Andora crossed her legs, her gaze scanning the room with a grave expression.
“The following discussion will involve confidential information of the highest order,” she paused, glancing toward the non-Council members inside the War Room. “Your presence is no longer required. Arbiter?”
Tov stood, addressing the room. “Thank you all for coming. The details and outcome of this Council meeting will be disseminated on a need-to-know basis.”
The dozens of high-commanding officers, adjutants, and administrators brokered no complaint. What came next was beyond their pay grade, and their presence would only distract the leaders.
Processing the aftermath of our recent battle requires their presence. Whether or not we decide to do or don’t, finishing up in this star system promptly and efficiently is vital. Andora thought as she leaned back in her seat.
“As you command, Arbiter.”
They stood as one, giving salutes respective to their faction before bidding their leave. They were more subdued in this dire atmosphere and quietly exited the room or winked out their digital holograms.
Soon enough, only eight remained—the eighth being Luna, or Doctor Luna Selene, as known by those outside of Andora and Tov. The gray-skinned “cyborg” human stood behind Andora, holding onto a data tablet and appearing much like an omnipresent adjutant.
Andora tapped her finger on her seat, tilting her head as she looked at the leaders of this Exodus Council. They, in turn, observed her, sensing and eagerly awaiting the arrival of one or multiple revelations.
“Several matters must be addressed before we begin. This discussion is paramount, and unless you grasp the full context of our situation, I’m afraid you will make an uninformed decision that may negatively alter Armada’s trajectory and overall survival,” Andora spoke.
“It has been a month since this conglomerate of fleets came together, and we, as its leaders, formed this council. Yet, apart from managing this complex system, observing the bigger picture, and steering our general course, there hasn’t been a need to make hard decisions that worked for us.”
Andora briefly thought of their most recently accomplished operation. She considered Lady Nuwa’s rescue tantamount to the unity and morale of this newly-born Armada. And despite the few shocks, it hadn’t been egregiously tricky.
“No, this time is different,” Andora said low, grimacing as she interlocked her fingers and rested them on her knee. “We’re already being hunted; whatever we do, we attract calamity. Our collective sagacity is required to navigate this storm, and sagacity isn’t so without the right data.”
The lights in the War Room dimmed, and a low, ethereal, electric hum spread across the floor, walls, and ceiling.
“We are now restricting all comms traffic in and out of this room. I ask for absolute secrecy. No one but you all are privy to this information.” Tov’s voice was cold and iron-clad, and his mandibles faintly exuded a lethal shine. “Breaking this agreement will be punished to the fullest extent of Exodus justice.”
Those who knew felt a shiver that emanated from their souls at the implied threat.
Andora hid her smirk. She wasn’t used to this dark side of her alien friend, but she definitely could. That’s right, fear him, not me. I’m the good cop here.
As an extra precaution, Andora activated the Pneuma Bulwark Emitter aboard Citadel Irkalla. She didn’t want any metaphysical snoops to hear what happened in this room. With both technological and psionic layers of protection, the War Room was well and truly cut off from the outside world.
For a moment, a dark part of her mind entertained a famous movie quote: no one would hear your screams in the void of space.
She shook away her thoughts.
“Very well, shall we begin, Madame Custodian?” Tov turned to Andora.
“Let us,” she replied as she glanced at the rest.
Each fleet leader nodded in agreement. None were simple, and even the more politically adverse individuals, like Commandant Nullan, harbored thoughts about the mysterious race and hosts known as humanity.
Andora fed these important figures false identities and origins sprinkled with vague half-truths and white lies. Culture and pre-Cataclysm history were untouched, apart from anything that mentioned AIs, all of whom were replaced by cyborgs or genetically advanced humans.
Everything during and after the Cataclysm was black-marked and censored.
Since then, Andora had gained some measure of their behaviors, temperments, surface goals, and composure during a battle. She debated with her Overseers and Tov which secrets to unveil to this developing circle of allies.
For example, the truth about her nature was off the table.
She would never reveal that she was an AI to these people, especially when someone like Iintei had openly shown his contempt toward her “kind.” And while Nullan and Tendemone appeared trustworthy, Andora found little reason to reveal the truth then and now.
The rest were more or less the same.
Simply put, she didn’t trust their ability to keep secrets directly or indirectly, and no tangible benefit outweighed the risks of demasking herself.
There were other secrets she wanted to keep for longer, but their enemies were many, and they wouldn’t wait for caution.
Andora focused her thoughts before beginning. “We haven’t spoken much about what happened to my people during and after the Cataclysm. You all know that Patriarch Tov and his Third Expeditionary Fleet made First Contact with my people. You know of our century-long stalemate against the Starless Horrors. You know that deep within this Citadel are the last of my people, asleep and in critical condition, as well as our culture and history.”
The leaders nodded in silence. They were briefed on all this the moment they joined the Armada—harmless information that garnered admiration, sympathy, and a hint of mystery that inspired curiosity rather than apprehension.
“You know the humans you’ve seen are cyborgs that have made vows to be guardians until we find our people a safe home.”
That was the official explanation given to them and the rank-and-file—cyborgs in machine shells, but human nonetheless.
Nonetheless, she continued unabated. “You also know that we have fought more dangerous evolutions of Starless Horrors and encountered an entity that forced us to abandon our home system. Although the specifics that elude you will remain so, the latter part must be discussed.”
Andora waved her hand, and several projections from the Last Battle of Sol appeared. Of course, she doctored the footage, added human soldiers instead of infantry drones, and filled ships with human crew. Even the maneuvers and formations of the Sol Defense Fleet were made to look less like they were being controlled in machine-perfect synchronicity.
But everything else. . .
“This is. . .” Nullan narrowed his eyes as he leaned his bulky rocky body forward, staring at the images before him.
On all floating screens, Nullan watched battlegroups consisting of hundreds of warships, countless small craft, and light shows of fire stretching the solar system. The fight on the Moon, the roaring guns of Mars, the sheer destruction and death painted an apocalyptic struggle on the canvas of a lone yellow star and ruined worlds.
The graveyards of ancient ships and desiccated shells formed corpse belts, separating the Inner and Outer Zone and saturating pockets in old and new dead.
Battleships that rivaled anything he had ever seen locked horns with Juggernauts.
Star Fortresses that blot out the sun served as foci, directing thousands of human war assets.
Three gargantuan superweapons led the charge like armored beasts carrying humanity’s standard. One’s crystal hull shone with colorful, resplendent light; another had dangerous cannons gilded in gold and black; and a third more so massive Nullan thought it to be an asteroid covered in a menagerie of armaments—dreadnoughts.
Absent from the battle footage was the Citadel itself.
But while the human forces were familiar to Nullan, thanks to the month they spent alongside such powerful allies, the Starless Horrors truly captured and terrified his heart. The rest of his fellow leaders felt the same.
This is humanity’s home? Many thought. The older ones who experienced the Cataclysm closed their eyes, recalling similar memories from the distant past.
Reading about vague details on a datapacket could not compare.
“How. . . how many Starless were in this battle?”
“Symphony above. This is. . . Unbelievable. Like seeing the Cataclysm all over again.”
“Leviathans!? Look at the size of those beasts! And to think human dreadnoughts could brawl them on equal measure. . . such power. . .”
“I was born after the hated ones scourged the galaxy. You say this is what you’ve been fighting all this time?”
Lord Iintei, Cantor Tendemone, Vro, and Melwin all reacted one after another, their eyes glued to the multiple screens showing different perspectives of the battle and glancing at the statistics and summaries Andora crafted for their viewing.
Nullan leaned back, rubbing his stony chin with his massive hand. “Hm. Although it is a pitched battle, once the Ereshkigal joined the fray, morale among friendly forces rose to a peak.”
In truth, Andora took manual control of the entire Sol Defense Network, but on the doctored footage, she made it appear as Nullan said.
“We began our three-pronged counterattack once the Earth Defense Net and the Ereshkigal regrouped with the remnants of the coalition forces. With only three Leviathans left among the Starless, we surmised it would only take a strong offensive to break the enemy completely,” Andora narrated as she highlighted critical moments in the flow of battle.
“But. . .” Nullan paused, knowing things weren’t so simple. After all, why would the mighty humans be forced to leave their home system?
Andora sighed, her brows furrowed as she played the events that led to their forced exile.
First, the three injured Leviathans lit up with sickly eldritch energy. Seeing an anomaly, the counterattack forces dispatched them in quick succession. Unfortunately, it did not stop what was to come.
They watched silently as a Nightmare Portal that surpassed all others cracked reality like a fragile plane of glass. The footage sanitized the visuals, preventing the malignant influence on the mind, yet its mere appearance disgusted everyone.
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“What evil have they called upon?” Tendemone seethed with contempt as her inner zealous crusader emerged from her usually gentle demeanor.
“This is what we categorized as a Magnitude Seven Nightmare Portal. You can view comparisons to your Legacy standards.” Andora explained as the footage fast-forwarded.
The remaining Starless made a last-ditch effort to defend the immense portal. The virulent miasma repulsed organic life, and only the human fleet, which consisted of a cyborg crew, could approach.
Led by the three dreadnoughts, they assaulted the portal. The defenders fell quickly, and only a paltry swarm remained, biting back like cornered vermin.
The human fleet surrounded the portal, aiming their guns and timing their projectiles, missiles, and bombs to coincide with the entrance of whatever came out of this wound in space.
The portal opened like a demonic eye as indescribable colors seeped out, tinged with the aura of an eldritch hell.
Everything slowed to a crawl.
A horn blasted nine times with a haunting bellow.
Something struggled to enter reality, pushing against the membrane of the portal.
The council held their breath, sensing they were viewing a blasphemy against all things good, as if corruption incarnate wished to be born into their universe.
The portal shattered. Simply watching the footage caused nausea and dizziness.
But what surprised Nullan and the rest was the size and number of this catastrophic invasion force.
Just one, no larger than a standard warship.
They wondered momentarily if the Starless played a trick. Then their minds reasserted themselves, and their intuition shuddered, telling them that this thing that came out far exceeded even the combined pack of Leviathans they had seen previously.
An inky dark sphere emerged from the Nightmare Portal, leaking like an abyssal tear. It floated forward before stopping, its liquid surface writhing, undulating, and pulsating.
It transformed, slowly solidifying into something comprehensible.
Andora scowled at its image.
Cloaked in abyssal robes that cascaded like an empty cosmos, the entity moved with an otherworldly grace. Its head extended upward like an obsidian-like pillar before it stopped and solidified.
Then, a mirage of an unfathomable cube formed behind it—an amalgam of symbols, concepts, and power. It carried hints of puzzles, pathways, labyrinths, doors, and the cosmos.
The thing opened a singular eye at the center of its face like a miniature Nightmare Portal. As the transformation ceased, everyone watching felt like it was staring at them, its robe fluttering in an otherworldly wind.
Even digital existences like Andora and Luna still found it extraordinarily repulsive.
“Urgh!” Iintei recoiled, pulling his gaze away, panting with unconcealed fear. The rest winced, their expressions instantly souring, gravely troubled as they clutched their seats.
“What. . . what is this stain in space!?” Tendemone roared.
Andora nodded imperceptively, seeing the expected, vehement expressions among the council. With this, they knew what indeed was at stake.
“An Executor,” Tov answered for her.
As everyone processed the implications of its title and further stole glances at the entity, Andora took the time to study the Executor once more.
Unlike the aliens Andora met, at least they could be likened to shapes that make sense. Tov was insectoid, Nullan was a rock person as big as a gorilla, and Iintei almost looked like a tall, skinny, bronze-skinned human if you squinted. The rest were similar, familiar, and understandable.
But not the Executor.
It was alien, well and truly alien.
Though in the image, it appeared humanoid, it was as if it hid infinite faces beneath it. Blurry, unfathomable, indescribable, ever-shifting and all-horrible.
Andora learned that it was not so for those with organic minds. Digital existence, like Andora and her Overseers, could observe the Executor in a sterilized perspective, free from mind-altering influence.
But for everyone else, it looked different for every individual; only an overarching theme centered around its domain remained consistent.
Tov once told Andora that the Executor had vague Kurskann traits when he looked back. Volantesh saw an avian-like monstrosity that also looked similar to his race. Scholar Yulane saw an ancient transparent blob with tentacles that stretched through the void.
Even then, people found it difficult to remember what it looked like.
“It calls itself Karnadamus the Architect,” Andora further clarified. “It is the first instance of an intelligent entity capable of strategic thinking, communication, and reason.”
A shock exploded throughout the minds of the leaders present.
“Are you—?” Iintei spoke incredulously before pausing, forcing himself to be calm as he focused back on the footage.
Andora played a series of clips, all recordings of the Executor speaking.
“You. . . are an Aberration.”
“. . . Vain resistance, to be sure, but many have been purified and will be in the end. . .”
“. . . This galaxy has been marked for the Cleansing. . .”
“. . . Further cooperation between you both is disruptive to the Design. . .”
“. . . Due to your interference, we have elevated this galaxy’s prognosis and amplified the signal-blocking effects of what you call the Dead Zone. . .”
The more this Executor spoke, the worse everyone’s expressions became.
Andora edited out everything that pertained to her existence, but what remained was enough to leave a permanent mark on everyone.
“Demon filth,” Tendemone muttered through suppressed rage.
“As you can see, it expresses extreme hostility, arrogance, and a way of thinking completely incompatible with our existence,” Andora emphasized. “The Executor called us Phages, things deserving of sterilization. It is also called the Starless Horrors’ antibodies’. Overall, it expressed its mission to cleanse our galaxy.”
Vro scowled, her whiskers twitching as she crossed her scarred furry arms. “How. . . medical of it to use such terms.”
“Indeed. At the same time, as the leader of humanity, it referred to me as an Aberration,” Andora disclosed her significance. “We deduced that it referred to highly anomalous individuals severely detrimental to its overarching mission. We do not know if others are classified as such in our neighborhood. Perhaps leaders of nations or armies.”
Everyone considered who among their list of people could earn such a title.
Andora moved on. “As for its capabilities, it showed its control over space, manipulating barriers, teleportation, cosmic anomalies such as higher-dimensional storms, focused high-energy attacks, and others.”
The way it danced and duked through teleportation disturbed the room, not to mention its ability to easily block conventional attacks and its energy attacks.
“Finally, its ability to cause mass disruption. As you can see, it paralyzed an entire assault force before changing strategies and bearing toward Earth like a blazing malevolent comet.”
Andora sighed, adopting a somber expression. “Through the sacrifice of the Jupiter Armada, including the death of Commander Julius’ father, Admiral Peters, we managed to coax out further information from Karnadamus.”
Again, this was another fabrication she made to endear humanity to the council members. Jupiter’s valiant act of defiance has been altered to fit a more tragic narrative of self-sacrifice while elevating the threat level of the Executor.
Jupiter agreed to it.
“What have you learned?” Nullan asked with a grimace.
Andora froze the footage. “One of which was its name. Another is it told us it has lived for untold millennia, that it and the Starless have ruined galaxy after galaxy, and ours is only the next on the list. More importantly. . .”
Andora paused, narrowing her eyes, “It spoke of others like it. Perhaps one or more of them are more experienced in combat. Know that Karnadamus calls himself an Architect, the closest translation we got from its eldritch tongue. That in and of itself speaks more of an academic or creative personality.”
“This. . . this is why you left? With the interference storm raging across the Dead Zone, this information is vital to the very existence of our galaxy!” Nullan spoke, realizing the purpose of this Exodus apart from safeguarding the last of humanity.
Andora and Tov nodded, and the latter replied in a low voice, “Now you understand the urgency.”
The council members fell into deep thought. Tentatively, Cantor Tendemone spoke up with a question. “What of their leader? An Executor implies this Karnadamus is executing the will of some greater existence.”
“Yes, one thing to note is the obvious. . . zeal in its voice whenever it speaks of its mission. Karnadamus didn’t directly speak of what it follows or worships, only this entity’s grand Design. We do not know the specifics. It could be a supreme controller, a progenitor or creator, some godly monarch, a horror we cannot comprehend, all or none of those things,” Andora answered before grimacing.
“In truth, we do not know if this god or leader of theirs truly exists; it is only its army of monsters and, now, a commander. Perhaps Karnadamus lied or spoke half-truths. We do not know. This is a being outside our reality, an interdimensional alien. So we should take everything it says with a grain of salt and plan for the worst.”
“Agreed,” Nullan tapped his finger on the table. “What is fact is its overwhelming might. One Executor was enough to cause everything to fall apart. That also begs the question. . .”
He leaned forward, gazing at Andora. “How did you prevail?”
Andora glanced at Tov before answering with a stern gaze. “A trade secret. We have a final trump card that we were forced to use. It managed to imprison Karnadamus, and it was how we managed to get more information from it, again, through great sacrifice.”
“Hm. Understood. Is this trump card still of use?” Nullan fished.
“It is,” Andora replied. There was only one more Singularity Bomb in their arsenal.
A sense of relief washed over the rest before another concern popped up.
“You mentioned imprisonment. Can you explain? Where is it now? Did you leave a warden?” Iintei pressed with urgency.
“Karndamus was left behind back in Sol. It has been completely abandoned, but we left behind dozens of traps ready to fire the moment it breaks free,” she replied.
“B-break free!?” Iintei and the rest gritted their teeth.
Sensing the downward spiral in the atmosphere, Andora debated internally before throwing another detail regarding Karnadamus’ predicament. “It is inevitable. The nature of its prison involves a highly unstable, artificial black hole. We also injured it when its arm got caught past the event horizon.”
It spoke volumes that the council members showed little reaction upon learning that humans could create an artificial black hole. There were other more dire subjects to focus on, after all.
Andora continued,” If the Executor remained passive, then reality would assert itself, and the unstable, artificial black hole would naturally evaporate. If the Executor actively fought against its imprisonment, perhaps it could further widen the cracks and hasten its escape.”
“How long? How long do we have?” Captain-superior Melwin asked.
Tov snapped his mandibles, sighing. “Our worst estimate was a little over one month. And we have passed that mark recently.”
The temperature of the War Room dropped instantly, and everyone felt an indescribable chill. Suddenly, they felt as if something tangible lurked in the blackness of space, like a sudden landslide that could crash down on their heads.
The council members felt a lump in their throats, and their shoulders grew heavy.
Andora didn’t regret not telling them sooner. What purpose would it serve since they were on the fastest and safest route back to Legacy? It wouldn’t change a thing, but now, with the fork ahead of them, it was vital.
“We need to get back to Legacy space. But we also need to stay alive,” Tov emphasized.
Iintei scoffed, his voice tinged with anxiety. “Shall we reclaim the Dead Zone while we’re at it? Or perhaps resurrect Paragon Wellen-dos? We should ask the dead prophet what the best choice is!”
“Not helping, Grazenite,” Melwin grimaced.
“Quiet, unless you have a solution to this waste dump of a situation?” Iintei retorted.
“Enough,” Andora stopped their argument before it could escalate. She sighed. “Suffice it to say Princess Anaria may have rung the dinner bell, but now you know that we humans were the ones to offend our uninvited guests.”
“And said guest threw a fit,” Nullan huffed. “You know this means you indirectly caused our current situation?”
Andora detected no accusation in Nullan’s tone, something she inwardly thanked, yet still, a part of her gnawed away at her thoughts. She forced a smirk. “Who wouldn’t want to spit at the face of a demigod that wanted your death and suffering?”
Iintei and Captain-Superior Melwin looked especially aggrieved for different reasons. The rest held their opinions. Andora almost wanted them to blow up, throw blame, and throw tantrums instead of remaining in this quiet, calculating state.
Their ultimate concern was the Executor. The Armada diligently covered their tracks, but Madraa had become a hot zone, and they needed to leave posthaste. The other obstacle was the Dead Zone Miasma, which had difficulty scouting and communicating from interstellar distances.
Suddenly, the desire to rush toward Krazztaran’s Port, where they could rendezvous with the Second Fleet, surged in their hearts.
Andora guessed their thoughts, bringing up a complication. “The rendezvous point with Mighty Gulothan and his Second Expeditionary Fleet, the Brass Armada, is two months away, maybe more if we account for unforeseen delays.”
Hope fell as despair rose, yet the leaders suppressed their feelings from showing. They stared intensely at Andora, searching for answers, for a light.
“But the Old Heartlands and Dagatar Prime are closer, only under three weeks if we book it,” Andora presented the other choice.
Everyone closed their eyes, immediately realizing one thing.
Both choices were fraught with peril of different kinds.
“So, know the dilemma. Do we risk moving alone through the unknown for two months toward our original destination in the hope of linking up with the Second? Or do we divert course and expeditiously sail toward Dagatar Prime, where the First Fleet is and possibly several allied fleets, and assuredly face grave danger.”
Andora smirked, her smile humorless as her mind couldn’t devise a better choice.
“You might as well have asked if we wished to die later or earlier,” Iintei tsked as he muttered under his breath, massaging his forehead.
The War Room stayed silent for a long crawl of time. Everyone retreated to their thoughts, analyzing and trying to come up with reasons to choose one choice over the other.
Andora and Luna, in particular, halted other responsibilities to focus on finding the most optimal course of action, but yet again, there were too many variables, all of which included sentient beings and eldritch modes of thought. Both were highly chaotic without enough data.
They eventually gave up as both raised similar concerns, even if Andora didn’t like it.
Nullan stood, calling everyone’s attention. “As much as I trust Mighty Gulothan’s words to assist us, how do we know he hasn’t fallen into a predicament? What is preventing him from going to Dagatar Prime as well?”
Everyone contemplated his words with muffled reactions, and Andora realized that they, too, had arrived at such questions in their minds. Hmm, great minds do think alike.
“We can’t contact him to confirm his situation,” Tov said as he shook his head. “And we have no way of knowing. In no way are we using the method Anaria used. We must leave as few footprints as possible in light of recent events.”
Indeed. Andora sighed. She needed rest, a stiff drink, and maybe a distraction in the form of some lovely twins. Fuck all of this. Give us a damn break.
After a long, exhausting hour of discourse, the council decided. Andora snorted, finishing her glass of whiskey, muttering, “Well, I always wondered what Dagataren hospitality is like.”