Eyeball was genuinely interested in whatever might be in that escape shuttle. Ascension's unusually cagey attitude and refusal to elaborate was strange; the machine was typically cooperative and straightforward; for a moment, he considered the possibility that, somehow, the machine had been hacked, that someone else was controlling it, and that person was onboard; but... he was mostly sure his power would give him some bad vibes if that were the case.
Right? He didn't think it had led him astray before... not really. Aside from the way it had seemingly dragged him into Lightning's path, his own stupid decisions had caused most of his problems.
As he entered the cargo bay, he stopped to study the ongoing movement of the crew. A handful of the Ascension drones were moving around; in more seamless, properly built armor... in the distinctive rusty red-orange he seemed to prefer, with the yellow hammer and sickle emblem in place. The slowly growing fleet of Ascension craft were actually starting to be painted in the same style; as evident by the starfighter drones currently laid out in a neat row next to the shuttles in a somewhat more vivid blood red.
They were still, for some reason, maintaining the facade of being crew rather than machines; the only ones that broke the illusion regularly were the spacecraft themselves.
He studied the Republic shuttle that was settling in to land for a moment, before glancing back to the fighters; would his parents, back during the cold war, have had nightmares of things like this, automated flying Soviet death-ships? It was amusing Ascension still used those symbols and colors, after all this time; and being so far away from Russia.
More of the drones were in the cargo bay now; the Jernal had a vaguely similar body shape, but there were only two among the crew, so the dozens scattered around must be Ascension. They didn't seem to be here for any particular purpose. Was.. there something to worry about? Had his power failed him, and Ascension was about to take him out, setting everything up so he had no way out? Could the machine even do so?
When the shuttle hissed open, Eyeball hadn't even been looking at it; and when he turned back, a drone was dragging some sort of box off of the shuttle; a massive dull grey crate. He frowned, approaching the crate; wondering just what might be in it that was so important.
He heard a cough; and a feminine voice, speaking, surprisingly enough, english. "And what's so interesting about the box?"
"I have no idea. But Ascension seems to..." He looked up at the figure stepping off of the shuttle; and stopped speaking in mid-word, staring.
A woman had just stepped down; average height, athletic build, long black hair, wearing a simple grey vacuum suit that hugged her body tightly, with a helmet under one arm; until that moment he hadn't really thought about the various subtle ways that the different descendants looked just... wrong. The shapes of muscles and bones that didn't quite match humanity and how, while some came closer than others, all of them were just... a bit off.
This one... she was perfect. Not some sort of model, no. But... human. The right skin tone, brown eyes; the right proportions... perhaps a very faint resemblance to Kezia in the shape of the nose? No. A complete stranger He'd never thought that having obvious actual kneecaps would be something that would factor in to attraction, but he looking at this stranger's legs he suddenly realized none of the descendants did.
The woman gave a low chuckle. "I suspect, if I were to take off that helmet, I'd find a look of slackjawed surprise. Take a picture, it'll last longer."
***
In the depths of the void, far from any star, inhabited or not, rested a structure the size of a world, floating amidst an intergalactic dust cloud, far from anything of significance. It gave off no signals to the outside. Looking at it from more than a few light-hours away would reveal nothing but an oddly-shaped rock.
Buried deep in the heart of the structure was an observation deck. A round structure surrounding a small, artificial wormhole; used to maintain contact with other, similar structures, amidst a network that housed trillions of souls. This place was deserted; the numerous occupants of the structure were at play on its various decks; reading, living, enjoying simulations, playing a variety of games whose duration and complexity would boggle the mind of any mortal.
The facility, larger than a stadium, had only a single occupant; as it did at all times, only a single Founder in the entire facility required to be on-duty; thousands of years ago the place was crowded; there were, at times, resurgences of interest in the Descendents; but lately none had really cared.
Technician Lazomb was typical for a Founder; fairly slim, a dull golden yellow color, with three softly glowing yellow eyes; wearing a simple, loose-fitting white robe that had become the latest fashion of the millenia. He was also quite bored; he was part of the extremely long-running series of games on the 142nd level, and was losing a few positions for this shift; the only thing making up for it was the fact that everyone else would, eventually, have to take a turn. He'd exploited someone being on-duty once, centuries ago; and was sure someone else would do the same to him, now.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
He gave a low hiss of displeasure at the thought of a day's absence likely putting him decades behind in positioning; but he would regain his place, in time. He slowly walked in a circle around the main display screen, checking status reports... and frowned. One of them had a blinking red light.
He stepped closer. The screens in this section of the chamber showed detailed reports of the latest round of Descendant experiments; before leaving, they'd gifted the subspecies which had come out closest, mentally, to their creators with a variety of tools and technologies, and stepped back to watch; fully expecting to someday induct this race's descendants in as a new group of Founders once they achieved the two required goals; immortality and, of course, conquest of the galaxy.
For tens of thousands of years, this species... the 'Marrick'... had been expanding through the galaxy, slowly bringing more and more under their control; though so far, their efforts to make themselves immortal had failed. There were ongoing bets as to how long it would take; or even if they would never make it, and the Founders would need to wipe them out and start over.
Once, the Founders had needed to step in. One of the numerous forms of lesser life in the galaxy had arisen as a swarm; reproducing so quickly that they had begun to overwhelm the Marrick. So... A few world-ships had intervened. If it had been some other sub-race of Descendents, they would not have cared; but to have such vermin replace their children? It would ruin the experiment. They couldn't induct some species of snakes as a new member of the Founders.
He studied the displays, frowning, his three eyes drawing closer together as they focused on the figures. He would need to complain to the administrator. The last dozen watchers, at minimum, must have been lax in their duties to have missed this. That blinking red light was a notice of a request for aid from the 'Republic High Council'.
Some unknown alien, claiming to be from another galaxy entirely... and with a massive pile of neutronium... had simply appeared. Demonstrated a variety of advanced technologies, claimed to be immortal, and over the next several months began causing the Marrick no end of problems.
None of this was significant enough to merit notice or concern; the creature's origin was likely a lie. Nothing had ever survived the trip to the closest galaxy in all of their attempts; either the void between galaxies was too deadly to traverse, or something on the other side was eating them when they arrived. But... the most recent step? The creature had somehow weaponized one of the gates, and used it to devastate the Marrick's fleet.
Even worse, it had seemingly coordinated with the lesser races; thousands of smaller strikes had happened at roughly the same time. The Republic's ability to rapidly move its fleet from sector to sector using the gates had been its greatest strength; but with so much of that fleet gone...
This was both terrible news, and excellent news for Lazomb. On the downside, as the watcher to discover the problem, it would now be his job to gather sufficient forces to deal with it. On the positive note, however... his position in the game would be frozen for the duration of the crisis. Hopefully, when this upstart was dealt with, his opponents would have grown lax,and he could secure some new key positions.
He nodded to himself as he started further analyzing the signal traffic. He would need to speak with one of the eldest soon; they hated being awoken, but only they had the codes to command the mighty fleet that would be used to deal with this foolishness; so it was best to have the answers for their questions ready and waiting.
***
Deep in the mausoleums of Klendath, Dancer of Worms and Fire screamed in agony as another spike was driven through his flesh. "I'm here to help you! To guide you! You can do so much more! I can train you! Your children!"
Riik took hold of another silver spike in one massive limb. "There is no help for us." He lined it up carefully. Beneath the steadily bleeding-out form of Dancer, the larger form of one of Riik's warrior brethren was stoically accepting the pain as the alien was being mounted to his carapace; atop the carefully carved markings still fresh with his own blood. "There are no children. And you have taught me enough."
With the last spike in place, he settled his gaze on the fat, helpless creature before him. "We are dying. All of us. We have months, at best, before my species goes extinct. So we will take the last of us... and we will use what you have taught us. We will harness all of the death. The despair. The fury. Every last drop of our own dying misery. And we will shape the last of our children into a curse upon this world that has forsaken us."
He placed one spiked limb over Dancer's fragile, bulbous body. "I must thank you. For giving the death of my people meaning."
Dancer's last vision was of a multifaceted eye suddenly splattered with blood as the spike tore through his flesh; and into the warrior beneath him. Riik watched the creature twitch, and die; before dropping off his his back, to meet the warrior's gaze.
"The rot has begun to take me. I have, at best, days left. The spell is in place. Finish us. And then finish them."
The warrior; long since rendered mute by his own injuries in the war against the monsters; lowered his head in a brief bow, to honor the caretaker; and the copied the earlier movement; ramming one spiked limb through the Klendath's organs, ending him.
He could feel it. A surge of power. Twisted. Angry. The souls of ten billion dead screaming at him for vengeance, which had been building in him since the ritual had begun, days before. He looked at the stars for a moment. Tomorrow. Today, he must grant his people their final mercy.