⫸ [ TIME: +26 DAYS SINCE THE SKY WAR ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: CRASH SITE "ZULU" – JUNGLE SECTOR ]
⫸ [ STATUS: SALVAGE OPERATIONS ]
The jungle was alive with the sound of cutting lasers.
The wreckage of the F.S.S. Profit Margin lay broken across three miles of canopy. It looked like a beached whale made of grey steel, its guts spilled open to the humid air.
The Iron Legion had turned into a swarm of ants.
Giants, stripped of their heavy armor to facilitate movement, hauled massive sheets of hull plating through the mud.
Deep-Kin technicians swarmed over the exposed circuitry of the engine nacelles, cutting wires with surgical precision.
Elian floated above the stern section.
His new Tier 3 Bio-Reactor hummed with a low, satisfied purr. He didn't need a ship to fly anymore; he was a gravity-defying anomaly.
He watched a team of Giants attach chains to the Frigate's Main Thruster Assembly.
"Careful," Elian projected his voice. "That nozzle is lined with ceramic composites. If you crack it, we can't fly."
"IT IS HEAVY, LORD," a Giant grunted, his muscles straining like steel cables.
"Use the discs," Elian commanded.
The Giants slapped four Anti-Gravity Discs onto the thruster. The ten-ton engine block suddenly became weightless, floating up like a balloon. The Giants guided it gently toward the waiting flatbed sleds.
Disciple Lin hovered next to Elian on a small skiff. She held a datapad, frantically cataloging the loot.
"We have recovered six Ion-Injectors, the Shield Generator, and the targeting array," Lin reported. "But the Warp-Core is slag. We cannot leave the system."
"We don't need to leave the system," Elian said, his white eyes scanning the internal structure of the wreck. "We just need to reach orbit."
He flew down into the exposed bridge section.
The consoles were smashed, but the central data-column was intact.
He plugged his wrist-spike into the port.
"A.R.C., strip it. I want every line of code. Every map. Every tactical simulation."
[ Interface Established. ]
[ Bypassing Federation Encryption... ]
[ Accessing "Harvest Protocols". ]
[ Warning. Data contained is... disturbing. ]
"Define disturbing."
[ Analysis indicates this planet is not a standard farm. ]
[ It is a Quarantine Zone. ]
Elian froze.
"Show me."
A hologram flickered to life in his HUD. It was a classified report from the Federation Science Division.
[ SUBJECT: PLANET 4546-B (LOCAL NAME: AETHELGARD) ]
[ STATUS: CLASS-ALPHA NURSERY ]
[ NOTE: The human population here possesses the "Primordial Strain" of DNA. Their capacity for Aetheric manipulation is 400% higher than the galactic baseline. ]
[ DIRECTIVE: Keep the population at a pre-industrial tech level. Harvest the excess soul energy to prevent them from Ascending. If they reach "Void-Stage", initiate Planetary Sterilization. ]
Elian pulled the spike out.
"They aren't just farming batteries," Elian whispered. "They are suppressing a rival species."
"What does it mean?" Lin asked, seeing his expression darken.
"It means we are dangerous," Elian said. "The Cultivators here... if they weren't constantly harvested, they could challenge the Federation. We are the lions in the zoo."
He looked at the sky.
"Time to break the cage."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: +28 DAYS ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: BASE CAMP ALPHA – THE DRY DOCK ]
⫸ [ STATUS: RETROFIT ]
The Horizon Seeker was no longer buried in the mud.
The Giants had dug a massive trench around Elian's original crash ship. They had cleared the dirt, scrubbed the hull, and erected a lattice of scaffolding around it.
It was a small ship compared to the Frigate. A blocky, utilitarian survey vessel.
But it was about to evolve.
Elian stood on the scaffolding, welding torch in hand.
He wasn't using a tool. He was using his finger.
A focused beam of plasma shot from his index fingertip, fusing a plate of Federation armor onto the hull of the Seeker.
[ Armor Integrity: 300% Increase. ]
[ The Federation "Durasteel" is superior to our original plating. ]
[ However, the structural stress on the frame will be immense. ]
"Reinforce the spine with Void-Steel," Elian ordered. "I want this ship to be able to ram a cruiser without crumpling."
He moved to the rear of the ship.
The original chemical rockets had been ripped out.
In their place, the massive Ion-Thrusters from the Profit Margin were being installed. They were too big for the frame, giving the ship a hot-rod, over-engine look.
"The connection is the problem," Alara said from below. She was looking at the schematics on a large table. "These engines run on Xenon gas. We don't have Xenon."
"Physics lesson number twelve," Elian called down. "Substitution."
He jumped down, landing heavily beside her.
"Ion engines work by accelerating charged particles. Xenon is just a heavy noble gas. It's stable."
He pointed to a crate of Spirit Stones.
"But if we grind these stones into dust and suspend them in a magnetic field, we create an Aether-Plasma. It's volatile. It's angry."
"And?" Alara asked.
"And it has ten times the thrust-to-weight ratio of Xenon," Elian grinned. "We aren't building an Ion Drive. We are building a Spirit-Drive."
[ Warning. Using Aether-Plasma as reaction mass will generate exhaust temperatures exceeding 5,000 degrees. ]
[ You will melt the nozzles. ]
"Line them with the Golden Crow heat-shields," Elian countered. "And use the Blood-River ice crystals for cooling. Improvisation, A.R.C.."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: +35 DAYS ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: SOUTHERN BORDER ]
⫸ [ STATUS: REFUGEE CRISIS ]
The news of the "God-Slayer" had spread.
The Iron Sect had killed a Star-Ship. To the people of the Southern Kingdom, this was a miracle.
They came in waves.
Starving peasants. Broken clans. Disgraced soldiers from the burned capital.
They gathered at the edge of the volcanic zone, afraid to enter the territory of the Giants.
Elian stood on the wall.
Below him, a sea of five thousand refugees waited.
"They want food," Grom said, looking at the crowd with suspicion. "They are weak. They cannot fight."
"They are labor," Elian corrected.
He turned to his new Administrative Officer—the former Golden Crow Elder, Kaelen.
"Process them," Elian ordered. "Any Cultivator above Tier 1 is drafted into the Auxiliary Corps. They will charge the batteries."
"And the mortals?" Kaelen asked.
"We need miners," Elian said. "We need farmers. We need people to scrub the decks. Give them food, give them a bunk, and give them a shovel. If they work, they eat. If they steal, you shoot them."
"A harsh law," Kaelen noted.
"It's martial law," Elian said. "We are at war with the sky."
He looked at the crowd.
Among them, he saw children. He saw fear.
He remembered the Federation logs. Class-Alpha Nursery.
These weren't people to the Federation. They were livestock.
"Alara," Elian said softly.
His daughter stepped up. She wore a clean officer's uniform now, grey and crisp.
"Yes, Commander?"
"Set up a school," Elian said.
Alara blinked. "A school? Now?"
"Teach them math," Elian said. "Teach them physics. Teach them that thunder isn't a god's anger, it's electron discharge. The Federation keeps them stupid to keep them weak. We are going to weaponize their minds."
Alara smiled. It was the first genuine smile he had seen in weeks.
"I'll get the whiteboard."
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: +50 DAYS ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: THE DRY DOCK ]
⫸ [ STATUS: THE UNVEILING ]
The scaffolding was gone.
The ship sat on the launch pad.
It was unrecognizable.
The sleek, white lines of the original survey ship were gone. It was now a dark, aggressive silhouette.
Plates of black Void-Steel and grey Federation armor overlapped like dragon scales. The massive engines flared out from the back. A row of Point-Defense Turrets (scavenged Gatling guns) lined the hull.
And on the dorsal spine, mounted on a heavy swivel, was the prize.
A Rail-Cannon Turret.
Not a shoulder gun. A ship-to-ship heavy driver.
Elian stood before his creation.
The Giants beat their shields. "IRON-SKY! IRON-SKY!"
"It needs a name," Lin said. "The Horizon Seeker is... too peaceful."
Elian looked at the ugly, beautiful machine. It was a weapon forged from the corpse of an enemy and the bones of the earth.
"The Vanguard was the first ship to die here," Elian said. "This ship is the retaliation."
He touched the hull.
"Designation: The Nemesis."
[ System Registered. U.E.C. Nemesis. Class: Heavy Corvette. ]
[ Reactor: Online. ]
[ Weapons: Online. ]
[ Shields: Unstable but Functional. ]
"Board the ship," Elian ordered.
⬡ ─── ⬡ ─── ⬡
⫸ [ TIME: 20:00 AETHELGARD STANDARD TIME ]
⫸ [ LOCATION: BRIDGE OF THE NEMESIS ]
⫸ [ STATUS: LAUNCH TEST ]
The bridge was cramped.
Elian sat in the captain's chair. It was bolted directly to the deck.
Alara manned the Comms. Lin manned the Sensors. Grom squeezed into the Weapons station, his massive fingers surprisingly gentle on the triggers.
"Pre-flight check," Elian said.
"Fuel pressure green," Lin reported. "The Aether-Plasma is stable."
"Shields at 80%," Alara said. "The generator is humming."
"Targeting locked," Grom grunted.
Elian placed his hand on the throttle.
He didn't use a key. He plugged his neural spike into the console. The ship became an extension of his body. He felt the fuel pumps like his own heartbeat.
"A.R.C., divert power to the main thrusters."
[ Diverting. Hold onto your teeth. ]
"Ignition."
Elian pushed the throttle.
ROAR.
The Spirit-Drives ignited.
Blue-white fire, tinged with the red of the Blood-River cooling crystals, erupted from the nozzles.
The ground shook. The concrete pad cracked.
The Nemesis groaned. Gravity fought it.
But the thrust was immense.
Slowly, majestically, the 5,000-ton vessel lifted off.
Dust clouds engulfed the base.
The ship rose.
100 meters.
500 meters.
It cleared the smoke.
"Stabilizers active," Elian said.
The ship hovered over the jungle. A dark predator in the twilight.
"Take us up," Elian whispered. "I want to see the stars."
He pushed the throttle to 50%.
The G-force hit them. The ship shot upward, breaking the sound barrier in seconds.
BOOM.
The sky turned from blue to purple. Then to black.
The stars appeared. Millions of them. Unfiltered by the atmosphere.
And among them, far in the distance, Elian saw movement on the long-range sensors.
[ Contact. Deep Space. ]
[ Multiple Signatures detected at the edge of the system. ]
[ Count: 12 Vessels. ]
"They are early," Lin gasped.
Elian stared at the radar blips.
"No," Elian said. "That's not the Harvest Fleet. That's the escort."
He looked down at the planet below. A blue and green marble protected only by a thin layer of air.
"Take us down," Elian ordered. "We have work to do. We need a second ship."
"A second one?" Alara asked. "We barely built this one!"
"We aren't building the second one," Elian said, his eyes glowing with reactor light.
"We're going to steal theirs."
[END OF CHAPTER 37]