The shuttle shook as we approached the Chaos. This destroyer was medium-sized, but other ships could dock to its sides, so its dimensions constantly changed.
The battle hadn't stopped. Our fleet had retreated to the edge of the system, defending itself and preparing for a warp jump. The planets in the system were under brutal bombardment—stations, cities, and industrial outskirts were being bombed. The planetary defense had fallen, unable to protect the cities. Perhaps some pockets of resistance remained, but they would have been quickly suppressed.
The mercy of the Emperor and His Holy House had abandoned the Sagittarius-9 system, condemning billions of people to torment and suffering. Six planets. We had suffered defeat for a higher purpose, for the killing of a vassal by a slave's hand.
Renod took full control of the shuttle, managing and exchanging all messages coming to us or simply passing by. So sometimes we had to listen to his reports from the enemy's perspective.
"Enemy Thunderer destroyed. Our forces didn't have time to evacuate, requesting evacuation! Repeat, requesting evacuation!" Renod quoted from the message panel our shuttle was picking up.
"So they managed to get many out before the explosion?" Dursal asked, looking at his back.
"Yes, but apparently not everyone. Some survived."
"What about the orbital and planetary defense? Are they fighting?" Dursal asked, hoping for a positive answer. "Anyone at all?"
The answer was different. Renod turned to him with a sad face and quietly shook his head.
"Durs, I'm sorry about your friends. We knew them too," I told him.
Those who hadn't passed the commission's selection and protocol had been sent to the planet Sarv, where the weapon depots of the Legions and the Emperor were located. Many good and brave guys probably died in the first bombings, lying in their beds. War came to them not knocking on the door, but tearing it off its hinges.
Despite having moved far enough from the Thunderer, we could still see bright dots in the porthole—fragments of the Thunderer entering the atmosphere of the nearest planet and slowly burning up. Almost one by one, they began to fade, and the once bright points of fire and light turned into oblivion.
I sat in one of the troop seats and fiddled with my display, studying information about the Galts' ships and especially about the capital station Apollo. I had to know its schematics and corridors with sections by heart. Although it had about a thousand sections, I only needed to know the most basic ones: for example, where the command staff moved or where contrabandists traded.
Apollo itself was slightly smaller than an average Earth. A gigantic and powerful station, guarded by hundreds, if not thousands, of destroyers and corvettes. The Empire's best ships protected it—they were more powerful than our Maskido and Thunderer. But there weren't many of them.
Apollo was also a trade hub and departure base for all long-distance traders and states—something our Empire couldn't boast. We were losing everywhere: in economics, politics, and military power. Only our faith was greater.
Only it led us into battle.
An hour later, as we flew toward the Chaos, the destroyer's security systems detected us. A group consisting of one tug ship was sent to us for inspection.
If they found out who we were, the whole mission would go to hell. We needed to figure something out.
"We've been spotted," Renod said, starting to flip switches on the shuttle's control panel.
"Chaos? That fast?"
"Yes, Durs. We're on approach."
"What do we do, Kyle?" they asked me.
"I don't know," I said in a sluggish voice, looking them both over from head to toe.
Suddenly, our conversation was interrupted by a transmission to our shuttle:
"Shuttle SN-233-CLASS-1, this is Chaos destroyer inspection group. Respond, over. Repeat, shuttle SN-233-CLASS-1, respond," the pilot at the helm said.
We were silent, looking at each other, hoping someone would figure out what to do.
"What do we do? We need to respond," Dursal declared, looking at Renod, who was probably trying to answer the ship.
"Reni, tell them we're ready for inspection," I commanded him.
"Already sending!" he quickly replied, pressing something on the panel beside him.
Through the front window, we could see a small ship, almost twice the size of our shuttle, approaching us. It was gray-yellow with bright white circles on its hull. Under the ship's stern was a cannon with anti-electronic charges—one such shot could disable a couple of shuttles.
"Side L789, shuttle SN-233 ready for inspection. Repeat, shuttle SN-233 ready for inspection. Do you read?" The message was sent. All we could do was wait for the tug to connect to our controls and dock us to it.
"Shuttle SN-233, prepare for towing," the pilot informed us.
We started preparing. Renod ordered Durs and me to clear the airlocks and prepare the platform. We also tidied ourselves up and recalled the story of how we ended up on the shuttle.
Up close, the tug was bigger than it seemed. Its uneven, pointed shape with a rear rectangular compartment, where contraband was presumably stored, approached us and took control. Reni stood up and headed toward us, to the entrance doors.
The tension grew between us and what awaited us. We looked at each other.
A screech and a thud. Docking.
For a moment, everything went quiet—you could hear your own heartbeat. Suddenly, the noise of steam escaping from the pistons flooded the troop compartment, and the doors before us slowly opened. It was hard to see who was there through the steam, but silhouettes of three people were visible.
The first, closest to us, stepped forward, and behind him, two more soldiers with weapons. It was a middle-aged officer with strange eyes. Different colors.
This was Renod's mentor, one of those who had been in the photographs on the day before we were sent to the Thunderer.
"Greetings, agents! How are you doing?" he smiled and extended his hand to the one in the middle. Me.
I shook it, feeling the firm grip of an undercover agent who looked as if he could see right through me. His hands were scarred and almost completely burned. I looked at them.
"Oh yes, many find it unusual. Occupational injuries," he explained to me.
Then he went to Reni and Durs, patting them on the back. Behind him stood two Galt soldiers, pretending nothing was happening.
Noticing my gaze, he turned to them and pulled out a pistol. With two shots, they fell dead. Durs and I reached for our pistols.
"Almost forgot. They didn't know I was from the Legion," he said, turning his back to them.
Durs and I exchanged glances but didn't take our hands off the weapons in their holsters. Reni looked stunned, watching his curator dispatch two soldiers as if in some movie.
"What's your name?" I asked warily.
"Fen," he replied. "You've probably come a long way to get here. The Grand Admiral informed me of your mission and ordered me to take you to Apollo, where each of you will be handed over to your curator."
"How did you know where we are?" Reni asked distrustfully, even though Fen was his curator.
"Your displays have built-in beacons that constantly track your movement," he explained. "Well, now it's time to leave this tub and head to the Chaos, and from there to the capital."
He ordered us to plant a bomb in the shuttle's fuel and onboard compartments, to blow it to pieces, to erase our presence on it. After assembling the bomb and installing it, we boarded the tug.
Inside, it was a ship with three compartments: the main one, where bunks and tools were located; the pilot's compartment, where the pilot sat; and the very last compartment, which contained storage and engines. As I entered the main compartment, I saw Durs collapse onto a bunk, hands behind his head. Reni was fussing with Fen.
Boxes and food containers testified to the life activities of those two soldiers and other occupants on board. I went further into the pilot's compartment, where the pilot sat reading some magazine. He turned to me:
"Oh, from the shuttle?" he asked, looking at me.
"Yes."
"Pleasant flight, then, officer," he finally said and turned back to his panel and magazine.
By the time I left the cockpit, Reni and Durs were already in the main compartment. They were discussing something, glancing at the weapons in their hands. I slowly approached them.
"What are you discussing?" I asked, looking at Reni and Durs.
"Oh, just who shot how many. Did you know there's a shot counter on the side of the pistol?" he said, looking at the pistol. "I've got three, Reni's got one. How many do you have?"
I touched the holster where my pistol lay. The holster was flexible, allowing for quick movement and comfortable resting without any inconvenience. I opened it, my hand sliding over the grip of the pocket pistol. Taking it out, I started turning it, looking for this counter.
Reni and Durs started laughing, exchanging glances.
"What?" I asked in surprise.
"There's no counter, you fell for it!" Durs laughed even louder.
"Oh, screw you," I grinned, put the pistol back in the holster, snapped it shut, and walked over to them. Reni patted me on the shoulder.
Soon Fen appeared, returning from our shuttle, which we had mined. He had cleared the shuttle's database and camera recordings.
"All done. We can cast off and head to the Chaos," he said, walking past us into the pilot's compartment.
A loud hum and grinding of metal filled the ship, and we lurched slightly. We detached from the shuttle and began moving away from it.
"Everyone ready?" Fen asked, coming out to us. In his hands, he held a detonator. Looking at us, he began twirling the detonator.
We answered only with silence. A slight chill ran through me. I walked to the window that faced our shuttle. Durs and Reni did the same.
I heard a quiet click of the detonator behind my back, and a few seconds later, an explosion roared. The shuttle was blown to pieces. The light blinded us, and we had to cover our eyes with our hands.
The shuttle shattered into small fragments, among which could be seen intact seats and small steel boxes, drifting in the abyss of space. Probably, after hundreds of years, they would join some asteroid belt or wander forever in the endless silence.
I turned to Fen. He stood behind us, watching our reaction. We had done good work: fabricated explosives in field conditions and managed to detonate them. The academy courses hadn't been in vain.
Soon the pilot called Fen over the radio, and he went to him. The clanking of his boots on the ship's floor echoed metallically in my head, like a countdown. Sometimes, in difficult times, we forget who we are and sink into mental wandering. It was the same with me—but not a single thought came to mind.
We flew toward the Chaos. A huge, matte-black destroyer greeted us. It was medium-sized, but in strength and technology, it was not inferior even to the Maskido. The destroyer's streamlined shape helped it hide in space and avoid detection by intelligence. It had no external weapons—all its missiles and other combat devices were hidden under the hull and would emerge when needed.
As we approached, I noticed many small ships docked to it. They were of various sizes and classifications—from construction to scientific.
As we got closer, the ship seemed larger and larger. I thought we would connect to one of the free docks, as on the Thunderer, but our pilot took us to the rear of the destroyer. We were so close that, looking out the window, you could see military personnel running through the destroyer's corridors on different levels. Areas cut out along the edges of the ship were also visible—that's probably where the weapons were.
We entered the rear part of the destroyer, where, to my surprise, there were open docks like on our Legion corvette. We began the landing process.
We passed through the gravitational grid and landed smoothly in the dock. A repair crew immediately ran up to us, along with a couple of guards.
There was the sound of a siren, faintly reaching us through our ship. I could hear squads moving and mechanics shouting to each other. I could also clearly hear other ships taking off or landing.
Fen stood before us and prepared to exit, but first turned to us:
"Don't talk to anyone. Just follow me."
We silently nodded to him and waited for the door to open. As a sign of approval, he nodded and walked toward the opening door.
All the sounds I had heard muffled now crashed down on us like a downpour. We descended the ramp to the mechanics and military personnel, who had already taken their positions. Fen gave some order to the mechanics and greeted the soldiers by saluting them. We walked right behind him. Dursal and Renod straightened up and walked with a proud and majestic gait, as officers should. The soldiers saluted us, and we returned the salute.
The docks from inside were a huge space, several times larger than on our corvette, and were elegantly decorated with wall holograms and posters with propaganda slogans:
THE SUN RISES AND SETS, BUT THE ENEMY NEVER!
TOGETHER WE WILL WIN ANY BATTLE!
And other posters depicting military personnel with rifles in their hands, standing on a mountain of corpses—our military corpses.
I turned away with contempt and continued to survey the docks. A couple of meters away stood military fighters of the Hawk class—small ships for raids or taking down vessels, most often used in ground battles rather than in space.
Wires and tools were scattered everywhere. Mechanics ran from one ship to another. In the distance, I noticed a trade ship of the Legori Confederation. These were creatures similar to humans, but about five times shorter and thicker. Their eyes were like a spider's, and their hair was often white. Our species had made contact quite recently by cosmic standards but had established a strong partnership.
Their ship was red with two manned capsules on the sides. Near them stood groups of military personnel, rifles at the ready.
Fen called out to me not to lag behind and to stay alert.
We headed to the border checkpoint, where luggage and passengers were usually checked. After we approached it, Fen entered the booth ahead of us, presented documents, and mentioned our names a couple of times.
The border guard inside glanced at us and continued talking with Fen. Soon he came out.
"Alright, guys. Go through the frame and fill out the forms," said a young military man in a dark green uniform, pointing to the side at a security frame.
We did so. Our pistols weren't detected because of their material—they didn't show up on x-rays and made no sounds when passing through the frame. Holy Emperor, preserve the Legion's technology.
After we filled out the forms and passed the scanner, Fen led us to the bridge to introduce us to the Chaos's grand commander. Our infiltration into the enemy's military machine had begun. We climbed stairs and took elevators. The ship seemed simply enormous, but compared to Apollo, it was just a shuttle.
Military personnel ran through the ship's corridors; the siren never stopped:
ATTENTION, FIRST AND THIRD SQUADS REPORT TO THE DOCKS.
ATTENTION, COMMANDER JACQUES REPORT TO THE BRIDGE.
These announcements accompanied us on our way to the bridge. Reni and Durs were silent, afraid to make the slightest sound, as was I. Fen, in turn, was confident and unwavering.
After we climbed the last staircase, a wide corridor leading to doors at the end appeared before us. This was the bridge.
Fen walked ahead and, it seemed to me, was moving farther and farther away. By the doors, guards stood on both sides, dressed in gold-silver robes. This was the elite, protecting the command. In their hands were long swords, awaiting their moment.
We approached them, after which the doors opened before us, revealing a large hall. Ahead was a panoramic, uneven glass wall; beyond the glass was endless space and the entire battlefield. On the sides, below, on several levels, were lower-ranking officers and management personnel who controlled the ship's systems and defensive capabilities. Each had a different uniform, defining their role: army, intelligence, mechanics, medics, and others.
The hall we found ourselves in was completely black, only lamps forming a pattern of three circles gave a tint of scarlet light.
At that moment, observing all this, I froze. Blood pounded in my head. I had never seen such a spectacle. Thousands of people worked in harmony, as one whole—which they essentially were.
In the middle was a platform, reached by a bridge. On the platform stood four people in gold-white uniforms with gray stripes and insignia. The admiral and his assistants. They turned to us, greeting us with their gaze. Fen led us to them.
As he walked, I observed everyone and everything. Reni and Durs did the same—they were as amazed as I was. Soon we approached them, passing various tables with instruments and boxes. Fen stood before the admiral and saluted, then, stepping aside slightly, began to introduce us:
"Honorable Admiral Deran, these are my new subordinates," he began, indicating us. "Each of them needs to be sent immediately to Apollo for practice and further integration into our ranks."
The old admiral looked quite well-preserved. Despite his age, he could probably live just as long again. On his hand were gold rings with symbols of a maple leaf and some sign resembling a strange weapon.
He extended his hand to me and ordered me to kneel. I did so. Reni and Durs did the same. I kissed the admiral's ring, after which each of us swore allegiance to him. Fen watched us with an unwavering face, as if he had been a Galt his whole life and nothing else.
"Very good, officers. I will arrange for a ship to be prepared to transport you to Apollo. And now, would you like to join us for a viewing?" he said in a thin voice, looking at us.
"A viewing?" Dursal asked.
"Precisely. The Emperor of these pathetic legions is giving a speech about their defeat," a wide smile appeared on his face.
Durs, Reni, and I exchanged glances.
"Of course, Admiral. It would be an honor," Fen interjected, slightly bowing his head.
Soon a hologram appeared before us in the form of a huge screen broadcasting our Emperor's message.
He stood alone in a golden palace, adorned with white polished marble columns. Some of them were engulfed by carefully and neatly trimmed roses. Behind him was a window, through which a planet was visible. Alone, like himself.
He was dressed in a flowing white garment with gold patterns and green ornaments. On his head was a crown shaped like dried branches. Around him, there were no servants or courtiers—only him.
His Majesty the Holy Emperor Cassius IV, Father of the Holy Imperial House, Commander-in-Chief of all Armies and People, Hand of God's Justice, Martyr of all Humanity, Father of all Worlds. These words always introduced him. We were taught all these titles from childhood. Many adults didn't like it, but they were powerless against authority.
The Emperor looked tired and sad. He began to speak:
"Warriors and Citizens of the Holy Liberian Empire! Today we have been betrayed by our Legions, led by the former Grand Admiral Verus. They destroyed our strategic ships and surrendered the system to enemy control. For this reason, I strip all Legion agents and the Grand Admiral himself of their ranks and confer upon them the status of non-citizens. The Legion will be disbanded shortly. Each participant will be brought to the Great Babylonian Court and executed for betraying the faith of the Emperor and the Holy House. We will win the war! Whatever it takes!"
At these words, the broadcast ended.
Silence fell on the bridge, then Admiral Deran spoke:
"What a wonderful day! The enemy is suffering defeats on all fronts, and we are advancing!" he said, patting Fen on the shoulder.
Fen only smiled faintly.
We were declared outcasts and stripped of all titles. Our entire cause was destroyed. All battles and victories were erased. The Emperor would have destroyed anyone who didn't submit to his will. Our operation was in jeopardy. Without the Empire's help and recognition, we were acting alone.
The Emperor had made a mistake, calling us traitors. He decided our fate before it began. He condemned our actions and our will.
He betrayed us.