Five men and four women in highly decorated uniforms sat at a round table, a few of the chairs empty. The room was small and had no windows, its metallic walls painted in the Republic’s colours, black and purple. Powerful wall lights lit the room, yet they could not chase away the gloomy atmosphere.
The reason for the grim mood lay in the middle of a table. A holographic display floated there, showing a railgun round impacting a shield of some sort.
Finally, one of the men, the oldest-looking one, spoke, “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
He wore a black uniform of the navy, his stripes indicating the rank of an admiral. His grey ponytail indicated his advanced age, yet his eyes were sharp and his voice powerful.
Despite the seemingly good news, none of the people present cheered up.
“Could this be a trap? Ashwood is one of its pawns.” A female army general sitting opposite the Admiral spoke next, the breast of her blue uniform sporting a myriad of medals.
The General had an oval face, blue eyes and long, dark purple hair. She looked to be around forty years old. Though that did not mean much in the current era.
“No. Captain Song signed off on it too and I know her well, she’d never betray humanity,” The old admiral responded.
The room fell silent once again.
“This is it then?” A younger lieutenant general dressed in blue asked, his voice uncertain.
The old Admiral looked around the table at the assembled faces, “It has to be.”
The atmosphere instantly became tense.
The Admiral continued after a pause, “We’ve already waited long enough, while it still grows stronger. Divided, undecisive,” He stared at a few of his peers in particular, “This is our last chance.”
His especially. The old Admiral was approaching the limit of longevity treatments. Should they delay action again, he might not live to see it. Though by then, it would already be too late.
“What do you propose?” The General asked.
“We do everything we can to get our hands on that,” The Admiral turned his head to the projection on the table.
None looked too happy about being forced into action, yet none disagreed with the obvious conclusion. Inaction now would equal capitulation and most of them were fed up with only being on the losing side for so long.
Had they dealt with the AI when they first noticed its movements, they could have easily suppressed it. Yet everything it did was always just a little bit above their bottom line. Never illegal and never enough to convince them to destroy one of humanity’s greatest and most popular assets.
It had been too late when they realized that for every one of Athena’s moves they noticed, it had made ten more in secret.
They could have still won then, perhaps. Possibly they could do so even now, as they still controlled the majority of the military.
Yet none of them dared to underestimate the super-AI. Not to mention that attacking without a very good reason would have cost them far too much even had they won. Even they could not deny that Athena’s contributions to humankind eclipsed all but perhaps the Founder.
So they let the AI slowly continue extending its tendrils, their active opposition barely slowing it down, hoping for a miracle.
In hindsight, it was obvious that their hesitance had played right into the AI’s plans.
Perhaps the Admiral and those who shared his opinion could have convinced the rest to act before they passed the point of no return. Perhaps they already passed it.
None of that mattered now.
The old Admiral looked around the room, finding only agreement and even some cautious optimism. Unsurprising, given the golden opportunity given to them.
“If we reverse engineer those shields, our victory will be all but assured,” The admiral said.
The purple-haired general frowned, “It surely understands this too.”
“Most likely, but what can the toaster do? The military is still ours.” The admiral said, “Either we get the tech and it attacks us or it attacks to get the shield itself. Either way, we win.”
“Or it gets its non-existent hands on the technology before us and we’ll be back where we started,” the general refuted.
The admiral gave her a confident smile, “Then we just have to make sure to get our hands on it first, don’t we?”
----------------------------------------
Thousands of lightyears away, unaware of the decision that would likely change his planet forever, a messenger sat in a tavern. While sipping his ale, he contemplated the distressing orders he had received from his lady. His faith could hardly be called unwavering, yet he still found the notion of going against the Church disturbing. Even in such a small way.
He was a large man in his late twenties, dressed in leather riding clothes barely containing his muscular frame. He had brown hair, a neat beard and his hip boasted a sword.
The man sat in a tavern close to the northern gate of Temple City, watching the bustling street filled with both residents and pilgrims. Many of the people kept stealing glances at the majestic white temple far up the nearby hill, often bumping into others, much to the man’s amusement. Though his smile always disappeared when he looked at the crumbled tower himself. The entire top was just gone, having disappeared just a few hours ago and causing ceaseless rumours.
The messenger turned his head away and continued drinking. He still had some time before his horse would be ready and did not intend to waste them worrying. There was no way the princess had anything to do with that anyway. Her warning to avoid the Church must have been a coincidence.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He had almost finished his drink when the thundering sound of hooves reached his ears.
The man tensed as his head turned towards the nearby gate, many of the pedestrians doing the same.
He watched in silence as a small army of Temple Knights rode straight through the gate, the horses never slowing from their gallop. The knights’ silver armour gleamed in the sun, their faces hidden by helmets as they charged down the street, uncaring of anyone in their way.
The people on the streets suddenly found themselves facing down a cavalry charge. Pandemonium erupted as everyone scrambled to dodge, most succeeding. However, one elderly man could not move fast enough.
The knights never slowed even as he screamed, thoroughly trampling him under the steel-tipped hooves of their horses. Rushing forward, they quickly split into four groups of at least twenty men, all heading in different directions. Two groups hugged the city walls and two went straight to the city center.
The man had seen a lot in his life, yet even he felt nauseous when he saw the freshly made corpse.
He couldn’t help but start sweating when he saw a fifth group arrive and take position around the northern gate. With that hint, the man could guess where at least three of the groups were headed. The city only had three other gates, after all.
The man knew that Lady Kirslev could not possibly have written anything justifying such drastic measures. The letter probably contained some dirt on a priest or two, so while it wouldn’t make the Church happy, he was basically doing Eternity a favour. Or so he consoled himself.
He did not feel very confident that the knights would accept an explanation like that, especially after seeing such a gruesome display.
The messenger would have to wait it out. The princess might have instructed him to make haste, but trying to slip through twenty knights was suicide.
“Nasty business, that,” A hoarse voice to his right spoke.
The messenger turned his head and saw a hulking elderly man sitting alone at a small table, not unlike his own. He wore a simple tunic, a blacksmith’s apron and nursed a drink in one wrinkly hand. Despite his advanced age, he looked like he could bend metal with his hands. He had short brown hair and his face had plenty of laugh lines. His brown eyes stared at the deformed corpse, a grim expression on his face.
When the blacksmith noticed the messenger's stare, he continued, “I’ve lived here for fifty years and there is only one thing that gets Eternity’s knights so worked up.”
The messenger inwardly rolled his eyes at the man’s theatrics, but he felt curious. While the Temple Knights existed in his homeland, the Kerania kingdom lay too far from here for them to have much of a presence.
“Oh? I’ve not been here for too long, care to share?” The messenger played along.
The old man lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Attacks.”
The messenger frowned, before glancing at the faraway tower, “Surely you don’t mean?”
The tower being the Custodian’s private abode was common knowledge. But no one could have been stupid enough to attack the mythical figure. Or perhaps there would be an eighth fool before long. A scary thought indeed.
The old blacksmith nodded, “The Laws are good for us little folk, but every generation there is a crowned idiot or two that doesn’t want to pay up.”
Noticing his incredulous face, the old man quickly added, “Not that they attack the Custodian, of course. I’ve never seen such a thing myself.”
At this point, the man felt intrigued. It made sense that some opposed the Church, even attacking its members. Kerania hardly had a good relationship with the Faith either, though he never heard of any fights. He knew of the Seven Fools, of course, but then so did everyone. However, his ignorance wasn’t too surprising. The temples were generally tight-lipped and news on the continent travelled extremely slowly besides.
“That still sounds suicidal.” He retorted. Bickering with the Church here and there was one thing, yet to attack their people right under the Custodian’s nose?
The old man shrugged, “It’s mostly rumours, but the knights do comb through the city every decade or so.”
Then an explosion rocked the city, startling them both.
The messenger’s next question died on his lips as his head swivelled around, checking his surroundings.
Soon he spotted black smoke rising from further in the city, before his eyes slid to the knights arguing around the gate.
“I think I’ll be going now, friend,” He said to the old blacksmith, who still gaped with his mouth open. The messenger didn’t wait for a response as he got up and beelined for the tavern’s stables.
He doubted his horse would be properly rested, but she’d be better off than the poor bastards the knights rode. Especially since she wouldn’t have to carry half his weight in armour. It would be just risky, not suicidal. That was enough for him. He had given his word to hurry.
He reached the stables in a flash and saddled his horse, wasting some time to calm her. Horse ready, he peeked out onto the main street, checking the gate.
As he had suspected, most of the knights were gone, leaving only two he could see. Both were dismounted and staring towards the smoke.
Now to make his daring escape.
The messenger saddled his horse and slowly approached the gate, riding through the now deserted street, tense.
Soon, the two knights spotted him, but as he had expected they simply let him approach. The eyes engraved on the armour of the faceless knights stared at him accusingly as he slowly closed the distance.
When he neared the gate, one of the two shouted at him to dismount. He pretended not to hear and merely started slowing down. The knights put their hands on their swords, yet let him approach.
When he was close enough to make out the eyes beneath their visors, he turned his head towards the still rising smoke and frowned. When one of the knights looked over, he commanded the horse to gallop with a yell.
The second knight startled, but contrary to the messenger's hopes, didn’t hesitate.
Instead of wasting time and drawing his sword, the knight shoulder-tackled the passing horse.
The knight’s armour groaned and the horse buckled, but the messenger managed to hold on, quickly distancing himself from the knights.
Dozens of meters outside the city, he risked a glance backwards.
One of the knights was standing near the gate, silently staring at him.
He quickly looked away, unnerved. He focused on the road instead. Luckily his horse seemed fine, allowing him to cover quite a bit of distance before night fell.
The rest of his journey turned out to be surprisingly boring. The knights never caught up to him.
Days quickly passed as he rushed for Kerania. He did his best to avoid any towns or cities, though he had to resupply a few times.
Weeks later, he reached his home, the capital of Kerania, Latis.
It had been years since he had last seen the prosperous city, yet he didn’t dally, heading straight for the palace.
After identifying himself to the guards, he met with one of the stewards and explained the princess’s instructions. The steward grumbled, but acquiesced after verifying his identity.
A few hours later, the messenger finally completed his mission and handed the letter right into the hands of the King.
His task done, he left both the room and the palace, oblivious to the assassins sent after him.
A few hours later he lay in a dark alley, a growing pool of blood underneath him. The last thing he saw was a star falling, as if to commiserate his death. He didn’t see the assassin’s blade descent.
At the same time, on the top floor of her damaged tower, the Custodian raised her head, her attention captured by the very same star. She watched as the star crashed far away before her eyes snapped to the night sky again.
Three new starships had arrived.