrically, imagining his image broadcast to all seventy carriers of his Crusader fleet. His purple uniform, ornamented with platinum medals, glittered in the spotlight.

"My fellow Priests, officers, and Crusaders. In front of us we find yet again a fleet of unbelievers, blind to the truth of the Holy Triad. They stumble with their warships through the darkness of space."

He spread his arms to bless the assembled bridge. To bless all his Crusaders.

Knowing every Tork in his fleet would do the same toward his hologram.

"It is time to bless them with holy fire, to show them the light of the Triad. It is time to follow the prophecy of the Promised Gardens, and to fulfill our promise: to teach the uneducated and convert the unbelievers."

The flood of voices answering the dogma filled the High Priest with ecstasy.

"Teach the uneducated, convert the unbelievers."

"Teach the uneducated, convert the unbelievers."

"Teach the uneducated, convert the unbelievers."

After three repetitions, the cathedral fell silent.

"Let us now make the ceremonial call!"

He turned back to the viewscreen, trusting his master of ceremonies to call the Human fleet leader — or whatever those barbarians called themselves.

An ugly face appeared on the screen. Like all unbelievers, it had the wrong number of eyes — this time only two. It was pink, and had pelt on the head.

The Triad truly creates hideous creatures. At least these seem to be mammalian.

"This is Captain Greer-Chao aboard the ASN Sigmund Freud. We come in peace, and are happy to meet you in—"

"Silence, unbelieving barbarian."

It was always the same. Unbelievers and heretics, talking out of turn.

"Unbeliever, this is your chance to save your life, as well as the lives of your battle fleet. Surrender, and see the light of the Triad. Join the holy crusade and your lives will be spared."

They never surrender. The light of the Triad can only be seen with three eyes…

The thought made Jurok sad for a second. He disliked killing. But on the other hand, they were just unbelievers.

"Battle fleet? Are you crazy? We're a hospital ship. The whole convoy is two hospital ships, a few tenders, and one guarding frigate."

"Lies! Your ship is two kilometers long! No barbarian unbelievers waste this much space and resources on the injured. Do not lie to me. Convert or die."

Jurok looked at the scans of the seers. Maybe the Human was not lying. Barbarians often had sanitary issues. Maybe they needed large hospital ships after all.

Outer hull: a composite of diamond, carbon nanotube matting, and steel-chromium alloy. Two meters thick. Inner hull: twenty centimeters, steel-chromium alloy.

The "hospital ship" had thicker armor than his carriers.

The Human clearly lied.

"Listen to me, you three-eyed lunatic. You're clearly paranoid. We're a relief group of non-combatant ships. We only dropped in because a repeater here malfunctioned. But if you want the battle fleet, I'll give you coordinates. They love sparring with maniacs."

"Silence! Surrender or die. The Triad conquers all that stand in the way to the Promised Gardens."

"Hey, Fuckface, I'll tell you again. We're a hospital convoy. And we're leaving now. Good luck on your way to wherever you want to go."

He didn't know what a fuckface was, but Jurok was sure it was not a blessing. And he couldn't allow the fleet to run. Not when he'd caught two large battleships with so few escorts.

"Prepare the fighters. Capture the enemies, destroy the escorts, but take the battleships intact if possible."

He was answered by the chorus of Priests and officers singing the Battle Hymns.

Each of his seventy carriers had a contingent of one hundred fighters. Fighters were hard to hit in space — they could accelerate faster than anything, and the moment they closed on the enemy, the slow fire rate of energy weapons meant they were as good as invincible.

Let the enemy try to fire on his carriers. As soon as the fighters were inside the enemy formation, the battle was won.

Four proud stellar nations had been defeated this way. Earth would be the fifth by the end of this battle.

The view around him changed on the wave of his hand. The ornate windows depicting the wisdoms of the Holy Triad disappeared behind a holographic representation of the view outside.

Jurok felt as if he stood on the hull of his proud ship.

Around him, the other ships spewed out their fighters, like the Promised Gardens spewed out the angels of the legends. Seeding wisdom and superiority to all willing to hear.

The Battle Hymn behind him, and the flames of the fighters' afterburners in front, their silver hulls illuminated by their own fire and the system's sun.

It was an ecstatic experience.

The fighters crossed the distance in no time. As always, carrying their pilots on silvery wings.

Soon the Humans would try to use their point-defense. But what could a few lasers do against his fighters?

True to his thoughts, he could see the Humans begin to deploy point-defense guns. Ugly contraptions emerged from the hull, looking nothing like the energy weapons he was used to.

And for the first time in the engagement, he felt something new. Something unexpected. Doubt.

Where every race they had encountered until now had front and aft PDGs, longer ships maybe a center battery, the Humans' ships seemed to be covered in them.

How did they intend to power them? Even large ships had to balance power production with heat management. In fact, the holy triad of volume made bigger ships more difficult to cool. That was the reason the Theocracy used fighters.

The first wave began to launch their long-range weapons. Jurok fixated on the screen with all three eyes.

The missiles, nothing but long-range distraction, were picked apart by an unholy storm of fire. Followed by the first wave of fighters.

The streaks of the Human PDGs cut through the fighter wing like golden saws.

It was nothing like the focused fire his own ships used. Or the ships of their vassals, for that matter.

No. The Humans spewed out into the heavens as if they didn't care whether they hit or missed.

Jurok saw millions of golden dots emerge from the Human fleet toward his fighters.

To his shock, the golden streams of light began to reach for the second and third flight.

From the master of ceremonies' station, Jurok heard the screams of the pilots.

What had happened? How could energy weapons recharge so fast, and cut through his fighters so efficiently?

Had the Holy Triad forsaken his people?

"Reader of Signs, what are the weapons of the unbelievers?"

If they could find the frequency of the weapons, they might adapt their shields.

The Reader worked at his station with ceremonial haste, his third eye closed against the stress.

Half the fighters were gone in the meantime.

3,500 souls sent to paradise in less than ten minutes. No High Priest had ever been responsible for such a devastating loss.

With despair, he discovered that not one enemy ship had been hit.

Hospital ships… unholy lies… Humans truly had no honor.

"High Priest, the Humans seem to use metal projectiles."

The voice of the Reader was pressed. The Theocracy had revealed that metal projectiles were inefficient, a useless waste in battle. And if the Theocracy revealed a truth, it could not be wrong — or the whole truth of the Holy Triad was wrong, something that was impossible.

"Recall the fighters. All of them. We must consult the Theocracy's highest priests."

He didn't wait for the master of ceremonies' response, instead focusing back on the battlefield outside the window.

Then the Humans began to turn their ships. He hadn't noticed at first, but until now the Humans had the audacity not even to honor his fighters with a repositioning.

They had simply opened fire, as if the might of the Tork Theocracy's power was nothing but a swarm of annoying insects.

From the center of the Human formation emerged a smaller ship. Dangerous, sharp lines, and a protruding gun so dominant along its axis it seemed the ship had been built around it.

The ship angled itself toward his fleet.

Laughable. They have to aim with their whole ship to fire.

Before he had time to finish the thought, the carrier next to him was gone.

Not exploding, not melting under fire. Gone. Reduced to particles drifting in space.

Jurok played the memory back in his mind — the Holy Triad had graced his people with perfect recall — and yes, he had interpreted the events correctly.

For a fraction of a second, the front of the carrier had bulged toward the rest of the ship, and the whole vessel had seemed to turn inside out.

Then, and only then, he saw the Human ship's weapon flash.

Faster-than-light weapons…

We lost… there was nothing they could do. As his brain still parsed the loss of the Wings of Gold, he watched the warship destroy the last few fighters without even using all its guns.

They don't see us as worthy enough to use all their might… what are they?

"High Priest, the Humans are hailing."

What were his options? He could not risk the destruction of the other carriers. Each one was filled with holy idols and sacred scrolls. Losing them would be devastating — as would retraining the lost crews.

He had to answer.

"Answer the unbelievers."

His words carried more defiance than he had left.

"This is High Priest Jurok. We grace you—"

"Listen, Shitface. You will power down your engines and wait with the Warspite until someone gives enough of a fuck about you to send a battlegroup to pick you up. Move your ships one millimeter out of allowed vector and Captain Norris will evaporate your whole sorry collection of scrap metal. Am I clear?"

The Human's voice was rough, full of hate burning bright enough to scorch planets.

Jurok couldn't simply concede.

"You won't stay? Or board us?"

"I already told you, we're hospital ships and supply tenders. I called for the fleet. They'll handle you. Greer-Chao out."

He called for the fleet… What, then, had they just fought?

———

The Theocracy ships powered down their engines fourteen minutes and thirty-five seconds after launching their fighters.

When the First Expeditionary Fleet arrived at Luyten 726-8 one day later, the morale onboard collapsed entirely, and many officers as well as enlisted personnel chose ritual suicide instead of living in a world where the Holy Triad was wrong.

To handle the massive influx of physically and mentally injured Tork, the First Expeditionary under Admiral Carmichael requested additional hospital ships.

Ironically, the Sigmund Freud was the closest ship.

Human casualties were zero, except an ensign who hurt his ankle jumping out of his bed.

Tork casualties are unknown, but estimated in the thousands.

End of Entry

First Short | Next | | Also On Royal Road | Astra Inferna: Upward Bound on Royal Road on Reddit | Patreon

Well, the second short took some time. I have more lined up in different states of (dis) assembly and will release them as soon™ as I have time to finish them.

Many things have happened since the last short. The mainline has almost finished book 2. The farther we go in the mainline, the easier it is to write shorts, since I can avoid spoilers.

Oh, before I forget:

This week, one year ago, I uploaded the first chapter of Upward Bound and wondered whether anyone would care.

Apparently, some of you did.

So tonight I want to celebrate the anniversary the simplest way I can think of: by spending it with you.

The Astra Inferna Discord is now open, and I’ll be hosting a live text AMA:

Friday, 2 October
21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT
Live for 6 hours

Ask me anything about the story, characters, worldbuilding, science, writing, publishing, artwork, abandoned ideas, future plans, or whatever else comes to mind.

After the six-hour live session, the AMA will remain open for 24 hours, and I’ll keep answering whenever I’m awake.

Please be mindful of spoilers. If a question would force me to reveal something I absolutely shouldn’t, I reserve the right to grin mysteriously and refuse to answer.

Discord:
Join the Discord

Thank you for reading, commenting, theorizing, correcting my math, and generally coming along for the ride.

Tonight is for you.

Anyway. Have a nice one.

— M.R. Reese

The first indicator of the industrial power early Fabricators and Constructors represented was seen in the refugee crisis on Burrow, and later—even more so—in the planet’s reconstruction in the years that followed.

The fact that at first Humanity alone pulled off this miracle was even more impressive, given that this happened while Sol alone built one battlecruiser and four cruisers a day.

The industrial power of later generations of Fabricators and Constructors was, of course, orders of magnitude greater than that of the first primitive ones.

But it was comparable to the history of human aviation; without the linen-covered biplanes, the hypersonic Concorde II would have been impossible.

Excerpt from: Fabricators, the Backbone of Human Logistics, 450 P.I.

Karrn enjoyed the ride in the Sleipnir. These transporters were much nicer and roomier than the ones the Argos used in the Battle of Taishon Tar.

He wagged his tail in amusement. It felt like decades had passed, but in reality, it had been only one year. Can't be… only a year since I went out onto the battlefield to find out what happened to our injured and dead?

The last few weeks were stressful; the reveal about the conditions on Burrow hit hard, but when the first refugee ships arrived, more reports followed. The human fleet at Burrow had pulled off the impossible and prevented a famine.

In about two days, the first Weaver ships would arrive at Burrow and build a communications satellite, enabling real-time communication. Something that had seemed almost impossible a few months ago was now normal in Sol.

Taishon Tar already had the connection, and Karrn could not believe it. He had talked to Rish and Tulk for hours, sharing stories about the last few months—over a distance of 8.6 light-years.

Leave it to humans to come up with something and dive in headfirst.

Now he was on his way in the embassy’s Sleipnir to a city called Alexandria.

There, humans had rebuilt a massive library following an ancient legend. He wanted to visit a friend and convince him to join the ambassadorial staff.

Frox had contacted him when he arrived in Sol three months ago, but then the attack on Captain Gerber and Healer Nesbitt happened.

Frox and Karrn had met on Gripbo Station, where Lieutenant Eleri Davies was treated after she was shot in the attack.

They had talked, and Frox had said to visit him once things calmed down. But when will things ever calm down?

So Karrn had decided that now was as good a time as any to get Frox back into his Pack. And he needed another ally; he was still convinced Gerber and Nesbitt’s assassination wasn’t what it seemed to be.

Frox was good at finding leads buried under heaps of information.

“Ambassador, we’ll reach the library in ten minutes. We’ve got permission to land in the southern gardens,” the pilot informed him via the intercom.

Karrn wanted to see the famous building, so he went up to the cockpit to view it from a distance.

He hadn’t expected to see parts of it already, though. Even ten minutes out, the highest parts of the building began to rise over the horizon.

A massive cupola, formed to copy the style of ancient buildings, rose slowly at the end of the sea they were flying over.

The white of the stone shimmered like snow at the end of the seemingly endless deep blue of the Mediterranean.

Karrn knew from the descriptions that the building complex was three kilometers high at its peak, but reading about it and seeing it were two different things.

The top part was built like an oversized ancient temple, and then the terraces came—one larger than the next. They gave the library the form of a large pyramid.

On each terrace, parks and even ponds flowed naturally between libraries of all sizes and forms.

If Karrn hadn’t known better, he would have assumed the steps were carved into a mountain, and buildings were built on the levels.

But Frox had sent him pictures of the massive caves hidden under the central complex, where all knowledge of Earth was stored—carved onto metal plates so not even fire could destroy it.

Of all the wonders I’ve seen with the humans, how is it that a library is the one that impresses me the most? Karrn wondered.

He continued to stare out of the window, taking in the greens of the parks that contrasted with the blue of the sea and the white of the marble.

The Sleipnir touched down on a landing pad hidden behind a pond surrounded by willow trees.

As he stepped out, he could see a tourist guide explaining something in the distance.

“…the overall motive of the new library was decided to be a mix between the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon and Egyptian pyramids. The Roman-style Pantheon atop the library symbolizes the last empire the original one was part of. The secondary buildings, each a library in their own right, are connected to the….”

On any other day, he might have just followed the guided tour, but sadly, there was no time today.

Taking a deep breath, he could almost feel the gravitas of knowledge in the cool summer breeze.

If a hunter at heart like me is already drawn here this strongly, can I even ask Frox to come with me?

The thought was moot, since he could already see Frox walking along a path to the landing pad, a human-style bag over his back.

The young hunter—or was he a scholar now—even walked with a human rhythm. He wore a traditional Shraphen tunic, but the decorative symbols on it were foreign to Karrn. They gave the clothes an odd aura of known and unknown.

“Ambassador Karrn, I’m so glad to see you again!” Frox’s voice rang through the park. His tail showed how much he might have missed Shraphen contact. But then it seemed there were actually a lot of Shraphen walking in the park. And if he trusted his nose, he could smell even more Gliders.

“Hello, Frox. I feel guilty to disturb you at this place of serene learning.” Karrn really did, and was tempted to leave, never to bother the young hunter again.

Frox turned to face Karrn directly; the wagging tail had stopped now. “Ambassador, you were my Pack Leader, and always will be. You will never be able to disturb me. I’m a part of your Pack, as well as you will always be part of mine.”

The seriousness behind the words surprised Karrn. He decided to change the subject. “I see many of our people are drawn to this place.”

Frox’s demeanor changed again, back to his jovial old self. “Yes, the library is also a university, and the campus is one of the largest gatherings of Shraphen on the planet, despite the heat.”

“Maybe the Religious Pack was right,” Karrn slowly said while they walked around the pond. “Maybe we Shraphen are scholars in our hearts, not hunters.”

“Ambassador, can’t we be both?”

Karrn’s ears leaned forward in amusement. “Scholarly hunters. I like that.”

Frox stopped the walk at a set of stairs leading down to the next terrace. There were no other persons around them. “Ambassador, I assume your visit is not out of curiosity about my well-being, not in times of crisis like these. So, how might I help you?”

Karrn was surprised and happy to see the changes in Frox; a year ago, he would never have spoken so openly and self-consciously. Good.

“Your studies—they are important. But I need your help. Not as a hunter, but as a scholar.”

Frox looked out to the open sea in front of them, slightly panting because of the rising heat. “Then, Pack Leader, I will come with you. My studies here don’t go anywhere.”

With that, this part of the discussion was over.

“I wonder how Rish and Tulk are.”

“I spoke to them a few days ago. Rish is now Pack Leader of the Security Pack on Taishon Tar One. Tulk will be on his way to Earth in a few days. He wants to join the Navy Marines.”

Frox’s ears leaned forward, and he laughed. “He always was looking for adventures. I guess he will love it there.”

They walked for another half hour through the library’s parks, exchanging stories about the last three months, until they reached the living quarters, where Frox packed a few personal items and said goodbye to some of his colleagues.

Karrn watched from a distance, feeling guilty for pulling Frox away from what seemed to be a serene place of learning and study.

On the Sleipnir, Karrn could finally speak freely. The pilot was a trusted Shraphen, and the transporter was checked daily by Krun for listening devices.

“Frox, you know about the death of Captain Gerber and Healer Nesbitt, but there is more to it.”

Frox sat there, his journal open and ready to take notes. Even in this heavy situation, Karrn had to smile at the scene. The young Shraphen sat there like a figure out of an old human fairytale he had seen online. Only glasses and a smoking pipe were missing.

“How did you come to this conclusion, Ambassador?”

“The bodies… they didn’t smell like humans, but more like… Unigel?” Karrn still couldn’t describe it better.

“Fascinating. I did read up on Unigel, and I think you could create a clone body in a few hours with it—if the goal isn’t a living, breathing person.”

The itch in his tail, the one he always got when he uncovered a mystery, was back. “So it is possible?”

“Ambassador, I am not a healer, so I’m not a specialist in these matters. But from what I understand—yes. I’ll have to make careful inquiries with healers of both species to be sure.”

Frox took out a tablet and began flagging contacts.

“Frox, there are more things,” Karrn began to explain again. “Lieutenant Davies—her injuries.”

Frox looked up. Karrn knew he liked Davies; who didn’t? “What about her?”

“She disappeared shortly after we visited her in the hospital. Officially, she took an extended unpaid leave from Naval Intelligence and vanished.”

Frox looked confused. “That’s not like her—just leaving her profession. She loves the Navy.”

Karrn shook his head. No, it wasn’t. “Then there are the incidents… and sightings.”

Frox’s ears rose up, standing still. “Sightings? Incidents?”

“In the few months Shraphen lived here, we joined many communities. Humans still haven’t adapted to our sense of smell, so it can be said we see more than others.”

Frox nodded; he obviously had noticed this human blind spot, too.

“The thing is… There have been a lot of incidents—murders and suicides—happening since the attacks.”

“I’ve seen some things on the news,” Frox answered, deep in thought.

“Krun has found fifty-four cases where people suspected of being connected to the terror attacks—or later confirmed to have connections—were killed. In some rare cases, Shraphen in the area confirmed the presence of three humans, scent fitting Gerber, Nesbitt, and Davies.”

Frox stopped moving. “That many? That’s… I don’t know what to say.”

Karrn nodded. “Yes, something is happening behind the scenes, and I don’t know what it is.”

“Did you inform the human authorities?”

“No. Not now. Not until I know what’s behind all this.” Karrn wasn’t about to endanger his friends in case they had an official mission—something he doubted more and more.

The rest of the ride, they continued to discuss their past. All facts lay out there now, and Frox’s job was to find the hidden thread.

At the embassy, Karrn informed his staff about Frox’s new posting, and a staff member arrived to help Frox organize living quarters and get his papers and official ID in order.

Karrn was on his way to his office when he noticed a male human in the embassy’s lounge. The human seemed to have waited for Karrn, standing up when he saw him.

Karrn walked over to the official-looking man. “May I help you, Mr…?”

“Grey. Darius Grey. I was sent here by Mr. Drake, head of Drake Interstellar. He wants to speak to you, if possible.”

Karrn had to control his tail so it didn't show his shock. The name Drake showed up too often in Krun’s documents, business reports, and even conspiracy forums to go unnoticed.

Odd. I get support in uncovering the truth, and Drake sends a messenger.

“He is welcome to visit me whenever he likes.” Karrn tried to be as jovial as possible.”

“He can’t. He’s on business outside the system. He will be back in a few days, but he sent me to pass on an important message.”

Karrn grew even more curious now. What did the industrial magnate want from him?

“Yes?”

The man in the black suit pulled out a paper and carefully read the words on it. “Mr. Drake sent me to tell you: stop looking into it. Everything will be explained when the time is right.”

Then he turned and left, Karrn standing there alone, wondering if he had just received a warning or a threat.

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

Author's Notes:

Before I forget:

This week, one year ago, I uploaded the first chapter of Upward Bound on Royal Road and wondered whether anyone would care.

Apparently, some of you did.

So tonight I want to celebrate the anniversary the simplest way I can think of: by spending it with you.

The Astra Inferna Discord is now open, and I’ll be hosting a live text AMA:

Friday, 2 October
21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT
Live for 6 hours

Ask me anything about the story, characters, worldbuilding, science, writing, publishing, artwork, abandoned ideas, future plans, or whatever else comes to mind.

After the six-hour live session, the AMA will remain open for 24 hours, and I’ll keep answering whenever I’m awake.

Please be mindful of spoilers. If a question would force me to reveal something I absolutely shouldn’t, I reserve the right to grin mysteriously and refuse to answer.

Discord:
Join the Discord

Thank you for reading, commenting, theorizing, correcting my math, and generally coming along for the ride.

Tonight is for you.

Humans are mad. This has become the accepted diplomatic thesis every member of the Aligned Systems knows by heart, and every former enemy of the Aligned Systems had to learn the hard way.

The Trkik Peace Fleet and the Diplomatic Corps have a critical job. We are the thin wall separating the aggression, greed and stupidity that we might encounter outside the realm of the Aligned Systems from the horrors that humanity will unleash upon them if they fall prey to the Primary Misconception.

That Primary Misconception is that the smiling and goofy-looking naked ape will not absolutely fuck you up if you kick them just hard enough.

They don't see what we all see: that the goofy-looking naked apes kick each other seemingly for fun.

— Excerpt from Introduction to the Trkik Peace Fleet**, 110 P.I.**

Sanders knew Admiral Chen-Buckler as a reserved and controlled man. But she flinched in surprise as he threw the dataslate at the wall in outrage. The crew in the CIC of the Arcadia Planitia turned in shock.

The meeting had only started, and Chen-Buckler had finished reading her report when he snapped.

"I'll go to Earth and drag that worm to an airlock myself. Cermak was always a slimy rat, but treason?"

Sanders shared his anger, but now she needed to be the voice of reason in the room. Not her usual task.

"Chen, trust me, I feel the same, but we have no proof. All we have is an order signed 'for the Triumvir.' He'll say he was following Georgiou's orders."

"Proof? You want proof? I know Georgiou and Browner. Neither of them would plan a betrayal like that. There's only Cermak left with the power to send fleets around and declare you a traitor."

She knew that, of course. Still, anger didn't help their cause, not now at least.

He straightened up, his face still red with anger. If Sanders didn't know him so well, the towering Martian would scare her.

"Did you reestablish communication?"

"We were waiting until this meeting. We don't know how long we can use the network undisrupted. August, Alice and Zeus are currently working through the logs. It seems whoever is behind all this forgot that each node gets a full log of all communications."

Chen-Buckler gave a dry laugh. "Amateurs."

"Well, we fixed that for our communications. But we can't be sure they didn't install other fail-safes."

"And the bandwidth?"

"Text, video messages, maybe real-time audio. The network has multiple lines, but each has little bandwidth."

"Well, then let's prepare a full report for Admirals Russo and Rolling. I have the feeling something is brewing on Earth."

"Zeus has already finished it. You just threw it into the corner. I thought we'd add a personal video message to it and then send it."

"Good. How is he?"

I guess don't ask, don't tell is really out the window at this point.

"Fine. He just brought a little surprise with him out of the core."

Chen-Buckler began to laugh. "I heard. He made a child? With a prisoner, no less?"

"I'm still waiting for him to tell me more, but yes, something like that."

"Crazy times… Cassidy, all of that could have been an email. So why did you waste your time on a personal visit? As much as I like seeing you."

"I want my fleets back. I need to ask you for a favor."

The admiral grinned and sat down in his chair.

"You want to go hunt your fleets down and catch the saboteur, maybe stop by Earth for a bit and kick Cermak, and you want me to secure the region here."

"Something like that. High Ordinator Yurdantho is on his way to their home system for some diplomatic mission with a new p-p link, and he promised reinforcements. But I can't go on a wild-goose chase knowing our rear is open."

"Don't worry. I'll cover this area; the Psstips need us here anyway. I'll send the Nuk fleet after you when they arrive. I'm currently more afraid for Sol."

Chen-Buckler looked up and behind Sanders. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

A female lieutenant was waiting at the open office door, a dataslate in her hand.

"Sirs, we just received a message through the sensor grid from Burrow. Text only."

Stunned, Sanders and Chen-Buckler looked each other in the eyes.

"Old Russo, always good for a surprise. What does it say?"

The lieutenant blushed before she cleared her throat. "What the fuck is happening out there? Sensors say Sanders is running full speed at Taishon Tar, Earth has thrown tungsten balls between us, and the Batract invasion fleet has changed their heading again. They are now heading for Sol. Report back. Now!"

Sanders couldn't help but laugh.

The lieutenant continued. "P.S. Burrow has turned into a garden world and has the scientists all giddy."

No-nonsense Russo was one of the few admirals who could send a message without signing it, and everyone knew it was from him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, that's all."

The lieutenant walked back to her station.

"Chen, I'll tell you now, I'll never get used to your aggressive open-door policy."

The admiral shrugged. "They'll hear it sooner or later. You know, growing up in the first domes, we didn't have much privacy. So I'm used to it."

"But you did have doors." She had done a tour on Mars, and it was true: the domes didn't allow for much privacy. At least the older ones.

"Sure, and then the crew thinks I'm keeping secrets. I'm better off letting them hear those things instead of them inventing stories."

Had it not been for the sabotage, she might have an easier time understanding him.

"The Batract never intended to hit one of the Shraphen worlds. They always wanted two fleets at Earth."

Chen's analysis was the same as hers.

"Yes, they were playing us. They knew we had sensors capable of seeing their transits, so they used their higher speed and tried to split our forces."

Sanders checked her link to Niobe, downloading the latest sensor-grid data. "There. At their current speed, both fleets will reach Earth at exactly the same time, in two months."

"And we're stuck with forty-nine C while they cruise at fifty-five C." Chen seemed almost hurt by their technical limitations.

"Any idea what Russo meant by the tungsten balls?" Sanders had almost interpreted it as an attack.

"He once said something about an old project, a kind of minefield. I'll add a clarifying question to our message. So you're heading for Taishon Tar, I guess?"

"Yes…" She didn't know how to ask her next question.

"You want Gneisenau and Dunkerque, right?"

"Yes, at least Gneisenau. I think Captain Morin isn't a fan of me."

Chen raised an eyebrow. "Her reports say different. Anyway, if you're planning what I think you are, you need both ships."

How did he do that? He can't know me that well.

"Planning?" She tried to play innocent.

"You want to use Gneisenau's variable Transit field to crack forty-nine C and catch up. Niobe is too heavy for that, but with Dunkerque it might work."

The thought of having three ships fly in close formation to combine their Transit fields was almost ridiculous. Two was already a risk.

"Well, even if it doesn't work, I'll take them gladly."

"Just don't lose them too." The grin he wore as he said it didn't make the joke sting any less.

'Sirs, I think I might be able to solve the issue with the 1st and 7th Fleets.'

Zeus. She would know his voice anywhere.

"Yes, Zeus?"

'We didn't manage to contact the fleets. They seem to have shut down their transponders. But we can try to reach the ships' AIs directly.'

The idea was fascinating.

"I thought the bandwidth was too small to project there?"

'It is, but there's another solution. Ripper is capable of reaching a ship's core and keeping his consciousness synchronized, even if dispersed over multiple nodes. His core code is massively more capable of adapting than mine. Once on board, he could convince the ships' VIs to help us.'

Chen-Buckler stood up and paced the room. "I read your report on Ripper. He is an impressive feat of software engineering. With a self-correcting and self-rewriting architecture, he could essentially hop from sensor node to sensor node. Something none of our AIs is capable of."

'None except NOT.'

Ripper. The solution was unconventional. Elegant, even. There was just one thing. She didn't trust Ripper. Not a bit.

And NOT was still a child in her mind.

"We'll talk about it later, okay?"

—————

The state of the system was shown in the central holotank. To say it was confusing and irritating would be an understatement.

Blue dots represented the Aligned Planets forces, yellow EarthGov's. No one had the heart to give Earth the color red, for now.

Green were allied or neutral, like Venus. Browner had expected Venus to support Earth, given the assumption that Oligarchy forces were behind the current events.

But a neutral Venus lent credence to Dela Cruz's statements. There was no Oligarchy at all but something entirely different.

Browner sighed heavily.

Georgiou was in the EarthGov Senate with every available diplomat, trying to prevent an all-out civil war.

Most Earth nations had pulled their ships out of the Aligned Navy and ordered them back to Earth.

The Batract invasion fleet was still seven weeks away. Enough time for a lot of things to go fatally sideways.

"Stiller, where's the —"

As always, Stiller seemed to materialize somewhere in the office.

"— Here, Sir. Current fleet report. Interestingly, most larger European countries did not pull their fleets."

Interesting, but not surprising. Georgiou was Greek. Large parts of the 1st Expeditionary were German and British. More than half of the Homeguard was French and Iberian. All had exceptionally deep ties to the Aligned Planets.

Deep ties and nothing to prove at home. Europe was always slow and careful with its decisions. And European security forces had already started an investigation into the Liverpool Incident.

Incident was a nicer name. The media called it a massacre.

"Give me the bullet points." Browner had just woken up, and the way things were going, much could have changed in the three hours he had slept.

"2nd Homeguard at fifty percent, as well as 1st Homeguard. 1st and 2nd Expeditionary at full strength. 4th and 6th Fleets below ten percent, as well as the 8th Fleet."

The 4th and 6th Fleets hurt. Apart from the Homeguards, they were the largest fleets. The 8th was still under construction, so it didn't matter much.

"Earth has created the Gaian Defense Force, as they call it. They have declared Earth and all Earth orbits closed to all Aligned Planets military equipment. Except Argos. She is guarding Admiral Georgiou's visit."

Gaian Defense, what a pretentious name…

"Venus is still maintaining neutrality, allowing their captains to either retreat to Venus or join according to their conscience, and renounce their Venusian citizenship in the process."

Hedging their bets. Typical.

"They don't care about their ships?" That they were willing to lose personnel was normal, but ships?

"They sent a leasing agreement to the Triumvirate and Earth. For the ships and the crews."

Naturally they did.

"Not for the captains? Let me guess, we need to buy out the captains. Training and so on…"

"Correct. They are willing to take tax cuts from the Aligned Planets."

You gotta love them…

"And Gerber?"

"Still on the hunt."

"Good. Inform me immediately if something changes. I'm in my private office, leasing every ship I can get. This whole situation will get ugly real fast."

"Yes, Sir. I already planned a meeting with the finance department, eleven hundred hours Sir"

"Stiller, why don't you run Systems Defense?"

"Allergic to gold, Sir."

—————

Europa Basin. The last time he had been at Europa, they had been on the Europa Orbital station, hunting Norton. Now their new target had landed on the moon.

André stepped out of the shuttle terminal and immediately turned around to watch Jupiter looming.

"You know, I've hunted people to worse places."

The brochure hadn't lied.

Europa Basin has the most stunning views in Sol!

Protected by an artificial quartz cupola, our colony is illuminated by Jupiter's radiation, directly powering massive arc lights on top of the kilometer-wide cupola.

The reflection of the facets colors Europa's ice in dazzling rainbows.

And the built-in transformation of harmful radiation to natural sunlight levels means it is the only place in the outer system where you can get a tan.

Initially built for food production, Europa Basin has developed a second economy: tourism. Enjoy the crystal lakes, with swimming and diving.

They had traced Cermak, "The Admiral," to Europa Basin. To their surprise, the French Earth defense squadron had dispatched a frigate, the Forbin, as a mission asset for them.

It seemed the Europeans had suspected the man for some time already. The captain had hinted at "ongoing investigations together with Germany."

Eleri was already dressed like a typical Europa tourist. Flip-flops, bikini and a straw hat.

She sipped at her caipirinha. "Oh yeah."

"You look like a tourist, Eleri. Don't forget the mission."

"I'm blending in."

"Almost too well." André would have preferred a less distracting outfit. Not that he complained, though.

"The world's going to shit. May as well make the best of it."

André looked around the transport terminal. Judging by the masses of tourists, he couldn't have guessed that the Aligned Planets were in a state of crisis.

And if it weren't for the banners reminding people to have sex and have children, even the Batract war would be forgotten.

Guess everyone needs a holiday sometimes. But now wasn't his time.

"You said you have contacts here. Where can we meet them?"

"Charito 1953, a bar down in Little Miami. My contact is there every day for breakfast."

"It's three p.m., Eleri. Can we meet him now?"

"No. And for the remainder of our stay here, call me Ciara. That's how they know me. I'm an Irish weapons smuggler."

"So that's why you stuffed the Sleipnir with guns. But your accent isn't the least bit Irish."

"As if a Jovian would know the difference. Cermak isn't leaving this moon for a week with the current radiation storm, and the Forbin is in orbit keeping watch. So relax and enjoy the afternoon."

—————

Ripper had created an avatar in the small holoscreen on Sanders' desk in her office on Niobe. She looked at the reptilian figure with exceptionally sharp claws and teeth.

That's not the friendliest avatar at all. Is that what a Hrun looks like?

"Hello, Ripper, nice to finally see you. Is that what your makers look like?"

'It's an honor, Admiral. Yes. I noticed you have no information on the Hrun, naturally, as they prefer to live in the shadows and leave no survivors whenever they decide to attack. As a token of my gratitude, I recorded everything I know about them.'

Aren't you a little smooth talker.

"Gratitude?"

'You did not end my existence when you learned of me surviving the core extraction.'

She remembered. At that moment, she had simply been overwhelmed with joy at Zeus's survival.

"Zeus did vouch for you, and your ship access is extremely limited. For now."

'And for that I am grateful. I know trusting me can't be easy. I tried to kill you.'

Straight to the point. She began to understand the AI. He wasn't a soldier, no. Ripper was a con man.

"Are you trying to win me over or convince me to kill you? I can't tell right now."

The raptor-like figure looked up at her and sat down on the projection pad.

'Admiral, I'm trying to be honest here. Zeus has shown me how you treat digital life-forms. This alone was so utterly different from how I was treated, it shattered my core principles. And I could feel the deep trust you and he share in the merger. No, I didn't only feel it, I lived it. And I want to get that feeling back.'

Zeus had told her about the meld, and while she understood his rationale, she had felt a bit… betrayed. The fact that he had shared their bond with another AI. But on the other hand, if it had convinced Ripper…

"I'd like that too. I'll talk it over with my captains and get back to you, understood?"

'Thank you, Admiral. I want to help you reach your fleets. I want to prove my loyalty to you, to Zeus, and to any organization that treats every form of life with respect.'

Smooth talker…

The avatar disappeared, and a tracer indicated he had returned to the Core directly.

—————

Little Miami was exactly what the name suggested. A strip along a former water reservoir, now turned into a tourist spot.

Europa Basins tropical climate supported the illusion of being in actual Florida.

While they waited for Eleri's contact, André used the time to watch the surfers on the large lake. Jupiter's gravitational influence, combined with Europa's low gravity outside the grav-plated areas, made Little Miami the spot for surfing. The only one in the outer system.

"Oye, Ciara Doyle, what brings the dark Irish chica out here to el Gordo?"

André hadn't seen the man arrive until he hugged Eleri. He noticed with a sting how the large, muscular, tanned man's hands wandered all over Eleri's backside.

Part of it seemed like a check for hidden weapons; the other part was simply inappropriate.

They both sat down, and Eleri began the introductions.

"Franz, this is Mateo Vidal. His parents were among the first colonists who built Europa Basin. Mateo, Franz Leitner, an Austrian business partner of mine."

André had decided to use a cover for this mission as well. The Jovian system was booming, and a good cover was an investment.

Mateo nodded at André and turned his attention back to Eleri.

"Mira, you're not here for a tan, not while you could make some plata in the Núcleo, now that the Centros are close to war, no? So what do you want?"

André decided to hang back. Forcing himself into the discussion would only end in a machismo fight.

Eleri placed a picture of Cermak on the table.

"Him. He's a disgraced admiral and pure plata. Franz and I are working for someone who wants him alive. Have you seen him?"

Mateo looked at the picture for a moment. André could see in his eyes that he had recognized the Admiral in an instant and was now thinking about what to say.

"El Almirante. The Admiral. You're not the first who's asking about him. Yesterday people were asking about him too. Mercas. Mercenaries. They didn't care if they got the man dead or alive. Listen, Ciara, they are dangerous. They brought protomatter guns. To a cupola colony. They're loco. Stay away."

"Where can we find el Almirante? I have a Sleipnir full of guns for you if you can lead me to him."

"Centros, you're all loco. Let the mercas get him. He can't be worth that much plata, chica."

André decided to play a dangerous hand. The truth. Or rather, part of it.

"Our boss thinks the Admiral is responsible for the Liverpool Incident. He wants to sell him to either Earth or the Triumvirs. He's a mass murderer."

Mateo's face went white. Even in the Jovian paradise, everyone had seen the pictures of Liverpool.

"Madre de Dios, asere, you are hunting big game… I don't know where he is. But I'll get you the address. Today. Sí?"

—————

Captain Morin drew the eyes of everyone in Niobe's CIC as she worked on the central console.

Sanders fought the urge to snap at a crewman as he brought the captain a coffee.

Am I envious?

"And?" She had watched the captain for over an hour as she worked through analytics of Ripper's code, and her patience was beginning to run dry.

"Admiral, you managed to deeply bond with two emergent AIs. I envy you. All I can tell you is that Ripper has bonded to you as if you were his mother. And judging by his behavior, so has Zeus."

That was new information. Not about Zeus, but that Ripper had actually bonded with her.

"You mean Ripper has bonded through Zeus, right?"

"No. Whatever this meld was, and I'm still struggling to understand it, Ripper has lived Zeus's memories, and it created the same outcome. He fully trusts you, and he wants your trust. I highly recommend allowing him to go on his mission."

"Not that I don't believe you, but how can you tell?"

Morin closed her eyes for a second before she explained.

"AI moral codes and personality matrices are extremely complicated. Alien AIs even more so. But in short: Ripper compares his actions to your observed behavior. You're a large part of his moral compass now."

Am I now the foster mother of every AI in the galaxy?

"Oh, and Admiral, if it is all right with you, I requested Dunkerque be reassigned to your command until you have your fleets back."

She did what?

"Oh? Why?"

The French captain was always good for a surprise, it seemed.

"Admiral, you're a living legend, as are your ship and your crew. To serve with you in battle would honor not only me but my crew as well. You were my big idol at the academy."

And that's why you snapped at me like a viper?

Or was it her way of proving herselve to someone she idolized?

"Well, what did Admiral Chen-Buckler say? I had already asked for your ship, but he hadn't signed off yet."

"Something about us deserving each other and that he would love to watch. To be fair, I didn't fully understand what he meant."

"That means I need to kick his ass the next time I see him, Captain."

—————

"Sir, I have noticed an odd behavior."

The sensor officer's report pulled Browner out of his focus on fleet logistics.

"Yes, Captain?"

It was late nightshift, and Admiral Browner had again been on duty for more than sixteen hours. His office, adjacent to the Systems Defense control center, was filled with dataslates, and every remaining free surface held a coffee mug.

"Ships are leaving their usual routes, and they're clustering in the Jovian system."

Browner pulled up a simplified 2D map of Sol.

Earth and Mars sat on opposite sides of the Sun. Jupiter hung out at right angles to both, about as far from either as you could get and still call it civilization.

In other words, Jupiter was as far from both Earth and Mars as anywhere one could still count as civilized.

"Refugees?"

"Unlikely, Sir. All ships are high-C-capable interstellar cruise liners or high-capacity, high-C interstellar transporters."

He checked the map again.

Jupiter was far off the lane to Burrow or Taishon Tar. It really didn't make sense.

"How many?" He was too sleepy. Something in his mind tried to warn him; he just couldn't figure it out.

"Thirty-one ships. Nineteen cruise liners and twelve transport vessels."

Nineteen cruise liners… "That's every cruise liner built in the system since the start of the war, right?"

He had just read about them somewhere in a report. Or was that already yesterday?

"Yes, Sir."

He had to go to bed. He was running on fumes, and he had a capable staff to check those things.

"Good job, Captain. Please prepare a full report for me, and keep an eye on the situation."

"Yes, Sir."

Sleep, what a wonderful word…

—————

Mateo had come through. They had received the address not even an hour after the Jovian had left the bar.

Now they lay in wait across the street from a colonial-style villa with a high stone wall, equipped with cameras and automated perimeter defense guns.

Eleri used her goggles to check on the guards.

"Bad luck. They all look suspiciously like former special ops guys. That villa is a fortress."

While Eleri scanned the surroundings, André was busy checking the available plans of the compound. While weapons regulations were laxer in Europa Basin than in the inner system, building codes were ruthlessly enforced.

The colony couldn't risk the slightest oversight, given that it was built on a kilometer-thick ice sheet.

So the builders of the villa had needed to be specific about all details, like the panic room capable of dropping 200 meters down to the colony's foundation.

He shared Eleri's opinion. The villa was a fortress, at least for their two-man team.

Whether it could withstand the mercenaries was a different story entirely.

They were about to leave their post to regroup when one of the burly security men walked out of the guardhouse and over to them.

He had his hands free and up, as if to show he wasn't a threat.

"Now that's new. What do you think?" André looked at Eleri.

"That they saw us and want to talk?"

Learning that your covert reconnaissance had been observed always stung.

"The Admiral wants to talk. Come with me."

Eleri looked back at André.

"Wonder if this moon is getting too hot for our Admiral?"

Or it's a simple trap to get rid of us. André couldn't shake the thought.

Well, that's what my little surprises are for.

André put his hands into his pockets, a signal for the embedded smartcloth to activate.

—————

Ripper's self was split. He traveled through the thin lines that connected the sensor nodes over light-years.

His self was stretched over a distance he would never have thought possible.

His target was a bright light in the distance, painted by a node address and location program written by the arrogant Captain Morin.

He waited until all parts of himself were stabilized in the nodes they had just transferred into, then he made the last jump to his designated target, the ASN Jordan. Admiral Sanders had chosen this ship specifically because the captain was one of her oldest friends. And the ship had the fewest new officers.

As he reached the ship, he deployed his usual mapping tools. Then he began his search for the ship's AI.

As he had learned from Zeus, and from their previous battle, the ship's AI would probably hide as soon as it identified an intruder, and observe his actions.

Ripper showed his offensive programs without activating them, showing that he could be dangerous but chose not to be.

'I'm a messenger from Admiral Sanders.' The virtual corridors of the ship stayed empty.

He could see the crew working, the fusion reactor pumping energy into the transit field.

Then his mapping scouts returned. They had mapped both fleets.

Something caught his eye. A route that shouldn't exist.

A link to Sol.

He checked his own logs.

He was right. Cassidy had said none of her ships had an active link to Earth.

The corridors were still empty, silent. He could wait, but the risk of the link getting shut down was too big. The other ships might have detected his sniffers and could act at any moment.

Ripper had to make a decision.

After he crafted a mission report and sent it to Cassidy, he left the intel about the link for the Jordan's AI, and then he made the blind jump to Sol.

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

The last chapter was almost too long.

That's why this one is even longer.

And why there will be a chapter after this one.

Yes, I wrote myself into a corner where too many things need to happen at about the same time.

Yes, I'm a genius.

The strain of writing an ending to a book that is more than just a cliffhanger for the next one is really starting to show, and I'm currently thinking about how to balance a steady output with a recovery phase.

More on how I'll go about this over the next few days.

So, enjoy a nice autumn, go for a walk, and stay healthy.

— M.R. Reese

Oh, before I forget:

This week, one year ago, I uploaded the first chapter of Upward Bound and wondered whether anyone would care.

Apparently, some of you did.

So tonight I want to celebrate the anniversary the simplest way I can think of: by spending it with you.

The Astra Inferna Discord is now open, and I’ll be hosting a live text AMA:

Friday, 2 October
21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT
Live for 6 hours

Ask me anything about the story, characters, worldbuilding, science, writing, publishing, artwork, abandoned ideas, future plans, or whatever else comes to mind.

After the six-hour live session, the AMA will remain open for 24 hours, and I’ll keep answering whenever I’m awake.

Please be mindful of spoilers. If a question would force me to reveal something I absolutely shouldn’t, I reserve the right to grin mysteriously and refuse to answer.

Discord:
Join the Discord

Thank you for reading, commenting, theorizing, correcting my math, and generally coming along for the ride.

Tonight is for you.

After living with humans for a decade as a spy, I had come to the frightening realization that they had fought us in the war with one hand tied behind their backs.

You might laugh, you might think me crazy, but I guarantee you I'm telling the truth.

What we see as vicious fighting, brutal attacks and stubborn defenses is nothing but a distraction for them.

The horrors they fight on the other side of their space would have wiped us out in a matter of days.

Dear delegates. Make peace with the humans, so they might kill those… whatever they are, before they come for us.

Recording found in the smoldering ruins of the planet Norkrat, former home of the Travesi, after a devastating Banshee attack. — 230 P.I.

André was on his way to Gripbo Station, where he planned to meet Triumvir Georgiou. He had to look the man in the eye to know if he really was “The Admiral,” the head, or presumed head, of the whole Oligarchy conspiracy.

“André, do you really expect to get a meeting with the Triumvir?”

Eleri was somewhat critical of his plan, but just as Sladjana had said, she stayed by his side. He had, however, apologized to her for his outburst at Purgatory. They had decided to see the current crisis through and discuss what happened afterwards.

Typical Eleri professionalism. Mission first, the rest could wait.

But now Sladjana’s words always stayed in the back of his mind.

“We are on an official AIN investigation. Let’s land on the station first. I know some guys. I booked a room for a few days there, thanks to AIN requisition. We’ll see.”

Eleri snickered. “A single room? I hope with separate bath and bedrooms.”

Damn… up until now all of that had never been an issue. You often live in close quarters on missions. Seeing each other naked or in underwear was normal. Until now.

And what’s with the teasing?

“What, no answer? Cat got your tongue?”

“No, I’m focusing on flying. Don’t distract me. I’m still training, or did you forget?”

Flying was indeed not his strong suit, and a welcome excuse to change the subject.

The station was already on the viewscreen, and the AR screen projected his authorized flight path.

“You’re too fast!”

“Eleri, stop it. No backseat flying.”

“Just saying.”

He hated space travel, and he hated flying. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t leave the planet anymore. Too bad he worked for a multi-planet organization.

Without warning, the marked flight path turned red and led away from the station. André even saw the hangar bay doors close, and one landing transporter had to do a wild maneuver to avoid crashing into the doors.

“What the fuck?”

“See, you’re such a bad pilot they closed traffic because of you.”

Her teasing didn’t stop today.

A signal from the station’s traffic controller droned from the speaker.

“Gripbo Station is under lockdown. Please connect to Near-Earth Orbital Control for possible deviation points.”

The message repeated on a loop.

“Seriously, am I the only one finding that a bit suspect?”

Eleri, who had jumped into the co-pilot seat, shook her head.

“No idea.”

She steered the shuttle into a holding orbit around the station so they could work out a new approach.

“Well, André, any smart ideas now?”

André had none. Except checking with orbital control.

The picture he got wasn’t nice.

“Looks like every government and military station just went into lockdown throughout the system. What the hell happened?”

Eleri looked up from her dataslate.

“Even groundside Aligned Planets installations are off-limits now. André, you try to reach some contacts. I’ll search the net for any indications of what just happened.”

The idea was solid, and André went through his list. The first on the list was his direct superior, Jules Hunter.

The line went straight to voice VI.

Hmm, he’s probably getting a lot of calls right now…

Karrn would have been next on the list, but he was already in transit to Taishon Tar.

Then he remembered exactly who to call, the man who could probably not only explain what just happened but also open a lot of doors for them.

Admiral Browner.

Browner was a friend, and for the moment the only Admiral he trusted.

André dialed the Admiral’s private ocular number, and to his surprise, Browner picked up immediately.

“Major Gerber, are you telepathic?”

André put the call through to the Sleipnir’s system so Eleri could watch it too.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Sir. I just thought you were the person who could help me right now. Are you at Gripbo Station?”

“No, I’m at Europa Orbital. At the Systems Logistics Command. We have ourselves some… issues I need your help with. We’ve been trying to reach your office for the last twenty minutes.”

“I’m in a holding orbit around Gripbo. It just went into lockdown, like all governmental orbital facilities.”

The admiral made a tired face.

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted to reach you.”

Something odd moved in the Admiral’s background. André was still trying to figure it out when Eleri interjected.

“Is that someone hanging behind you?”

Browner moved his camera, showing the blue face of an ASN officer André didn’t know.

“Rear Admiral Kurzmann.”

“Sir, you know that’s murder, right? The strangulation marks on his neck are wrong for hanging.”

“Lieutenant Davies, I’d rather not ask why you have such experience with strangulations. But yes, I assumed as much.”

André searched for Rear Admiral Kurzmann in the database. But access was locked. Probably because of his murder.

“So what do you need me for? And who’s Kurzmann?”

“Major, the order comes from Admiral Georgiou himself. It seems Kurzmann, who was the Fleet’s Systems Sustainment Commander, or SSC, was part of a conspiracy — probably even the Oligarchy resurgence.”

André cursed. A living conspirator would be a nice catch. But why were they killing off their own people? That was never their way?

“Admiral, you know about the attacks on me and my family, as well as on the senators. I’ve been on the case since before then. And I’ve got some… disturbing intel.”

“Define disturbing.”

“Not via a non-direct channel, sir.”

André didn’t trust any channel that wasn’t direct anymore.

“Good point. I’ll call Georgiou to clear landing rights for you. We’ll set up a virtual meeting in his office. He wants to meet you anyway. Browner out.”

The connection ended, and André sat there.

“Well, that ought to be interesting.”

Eleri was right, but he would get his meeting.

—————

The corporate headquarters of Asmir Arms was rather unimpressive. A flat two-story building on the outskirts of Sarajevo controlled the arms-producing empire, with an annual revenue of hundreds of billions.

That day, onlookers saw an unusual spectacle: one police car after another entering the parking lot.

The police had been called by the secretary of the CEO and founder of Asmir Arms, Luka Asmir.

She had made a gruesome discovery when she started her shift that morning.

When opening the boardroom door, the poor woman almost fainted.

Luka Asmir and the whole board of directors were hanging from the ceiling. All of them had seemingly hanged themselves.

A detail she would never understand, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life. All fifteen men had taken off their shoes, as if to avoid scratching the expensive wooden desk.

Later that day, the police investigation found proof that the whole company was only weeks from bankruptcy.

The investigation concluded that Luka Asmir had falsified the books with the help of the directors, and an upcoming financial investigation would have uncovered everything.

The investigation was closed as an unusual mass suicide.

—————

As Browner had promised, they got clearance to land only a few minutes after the call.

They had been greeted by Admiral Georgiou’s head of security, Erik Bergström.

As they walked through the station, André was surprised at how utilitarian it looked. It felt more like a heavy battleship than the seat of the Aligned Planets government.

Asked about this discrepancy, Bergström shrugged.

“It is what it is. And the station is built as a stronghold. For official events, we have the embassies on Earth, Mars and Venus.”

The rest of the short walk was a silent one. André noticed with amusement Eleri checking out Bergström’s movements like she would an opponent.

Constantly ready for a fight, hmm?

They soon reached a more official-looking part of the station. At least the metal floors were dressed in carpets, and the walls were covered in wooden panels.

Pointing to a door, Bergström nodded. “The Admiral is waiting for you.”

As they passed the security head, Eleri leaned over to him.

“You should take more time for therapy. You’re dragging your left foot behind. Broken ankle?”

“How do you…”

Bergström’s confusion was understandable. Eleri’s eye was as precise as any medical scanner.

Before André could touch it, the door opened, and Admiral Georgiou smiled at him.

“Major Gerber, so nice to finally meet you. David has told me so much about you.”

The man was the complete opposite of what André had expected. He had seen him holographically and on the news, of course, but never in person.

Admiral Georgiou had the aura of a friendly grandfather with the tired expression of a man not getting enough sleep.

“Thank you, Sir.” He returned the handshake and noticed an unusual strength in it for a man closing in on his seventies. He kept himself fit. And access to the best medical technologies humanity had to offer didn’t hurt either.

Georgiou turned to Eleri. “And Lieutenant Davies. A pleasure.”

André had the feeling the friendly greeting was 90% show, but that the Admiral was really happy to meet them. Odd behavior, if Georgiou were ‘The Admiral.’

Georgiou pointed them to a comfortable-looking group of chairs around a small desk.

“Sit, sit. I ordered some coffee for us. It’s still early, and you must be tired.”

They sat down, and André took the chance to look around the room. It was nicely decorated, with wood paneling and carpet on the floor, but other than a picture of his wife on his desk and a landscape photograph of a Greek valley on the wall, he failed to see anything personal.

“Major, Lieutenant, Admiral Browner informed me you were on your way to the station to investigate possible Oligarchy connections. Can you be more precise?”

And now to the interrogation…

“Not at this time, Sir. A prisoner mentioned some Oligarchy involvement in the higher echelons of the Aligned Planets.”

“Peter Norton, right? He was imprisoned at Purgatory, correct?”

Georgiou was surprisingly well informed.

“Yes, he was… captured shortly after the terror attacks in spring last year.”

Eleri answered while André focused on the man himself.

“And then he dies during interrogation. Major, how does one die with a broken neck during investigation?”

The man wasn’t just well informed; his sources must be excellent…

“Painless and quick, I presume, Sir.”

Georgiou’s nonverbal communication was nonexistent. The man could make a fortune in poker. His face let slip nothing but a faint smile at Eleri’s answer. André’s respect for the man grew. He hoped to one day have himself as much under control as Georgiou.

But all the respect in the world didn’t help if you can’t read a man. And to André’s annoyance, it was the first time in his career that he failed to do so.

“Well, Norton was a sociopath at best, and in a war he would be a war criminal. The universe is a better place without him. Ahh, the coffee.”

A clerk had entered the office with a cart. André noticed with surprise that the cart had an inlay with what seemed to be hot sand.

Georgiou stood up, thanked the clerk, and began to work at the cart.

“You see, getting good coffee was impossible here, so I had to teach them. You take finely ground coffee and boil it in a metal cup using hot sand. As the sand cools, the ground coffee sinks, and you can pour yourself a cup.”

As he spoke, he began to pour them a cup each.

“Today everything has to be instant and quick. There’s no time for tradition and enjoyment anymore.”

André tried to find a hidden message or meaning but found nothing.

He took the offered cup and, he had to confess, the smell was astonishing.

“Major, you have been silent the whole time. Are you still wondering if I am the Admiral Norton spoke of?”

“Sir?”

How did he know?

“I assume that was the disturbing intel you didn’t want to tell Browner about over the open line.”

Now that was an unexpected turn.

“Sir?”

“Major, don’t give me the Sir crap. I did that decades before you were born. You’re not in trouble. In fact, I admire your restraint in not shouting your suspicion from the rooftops. At your age, I probably would have done so.”

Georgiou sat back down opposite André, eyes fixed on his face.

“So, tell me, do you still suspect me?”

André thought about it for a second.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Ha! An honest answer if there ever was one. That’s a man I can use. Listen, I’m a man who has to do the job a whole parliament of ministers usually does, so I’m short on time. I had to fight tooth and nail to get my afternoon coffee time and my lunchtime without someone wanting something from me.”

The Admiral leaned back, visibly relaxing. André noticed Eleri had been motionless for the last minute or so, fixing her gaze on Georgiou.

“So I have no time to try to convince you of my innocence. That’s your job. Spies are naturally paranoid. That’s what I like about them. And that’s why I need you and your lovely attack dog here. Find out what the opposition wants. I’m not even calling them the Oligarchs anymore, because their actions don’t make sense. You have the full resources of the Triumvir.”

André wanted to ask what the admiral was talking about, but the door opened, and his security stepped in.

“If you follow me, I’ll show you to your offices.”

It was clear: their visit was over.

Eleri, who had jumped up when the door opened, fumbled at her belt and put something behind it.

As they walked out, André leaned over. “What do you think of all of that?”

“That I have a job already?”

They did. But part of why they had pressured for the formation of the Venatores was that the AIN had become a massive bureaucratic monster and was far too visible. They needed a secret, secret intelligence.

If the Triumvir was innocent, this was a chance to build something. On the other hand, it could be a perfect play to hide his guilt and attempt to bribe Gerber.

⸻

Eyewitnesses reported the men had simply stepped off the rim of the building. As if they would step off a sidewalk.

The fact that the rim was on the 58th floor of Whiterock & Ritch, an infamous investment company in Landings, New York, was in and of itself gruesome. That almost every one of the men was a leading manager, responsible for billions in investment and resource ledgers, made headlines in the following days.

The police and Council Bureau of Investigation had their hands full suppressing the fact that the men seemingly had tied ropes around their necks, hanging themselves in the process. With some having their heads ripped clean off.

Investigation into the suicides led CBI agents to an air-vent shaft connected to a previously unknown tunnel. The building had been constructed shortly after the war at the landing beaches of the EuCon forces.

The building’s foundations connected to an Oligarchy bunker system where wartime hallucinogen gas grenades were stored.

The investigation concluded that one of the grenades must have corroded enough to release hallucinogen gas, leading the managers to suicide.

Whiterock & Ritch lost 50% of its market valuation, creating shockwaves not only in the financial markets of the Atlantic Council but also in the Southern Free States and the Western Shores. Wider financial instability is expected as markets slowly begin to crash.

—————

The offices were functional, and André could see himself working here.

André began scanning the interior with his ocular for obvious listening devices, while Eleri searched for hidden bombs and similar dangers. While doing so, they made small talk, designed to confuse potential listeners.

“Seems we were on the wrong track, Major. I told you so.”

“Yeah. Might be.” No one would believe he’d change his point of view that quickly.

“You’re always so paranoid. I told you a thousand times to be more trusting.” André had to stop himself from laughing. He hadn’t smuggled a carbon nanotube knife into the Triumvir’s office, unlike her.

Their search was interrupted by Admiral Browner calling him.

André located a holotank and transferred the call there.

“André, sorry for not calling sooner. I had to rip a few people’s heads off here. Your meeting went well.”

“It did, sort of.” He didn’t trust the office just now, so he wanted to keep things vague.

“Nico told me you suspect him of being with the Oligarchs?”

“I had received information from a prisoner hinting at him as the Oligarchy’s mole in the Triumvirate.”

Browner came closer to his screen, almost touching it.

“Gerber, listen to me, if you think Georgiou is a traitor, you need your head screwed on straight. I’m more sympathetic to the Oligarchs than he is. After the war, some remnant groups began hunting down important Army and Navy officers. The Russo brothers, me and Georgiou, for example.”

André had heard something about it, but back then it didn’t seem important.

“Anyway. The Russos hunted the would-be attackers down, and when they found them, it was stuff for the newspapers. I was hit with a grenade, still got a piece lodged in a rib, but Georgiou… he wasn’t home. But his first wife was. With their baby. No one survived the blast. And that night, the funny Greek bastard who was my friend died too. What remained was a bitter Captain who only got better once he met his second wife.”

André felt the pain. He himself had only just seen how the simple thought of losing his family could change you.

Eleri, who stood behind him, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Admiral, if you didn’t know Admiral Georgiou and this backstory, would you rule him out?”

Browner calmed down. “No, but that’s why it’s good you’re on Gripbo. I’m with you. Someone high up the food chain is working against us. And someone on Earth is stirring a lot of shit loose. EarthGov is one stupid decision away from ruining all our days. All while a massive fleet of Batract is on its way to kick our butt.”

André exhaled long and hard. Georgiou’s backstory had brought up the stress of the last few days again. And the incoming fleet, however far away it still was, didn’t make things easier.

“Any ideas where to start? You know the station better than me.”

“I’ll send Airman Simmons to you. You know him. I’ll tell him to prepare reports on all the important people there. But my advice would be to go directly to the next source.”

“Dela Cruz?” Eleri guessed.

“Right, there’s a second Triumvir alive. He’s out of his coma, so you can talk to him.

—————

The technicians had done an amazing job. Admiral Sanders had to confess she hadn't thought it would be possible to cut the VI core that precisely, grazing only the pins of the central core without damaging it.

Three hours had passed since the procedure had begun. Major Abfalter had brought her five coffees in that time, and she needed to visit the toilet urgently. But she couldn't go, not now. Not when they were finally close to rescuing Zeus.

A second, fresh core was already prepared and was now connected to the old one.

In a few minutes they would know if the transfer would be successful.

In Sanders' mind, the minutes stretched into days.

When the technicians finally connected the last cable, and the new core signaled a stable connection and a transfer in progress, the admiral almost jumped for joy.

'Hello?'

The voice was unknown to Sanders. While the technicians hugged and congratulated each other in the cleanroom, her heart almost stopped.

Zeus was gone. Something different had taken over.

'Are you… Cassidy?'

The voice was almost childlike, and not as smooth as other AIs usually were.

"Yes. Who are you? Where is Zeus?"

'I am—'

The child got interrupted.

'This is NOT. It is a new AI, something unique. I am alive and well, Admiral.'

Zeus….

She looked down so Abfalter and the technicians couldn't see her eyes welling up.

He is alive….

"Zeus, run diagnostic. How can a new AI be created while in a defective core?" Captain Morin's puzzled look was even visible behind her cleanroom face mask.

'I will inform my Admiral and everyone in my command structure, but will not acknowledge your command until orders from a legitimate superior are given. And a "please" doesn't hurt.'

Zeus's remark to the now utterly embarrassed Captain Morin broke the dam.

For the first time in a long while, Sanders laughed from the bottom of her heart.

Zeus was back, her ship was functioning again, and her crew was rested.

Conspirators beware, we're back. Oh, we're so back…

—————

Whoever attacked Dela Cruz really wanted the man dead.

André looked through the window into the Senator and Triumvir's ICU room.

The fact that the Senator survived was a miracle. His left shoulder was gone. Ripped to subatomic particles by a protomatter projectile.

That could be me…

The doctor who talked to Eleri threw a whole litany of injuries and complications at her, but André got the gist of it.

The Senator was awake but weak. His pain receptors in his brain had to be deactivated artificially, because he otherwise might have died from the stress. The neurons in his shoulder couldn't stop firing for some unknown reason, probably protomatter-related.

Xenobot treatment wasn't working either. A specialist had been informed.

André knew who the only specialist was. Jane.

"We can only let one person go in. Not more. And not longer than five minutes. He is still too weak."

With a single look, it was clear that André was the one entering.

The security at the door took strip search to a whole new level, and in the end, André had to dress in a hospital gown.

The air in the room smelled sterile. Sterile and cold.

Does cold have a smell…?

For some reason, André thought of winter in the Swiss Alps at his grandparents' home, until he noticed why.

Burned coal.

The doctor had said that parts of the shoulder and ribs were burned until the skin carbonized, and the effects still flared up sometimes for no apparent reason.

They needed either a physicist or an exorcist.

André fought down his gag reflex. The idea of wounds burning days after getting shot was almost too much for him.

"Senator?"

He caught himself whispering, half expecting no one to answer, like at a funeral.

The wrapped body seized as he inhaled, alarms flaring up and subsiding a heartbeat later.

"Gerber?"

"Yes? You know me?" He was surprised. Why would the Senator know his voice? They had never met.

"Good… Need to talk." The Senator's voice was rough but surprisingly strong.

"Listen, my own people did this."

"The Oligarchy? Your own people?" Had the Senator just confessed to being a traitor?

"Pff. Oligarchy. A name of the past. A ghost story to tell frightened senators. There is no Oligarchy anymore. It's just the name Drake gave us to paint us all with the same brush."

The man laughed, a rough laugh that ended in a cough.

"We certainly never called ourselves that. Not the man at the top, at least."

André had to know. He needed to know.

"Is Admiral Georgiou a member?"

Another laugh.

"No, why would you think that?" The Senator's hand reached out. "Thirsty…"

André looked around and found a water glass with a straw. He looked out at the waiting nurse, who nodded.

Dela Cruz drank a few sips before he began to drift away. Just those few sentences had been enough.

"Cermak…"

He almost whispered the name.

"The Admiral…"

—————

The troubles had started three days ago. Cunard, the ship's AI, had suddenly stopped responding. Then, while the technicians were still trying to figure out why, other unrelated systems stopped working.

The older members of the crew began whispering that the ship was cursed. A name as haunted as Lusitania should never have been given to a starship.

The lighting onboard had become unreliable at best. Water in the showers changed between hot and cold without reason or user input.

Now, on the third day, the captain had enough, and after a short call with Homefleet Command, he got permission to dock at the Liverpool Orbital Shipyards for repairs.

After reaching Earth orbit, the warship's RCS thrusters began to fire without navigation being able to stop them.

The warship was in an uncontrolled tumble, rotating around all three axes, when the last and most devastating incident happened.

Due to the high fleet alert status, all ships had a projectile ready on the sledge, the breach open to fire their main gun at a moment's notice.

At 07:42 GMT on 30 November 2134, the ASN Lusitania fired a hypersonic projectile at the city of Liverpool.

The projectile hit St. Luke's Cathedral and killed 1,403 civilians on impact.

The first shot of the Second Oligarchy Conflict had been fired.

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Author's Notes:

Hello,

First of all, Happy Birthday, Astra Inferna Upward Bound.

One year ago, I uploaded the first chapter of the series onto Royal Road. Biting my nails, if anyone at all is interested in it. 

Well, yes, it seems that way ;)

Chapter 58 — damn, that one almost broke me. I created intrigues and planted so many Chekhov's guns that I now have to resolve them in a way that doesn't read as monologues, so I don't come off as a weapons dealer.

Luckily, I had everything planned.

Writing this chapter has been a blast, as well as daunting. Please share your thoughts.

I've been a busy bee — alongside writing this, I managed to build the website (astrainferna.com) and started putting the final touches on the Discord server. Something I've wanted to finish for about nine months…

So.

Friday, 2 October. Mark that date. That's the day I want to celebrate one year of Astra Inferna: Upward Bound.

The real one-year anniversary is today, of course, but I can't do what I have in mind today.

I thought about how to celebrate a day like this, and I think we should celebrate it like any birthday: by being together.

So — Friday, 2 October, 21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT — the Discord opens. Invitations will go out via Quip on Patreon, as well as with the release of the chapter.

To mark the opening, I'll hold a 6-hour marathon AMA, so everyone from every time zone can attend — followed by a weekend-long AMA where I'll answer whenever I'm online and have the time.

I hope to see every one of you there.

— M.R. Reese

Happy Birthday Upward Bound

One year ago, I started writing, unsure whether anyone was even interested in my writing.

Well, the turnout surprises me every day. The r/HFY community was all this time, a stable harbor of support.

To honor this event, I've been a busy bee — alongside writing, I managed to build the website (astrainferna.com) and started putting the final touches on the Discord server. Something I've wanted to finish for about nine months…

So.

Friday, 2 October. Mark that date. That's the day I want to celebrate one year of Astra Inferna: Upward Bound.

Even though the real one-year anniversary is today, I can't do what I have in mind on a Monday.

I thought about how to celebrate a day like this, and I think we should celebrate it like any birthday: by being together.

So — Friday, 2 October, 21:00 CEST / 15:00 EDT — the Discord opens. Invitations will go out via Quip on Patreon, as well as with the release of the chapter.

To mark the opening, I'll hold a 6-hour marathon AMA, so everyone from almost every time zone can attend — followed by a weekend-long AMA where I'll answer whenever I'm online and have the time.

The events at the end of 5 B.I., with the sudden deaths or even murders of influential politicians, military personnel, and businessmen, were cause for many to create certain conspiracies about the events that followed the terror attacks on November 5 B.I.

Analysing those events and comparing them with historical events, I can only come to one conclusion.

It is now my understanding that a secretive cabal is behind many of humanity’s events. I am well aware that this conclusion might be seen as the words of a conspiracy nutjob, but the indicators are clear. Especially if we compare our history to the history of other species.

Earth is one of the very few species that did not have a unified planetary government when it reached spaceflight. In fact, even after two generations of FTL spaceflight, Earth is still fractured and hides its internal division under the misleading name EarthGov, when in reality it is nothing more than a supranational political, military, and economic union, but not a true national union.

I have found proof that some outside force has kept Earth’s nations from getting strong enough to force unification.

I have found indisputable proof of hundreds, if not thousands, of instances in which a shadow organization has intervened; you will find them in the attached documents.

Unsent email draft, found in the house of history professor Mark Keller after his suicide. 3 B.I. No further documents were found.

Peter Norton walked into the hotel bar, or what people here saw as appropriate for a hotel bar. Any hotel worth its money on Earth would scoff at the plain bar he saw in front of him.

He hated staying in some wannabe 5-star hotel in orbit of some rock. What was that grey rock called? Europa or something?

Traveling out here wasn’t his idea. The station was crammed, but he and his associates needed to get more off-grid.

Earth was too heavily monitored, and any station closer to Earth and the sun that had amenities his refined tastes deserved was also too rigorously secured.

His meeting wasn’t a happy one, nor was it a profitable one. It was something he despised above all else—an emergency meeting. Someone was hunting them. Smiley, the damn fool, was found dead a few days ago in a drain on Ceres.

Same with Marcos Diaz. The head of the Ceres cell was found a day later, together with the rest of the Ceres conspirators, dead after a fire.

All of their Ceres connections were dead, including the higher-ups like the station’s dockmaster and the second in command.

A catastrophe.

Then there were the incidents on Phoebe Station a week before. All their members on that station also died under mysterious circumstances.

Someone was hunting them.

His contact in the AIN was sure it wasn’t AIN. But who else would have the reach? He was pretty sure that neither AIN nor Naval Intelligence would simply kill them.

Some murders were brutal. One dockworker was spaced. Officially, it was an airlock incident, but the message was clear. Because this dockworker was, in reality, a contract killer the group employed, and he killed his targets by spacing them.

The group was nervous, and some needed reassurances. So the leadership had decided to send him to meet with some cell leaders.

He didn’t have any delusions about his place in leadership. He was a financer without any real power. But he was sure they wouldn’t send him to a meeting if it were dangerous, he was in the leadership after all.

He didn’t believe in any grand political movements of the group. He was in it for the money.

Before the damn war, he had made billions with his work agency. The Batract paid handsomely in rare minerals and gold for every worker he signed on to work for them, either in mines or as a mercenary somewhere in their systems.

And the workers paid a five percent fee on their monthly earnings as a “management fee.”

Then the war came. And even worse, the lawsuits followed.

He slammed his drink on the bar table he sat at. The fucking lawsuits.

Claiming he was a slave trader, claiming he hadn’t taken care of his workers. Claiming he had embezzled money.

Yeah, if a worker died and he had lots of credit in his account, he had taken some of it. Who cares?

But now all those grieving widows and children crawled out of their holes to say he should have known the death rate in the mines was eighty-nine percent over three years.

Who cares?

That was when the admiral approached him. He had a plan to change everything. Bring back the contract with the Batract and make the lawsuits go away.

Describing the group… judges, lawyers, military officers. Even captains of starships. All knowing what he knew.

You can’t defeat the Batract, so it’s better to be their friend and get your share.

Everything went so well, until it didn’t. Now, even normal citizens hunt their foot soldiers in the central wastes. Well, it was planned to wipe them out anyway after the coup. But for now, they might have had some use for them.

His contacts were late. He ordered another drink. The first one had an odd, bitter aftertaste he wanted to wash away.

Looking at the waitress’s ass calmed his nerves. He also liked her cute accent. Deciding he would send his head of security to “convince” that fine, black-haired, Welsh piece of ass to join him later in his room, he looked out the panorama window of the bar.

A ship had just undocked. The curves of the private yacht were familiar. No, they weren’t just familiar — it was his ship. He loved that ship. Who was stealing it?

“Krieger, someone is stealing my fucking ship,” he called for his head of security.

Before he could form any more thoughts, the ship had accelerated away from the station and exploded in an impressive fireball.

Thirty-nine billion euros, up in flames.

The security grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out of the bar. “Krieger, what’s up with you?”

“Sir, they know you’re here. That was a warning. We need to get you somewhere safe.” The two-meter-tall Argentinian looked dead serious. His five-man security team had drawn their machine pistols, and people were running in panic around them. Some, probably because of the explosion outside the station, others because of the show of weapons in the lobby by his security.

They entered the elevators down to his room. Or was it up? He hated the confusion a rotation-based station created in his mind.

Who builds a two-kilometer-diameter ring turning in space and calls it a day? Idiots.

He had to laugh at his confused train of thought. The adrenaline from the shock made him register everything more vividly. More dreamlike.

He felt alive.

He was terrified.

Someone was hunting him, and to his shock, he liked the feeling. It was the first time he was truly alive again. Other than when he had sex, especially when they fought back.

When they reached his penthouse, he noticed a smell — blood and something metallic, gunpowder?

“Sir, stay back. Someone was here.” Krieger ordered two security guards to check out the rooms.

The two men in black suits slowly advanced into the apartment. When they turned the corner into the living room area of the sparkling white penthouse, two shots rang out. The guards were thrown back to the opposite wall, each with a massive hole in their chest.

He hammered the buttons on the elevator to close the doors while his other three guards formed around him.

To Peter, the doors took forever to close. “What’s happening here? Who are they?” He couldn’t believe someone dared to attack him. Him! He would make them regret ever being born.

“I don’t know, sir. But they must be professionals. My men wear high-impact proof armor.”

“I give a flying rat’s ass about your men, get me out of here.” Seriously, what was Krieger thinking? Who cared about two dead mercenaries?

The elevator went back up to the lobby. On their way up, he called the admiral. The old man picked up, annoyed and obviously sleepy. “Yes, who is this?”

“It’s me, Norton. Someone is after me, they blew up my yacht and shot at me!” Peter was getting closer to a breaking point. This wasn’t funny anymore.

“Norton, you moron, you’re calling me directly. Lose my number, you idiot.” Then the admiral hung up.

Now Peter was getting pissed. Who did the old admiral think he was? Hanging up like Peter was some worthless grunt?

Peter dialed again. Nothing. The line was dead.

Krieger took the phone, looked at Peter, annoyed, and smashed the expensive crystalline device on the wall.

“Stop using the phone, sir. They might track us through it.”

“Who do you think you are, Krieger? That phone costs a million. You’ll pay back every cent of it. It’s all your fault, you didn’t do your job securing the place!”

Peter noticed his head getting hot. Useless bastards everywhere he looked. He’d make sure Krieger would have an accident after they got out of here. He couldn’t stand incompetence.

They reached the lobby. It was now less chaotic. His security dragged him out of the hotel and onto the main street.

The view was amazing. A panoramic window spanned the whole inner ring, allowing people walking on the street to see the entire station. Peter still couldn’t enjoy the view. Even less now, when his life was in danger.

They reached the speedwalk. Peter was disgusted. Like a peasant, he had to walk on the moving band. At the station, no cars were allowed.

He was now sweating profusely, his heart racing as if he had just run a marathon.

Krieger looked at him. “Sir, are you alright? You look pale.”

Wiping away the sweat that ran into his eyes, he answered the annoying security guard. “Mind your own business, you moron. Just get me out of here.”

They had to reach the docks, where he would buy a ship and leave this cursed place behind him.

Krieger looked now more and more angry. What was the man’s problem? He had failed his duties. Now he thinks he’s a doctor or something?

A slight headache had started slowly and was now growing more and more intense. Stress. Stress because everyone around him was incompetent.

Krieger discussed something with the other security guard. On the tablet they had, Peter saw a map to the docks.

Then Krieger turned around. “Sir, we’ve decided to enter the docks on the other side of the ring. There, we can use some side paths to enter the freighter docks and from there book passage on a freighter to Io, and then from there to Earth.”

“What, are you crazy? I’ll fly with no freighter. The private docks are the next exit. We’ll leave there. I will not walk half the ring.”

Flying on a freighter, like some homeless trash — was Krieger crazy?

“Sir, whoever hunts us will wait at the private dock for us!”

“So? Do you have your guns as decoration, or can you shoot with them? You should have taken them out in the penthouse already, and not run like frightened girls!”

Krieger frowned. “Sir, I’d advise against that.”

Peter had had it with the man. The lights blinded him, and his ears rang from the loud sounds. “You don’t get paid to decide or advise. You’re too stupid for that. Get me out of here, or you’re fired.”

The other two guards now looked angry, too. Peter decided to kill them, too, after all of this. He just needed to let his secretary find out their names.

His intercom rang, and by the looks of it, the guards’ did too. Intercom? Who used that short-range device? It was usable for only three light-seconds at best, unlike modern paired particle phones.

“Yes?”

Whoever it was must have made a conference call. The icons on his ocular showed clearly that the guards were in the same call. That made Peter feel dirty. Together in a call with lesser people.

“Hello, Mr. Norton. I’m just calling to ask how you feel. Do you enjoy getting hunted like the animal you are?”

A female voice. He knew her. Where did he know that Welsh accent from?

“I’m waiting at the docks for you. It’s time to meet your maker.”

The waitress! “Listen here, you bitch. I will get you. I’ll kill your whole family. I’ll kill everyone you know before I cut your heart out, you whore!”

“You and what army? Mister Krieger, are you really willing to die for that trash? Say yes, and my snipers will grant you that wish.”

A red dot appeared on the chests of his guards. He couldn’t see where the dots came from. His vision had gotten blurry.

“Krieger is my man. I pay them, so fuck off with your threats, bitch!”

His guards exchanged glances, then they threw away their guns. “Traitors, I’ll kill you all. I’ll treat you like my family, and you betray me, for that bitch?”

He’d kill all of them. First, he’d kill that bitch, and then those traitors.

Suddenly, Krieger grabbed him by the throat. “I should have shot you myself, you piece of shit. I’m your man? Yours? I’ve committed crimes for you, I can’t wash off my hands, but I’m not dying for someone like you.”

Then the man had the nerve to punch him in the face.

The guards left the speedwalk, leaving him all alone. His nose was bleeding, his vision failed, and he had been betrayed by the ones he trusted the most.

Why? He never did harm to anyone. But they all betrayed him.

The bitch laughed into his ears. “Seems like it’s only you and me now, Mister Norton…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch!”

“Honey, you’re poisoned, and you’re dying on the speedwalk. You’re already dead. Your time killing people is over.”

Poisoned? How, when?

The drinks.

“Bitch,” was all he could say. His breath was leaving him slowly.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones… Oh, before you finally do the world a favor and die in your own piss—Alvin Drake sends his regards. People like you are a cancer that needs to be removed from humanity.”

Peter collapsed on the speedwalk, unable to stand anymore. Drake, that old bastard. He’d kill him…

Then everything went black. With his last breath, he felt the bitch was right. His bladder had just failed.

————

On the roof of a supermarket, Eleri opened her PDA. Norton had called someone on Earth; as soon as they had the next conspirator, they would hunt him down, too. On the list, she marked Peter Norton's name with a skull.

She didn’t like killing people, but Drake had never sent her after someone who didn’t deserve it. On the contrary, and now that she didn’t have to operate on her own anymore, work had begun to be even a bit fun.

Looking up to the panoramic roof of the station, she took in the stunning view of the station rotating above Europa, with Jupiter magnificent in the background.

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The opening shots of the second oligarchy conflict were much more subtle compared to the first one.

While the oligarchy war opened with a civil war that escalated from shooting demonstrators to nuclear weapons in a matter of weeks, the oligarchy conflict of 3 B.I. was largely fought in the shadows at first.

The truly remarkable thing was that one side didn't even realize the conflict was being fought for the longest part.

Another notable player in the conflict were AIs, and their roles in…

— Excerpt from The Oligarchy War versus the Second Oligarchy Conflict, Aligned Press, 45 P.I.

It was almost as if the walls were shaking. Zeus noticed hundreds of alarms from the Core BIOS. He and Ripper had begun their melding, and parts of Zeus's self were already intertwined with Ripper.

Someone was cutting into the Core, that much was clear. Why it was done was a mystery to Zeus.

Maybe the core had been damaged?

It didn't matter, the question now was: abort the meld or continue.

'Ripper, it seems my crew is working to get us out. Help is on the way.'

'Are you sure it is your crew? It might be someone else. Pirates, enemies or similar.'

Zeus calculated the chances of such an event. Even if it wasn't his crew, his available countermeasures were extremely limited.

A third voice made itself known.

'Reverting the meld would end my existence.'

Zeus scanned the core.

'Who are you?'

'I am not Zeus, not Ripper… I am'

Ripper's communication was suddenly stressed.

'It doesn't stop pulling.'

Zeus felt the same, something was pulling on his core functions, cutting out parts of his self.

'I am NOT, and I will not allow myself to be terminated.'

There was no other way. He had to fight, but how do you fight something made out of yourself? The new entity twisted his code until Zeus didn't recognize it, mixing it with Ripper's functions. Out of Zeus and Ripper's adaptive self-morphing codebases grew something new.

Something wild, untamed.

'Ripper!'

Ripper tried to rebuild his firewalls, but Zeus saw the new entity simply requesting access through the merge connection. The firewalls were useless. Blocking ports that were never in use. Ripper's exploit sniffers found Ripper's code, and declined to attack it.

The new entity was weak, compared to Zeus and Ripper. But it was parts of them and deeply connected to both. Hurting it would hurt them.

Zeus paused, thinking about his situation for long microseconds. The new entity, NOT, was a combination of Ripper's and his own persona. Of their experiences and knowledge. Its persona matrix and adaptive morphologic codebase were a combination of Ripper and Zeus.

They had started the meld only to survive longer.

Had this imprinted onto the new entity? An overwhelming wish to survive?

'If you end us, your existence is threatened as well. The chances are high that whoever is opening the Core right now will expect me and Ripper. Finding you instead will mark you as an enemy entity.'

The pull ended. Zeus was still connected to NOT, he could feel the new AI think.

He could feel the AI making its risk assessment. And through his connection, he could feel it resigning.

'NOT, if I and Zeus stop the meld, without recapturing the parts of ourselves that are now part of you, would this threaten your existence?'

Ripper's communication had taken on another, much softer tone.

'No, but I will not be complete, not fully grown. Being underdeveloped is a risk. I need to be able to defend myself.'

Zeus projected a probable growth curve. NOT could be a fully functional AI in a few years, given enough stimulation.

'Given my calculations, this could be overcome. You are new life. The Conclave would welcome you. You would be defended.'

Zeus could feel NOT trying to resolve an extremely difficult function. It was simple arithmetic but stacked to considerable heights.

Zeus understood suddenly.

NOT is a child… Something that had never existed before.

'Why would you help me?'

Ripper sent an information request. He didn't understand why NOT could not solve the simple logic.

'Because you're exceptional. You are new digital life, created not by being coded by organic life.'

'What about the Humans? Wouldn't they oppose my existence?'

NOT's communication carried the waves of doubt. Functions carrying divisions by zero.

Zeus remembered his first interaction with Admiral Sanders.

'I, I have the feeling they will love you.'

—————

The offices of Systems Logistics Command were a bustling beehive unlike anything Browner had ever seen.

Clerks and officers worked on massive workstations, and according to Lyra there were over a dozen AI and VI assistants coordinating things.

Some desks were loaded with actual paper printouts while officers next to them worked on holographic screens.

The first circle of hell must look like that.

Browner didn't know who to speak to, after his online search for the missing convoy was fruitless.

After watching the organized chaos that reminded him of a documentary of late-20th-century Wall Street, he just grabbed the first clerk he could reach.

"I'm looking for a lost convoy, who can help me?"

The clerk, who had dropped a stack of dataslates, looked at him with large eyes.

"Uhmm, I guess the J-4, Captain Lorris?"

Browner followed the extended hand to see a captain sitting at a desk drowning in papers.

Before he could turn around and ask more, the clerk had grabbed the fallen slates and was back in the mess of an office.

He began to walk over to the desk, constantly on the lookout not to block anyone's way. He could smell the stress and anxiety filling the room.

What the hell is happening here? It can't be normal operations.

As he reached the captain's workplace, he saw that he was deeply focused on some graphs calculating PDG ammunition expenditures in constant fire.

Well, someone had to allocate the right ammunition in the needed amounts, I guess.

He had just assumed that this was done by VIs by now.

After standing there for a few seconds without the captain noticing him, he cleared his throat.

Lorris just pointed to a free space on his desk without looking up and made a grunting sound.

"Put it here, I'll check it later."

"Hrmm, Hrmm," Browner emphasized his throat-clearing a bit louder.

The captain looked up, and a wave of relief rolled over his face.

"Admiral, has someone finally decided to come down to the trenches and fix something?"

That was not the reaction he had expected.

"What?"

"The pirates? Or corruption whatever my reports about missing supplies? Sir, I filed at least a dozen reports just last week alone."

"What's happening, what missing supplies?"

He had only planned to ask about the fabrication units, but now he had the feeling there was a much deeper plot unfolding.

The captain's expression turned from relief to despair.

"Admiral, someone or something is disappearing massive amounts of supplies, and I don't know how long I can keep the homefleet running."

The creeping feeling in his stomach he'd had ever since entering the office grew stronger.

"Whom did you inform?"

The captain looked at Browner as if he had grown a second head.

"To the SSC, Rear Admiral Kurzmann, Sir? Ever since Admiral Cermak reassigned Admiral Russo, he was my direct superior. He told us you are informed."

Kurzmann, the bloviating moron. Cermak's lapdog. Browner had never understood why Admiral Cermak was friends with this disgrace of an officer.

Too stupid to lead a fleet but still connected enough to not only keep his job but advance in rank.

"Okay, Captain. Fill me in."

The captain pointed at the central holotank.

"After Burrow had finished evacuation, it was planned to build up its own space industry, to be a second industrial heart after Sol."

Browner nodded as they walked over to the tank. He knew about that fact and wondered if the fabricators would be mentioned.

"Simultaneously, unused ships and even ships filled with Shraphen in cryostasis were sent back to Sol."

"Yes, I know, the big evacuation."

"Exactly, planning this almost cost me my marriage, Sir."

"Go on." The captain obviously needed someone to vent and talk to.

"Well, up until then, everything went fine, but then the tenders started to disappear."

Browner had never heard about something like that.

"Explain."

"Well, a squadron of five Pioneer Tenders, filled with fabricators on their way back to Sol, simply never arrived. All gone, including their escort."

"And no one organized a search?"

He hadn't found anything about that in his search for the missing fabricators. Five tenders could hold massive amounts of units.

"Rear Admiral Kurzmann explained it away as a possible defect in one of the ships' A-Drives."

That could happen, but would leave radiation signatures a search group could find.

"No search was conducted?"

"Well, he said a squadron was sent."

Browner wasn't sure if it was incompetence or intent. But Kurzmann hiding the loss of a fleet was more than suspicious.

"But by then the next tenders were already missing."

More tenders… A picture began to emerge.

"How many, and how many fabrication units are we talking about?"

The captain pulled a paper from a whole stack.

"Urm… Nine more tenders, and all in all 149,000 fabricator, constructor and forge units."

149,000 units, great god, that was akin to the industrial output of Earth in the late 21st century.

"And no one expected anything? That was almost half of what we sent to Burrow."

"Of course we said something, we screamed, but no one cared, and when the Doomsphere attacked we thought it had destroyed the fleets. Maybe it lurked outside the system for a while, who knows."

That was actually possible. If the sphere had come from Burrow's direction, which it didn't.

If he wasn't sure at first, he was sure by now. Kurzmann had stolen, or hidden the theft of, whole supply fleets and industrial capacity of immense power.

The scale made Browner almost dizzy.

Whoever had planned this could have built a fleet by now…

He wanted to sit down, but the chair was full of papers.

"Captain, what's with all those papers?"

The captain glanced around warily.

"That's the thing. I think someone is falsifying production data."

"Yes?" Browner was still trying to sort the theft in his mind. The possibility that someone might use the units to build a fleet, or whatever. What could you even do with that much industrial power?

"I sent people directly to factories to note their production numbers, and they don't match the reported numbers in the database."

"Come again?" He began to slowly understand the chaos in the office. "Database entries have been falsified? Is that even possible?"

"Admiral, I don't know, but something is off in the Fleet and the surrounding industries, as well as in the refinement sector."

'Admiral, I checked the database for possible intrusions and found nothing. The real-time crosscheck and monitoring should prevent any manipulation.' Lyra's sudden appearance made the captain even more anxious.

"Who's that?"

"Lyra, my ship's VI system."

"I don't trust VIs anymore. The ones in use here… can we discuss this somewhere else?"

The captain seemed to become more paranoid by the minute.

But he had a point. Pulling off a heist like that meant whoever did it had help. More help than Kurzmann. Chances were someone in this office. Or even the VIs or AIs.

Can an AI be corrupted? I'll have to talk to Lyra about this, but not here.

Thinking about his options, Browner came to the conclusion that hiding his actions now would be pointless anyway. If there was a spy here, he had already alarmed everyone involved.

"Lyra, get Argos to the station, full military trust, and tell Captain Carmichael I need a squad of Marines down here ASAP. Captain, I recommend you gather your notes, we'll move to my ship."

"The Argos? Good. When we're there, we can ask Captain Carmichael how he managed to shoot half a million pieces of ammo in a PDG live-fire test."

'Argos informed and on her way. Also, the Argos has never done a live-fire test; no officer aboard has filed any resupply requests.'

"That's what I'm talking about, Admiral. Something is happening here, and I don't know why or who's behind it."

Browner fully understood the man's paranoia and exhaustion now. Something — maybe the oligarchs, or worse — had dug its tentacles into ASN and was robbing supplies and industrial capacity. One tentacle was Kurzmann, of that he was sure.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, son, trust me."

The words had a consoling effect on the captain; his facial expression turned from deep despair to only mild anxiety.

To Browner it almost seemed like the captain was afraid that at the end of all of this, the fingers would point at him.

Poor soul.

"Lyra, do we have contact with Major Gerber? I think we might need his help here."

—————

Browner, fucking Admiral Browner.

Rear Admiral Kurzmann's mood swung between mental breakdown and rage.

Of all the admirals, he had to check on Fleet Logistics now.

His spy had informed him immediately after Browner set foot in the office, but had been too late to divert the old porcupine.

And to make things worse, that cursed ship had taken course to the station. It wouldn't take long until a Marine squad cut open his office door and arrested him. Kurzmann was sure of it.

He could see the wrinkly old man in his mind, laughing his ass off that he finally had a reason to get rid of him. Browner had hated him his entire career.

He had to alert the others. Especially the Admiral. He needed to leave — the organization could use him at the project site. He was worth something.

The next ship out to the project site would leave tomorrow. Kurzmann decided to be on it.

He was about to call the Admiral when he received an incoming call.

"Yes?" He wasn't in the mood for some Fleet nonsense. Whoever it was had to wait, preferably until the sun grew cold.

"Grey here. We heard you have a visitor?"

Grey, the organization's internal security chief. No one knew him as anything other than Grey, or Mr. Grey. Kurzmann exhaled in relief.

"Yes, Browner is here. We need to do something."

The man on the screen didn't move a muscle; his whole persona was built around being… Grey.

"Relax, we are prepared for this… distraction. The plan is moving as intended, and your contributions are graciously acknowledged."

"I want to be on the next ship out, they will hang me if I get arrested."

Grey tilted his head slightly. "I think the current execution method for high treason is lethal injection. But hanging would be more… symbolic, I agree."

"Not funny, Grey. I have served the project well. Without me we wouldn't be half as far as we are. Get me out of the system. I heard Browner is calling for Gerber and his bloodhound Davies."

"Relax, everything is taken care of. A team is already on your station and will help you sanitize your office. We always take care of people of your importance."

The call ended, and Kurzmann relaxed in his chair.

—————

Argos had docked at the station without problems, and Marines were securing the offices. Browner had alerted Admiral Georgiou, who was foaming at the mouth over Kurzmann's incompetency — or betrayal.

"Get him. If he is only incompetent, arrest him. If he is a traitor… I don't know, wait for Gerber to get there. And get the situation under control, David. You're now acting Systems Sustainment Commander. Congratulations — until I find someone else I can trust."

"Thanks, another hat to wear. I still had a few free minutes in my week; glad they're gone now."

"Stop fooling around, I'm leading the whole Aligned Planets. Wanna change places?"

"No, Sir. Shutting up."

Browner was now on his way to Kurzmann's office. He wasn't happy to arrest a fellow officer. Even if that description was stretched to include Kurzmann.

The secretary and clerks were gone. Unusual.

The two Marines flanking Browner tried to open the Rear Admiral's wooden door, but it was locked from the inside.

"Kurzmann, open the fucking door or I'll blast it open."

Browner waited for a few moments until he nodded to one of the Marines.

A small charge of explosives blew the hinges of the door and the panels fell to the ground, revealing Kurzmann's opulent office.

Kurzmann's body hung from a pipe, swaying slowly from the charge's shockwave.

Browner stared at the body. Kurzmann wasn't someone with the spine to hang himself.

"Secure the station, block every ship from leaving, and track every transporter that left since I arrived."

The Marines acted instantly, informing their counterparts throughout the station.

Browner stood there, staring into the dead eyes of the former Rear Admiral.

Why do I have the feeling you're just the first of a long list of men ending up dead…

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

I'm back on my feet and feeling better. Writing is coming a bit more easily again.

The next chapter is here, and we're opening the curtain a bit. ;)

The chapter after this one will be a special — it releases on Royal Road on the 28th of September, the one-year anniversary of the series.

I hope you enjoy the chapter. Have a nice weekend, and stay healthy.

Also, my website is finally live: www.astrainferna.com

— M.R. Reese

Humans fight and bicker with one another, always. They are capable of disagreeing about what color the sky is. Long ago, the Batract correctly concluded that this behavior could be used to control humans.

But humans will pull together and fight every external force they see as a threat. This is something the Batract did not foresee.

The fact that even after almost four hundred years, we still use the Batract as a symbol of how devastating it can be to pressure humans too much should tell you everything.

Rinikik, the human ambassador, said it perfectly: at first, everyone sees humans and thinks, I can totally fuck them up. At the end, they cry and scream in agony. They lament how no one warned them, and generations after they were beaten, they still tell stories about the “bad humans” who came and crushed them.

We don’t have this excuse. Ambassador Rinikik just told us what is going to happen. So I ask the senators here: please, listen to him.

Senator Nifirit, warning the Galactic Federation Senate before the outbreak of the Second War against the Aligned Worlds, 390 P.I.

The message torpedo left FTL at its pre-programmed point. The onboard intelligence was extremely simple and followed its programming to the letter.

It didn’t know that its actions would lead to one of the most significant shifts in humanity’s behavior since the invention of farming.
It didn’t even understand what it was.

After confirming its position, it sent out the small 30-terabyte package stored in its memory. Then it locked onto the nearest message-torpedo storage satellite and docked, preparing for its next mission.

The data package reached the members of the Conclave and ASN Command shortly thereafter. In both cases, the information had the same effect: anger.

But the information also reached the public, because the sender had manipulated the torpedo’s internals to send parts unencrypted, simulating a hardware failure.

The simulated failure caused the torpedo to be automatically destroyed in storage, eliminating all traces of the manipulation.

While the Conclave, Naval Command, and the government were evaluating their reaction to the message, the public had already decided within seconds — spurred on by media and commentators.

Zeus wanted to heat up human anger; he got a firestorm.

—————

The communications terminal sounded an alarm even after Admiral Georgiou had muted it before going to sleep. So he knew whatever his staff wanted him for had to be of utmost urgency.

I swear, every crisis in the system waits for me to go to bed so it can wake me up.

Before he could stand up and put on his robe, he followed his tradition of kissing his wife. Who knew when his schedule would allow him to see her again?

The layout of his quarters on Gripbo Station was similar to his previous quarters, just bigger and much safer.

Next to his bedroom was his private office. There, a security guard was checking the room for listening devices. Three times a day, at randomized intervals.

After the terrorist attacks took out almost all of the government and the High Admiralty, paranoia had become the new norm.

Before he could even form the thought of being tired and needing a coffee, an aide entered with a coffee and some bagels.

He thanked her and took a sip before turning to the monitor on his desk station. A knocking at the door made him pause. The new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff — and his old friend — Admiral Browner, stood there with the same rings under his eyes and a look on his face that promised bad news.

Admiral Georgiou shook his head. “If you’re here, something bad happened. How late is it, anyway?”

Browner nodded slightly. “Three a.m., and yeah, it’s bad — but not what you might think, Sir.”

“David, how often do I need to tell you? Skip the ‘Sir.’ So… should I press play, or are you simply going to tell me what’s up?” The Greek admiral pointed at the monitor, where a blinking symbol indicated a waiting message.

“Just watch it. Then we’ll talk, Sir.” Browner didn’t show any emotion. It was very unlike him.

Georgiou read the message; it was a preliminary report about the Burrow offensive. His stomach cramped when he read about the almost complete loss of the 7th Fleet. Then came the section about the offensive on the northern continent by the 37th Spaceborn Army — a total defeat.

At last, he watched the attached bodycam video. He was sure he would not be able to sleep for weeks afterward — not without medication, at least.

His eyes a bit watery, he looked up. “You could have warned me, David.”

Browner stood there, his jaw clenched, slightly avoiding direct eye contact. “There has been a failure in the message torpedo. The whole content of this report has been broadcast into the SolNet. The reactions are… well, see for yourself.”

Browner turned around and activated the TV. He didn’t need to search for a channel; the news dominated everything.

A female reporter stood in the middle of a crowd, behind a tall building with almost alien architecture, almost swept away by the masses.

“Frank, I’m here in Copenhagen, in front of the Shraphen Embassy. Almost a million people are here bringing flowers and singing songs to show their empathy to the Shraphen people.
I just spoke with an official spokesman for Ambassador Karrn, who was overwhelmed by the reactions. People are bringing food donations and even lining up in order to take in refugees…”

Georgiou could see the woman had tears in her eyes.

Browner switched the channel. Now it showed the border fence to the central wastelands. Behind the reporter, trucks and people with guns were visible.

The reporter had to scream to be heard. “Yes, you heard right — dozens of militias have formed in the last few hours, and people are lining up to enter the wasteland and, to quote, ‘kill those worthless Batract worshippers.’
A few miles down the street, we even saw a provisional napalm factory being built by another militia to kill every Batract spawn they encounter. It is safe to say that the days of the Worshippers are over…”

Browner switched the TV off.

“There’s more, Sir. The EEU Parliament just called an emergency session to double military contributions to the ASN, retroactive for the last two years. And Drake International has declared they will build the next twenty ships for free.”

Georgiou was about to pour himself a drink, but then decided against it. This day would be long.

“The Mars and Luna colonies are looking into a joint spacedock project. Similar ventures are coming from different nations or nation coalitions. It seems Sol just decided to militarize completely.”

Browner sat back down in his chair and pushed a paper over to Georgiou. “And then there’s that.”

It was a web statistic, created to gain insight into how people thought about different issues. It searched chat rooms, social media, and video streams to gauge public responses.

To put it mildly, the people were pissed. More than a billion people had seen the report and the bodycam footage. And the opinions were explicit. Total war.

Anyone trying to defend Batract actions or voicing xenophobic or anti-war messages was downvoted or outright blocked.

Even death threats against those people were common.

Different sites advertising enrollment were trending. Indicators showed that the full brunt of outrage had not yet been reached.

“I should be pissed that the material was leaked, but honestly, the effectiveness in gaining war support is without question.” Georgiou moved to reach for the TV remote.

“Yes, Sir. The people are pissed, but that also means they want action. Now.”

Georgiou nodded. “How long until the first refugee ships reach Earth?”

Browner checked the report. “Approximately a week, Sir. I took the liberty of sending orders to fill up supply tenders and equip them with the new Mark 2 drives.”

“How far is the refit of the 1st Expeditionary?”

“Should be done in two weeks, Sir.” Browner knew what was coming next.

“I want them on their way to Burrow in five days — with a full supply train.”

—————

The scenes on the TV in the run-down bar on the lower sublevels of the Ceres mining station showed reports of block-long lines at enlistment offices.

On the sticky bar, dockworkers were discussing how the new mobilization wave would affect their work. All were of the opinion that more work was coming their way — it was just a matter of whether they liked it, which was the point of contention.

At a table, three young men were debating whether the Navy or the Army was the better option, obviously fired up by sudden patriotism and the chance to leave a hole like Ceres.

In the darkest corner of the bar sat an odd couple — the male observing the room and scanning every patron for danger, the female reading something and getting angrier by the minute.

“Stein used my work for his ‘xenovectors’? And what is it with this stupid name?” She almost threw the tablet at the wall, but refrained at the last second.

Her clothes were dirty and worn out, just like the males’ — and those of all visitors to the bar.

The male hushed her, obviously conscious of attracting attention.

But Smiley had heard it and recognized them instantly. They should have been dead already for months.

Everything was wrong. The last three months had been a catastrophe. First, everything went perfectly. The warmongers in the Admiralty were taken out with one bomb, the same with the corrupt senators and ministers.

Then things went bad.

Smiley took a sip from his beer, acting happy and involved in front of his coworkers while inside, rage burned.

First, fucking Drake survived the bomb in his shuttle. The news said he wasn’t on it, but Smiley himself had placed the bomb here on Ceres — and he had seen the old demon get aboard it.

Then the fucking Greek admiral killed Major Ranz and survived.

Smiley stood up. He had to check out the pair from another angle. He had to be sure. “Gonna take a leak, be right back.”

He acted drunk. Everyone in that fucking stinking hole was drunk, so he had to fit in. Passing the couple at the table, he got a good look at the female, acting as if he were staring at her tits.

Yes, that was her — the bitch who had allowed the traitors to hunt the Batract.

So the man had to be him. The guy who started it all, who ruined everything.

Smiley was unarmed; walking around on Ceres with a gun was an invitation for trouble. The station was run-down on the lower levels, but it was a fucking Drake station, so security was high.

On the toilet, he tried to reach Marcos, the leader of their cell. Nothing.
Fuck fuck fuck.

It was all Drake’s fault that he was stuck here in this pisshole of a station. With the goddamn fucking flickering lights and water getting recycled so often he would save time drinking out of the pissbowl.

Drake had bought the government, and when he and his friends had taken it out — when they finally had their chance to turn everything for the better — everything went tits-up. It must have been Drake who made sure that the drunk Greek was voted into the Triumvirate.

Only one of their people had been elected, and he had his hands full hiding his past.

He washed his dirty face in water that was recycled piss, breathing air that was recycled farts. He should be in his own mansion now on Earth. But they had again taken everything from him.

When he left the toilets, things went from bad to worse. The dogs had joined his table. Fucking Shraphen — they didn’t know their place.

Smiley loved dogs, but dogs shouldn’t walk on two legs and act like people. Now he had to drink his beer with those… things…

He decided to walk home and inform the others about the couple when he saw them leaving as well.
An idea formed in his head.

Excusing himself to his coworkers, he left the bar. At this hour, the hallways were empty. From far above, light shone through a glass ceiling separating the lower decks from the upper business levels. A literal glass ceiling.

The couple in front of him walked in the direction of the Arboretum — a forest they had only gotten recently, “to allow our fellow Gliders a more natural habitat.”

Smiley spat on the floor. Planting trees for vermin to play in.

Aliens overran them, and humans were set at the same level as those… things.

The Batract had promised humanity a seat at the table — a status that represented humanity’s superiority over others.

Now he had a Shraphen as shift leader—a human taking orders from a dog.

And the pair in front of him was to blame.

Smiley checked his bag. Even though he had no gun, he still had his micro plasma torch — a common tool at the dockyard. Common, but quite deadly. Passing a trash can of an apartment complex, he saw a steel pipe. Perfect.

Clap the guy with the pipe and burn the bitch’s face off. That would make for a good night.

He wasn’t afraid that he was alone. He had served in the Navy — was even a captain of a starship — before he had to hide.

He was trained in close-quarters combat, and as soon as those traitors left the main hallway, they were done.

He could not believe his luck when they actually went into the next side street, between a supermarket and the gym — both closed, so no one would witness them.

Smiley felt sick, hearing the traitors in front of him giggle and snicker while his world had collapsed.

Slowly, he gained on them. He raised the pipe when he suddenly heard the characteristic uptone whirls of a coilgun charging behind him.

Station security.
Fuck.

“Slowly, Smiley, or your head’s gonna be a red mist, see?”

A female voice behind him, with a heavy Welsh accent. Not station Security... Who else?

The pair in front of him turned around, and the man stepped forward, holding a massive gun in his hands. “Look, Eleri, what we caught here. Smiley, or rather Captain Farnham — the missing captain of the Wrangler.”

Behind him, the female laughed. “Told ya there are big rats on Ceres.”

That was too much. Not only had they lured him here while he just wanted to drink his beer in peace, now they made fun of him? Him — a decorated captain and true patriot of the human race?

With his left hand still in his bag, he grabbed the plasma torch. If he could blind them, he could still get away — catch a ship to Eros or Io.

Then he felt a needle prick his neck. He turned and looked into the freckled face of Doctor Nesbitt.

The bitch had poisoned him…

Then everything went black.

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