Rene took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. A memory stirred in the recesses of his mind, and for a moment he was back in the field with the recon platoon, holding up a rain-bespattered map and trying his best to interpret the smudges. It was the first time the navigator had assigned him to walk point, and for the life of him Rene couldn’t stop his fingers from trembling. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone came up from behind and seized him by the elbow.

“Did we miss the checkpoint, ensign?” Deschane murmured, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Aye sir. I might’ve lost count of my paces a while back,” Rene tried to project more confidence than he felt, “We’re still mostly on track. Won’t happen again, sir.”

“Yes it will,” Deschane said bluntly, “The question is, how do we proceed from here?”

Rene could feel the stares of his comrades burning into his back, their restlessness growing. More than anything in the world he wanted to measure up to their expectations. And so he chose to be bold:

“If we continue a few more klicks southeast we’re bound to catch sight of hill 307 and the ridgeline beside it. We’ll use that as a handrail to steer by.”

Deschane’s response was scathing:

“You don’t even know our current position, let alone the location of that ridge. You’d just be leading the platoon from one uncertainty to another, in the hopes of reversing a mistake you refuse to admit. That isn’t decisiveness, ensign. That’s arrogance.”

“I…I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be thorough. You’re an officer now, Rene, and that entails navigating through the fog of war. Mistakes are inevitable. The most you can do—the most anyone can expect from you—is to make decisions informed by the facts on the ground, no matter how meagre they are. Work with what you know. Never allow fear or hope to fill in the rest.”

Rene could only nod, shaken as he was. He’d been expecting to get a royal dressing-down here, not a well-intentioned lecture.

“You’re still on point,” Deschane clapped him on the back, “What’s our next move?”

“Uhhh…double back to the previous set of reference points?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?” Rene winced.

“Good enough,” Deschane said with a rare grin, “Now go and inform the platoon. And this time, at least try to sound convincing.”

And with those parting words Deschane had taught Rene a second, unintentional lesson in leadership: sometimes when things go sour and the brown stuff hits the fan, maintaining even just the illusion of control becomes the only thing that matters.

Humanity was a husk of its former self. Even the Commodore’s iteration had been a pale shadow of the Exodians who had come before them. Yet the man claimed to have both a working plan to retake Arachnea and the means to effect it. Whether or not he was right was beside the point. Rene needed something—anything—to believe in.

“No,” he decided, “No, this evidence isn’t enough to go by. We’re all staying put on this base until I say otherwise.”

Exar rewound the footage to just before the lone surviving skiff disappeared into the crevasse then outlined it in a blinking rectangle.

“That’s our man making his getaway,” Exar said heatedly, “The detonations went off immediately after the pod was jettisoned. These were explosive charges planted at key sections of the ship. That’s the simplest, most logical explanation for what we’ve just seen.”

“We don’t know what happened aboard that ship in the first place,” Rene maintained, “Aside from the fact that there was evidently an act of mutiny or civil war, all we have right now is idle speculation. For all we know, the Commodore was acting in self-defence.”

“In which case, he killed 97 of his own kindred to save his own skin,” went Zildiz, ruthlessly hammering home the point, “That alone should tell you the kind of man he is.”

“You people haven’t thought this through,” Rene switched to another line of argument now that the Commodore’s actions were becoming increasingly indefensible, “Say we do manage to break out of here and reach the shuttle. What’s to stop the Commodore from tracking us down and destroying those safehouses in the belt? He knows exactly where they are.”

“I was just getting to that part,” Exar said, “The royder communes may have carved out this base for themselves, but their dome farms on the belt were company built, through and through. And, if memory serves, armed to the teeth against pirate raids as well. If we can reach one of them, I can guarantee complete access to their arsenals. We can actually defend ourselves there.”

Rene’s mind grappled with new possibilities. If the weaponry on one of these farms was anything like the mass catapult here on Po Chai, then perhaps the reconquest of Arachnea would not have to rely so completely on the Commodore’s plan. The idea was worth exploring. He was still trying to formulate a decision when Zildiz reached one of her own:

“Too many variables in your plan, slave,” she said, pacing the room like a cornered animal, “Low energy transfers by definition sacrifice speed for fuel conservation. We’d be sitting targets at those velocities. The Commodore could destroy us enroute even with simple projectile-based weapons like these,” Zildiz reached over to a sentry drones and slapped a palm on its rotary guns, “It would be simpler to kill him here and now, whilst we hold the upper hand.”

“Never allow your opponent to regain their equilibrium,” Neroth murmured in agreement, “That’s what my uncle would say. We should press our advantage.”

“Kryptus always was a canny bastard,” Zildiz said grudgingly. Though he’d barely spoken above a whisper, a hard glitter had come into the boy’s pupils. The Leaper and the Gallivant stared at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Don’t talk crazy,” Rene interposed. True to their savage nature, the two cosmophages were priming themselves for a fight to the death. He had to retain control of the situation, “We can’t possibly take the Commodore head-on.”

“We’ll see about that,” Zildiz said, “Slave, does this place have its own arsenal?”

“The name’s Exar, sugar,” the sphere reminded her sourly, “And yes it does. The communes were strapped to the nines. All the drones you see here are maintenance robots retrofitted with civilian-grade munitions. But like I said before, I can’t override the base’s security systems to get those doors open. Not without direct access to the mainframe.”

“This thing you call a mainframe…it is like a Dawning Chamber, correct?” Neroth asked Exar.

“A what-now?”

“A structure made to amass and process large amounts of information,” Zildiz supplied.

“Why, yes,” Exar said, sounding intrigued, “Hold up a sec. Do you mean to say that your people have an equivalent technology back on Arachnea?”

“Does this mainframe have a physical location?” the Gallivant kept at him, appearing to evade the question.

“Well, duh,” Exar drawled, his voice alone enough to convey a sarcastic eyeroll.

Rene’s ears perked up. This was the first time the cosmophages had ever mentioned these Dawning Chambers. Were they and the neurocilial nodes one and the same thing?

Surely it can’t be this easy, he marvelled, fighting down a flood of optimism.

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“Then tell me where it is and I’ll handle the rest,” Zildiz said without hesitation.

“Oh really? And how exactly do you propose to do that?” Exar challenged.

Zildiz reached for the nearest sentry drone and gave it a shove, sending it crashing to the ground. Setting her foot against it for leverage, she seized the multi-barrelled gun and heaved, taunt cords of muscle on her arms bulging, but to no avail.

“Impressive,” Exar said, his scorn withering, “Now if you’re quite finished—”

Her eyes glittered with a cold and calculated malice. Zildiz reached into her waistband and slipped out something tiny, white and angular which on closer inspection turned out to be a shard of ceramic, the edges ground down till it resembled a keen arrowhead.

“Woah now…” Rene slowly held up his hands in a gesture of de-escalation, “…where’d you get that?”

The Gallivant reached into the gun’s pintle mounting and inserted the shiv’s sharp point into one of the large screwheads that kept it fastened it to the robot’s arm. She gave a few twists of her wrist and tossed the shiv and the loosened screws aside. Zildiz gave the gun another savage wrench. There was a shriek of rusted metal as she staggered back in surprise, almost falling over from the weight of the weapon she now held clutched to her chest. The bulky feed chute with its thousands of cartridges trailed beneath it along with a tangled mess of wiring. Zildiz pawed at the weapon in a clumsy attempt to activate it.

“Ok-ay,” Exar tried not to seem impressed, “So what’s next? You gonna beat the Commodore’s brains out with that?”

“Fairly straightforward design,” Neroth mused, running a hand over the wires, “If it’s anything like the next generation of helix grafts we’re scheduled to receive, then it should have an alternating electromotive component.”

“You know about next-gen grafts?” Zildiz said with a note of jealousy.

“Uncle Kryptus knows a lot of things,” Neroth said with pride, “Anyways, maybe this is the synaptic that completes the chain?” the boy pointed at a pair of large red buttons on the back of the control unit. Zildiz thumbed the buttons and was sent reeling by an enormous recoil as a stream of tracer rounds chewed the opposite wall to powder, slicing a ceiling panel clean in half before she managed to get her finger off the trigger.

“Ain’t quite as dumb as you seem, are you?” Exar muttered.

“Point us at our target,” Zildiz ordered, “Where is the mainframe?”

“Where do you think it would be?” Rene blurted out. Zildiz looked at him sharply.

“That’s a stupid question. How am I supposed to know that, Fleet-man?”

And indeed, it was. It was mistake pushing for it so soon, but the temptation had proved too great. Rene tried to mask his blunder by clarifying:

“If these Dawning Chambers fulfil the same purpose, then just ask yourself: where would be the most logical place to put them?”

Rene hung on to her next words with bated breath. But to his surprise it was Neroth who fell for his clumsy trap, saying:

“On Arachea such central processing sites are sacred places where we kindreds can commune with the god directly and ask for guidance. As such, they’re grown in neutral places far from the zones of conflict.”

“How does the Vitalus enforce neutrality among the factions?” Rene did his best impression of a clueless outsider overcome with curiosity.

“Easily,” Neroth grinned, clearly finding Rene’s question nonsensical, “Nobody would dare trespass on hallowed ground in the first place. It’d be suicide. Worse, even. The chambers are also where the Vitalus keeps the Hollowores in stasis, ready to defend the site at a moment’s notice. Any single one of those vessels can exterminate an entire kindred.”

Rene didn’t doubt it. The hostile, blimp-like creature which the Vitalus had sent after them had been in the act of levelling a rainforest just to get at him, and would have succeeded if not for Exar’s desperate ramming manoeuvre.

“They must be very important to warrant that sort of protection,” he commented.

“That goes without saying. The chambers double as the decision-making cortexes of the Vitalus,” Neroth nodded.

And there we have it, Rene thought with a rush of satisfaction. A very good start. Now we know that the nodes are simultaneously places of worship, weapon depots and headquarters for the enemy.

Meaning they would have to be huge. Huge enough to stick out even under the canopy of the rainforests. But if that was the case, then why hadn’t the Commodore spotted them with his array of celestial instruments?

Rene caught Zildiz staring at him, the frown on her face deepening. Had she caught on to him?

They were interrupted by a loud groan that sounded like metal shearing, and the ambient lights flickered and went out, replaced moments later by a worrying shade of amber.

“Fascinating input, kiddo,” Exar interjected, “None of which applies to our present predicament. There’s probably an army of combat drones converging on us as we speak. I can’t jam them all. This is not a fight we can win.”

“And we can’t take the shuttle to those asteroid settlements without being shot out of the sky,” Zildiz stood her ground, “If it comes to it, I’d prefer going out on my own terms.”

“You mean uselessly, in a fit of gratuitous violence?” Rene shot back.

“Well, it’s not like Exar has left us much choice now. The Commodore knows something’s gone wrong and he’s coming for us. At this point, it’s us or him.”

Having said her piece, Zildiz planted her feet and pointed the cannon square at the dormitory hatch. It occurred to Rene that she would probably die in that pose, too, as firm and unwavering as a statue. Her face betrayed no emotion save for a slight tightening of her jawline.

It wasn’t much, but Rene seized upon the hope that it presented.

“That might not be true,” he ventured.

“It isn’t?” Neroth and Exar chimed in unison.

“What if…” Rene’s voice cracked under the strain of the moment and he cleared his throat, “…what if I told you I could get into this mainframe. Maybe even destroy it from within. All without having to fight our way through.”

Zildiz’s pupils slid sideways like those of a chameleon, wet and unblinking. Rene hastened to explain:

“I’m supposed to be meeting the Commodore today start my audiomemetic lessons at the command centre—it’s this sort of large switch room at the heart of this place where the Commodore controls things. If what Neroth just told us about the Dawning Chambers applies this base, then the arsenal should be right around the corner—”

“He’s letting you into the command centre? Christ onna cracker, man, but you really shoulda led with that!” Exar interrupted, “If he’s putting you through audiomemetics, then he’ll have to jack you into the terminals there, neural pairing and all.”

“I’m afraid you’ve rather lost me,” Rene confessed.

“That’s fine. You’ll pick it up easy enough once your brainwaves are bouncing around inside; the interface is highly intuitive,” Exar promised, “What’s important is that now we have an opening. If we do things right we can seize total control of this facility.”

“Alright, alright. Okay,” Rene nodded vigorously despite his mounting confusion, “What do you need me to do?”

“Just play along for now and tune into your classes like a good boy. That’s how we get in. That’s how we’ll beat him.”

Harsh klaxons blared from hidden recesses within the walls, and the amber lights strobed like tripflares burning in the night.

“Ahoy down there!” the Commodore’s amplified voice came punching through the bulkheads and the set of airlocks down the hallway, “Are you listening closely?”

Rene cupped his hands to his mouth to shout a reply but stopped when Zildiz twitched the cannon in his direction. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead as she eyed the entrance with the intensity of a cornered animal.

“I’ll take that silence for a yes. Now hear this,” the Commodore continued, voice simmering with barely-restrained rage, “I don’t know what you clowns are up to, but you’ve just interrupted my afternoon siesta! And without my beauty sleep, I’m afraid I can’t be held accountable for my ugly disposition. I’ll give you till the count of ten to surrender. When that time expires, I’ll vent the air in the dormitories and leave you sucking on lemons. Won’t quite achieve vacuum, but I assure you, it’ll damn well feel like it. I know your sort will survive just about anything. Course, without your ectoparasitic enhancements I doubt that’s the case. Care to find out?”

“Look, I get it,” Rene whispered urgently, “All your life, you’ve been told my people are the enemy. My ancestors fought yours and burned down paradise, trapped you in a season of war unending. But there’s just one problem with that story.”

“Yes?” Zildiz said quietly.

“It’s the same one I’ve been hearing all my life, too. I took it for the gospel truth, and never once put a face to that enemy. Till the day I met you.”

Her arms trembled from the weight of the gun. Sensing another opportunity, Rene made his play:

“When I look at you now, all I can see is another soul who’s a long way from home. Maybe your side was right and mine was wrong. Could be it’s the other way around. But does it really matter?”

The Commodore began to count with a sing-song cadence:

“One. Two. Buckle my shoe.”

“Right now it’s just us four against that lunatic out there.” Rene’s voice threatened to crack again, “Do you really want to die over someone else’s squabble from a thousand years ago?”

“Three. Four. Knock at the door.”

The rivets on the hatchway groaned and popped as the pressure within the room changed, vents in the walls sucking in greedily. Rene felt, or at least imagined, the air in the room growing thinner by the moment.

“Zildiz, please,” he begged, “For Sol’s sake…”

“Arvin learned to fly the other day,” Zildiz said, a wistful smile gracing her features, “Back in Cthonis, I mean.”

Rene did a double take.

“Who’s Arvin?”

“My youngest,” she continued obliviously, “Runt of the litter. You should’ve seen him soar. Like a bird on the wing.”

She’s married? Rene thought with a tinge of disappointment that was quickly smothered by embarrassment. Here he was with literal seconds left to live, and yet he was somehow fixating on all the wrong things. Priorities, priorities!

“Five. Six. Pick up your sticks.”

She tossed the cannon at his feet, jolting back him back into focus.

“Don’t make me regret this, Rene.”

For an instant their gazes met and Rene was certain that she would see right through him. He broke off eye contact with a terse nod, then snatched up the weapon and lugged it over to the entrance.

“Seven. Eight. Lay them all—”

“Wait!” Rene hollered, banging on the hatch with his fist.

“That you, ensign?”

“Aye sir.”

“Huh. And here I thought they’d skinned and ate you whole. Why didn’t you speak up earlier?”

His suspicion was palpable. Rene chose his words carefully:

“I was…reasoning with them, sir.”

“And are they reasonable?”

“They’re giving up, if that’s what you mean.”

“Alright then. Grab your ankles and pucker up. I’m coming in.”