Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. – adapted from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Act II, Scene 2.
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“Help us. . .”
The final words of Crown Princess Anaria, leader of the First Expeditionary Fleet, washed over the vast War Room of Citadel Irkalla and its occupants. Her figure fizzled into a garbled mess before winking out entirely, drowning the room in a dense silence.
[End of video message. Play again? ]
The prompt hovered over everyone’s heads like a specter calling out from a dark sea.
Andora glanced around, her lips pressed into a thin line.
The highest echelons of the armada were all present, either in person or via hologram. At the head of the central table, slightly raised on a dais, sat the Custodian and Arbiter of the Exodus, Andora, and, to her right, Patriarch Tov.
At Tov’s side, Commandant Nullan, then Cantor Tendemone, Captain-Superior Melwin, Huntsmaster Vro, and Lord Iintei, before circling back to Andora.
The members of the Exodus Council sat with muted and complicated expressions. The stands surrounding the central circle were full of officers and administrators grouped behind their respective heads, such as Andora’s Overseers.
Suffice it to say that everyone who heard the message felt a mix of two emotions. Each individual favored one or the other, depending on their relations with the respected and feared superpower.
Some felt trepidation over what could cause such an arrogant civilization to seek aid from any that received the Crown Princess’s message.
Others felt a small, twisted sense of satisfaction in the darkness of their hearts. But they buried it deep, focusing their energy on a race of thought and speculation.
Not only did this unexpected call for assistance come from the heir apparent to the greatest interstellar dynasty in the Galactic Legacy Federation, but its contents and implications worried everyone for good reason.
Already, hushed whispers filled the air, and Andora felt the data trails and private conversations streaming to and fro from the cranial implants of the people inside the chamber to their respective circles across the armada.
She suppressed her desire to snoop, yet a few bled through, coming from several unrelated streams that desperately needed an update on their digital security. Each one faded in and out in a mess of voices.
[Mora’s child actually dared to tarnish the vaunted image of her people. . . hmph. Helping her earns a favor. Adjutant, formulate a quick cost-benefit analysis. We need. . . ]
[Detwa! Overloading her Beacon? Is she mad!? Her decision is akin to lighting a match in the pitch black! Is the situation truly so dire? What happened to the great First Fleet? Only they and the Second could think about exploring the Heartlands!]
[Symphony protect. . . As if things aren’t complicated enough. . . Without a doubt, there will be a vote for this. What are the others thinking. . .?]
Andora grimaced, closing her eyes at the impending headache that drilled into her very circuits.
Too lax. What if another super-AI were listening? Andora criticized each Fleet Leader. She tried to exchange improvements in their security for a few benefits, yet some treasured their ways of doing things lest Andora’s “security expert” slip a bug in.
Of course, it was true, even if said “expert” was herself. They’d never know. And she would never build a security system more powerful than her. She felt peeved with her digital omniscience but didn’t begrudge a sneak peek into what the rest thought.
As Custodian of the Exodus, she forced herself to maintain a calm persona, yet the coolant within her core room boiled and churned with building stress, cracking her shallow façade.
A low hiss escaped her lips; Patriarch Tov was the only one to notice, yet he, too, felt the same.
She felt the presence of her Overseers in the back of her mind. They, too, were in deep thought.
Luna, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Mercury looked perturbed and secretly communicated with each other. Each spoke in complex mathematical calculations, pulling up simulated scenarios and weighing the most optimal course of action.
However, that chunk of the talks mainly revolved around Luna and Mercury, with Mars chipping in on the military aspects. Jupiter and Venus spoke only when needed.
[There’s not enough information. The data packet our alien allies have sent regarding the current Heartlands is shallow or outdated. . .]
[If we divert course, the resources and energy alone. . .]
[I have no worries about our war assets. But our allies are not so prepared. I would be hesitant if I were in their shoes. . .]
[Tsk. . . Do we have to go?]
[J. . .]
[It’s a legitimate concern, V!]
Andora remained in the periphery of their conversation in the Network, content to listen.
She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as her thoughts raced with a hundred projected scenarios and their implications for the Crown Princess’s goals.
With the aftermath of the Battle for Madraa underway, what should have been a cause for celebration fell flat and hollow with the recent revelations and their current predicament.
Not a minute later, after sorting their thoughts, most of the War Room slowly turned their attention away from their circles and looked toward Andora and Tov. The latter, primarily due to several reasons, the most important of which was his extensive experience as a previous Arbiter during the Cataclysm.
Andora, too, glanced at her friend, but he remained silent, his hand tapping his mandible, antennae low and curling as if in trepidation.
Even the ambient hum behind the walls and the electronic buzz that permeated the air held its breath, waiting for the pin to drop in the darkness.
Finally, the silence was broken by the only person in the room who lacked the social skills and patience to do anything else.
“Ain’t this a load of shit,” Jupiter muttered loud enough for everyone to pick up.
Luna looked at her peer with a mild frown while the rest of his siblings were bemused to varying degrees. The blue AI, disguised in his human shell and representing the special operations unit Task Force Dagger as commander, slumped into his seat, scratching his smooth chin.
Andora didn’t scold her subordinate for his breach of protocol. She expected and fully endorsed someone else speaking what she thought without her prompting.
“So. . .” Jupiter drawled, looking over each council member from his seat in the stands. “Let’s be real. There are only two ways we can go about this. On the one hand, we steer the armada to the Old Heartlands in the galactic center, which is probably the most ravaged area in the entire galaxy, chuck full of unknown hazards and anomalies, and regroup with or rescue the First Expeditionary Fleet and whoever else is trapped in that trap. . .”
Jupiter leaned forward with a wry grin. “Or. . . we use this chance to rush straight to civilized space while the vermin swarm and their insane cultist lackeys are distracted with converging on the princess.”
A shock ran through the entire room at Jupiter’s blatant words.
“You are suggesting that we abandon the heir apparent of the Tandara Dynasty, Commander Julius! Do not speak so casually!” Lord Iintei Ahraman Tens Solsolen, leader of the Twenty-First Expeditionary Fleet and representative of the Grazen Kingdom, shouted from his seat, glaring at the blue-skinned “human” commander with a disapproving scowl.
Andora kept her face flat, yet she sneered at Lord Ahraman in her mind.
Oho? And here I thought you’d be the first to suggest taking the safe route. Andora criticized the Grazenite fleet leader. Are you trying to look good when the Dagataren imperial family looks at the recording of this meeting?
And just like that, the chamber exploded into discourse as generals spoke to administrators and captains who talked to their respective leaders. Everyone voiced their concerns over the other, making suggestions, calling attention to the risks, or making a case for duty toward the Dagatar Supremacy.
“We need time to recover from today’s battle. Our hearts are willing, but our ships and weapons need maintenance. Not to mention digesting all the intelligence found among the Chained Souls and harvesting supplies.” Commandant Nullan, leader of the Thirty-Fourth Fleet, a storied Bolud veteran, and the oldest person in the room, shook his head.
Lord Iintei huffed, shaking his fist. “There is no recourse! We’ve thread the needle rescuing Lady Nuwa Straise, we can do so again! What are we waiting for?”
“We can’t blindly rush in. A hunt with too many unknowns is a recipe for disaster! And this is completely different. We are talking about the Heartlands!” Another retorted, Huntsmaster Vro, Teleen and leader of the Thirty-Fifth Hunter Expeditionary Fleet.
“Even so, it would be an immense and grievous loss should we lose Princess Anaria and the First,” Cantor Tendemone, a high-ranking Eternal Choir Iexian cleric who led the Thirty-First Pilgrim Fleet, calmly lamented. “The Symphony would weep a thousand songs of woe for millennia.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Back and forth, they bickered.
As they did, Andora noticed a subtle air in the discourse. She narrowed her eyes. Everyone avoided even suggesting what Jupiter did: abandon the First Fleet and the princess entirely. They spoke as if his words never existed.
Voicing it was tantamount to political suicide should they return to the Legacy alive.
This was the only daughter of Prime Unrex Mora Keiladal Tandara, the de facto tyrant, in all but name, of half the Galactic Legacy Federation whose canopy and roots reached all. No one wanted to be viewed negatively by the Prime Unrex the moment they got back to Legacy Space, and the ancient superpower would most assuredly know, one way or another.
The Dagatern Intelligence Service was Tandara’s bloody right fist, an omnipresent fear in every notable figure’s mind.
Only Mighty Bors and his Warrior’s Enclave could match her and the Supremacy in military hard power. Emperor Jarinn barely held on to his position as third.
Andora guessed the Fleet Leaders present and their circles would fight fervently to mount a rescue, just like they did with Lady Nuwa. But little by little, they would voice the difficulties.
The cost of sacrifices, war materials, ships, fuel, supplies, and, more importantly, lives.
They would raise each point until they concluded that the losses were too unacceptable, therefore “reluctantly” giving up.
They tried.
It was the best they could do.
But Jupiter’s clear underlying message revealed everyone’s conclusions.
Extreme danger. Turn back. Turn back!
Andora understood she was teetering toward continuing on their path, but she hesitated, deciding to observe everyone’s final decision before voicing her own. She looked over the various council members, prying behind the layers of politicking.
Commandant Nullan and Tendemone looked sincere. Melwin appeared neutral and quiet. Iintei was a torrent of speeches, loud but hiding his inner thoughts well. Vro was less dramatic but seemed deep in her calculations as a hunter, retorting aggressively before switching to a calm demeanor.
Whether or not they leaned one way or the other, Andora knew better each of these experienced leaders were now stacking their conspiracies.
She looked toward Tov. The patriarch of the Third Fleet and Arbiter of the Exodus hadn’t given his opinion but appeared close to doing so.
Andora hoped it was soon.
The cacophony of noise drilled into Andora’s head, causing her to grit her teeth at the devolving song and dance. She turned her attention to the Network toward her Overseers.
Luna shook her head.
As expected. Andora tsked.
How could they make an accurate assessment without sufficient data? The only certainty was immense adversity. Anyone with half a brain would make a similar judgment. But before things escalated further—
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The thumping sounds akin to a giant beast’s footfalls drew everyone’s gazes as they turned to the source.
“Order!”
Tov’s domineering voice pierced the racket as he held a ceremonial scepter high. It gleaming with light reflected on its onyx-metal material symbolized his authority as Arbiter and the Custodian’s right hand.
The room quieted to a hush.
Andora knew they still spoke through their implants, planning and making moves.
Nevertheless, she thanked her dear friend. Tov looked to her in askance. Andora nodded, allowing him to take the reigns.
Tov clicked his mandibles as he stood, clearing his throat and addressing the War Room. Everyone leaned ever so slightly as the kurskann Arbiter waved his hand, manipulating the hovering holograms to depict a galaxy map.
Andora watched as he highlighted their current star system, Madraa, then Legacy Space, which stretched across the “north” like a crescent moon and occupied a third of the galaxy.
The rest was shrouded in darkness, the Dead Zone.
She saw Sol, Alpha Centaur, and all the solar systems they’ve crossed, forming a single-line constellation to Madraa.
Over two months since we began this journey, yet it felt like years had passed. Andora gritted her teeth. She felt she could reach out and touch the end, but one problem after another shackled and dragged their feet. We’re barely halfway, and now there’s this bag of worms.
Finally, the Old Heartlands, more than a fifth of the Milky Way, was represented by a circle at the center of the map.
The patriarch turned to Andora and the Overseers. “For the sake of our human friends, I shall explain a bit of history and the current situation.”
“Thank you, Arbiter Tov,” Andora replied, even if she knew this information already, having studied it more than a dozen times, including niche topics, all to familiarize herself while propping up the façade of an ignorant newcomer.
Tov bowed his head as he began.
“Before the Cataclysm, the center of the Milky Way was designated as the Old Heartlands by the Galactic Accord, the predecessor of the current Federation.
“As its name suggests, it was the symbolic heart of the entire galactic community. It is where the capital worlds of every interstellar nation and organization that merited the title “superpower” were located.
“Here, the most exotic and valuable premier materials were concentrated in mass due to its proximity with the supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy, and only those mighty enough deserved to plant their flags on this resource-rich region.
“The Dagatar Supremacy, the former Kurskann Dominion, the fallen Madilonian Theocracy, and the homeworlds of the Teleens, the Jotex, the Bolud, the Iexians, and the Onin, all these major civilized species and groups originated or migrated to this heavenly paradise.”
Andora noticed many pained expressions, lost heritages, lost pride, and lost souls among the council members and officers on the stands around the room. Only the Kurskanns looked the least bothered by this and only in a pragmatic sense.
Tov continued.
“The most technologically sophisticated industries, the highest institutions of learning and thought, the most indomitable of fortresses, vast planet-wide cities that housed billions, and even three Ecumenopolis where hundreds of billions lived were located in the Heartlands. All vital pieces that made one a superpower.”
He sighed, shaking his antennae.
“Due to these facts, it was no surprise that the Starless Horrors swarmed in legions never before seen and assaulted with extreme aggression and violence to shake the core of a people’s pride, wealth, and military power. They brought out their most terrible weapons. Dominators, rumored Leviathans, World Seeders, the Malignant Starfall. . .”
Everyone felt a chill at his mention of the eldritch plague that reaped, tortured, and transformed countless lives.
Andora shut her eyes, suppressing her writhing emotions and memories, which threatened to seep out like cursed tar.
With all the stresses, anomalies, and now this coming to the forefront, her scars and mental wounds throbbed in pain.
Tov paused, his voice low, “It was an utter bloodbath for both sides. The Heartlands reaped a thousand, even tens of thousands, of Starless Horrors for every ship lost. But the enemy was endless. Homeworld after homeworld, fleet after fleet. When Paragon Wellen-dos and the Madilonians perished, when the Kurskann Dominion collapsed, it was the beginning of the end and the start of the mass Exodus.”
“Where were the Dagatarens in all this?” Andora asked.
Tov zoomed in on a region of the Old Heartlands, the most significant slice where at its core was a star system with a blue, almost purple, supergiant—Vhantze, meaning Star of Stars. and orbiting it was Dagatar Prime.
“It is a fact that the Dagatarens put up the fiercest resistance against the Starless. Prime Unrex Mora Keiladal’s predecessor and older sister, Velian Keiladal, led the Dagataren front as Supreme Commander. They managed to stabilize multiple fronts through quality and quantity.”
Andora nodded, pulling up the specific documents on that point in history.
“Unfortunately, it was not enough. The Dagataren Peerless Armada was stretched thin, with allies falling one after another until they were almost surrounded. And so. . .” Tov pulled up image after image, giving everyone a refresher on old history.
Andora immediately recognized the scores of war machinery. “Drone fleets.”
“The Immortal Thorns, fully automated drone fleets,” Tov gravely nodded. “The galactic community had always been wary of automated war machines, even worse when such artificial intellects commanded such steel legions. But a superpower like Dagatar always had several trump cards hidden in their sleeves, as you humans say. The Immortals was but the most concrete example.”
“Even if it was taboo?” Andora arched her brow. She wanted to gauge everyone’s thoughts on AIs to prepare for future communications should her secret be revealed.
Tov tilted his head before shaking. “Not taboo, not yet. Before their eventual betrayal, such weapons were. . . discouraged at most. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Commandant Nullan muttered from his seat, crossing his giant rocky arms. “If the Starless Horrors sent legions of flesh, then the Dagatarens sent legions of metal. And they followed their directives without fault. It allowed the Dagatarens to conduct multiple evacuations across their space, funneling the more vulnerable worlds toward a burgeoning Exodus Armada forming in Vhantze. Velian believed she could turn the tides and quickly turned several planets into automated factories, even if it all amounted to buying more time.”
“But the Accursed Intelligences proved everyone’s worries. It was a nightmare scenario,” Iintei did not hide his disgust. Andora very much took note.
“We do not know the exact circumstances. Dagatar heavily suppressed any information regarding the Immortal Thorns, and they were very thorough with the chaos of the Cataclysm. All we know is that the drone fleet betrayed their creators the moment an unprecedented Starless Horror swarm invaded Vhantze.
“The battle was vicious as the Dagatarens threw everything they had. Prime Unrex Velian was killed along with her children in the battle. Only when Mora Keiladal utilized a second trump card did the scales shift back in Dagataren’s favor. Said superweapon inflicted mass death among the Starless and briefly stunned the traitor AIs.”
It would be more than enough to be considered a powerful superweapon if it could achieve even half its advertised capabilities. Hmph. As expected of the top one power in the galaxy. Your arrogance isn’t just for show, is it? Andora felt curious about this hidden superweapon. Partly if she could copy it and use it against the vermin, and partly to guard against it, should the Dagatarens use it against her.
“Using that moment, she and the then-infant Princess Anaria evacuated with the rest of the Dagatar people and navy,” Tov concluded.
“And their second superweapon?” Andora asked.
Tov shook his head. “Unknown, this second trump card is even more hidden. Apart from what it did, there is no information about its name, what it looks like, or its current status.”
Interesting. Andora narrowed her eyes in thought—something to look out for.
“And that is mostly where it ended. The Dagatarens abandoned their home system, forming an Exodus Armada while preserving much of their foundation and strength when the time to counterattack began and the following decades of rebuilding.
“What matters, however, is that the fall of Dagatar Prime is one of many battles and tragedies that occurred in the Heartlands, some matching its intensity, some shrouded in mystery and terror. After a century, it has become the deepest unknown in the Dead Zone. Its danger exceeds the capabilities of every fleet apart from the First and Second.”
Andora raised her brow at that. Was that one of the reasons why your fleet focused on the regions where the Starless Horrors first ravaged in the early days of the Cataclysm?
Tov appeared to have guessed her thoughts, sighing. “Now you see the disparity between the Empire and the two powers above us. If we had failed to find the answers we were looking, we planned on setting up a Beacon and contacting the Mighty Gulothan if he was available and interested in combining forces, so that we may investigate the Heartlands together assured of our security.”
“But that wasn’t necessary,” Andora smirked.
Tov let out a chuckle. “Indeed, it wasn’t. But I digress. We have reached the present. The Dagatarens, especially Prime Unrex Mora, greatly desire to reclaim their homeworld, exterminate the traitor drone fleets, and scour every surviving factory world. To ensure its success, she sent her only heir to lead the First Expeditionary Fleet.”
He paused, scanning the room as his tone lowered. “I’ve emphasized the danger we face should we choose to do so. And that was before Princess Anaria decided to overload her Starlight Beacon and send out a wide general broadcast strong enough to pierce through the Miasma.”
“Undeployed Beacons and even our weaker quantum comm systems received her message,” Tendemone touched her beak as she spoke. “This means at least half the Dead Zone has heard her message.”
Andora sighed amidst a growing headache. “Meaning both friend, foe, and monster with any inkling of quantum tech or esoteric means. Now, they’re all swimming toward the source. Hungry for safety under the protection of the grand First Fleet, or hungry for death.”
And so, the War Room fell into silence yet again.
Andora looked over each person, each leader, Tov, and her Overseers before closing her eyes. She breathed in slowly, focusing on the sensation of air in her synthetic lungs before exhaling softly.
She stood, addressing everyone present as she frowned deeply. “Very well. Convince me why I should or shouldn’t risk the survival of my people, my home, for this. . . princess.”