The Nightshade came to life before I'd even finished approaching, like it recognize it owner. Its lights started blinking along the dark hull like it was waking up. The door opened by itself before I could even press the button to open it.
"She's responsive today," Meus observed, running her hand along the hull as we walked. "More than usual."
This feeling was strange. My body remembered this happening many times before, but my brain was still trying to understand what it meant.
It was like the ship was a living thing that recognized me, even though I couldn't quite figure out why.
"Pre-flight checks?" I asked, trying to sound like I knew what those actually entailed.
"Already complete." Meus gave me that analytical look. "She started running them the moment you entered the hangar. The ship's AI isn't supposed to be that intuitive, my lord. Your engineers would be concerned."
Engineers. Right. Because even in space, someone had to maintain all this impossible technology. I filed that away for later consideration.
The cockpit welcomed us with perfectly adjusted seats and displays already showing optimal routes to Grokkies space. Three jumps through hyperspace, estimated time twenty-three minutes. The computer had calculated all of this before I'd even decided on our destination.
"Comfortable?" Meus asked, settling into the co-pilot seat .
"Like I was born for this," I replied, firing up the engines. The controls felt right in my hands, each switch and lever exactly where my fingers expected them. Muscle memory was both a blessing and a constant reminder that this body had lived a life before I inherited it.
The hangar bay doors opened to reveal the star-field beyond, and I guided the Nightshade out into the void.
---
The first hyperspace jump hit like diving into liquid starlight.
"Your approach with things is different... well this morning," she said, checking weapons diagnostics that definitely didn't need checking. "More... refined."
"Problem with refined?"
"No, my lord. It's just—" She paused, fingers hesitating over the console. "Yesterday you would have taken the entire fleet. Made it a demonstration of overwhelming force."
Yesterday. When Original Raven was still in charge. "Sometimes precision serves better than spectacle."
"Since when do you believe that?"
Good question. I deflected by initiating the second jump, but not before I noticed something odd on the navigation display. The computer showed jump efficiency at 94.7%, but I knew, somehow just knew it would actually be 97.3%.
Sure enough, as we emerged from the jump, the display updated: 97.3% efficiency.
Meus caught me staring at the numbers. "How did you know?"
"Know what?"
"You were mouthing 'ninety-seven point three' before the computer calculated it."
Damn. "Estimation. You fly enough, you feel these things."
She studied me with intensity. "My lord, you've made this run exactly twice before. Both times with a full escort fleet."
"I'm a quick learner."
The routes weren't just similar to the game's optimal paths—they were identical. Every decimal point matched the speedrun strategies I'd memorized over hundreds of hours. The probability of that being coincidence was astronomically low.
Before she could respond, I initiated the third jump. The sensation of diving through folded space was becoming familiar, but the questions were multiplying. Why did everything match so perfectly?
"The briefing said their fleet was impregnable," Meus said as we approached normal space.
"Everything has a weakness," I replied, already knowing exactly how this would play out. "You just have to recognize the patterns."
---
Grokkies Station materialized before us like a metal crown wrapped around empty space. Massive, imposing, and bristling with enough defensive platforms to make any normal person reconsider their life choices.
"Their fleet is launching," Meus reported, tension threading through her voice. "Forty-one ships and counting. My lord, even with the Nightshade's capabilities—"
"Watch."
The first wave came in a standard V-formation. Classic opening move, exactly like the game's first defensive wave. I counted under my breath.
"Three...
two...
one..."
The lead fighter exploded. Then the second. Then the third. A perfect chain reaction as their overlapping shield harmonics created a feedback loop—something that only happened if they launched in that exact formation at that exact speed.
"How did you know they'd—"
"Pattern recognition," I said, already lining up for the second wave. They'd come in a pincer movement next. They always did. "Everything has patterns."
Sure enough, the remaining fighters split into two groups, attempting to flank us. I dove straight down relative to the station's orientation and watched them collide with each other in the exact spot I'd vacated.
"That was... impossible," Meus said slowly.
"I'm good at impossible." The third wave was forming up. The "random" pattern that wasn't random at all. "Watch this."
I fired three shots at seemingly empty space. A second later, three fighters flew directly into the projectiles, their "evasive" maneuvers taking them exactly where I knew they'd be.
"My lord," Meus said quietly, her voice carrying something between awe and suspicion, "it's like you're reading their mind."
I wish I was, well instinctively I was
The Grokkies were regrouping, pulling back to their defensive platforms. Time for the finale. I armed the molecular disruptor, and my hand hesitated over the trigger. In the game, this had been just another weapon effect. Here, I was about to delete a thousand people from existence.
But my body knew what to do. My finger squeezed the trigger with practiced ease, and reality hiccupped.
The flagship didn't explode—it simply ceased. Half the vessel vanished as if someone had deleted it from existence, leaving the remaining half to tumble through space like a broken soilder toys. No fire, no sign, just the terrible silence of matter returning to void.
Beside me, Meus gasped.
"Jesus," I breathed, immediately regretting.
"Who?" Meus asked.
"Old... old tactical advisor. From my studies." Smooth recovery, Thomas. "Never mind."
The remaining Grokkies fleet had stopped firing. In fact, they'd stopped moving entirely, hanging in space like they were waiting for permission to exist.
My hands were shaking slightly. Adrenaline, my body suggested. But I knew better. In the game, that had been a cool visual effect.
---
"ATTENTION!!! Grokkies Station, this is Lord Raven Vex'thara. You have thirty seconds to respond before I continue my demonstration."
The response was immediate and panicked. "Lord Raven! Please! We... we surrender! Requesting permission to... to discuss terms!"
"Permission granted. Prepare docking bay. Any tricks and I turn your station into modern art."
"Yes! Yes, of course!"
As we approached the station, something disturbing caught my attention. The structure's design had elements that made no sense, corridors that should connect but didn't, defensive positions that only worked from specific angles, architectural choices that served no purpose except...
Except as game boundaries. Invisible walls made physical.
"My lord," Meus said. "That was the most impressive display of tactical superiority I've ever witnessed."
My body reacted to her approval with familiar satisfaction, wanting to celebrate in ways that definitely weren't just drinking.
"Impressive," she breathed, leaning closer to check a display she could have seen perfectly well from her seat.
Focus. Docking. Negotiation. Not whatever Original Raven would have done in this situation.
The docking sequence was where things got truly weird.
Every system on the station responded to our approach without being asked. Lights flickered in sequence along our flight path.
Docking clamps engaged before I'd requested them. The station's AI started broadcasting my biosigns on public displays.
"My lord," Meus said slowly, watching the data flow across her screen. "The station's responding to you. That's... that's not possible. You'd need weeks to integrate with foreign systems."
"Maybe they're just being welcoming," I deflected.
"Systems don't welcome, my lord. They recognize. And this one recognizes you like you've been here before."
But I had been here before. A thousand times. In the game, I mean f… the Grokkies.
---
Commander Zyx'ara stood in the doorway, and I immediately understood why the game had such a dedicated xenophile fanbase.
Seven feet of elegant scales. Four arms that suggested twice the usual options for... combat. Her form-fitting armor did nothing to hide curves.
"Lord Raven," she purred. "Welcome to Grokkies Station."
There was something in her voice mixed with seduction. My body recognized it before my mind caught up: pheromones. The Grokkies used them for communication and... other things. The body knew this, had experienced it before.
Wait. How did I know that? The game had mentioned it, but this felt like memory, not knowledge.
"Commander," I acknowledged, standing to my full height. My body knew how to make even simple movements look dangerous. "I believe you have a council to introduce me to?"
"Indeed." Her eyes all tracked down my form with an appreciation. "Though I must say, your reputation doesn't do you justice. I heard you destroy everything in your way."
"Everyone has patterns," I said, stepping onto the station.
"Shall we discuss... terms?" Zyx'ara purred, gesturing toward the council chambers with two of her four arms.
Behind her, an honor guard of fifty soldiers stood ready. Not threatening, but definitely not not threatening either.
Time to see if my gaming knowledge extended to negotiation sequences. In the game, this negotiation had three possible outcomes:
total submission (bullshit)
military alliance (well rational)
or the romance option (hmmmm ).
Looking at Zyx'ara's and Meus's barely contained tension, I had a feeling we were heading for complicated.