THS Epyrus’s Fury, 314 relay, Theta System
September 9th, 2649GST - Galactic Standard Time
Lantar Kyrus
Commodore Lantar Kyrus had spent nearly twenty years in the Turian military. In those two decades, he had discovered there were very few situations that could not be improved by accurate intelligence, disciplined execution, and a healthy amount of patience.
Unfortunately, none of those things were currently available.
He stared at the holographic display suspended above the command table. Three debris fields rotated slowly in pale blue light. Three broken ships. One Turian cruiser, or what was left of it. Two alien vessels of unknown origin.
The entire display looked less like a first contact scenario and more like the aftermath of somebody dropping a grenade into a diplomatic conference.
Kyrus folded his arms. The bridge remained silent. Nobody dared speak. The officers under his command knew that expression.
It was the same expression he wore whenever somebody had followed regulations correctly and still managed to create a disaster.
Which somehow made everything worse.
The loss of the cruiser THS Edessan sat like molten metal in his chest. More than three hundred casualties. Veteran officers, experienced crew, good soldiers. All gone. Because someone had to make a decision. A decision Kyrus was still trying to determine had been justified or catastrophically stupid. Currently, the needle was leaning heavily toward the latter.
“Run the sequence again.” Kyrus commanded.
His subcommander, Decius Epotis, obeyed immediately.
The battle replay began.
Three unidentified vessels emerged from relay 314. They were massive. Cruiser size, with silhouettes that looked like nothing Kyrus had seen in Hierarchy databases. They weren't the sleek, spindly designs of the Asari. Nor the smooth, rounded, and highly ergonomic aesthetics hulls designed for stealth and speed of the Salarians. Not pirate or smugglers and certainly not Terminus raiders or Batarian slavers dressed up as one.
They were brutal and angular. Built with a philosophy completely different from Citadel engineering. They were something else entirely.
The first contact protocol should have begun immediately. Even if they violated one of the most strictly enforced laws of the Citadel Council — the activation of a dormant unmapped Mass Relay.
Identification followed by observation, communication, and assessment. Instead—
The holographic icons flashed red. Challenges were transmitted, followed by warnings. Finally, a demand for surrender. There had been no response, instead energy buildup detected in unknown ships. Possibly defense systems, or weapons, or both. Predictably, the commanding officer of the Edessan responded with escalation.
A standoff ensued. Seventeen Hierarchy frigates and one cruiser against three cruiser-size unknown ships.
Then Captain Gaitus made his decision.
Kyrus watched the replay without blinking. The same way he'd watched it six times already.
The lead Turian squadron opened fire. Eight frigates concentrating on a single target then followed by another eight. Textbook doctrine.
The first alien cruiser had died quickly. Even so, the replay demonstrated something disturbing. The vessel had endured far longer than expected. Its shield collapsed with the first volley. Yet its armor continued absorbing punishment when the second volley struck. A remarkable amount of kinetic energy was dissipated into the hull without a breach. The ship finally exploded when a lucky shot struck what analysts believed was an engine compartment.
Kyrus exhaled slowly. “A lucky shot. We’re basing our tactical victory on a lucky shot.”
Then the remaining vessels retreated toward the relay.
The pursuit. Authorized by Captain Gaitus.
Of course it was. Kyrus could practically hear the captain's reasoning.
Unknown violators. Possible threat. Do not permit escape. Entirely reasonable. It was the "correct" military response. Until reality reminded everyone that reasonable decisions could still lead to terrible outcomes.
The remaining escort vessel turned to cover the withdrawal after the vessel it was protecting took damage.
A sacrifice. A military decision.
Kyrus felt an unpleasant respect forming. The alien commander had known exactly what would happen. The vessel was outnumbered eighteen to one. Defeat was inevitable. Yet it had turned anyway, placing its hull between the Turian fleet and the escaping vessel.
The replay froze.
A warning symbol appeared over the alien ship. Mass accelerator cannon of unknown specification. Energy output climbing. Climbing. Still climbing.
Then the shot. One brilliant lance crossing space. One impossible shot and the Edessan disappeared behind a bloom of white light. When the image cleared, the cruiser was effectively dead. The forward half drifted away in burning fragments. The rear section remained, venting atmosphere and life.
Kyrus had watched the footage six times already. He still found it difficult to believe. One shot. A single shot from a vessel roughly the same size.
The room remained silent. Nobody dared speak. The loss was too fresh. Finally, Kyrus exhaled, his anger almost drained away. Almost.
“Captain Gaitus”
Still, the word felt bitter in his mouth.
A stubborn officer, aggressive and sometimes reckless. Not exactly a bad thing, but certainly not the kind of officer suited for first contact with an unknown species. But he was loyal and courageous. He’s also dead. All because of one shot. One damned shot.
Decius finally spoke.
"Sir?"
"What?"
"The weapon analysis team believes the shot exceeded standard cruiser-class mass accelerator output by at least six hundred percent."
Several officers exchanged looks. Kyrus wasn't surprised. He had already read the report. Twice. That fact somehow became more absurd every time he read it.
"Six hundred percent."
"At least, sir."
“Wonderful. Simply wonderful.”
Nobody laughed.
Turian humor was often dry, and this situation wasn't funny enough. Or perhaps it was too funny—the kind of cosmic joke that ended careers and started interstellar wars. First contact with a newly discovered species was supposed to be a grand, sweeping epic. It was the scenario that every Asari maiden, matron, or matriarch dreamed about. A moment of poetry where names were etched into history alongside words like peace and enlightenment.
Instead, the Turians made the call and two minutes later both sides were shooting each other.
One Turian cruiser crippled, possibly beyond repair. Two alien ships were destroyed. Oh, and one got away to tell its government that a bunch of hostile aliens were at their doorstep.
If someone had submitted this sequence of events to the military academy as a hypothetical scenario, instructors would have failed the student for lack of realism. Yet here they were. Reality continued proving itself less sensible than simulations. And now three hundred lives had been lost because of it.
Anger returned. Fresh and sharp. Not at the aliens—not entirely. He was angry at Captain Gaitus, who was now conveniently dead and unable to face a court-martial. He was angry at the situation. He was angry at this entire ridiculous chain of events.
Because military calculations and emotion rarely agreed. Emotion told him the aliens had destroyed a Turian cruiser. Military calculations reminded him that Turian forces fired first. Emotion demanded retaliation. Military calculations pointed out that they knew almost nothing about the enemy. Emotion wanted justice. Military calculations wanted information. Unfortunately, military calculations usually won.
That was why he still had his command.
A communications officer approached, his mandibles twitching nervously.
"Commodore, Chief Engineer Varex is requesting immediate consultation."
“Put him through.”
The engineer’s hologram appeared. The older Turian looked exhausted. That immediately worried Kyrus. Varex was usually annoyed, angry, or occasionally homicidal, but never tired.
“Report,” Kyrus ordered.
Varex saluted.
“Recovery operations continue, sir. But the results are… limited.”
“Limited? We have two hulls sitting in the debris field, Varex. Our salvage teams are meant to be the best in the galaxy. They can pick a pirate fleet clean in six hours.”
“It’s not a matter of skill, sir,” Varex said, sounding irritated. “The second alien cruiser was extensively damaged. When its engine went critical, the rear section was completely vaporized. But the forward sections… we suspect deliberate destruction.”
"By combat?"
The engineer hesitated.
"Partially. The core systems were deliberately destroyed.”
The chief engineer sounded irritated.
"Data storage units were wiped."
"Wiped?"
"Thoroughly." Varex shook his head. "I have never seen anything quite like it. Data destruction. Internal demolition. Access denial protocols. The whole package."
Expected capture. Paranoia and professional. A species that erased information before enemies could capture it. That was troubling. It suggested discipline, preparedness, and military doctrine.
"The first vessel?"
"Better condition." The engineer immediately grimaced. "Relatively speaking. It’s still a wreck, but we have enough to look at."
A schematic appeared. Large sections highlighted red. It was just as bad as the second ship. Its engine also went critical when a mass accelerator round punched through its stern.
"Most electronics were destroyed."
"Computers?"
"Nothing substantial."
"Databases?"
"Gone."
"Navigation logs?"
"Gone."
Varex spread his hands.
"Whoever built these ships really dislikes strangers examining their property."
A few officers nearby chuckled.
Kyrus didn't.
"Anything useful?"
Varex nodded.
"Materials."
Now that was interesting. Varex pulled up a material analysis. The room fell silent.
"Primary hull composition appears to be titanium."
Titanium? Not composite ceramics?
Varex continued.
"Extensive tungsten reinforcement."
More diagrams appeared. More measurements. More numbers. The commodore's expression gradually worsened. The reason wasn’t difficult to see.
"How thick?"
"Certain sections exceed sixty centimeters."
Several officers exchanged glances. Decius muttered disbelief. Kyrus understood why.
That amount of armor bordered on absurd. Warships weren't supposed to survive through brute thickness. That was what shields were for. These aliens had apparently looked at conventional ship design and decided to throw the entire concept into the nearest star.
Captain Gaitus's decision suddenly looked more understandable.
Without concentrating fire, those ships might have survived far longer. Long enough to do damage. Damage such as split cruisers apart in one shot.
That was bad. Very bad. A technologically advanced species with an unknown population, unknown military strength, unknown territory, and first contact had begun with a shooting war. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
Then Varex shifted uncomfortably. Kyrus noticed immediately.
"What?"
"There's another issue."
“Out with it, Chief.”
Varex activated new data displaying another chart.
"We detected mass effect field residues."
"Naturally."
"No, sir." Varex pointed at a particular section of the schematic that had been highlighted. "The numbers don't work."
That got Kyrus's full attention. Varex rarely spoke dramatically.
“The vessel’s estimated mass, given that absurd armor, should have required a much larger drive core than what we’ve found."
"How much larger?"
"Several times larger."
Silence.
Kyrus studied the data. Something was missing. A fundamental piece they couldn't see.
"They possess FTL capability."
"Obviously."
"They crossed the relay."
"Yes."
"And yet their drives should not function."
"Based on our calculation, their ship shouldn’t be able to enter FTL."
Kyrus rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache blossoming behind his eyes. Kyrus disliked mysteries. Military planning hated mysteries. Unknown variables killed people. Today's casualty reports had already proved that.
"What about the weapon? The one that took out the Edessan."
The engineer visibly grimaced. A bad sign if there ever was one.
"The projectile recovered from the engagement."
"Yes?"
"It weighs approximately three hundred kilograms."
Kyrus froze and the room froze with him. Even Varex looked uncomfortable saying it.
"Three hundred?"
"Yes, sir."
One officer actually laughed. Not because it was funny. Because the alternative was worrying. A dreadnought round weighed far less. Six times less.
Kyrus slowly sat down. For several seconds nobody spoke. Then he asked the obvious question.
"What kind of reactor powers that?"
"We don't know."
"What kind of ship survives the recoil?"
"We don't know."
“What kind of species builds a gun that big and puts it on a cruiser?”
"We don't know."
The engineer spread his hands.
"There are many things we don't know. All we know is that they are very good at destroying things and even better at keeping secrets."
Kyrus rubbed his forehead.
"Compile a full report."
"Already underway."
Kyrus leaned forward.
"I want the report detailed enough that some intelligence analyst on Palaven starts crying halfway through reading it."
The chief engineer actually laughed. A short, exhausted laugh.
"Understood, sir."
When the hologram vanished, Kyrus looked once more toward the debris field.
The Turian Hierarchy was built on rules of law, reason, and protocol. The Citadel regulations existed for a reason. The Rachni Wars had taught that hard lesson. Nobody wanted another catastrophe.
Yet looking at the evidence—
The situation felt wrong. The aliens had not attacked first. They had activated the relay. It was Illegal, certainly. Dangerous, absolutely. But illegal did not automatically mean hostile. Now hundreds were dead on both sides. Because somebody had chosen escalation over communication.
The law permitted interdiction. It permitted detention. Under certain conditions, it permitted force. It did not require stupidity. That was the part officers always forgot.
The CIC doors opened. General Desolas Arterius entered.
Kyrus immediately disliked his expression. Far too pleased. Far too eager. Especially given circumstances.
"General."
"Commodore."
Desolas approached the tactical display. His eyes lingered on the alien vessels. Not with caution, but hunger.
Kyrus didn't like that either. Not one bit.
Desolas Arterius
Desolas Arterius hated stagnation. He hated compromises. He hated committees. And above all else, he hated politicians.
The Citadel Council had spent over a thousand years perfecting the art of accomplishing nothing while sounding incredibly important.
The Asari preached patience. The Salarians preached caution. The Turians provided soldiers. It was an arrangement that had somehow survived centuries despite being fundamentally ridiculous.
Every major decision required negotiations. Every negotiation required compromises. Every compromise created weakness.
The galaxy deserved better. It deserved leadership, real and strong leadership. Turian leadership.
Desolas watched Commodore Kyrus carefully. The man was competent. And that is exactly the problem.
Incompetent officers were easy. Competent ones asked questions. And Kyrus was asking entirely too many.
“I don’t see why we should pursue them, General.”
The commodore stood with his arms folded. His voice a perfect blend of calm and stubbornness that made Desolas’s irritation rise.
“We have established the existence of a new species. We have established they possess significant military capabilities. The logical response is to hold position and wait for reinforcements.”
Desolas fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Logic and caution were wonderful concepts. Usually employed by people standing between him and progress.
“We cannot simply wait,” He snapped. As if the room might explode from his impatience.
Kyrus raised a brow-plate, unimpressed. “We absolutely can. The relay has been there for millenniums; it will remain exactly where it is tomorrow. There is no tactical disadvantage to waiting for the Council’s diplomatic core to arrive.”
That was the crux of the problem: The man genuinely believed this. He genuinely thought delay was acceptable. And time was on the Hierarchy's side.
Desolas had spent months searching for a way to open the relay. Without attracting the attention of the Council or the Hierarchy. With each passing month, he came closer to simply just activating the relay and damned the consequences. Now, however, these new aliens had solved the problem for him. Such a chance could not be wasted in endless committees and debates. If the relic beyond the relay slipped away, everything he had worked for would be a joke.
“You don't understand the gravity of this!”
“Then explain it to me, General. Give me a reason to risk the Hierarchy's standing on a hunch.”
Desolas hesitated, only briefly. Then he made his decision.
His voice dropping into a tone of conspiratorial gravity.
“The relay leads toward a potential Prothean site.”
Kyrus blinked in confusion, before his eyes widened in astonishment. The commodore had not expected that.
“Prothean? That’s… that’s high-priority intelligence. Why wasn’t this in the initial briefing?”
Desolas pressed the advantage. Sensing the shift in the man’s resolve.
“It’s sensitive. High-priority intelligence directly from Palaven.”
The lie sat comfortably on his tongue. A little too comfortably. Technically, the information had come from Palaven. He had found it there, hidden in the archives. But the Hierarchy’s leadership had no idea he possessed it.
Kyrus remained silent. Thinking.
Desolas continued.
“The aliens we encountered possess advanced technology. You saw how powerful their mass accelerator was. You saw their armor. Their mass effect reading that seemingly defy logic.”
“Yes, it was… unconventional.”
Kyrus admitted.
Desolas pushed.
“Technology clearly exceeding our own in several key structural areas. The conclusion is obvious. They didn't build those ships with sheer ingenuity. They acquired the technology from Prothean ruins. Or they are reverse-engineering it as we speak.”
Kyrus’s eyes narrowed. His tactical mind chewing on the bone Desolas had thrown him.
“You assume they found a cache.”
“I do. And if we wait, they will secure it. They will secure it out of our reach. Or worse, let the Council have it, and we will spend the next three centuries watching the Salarians pick apart secrets that belong to the Turian military by right of conquest.”
“And if they developed it themselves?”
Kyrus asked, though the conviction in his voice was flagging.
Desolas dismissed the possibility instantly.
“They are a young species. They activated a relay blindly, without any understanding of the Citadel conventions or the dangers of it. They are primitives who stumbled into a eezo mine. They lack the wisdom to use what they’ve found.”
Kyrus looked unconvinced. Which was inconvenient. Because Desolas needed obedience. Not skepticism. The relic was too important. Too valuable. Too significant.
Years. He had spent years chasing fragments.
Half-understood data recovered from the temple of Valluvian.
Ancient records. Prothean coordinates.
Promises. Always promises.
At first he had doubted. Then he had believed. Then belief had become certainty.
The relic existed. And it waited beyond Relay 314.
Waiting. Calling.
Desolas sometimes dreamed about it.
Which was absurd. He knew it was absurd. Yet the dreams continued.
The same whispering voices. The same distant stars. The same overwhelming certainty.
Kyrus interrupted his thoughts.
“General, You seem… unusually invested in this specific engagement.”
Desolas forced calm. Smoothing his features into a mask of cold professionalism.
“I am invested in the Hierarchy, Commodore. Imagine what we could do with that kind of technology. We wouldn't just be the Council's security guards anymore. We could bring true order to the galaxy. The Terminus, the Batarians… all of it brought into the fold.”
Kyrus studied him.
Too perceptive. Far too perceptive. But not without fault. He could see the struggle in his eyes. Finally the commodore sighed.
“You are asking for my recommendation,” Kyrus said slowly.
“No,” Desolas replied. “I am giving you an order. I am giving you the courtesy of understanding why.”
That changed the room.
Every officer in the room was watching Kyrus now. Refusal was still possible. Technically. So was ending one’s career by walking into traffic.
Kyrus’s mandibles loosened slightly as if surrendered to the inevitable before letting out a small sigh.
"Very well. The expedition proceeds.”
Desolas felt triumph surge. Excellent.
“However.”
Kyrus added, his voice turning ice-cold.
“The responsibility is yours. All of it.”
Desolas nodded immediately.
"Of course."
"If this goes wrong—"
"It won't."
Kyrus ignored the interruption.
"—history will remember who authorized it."
Desolas almost laughed. History remembered victors and nothing else.
“History will remember that we took the first step toward a new age, Commodore. That is all.”
The commodore departed leaving Desolas alone.
At last silence filled the room. He stared toward the relay. Toward possibility. Toward destiny. The ancient data could not be wrong. It had guided him too far already.
Every discovery. Every clue. Every revelation. All roads pointed toward the same destination.
Relay 314.
Beyond it waited power. Knowledge. The future.
The alien's ships had only reinforced his conviction. Their weapons. Their armor. Their impossible engineering.
Proof.
Proof that someone had already found what he sought. The thought made his blood quicken. And very soon. The Hierarchy would possess that knowledge. And once it did...
Everything would change. The Council. The Terminus Systems. The balance of power itself.
All of it would change.
Desolas smiled. A small smile. An eager smile. A dangerous smile.
Far away, beyond the walls of the ship and beyond the stars themselves, his thoughts drifted briefly to the temple of Valluvian.
To the forgotten chamber. To the ancient artifact hidden beneath stone older than civilizations. To the strange certainty it had placed inside his mind.
The certainty that whispered when he slept. The certainty that grew stronger every day. The certainty that said he was chosen. That he understood what lesser minds could not. That destiny waited beyond Relay 314.
The smile widened.
And for just a moment, reflected in the darkened holographic display, his expression looked less like anticipation—
And more like hunger.
Firebase Vanguard, Shanxi, Iota Persei System
September 9th, 2149CE - System Alliance Calendar
Adam Williams
Firebase Vanguard had been carved directly into the heart of Lonely Height, a six-hundred-and-thirty-two-meter mesa eight miles west of New Taiyuan.
The first survey team had named the formation with all the poetry of tired scientists: Lonely Height. Adam Williams had laughed when he first read the report, then decided the name fit.
It was poetic. Well, poetic until the Corps of Engineers arrived and began drilling bunker shafts, missile silos, command centers, sensor galleries, barracks, vehicle bays, and enough reinforced tunnels to make the mesa look less like a natural landmark and more like a geological insult with guns.
Adam Williams had approved the site personally two years ago.
He still thought it was one of the few intelligent decisions made during Shanxi’s rapid development.
The mesa overlooked the flatlands around New Taiyuan, with unobstructed sightlines across kilometers of colony roads, agricultural fields, maglev lines, and half-finished industrial districts. Its height gave the base excellent surveillance coverage. Its basalt and granite core gave it natural protection. Its distance from the city was close enough for rapid reinforcement but far enough that an attack on one did not automatically consume the other.
A good base. A proper base. A base designed by people who understood that the universe did not care how optimistic your colonial brochure sounded.
Now that judgment was being tested.
The command communication room was deep inside the mesa, shielded by meters of stone, titanium armor, and layered kinetic barrier. The room smelled of recycled air, hot electronics, and fear disguised as discipline.
Adam stood before the primary holographic table with his hands clasped behind his back.
Above the table hovered two live projections.
Captain Li Ming, calling from the SSV Washington in high orbit.
Admiral Kastanie Drescher, commanding officer of the Third Fleet, calling from her ship, somewhere between Arcturus Stream and Petra Nebula.
Neither woman looked pleased.
That was good.
People who looked pleased would not understand the situation.
Li Ming looked like she had not slept since Tesla returned. Her face remained composed, but Adam could read the exhaustion around the eyes. Anger, too. The controlled kind. The kind competent officers kept under armor until they could point it at something useful.
Drescher looked older than Adam remembered from fleet briefings months ago.
Not physically. Gene therapy had made age a suggestion for most senior officers.
But her eyes had the look of someone trapped at the center of a political shitstorm and already tired of pretending the roof was still attached.
“Repeat the sequence from initial contact,” Drescher ordered.
Li did not hesitate.
“At zero-nine-hundred local, Grissom Protocol restrictions were lifted. SSV Tesla initiated relay activation, escorted by SSV Cannae and SSV White Mountain. All three vessels executed Whiteout Protocol before transit. Twenty-three minutes later, Tesla returned alone through the relay.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Initial communication failed. Tesla transmitted by degraded low-power radio. Captain Spencer reported hostile contact with unknown alien warships. Cannae and White Mountain lost with all hands.”
Adam felt his chest tighten.
He had known both commanders.
Not really. But well enough.
That was the damned thing about command. You didn’t need to love people for their deaths to sit heavy on your shoulders. You only needed to know their names.
Li continued.
“Tesla’s hull sustained minor breaches, multiple glancing kinetic impacts, and radiation exposure consistent with close-range naval engagement. Their primary comm array was destroyed. Navigation core was partially fused. Geronimo, Tesla’s AGI, had initiated secondary data-lock procedures before the ship re-entered the relay.”
Drescher’s expression did not change.
“Captain Spencer’s testimony?”
“Consistent with sensor logs,” Li Ming said. “Eighteen unknown alien warships intercepted the formation shortly after transit. Classification estimates label one as frigate-sized and seventeen as corvette-sized, though Geronimo cautions that their mass profiles do not match Alliance categories. Initial attempts at identification failed. Unknown vessels issued what Geromino believes was a surrender demand, though translation confidence is low.”
“Then?”
“Cannae and White Mountain move to screen Tesla while raising their shield. The aliens opened fire first.”
Li’s voice sharpened slightly. Not much but enough.
“White Mountain was destroyed in a concentrated fire. Cannae covered for the Tesla's retreat. Commander Tano ordered to fire on the alien heavy frigate and took it out before her reactor containment failed.”
Silence filled the chamber.
Adam closed his eyes briefly.
Lorenza Tano had been a slacker, according to Li. Apparently, she had also died like an Alliance officer.
Drescher’s gaze shifted toward Adam.
“General Williams.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“You have heard the testimony from Captain Li and Captain Spencer. You have reviewed the preliminary logs?”
“I have.”
“Your assessment?”
Adam did not dress it up.
“We opened a door. Something armed was standing on the other side. Now it knows where the door leads.”
A muscle moved in Drescher’s jaw.
“Agreed.”
Adam inhaled slowly.
“By my authority as Shanxi’s senior ground commander, I am declaring Threshold Contingency. First contact with a hostile alien power is confirmed.”
Drescher nodded once.
“Accepted.”
“And due to the probability of imminent attack on a human colony, I am recommending escalation to Skyfall Contingency.”
That one landed harder.
Li’s eyes flicked briefly toward Drescher. Drescher did not answer immediately. Adam noticed the look. The two women knew each other.
That did not surprise him. Li Ming’s family was naval aristocracy, and Drescher had spent decades in fleet command. The Alliance was large, but the upper circles of the Navy were not as wide as they pretended to be.
Finally, Drescher spoke.
“Arcturus is already a poked beehive, General. The UN Council is screaming. Alliance High Command is screaming louder. Colonial Affairs is trying to find someone else to blame for this mess, which means they’re functioning normally.”
She had the expression of a woman who had already decided who needed saving, who needed lying to, and who needed to be removed from the chain of command before they got everyone killed.
Li’s mouth twitched.
Even Adam almost smiled. Almost.
Drescher continued.
“Skyfall Contingency is under review. I expect approval within the hour unless some bureaucrat has a sudden desire to be remembered as the idiot who argued paperwork during first contact.”
“Understood.”
“The closest void formation is Carrier Battlegroup Kilimanjaro under Commodore Steven Hackett. They were conducting maneuvers near the Arcturus Stream.”
Adam looked toward the tactical map as Drescher expanded the display.
The Iota Persei system appeared. Then the relay corridors.
Shanxi connected into the regional relay network, and from there the route led back to the Arcturus Stream—the beating political heart of human space.
Too close. Much too close.
“Hackett has been ordered to proceed immediately,” Drescher said. “Kilimanjaro will act as vanguard while the rest of the Third Fleet gather under my command.”
Adam already knew the answer before she said it.
“Time to arrival?”
“Five days.”
The word hit the room like a sentence.
Five days.
Adam exhaled through his nose.
A lot could happen in five days. A colony could burn in five days. Twelve million people could die in five days.
Adam looked toward Li. Her expression had gone still. Five days meant the Shanxi Defense Squadron stood alone. One old cruiser, ten similar old frigates, half-complete orbital platforms, one undertrained ground force, and a planet full of civilians.
“Captain Li,” Drescher said.
“Yes, Admiral.”
“You are to maintain orbital defense as long as tactically viable. Prioritize evacuation corridors, enemy force identification, and transmission of combat telemetry.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
There was something in Drescher’s face then. It passed quickly. Too quickly for most people to catch. But Adam saw it.
Concern.
Not for the operation but for Li. Then it vanished behind command discipline.
“Drescher out.”
The admiral’s projection disappeared.
For a moment only Li remained above the table. Adam studied her and she studied him back.
Neither spoke.
Finally, Adam said, “Give them hell, Captain.”
Li’s mouth curled faintly.
“That was the plan, General.”
“And retreat if the fight is lost.”
The faint smile vanished. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Li’s eyes hardened.
“With respect, General, my ships are Shanxi’s orbital defense.”
“I know what they are.”
“If I retreat, what happens to the colony? I’m not about to turn tail and run.”
“If you stay after the fight is lost, humanity loses its eyes.”
Her expression flared.
“I am not abandoning twelve million people.”
Adam let the anger come. She deserved it. Maybe needed it.
“Two of my ships are already gone,” Li snapped. “My people died buying Tesla a way home. Now you want me to run the moment things become unpleasant?”
“No,” Adam said evenly. “I want you to run when dying stops being useful.”
That struck.
Li’s face went pale with fury. Adam leaned closer to the hologram.
“My duty is Shanxi. Every city block, every shelter, every frightened child under this mesa. Your duty is Shanxi too. But above that, Captain, your duty is to humanity.”
Li said nothing.
“If those aliens come through that relay, I need you to bleed them. I need you to learn how they fight. Ship classes. Weapon ranges. Shield strength. Acceleration curves. Heat signatures. Communications behavior. Doctrine. Everything.”
His voice lowered.
“And when you cannot hold orbit anymore, you will get whatever ships you still have out of this system. Then you will transmit that data to the Third Fleet and Arcturus.”
Li stared at him. The anger was still there. But now there was something else beneath it.
Understanding. Unwelcome understanding.
“You’re asking me to decide when Shanxi is lost.”
Adam shook his head.
“I’m ordering you to make sure Shanxi is not the only human world that gets surprised.”
That silence lasted longer. When Li spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“You have a daughter, don’t you?”
Adam felt the question like a knife placed gently between his ribs.
“Yes.”
“My age?”
“Close enough.”
Li looked away for half a second. Then, back to face him.
“I understand, General.”
‘No,’ Adam thought. ‘You don’t. Not yet. And god willing, you never will.’
Instead, he said, “Good hunting, Captain.”
Li saluted and Adam returned it. The connection ended. For three seconds, nobody in the room moved.
Then Adam turned sharply.
“Petrovsky!”
Lieutenant Oleg Petrovsky straightened behind him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Whiteout Protocol. Full execution. No exceptions. All civilian navigation databases, colonial system survey archives, relay coordinates, Earth references, Arcturus references, deep colony charts—scrub them or seal them behind deadman encryption.”
Oleg’s fingers moved across his slate.
“Already initiated under emergency response procedures. Aria is coordinating with municipal servers and colonial administration.”
“Good.”
“She is complaining about the destruction of perfectly organized archives.”
“Tell her to cry faster.”
“Yes, sir.”
Adam strode out of the comm chamber. Oleg followed half a step behind. The corridors of Firebase Vanguard were alive now. Marines hauling equipment. Militia officers shouting orders. Engineers reinforcing blast doors. Medical teams moving medigel packs.
No panic. Not yet. Fear. But controlled fear. That was workable.
A wall feed showed civilians filing into the shelters beneath District Nine. Parents carried sleeping children. Volunteers handed out water. An old man argued with a militia corporal about leaving his apartment until his granddaughter took his hand and pulled him forward.
Twelve million people did not become a statistic all at once. They became faces, one camera feed at a time.
“Evacuation?”
Oleg answered immediately.
“Priority shuttle traffic has moved roughly two hundred and forty thousand civilians off-world or to orbital habitats. Another six hundred thousand may be moved before enemy arrival if orbit remains secure.”
“Not enough.”
“No, sir.”
“Shelters?”
“City bunkers at seventy-four percent occupancy and climbing. Rural shelters still uneven. Major Huang reports traffic control problems in districts seven through eleven.”
“Troop readiness?”
“Twelve thousand under arms. Six thousand regular militia fit for defensive deployment. Four thousand auxiliary security and emergency volunteers. The remainder are logistics, medical, and engineering.”
Adam grunted. Militia. Volunteers. People with rifles and courage. Sometimes that was enough. Often it was not.
“The governor?” Adam asked.
“Still refusing evacuation.”
Of course he was.
Adam remembered Shen Zhao’s face less than an hour ago. Pale, frightened, and furious. But firm.
‘If millions of my people stay, I stay.’
Foolish. Politically dramatic. Possibly suicidal. And yet Adam had respected him for it.
“He stays in the secondary command bunker,” Adam said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Alive if possible.”
Oleg’s expression flickered. A younger officer’s expression. Clean, sharp, and calculating.
“Major Huang requests additional personnel to secure civilian shelters,” Oleg continued. “Two companies from reserve.”
Adam slowed.
“That would weaken the eastern defensive belt.”
“Yes, sir.”
Oleg did not say more. He did not need to. Adam looked at him.
“You disagree.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Say it, lieutenant!”
Oleg hesitated only for a fraction.
“The colony stands or falls at the military line. Every trained soldier moved into shelter security is one less rifle slowing an assault. Civil order matters, but if the base falls or the eastern approaches collapse, shelter discipline becomes irrelevant.”
Cold, logical, not wrong. Adam resumed walking.
“Grant Huang one company.”
Oleg blinked.
“Sir—”
“One.”
“General, with respect—”
“That was respect?”
Oleg closed his mouth. Smart boy.
Adam glanced sideways.
“People in shelters are not cargo, Lieutenant. They are frightened civilians trapped underground while alien warships sit overhead. Fear turns crowds into mobs. Mobs break doors, jam exits, overwhelm medical stations, and get children trampled.”
Oleg absorbed that. Still unhappy.
Good.
“War is not just lines on a map,” Adam said. “Maps don’t scream. People do.”
Oleg said nothing for several steps.
Then, quietly, “Yes, sir.”
Adam stopped at the lift leading deeper into the mesa.
“Petrovsky.”
“Sir?”
“You have a good mind. Better than good. But don’t let arithmetic make you stupid.”
The young lieutenant frowned slightly. Adam held his gaze.
“One day you’ll have to spend lives. Every commander does. When that day comes, remember they are lives first and numbers second. If you forget that, you may win battles and still become a butcher.”
Oleg’s jaw tightened.
“Yes, sir.”
The answer was correct. Whether the lesson landed was another matter. Youth had armor thicker than any cruiser.
They descended into the lower command level.
The briefing room where the N6 team waited was small, windowless, and heavily shielded.
Four operators stood when Adam entered.
Not dramatically. Not sloppily. Just enough.
Commander Alec Ryder stood at the front.
Tall, composed, with the relaxed stillness of a man who had long ago trained unnecessary movement out of himself. His face gave away almost nothing. Not arrogance. Not fear. Not even curiosity.
That bothered Adam.
Good soldiers showed something before battle. Ryder showed only calculation.
Beside him stood Lieutenant David Anderson.
Younger, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, serious, and watchful. He looked like the kind of officer who still believed duty and honesty could occupy the same room without one stabbing the other. Adam wondered how long that would last.
Susan Reeds leaned near the table with arms folded, auburn hair tied short, her expression sharp and faintly amused, as if she had already taken the room apart in her head and found three escape routes and two structural flaws.
Lucas Ferreira stood quietest of all. Heavy build, calm face, brown eyed. Weapons specialist, if Adam remembered the file correctly. The kind of man who looked ordinary until you realized ordinary men did not stand that still.
Oleg’s eyes flicked across them. Adam could practically hear the boy thinking.
N6 operators did not appear on frontier colonies by accident.
N6. Not N5.
The distinction mattered.
N5s were Helljumpers who had survived the ODST pipeline and earned elite combat qualifications. Direct action. Raids. Shock assaults. The sort of people you fired from orbit when subtlety had already failed.
N6s were worse.
Additional training. Stealth. Intelligence. Sabotage. Deep reconnaissance. The kind of soldiers who could win a battle without anyone knowing they had fought one.
“Commander Ryder,” Adam said.
“General Williams.”
“Martial law is now active across Shanxi. That makes every Alliance military asset on this planet answerable to me.”
Ryder nodded.
“We understand.”
“Do you?”
Susan’s eyebrow lifted slightly. David looked from Adam to Ryder but remained silent.
Adam stepped closer.
“Because I have no time for playing spy games. Not today. Not with alien warships possibly inbound. My duty is to keep Shanxi standing for five days. Everything else is secondary.”
Ryder met his gaze.
“Our current mission parameters align with that objective.”
“Funny wording.”
“Yes, sir.”
Adam almost smiled. Almost.
“What was your original mission here?”
Ryder did not answer. That was answer enough. Oleg shifted slightly behind Adam. He noticed too.
Susan spoke lightly.
“Training environment evaluation, sir.”
Adam looked at her.
“Lieutenant Reeds, I was lying to officers before your parents even met. Don’t waste my time.”
Her smile widened a fraction.
“Understood, sir.”
David’s expression tightened. Interesting. He did not like deception. Or perhaps he did not like deceiving fellow soldiers. That made him the conscience of the team. Useful and dangerous.
Adam turned back to Ryder.
“Did you know about the aliens?”
For the first time, something changed in Ryder’s expression.
“No, sir.”
Adam believed him. More importantly, Oleg believed him. The young aide’s eyes sharpened.
So, whatever had brought Ryder’s team to Shanxi, it had not been this. First contact had blindsided them too. But not completely. Someone had given them flexible orders. Someone expected Shanxi to matter.
Adam did not like that. He especially did not like not knowing who that someone was.
Ryder continued.
“After the Tesla returned, we received updated mission guidance.”
“From?”
“Classified.”
Adam stared at him. The room went still. Lucas Ferreira shifted his weight almost imperceptibly.
Not threatening. Ready.
Adam appreciated professionalism even when it was pointed at him.
“Commander,” Adam said slowly, “I can have you confined.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And?”
“You would lose four useful operators.”
Susan murmured, “Possibly five, depending how attached Lieutenant Petrovsky is to breathing.”
Oleg’s eyes narrowed.
Adam barked a short laugh despite himself.
“Careful, Lieutenant.”
Susan inclined her head.
“Always, sir.”
Ryder did not smile.
“Our updated guidance is to gather intelligence on the hostile force, identify command structures, capture language and equipment samples if feasible, and prevent sensitive human data from falling into enemy hands.”
Adam studied him.
“That aligns with my orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But not because of my orders.”
“No, sir.”
Honest, at least. In a narrow, irritating way.
Adam looked at David Anderson.
“You comfortable with that, Lieutenant?”
David hesitated. Just long enough.
“My duty is to the Alliance, sir.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
David’s jaw tightened.
“No, sir.”
Ryder glanced at him. Not angry but a warning. Adam filed that away.
“Good,” Adam said. “Discomfort means you’re still paying attention.”
David blinked, clearly not expecting that. Adam turned to the whole team.
“Here is how this works. You operate under Commander Ryder tactically. Strategically, you answer to me while on Shanxi. You want to chase shadows, sabotage landing craft, steal alien radios, fine. You do it in service of keeping this colony alive.”
Ryder nodded once.
“Acceptable.”
“If your classified orders endanger my civilians, we will have a problem.”
“Understood.”
“No,” Adam said. “Understand this. I do not care who signed your black-file paperwork. I do not care what agency wants what data. If I find you sacrificing Shanxi for some secret objective, I will bury you inside this mesa and let historians wonder where you went.”
For the first time, Alec Ryder smiled faintly. It was not comforting.
“Clear enough, General.”
“Good.”
Adam moved to the wall display. A map of Shanxi appeared. New Taiyuan. Firebase Vanguard. Shelters. Roads. Orbital defense zones.
Likely landing corridors.
“Assume the enemy comes in force,” Adam said. “Assume they control orbit within the first day unless Captain Li performs a miracle. Assume they attempt decapitation strikes against command, communications, and evacuation nodes.”
Susan leaned forward now, amusement gone.
“Alien doctrine unknown.”
“Then learn it.”
Lucas spoke for the first time.
“Rules of engagement?”
Adam looked at him.
“If they land armed, they are hostile. If they surrender, they are prisoners. If they harm civilians, kill them.”
Lucas nodded. Simple enough. Ryder studied the map.
“We’ll need access to comm intercept stations, captured Tesla telemetry, and authority to requisition local transport.”
“Granted.”
“And independent movement outside the main defensive perimeter.”
Adam hesitated. Then nodded.
“Granted with notification.”
Ryder accepted the compromise. David looked toward the map, then at Adam.
“General… five days is a long time.”
Adam heard what he did not say. Five days was too long. Five days against an unknown enemy might as well be five years.
“Yes,” Adam said.
He looked at each of them in turn.
Ryder, unreadable.
Anderson, troubled.
Reeds, sharp-eyed.
Ferreira, steady.
Oleg, watching everything and missing very little.
Above them, Li Ming prepared to fight a battle she might not survive. Beneath them, twelve million civilians waited in shelters and prayed the stone over their heads was thick enough.
Beyond the relay, an alien fleet might already be moving. Adam folded his hands behind his back.
“Then we’d better make those five days expensive.”
No one argued. That was good. There would be plenty of arguing later. For now, they had work to do.
A/N: Since no one commented about it, I would like to point it out. The Washington onboard AGI has the appearance of an American blue coat and have the name Cherry and have the habit of lying for entertainment. You all see where I go with this, right?
Yes. Washington + an American blue coat + ‘Cherry’ + compulsive lying is an inversion punch of the George Washington cherry-tree myth: ‘I cannot tell a lie.’ 😂
Anyway, chapter 12 will be posted on July 22. Thank you all for your supported for this story and myself. Hope you all wonderful people the best.