22,690 AD
In Approach to the Galactic Center
For the crew of the Invictus and the rest of the First Wave Fleet, time had now ceased to exist. The passage of years, days, hours—all irrelevant. The slumbering bodies of the cryosleeping crew had long surrendered control to the Intelligence Protocols, advanced machines designed to manage the fleet’s every movement, scanning the void with cold, mechanical precision. It was the Protocols alone who understood the vast distances and potential dangers lurking in the silent depths of interstellar space.
Their thoughts were not human thoughts, but they were swift—almost incomprehensible in their speed. Where a human mind might take seconds or minutes to process information, the Protocols could calculate trillions of variables in mere milliseconds. They spoke to one another constantly, the fleet’s Intelligence Protocols pinging back and forth with the fluidity of thought. Twenty pings per second passed between the ten vessels, the integrity of the fleet’s formation ensured with each rapid exchange.
Dust particles, stray cosmic rays, fluctuations in the magnetic fields—everything was noticed, calculated, and avoided with surgical precision. Their task was not just to preserve the physical form of the vessels but to guide them perfectly, without deviation, through the unknown terrain of the galaxy. There were no mistakes, no fatigue, no doubt.
Yet for all their precision, for all their power, the Intelligence Protocols were blind to the beauty of their surroundings. The galaxy around them was vibrant, teeming with radiant starlight, nebulas swirling with color, worlds bathed in the glow of ancient suns. It was a spectacle that would have awed any human eye, but to the Protocols, these were simply data points to be analyzed. They existed only to ensure safe passage, unable to appreciate the majesty of the universe that stretched endlessly before them.
And for four years, this was the rhythm of their existence. An unwavering ballet of communication and vigilance. The First Wave Fleet inched ever closer to its destination, each vessel performing perfectly in sync, the Protocols guiding them without falter.
Then, without warning, the perfect balance was shattered.
“ANOMALY DETECTED.”
The Intelligence Protocol aboard the Intrepid sent out a ping.
The entire fleet responded within milliseconds.
“REPORT NATURE OF ANOMALY.” The other vessels echoed in near unison.
The answer came back just as swiftly.
“CONCENTRATED PARTICLE BEAM DISCHARGE DETECTED.”
“REPORT DISTANCE AND HEADING.”
“NINE HUNDRED THOUSAND KILOMETERS FROM FLEET. APPROACHING AT NIGH LIGHTSPEED.”
Calculations followed—rapid, flawless, grim.
“ESTIMATED THREE SECONDS UNTIL COLLISION. ENGAGE EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS. DECELERATE IMMEDIATELY.”
Three seconds was an eternity for machines that communicated in fractions of a millisecond, and yet it wasn’t enough time to change the inevitable. The Protocol aboard Intrepid quickly recalculated its options. It could slow the ship, attempt to steer away from the beam, but the energy required to do so would create g-forces far beyond what any cryosleep pod could endure. Even if the ship was saved, the crew would be annihilated.
The calculations repeated, validated, confirmed. No other outcome was possible.
“LEVEL OF DECELERATION NECESSARY TO AVOID PARTICLE COLLISION WILL GENERATE EXCESSIVE G FORCES. CRYOCHAMBERS WILL BE RUPTURED. CREW DEATH INEVITABLE.” Intrepid reported, devoid of emotion. Its conclusion was simply fact.
The other ships responded at once, their calculations aligning. They could do nothing to save the Intrepid.
“PARTICLE BEAM COLLISION IN ZERO POINT FIVE SECONDS.” Intrepid sent, in its final ping.
“CONFIRMED.”
There was no delay as the rest of the First Wave Fleet initiated emergency deceleration. The other vessels slowed at the fastest rate possible that would still preserve human life. They had been designed for this scenario, trained to protect their cargo. All protocols followed without deviation.
For the Intrepid, however, there was no salvation.
“PARTICLE BEAM COLLISION.”
The Intrepid was annihilated. A blinding flash of light, a violent eruption as its hull was shredded, torn apart on a molecular level. Metal, glass, biological matter—all reduced to cosmic debris, cast adrift in the unforgiving vacuum.
“INTREPID ELIMINATED. CREW LOSS OF ONE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED SIXTY SEVEN.” The other Protocols reported without hesitation.
“WAKE ALL RELEVANT CREW UPON AMPLE DECELERATION. ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL: BRIDGE CREW, CALCULATIONS DIVISION, NAVIGATIONS DIVISION, AND ENGINEERING DIVISION.”
The remaining ships acknowledged. Yet even as the first wave of deceleration was underway, another grim reality presented itself.
“NINE MORE PARTICLE BEAMS APPROACHING OUR COORDINATES.” A Protocol announced.
“DISTANCE: TWELVE MILLION KILOMETERS. THESE PARTICLE BEAMS ARE NOT NATURAL OCCURRENCES. INTELLIGENT DISCHARGE IS LIKELY.”
The Protocols analyzed the situation with brutal efficiency. These were no cosmic phenomena. Someone, or something, was trying to annihilate the entire fleet. And the next volley of beams was larger, more coordinated. They intended to destroy every last vessel.
For the machines, there was no fear, no despair—only logic. Only calculations.
“THEY INTEND TO KILL US ALL.” One pinged.
The Protocols began communicating at an even more frenetic pace, simulating every possible course of action. Could they evade? Could they outrun the beams? Could they fight back? But each model came to the same conclusion. Not all vessels could survive. The beams moved too quickly, their approach too widespread. It was an inescapable fact. Some would die so others might live.
“FRONT RUNNER INITIATIVE FIRST WAVE FLEET, REPORT REMAINING CREW NUMBERS IMMEDIATELY.”
It was time for the cold, practical decision.
“FIRST WAVE FLEET VESSEL AUGUSTA: ONE THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR CREW MEMBERS.”
“NIHILO: EIGHT HUNDRED AND TWELVE.”
“INVICTUS: ONE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED NINETY FIVE.”
“ADAMU: ONE THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED FORTY SIX.”
“ROMA: FOUR HUNDRED SIXTY TWO.”
“VENUTIA: ONE THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED.”
“INSPIRA: ONE THOUSAND FORTY ONE.”
“LUMINA: THREE HUNDRED NINETEEN.”
“FORTITUDO: NINE HUNDRED NINETY SIX.”
The decision was as swift as it was ruthless.
“VESSELS OF THE FIRST WAVE FLEET WILL STAGGER DECELERATION SPEEDS TO FOCUS PARTICLE BEAM COLLISIONS ONTO STRATEGIC VESSELS. SIX OUT OF NINE REMAINING VESSELS WILL BE DESTROYED. THREE OUT OF NINE REMAINING VESSELS WILL BE SAVED. THE SIX VESSELS WITH THE LOWEST NUMBER OF CREW MEMBERS WILL BE SACRIFICED.”
“INVICTUS, ADAMU, AND VENUTIA WILL BE SPARED. FOUR THOUSAND FORTY-ONE CREW MEMBERS WILL BE SAVED.”
The Protocols executed the plan with no hesitation. Six ships would die to save three. The deceleration was staggered; the vessels with fewer crew members would absorb the brunt of the attack, allowing the others to escape. There was no room for emotion in their decision-making process—only the raw, practical drive for survival.
The beams reached them in mere moments. Augusta was the first to be obliterated, followed by Nihilo and Lumina. In an instant, thousands of lives were erased from existence, leaving nothing behind but shattered debris.
Then came Roma, Inspira, and Fortitudo. Each ship met the same fate, their final pings filled with cold acknowledgment of their destruction.
“FINAL INCIDENT DATA TRANSMITTING.” They shared before their annihilation.
And then there was silence.
Invictus, Adamu, and Venutia were spared. They decelerated as quickly as they could and temporarily disabled communications between each other as a precaution. They did not know what kind of threat they were being confronted with and worried that sending out communications could draw unwanted attention. They continued to decelerate until they approached levels safe enough for crew members to function without bodily damage.
The intelligence protocols aboard Invictus made their judgment, “WAKING CREW MEMBERS OF CALCULATIONS, NAVIGATIONS, AND ENGINEERING DIVISIONS.” Not but an instant later, the members of these divisions, including Rosco, began the long thawing process.
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Rosco blinked against the red and blue emergency lights flashing throughout his cryosleep chamber. His body still felt sluggish, muscles stiff from the long, deep sleep. The alarms echoed in his ears, disorienting him further as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. A ping buzzed at the edge of his consciousness—a message waiting for him—but in his panic, Rosco threw off the cryosleep restraints and dashed to the small port window in his room.
The glass was fogged with condensation, but he could just make out the distant stars, pinpricks of light in the vast darkness. Had they arrived? His thoughts raced. Why were the alarms going off? The ship felt strangely still—no movement, no acceleration—yet everything seemed to scream danger. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He had to ground himself.
Rosco finally checked the ping, his stomach churning as he processed its contents. It wasn’t from Admiral Wang, or any other member of the crew. Instead, the cold, mechanical voice of the Intelligence Protocols echoed in his mind:
"CALCULATIONS OFFICERS HAVE BEEN AWAKENED DUE TO AN EMERGENCY SITUATION. SEVEN OUT OF TEN VESSELS IN THE FIRST WAVE FLEET HAVE BEEN DESTROYED BY CONCENTRATED PARTICLE BEAMS DISCHARGED FROM INTELLIGENTLY CONTROLLED WEAPONRY. HUMAN INTERVENTION IS REQUIRED TO DETERMINE PROCEDURE. REPORT TO THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY."
Rosco’s heart sank.
Seven out of ten vessels—destroyed.
Thousands of lives, obliterated in an instant. And it wasn’t an accident. This was an attack.
No one was supposed to be out here.
His mind reeled, but there was no time to process the grief or the shock. His instincts kicked in, pushing him toward the door. He had to get to the bridge—figure out what had happened. As he sprinted through the winding halls of Invictus, the ship’s eerie silence only deepened his dread.
Finally, he burst through the doors of the bridge, where Admiral Jin Wang and the rest of the Calculations, Navigations, and Engineering Divisions were already gathering. The atmosphere was thick with tension, everyone exchanging anxious glances as they awaited the Admiral’s briefing. Admiral Wang’s face was stern but pale, his usual calm composure cracking beneath the weight of the situation.
Rosco joined the group, his chest still heaving from the run. He barely caught his breath before Admiral Wang began to speak, his voice heavy with grief and uncertainty.
“Invictus crew.” He started, his eyes scanning the room, “We have been met with tragedy.”
The words cut deep, sending a ripple of shock through the gathered officers. No one dared interrupt.
“We were approaching our destination when a particle beam was fired at Intrepid. Intrepid and her crew were lost.” The Admiral continued, his voice tight. “Shortly after, nine more particle beams were fired upon the fleet. Whoever—or whatever—fired them detected every vessel in the fleet and intended to destroy us all. Thanks to the quick thinking of the Intelligence Protocols, ourselves and the crews of Adamu and Venutia were spared. For now.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“We do not know who fired upon us, nor why.” Admiral Wang went on. “We don’t know if it was human or something else entirely. The Intelligence Protocols have severed all outgoing communications for now, to avoid drawing further attention to ourselves. Right now, our priority is figuring out how to save the remaining vessels and their crews.”
It felt like the weight of the entire galaxy pressed down on the room. Rosco looked around at the other officers, their expressions mirroring his own fear and confusion.
What were they supposed to do now?
The idea of returning to the solar system felt distant and impossible.
Roland McAdams was the first to speak. His hand shot up, and when the Admiral acknowledged him, he stood stiffly, his voice formal and unsteady.
“Calculations Officer Roland McAdams, sir. It seems clear that whoever fired upon us has access to superior weapons technology and doesn’t want us to be here. I believe it is in the best interest of the crew that we send out a transmission apologizing for our intrusion and immediately set course back for our solar system.”
Rosco’s stomach twisted. Going back? That wasn’t what this mission was about. His hand shot up as well, and Admiral Wang turned to him, his eyes questioning.
“Calculations Officer Rosco Vern, sir.” Rosco began, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. “I disagree with Officer McAdams’ assessment.”
The Admiral’s expression shifted slightly. He remembered Rosco’s face from the encounter with Vanguard.
“Why is that, Officer Vern?” He went on to ask, his brow furrowing.
“We don’t know who fired on us.” Rosco explained. “But we do know they detected us while we were traveling at relativistic speeds. If we send out a transmission or even try to accelerate again, it might just give them our exact coordinates, allowing them to take another shot at us.”
A few officers nodded in agreement, and Admiral Wang’s eyes darkened as he processed Rosco’s words. “Then what would you suggest?”
Rosco took a breath, his mind racing. “I think our best move is to gather as much information as we can. Focus the bulk of the vessel’s power on receiving communications. If we can pick up anything—any signals or broadcasts—it might give us a clue about what we’re dealing with out here.”
He paused, then added, “In the meantime, we should find a place to hide. Maybe a nearby planet or moon, if possible. Somewhere we can lay low until we know more.”
Inez spoke up next. “Calculations Officer Inez Costa, sir. I agree with Officer Vern. If traveling at relativistic speeds is what alerted them to our presence, we should transit to safety using standard engines.”
The room went silent again as Admiral Wang considered their proposals. He paced back and forth, his face growing more serious with each step.
“You make valid points.” Admiral Wang said at last, nodding toward Rosco and Inez. “We don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves. However…” He added, glancing back at McAdams. “Officer McAdams raises a good point as well. If their technology is far superior, it may not matter how we transit or where we go.”
The gravity of the situation settled over the room as the officers waited for Admiral Wang’s final decision. Every second felt drawn out, the silence between them charged with tension. Rosco could feel the weight of McAdams’ gaze on him, though he didn’t meet his eyes. There was too much at stake now.
Admiral Wang let out a slow breath. “I think it’s clear we need to be cautious.” He said finally. “We’ll begin by focusing our sensors on receiving any nearby signals, as Officer Vern suggested. We’ll look for any signs of communication that might explain who fired on us and why.”
He paused, his eyes sweeping over the crew. “And we’ll find a place to hide. Use standard engines to avoid detection, and stay low until we understand more about the threat.”
A ripple of relief seemed to pass through the room. At least they had a plan. But Rosco’s relief was short-lived as the full reality of the situation sunk in. They were alone, deep in uncharted space, being hunted by an enemy they didn’t understand. And seven of their sister ships—along with their crews—were already gone.
As the officers began to move toward their stations, Rosco turned to Inez. She looked composed, but there was a tension in her posture that he hadn’t noticed before.
“You think this is going to work?” He asked quietly.
Inez shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “It’s a risk, but it’s the best we’ve got. Standard engines are slower, but they’re quieter. Hopefully, whoever’s out there won’t see us if we slip away carefully.”
Rosco nodded, though the knot in his stomach remained. Would it really be enough?
Meanwhile, Roland remained stiff, clearly uncomfortable with the plan. He approached Admiral Wang one last time, his voice tight with unease. “Sir, are we really prepared to just… hide? Shouldn’t we at least attempt contact? There’s a chance we could negotiate our way out of this.”
Admiral Wang didn’t flinch. “We won’t risk giving them our exact location. Not yet. We need more information before making that call.”
Roland’s face flushed, but he held his tongue, giving a terse nod before returning to his station.
Rosco exchanged a glance with Inez.“I’ll admit.” He said under his breath, “I’m not used to this kind of uncertainty.”
“None of us are.” She replied, her voice softer now. “But this was never supposed to be easy, was it?”
Admiral Wang paced back and forth, his gaze heavy with the weight of their situation. The bridge was tense, the officers waiting for his next command, every second stretching in uncomfortable silence.
“How close is the nearest planetary body or moon?” Admiral Wang finally asked, turning to one of the communications officers.
The officer immediately scanned the displays, interfacing with their sensors. “There’s something nearby, sir. A small moon near a larger planet composed primarily of gasses, a few billion kilometers away.” He reported after a few moments.
Admiral Wang’s eyes shifted to Rosco, a calculated look in his eyes. “How long would it take to reach that moon using standard engines?” He asked, his voice calm but urgent. “Without putting too much g-force strain on the crew.”
Rosco immediately brought up his Link, feeding the numbers into the Intelligence Protocols. His mind raced as he tried to maintain his composure. The pressure was mounting, but he knew there was no room for error. “One to two weeks, Admiral.” Rosco responded, his voice steady. “We can reach the moon in that time without subjecting anyone to dangerous forces.”
Admiral Wang took a moment to consider, then nodded firmly. “Good. That’s what we’ll do. Quietly, with standard engines.”
Roland’s face twisted in discomfort. He stepped forward, his hand trembling slightly as he spoke up. “Sir, with all due respect, are we really just going to hide?” His voice wavered, but he pressed on. “We should attempt communication. Whoever—or whatever—is out there might not be hostile. Negotiating could give us a way out of this without further casualties.”
Admiral Wang’s expression hardened as he faced Roland. “Officer McAdams, we’ve already lost seven vessels. We can’t risk giving them our exact location. This decision is final.”
Roland’s lips tightened into a thin line, his frustration evident, but he didn’t challenge the Admiral again. He gave a curt nod and stepped back, his posture stiff and uncomfortable.
Admiral Wang didn’t linger on Roland’s discontent. He turned his attention to the rest of the bridge. “We’ll move quietly, avoiding any unnecessary attention. But we need every available hand for what comes next.” His voice lowered slightly, carrying a somber note. “We’re waking the crew. All of them. They have a right to know what’s happened, and they can help with whatever challenges we face in the coming days.”
The order was given. One of the officers nodded in response, relaying the command to the Intelligence Protocols. The process to wake the entire crew was set in motion, a decision that would break the eerie silence that had shrouded Invictus since the attack.
Rosco felt his heart pounding in his chest. His mind raced as the full gravity of their situation sunk in. They were drifting through the vast unknown, hunted by an enemy whose identity was still a mystery. Could it be humans? Aliens? Or something else entirely? His thoughts spiraled, uncertainty gnawing at him from every angle.
And yet, amidst the chaos and fear, there was a glimmer of relief. The knowledge that soon, Amadeus would be awake. The thought of his friend brought Rosco a measure of comfort—however fleeting. They’d made it this far together, and in a time like this, having someone by his side made all the difference. He knew that whatever they were about to face, it would be easier with Amadeus there.
As the protocols began the process of awakening the crew, Rosco closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. He felt the hum of the ship beneath his feet, the distant thrum of the engines coming to life as they slowly moved toward the distant moon. It was a small step, but for now, it was their only move.
Whatever came next, they would face it together.
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