It was over in an instant.

In one moment, we’d been stretching and bending in impossible ways, and in the next, the world snapped back into place with the grace of a crash landing. Just that rather than down into an unyielding surface, we’d been flung for light-years across space, far into the Void and beyond the edges of civilization.

There were groans all around. Even those used to gate-travel had felt the backlash of this one. The receiver gate had yet to be completed, and it’d really been a roughly aimed slingshot that’d brought us here.

The laughs were gone, replaced by unsteady hands that now helped the fallen back to their feet. Our ship had helped nothing in lessening the impact. Then again, it was impressive enough that the old model had withstood the journey, and that none of our equipment had torn loose.

At least there were no major injuries looking around. Only a few bruises, and a pair of eyes that met my own.

Kassem wasn’t grinning either, his look seeming to say, ‘So, gate travel is nothing new to you either, kid…?’

I didn’t care to pretend otherwise. Whatever conclusions he could draw from that were meaningless, and Mikayes voice had just carried through the cargo-hold’s speakers. “Is everyone alright?” he began, sounding a bit shaky as well. Not that I blamed him.

One of the Gethrogs had rolled over in their satin carrier, looking like they were about to throw up, and the Ruskel men were only pretending to be fine — and they were all seasoned professionals.

Not that anyone raised any complaints.

So, Mikayes continued, “We’ve been requested to remain on stand-by for now, until our assigned overseer arrives for us. Things seem a bit hectic on the official side of things. Most ships only arrived in the rough proximity of one another, out of fear of collisions. As such, this might take a few days to sort out, but we should be able to reach our claim by the end of the week…”

It wasn’t hard for me to confirm what he said. The transmission going out to all ships was still on-going, if somewhat weakened, fervently warning anyone from leaving their current position without explicit permission.

New Hub was nowhere to be seen either and it was only thanks to our ship’s radar that I could pick up where the receiver gate was under construction, along with a Moon-eater slowly circling its location — like a massive, imperial city.

For the coming months, it would serve as the zenith of this New Expansion, and if things went well, those two gates would form a permanent passageway in the future, serving to enrich the entire galaxy.

It was an ambitious goal, especially for someone who’d seen the future. Not least of all because of the near dead zone we currently found ourselves in.

Everything was silent around us, broken only a few blips of the other ships present in the Void around us. Some of them were already preparing to sneak away from underneath the Astral Fleet’s watchful gaze, all to get a head start.

We would probably have risked it as well, if not for our designated overseer.

There were tens of thousands of crews participating in this Expansion, and only a fraction as many ships of the Astral Fleet. A daunting number in one sense yet waning few in another.

There were millions of crews during the last Expansion, pushing the borders of the Triumvirate further out into the Void. The one thing that remained true was that the sly and quick were bound to get ahead.

If only…

A retching sound pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned around just in time to see that earlier, sickly looking Gethrog violently throw up on the floor. Just that, rather than digested food and stomach acid, what emerged from its gullet was a fuzzy, slimy looking creature that began running around the cargo space to loud chirping sounds.

“My lunch,” the sickly alien yelled in a booming voice — at least that was the translation my UI settled for — helplessly flailing after it with arms that couldn’t reach.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Instead, a few of their young, half-breed servants were forced to chase the tiny creature, helter-skelter, across the cargo hold.

The Ruskel company openly laughed at the spectacle, and even Kassem seemed to have regained some of his usual composure as he slid up next to me. “Be careful around our green companions, kid,” he said in a feigned whisper. “I hear that they enjoy snacking on their human servants. Especially the young and supple ones…”

“They do?” a stuffy voice gasped to my other side. Colors had come over as well, pinching her bloody nose with one hand as she followed the disorganized chase with wide eyes. “But I’m young and supple. D-do, do you think they’ll want to eat me, too?”

“Oh, they certainly will.” Kassem soberly nodded, effortlessly shifting his target. “If I were you, I would…”

I wasn’t sure what reaction the man hoped to get out of me, or if it was a simple joke, but I barely listened as I kept watching the chase. I’d changed my stance on things. The less the man knew about me, the better.

It wasn’t like I particularly feared the Gethrogs either.

If not for their feeble physiology, for the fact that the species were effectively vegan by human standards. What my UI had translated as ‘My lunch’ was more akin to, ‘That creature contains my lunch.’

The fuzzball was a symbiote, my UI informed me, there to replace a digestive tract the Gethrogs had, along with functioning arms and legs, also rid themselves off through selective breeding.

I can’t say I understood the choice personally, but for the next couple of months, maybe year, I’d be working with these people. The Gethrogs were good at what they did, and it couldn’t hurt getting on their good side.

“…But I saw them eat fruit earlier,” Colors firmly objected.

“Those weren’t fruit,” Kassem grimly countered. “They were specially grown organs, used whenever they can’t get their hands on something fresh to eat. I’m telling you, they’re meat eaters, and they love feasting on young boys and girls. Much like you and…”

I’d already left them, sliding under those chains holding that machinery in place. With my UI’s help, it wasn’t hard predicting where the chirping fuzz-ball would end up, and I snatched it up just as it was about to pass between my legs.

It really was slimy, but once I got hold of it, there was no way for it to get away no matter how much it chirped or vibrated.

“For a more peaceful journey,” I said as I approached the Gethrog cohort, holding out the symbiote towards them. Although I suspected they would’ve understood me no matter what language I used, I’d tried to mimic the Grigur tongue as best I could, provided to me by my UI.

Usually, it was a friendly gesture, appreciated even if poor. Usually, but not always.

Now, one of the Gethrog just wiggled an annoyed arm my way, and one of their servants swiftly snatched the symbiote from my hands before shooing me away.

Well, you have to start somewhere…

Polyglot > 1

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

Over the coming days, as we awaited our overseer, I did my best to distance myself from the Slobber Knuckles and get closer to our other two crews. Neither saw much success.

As things would have it, Ruskel companies and Gethrog cohorts did not get along too well, and neither appreciated me constantly passing back and forward between them. Not that I worried too much about it. I still had time, and it was work in progress.

On the other end of things, Kassem refused to leave me alone. He’d constantly prod, poke, and follow me around no matter how hard I tried to ignore him.

For now, however, I’d decided that pursuing their connection with the Hand of Freedom – or the Stratos Apolytos for that matter – or figuring out whatever their goals were, was not worth the risk.

At least not yet. Not until I had information.

And it was that need for information that pushed me down a path I’d been avoiding so far. One that I wouldn’t be able to return from.

𐫰 𐫰 𐫰

The overseer that eventually arrived for us was a wrinkly diplomat called Mr. Biggins, a frail thing with a pencil mustache and the Triumvirate’s stars proudly embroidered on his chest. Mikayes hated him from the second their eyes met.

I, on the other hand, only ever paid attention to the young man that served as the diplomat’s escort during our first meeting inside the cargo hold.

Lieutenant Keshig was nothing special in and of himself, but he was the key to the treason I was bound to commit.

All it took was a misaligned handshake, our UIs briefly touching, and I’d forsaken my rights to life in the eyes of the Astral Fleet. Not that it ever crossed the young officer’s mind to be careful around a kid, barely looking like he was sixteen, and as that stiff meeting continued, not even Kassem could’ve realized what was going on.

I needed answers, strength, and as the others kept arguing about the details of our coming expedition – petty details about speed limits, appropriate conduct, and sleeping arrangements – classified data, secret drills, and files no civilian was ever meant to touch were steadily being stored away in my UI.

This was the one step I’d desperately avoided taking back on the Carrier. It was a heretical practice that could have me executed on the spot, but now, it was also a necessity.

Once the seed of doubt had taken root within my mind, it wouldn’t disappear. I needed to know the truth, but I also needed to be careful.

As such, it was one byte at a time that I dug deeper into the Astral Fleet’s secrets, leaving no traces behind. I still had months with Lieutenant Keshig. Rushing now would’ve just been foolish, even as a voice in my mind kept yelling at the man: tell me, my old friends, what were we fighting for all those years? Why are we here? Why now?

What are you truly after?

Domain Codebreaker:

Active…