(Aphrodite Colony, Venus)
Emperor Travis looked in the mirror of the dressing room that had been provided for him. The negotiations with the powerful AI that controlled this colony had been quite fruitful. It seemed that the century of exile had left the AI in an appropriately humble mood, and it had wanted to rejoin the Empire again.
As any right thinking individual ought.
As tribute, the AI had offered up the most vexing ability that the Nomads possessed, Immortality. Travis did not understand the technical details the AI had used, but apparently in its exile it had forged vast server farms from the materials in Venus’s rocky soil, allowing it to process information far faster than any normal computer could. In the several months the Nomads had been traipsing about the galaxy, doing as they pleased, Deus had spent the equivalent of several decades studying them, after one foolish Nomad had, apparently, managed to circumvent the fleet base above, and got captured by the AI.
That research had gleaned the truth of their immortality, and some of their other unique abilities. It had even uncovered a secret communications network that only Nomads could use, which would have allowed spies and traitors to send information to contacts across Known Space without any Imperial forces being the wiser!
Such a thing could not be allowed to pass unchecked. Travis would not allow any threats to develop against his empire. They would be torn out, root and branch, and cast into the fire, making the galaxy safe for all citizens of the Empire. The citizens would love him for the safety and security he would provide for them. Even the Xeno slaves would come to fear and respect his might. He would lead the Empire to a new golden age!
But first, he needed the power of immortality. Travis stripped off his clothing, and considered himself in the mirror. He was not normally known for being vain, but he could not help but appreciate his own form at times. His genes were, of course, perfect, and he had gone through extensive modifications over the years, so that now he looked like a god straight from the myths of ancient times, well-muscled, and with an impressive ‘hammer’ between his legs that his pleasure slaves and lovers had always appreciated. Conditioned both by genes and training for strength and endurance, Travis might not be in the same category as the brutes that filled out the heavy infantry in terms of raw power, but he could not but admit to being in the top 1% of the 1% of humanity’s gene pool.
He was not ashamed of his nakedness, though he did not make a habit of strutting around without some measure of protection. After all, it was far easy for an assassin to strike you down if you weren’t wearing armor. Even if he achieved immortality, royal clothing and powered armor gave an image of strength that his subjects and enemies alike would understand all too well. That would prevent many foolish attempts on his life, allowing his spymasters to focus on the ones that truly mattered.
Now, though, he walked across the drab, grey room, lit only by a murky pool swirling with chemicals. To one side, several of his Palace guards were waiting, and watching. In front of them was the physical avatar the AI had selected for this meeting, a servitor drone in the likeness of a man with a long, angular face, neatly trimmed goatee, a black turban upon his head, and robes of black and purple in an old Arabic style. In one hand, it held a scepter shaped like a cobra. For some reason, the AI chuckled as it called this drone ‘Jafar’.
Travis looked at his small audience, and said, “Now is the hour of our destiny! Now is the hour of our triumph! For too long, the Empire has been held back by those who would deny us our birthright! Now we take the universe into our own hands! With the secrets of immortality within our grasp, the Empire shall reign eternal, and all the galaxy shall be under our rule! Whether they are traitors or xenos, none shall stand against the might of the Immortal Terrans!”
Turning to look at the pool, Travis said, “But first We must be reborn into immortality! The powers of the Nomads are now Ours for the taking. We shall bathe in the pools of Venus, and when We emerge, We will bring destruction and death to those who thought to deny Our rule, and risk civil war on the brink of our new conflict with the Confederation! All witness the glory of the Empire!”
As one, the Guards snapped to attention, and there was a clashing of gauntlets against armor plates as they saluted, and replied, “HAIL THE EMPEROR! GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!”
The Jafar drone watched the guards, and then copied the salute, in a manner one might expect of a creature not used to physical interaction. With a smile upon its face, the drone said, in a low, seductive tone, “Glory to the Empire, indeed!”
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Travis nodded, and then steeled himself. The AI had told him that this would not be a pleasant experience. Gaining immortality had a price, as all things did, and for this, the price was pain, immeasurable pain. With the resolve to hold, no matter what happened, he entered the bath, until he was chest deep in the chemicals.
It started as an itching, and then a slight burning, all over his body. As the pain grew worse, it finally grew to the point where Travis could no longer keep from screaming. He looked back to the drone, and saw it still standing there, smiling… no, smirking!
It was only in the moment before he lost consciousness that he wondered whether the AI had dared lie to him.
(CNS Yesbalar, Jagloth Orbit)
“…have no other choice. The civilians in the ships and station can still be saved, but Jagloth is lost. Destroy the infected stations immediately. I don’t know how, but sensors say the attack we made on those coordinates we were given anonymously caused the Legion to become disoriented temporarily. Trawarin will give you a second distraction. The infected stations must be destroyed in this time.”
Captain Aimi Pranxo, one of the few Felisan officers in the Confederate Navy, nodded gravely. “Understood, Commodore. The stations will be eliminated. Sylkranna, Herven, and Shadove all have target locks. Yesbalar and Glory of Aynov are maintaining anti-missile cover for the station.”
Pranxo winced as she her readouts saw the Trawarin getting hit by multiple nanite missiles. The doomed ship’s bridge crew began screaming and scratching at their skin as the nanites began infecting them, but Commodore Eladisys gritted his teeth to keep a semblance of composure. “Good. Good. As my… last command as – ugh! – Commodore of the Quarantine Group, I am i-issuing Standing Order 666. Auth—mph! – authorization Alpha-Echo-One-One-Two-One-Eight-Three. Do your duty, Commodore.” And then the screen cut out, as the Trawarin’s reactor shut off the magnetic bottles on the antimatter stores, bathing the ship in instant annihilation.
It was a portent of things to come.
Captain – no, Commodore Pranxo sighed, and entered a series of commands on the screen set next to her command chair. The forms that had to be signed and acknowledged by the ship’s AI for what she was about to do were long, complicated, and worded with the most dire of warnings for those who failed to complete them properly. As one might expect of Standing Order 666. By the time she had finished filling out the forms, the three infected stations were already destroyed. Only Satsuki Station remained.
The acting Commodore took a breath, and stood from her command chair. “Communications, open a channel to the squadron, and to all ships within range. Put it over ship speakers as well, so the crew can hear.”
She waited, and once the communications officer gave her a nod, she began. “To all the Officers and Enlisted of the Special Quarantine Group, and to all the civilians within the sound of my voice, I ask for your attention. I am Acting Commodore Aimi Pranxo of the CNS Yesbalar, and command of the Quarantine Group was passed to me before Commodore Eladisys was lost with the Trawarin.”
“For those of us who wear the uniform, our highest purpose is to be the shield that protects the Citizens of the Confederation, and the sword that strikes at those who would harm them. The Trawarin is dead, lost with all souls aboard. The men and women of Trawarin died as heroes to the Confederation, protecting civilians from a fate worse than death. I have noted their sacrifice in the official logs which shall be delivered to the Admiralty this day.”
“For weeks, you have seen the horrors running rampant on Jagloth, despite our best efforts to contain the threat of the so-called ‘Legion Virus’. For weeks, we have tried, and failed, to discover a cure, a way to help the poor souls who have been trapped within a waking nightmare as the force behind the Legion turns their bodies and souls into little more than puppets to be used as chattel. And for weeks, we have seen the Legion adapt, and find new ways to try and escape the quarantine imposed upon them.”
“Before he died, Commodore Eladisys invoked Standing Order 666 of the Confederation Constitution. As of this moment, Jagloth is considered a clear and present threat to the safety and security of the Confederation as a whole, a threat that cannot be contained or eliminated through conventional means. As the senior ranking officer of a Special Quarantine Group, it is my duty to carry out the actions proscribed in the Standing Order.”
“What we do here this day is an act of horror beyond imagination. It is an act that no Officer should ever have to contemplate in a just and kind universe. It is an act of utter evil, born of desperation and the knowledge that not acting would be a far greater evil.”
She paused, gathered her thoughts for a moment. This next part would haunt her sleep, to say nothing of her career, for the rest of her life. “Weapons Control, arm the Bra Crematorium Vapen.”
The weapons officer gulped, but did as he was told. “Weapons ready, Commodore.”
“Target the southern continent. Ready to fire upon my command.”
“Target locked. Ready to fire on your command.”
“By the authority invested in me by the Confederation Senate and the Confederate Navy, I, Acting Commodore Aimi Pranxo of the CNS Yesbalar, declare that the planet Jagloth shall be purged under the Exterminatus Protocols as listed in Standing Order 666 and Section 3.14.159 of the Constitution of the Confederation of Allied Planets. Lieutenant Mattox, I order you to fire.”
The Yesbalar was a Heroic-class destroyer, not typically something that one could count on to ‘purge’ an entire planet. But each ship in a Special Quarantine Group was issued a single special torpedo, one that no sane person hoped they would ever be forced to use, one that took fifteen minutes to arm so that one could not fire it in haste. It was the Bra Crematorium Vapen, chillingly named in one of the languages of Earth, where its creator had originated from. It had only one purpose, to enact the Exterminatus Protocols, should they be invoked.
A single torpedo left Yesbalar, and when it hit, a world burned. The atmosphere caught flame, the fire spreading to every corner of the globe, destroying all organic material on the surface of the planet. The seas and rivers were boiled away, and habitats that had formerly been underwater were not spared the fire. For a full day, the fire burned. There was no atmosphere remaining, no water, and the only living creatures was Leash Lord, with a pair of his Legion in the bodies of hot knelfi women, who had been ‘entertaining’ him as he recovered from being sent to a reset unexpectedly, and even then, it was only because they were far underground. They died not long after, unable to escape their bunker prison, starving to death (again and again, in Leash Lord’s case).
Pranxo watched as the fire began to burn. “May the Creators have mercy on our souls.”