Five colony starships.

Fifty-five comet-class battleships.

Hundreds of dreadnoughts.

Millions of streamships.

Countless spaceports, orbital stations, and industrial colonies. Billions of urban areas.

Nine trillion newly penitent refugee Torth.

Seventeen thousand penitents who had powers, like Zai.

A quadrillion newly freed people who were eager and willing to be enfolded into Kessa’s amalgamated protectorates.

And counting.

Ariock was bombarded with estimates that were impossible for him to imagine. He was minuscule next to the freed galaxy. It was humbling. Even with his cosmic level of raw power, he had never ghosted to more than a fraction of all known inhabited worlds. There were entire galactic arms he had never visited. There were sapient species whom he had yet to meet a single member of. He had not even lived as many subjective years as most of his new “subjects,” if they could be called that.

Was he their ruler? Their protector? He didn’t even know.

“So what do we do?” Ariock said, interrupting Garrett’s victory tallies. “How do we handle all of this?”

He looked past Garrett, past Evenjos, past Vy, past the Twins, past Kessa and Varktezo. Thomas stood at the far end of the makeshift conference table, which was actually a countertop with the lab equipment cleared off it.

Thomas pulled off his colorful round cap. He leaned on the countertop in his shirtsleeves. One arm was encased in a control sleeve that glowed with power displays.

His answer was simple and majestic. “We show them how to live in our new empire.”

Our empire.

A galaxy.

To rule.

Ariock tried to process all that. He was glad to be seated, even though he sat on the burnished floor, uncomfortable in his armor. He wasn’t going to carry his meteorite throne into the bunker.

No one suggested relocating to a more comfortable room. Everyone in the research bunker was still stunned, still processing their victory over the old galactic empire.

“How can we communicate with trillions of newly freed slaves?” Kessa asked. “That seems like an obstacle.”

“Quadrillions,” Thomas corrected. “It will be multiple quadrillions before the end of today.”

Kessa seemed troubled, trying to grapple with the scale of their newborn empire.

She had a very salient point, Ariock realized. Their supercom network only reached three worlds. Four, if one counted Earth. Mind readers could communicate instantly between any world, between the stars, but his own people could not.

“Without guidance from us,” Garrett realized, “they’ll all go rogue.”

“We cannot possibly hold a galactic empire together,” Evenjos agreed.

Thomas had an answer. “We’ll need to visit a lot of hub planets within upcoming weeks and years.”

Ariock resigned himself to a busy future with lots of teleportation.

“Before that,” Thomas said, “Kessa and her lieutenants will select mouthpieces from among the newly converted penitents in all the major cities.” He pulled up an office chair and sat. “We’ll have some basic tenets for them to pass along to their local mayors and leaders. A Constitution, if you will.”

“A Galactic Constitution?” Garrett considered it. “How can we enforce it? What’s to prevent the planets from tossing it away and going rogue at the first opportunity?”

Ariock nodded. People needed mutual understanding. That was crucial to something as hegemonic as an empire. If different provinces could not even communicate in a timely way…? Without functional justice, without law enforcement, there was no empire.

Thomas seemed about to answer, but Kessa spoke first. “There is a promise implicit in what we have done.”

Garrett looked ready to argue.

“And we can make more promises.” Kessa looked around the conference table, especially at Ariock. “We will unite the planets. Not only with superluminal relay stations—I understand that it will take lifetimes to manufacture and implement so many—but with songs. And stories. And with art.”

Varktezo frowned in puzzlement. “How can you distribute art if you are relying on penitents as the only means of communication?”

Ariock inwardly agreed. Mind readers were not renowned for their singing and storytelling skills. Plus, he could imagine some penitents backsliding, trying to establish their own mini-tyrannies. It was inevitable. Telepathy gave them a natural advantage over other people, and they would try to exploit that again and again.

“I am talking about art that is inescapably grand,” Kessa said. “And art that can last for eons. Like the Stratower.” She gestured overhead, implying the city above them. “Ariock and Thomas have already made a start. They created the Academy. And the War Palace. Those are impressive buildings.”

But they could do better.

Kessa did not have to say it. They could build even more magnificent, imposing, awe-inspiring edifices.

Ariock straightened, armor creaking, and never mind how much room he took up. Kessa had a point. She was absolutely right.

There was room in this galaxy for never-seen-before wonders.

Thomas seemed inspired as well. “I see what you mean,” he said to Kessa. “We can build space stations, and commemorative monoliths, and academies, of such artistry and grandeur that not even the most elitist Torth can deny their architectural superiority.” He seemed to admire something that only he could see. He was probably imagining something hyperrealistic. “We would build things that are entirely new, that don’t look derivative of the Torth Empire at all.”

The Twins shared a look of incredulous amazement.

Kessa nodded happily. “Former slaves all have a shared culture, as well as a shared history. We speak the same language. And there will be a promise of an intergalactic communications network to come.”

It might work.

Ariock felt as if he was seeing the outline of something that dwarfed him to insignificance. There was a future after the downfall of the Torth Empire. It was real. It was on its way.

It just might need some help being born.

“The philosophy of Gwat might aid in unification,” Mondoyo said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I would humbly suggest that you spread that, along with the new Constitution and whatever else.”

Adherents of Gwat tended to be less judgmental than other people. Ariock supposed the penitents would like that. If everyone followed Gwat, they would welcome penitents rather than trying to murder them.

Kessa gave a hesitant nod. She would take it under consideration.

“These ideas merit more discussion,” Evenjos said, peering grandly around the table as if she was still an empress. “But shouldn’t we deal with emergencies right now? Oh. And whatever shall we do with the Torth invaders who surrendered to us here? Do we put them in the Mirror Prison?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

She wanted Thomas to zombify them.

“No.” Ariock made sure everyone heard his deep voice. “There won’t be any more zombification victims. No more zombies.”

Evenjos looked mildly disappointed.

“Then what?” Garrett asked with exasperation. “We can saturate them with inhibitor, and that will be fine for a while, but eventually, we’ll have to either kill them or turn them into—”

“If they surrendered to us,” Ariock said firmly, “then they’re on our side.” He thought of Zai. “They will fight for freedom and justice.”

Thomas nodded with fierce pride.

“We’ll have to transform the Mirror Prison into something else,” Ariock said. “Maybe a barracks for our atoning champions?”

“That’s a good idea,” Thomas said.

Garrett looked as if he was reevaluating his grasp of reality. Even Kessa looked shocked.

“It’s a new universe,” Vy said.

Ariock smiled with her.

On monitors around the room, Torth kicked their weapons towards freedom soldiers, or knelt before them. Fires guttered in a rainy drizzle that Ariock had instigated a while ago. People cautiously emerged from bomb shelters and explored damaged shops or apartments.

Ariock wondered what mayhem was tearing through Torth-ruled metropolises while his city recovered. Just how many disasters was he oblivious to right now?

He peered across the table, at Thomas. “Are there any major disasters that I can mitigate? Does anyone in the galaxy need my help?”

Thomas looked at Ariock as if he was crazy. “It’s a big galaxy.”

Garrett stirred, taking his booted feet off the table. “That’s actually a good idea,” he said. “It will underscore our goodwill and also remind people of the power we wield.”

Ariock got to his feet, towering over the others. He looked forward to acting as a hero instead of as a butcher. It was a nice change.

“You’ll just have to be careful,” Garrett warned. “I would go with you, but I got hit with inhibitor.” He grimaced at his own failure.

“And I am near depletion,” Evenjos said sadly.

Ariock didn’t mind being a lone hero. With his raw strength, he could do a lot of good by himself. He didn’t want to keep taking up so much space inside this crowded bunker. With his bulky armor on, he might hurt someone by accident.

“Point me in a direction,” he offered.

Thomas, Garrett, and the Twins closed their eyes. They must be scanning the Megacosm, searching the cosmic upheaval to find where the most lives were endangered. Judging by their pained expressions, there were a lot of disasters going on.

“Oh.” Garrett winced. “They’re killing knowledge.”

The Twins opened their eyes, looking grave.

“It’s dying,” Garrett said.

Thomas looked as if he’d been mentally attacked. When he faced Ariock, he looked haunted. “They’ve murdered all of their super-geniuses, except for two.”

That was shocking. Ariock would have thought the Torth respected the mutant minds too much for that.

“There’s one we might save.” Thomas stood, determined. “We’ll have to act fast.” He focused on the air above the table and projected a galactic disk.

Ariock paid attention as the holographic galaxy zoomed in. He had never visited this particular galactic arm. All the superclusters, nebulas, and other celestial structures along the route were new to him. He struggled to commit the cosmic landmarks to memory.

“I’m not sure this is wise.” Garrett sounded alarmed. He stood, using his staff for support. “Ariock, some Torth will expect you to try to save her, and they’re not all harmless and friendly. Some of them have turned vicious.”

“We have to try!” Thomas snapped. “She’s the only one we can save.” The self-blame in his voice was as sharp as a blade. “Ugh. I should have anticipated this.”

Ariock knew all about self-blame. He gave Thomas a gentle look. He could not expect to predict everything.

“Have they killed the Death Architect?” Varktezo asked hopefully.

“She was the one who orchestrated this massacre.” Mondoyo sounded regretful. “She still lives.”

“She doesn’t care about knowledge.” Thomas sounded bitter. “Or people.”

Serette nodded in agrement.

“She never cared about anything,” Mondoyo said.

“The Torth won’t kill her,” Garrett added. “They can’t. She’s alone on her asteroid, except for her poor slaves and whatever robots she’s had built.”

“And she has traps,” Mondoyo said, “ready to kill anyone who gets too close.”

A chill washed through Ariock. Wasn’t it a weird coincidence that the Death Architect had survived the massacre? And she happened to dwell on a lonely asteroid, just like in the recurring nightmare where Vy got taken from him.

Whatever. His side had won! The war was over! His terrible dream was just a manifestation of leftover stress. It was time to let go of those fears.

Thomas rotated his projection, zooming in on a serene-looking planet. “This is Firmament,” he said.

Ariock paid attention to his destination.

The holographic planet rotated. Clouds faded to invisibility, revealing oceans and continents. More zooming in. An alien mountain range.

An urban sprawl in its midst.

And inside that metropolis? An underground facility.

Thomas’s holograph zoomed into the facility. Judging by the waterslides and monkey bars, this was a playground for children. It was a baby farm.

And beneath the playground? Crawlspaces for slaves.

A little girl shivered in a crawlspace, in the dark, clinging to a furry govki. But this child was not an adolescent like the Twins or like Thomas. She was very small.

Who would want to murder a toddler?

“She’s the only survivor,” Thomas said urgently. “And she won’t last long, unless we rescue her. Ariock? Did you memorize the cosmic route?”

Ariock wished he had a photographic memory for complexity. “Uh, walk me through the middle part one more time?”

“We’ll go there in stages,” Thomas said impatiently. “I’m coming with you.”

“That’s dangerous,” Garrett said with vehemence.

Kessa also sounded worried. “We do not wish to risk losing you, Thomas. We only just regained you.”

Ariock wanted to reassure everyone that he was an excellent guardian, but he was well aware that he had a merely human ability to focus and to multitask. Torth had outsmarted him before. On Firmament, he would be trying to rescue a toddler while also protecting Thomas, and those were two crucial tasks that might split his attention in a dangerous way.

“Agh.” Garrett made a sound of frustration. “Thomas? I forged a new suit of armor for you.”

Thomas looked surprised.

“It was an apology gift,” Garrett explained. “You’ll find it in the Dragon Tower.” He turned to Ariock. “In our cache.”

That was a shared cache. Ariock used it himself, to store giant-sized tableware and other items that he liked for comfort or convenience.

Garrett provided more specific directions—“It’s in the wardrobe by the window”—and Ariock led the way out of the bunker. Thomas followed quickly. He knew that Ariock could not ghost or teleport from within the mirrored space.

As soon as Ariock could do so, he put himself into the clairvoyant trance. He ghosted to the wardrobe and item-teleported the new armor, which was custom-sized for Thomas.

The iridescent black scales were reminiscent of Azhdarchidae. Tungsten plating mimicked the skin of a sky croc, and burnished gold limned the edges and tips. The armor’s reflectivity might confuse lesser clairvoyants.

Thomas quickly donned the armor, with help from Ariock and Vy. It fit perfectly. He aimed a curious look towards Garrett.

“I made it a while ago,” the old man admitted sheepishly. “I was saving it for a surprise gift, for when you really impressed me.”

Thomas gleamed like a hero out of a tale. This was who he really was, Ariock thought.

“I’d say you’ve earned it,” Garrett said.

Thomas grinned.

“All right.” Ariock wrapped Thomas into his awareness and sent himself out across space.

After a few turn-arounds and points of confusion, plus patient refreshers from Thomas, Ariock found his way to the correct planet and then the correct baby farm.

It was chaos inside.

Children and adolescents fled from Ariock’s sudden appearance. Overhead globe chandliers flickered. Ariock was at his most vulnerable right after teleportation, and blasts hit him—but Thomas was ready, having encased them both in extra thermokinetic shielding.

Ariock shielded them both with solidified air as soon as he was able to.

There were bloody footprints on the floor. Small ones.

“Guard me,” Thomas said, “while I go to her.”

Ariock scanned the subterranean playground, finding life sparks and yanking them out of hiding. He used his powers to bend metal, narrowing the bars of a geometric climbing dome until it formed a pen. This would serve as a temporary cage.

He found no joy in using his powers to strip off blaster gloves and place would-be assassins into that pen. They were too young to be murderers. They looked like human children. One of them was even a slave; a govki. The poor slave must have been coerced or threatened into trying to kill Thomas and other “enemies.”

Would they be okay after Ariock left?

They could easily climb out from the top of the makeshift pen. They surely would, once the Giant no longer watched them. But how would they fare in the long run? A Majority must have ordered these adolescents to murder their tiny, physically disabled peer. Did they feel obligated to obey any adult Torth who ordered them around? What would happen to them?

Young Torth throughout the whole galaxy were in the same uncertain situation.

So were quadrillions of newly liberated slaves, Ariock supposed. Many would have to fight for their freedom.

And the kneeling Torth faced violence, too. Their former comrades and their former slaves might want to kill them.

Whole cities and spaceships would be rupturing or rioting. There must be billions of innocent people caught up in calamities that were not of their own making. Ariock wished he could rescue everyone.

“It’s okay.”

Thomas’s distant voice was gentle. Ariock wasn’t sure he had ever heard such a kindly tone from his friend. He didn’t think so.

It was impossible to imagine a lifelong Torth sounding that way. Anyone who heard Thomas would know that the Conqueror was not sadistic.

“You’re safe now,” Thomas said.

That was true. No one dared to attack while Ariock stood guard, gigantic in his galaxy armor.

Thomas reemerged from the carpeted tunnel sized for children. He looked uncomfortable, crawling in his dragon armor. He stood, and offered his hand to help a tawny govki emerge.

The disabled toddler rode on the govki’s furry back. Her eyes were round with wonderment, shining with the vestiges of tears.

“This is the Climbing Storm,” Thomas said. “And Nuzzy.”

“Peace,” Ariock greeted them in the slave tongue. That was one lucky govki. Nuzzy was going to get teleported directly to Freedomland, along with the sole surviving underage super-genius, away from the violent mayhem on Firmament.

“We’re ready,” Thomas said.

Ariock rocketed across the galaxy, disembodied. He enveloped his passengers within his awareness.

Soon they were home.