Outside of the projected viewscreen of the cockpit the spaceborne traffic had become a dizzying spectacle of thruster lights and patrolling stellar ships as the Ascendancy Royal Navy’s orbital patrols organized the hundreds of starships seeking entry to the system capital and settled many into safe holding patterns.

This close to the planet, it was primarily Corvettes and Frigates that did the proverbial heavy lifting, accompanied by fighter patrols acting as direct-contact and eyes-on security for any potential threats or unwanted visitors within the milling tide of arriving vessels.

That was only half the picture, though.

While the incoming traffic was organized to their right, the outgoing traffic was organized to their left, and though it was only half as populated; it was clear that such an event was largely due to how smoothly the planetary controllers were coordinating the movements.

That was largely thanks to the intricate network of tachyon relays spread throughout the system and linked into a central receiver array built on the surface of Hellas itself, Arthur knew. The array, if it were anything like those on other planets, would have an entire city’s worth of power generation dedicated solely to its operation—and a literal city of staff, defenders, and maintainers whose singular purpose was the immense structure’s continued operation.

Every planet had a SYSCOM—System Communications Array—somewhere within the heart, which allowed it to transmit in real-time to everything up to and slightly beyond a star system’s Calypso points, outside of the Heliosphere.

Without such technology, even the most rudimentary communications between in-system planets and starships would take hours.

Arthur knew better than to ask where the Ascendancy’s SYSCOM was located, however. That information was hardly relevant to him, and more than that was considered a faux pas in most civilized star systems. It was like asking someone where their vital weak points were.

“Incoming transmission from the docking authority.” Perseus said abruptly. “They’re hailing us.”

“So late?” Arthur asked.

“We sent the flight path ahead, but there’s too much traffic to worry about us until we’re in range.” Perseus explained without missing a beat. “Besides, Kidemónes vessels sometimes like to take random detours. The Iris authority won’t bother with most ships until they’re close enough to bother with. The Navy handles the ones outside that scope.”

“Put it on screen.” Atreus commanded.

“Yes, sir.” Perseus replied dutifully while reaching out to flick one of a multitude of switches on his console.

The image of a professional brunette woman with a uniform very similar to that of the Asfalís police officers appeared in the center of the screen, and she swept the four of them with alert eyes. Her gaze settled briefly on Arthur in what he registered as genuine surprise before moving to instead focus on Atreus, at which point he saw her visibly stiffen when the Myrmidón’s presence fully registered.

“Αρχοντας Μυρμῐδόνες! Δεν ενημερωθήκαμε ότι θα ήσουν—”

“Per design, Anthypoploiarchós—” a rank which Arthur mentally translated as ‘First Lieutenant’ in English “—and as was necessary. Your lack of information on my travel plans should be as expected, given the necessities of my station. Are we clear to proceed into the Iris?”

Another look of surprise stole over the woman at what Arthur assumed was Atreus’ very intentional use of English, and she glanced at Arthur again in clear wonder before turning back to the Myrmidón. “Yes, my lord.” She responded in kind. “There are three vessels currently making the transition, but the restricted lane is free of traffic per your request. The Navy didn’t like it, but—”

“I’m sure you handled them admirably.” Atreus said coldly. “That will be all, Anthypoploiarchós.”

The woman snapped a salute at Atreus’ clear dismissal. “My lord.”

The line terminated a moment later, and Arthur glanced at the tall Spartan thoughtfully.

“You’re pretty terrifying, aren’t you?”

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“When I need to be.” Atreus responded in a tone that was almost amused.

“I’m going to need to brush up on my Greek.” Arthur said half to himself.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a proper translator device yet.” Perseus said from nearby while maneuvering the shuttle.

The knowledge hit him this time like a freight train, and Arthur knew that he didn’t have one because he’d never needed it in the Core—where English and Terran were mandatory tongues—and had not had time to correct the lack during his journey to Aurelia, and subsequent linking up with the Enterprising Fortune. That was partially thanks to Aurelia’s own language preferences, of course.

“It was never necessary in Aurelia.” Arthur said a moment after the memory crash settled. “The mother tongue there is English, and the only other thing spoken nearly as much is French. Both languages are similar enough that I never needed to worry about it.”

“Greek is absolutely not similar to English.” Perseus laughed.

“It definitely isn’t.” Arthur agreed.

“A translator device will be waiting for us when we land.” Atreus said simply. “I’ve sent the message ahead. It was an oversight none of us caught.”

“I see.” Arthur said with a glance at the Myrmidón, and a nod. “Thanks, Atreus.”

The tall Myrmidón simply grunted in response and Arthur turned his attention back to the viewscreen while their destination drew closer.

The Iris.

Focusing on it for the first time, Arthur had to admit that the Graecians had built their version of the universal construct with style. Two massive steel renditions of both Leonidas and Pericles—the namesakes of both the Kings of Hellas—lay on either side of the Iris’ ‘space-side’ ring, and ‘atop’ the Iris relative to Hellas’ northern pole lay a beautiful rendition of the ancient goddess Hestia, the lady of the hearth and home.

It was a beautiful example of culture married to form.

The Iris itself was a colossal ring structure that lay in permanent fixed position above a planet, held in place by the immense power of the world’s protective shield. The diameter of the circle was close to ten kilometers, and the thickness of the metal was such that even the King Alexander would have trouble damaging it in a meaningful way without considerable time and focused effort.

Its outer layer sat ‘atop’ the shield by way of frequency-plating that allowed the alloy it was built from to ‘match’ the unique signature of a planet’s shield, thereby allowing it to make contact without being summarily detonated by the raw energy.

For the purpose of security, there were quadrillions of different frequencies for a planetary shield’s energy signature, and even within those quadrillions lay pentillions of different combinations one might use to make it further unique.

For that reason, deciphering the frequency of a planet’s shield—and thereby making it useless—was essentially impossible, even with the most powerful military-grade AI in the humanosphere working at it for a hundred years straight.

While the top of the Iris, a circular structure not unlike a massive gate with three shielded ‘prongs’ extended into the void sat atop the shield, its lower half was partially submerged inside the shield—which was an energy barrier several dozen meters thick. This lower half of Iris formed an accessible ‘gate’ around its interior, which was safe from the effects of the planetary shield and could allow traffic to move freely in and out of the planet’s protective blanket.

That was not to say that the Iris itself was lacking in defenses.

Enough plasma turrets, point-defense batteries, and electromagnetic rail cannons were built into the ‘prongs’ and outer circle of the entrance point. At a moment’s notice, the Iris could unleash a fusillade of fire strong enough to kill capital ships in moments—and that was to say nothing of the two lunar fortresses orbiting protectively around the shielded planet even then.

All told, the Iris was both the single most vulnerable point to a planet’s defenses, and its single most vital point of control. If the Iris were destroyed or rendered inoperable, the only conceivable way to escape from Hellas would be to disable the shield from the planet’s surface, which would open the entire world not simply to the possibility of mass invasion and bombardment; but potential catastrophe in the form of forgotten kinetic munitions or random spaceborne debris.

Even starships accelerating too fast toward its surface.

The planetary shields had been a crucial necessity for interstellar colonization, especially after more than one human world had been killed by each of the aforementioned cataclysmic occurrences several times in their species’ history.

The age of interstellar madness, during the Transhumanist-Geneticist wars of the 22nd Century, had taken lives in the tens of billions before the end.

“We’re being guided into the priority access line at the top of the Iris, my lord.” Perseus reported while the shuttle soared toward the only accessible entrance to Hellas.

“Take us in, Andino.”